#(but the one given to him by their dead beloved <3)< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[icharchivist]

sorry to have for Most Important Characters That Marked My Life boys with light hair and abnormal eyes with memories issues who are unaware of their fucked up life before the death of a beloved one whom they end up believing is their fault because of the flawed recollection of the people who were part of their past, who now have to navigate their lives and their identity through those lenses and having been so close to death that now their own approach to their mortality is skewed as well, who were in a fucked up organization and have been abandoned by at least One of their parents, and also they cope by being little shit to others people while being extremely protective as well while also keeping everyone they care about at armlength to not burden them with all of this, and who all had a mental breakdown realizing their whole lives were a lie, as if it was my fault.

[antebunny]

go away

After Bruce Wayne dies, it only takes Tim about three weeks to show up on Dick Grayson’s doorstep with a 3-ring binder full of evidence. He runs a finger along the top metal ring of the binder over and over as he waits for a response to the doorbell. All at once he feels thirteen years old again, clutching months of painstakingly collected notes written up neatly and sorted into sections. Dick never read any of it, yet Tim did it all again. Had his photos developed for ease of viewing access, included sources for all of his claims, stuck to his main points for clarity’s sake but has pages and pages of extra information in the back of the binder for when–if–Dick decides to give his idea a thorough look. 

But Tim is seventeen years old now, old enough to know where he went wrong the first time. Yesterday he spent hours coming up with argument after argument, approach after approach, to get through to Dick. Mr. Grayson, I’m so sorry for your loss. He’s probably tired of hearing that. Mr. Grayson, I have something I think you’ll want to see. Too quick to the point. If he doesn’t recognize Tim, maybe he’ll try Mr. Grayson, I know about your night life and I want to help. If he does, then maybe Mr. Grayson, I want to say I’m sorry about last time, but this isn’t like last time, I swear–

The door opens. Tim knows that it’s Dick by the smell. Sweat, unwashed clothes, and misery. How like last time. Dick looks like the epitome of grief, which is to say, not like himself. Dick Grayson is a creature of happiness by nature, of high-flying freedom, of beloved family and friends, a picture-perfect cover boy, always adored, always with a beautiful redhead, Batgirl or Starfire or Arsenal, yes Tim knows his type, always kind, always charming, always happy to be there. But Tim only ever seems to know him in these liminal states of horrible tragedy. 

Worst of all, Tim can’t quite tell if Dick recognizes him. 

“Mr. Grayson,” he begins, heart pounding so loudly he cannot hear himself speak, “I don’t think Mr. Wayne is dead.”

For a moment longer than Tim’s entire lifespan, Dick just stares at him. Blue eyes hazy and unfocused. One hand on the doorframe, one hand dragging through the stubble growing on his half-shaved jaw. He’s wearing an AC/DC shirt. Given Dick’s fashion tastes (bright colors) and Bruce Wayne’s music tastes, neither of which Tim should know, he is 98% certain that the AC/DC shirt used to belong to Bruce Wayne. 

When Dick finally speaks, his voice sounds like the death of all joy. 

“How many family members do I have to lose before you let me grieve in peace?”

Tim’s pounding heartbeat becomes a deafening white noise as Dick’s question pangs around his chest. His eyes sting so fiercly that Tim knows it is as visible as Dick’s misery. Nevertheless, he persists, if only for Bruce Wayne. No one else will save him if not for Tim. So even though his hero thinks Tim is a creepy little stalker with the unbelievable audacity to swagger into Dick’s life and tell him how to fix it, well. He’s not wrong, is he? What does it matter if Tim once upon a time dreamed of more? Saving Bruce Wayne is far more important than Tim’s nonexistent chances of becoming friends with Nightwing. 

“Jason came back.” Tim’s chin, lifted stubbornly, trembles. 

Dick’s face clouds over with a rage so terrible that Tim sincerely believes he’s about to get punched by Nightwing. Which wouldn’t be so bad. Tim deserves it, doesn’t he? Intruding on a stranger’s grief like this is probably a punchable offense. He’ll bear it all if only Dick listens, but it looks like he managed to blow it in the span of two sentences. 

In the end, though Dick’s hands curl into fists and his shoulders shake like traintracks, he turns his head at the last second and rests his forehead on the doorframe. Tears streak down his perfect jawline. Watching Dick Grayson cry is like watching Atlantis sink. It’s like watching the Mona Lisa go up in flames. Tim knows stuff like this is why Dick treats him like a celebrity-obsessed stalker living in a weird fantasy world where he’s a part of the Wayne family. He knows it’s why Dick hates him. Tim still can’t help that it’s captivating to watch.

“Go away,” Dick begs.

Tim has never felt more like the scum of the earth, yet still he’d persist if he thought there was a chance of getting Nightwing to listen to him. But there isn’t. So Tim, as lonely, rejected, unworthy and fucking correct as he is, sees himself out of the apartment building.

Two weeks later, he catches a flight to Lahore.

[mikareo]

“ ࣭⸰ ★ THE MOON SAYS HELLO. . . ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀呪術廻船; geto suguru x fem reader ⠀ ꒰ . . part one of three ꒱ . . . word count; 3.6k

⊹ ⠀⠀despite his insistence on never falling in love, suguru fails to stop himself from becoming smitten with his best friend’s beloved. you’ve become a flicker of hope in his darkness— though you’re someone who can never and will never be his to have and to hold.

series contains; if gojo didn’t kill geto n geto was given a chance to redeem himself, redemption arc!geto, human caretaker!reader, kind of e2l but also not really, love triangle, gojo x reader, fluff, major angst, heartbreak, wedding at the end, swearing probably, geto refers to humans as monkeys per usual author's note; rewritten fic, will be 3 parts in total (i'm half done pls be patient w me im a slow writer...)

YEAR ONE, DAY ONE

His face is sore. So sore. It’s red, swollen, and sore after he’s spent the last three hours screaming in frustration with his current predicament. This is absurd, Satoru should’ve just killed him when he had the chance. Geto’s lost count of how many times his palms have slapped his own face; over and over again with wishes that he can wake up from this hellish nightmare the higher ups call ‘rehabilitation’— though he can somewhat still recall the first slap that he’d given himself around the half-hour mark. He’s got a pretty good memory…that doesn’t stop him from hoping his veins aren’t too noticeable as they angrily protrude from his forehead in crimson currents.

He’d rather be dead than imprisoned like this…like an animal…like one of those damn useless monkeys.

The intensity of his wails continue to bounce off of the barren walls— barren aside from the dark mark he’d punched in earlier— and echo like a party of lost ghouls in the bottom of an empty well. Geto feels like a mad man.

He’s only just begun his isolation and he’s already growing mad with boredom. 

A huff escapes his lips as he plops himself down onto the twin-sized bed that’s nestled in the corner of his so-called ‘suite’. With linen sheets and a dark maroon comforter, it’s almost a cozy living situation; in another life, Geto could imagine himself cuddling beneath the covers with his favorite book and a soft record playing in the background for some ambience. That world is far far away now. Even if he asked for a record player, he doubts the higher ups would grant him one. He’s their most valuable prisoner, and they’re sure to keep him as miserable as possible until he’s one-hundred-percent pure hearted once more. However, despite their reluctance to grant him the things he wants, these aren’t the worst living arrangements he’s ever encountered and he knows that Gojo did his best to give him the best commodities he could to…well…a highly dangerous criminal. 

This is the only path to forgiveness, he reminds himself, constantly trying to be optimistic about the utter absurdity of it all. 

Optimism hasn’t been his specialty in a long time; anyone with a working pair of eyes would be able to deduce that, and he despises it. He’s quite rusty with the characteristic and has looked on the darker side for a while now— but wishes that he could be as reckless as he once was as a teenager. He can vividly remember how loud his laughter was with Gojo and Shoko, laughing as they chased each other throughout the school yard and using each other's cursed energy to their advantage in games of tag— but that would be near impossible now. His two best friends can barely look him in the eyes after the treason he’s committed. Gojo views him as a ticking time bomb and Shoko’s healed too many people to count that he’s harmed.

If he stepped one foot out of this room, he believes he’d be smothered on sight.

The Jujutsu Society fears Geto Suguru..

…and Geto Suguru fears himself. 

In all fairness, he deserves everything that’s come to him. What he did was awful; mass murdering humans…trying to murder even more humans…harming innocent students…starting a war during the holiday season…the whole gist. There are obviously bad actions from the past that continue to haunt Geto to this day and will continue haunting him so long as he breathes— but that’s all it is now…the past. He wants redemption. He needs redemption. If Gojo managed to reach clarity within Geto’s awful decisions, then maybe he can too. 

Geto wants to get better, to be better…not only for Gojo…but for himself. 

This is exactly why he and his best friend has devised a plan, one that will hopefully help lead Geto on a better path— a five-year path that will only be completed if he truly wants it to, and a half a decade seems like quite a bit of time to most; but for Geto, he doesn’t know if it will be enough. 

For Satoru…do it for Satoru…

He wraps his arms around himself in an attempt to comfort his heart that beats with fear every second of every day. It’s been so long since he’s been hugged by another, and he doubts he’ll ever feel that love and comfort from someone in his life. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s been alone with his thoughts with no one else to turn to; and if he’s being honest, there’s nothing in the entire world that scares him more than his own mind. 

“Geto Suguru?”

He doesn’t recognize that voice.

The soft sound comes from seemingly nowhere, startling Geto with a slight jump. Whomever it is sounds frail and weak, obviously intimidated by whom they’re going to be in the presence of in mere minutes; and Geto already finds nothing but annoyance at his new companion. Of course they’re going to have prior judgment. He bets you already hate him for the rumors and stories. He doesn’t really have a choice whether or not you come in, though. Gojo insisted on a caretaker— someone to talk to so he doesn’t go insane by himself— and Geto will do anything to make his best friend happy. So, he stands up and dusts his pants off, making sure to look more presentable, and stalks towards the entryway. His hand meets the knob, yanking it open, and ready to meet the stranger on the other side. 

Standing before him is you, a woman around his age. You can’t possibly be older than twenty-six, but perhaps you’re a few years younger. In your hands are various sweets and snacks that Gojo knows Geto loves, balancing on a silver tray that shines more light in the room than he’d care for. The reflections dazzle straight into his eyes, blinding him briefly with a scowl on his face. Of course Gojo would know to send you in with his favorites. He’s so predictable. His best friend is less surprising than he thinks, causing Geto to roll his eyes to the top of his head; though he appreciates the kind gesture. It’s far past dinner, though. Gojo must’ve struggled to convince the others to allow him a proper meal. 

“Don’t just stand there, monkey.” Geto commands whilst gesturing to the small dining table in the center of his confined space. “Come inside.”

The instant you stepped into his presence, it was horribly noticeable that you have no cursed energy. Zero. Not a lick of it…and he struggles to hide the disgust with his body language. He can’t help but be annoyed that a monkey such as yourself is going to be in his company for the next five years. 

With his distaste for you clear as day, he pulls out a chair for himself and disregards the kind option of pulling out yours prior; expectantly looking towards you with the expectation that you’re going to serve him his meal like a servant. 

“Well, monkey…” he trails off disinterested, “I’m waiting.”

You hustle towards him, quickly and efficiently placing the special grade sorcerer’s meal on the placemat before him and taking the empty seat opposite. There’s a small breath you’re holding in, Geto can see it in your throat— it’s suffocating you with fear for your life as your fingers lightly tap the dark wood in a nervous fit. 

You’re completely pathetic. As if a monkey would ever have the courage to speak to him. This is ridiculous.

His hands slam against the table with a loud bang. “What are you doing?” he questions, heavily interrogating you as you cower in your seat like a meak mouse. “Does Satoru expect you to monitor my meals?”

He really is nothing but a prisoner, isn’t he?

“What damage could I possibly do with this slob that’s been served to me by the scum of the earth? Start a food fight in the halls? Overthrow the Jujutsu world with a biscuit?” (If that is the case, in your defense, the biscuits are quite hard. There must be a new kitchen hand in training who based them.) This is a horrible day.

As Geto impatiently awaits your answer, a deep breath escapes your lips— perhaps a way to soothe your heartbeat into something less than a record-breaking speed— and you attempt to focus your stress and fear into a fleeting moment of zen. Your large eyes shut for a total of three seconds; one, two, three…before opening again. This time, as his own eyes make contact with yours, they’re shining with slightly more confidence than before as you swallow hard and settle your gaze on Geto— the look in your eyes evolving from that of anxiety to empathy. 

“Actually,” your lips rise into a thin smile, “Gojo Satoru didn’t send me here, the higher ups did.”

Your eyes search Geto’s for any signs of discomfort or inner rage that could be boiling beneath the surface of his poker face. It appears that he’s grown even stronger at hiding his true emotions towards humans; however, you can see through the veil. Yes, it’s thick and difficult to brush past, but there’s a slight opening in the center that you peek inside— and what you can see in his heart is a man who simply wants to finally do what’s right. 

“The higher ups are aware that Gojo Satoru has a soft spot for you— hell, everyone who knows your name is aware that when it comes to you, he has no reason. He has no right of mind. I’m only here to monitor and report your progress in an honest manner. That’s it. That’s all. I promise I won’t intrude on your life more than necessary.” 

Shit.

“I’m sorry, Geto Suguru…but you’re stuck with me.”

It’s as if his left and right sides are arguing between themselves. His good conscience says that he should give you a chance, perhaps you could be different than the monstrous humans that attempted to kill his beloved Mimiko and Nanako; while his bad conscience tells him to let out one of his cursed spirits to devour you where you stand. Listening to his right side would definitely get him his best case scenario…a chance to see his girls again…but the left side would be so much more enjoyable. Oh well. At least the higher ups sent someone somewhat his age and not an ancient and decaying corpse like themselves. That’s a disgusting thought. He’d rather be hugged by a hundred humans than be forced to befriend a higher up. A shiver runs through Geto’s spine as a newfound appreciation for you is birthed within him.

“Do you have a name?” Geto taunts as he begins to pick at his meal, slightly disgusted with the stale quality of some of the snacks but nevertheless thankful that he at least has something to subside his aching hunger. “Or should I just call you ‘monkey’ as I do with the rest of your kind?”

That sound?

You’re laughing?

Your giggles are surprisingly pleasant to Geto’s ears as they harmonize into a song that he can imagine himself listening to each morning. Why did you find that funny? He was quite literally insulting your entire existence. Geto is dumbfounded by the strange humor you seem to have, considering that he was being entirely serious with his question. Humans are so strange. He’s never really been able to understand how your peoples’ minds work, but perhaps he could begin to learn the basics. It’s not like he has anything better to do, and some entertainment would be nice. 

He’ll keep you around…it wouldn’t hurt and you can be his companion kind of like a pet.

Pets are cute…

…your smile is cute too.

You smile once more, answering his question with a blush on your face. “Please,” your cheeks redden, “Call me by my name, Suguru.”

YEAR ONE, DAY NINETY-FOUR

“You’re late.” Geto crosses his arms over his chest, exhaling a large breath of air in a loud and annoyed huff as he attempts to seem seriously angered by his new friend’s awful timing. 

It’s nearly twenty minutes past the time that you were supposed to be here; emphasis on supposed. He’s been waiting with his eyes staring at the clock, watching it tick and tick as the time passed by with no you knocking on his door. That’s twenty whole minutes of time in which he was forced to entertain himself rather than listen to your rambles and rants about whatever the latest scandal is in the outside world. You love that pop culture gossip stuff that social media and magazines rave about, and in a weird way, you somewhat remind him of his daughters— personality-wise…not attraction wise…that would be weird. 

Over the past few months, Geto’s grown severely accustomed to the daily routine that you’ve developed, becoming so fond of you that he strangely pictures your smile and recalls your laughter when you aren’t even here. Friendship is a funny thing. He doesn’t think he’s ever had a friend like yourself; yes, Satoru will always be his closest confidant…but his relationship with you is different in a way that he can’t quite put his finger on. He’s never considered anyone else the highlight of his every day like he does you. Your company is the kind of presence that he overwhelmingly enjoys; with such a positive and warm nature exuding comfort to Geto’s loneliness, and your judgment-free outlook on life rivaling his pessimism in a perfect mixture of negativity and optimism. He wishes he’d met you sooner, perhaps when he was a child— and if he had, maybe he wouldn’t have turned out the way he did. 

It’s too bad you would’ve only been an awful human to him back then…he would’ve called you his infamous nickname without batting an eye…a monkey…

…a mere monkey whom he never ever thought he’d develop unwanted feelings for.

For his entire life, Geto always told himself not to fall in love. That love isn’t real. It isn’t obtainable, not when there are people like Satoru in the world— people that you can’t help but love— and then people like him; people who you can’t help but hate. With that being said, he’s never necessarily been looking forward to any potential love matches in his future.

…no matter who he was involved with…

…until he met you.

“Sorry about that, Suguru!” you hustle through the doorway, your appearance a tangled mess with dusty dirt particles littered with gravel. 

There’s a large scratch on your right cheek, not deep or in danger of infection in any way, but noticeable enough that he’s able to see it from a distance. Knowing you, it’s most likely accidentally self-inflicted in some sort of way; you being notorious for tripping or snagging your skin on the sharp end of a table. How do you always manage to be so uncoordinated? Geto can’t help but let out a short laugh, his eyes scrolling up and down your body and taking in your entire appearance, dirt and all. You even manage to make dirt look good. What the fuck? He hates this.

Your voice carries on as you approach him. “I was running on time, but then I saw this adorable shop downtown and I just had to make a stop.” The overexaggerated tone you hold is amusing as your hands wave through the air in a physical storytelling of your experience. The skin of your cheeks is flushed red from your sprint through the city, looking beautiful in resemblance to that of a blooming rose. 

Geto can feel his own face heating up at the sight of you, choosing to shrug nonchalantly in an attempt to seem as if he doesn’t care at all about your dilemma…

…as if he doesn’t care about every second of your everyday…

…as if your overall excitement isn’t the only thing that truly keeps him going nowadays. 

“You tell me these things as if what you do outside of this room matters to me.” He hopes his words mask his rising blush. (Spoiler alert: They don’t.)

Flawlessly, you brush off Geto’s phony disinterest without the slightest acknowledgement. It’s as if the phrase had never even left his lips, with no evidence and proof of insult. This isn’t an uncommon occurrence when the topic of what you do when you’re not with him comes up in conversation, as the prisoner typically tries to ignore his interest in your daily shenanigans— and you can’t deny that it hurts. Most of the time, it feels as if Geto never actually listens to anything you say, and you were able to quickly realize that in the early weeks of your arrangement when the pain began to torment your heart; ripping and shredding it to bits with every eye roll and mocking scoff. You don’t seem to matter in Geto’s point of view. He doesn’t care…at least that’s what you believe. 

In contrast to Geto, you’re an emotional spirit— you crave love.Love is all you’ve ever wanted, needed, and desired. In your time with him, you’ve developed inklings of feelings as well. However, you’ve chosen to let your feelings grow and blossom out of the dirtied patch of grass they were planted in— ignoring the warnings every single person in your life has given you in advance. Despite that, Geto continues to stomp on your budding flowers. He takes a heavy watering can, filled to the brim with hose water, and drowns your garden in the tears that you shed in the privacy of your bedroom. Those tears that are a never ending waterfall due to the fact that you know it isn’t your job to fall in love with your client. Your duty to Jujutsu Society is to help Geto learn to love humans and sorcerers as one in the same and to gain the trust of his community once more— not to love you.

“Okay, before you judge me, at least give me a chance to explain myself.” Stumbling towards Geto, you accidentally trip over your own feet in embarrassment, and proceed to hold out a single flower not yet in bloom. “It’s freshly cut. I saw a bouquet in the window and it caught my eye, because it reminded me of you; but I knew you’d hate a flashy bunch of them so I just bought the one.”

It reminded you of him?

Taking the gift into his own hands, Geto studies it intensely. The rose is a dark shade of red, crimson, or scarlet depending on your vocabulary. The petals are a brighter color while the plushness near the stem turns dark, more sinister as it approaches the thorns lining the sides. Just by looking at the rose, he can understand why it made you think of him. It’s gorgeous, but practically untouchable figuratively and literally. There’s only one angle that he can hold the stem at that doesn’t prick his fingers. Ouch. And he just did the very thing he was being so careful of avoiding.

All his life, he’s never been the kind of person who longed for gifts or compliments, but when coming from the right person…perhaps he is. 

Whilst he struggles to come up with a reply— a simple ‘thank you’ or ‘i appreciate this’— you mentally applaud yourself as you’ve finally found a way to make him speechless…

…but your praise for yourself is short-lived.

He can’t be weak. Not even for you.“I guess it’s not terrible.” Geto throws the flower to the ground and lightly kicks it away with his right foot. As one of the beautiful petals drifts away from the lonely flower, he turns away, not being able to endure the heartbroken look on your face and the offended rose on the floor. Why does he have to be like this? “I’m sure that garbage is all a monkey like you can afford anyways.” Why is he so cruel?

His eyes clench shut as he hears the door begin to close. You’re so gentle even when upset. He admires that about you— you’re the calm to his ever-raging storm, the sailor to his tsunami, and the lifeboat to his wreckage— you’re the most pure-hearted person he knows, and you don’t deserve this awful anger he holds within him. 

Is he…crying?

As tears begin to drip down his cheeks, Geto collapses against the wall with his knees buckling beneath him and his weight crumbling down to a pile of patheticness. He’s just a shell of a man undeserving of someone like you. Soft sobs escape his lips and silent cries fill the hollow room, absent of your joy, crying out until he notices the faint outline of the young rose beside him. With the flick of his hand, he snatches the flower off the ground and lifts the thorny plant with careful hands— finally and truly understanding your meaning behind the gift. This is how you see him? He’s dreadful and hurtful to others on the outside, prickling kind people away with his thorns…but when encouraged and supported, he has the potential to become something beautiful.

Someone that could one day be compared to the beauty that is of a blooming rose. 

With the budding rose in his grasp, Geto sits alone. He realizes that he’s only able to become that person with the help of you. You’re the only person that has even come close to seeing him for who he truly is; aside from Satoru you’re the only person who would think of giving such a gift to the number one enemy of the Jujutsu world. You’re the only person who he’s ever come to feel true and honest romantic love towards. 

Geto has to become better. Not only for himself and Satoru…but now, for you.

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀thank you for reading! reblogs are greatly appreciated! ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀i promise i'll post the next 2 parts soon pls be patient :3

[mellowwillowy]

CW: A literal Serial Killer, obv gore description.

Yan! Serial Killer who didn't expect to fall head over heels for you, his supposed next victim. Don't get him wrong, he still wishes he could just yank those eyeballs out of your eye sockets and dip them into his cup of tea but he will refrain from doing so, just yet.

Yan! Serial Killer who loves to hide under your bed and waits for you to either fall asleep, stay up like a bat, or do your business. He's savoring every little noise you make like a fine wine.

Yan! Serial Killer who will actually stay in your home like he lives in it. Won't hesitate to make himself a dinner if you are a heavy sleeper (can always just knock you out with sleeping pills). That said he will also shower in your home, savoring the scent of the products you are using

Yan! Serial Killer who actually helps you in one way or another! Oh goodie, you ran out of soap! Here, let him refill it for you. Wait, you got a stain on your shirt. tsk tsk tsk, this will do justice. Hm? Are we running out of eggs? A visit to the market will solve the problem!

Yan! Serial Killer who loves to collect the eyeballs of anyone who dares to look at you for more than 5 seconds adoringly. He's lucid enough to differentiate which one to be spared and which one is not.

Yan! Serial Killer who almost squeals happily when you acknowledge him indirectly. "Perhaps my fairy godmother has finally come to help me," you quoted.

Yan! Serial Killer who can't help but stroke one out on your sleeping figure, his hand lifting your pajama up to reveal your chest. He will go as far as to rub his cock against your sex then whoops, plunge it into your hole <3

Yan! Serial Killer who contemplates whether he should cum inside you or not. One thing leads to another, and he chooses not to (It's rather troublesome to wash you up so he just came inside your mouth <3

!! Gore Warning !! (You don't have to read it if you are not a fan of it, nb: Cannibalism and Necrophilia + Backstory)

Yan! Serial Killer who somehow adores the idea of gutting you and feeling your innards, tasting how your heart beats against his tongue, or playing with guts as though he is making dough.

Yan! Serial Killer who adores you so much that he won't stop rutting against you, fucking you despite your state, cold and unmoving. Dead. He might even treat himself by burying himself deep in your guts huh?

Yan! Serial Killer who will not let death separate you two. Didn't you know that the reason he fell for you? Ah, you didn't know why he is branded as a serial killer too right?

Erickson is a man of wonder, due to his upbringing as the first heir of an infamous dukedom, he has been spoiled rotten with everything he has always wanted.

Nonetheless, he feels like he has never even once been given what he truly wanted because the supposed first heir is supposed to be his twin brother, Noel, who came out first.

In the mansion where his family resided, there was a servant who caught his twin brother's heart. A girl, or a boy? He pondered. It appeared that you were an orphan that his mother took in out of pity for your state.

It was not love nor fascination. It was the urge to take and destroy what Noel possessed and adored. And this kept going even until the three of you grew up as adults.

He would do anything to tarnish his brother's life, his position, his honor, and his beloved. That would also include you, his unrequited lover whom he accidentally met during his killing spree.

It was boredom that killed him and killing people kept him away from boredom. But you? You surely would not fail to ease his boredom for you were whom his brother longed for. And what Noel longed for would be what Erickson longed for as well, alas loving you in his stead.

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter I

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Spoiler-Free Summary: Set before and during Gladiator II. General Acacius finds himself entranced by a highly valued priestess of Rome – A Vestal Virgin. Both have taken vows that make sure their paths may never cross. Until they do.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x F!Vestal!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 12k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn(ish), Injry, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, (Attempted) Sexual Harassment, More tags to be added

AO3 I Series Masterlist I Masterlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

guys, where do we even start. i can't live with his end so i am rewriting it. enjoy <3

vestal (vigins) - priestesses of vesta, virgin goddess of Rome's sacred flame (details will be explained later in the story) dulcissima - sweetest (fond nickname) domus - a roman house posticum - a servant's entrance cubiculas - roman bedrooms

You didn't think it would lead to this.

A beloved General, a just man, kneeling in front of his opponent in the sand that covers the arena floor, the cloud of its dust settling onto the two men facing each other. The particles glisten in the scorching heat of the relentless sun above you, just as violent as the battle you have just witnessed.

It is not something you have ever truly enjoyed, hearing the last gasp of a dying man, seeing the moment a blade enters his stomach. Watching the winner shout with glee. Watching the dead body be dragged away.

But sitting in the specifically reserved area near the Emperors is good custom. Custom keeps one alive.

Custom is also hard to uphold when the man your heart is set on is fighting to keep his life mere feet below you.

You see Acacius’s lips move, see the pleading look in his eyes.

And then a soft thud echoes through the Colosseum as Lucius drops his sword and falls to his knees across from the General.

You wipe your hands furiously on your white gown, trying to keep your hands from sweating as your heart pumps wildly in your chest. You wonder what would happen to it if the sword would've found Acacius’s torso instead. Or his neck. Maybe it would've just given out, unwilling to beat any longer if his was not doing the same.

“No! Kill him! Soldiers!” The Emperor's cries reach you even through the uproar of the crowd, which is unwilling to accept any match that doesn't end with death. Rome always wants death.

“Archers!” He yells and you hold your breath as they draw their bows in unison, tips pointed right into the middle of the arena where the two men are still kneeling.

“Move,” you whisper under your breath, almost as if you believe Acacius can hear you. But he doesn't. He stays on his knees, upright, seemingly waiting for the arrows to hit. An archer to your left releases his arrow with a slight tremor in his arm–and misses by inches. It hits the sand behind Lucius instead, a small cloud of dust rising around it. But your eyes are drawn to the gentle movement of the General as he raises his arm.

“Hold.”

He doesn't have to scream the command. But his deep voice still travels throughout the Colosseum with urgency. The voice of a man who knows how to instruct his soldiers, how to make himself heard even on the battlefield, in the face of death. Even if it's his own that is imminent.

His reminder rings out in your head.

“How many of them will be loyal to you?” – “All of them.”

The archers hold their fire, no arrows following the first one. You turn your head to catch a glimpse of the twin Emperors, both practically jumping up and down with fury as they yell at the archers, at the guards, at anyone who will listen. “We'll have his head! We'll have the General's head for this! How dare he defy us–”

The bows are lowered as soldiers march into the arena, roughly placing cuffs around both men's hands. Acacius doesn't try to intervene with their orders this time, slowly rising to his feet and letting them lead him back towards the gate, though you don't miss the small stagger in his step. It makes a wave of worry wash over you.

“We’ll have your head, General! You will not live to see another battle! You will not even live to see another sunrise!”

Your blood runs cold at that and you stand up abruptly, your head bowed as your feet carry you back into the outer corridor of the Colosseum, a light breeze greeting you as the angry yells and curses from inside the arena grow more quiet.

You have given everything for Rome. Your vows, your service. You will not give him.

***

The moon is hiding away behind a large cloud when you slip out of the house and onto Via Nova, the sounds of cicadas and the occasional bark of a dog filling the night. Having fulfilled your duties for the evening and claimed that the scene at the Colosseum gave you a dull headache, you retired early. When the sounds of the other women in the house died down, you took your chance.

It isn't far to the domus Acacius and Lucilla reside in, your own quarters located just below Palatine Hill. On a clear day, you can see the stone walls of his house from the garden you use to grow herbs.

After about fifty feet, you turn, following down a more narrow path that allows you to travel in the shadows. A few minutes later, it leads you to the posticum of the noble home, an entrance off to the side, used mainly by the servants–or visitors unwilling to be seen. Acacius has taken to keeping it unlocked whenever he knows you are coming. You pray that it still is.

A light push against the wooden door is all it needs to swing open with a small creak, making you hold your breath as you place one careful foot in front of the other. The last thing you need is to alert any guards to your nightly visit.

But you’ve learned how to walk in the shadows and which streets to avoid. You know that the second step from the bottom creaks if you put too much weight on it. It feels like the stone walls of his house are silent witnesses to the amount of time you have spent tip-toeing to his quarters after everyone else has retired for the night.

You distantly wonder if they have allowed him the comfort of his own bed as you enter the atrium, already turning right towards the cubiculas–and pause when your gaze flickers around the open space.

Acacius is hunched over on a chair, a thick metal cuff sneaking around his ankle, the chain fastened securely around one of the columns that line each side of the open room. Your breath catches in your throat as you notice that he is wearing nothing but his red tunic, the gold details on the edges already worn and fading. He shivers in the cold night air, his arms wrapped protectively around himself. He looks so different from how he did in the arena just mere hours earlier. Smaller, somehow.

When you step forward, his head turns, eyes widening as you step into the dim light and recognition flickers over his face. “Dulcissima.”

You try to give him a smile but you're sure it fails miserably. Instead, you lessen the distance between you, passing the fountain in the center. “Acacius–”

“By the gods, what are you doing here?” He whispers, his soft brown eyes looking up at you. He sounds scared, his voice quiet but rough. Up close, you find that not only have they left him chained up in his own atrium but they have also not tended to his wounds. Caked blood and dirt decorate his skin, a part of his hair matted down with something that you hope is the latter.

You ignore his question. “They sentenced you to death.” No matter how hard you try, you can't keep your voice from shaking.

“They sentenced me to death the moment they learned about the plot,” Acacius mumbles quietly. “You know this. It was always going to end this way.”

“Where is Lucilla?” You ask quietly, casting a quick glance around yourself, almost expecting her to step forward from behind one of the columns. Even if you know you have nothing to fear from her. In fact, she may be the only person who understands what you are currently feeling.

“She is with two of the men. On their way to Lucius,” he admits, turning his body a bit more into your direction, which immediately forces a small grunt out of him. You suck in a sharp breath, though you're not sure whether it's in response to his injury or to what you just learned.

“He may already be dead.”

Acacius glances up at you with a look you can't quite place. Then he nods. “He may be.” He shakes his head ever so slightly. “But he has friends in the Colosseum. You forget whose son he is.” The General pauses again, his eyes searching your face as his whisper becomes more urgent. “Why are you here?”

A small sigh escapes you as you take two more steps towards Acacius. “Because you forgot who I am.”

It takes a few moments before recognition flickers in his eyes–and he understands. That as a Vestal, you may pardon with a touch of your hand. Even slaves. Even those sentenced to death.

He has seen you do it, once or twice. When prisoners called out to you as you passed by them with the jug of holy water. Begged you to place your palm on their head, to allow them to live. And they did. But this? This is different.

“No.”

“Marcus,” you say softly. “It’s the power they have given me, the role they have cursed me with. I may as well use it for good.”

“Dulcissima, they will know,” he protests, wincing slightly as he shifts his weight onto his legs and stands up. “They will know about us. They do not even need proof to put you on trial.”

“I do not care if they put me on trial,” you blurt out, taking a step forward just as he takes two back.

“Do not lay your hand on me,” he warns, raising his hand not unlike the way he did in the Colosseum earlier.

“Marcus. Please.” You’re begging more than asking. You don't think you could take it. A Rome without him.

His back hits the marble column and he curses under his breath just as you reach him. The chains meant to keep him from escaping turn into chains that make sure you can save him. Even if he does not want saving.

The tremor that has been a constant in your hands since seeing Acacius fall to his knees in the arena has disappeared, your fingers stretching slightly as you stand on tiptoes to reach for his head.

Soft, dark curls greet the tips of your fingers and you sigh in relief, mumbling a prayer as your hand comes to rest on his head like a crown. A shuddering breath leaves him, his eyes cast downward. Tension bleeds from his body, his shoulders sagging. A softness his soldiers never get to see.

It is a reminder of the nights you’ve spent together, always hidden and always too short. With whispered promises and silent prayers to Vesta to forgive you for loving him. You do not know how not to. And you don't ever want to find out.

But the way you bend upward, lips meeting his forehead–it simply comes more naturally than it should.

notes: thank you for reading! feel free to follow me on here or twitter/ao3 for updates on the next chapters! also, i would love to hear yalls thoughts so feel very free to leave a comment <3

! when commenting or reblogging, please make sure to hide spoilers from others !

[vrystalius]

Trick or treat!

My request is this: A y/n who didn’t know they can see ghosts and Kyojuro who cannot! On a scale of 1-10, how confused would he be watching his beloved suddenly have a conversation with thin air while they went out to buy a halloween costume? :3

Ghosts?!

Kyojuro standing beside you while you casually talk with a friendly shop-ghost. Either his worst childhood fears came true or you hit your head pretty hard. He wants to believe the latter.

Pairing: Kyojuro x gn!reader

Kyojuro’s eyes were burning holes through your skull while you were conversing with a polite, pale and dead fellow that was suggesting that a demon costume not a good choice to go with, given that any lower level slayer can get scared and attempt to slice you. You hummed and put that costume back where you got it from, but before you could grab the angel costume from another shelf, you felt a shaky hand grab your arm. Kyojuro turned you around to face him, his eyes wide and smile rather wonky. He glanced around the store to check for anyone close by.

“My sun, who were you talking to right now?”

You grinned and pointed at the floaty ghost beside you. He leaned over your shoulder to look at where you are pointing at, then shook his head. His usual booming voice got reduced to a nervous whisper.

“There’s no one here.”

“You can’t see him? Oh! I thought you could see them too!”

Them? Them?! What are you talking about?? Are you being affected by blood demon art or are you not feeling well? How much water did you drink today?

“I cannot, love. Let’s sit you down somewhere—“

Kyojuro carefully sat you down in a changing cabin and closed the curtain behind him. His hands were firmly resting on your shoulders. You couldn’t decide if he was looking deathly afraid or worried right now. You heard about his childhood fears a couple of times, how when Senjuro and him used to share a room they always lit a candle before sleep, or else they both wouldn’t fall asleep in fear of the dark. Surprisingly, his little brother got faster over the fear than he did. Once they had separate rooms, Kyojuro wouldn’t stop lighting a candle every night until he was 14. His fear of the dark and the creatures in it wasn’t overcome until he finally became a slayer and was able to fight what’s hiding in it, but Ghosts? He is still afraid of them, and if you’re able to see and interact with them, that means that they are real. Very real.

“Ghosts— do you see them? Are they nice? …To you?”

Kyojuro’s grip on your shoulders tightened while his voice got shakier. You placed yours reassuringly over his, giving it a couple pats.

“Yes I can, most of them are pretty nice. Yago, the one in the corner of our bedroom, he’s kind of mean sometimes. I thought you knew him, he kept talking about how—“

“The who in our what?!”

“I-I was joking, sorry. It was too tempting.”

Your husband let out a soft whimper and knelt down in front of you, holding onto your arms.

“My flame, my sun, my everything. Please, please let be bring you to Shinobu to let her check you out. I think you’re not feeling well.”

For the sake of his own sanity and not wanting to confront the slim chance of his childhood fears coming true, Kyojuro really wanted to believe that you are either joking, lying or not feeling well.

Overall, 10/10 is very confused and afraid. Will have a heart attack when you start talking to “Yago” in the middle of the night.

Thank you for requesting, I hope it’s okay I headcanoned him to be afraid of ghosts :,D This was very fun to write! <3

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

Here’s the trick or treat event 🎃

Here’s the event masterlist 🎃

[mvrkieboo]

Old Bloodhounds

P37 | this is the push back, not the step back

TWs : mentions of child prostitution, mentions of minor/adult relationship, mentions of coercion and manipulation

At 1:30 a.m. you arrived at the address he gave you.

Yoonsu was definitely playing a sick fucking joke on you, you were sure of it. Crammed in between a tteokbokki restaurant and, sickly enough, a children's daycare centre, was a butcher chop that looked suspiciously clean. A bald headed guy crouched at the front having a smoke took one look at you and said, "You're the bitch Yoonsu's waiting for, huh."

Your blood sizzled, but you nodded nonetheless.

He nodded his head at the butcher shop, cigarette hanging at the corner of his lips.

"Past the counter, take a right. Enter the unlabeled door."

Once you opened the unlabeled door, you felt like some meaty motherfucker punched you in the gut. It was a strip club, women all around were barely clothed and dancing up the pole. You hear a whistle from your right.

"Yoohoo, y/nnie. Come take a seat here." It was dark, you could barely see his face, but the voice was unmistakable.

You sat on the sofa, farthest away from where he was sitting. He chuckled at your stubborn behaviour, while you ignored how the other slimy men in the club were eyeing you up and down. You wore long pajama pants, a tank top fully covered by your zipped up hoodie—how could they still ogle over you that way? It was disgusting—you wanted to get out.

He moved to sit beside you, one of his arms around your shoulder. When you could finally see him clearly, you saw whose face he was wearing and pushed him.

This sick, sick bastard. This sick fucking bastard.

"Oh, come on. Don't like my new face? You know, I only got this one because I'm trying to avoid the cops," He sneered—Junyoung's face sneered—"You always bitched about how much you missed him while you were still my dancer."

You froze at the memory, of you dancing on the pole in front of the wretched men he used to entertain. They used to coo at how young you looked, at the fat still clinging on your cheeks despite the starvation you suffered through.

You were just a kid, and Yoonsu had made you work as a pole dancer to pay your stepfather's debt off.

His free hand that wasn't hanging off your shoulder moved to his pockets, pulling out a white gold locket you haven't seen in years. He opened it to show the bug he implanted within it as he took in your reaction. Your face frozen, as ice cold panic took hold of your body, momentary rigor mortis setting into your muscles.

You remember that locket, the locket Yoonsu himself had given you with the promise once you paid off your dead stepfather's debt, he'd marry you and take care of you.

"Remember this, y/nnie? I couldn't give you a ring because you'd easily lose it, so I gave you this instead to symbolise my promise. Funny it was you who broke it."

You were 16 years old turning 17, he had been 27.

You thought being his lover was a dream come true, but through Detective Do's help, you finally saw it as him preying on a desperate teenage girl isolated from the people she loved and needed.

He wore the necklace around you as he explained what he planned to do to you, "I see that you're living a good life now. Reunited with your beloved brother while still keeping the two older brother figures that came to you 3 ½ years ago—" once he clasped it, he started to pull on the locket, choking you from behind, "—after you let Detective Do destroy my empire, arrest my loyal men. You got to live a good life after you caused my mother and sister to kill themselves because everyone they knew ostracized them for having me as their family."

He released his grip on the locket, only to grip on the collar of your hoodie so you faced him directly, knowing how sick it made you to look at him as he wore Junyoung's face.

"I am going to make sure everyone you have ever loved walks away from you. I'll make you ruin what you have and should be having, because I can't fucking stand it. To see you so happy after you ruined my life. So listen closely—under no circumstances are you to take this locket off. You're not allowed to turn your phone off either—because if you do, I'm sharing those pictures of you pole dancing. You will always have to read and answer my texts in a 3 minute time window, or I'm sharing those pictures. You will do as I say, or I'm sharing those pictures. One step to the police station—I am sharing those pictures. Do you understand?"

Tears were streaming down your face and he gripped on your jaw, fingers pushing into the meat of your cheeks.

"Never let those other fuckers catch on that I'm onto you, y/nnie. Since you did a great job at acting like you actually loved me back then, make sure you act like there's nothing wrong in front of your people. If I see that you receive a text along the lines of—'are you okay? is anything wrong? are you in trouble?'—I will immediately contact the media and blab how beloved national darling Jeong Jaehyun has a sister that used to pole dance in illegal nightclubs and dated a loanshark while she was just a teenager. You know how korean netizens feel about former iljins, right?" He spoke cruelly, pushing your face away right after.

You were practically sobbing on the sofa, and he threw a piece of used tissue at your face, obviously annoyed at your crying. He got close to you again, hands guiding your face gently this time, his disgusting hands on your cheek as he made you look up at him, as he looked down at you with a twisted smile on his face, eyes void of any trace of humanity and soul.

"Wipe those fucking tears off and go back home, y/nnie. The real fun starts tomorrow, so stay alert for my texts, okay? Be careful on your way back home." He spoke in a cooing manner, patting your cheeks before giving one last kiss on the side of your head.

As you walked back to New Axis, your tears drying in the cold September night air, the dread piled over when you realised that he was going to ruin all of this for you.

Just right after you were beginning to open up to your brother and friends, making your Geonwoo and Woojin proud of your progress. Just when you were about to get your life together again.

You opened the door of Yuno's room, eyes wide as you watched him sleep on the bed. You were there just staring at him sleeping for a good 10 minutes.

When you finally got back to your room, you stared at your reflection in the mirror, staring at the locket hanging around your neck.

It looked so much like a noose.

prev | masterlist | next

A/N : if at this point you don't wanna read this story anymore, i wouldn't put it against you. because from this point on, this shit is abt to get rlly sick and twisted

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

• taglist • [CLOSED]

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[pervertwhore]

CURRENT WIPS !!

DEAD DOVE CONTENT MENTIONED UNDER THE CUT, if you’re not a fan of d.d. content do not interact with this post! i am not responsible for what you consume.

filler post! these are a list of my current wips for upcoming fics with sneak peeks! if you would like to be tagged in any of these, please let me know by replying or filling out my taglist :3 i hope you like them <3

DAD! LEON X DAUGHTER! READER — tw. incest, noncon, dubcon. based on an interaction i had with this leon bot made by my beloved @gor3-hound !! permission to make this interaction a fic has been given <3

when your dad comes back from alcatraz, you want nothing more than to cling onto his side. leon, being the good dad he is, he is happy to indulge your clinginess. you will always be his baby girl no matter what! so when you ask if you could sleep in his bed the night of his arrival, he happily obliged.

what he didn’t expect was waking up with a hard on while you stayed cuddled to his side! leon is a good dad, and he would never do anything to you, but instead, you took it into your hands to help him with that hard on! no matter how morally wrong it was.

DAD! LEON X DAUGHTER’S BEST FRIEND! READER — tw. noncon, corruption, baby trapping. based on two asks i sent @rigorwhoring while i was 💋 anon. ask 1, ask 2.

after getting kicked out of your house by your narcissist mother, you’re left with little money and no roof to sleep under. luckily for you, your best friend from college — sherry kennedy — convinces her dad to let you stay with them until you’re able to stand on your own two feet. meeting mr. kennedy was anxiety inducing, but sherry assured you that her dad isn’t as scary as he seems!

leon wasn’t a fan of sharing his home with some girl he hasn’t met before, but he couldn’t say no to his little girl. after meeting you and seeing how cute you were, leon wasn’t as annoyed as he was before. an attraction began to form for leon, you cooked, cleaned, and behaved. you would be the perfect little wife, so one night he takes initiative to make you just that.

UNCLE! LEON X NIECE! READER — tw. incest, noncon. based on a convo i had with @gor3-hound about the idea of uncle! leon.

you have no idea how no one else has noticed his behavior towards you. he’s beloved by your family, your dad’s younger brother, a government worker. uncle leon can do no wrong, but you know he can. you know the real him.

you thought skipping out on the family get together at your uncle’s house would grant you some distance away from him, but that’s just wishful thinking. your uncle is like a cold sore, one that keeps coming back, no matter how hard you try to get rid of it. your uncle isn’t an idiot, he knew you were trying to get away from him, it was cute really. sadly, your uncle isn’t the type to simply give up, so after final exam season is over for your college, leon comes to stay over at your dad’s house. now you’re stuck, wishing you had just gone to the get together, because now you’re sharing the same roof with the man you had so desperately tried to away from.

and you know what dear uncle leon is going to do to you.

MPREG! LEON X FEM! READER — cw. pregnant leon, tbh idk how leon got pregnant but who cares, male lactation, leon hates the fact he’s pregnant, sucking on his pecs..breastfeeding? handjobs. mpreg obsession came after this mpreg! chris bot made by @/nexysworld — idk if you wanna be tagged! — (it was really hot you should use the bot!)

how the fuck did this shit happen? leon had no fucking clue, he’s a full biological man, he had a dick and balls. he doesn’t have a womb? but he’s pregnant? he has a girlfriend! he dreamed about getting you pregnant, making you full with his kid, but now he’s the one full with your kid.

leon was apprehensive to keep the baby, but after some talks, it was decided to keep it. you, being the good girlfriend you are, you take good care of him. leon wanted to hate you for putting him in this situation, it didn’t help that sometimes you could be so mean about it. teasing him and making jabs at the fact he’s pregnant. nonetheless, you’re still taking care of him, and he can’t complain. as the months passed and his pregnancy progressed, his pecs began to swell with milk, it made them full and uncomfortable. his pecs still looked like pecs, though they were just fuller. the milk he produced was just there, making him achy and uncomfortable given he hasn’t had the kid yet, how the hell was he supposed to drain them?

after leon came to you with his grievances, you decided to help him out. there was no harm in milking your pregnant boyfriend’s swollen pecs! besides, you decide to help him in other ways too, god knows he needs it. in moments like these, leon is forever grateful to have you at his side.

[metis-iphigenia]

DAMIAN WAYNE SCHOOL HEADCANONS because school opened like 2-3 weeks ago and i need to cope

•since he is 15 years old, he is in 10th grade(not letting dc pull a tim drake and make him the same age forever)

•he used to love chemistry in the 9th grade because the first subject was alchemy if i remember correctly(dc can pry the "al ghuls are alchemists" hc(canon) from my cold dead hands)

but he lost interest in chemistry quickly after the subject passed.

•his all time favourite classes are math and art. im just sure damian's type of person that doesnt separate math and art from eachother

•why art is his favourite is a given but his favourite is math because math is a class based on problem solving(and also because he can do math easily)

but yeah ik his classmates are very very annoyed whenever he says "math is easy"

•I imagine him arguing with his english teacher the most for some reason. there is no reason other than damian is a very educated kid about the english literature(literature in general) so either he doesnt care or he correct his teacher on literally everything.

•i feel like he would either do a very detail research about the book he read and write a very long essay, or make a very short one and not enough detailed. no in between(because he misunderstood his teachers when they said to "keep it short")

•he begged his father to let him take an exam that lets him skil grades based on his level but his father refused so now he takes advanced math etc.

•him and duke see eachother in the morning regularly(insomniac duke, and damian who wakes up at 5.30 is real) and they sit down to talk about random shit till 7 am mostly(duke explained him the fnaf lore and damian talked about creepypastas real)

•he texts with maps both on their way to their separate schools and make plans to meetup after school to just hang out

•damian usually reads or draws in most of the classes since he already knows everything they are teaching but when asked a question, he does yap a lot(dc should bring back yapper damian ngl)

•bathroom breakdowns were very real for 9th grade damian(literally canon event for everyone with social anxiety or people who get overstimulated at school)

•still bullied just doesnt care about it and insults them/messes with them back to get back at the bullies(it stops after him also messing with them)

•he loves playing football and volleyball but not with his teammates(ik hes #3 frat boy hater i just feel it) so he only gets along with 2 of his teammates. i imagine their personality as scott and stiles from teen wolf so yeah

•has one(1) friend and two(2) teammates he doesnt hate in total(girlfailure and girlsuccess damian youre real to me🙌😼)

also he got multiple friends outside of school anyways lmao bro is anything BUT anti-social(to me hes also the type to join his schools projects etc or debate teams)

•he always calls his mother when he makes it to school and whenever hes leaving it because talia worries and he wants ease her worries(ultimate mother daughter duo)

•after school he has a yap session with nika and they talk about everything that happened to them that day(yapper4yapper gravebird my beloved)

•him and stephanie rant about school daily and talk about how much they hate it(but they both wont drop out since steph wants that med school degree and damian also wants it in the future(med student sisterisms real))

•jon may be going to a journalism school(i think??) but hes still a science nerd so their study sessions always turns into an argument about an equation or a science problem

>>> so i think thats it!! please tell me your headcanons too and help me cope with school also because i love reading about hcs(esp thosr about damian) <<<<

[aklaustaleteller]

We'll Meet Again, Beloved

Klaus is in trouble again and his lover, who is soon to become the goddess that the wolves would get to worship, comes to his rescue, again. And it's painful to come with the knowledge that she's always leaving in the end. But at last, this'd be the last time she'd ever have to leave.

Warnings - mentions of blood and inflicted pain.

Word Count - 1.8k

Masterlist | please reblog the fic if you like it!

This is actually a rewritten version of this fic that I'd posted in 2021! I'm quite proud to say that I think it's much better than it had originally been, so I hope you like it as well! I'd be rewriting a couple more fics before I post the new work I've written, so yay! Enjoy <3

Fury burned Klaus’ eyes with such extreme rage that they began to shine a golden ring inside, the one that made it look like there was a solar eclipse inside his once beautifully green orbs. Aguish encapsulated all of his bones as if he were turning into his wolf form, his blood beginning to boil inside him and pour out of the corners of his mouth that had twisted into a dangerous snarl.

“You’re a monster!” The witch shouted at him, blood slipping out her own nose as she threw hateful insults at him, her voice growing louder in order to maintain the effect of the spell as she herself grew weaker by spending her magic such carelessly. 

Her hands shook and yet she kept them faced towards Klaus, who kneeled due to the force, writhing in pain in front of her, screaming at her the death threats that she knew weren’t empty. Her eyes clenched shut as she yelled, her voice shaking similarly to Klaus’ hands that he held his head with. 

“Stop it!” Klaus shouted at her, denying himself from crouching in the agonising pain that she’d been inflicting on him for so long that she’d fallen to her knees as well. Klaus knew that she knew were she to fail this attempt of ending him, she won’t live to even see him get off his knees – seeing as she refused to back down despite the fact that she might end herself with him. 

His body shook as if he’d been given wolfsbane and his forearms dug further deep into the ground. 

Looking up at her with her death flashing in his eyes, Klaus screamed at her once again. “Stop this or I will make sure your death is as painful as I can make it!” 

He raised his arm in order to reach her, noticing the indent he had caused in the soil as he struggled to raise his head. And in that moment he decided that this would be the very place he would leave her dead for the animals to feast upon. 

“Stop,” Klaus growled as her magic finally began to weaken, losing its grip on him as the witch lay on the ground, chanting the spell with as much power as her wilting body could muster up.

“Burn in hell,” the witch dared to stop herself and grit her teeth at him, now muttering the spell under her breath. She shut her eyes to stop herself from witnessing the smirk on Klaus’ mouth that was curling to show his sharp canines that would be tearing her apart into shreds. 

“And where, little witch, do you think he’s come from, then?” A soft voice mumbled tauntingly, causing Klaus to lift his gaze up from the witch’s trembling body to look at the woman leaning over her, whispering something under her breath that stopped the witch’s heart and tore it to pieces inside her chest – Klaus could hear that, or perhaps, he was persuaded to hear that.

The pain coursing through his body stopped and he felt his insides healing within a matter of seconds as he stood up from the ground, covered in blood and dirt. Still, he managed to smile graciously at the woman.

She wasn’t just any woman, no. She was a child to the gods, soon to become one herself as her turning year turned into the turning month, creeping up on her faster than she’d anticipated becoming Y/n, a goddess for all the wolves to worship. 

“My one and only,” she smiled back at him, a smile that could kill and bring one back from death’s hand itself. Her head lulled to the side as she looked at him adoringly, her soft plush lips calling out to him to come to her. Her hair flying behind her, making her seem all the more mystical and alluring than she already was. 

From where her hands had been hanging beside her, she offered them for Klaus to hold. Following his gaze to her right hand, she noticed some blood smeared on it and a corner of her mouth lifted. She shifted her weight on her right leg, freeing her left leg to relax a little. 

Which then made Klaus’ attention to catch on the bottom of her dress. It seemed as if it had been scraped and torn, the tearing marks seeming sharp, almost ready to dagger whatever lay beneath. The skirt flowed with the wind, allowing Klaus to see dirt crawling up her legs, telling him that there’d again been a struggle when she’d tried to come to him. 

“It was the god that the Vampires worship. He put up a rather annoying tantrum and tried to stop me from coming to you, my love,” she shrugged, complaining innocently and answering his question before he’d even asked it, all at once.  “You know I had to,” she grinned, a little cunningly. 

And then, her ears caught up with his ragged breathing. “Go,” she whispered, watching Klaus turn in front of her as she rid him of the pain he would’ve felt had she not been here.  

And as Klaus ran off into the woods, hunting down all that came in his way from camping humans to newly turned vampires looking to feed themselves, Y/n stood near the witch’s body and shut her eyes, trying to catch a word with the Witch’s god. He, who was already rather annoyed that another one of his had died because of defying the one rule he’d set. 

“I told you, anyone who’d hurt him would die,” Y/n muttered under her breath.

“I apologise, dear Y/n. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again” he sighed, and he must’ve opened his eyes because the connection had seemingly broken. 

So she opened her eyes, looking at the neverending sky, full of stars that witnessed such evil too frequently for her comfort.

This hadn’t been the first time she’d helped Klaus, nor was it the first time a tear had slipped out of her eyes because of the restrictions that prevented her from confessing to him until she’d turned herself into a goddess, a trap that had been set by the gods themselves – they’d known her yearn to be a human and walk the Earth and yet, they’d put up the condition over her so she’d turn, a trap. And she was willing to step into it just so that she’d never have to leave Klaus again. And she was going to, soon. 

She’d coffessed such to him before, which was the reason that he mostly tried to stay away from her – to prevent inflicting pain on her already beaten heart. To wait until she could safely be his, without her heart breaking into a million pieces over the reminder that it was going to take a long time before she could let herself fold in his arms. 

Wiping the lone tear, she sat up focusing her attention on his movement to see if he was going to come back anytime soon. She waited for him, for her favourite wolf, to come and ask her to turn him back so that he could touch her with just as much vulnerability as she did him.

Her mind lulled her to think about his state when he’d return. His soft shiny fur would be wet with blood and sweat, paws as soft as feathers after running at the speed of light, ears flopped down in search of comfort and searching for her heartbeat. She jerked a little when she heard twigs breaking and leaving rustling, crunching and crushing under his paws as he neared her. His nose sniffing and his fur brushing against trees. 

She moves to catch sight of him, instead feeling his paw on her back. She turned to take him in her arms, to lay back with him on top of her, so that his heart would calm down listening to hers. But when she did do that, instead of putting his head in the crook of her neck, Klaus looked into her eyes – searching them for something while the one thing Y/n saw in his eyes was a raw seek for comfort.

Showing him all the love that he needed to be reassured, she felt as he melted in her arms right then and there. His snout reached her exposed neck while he remained lying on top of her with his head on her chest, looking up at her with the truest loving eyes. 

But then she felt a tear slip down her skin and she brought her hands to scratch his fur, holding him a little closer. “It’s alright, little wolf. You’ll be alright,” she whispered. “You’re in safe hands, lay to rest for a little,” she assured him, knowing that all his senses must be heightened right now. 

Tears collected on the rim of her eyes as she thought of the times she almost lost him, lost her grasp on him because of the very consequences of his own actions, had witnessed him crying to himself because of the number of times he had been betrayed. But she blinked them away when she heard him purr lightly, coming to the realisation that he was safe and in her arms, and that was all that mattered in the moment. 

He got off of her when the moon began to hide away behind drifting clouds, making her sit up as well. 

“Let’s get you back to your disguise, shall we, little wolf?” She asked him, a whisper of her soft giggle following behind. 

Klaus wagged his tail twice, indicating that he was indeed ready. He felt his heart swell with love when she ruffled his fur while moving to stand up, scratching behind his ear a couple times before asking him to follow her. 

Coming to halt under direct moonlight, she closed her eyes before mumbling a spell, so softly that even Klaus would have taken that as the mere sound of wind during nightfall. He kept looking at her until a tear slipped past her shut eyes, which made him look down and brush up against her feet for the last time, for a long while. 

When he looked up again, she’d already been gazing at him. Leaning down, she pressed a kiss between his eyes and walked back a couple steps. 

“We’ll meet again soon, beloved,” Y/n whispered, another tear escaping her eyes as a gust of wind carried her away with it, leaving no trace of her other than the tingling beneath Klaus’ skin. 

Klaus looked up at the sky then and swore to her that he’d be waiting for her right here the next time she’d come down to meet him, to finally let herself go in his arms. And his eyes glossed over as he felt another gush of wind, this time changing him from his wolf form, and back to his hybrid physique. 

[rae-pss]

Hello again rae! So I just saw that you read my ask about my think in chap 5 in whb. And I am so happy we have thing in common so here I give you some another imagine of whb self aware idea for you. Since I think about it long enough and want to share it with you. ( Just take you time to have a idea to writing about this content , I will be waiting 😄 ).

Just imagine that we ( the reader ) found out a way to control the mc in a short or long moment or talk through the mc body.

- Everytime sitri call the mc (Ra-on) solomon ( own sexy pewpaw , I can't lie the fact that he so beautiful , no wonder god like him ). the reader will be like ' I will find a way to control the mc to make them ignore him or make him cry on his knee to apologize and call out the MC's name correctly '.

- everytime the seraphim attack the hell or even talk nonsense about kill the mc or enything about god the reader will be like ' no wonder why god leave you all , because you all are so annoying and dumb '.

- ( Like I say in another ask about bully leviathan ) in his H-scent , the moment he talk shit about minhyeok and say human are weak then the reader like ' fuck this , I will teach you lesson ' control the Mc body and then dominant him back like choke him by the whip he give them and then choke him hard until he almost faint then I will stop. And no is not done yet. Is the mc not dominant the hell out of him then the reader will do it , until he beg for more and I will stop and get out of there leave him like that as a pay back. ( cockblock him make him so close to cum and then leave him like that ).

And that all what I want to say. And feel free to use my imagine is one of it make you have a idea to write , I even happy is you do ☺️😄🤔

masterlist

˗ˏˋ꒰ 💭 ꒱ . . . shout out to the inspiration i suddenly got to do sitri and levi' parts. i hope you like it, dear anon (<3). ˗ˏˋ꒰ 💭 ꒱ . . . lowercase intended, 944 words, first it's sitri, then gabriel, and lastly leaviathan. mentions of the word cock and choking (character receiving) in levi's part since it has a little smut (?).

how you achieved that was something that not even you could understand. was there even a way to do it? well, the existential questions could wait for another time, now you had to take advantage of every damn second that fate had given you.

you couldn't waste this opportunity to talk to your beloved characters.

the walk seemed very normal for the blue-stranded demon, one more of the many that sitri had taken with his beloved solomon since his recent return. how much he missed those moments of quiet peace when it was just him, solomon, and their precious heartbeat.

—how are you feeling, sol-?

the demon didn't even have time before one hand grabbed the black cravat (handkerchief) of his shirt and then pulled with force, thus making his eyes come face to face with solomon's. and, once again gaining on him in time, they spoke loud and clear.

—call me by that dead man's name one more time and you'll end up crying on a street corner, ignored by me until the day I decide to forgive your sorry ass.

their eyes seemed to shine with a unique intensity. it was certainly similar to how satan's eyes did when someone alluded to his lack of height; however, something about them appeared different. it wasn't the usual way their irises looked, now they felt more… more alive.

regardless, a few seconds later their hand left his garment as quickly as they had first grabbed it. their expression showed some stupor, but sitri decided to disregard it for the moment. maybe the influence of his king was harming his beloved sol- his beloved ra-on.

no one could say exactly how many times they had already met, nor was it so crucial to know the number. not when, once again, the Seraph was flying over a devastated and decaying gehenna, looking down from the sky at the destruction he and his angels had brought to the kingdom of wrath.

despite the initial pleasure that such sights brought him, his smile was erased from his pale face when his eyes fell on the figure of a certain human.

"that damn descendant of that dead man..."

with his eyebrows furrowed and his jaw already clenched, gabriel pointed the blade of his scythe at them.

—how annoying it's... you foolish human being still alive.

and, as usually happened in each of his meetings, not very pleasant ones to whoever had to listen to the white-haired angel, he began to talk and talk about his love for god, about how everyone who wasn’t in heaven were beings unworthy of being alive, of how god will return, of how he should kill them in an instant... in general, he began his long monologue with himself out loud.

—no wonder why god left you all, i mean, you’re so annoying.

that was as if a drop of water had fallen on his head. some words that he never expected to hear from that human's lips. a simple phrase that awakened every desire to end their pathetic existence once and for all.

—you, insolent child!

he could say little more when, as usually happened, the demons made an appearance and the battle started once more.

the day he had them in his hands... that day gabriel would make them pay for having dared to say such things, about him and his dear god.

this was new. it was the first time in his long existence as king that someone had left him in such a miserable state without even hesitating twice. so renewed was it that, even there leviathan was still lying on the ground with his right hand on his neck, caressing the irritated skin, and his cock standing proud waiting for any release.

not long ago he was with that descendant of solomon, that peculiar human, helping them with the dose of demonic essence they so much needed to stay alive down there. although, he thought he’d give it to them in his way.

what he never expected from such an excuse of a being was that they’d use his tactics against him so naturally.

it was the exact moment in which their gaze became more intense, their fist tightened the handle of the whip and, with a sigh escaping past their lips, they took a few assertive steps forward until, without even thinking about it, they wrapped the rope around his neck. and tightened the material.

seconds were what leviathan needed to notice how the air disappeared agonizingly from his lungs, how the little oxygen in him vanished after the oppression of the whip around his neck.

—don't think you can go around saying those things like it's nothing.

the human commented fiercely, letting themselves sit comfortably on his lap without any problem. the force they used on the object increased and decreased depending on how blue they noticed his face. yet, some other color also dared to be seen on his cheeks.

—this excites you, doesn't it? 

they spat hatefully, squeezing the ends of the whip harder, they let the demon beneath their body writhe in a mixture of the most lascivious of pleasures and the most tortuous of agonies. all of this would have been better if they hadn't noticed his hardened member twitching underneath their crotch.

—pathetic that you get so eager when being choked... as pathetic as only you could be.

from there, everything became a blurry memory for him. a memory blinded by the balance of passion and pain that ended once they had their fair fun with him. to then, leave him there on the floor like the waste they remarked him he was.

[gnomeonamelon]

Hello! I wanted to post some designs for my versions of the PJO trio! For the sake of reference: Annabeth and Percy (in that order) are 19 and Grover is 32/16.

These designs are meant to be a fusion of their TLO and their HoO designs (Percy and Annabeth both have their new weapons but old hair and Grover's missing his Lord decor)

ANs Below! (idk if you need a spoiler warning if you're here but abandon all hope, ye who enter for there are secrets abound)

All of their colors were taken from their animal inspiration of choice (hence why everyone has a different shade of orange). The only one that had an added color was Percy because Skyrian horses don't have a shade of blue in them (despite their names)

Percy:

Since I'm already talking about Percy, given that everyone in a mile radius seems to have a crush on this teenage boy/ young man, he ends up being a bit of a badboy heartthrob (at least in appearance).

In this universe, Hera severs the connection between Percy and Riptide, causing her to not be able to return to Percy's pocket (and she can bond with a new wielder, but we'll come back to that). When he joins The Legion, they cut his hair significantly, brand him, and he eventually gains an imperial gold spatha (a massive Roman sword typically used by cavalry/ on horseback)

He and Annabeth keep the streaks of white they gained in The Titans Curse >:(. Percy also gains a new scar from Luke/ Kronos (mirroring his own).

Annabeth:

It was mentioned in The Hammer of Thor that Annabeth was noticeably growing her hair out which makes me think it was originally much shorter.

Since Athena is a virgin goddess and a goddess of the arts, I imagine that she and her siblings were sculpted in Athena's and their mortal parents' images and brought to life Galatea style as a gift to her favored. Annabeth was probably originally made of marble before being brought to life.

Annabeth originally wields the xiphos/ dagger Luke gave her and makes up for her lack of brute strength and speed with sneakiness (invisibility). Percy would teach her to use a sword and, when he goes missing and is presumed dead by the general Greek public, she wields Riptide (a makhaira), taking advantage of her hard-won skill and brutality, no longer hiding behind her cap.

Grover:

All of his shapes are so round <3 Beloved <3 His pose came out a little strange, but the ideas are all there.

He's considered part of the staff, being paid by the camp to be a Searcher for them (he uses his pay to fund his search for Pan when he's not looking for demigods).

His skirt mirrors the length of a male Greek chiton and he is both more comfortable in mortal clothing than other satyrs and pants are not suited for his leg shape (also just a little wink and nod at Zoe saying Grover's not a boy in TTC). He also loses the Rosta cap just after Battle of The Labyrinth as those horns will not fit bestie.

After becoming Lord of the Wild, Grover wears leaves and flowers in his hair and horns (there's definitely some juniper in there) as well as probably gaining a new outfit or potentially loosing clothes entirely.

Their Ages:

I decided that the reason all the campers are roughly the same age is because their powers develop roughly in line with Erik Erikson's Stages of Development. The gain power boosts at roughly 2, 6, 11, 18, 25, and 65 (if they live that long).

Grover found Percy when he was 11 but didn't bring him to camp until he was actually attacked by a monster when he was 13 (almost 14).

I decided to add a normal summer where there are no quests, and the Trio can just train in between TLT and SoM.

The Prophecy has been changed to 18 (when the Big Three demigod becomes an adult psychosocially).

[heliads]

LISA REQUESTS ARE OPEN AHHHH!!! I have been waiting for this moment!!

Could I pretty please request Steven Meeks (my beloved) with a female reader? The reader is a student at Welton who’s disguised herself and pretended to be a boy at her family’s request since Welton doesn’t accept girls but she was smart enough to get in and her family wanted her to have a good education. Since she’s friends with Neil and Charlie, she gets invited to be a part of the Dead Poets Society, and because of that she gets to know Meeks and gets closer to him, but she feels terrible about lying to him. So one night at a Dead Poets meeting, she stands up and admits to being a girl, and though she’s terrified about them reacting badly the other Dead Poets promise not to tell anyone because she’s their friend (except for Cameron, obvs, but the others kind of bully him into promising). And then afterwards she has a one-on-one conversation with Meeks where she tells him how she feels and he admits he feels the same (and maybe he even felt the same about her when he thought she was a boy but was scared to say anything) and it’s just really cute?

Of course, if you don’t wanna write this that’s totally cool!! Thanks in advance, and I hope you’re doing well, beloved!! <3

'the secrets that we keep' - steven meeks

masterlist

a/n: in the fic, b/n stands for boy name. since reader is pretending to be a boy, you need a boy name for Vibes and Plot

Although dutifully called on by schoolboys to change the age-old protocol, Welton Academy has never admitted a girl to their brilliant ranks. For reasons of religious purity, single-minded pursuit of study, and otherwise knowing how easily distracted teenage boys are by a pretty face, the doors of this bright school have shut in the face of willing and able female candidates for years. It is a long-standing rule, as familiar as not running in the halls or sneaking off campus to engage in underage drinking. Similarly, this rule is about to be ignored by yet another student, and this one is you.

Headmaster Nolan firmly intended to maintain this rule. Your parents wanted a good education for their daughter. Never before has such a violent clash rocked the hills of Vermont. Not in a while, at least. It took many, many heated arguments and a good deal of defensive letters, plus a promise to secure an internship at a nearby hospital for the son of Headmaster Nolan’s good friend, a certain Mr. Perry. Also, you would have to promise to keep the whole girl thing under wraps.

This may seem impossible, but they were the terms of your acceptance to the prestigious school, and you were willing to live by them. No doubt Headmaster Nolan would be watching you like a hawk for even the smallest of slip ups, but you don’t intend to give him even a second of victory over you. You’ll play according to his rules, and you’ll ace your classes at the same time. Wouldn’t it be funny if one of Welton’s brightest pupils was a girl?

These were the sorts of thoughts that helped tide you over the summer until your first day of school. When that inevitable day came around, though, you couldn’t help but feel paranoia wrap around your stomach with cold, digging claws. This whole idea seemed impossible. How could you possibly pretend to be a boy the whole time you were at the school? You could cut your hair short and deepen your voice, stomp around the halls and act as if you were just like the rest, but what a thing to do. Still, whenever you think about quitting, you think about the triumphant expression on the headmaster’s face, knowing he’d assigned you the one task he thought impossible. If you were going to do anything, you could at least prove him wrong.

With this mindset in place, you move your belongings into Welton. You’ve been given a single room, as the headmaster decided that having a roommate would only complicate things. Smart move there; it might be difficult to hide your evident lack of masculinity from someone who’d be with you around the clock.

There are plenty of singles in the Welton dorms, the students placed inside for various reasons. It’s nothing uncommon. Still, it does draw a fair amount of attention during move-in, as students pretend not to openly stare at you while you’re unpacking your luggage to see what kind of kid could manage to pull the lucky slot of a dorm room all to themselves.

One group of boys in particular seems keen on making your acquaintance, although their attention, unlike that of many of the other students coincidentally passing by your door, seems pleasant instead of demanding. Their apparent leader, Neil Perry, drops by to say hello. Always glad to see a new face, or so he’d claimed.

Neil was the first, quickly followed by his new roommate, Todd Anderson, plus Neil’s best friend, Charlie Dalton. An additional entourage of Gerard Pitts and Steven Meeks joined them soon enough, and a redheaded Richard Cameron followed up the tour, although judging by the not-so-subtle hostility in everyone’s glances his way, Cameron would be the least favored of the whole group.

At first, you’re terrified to have that much attention directed your way. Your goal was to skate under the radar, only making friends when you absolutely had to so you could both avoid detection and focus on your studies. Although it might make for a lonelier experience, staying undercover was far more important. Your parents were sacrificing a lot to keep you in Welton’s halls. You couldn’t afford to disappoint them by getting caught all because you started feeling alone.

However, none of the boys seem to notice that you’re not what you claim. They take up your explanation of having recently moved there readily enough, as it would explain why they’d never heard of your boy name before. You picked that one out earlier that month as if it were a new notebook or yet another school supply: B/N. It’ll be tricky to remember to respond to that name, but no trickier than any other part of this little scheme.

Besides, once classes start to kick up, all of you have far bigger fish to fry than unraveling the precise identities of the latest addition to the friend group. Soon, questions about where you grew up and how you managed to get yourself cast down to Hellton are replaced with frantic trig study sessions and grievous Latin complaints.

If there’s one class none of you seem to mind at all, though, it would be English. The other boys heard rumors that you’d be getting a new teacher, but none of them knew a thing about this Mr. Keating. The general consensus is that English this term would be no different from English at any other time of year; plenty of assigned readings, loads of essays required to be written under short durations, and all of the other joys that a required literature course often brings.

This, however, was not to be the case. From the moment Mr. Keating opened his mouth, all of you knew you’d be in for a treat. Some of you were less hesitant to embrace Mr. Keating into your hearts, namely Cameron, but the rest of you have been quick to appreciate what you have. For once, you’re having fun in class. Who could have an issue with that?

And, when Neil swoops by your seat and asks you if you’d be willing to engage in the first meeting of the new Dead Poets Society out in the woods that evening, you know that the impact your new teacher has on his students is far more drastic than even you’d envisioned. You agree readily, and the rest of your friends look pleased with themselves for managing to boost their numbers with such an agreeable fellow.

If there was one boy who looked the happiest that you’d be joining them after hours, you’d have to say that it was Steven Meeks. Although he may not be the loudest of the set, Steven has quickly been rising through the ranks in your mind. He’s been working on this radio set almost nonstop with Pitts, but every time Steven accomplishes even the smallest of achievements, he immediately has to put everything aside to rush to your side and tell you all about it. It’s wonderful to watch him, how his eyes light up as he talks, hands waving wildly in the air while he talks about receiving signals and communication potential.

You should know better than to get attached. There is a significant chance that your whole ruse will be revealed sooner rather than later, and you’ll be unceremoniously removed from Welton, never to speak to any of these boys again. Still, watching Steven’s ginger curls fall messily about his bright eyes, tracing the path of his hand absentmindedly combing back the strands so he can focus on repeating the information he’s just learned, you can’t help but wonder if maybe this one connection wouldn’t be so bad. Your friends wouldn’t turn you in.

Besides, cutting yourself off from Steven sort of feels like chopping off a limb. When the lot of you sneak out from the dorms that evening, running and howling through the forest, Steven stays by your side the entire time. Dry leaves crunch underfoot, and the moon hangs low and bright overhead. Your heart beats erratically from its cage in your ribs, and you wonder how you could ever have been afraid of something like this. This is living, you decide. You and Steven in the endless night, laughing like crazy, more free than you’ve ever been even as you live your greatest lie.

The first meeting of the Dead Poets Society is a wild success. You take turns reading off various stanzas and prose, alternating between oohing appreciatively at a particularly good turn of phrase and teasing each other wholeheartedly whenever someone provides the opportunity. Despite the jokes, the atmosphere in the cave is reverential, almost. Everyone believes in the strange spirit that’s bewitched all of you, the knowledge that what you’re doing here will make you gods of men. It’s entrancing and awe-inspiring and the first thing you ask the next morning is when all of you will be meeting up to do it again.

Charlie breaks into raucous laughter. “See, that’s the spirit we want! Even B/N here wants more. We’re high off poetry, imagine that.”

You scowl at him, even as the others laugh along. “What do you mean, even B/N? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Charlie rolls his eyes. “Nothing, honestly. Just that you didn’t seem all that inclined to hang out with us at the start of the semester, that’s all. We got worried you didn’t like us so much, but obviously that’s not so anymore.”

You arch a brow incredulously. “Of course I like you guys! Would I put up with Neil’s monologues if I didn’t? Or Cameron’s bullshit? Or all of you howling in a cave past midnight so we can pay homage to dead poets worldwide?”

Steven snorts, more at the disbelieving look on Cameron’s face than anything else. “Now that’s a vote of sympathy if you’ll ever get one. I, for one, never doubted you.”

Charlie scoffs loudly. “Of course you didn’t, Steven. Anyone who listens to you ramble on about the benefits of the modern radio as much as B/N would have to be your best friend. Honestly, I’m surprised that didn’t scare him off more than anything else.”

Steven’s face falls, and to cover up for it, you say quickly, “I don’t mind the radio talk. Honest. It’s interesting.”

“Sure it is,” Charlie says a little too loudly, “So’s the company. Anyway, B/N’s right. How about tomorrow night for another meeting? Bring your best limericks, I want to be entertained.”

Neil breaks into choking laughter. “Absolutely, your highness. All your jesters will do their best to make you crack a smile.”

“It’s an honor and a privilege, you know that,” Charlie defends himself.

As you watch the friend group devolve into cackling laughter, you can’t help but meet Steven’s eyes across the table. Instead of getting caught up in the mock argument between Charlie and Neil, he hasn’t lost focus on you for one instant. When he catches you looking, he smiles quietly and mouths, thank you. You smile back.

The meetings of the illustrious Dead Poets Society carry on for weeks. As they go, you realize that you’ve never had friends like these, and it feels as if you never will. They’re the best, brightest bunch of boys in the world. You trust them more than you do anyone else. Those sacred spaces in the caves off campus, baptized by moonlight and wild imagination, make you feel more like you than anything else.

Except, of course, for one secret that still hangs in your way.

You haven’t told anyone that you’re a girl. Your silence carries with it the weight of your studies at Welton. If you want to stay, no one can know. It’s as easy as that. Still, in the quiet, happy moments when the wild laughter fades and you’re left looking around at the faces of the boys who have become your brothers, you can’t help but wonder if maybe you could tell them after all. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they knew. Maybe they would even help you maintain your cover.

It would be nice to have a little bit of this burden off of your shoulders, after all. It feels as if every waking moment not spent studying is chained to making this lie work. Every time someone talks to you, you’re certain they’ve figured you out. This sort of paranoia is driving you mad, and being able to finally share the secret feels like a relief akin to offering a drink of water to a man dying of thirst.

The opportunity to share comes up sooner than you expected. At one of the Dead Poets Society’s meetings, Neil turns to you with a slight frown when they’re asking around for someone else to share a piece.

“B/N, do you want to go next? You’ve been quiet all meeting, I don’t want to speak over you accidentally.”

You shake your head a little too quickly. “No, no, I’m good. Just thinking.”

This, more than anything, attracts attention. Charlie grins, leaning over to you dramatically. “Thinking about what? World domination?”

You snort. “I’ll leave those plans to you, thanks.”

“Come on, B/N, talk to us,” Neil urges. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Your breath hitches in your throat. This is it, your chance. They’re all here, all willing to hear you out. If not now, then when?

“Alright,” you begin, “There is something I do need to say. I’ve, uh, been keeping a secret from you. A pretty big one.”

Charlie arches a brow. “A big secret? Let me guess, you’re secretly a teacher in disguise sent to keep an eye on us.”

This would usually elicit a laugh from you, but tonight you’re so worried about getting this right that you can’t even muster up a weak chuckle. “Not quite, Charlie. I’m–” The words dry up in your throat. How do you say this, after all this time?

The other boys stare at you expectantly. You’ve started now, you can’t back out anymore. “I’m a girl,” you say in a rush. “My parents wanted me to get a good education so they sent me to Welton. The headmaster really didn’t want to let me in, but he only allowed me to enroll if no one knew I was a girl. He said he didn’t want to mess with his pristine record of only letting boys inside or something. It’ll still show up on my college record that I went here, and he wouldn’t have to handle the difficulty of more girl students. I’ve been pretending to be a boy this whole time, but I’m not. I’m a girl.”

The words hang in the air. For once, the cave is absolutely silent. You can hear quiet breathing all around you, nothing more. Your eyes are fixed on the stone in front of you, resolutely refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. You’re certain that if you were to look up, you’d only see disgust or disbelief on their faces. This was their sacred space, and you’ve broken it to bits with your secret. You never should have told them. You never should have thought you could pull this off in the first place.

Just when you’re debating the merits of running for the dorms to get out of here, Charlie starts clapping loudly. You jerk up, expecting him to be mocking you, but instead his expression is celebratory. “Let’s go!” He says. “I’ve been waiting for a girl to go here forever. Of course Headmaster Nolan would be an asshole about it. Wow. Can you get more of your friends to enroll, too?”

You stare at him incredulously. “You’re not mad?”

Neil breaks in. “Why on earth would we be mad? That’s totally cool. You’re like a spy or something. We should write a poem about it. Maybe even a play.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “It would be an honor to be your muse, Neil. But seriously, you’re all fine with it?”

“Of course we are,” Charlie assures you. “Jesus, have you really been worried about that? What were we going to do, kick you out? Your secret’s safe with us. We’re not rats.”

“We’re not?” Cameron chooses this moment to pipe up.

Immediately, he’s hit with death glares from every other boy in the cave. “No, we’re not,” Neil says firmly. “And if anyone even hints to an administrator or other student that B/N’s not a boy, they’ll get their ass kicked. Is that understood?”

Cameron nods, not meeting your eyes. Still, you have a feeling he’ll keep your secret.

Pitts raises a hand. “If you’re not a boy, is B/N your real name?”

“No,” you answer him. “I’m actually Y/N.”

“Sick name,” Charlie comments.

You swat him on the shoulder. “Shut up, Charlie.”

“Nuwanda,” he says in a dramatically injured tone.

Just like that, the tension is diffused. Once you’ve been assured a few more times that no one will say a word about your inherent lack of boyhood, the agenda turns back to poetry more. It’s like nothing even happened, except everything did. Your friends still support you. You feel more free than you could have even imagined, knowing that everything worked out.

On the way back to the dorms, you hang back a little, wanting to take in the events of the past hour by yourself. Steven notices and joins you.

“So,” he says quietly, “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” you affirm. “It’s not too weird, is it?”

“Trust me, it’s not,” Steven says. “This actually answers a lot of questions for me.”

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?”

It’s hard to tell in the darkness of night, but you swear his cheeks have started to heat up. “Well, I realized– or, I thought, really, I was sort of still deciding that for myself, I mean– Well, Y/N, I think I love you.”

Silence in the forest. “You love me?” You ask cautiously.

Steven scratches his head. “Yeah, I do. Hadn’t really admitted it to myself yet because I thought you were a boy. There was a lot of reflection going on. This makes a lot more sense, though.”

You can’t help it, but break into laughter. “I’m fascinated by that. What have the past few weeks been like for you?”

“Very confusing,” he answers. “Still a lot of questions left unanswered.”

“Like what?” You ask.

“Like if you like me,” he says quietly.

You smile again. “Well, I thought that one was obvious. I love you too.”

Steven stops walking completely. “Really?”

“Really,” you laugh. “Now come on, we have to get back to our dorms before an administrator notices we’re gone.”

Steven sighs dramatically. “The administrators are the last thing I want to talk about right now.”

You think your smile might never fade. “Me too. We’ve got plenty of time for that, though.”

Plenty of time indeed. The rest of this term, then on and on until both you and Steven can sum up perfectly what it feels like to be absolutely happy. For now, though, you think you’ll let the sensation of him taking your hand for the first time to lead you back through the forest do the explaining for you.

requested by @faerieroyal, i hope you enjoy!

dead poets society tag list: empty for now!

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[oh-no-its-bird]

<climbs in through your windows and falls fca first onto the floor>

Hey so uh I don't remember if you found a third to Huohua and Hana's team and I just wanted to jump in real quick with a suggestion that I think is around the same age as them-

Nara Ensui

My reasons are thus:

1. While the Ino-Shika-Cho trio is a big thing, clearly not all Yamanakas/Naras/Akimichis can be in one of those cells, and based on the naming convention, it seems to mainly apply to the clan heirs/main family, probably for political relations reasons

2. Ensui (seemingly) wears eyeliner and I feel like that should make him pivotal to the plot

I did actually choose someone to be their third on the team !! They're getting stuck with Kabuto bc I find him fascinating and it'll be a fun way to get Houhua dropped onto Orochimaru's radar

However Ensui is such a fun choice too, I might have to put him in my back pocket for later use. Ur so right, any character w eyeliner immediatley deserves to be elected for plot significance

I will say, I think it'd be so fun if he was added and we did play with like. There weren't enough kids to make an even number of ino-shika-choi teams. Do u think he'd feel left out? How do you think he'd be chosen to be the one excluded that year? So many fun thoughts ,,

Might have to play with that later actually, I like the crumbs of that narrative. Idk if Houhua is gonna pass the chunin exam yet so if he doesn't, maybe his second team can include him? Hana would pass for sure, and Kabuto's whole thing is that he fails it every year.

Actually quick side, note: the fact that this is possibly Kabuto's first chunnin exam (how old is he again ?? I don't fucking remember but not that old) is interesting too, he won't know what he's going into like he does other years

Anyways team (whatever number) my beloveds <3

Does their team number change w the teachers they're given ? Bc like, they were handed to Kakashi first, which would make them team 7 (for like half a day) but after that, are they still team 7? Could be cute if they're called smthn like team 7 and a half

Their team number is constantly shifting w each new teacher they're thrown at, the other teams just start calling them team 7 and a half to make fun of them and it sticks

Team 7 and a half my beloveds <3

Actually. Thinking ab Kabuto now. Having thoughts. Experiencing emotions.

I do think the most interesting result in Houhua being on a team w him would be he recognizes that Kabuto wants to fail the exam on purpose, then somehow, some way, tricks or corners him into passing.

VERY big wrench in Kabuto's plans and Houhua is suddenly on his list of least favorite people. He has BEEF. No idea how we'd get there tho, or if I even wanna fr take it there, I just think it'd be interesting.

ANYWAYS UHH

While I'm here and talking ab the au, take this comment from the vault fic chapter where I posted about the au:

I absoloutley think Jun and Kisame should get to know eachother for sure, itd be so fun !! Idk how exactly, but if nothing else Kisame seems to be great at handling standoffish ice prince bitches (*cough* Itachi *cough*) so he should be surprisingly good w interacting w Jun !

Which also brings up the fact that like. Jun and Itachi interacting would be the funniest thing ever. Because before Itachi hearing that Houhua has some mystery relationship w this guy, they're probably just standing next to eachother in dead silence (it's very peaceful)

But then Jun gets potentially rather violently recruited into Akatsuki, so now he's being very frosty (they are still standing together in dead silence)

And then by the time he melts a little, Itachi has noted the weirdness w Houhua. And now he's being super frosty and incredibly passive aggressive. And also possibly plotting a silent murder.

But Jun has no fucking clue who Houhua even IS so he literally has nothing he can say to explain this shit to calm Itachi down. And also does not care enough to even try to explain. And also Itachi is Itachi and isn't explaining why he himself is mad anyways so Jun has no fucking way of knowing why he's even mad. Or even telling that he is mad bc hes shit at reading people

(They are still standing next to eachother in dead silence)

Kisame comments on how whenever they're w Jun, Itachi is the most animated he's ever seen him. Very impressive work there Jun!

I do not think that Itachi would make a conscious plot to pretend to be in a relationship with Kisame. But I do think it'd be really fucking funny if Itachi, completely without thinking it through, blurts out that he's in a relationship w Kisame w some very vague (and possibly a little manic) only half-thought idea of making Houhua jealous.

Kisame is ???????? but doesn't argue bc Itachi is... probably going somewhere with this? Tho he doesn't understand where.......?

Itachi immediately regrets it (his face is still dead blank and unreadable, but he's screaming internally) but refuses to backtread bc that's embarrassing. He has never admitted to a mistake in his life, and he is not going to start here. (Kisame is going to RUTHLESSLY make fun of him for all of this later, and he will deserve it)

Itachi also blurted this out like. Totally unprompted and probably in the middle of a battle. No one (especially not Houhua) fucking asked. So Houhua, very very confused, goes "????? Good for you ???????? You still murdered our entire clan tho so um ?? I'm gonna keep fighting u? If thats ok?"

(No one in this conversation is leaving with their dignity intact)

I THINK ITD BE SUPER INTERESTING IF HE DID ACTUALLY? Hmm I might have to think ab that one. I wanna make sure all the mangekyou awakenings in this au are as heavy and significant as they really should be, yk? So idk if I'd wanna use Houhua's play dead jutsu for it, it'd feel a bit cheaper to me, just a bit. But then if I played it right ig it could be as heavy as it deserves. Mmmm, choices

Kabuto and Houhua are making direct eye contact going "I smell a rat in here and I KNOW it's not just me"

[captainkirkk]

🦇🎃 WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP 🎃🦇

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Merlin

The Hunt for Red Emrys by darkbluedark

King Arthur sets out to keep his promise to the spirit of the Druid boy by repealing his father's ban on magic. Unfortunately, this is easier said than done, for reasons including but not limited to the following:

(1) He can't change the law until he understands magic better, but no sorcerer is willing to explain magic to him until he changes the law;

(2) The sorcerers all have some strange obsession with Merlin, which is awakening all sorts of feelings in Arthur that he really doesn't fancy examining too closely;

(3) He is starting to feel like the butt of some Druid-population-wide inside joke involving the mysterious phenomenon called Emrys; and

(4) Oh yeah, Morgana is still trying to kill him.

Thus he embarks on a journey of discovery, diplomacy, accountability, and self-improvement, and maybe even falls in love along the way.

Welcome to Demon School! Iruma-Kun

Kalego-sensei is...dead? by IcyPheonix

The Misfits come to school one day to discover that they have, a substitute teacher. They decide that this can only mean one thing; Kalego-sensei, has died.

He hasn't but that's not gonna stop them from pretending he has of course.

SVSSS

The Moon's Beloved Shadow by mofumofu

Shen Qingqiu is a man who hides his twin brother from the world with the ferocity of a phoenix-eyed mother crane.

Shen Yuan is a helpless transmigrator who wishes Airplane-bro had given even a single bit of backstory for this side character he's inhabiting!

Luo Binghe isn't doomed to face the Endless Abyss, but he is forced to confront something infinitely more frustrating: an overly protective brother.

Natsume Yuujinchou

What Colors Do You See In This Monochrome World by mermorgie.

Natori's voice brought him back to the present. "You alright there, Natsume?" The look the exorcist was giving him was warm and a tad concerned. Natsume gave him a small, but earnest smile. "I'm fine, Natori-san. Just a bit nervous." This was the truth. He had no idea why the head of the Matoba Clan invited him this time, but he was sure that the man was up to no good.

Or: Natsume gets invited to an exorcist meeting. He is not too happy about it, but at least the view is great.

Harry Potter

Three's Family by darkbluedark

It’s May 1979 and the Order has just apprehended a pair of mysterious wizards who look remarkably like a Potter and a Malfoy. Naturally, James Potter and Sirius Black are called in to identify the strangely familiar strangers and determine their backgrounds and loyalties.

(This would be a lot easier if their captives weren’t convinced everyone they talk to is dead. It would also be easier if they didn’t spend half their bloody time bickering.)

-

“Just ask them questions only they would know the answer to,” Malfoy suggests.

“There’s not a single thing that I know about either of them from the first war that any old Death Eater couldn’t find out.”

“How is that possible?” Malfoy huffs. “He’s your father!”

“Am I or am I not famously an orphan?” Potter snarls.

Once More Unto The Boggart by darkbluedark

Professor Lupin let out his breath very slowly. “So this is why you think you’ve been struggling to make progress with the Patronus charm? Because a part of you wants to let the dementor close, in a way, in order to hear your parents?”

Harry nodded again, though more guiltily this time. “I want to let the boggart out, just once, and, er, not cast the charm."

Those Who Have Seen by darkbluedark

Only those who have seen death can see thestrals.

It turns out, thestrals look different for those who have seen Death.

[yanphobia]

Athazagoraphobia - Chapter 4

Athazagoraphobia: The fear of forgetting, and being forgotten.

Pairing: Yandere Male Merman OC x Reader

Warnings (for the entire story): Yandere, Horror, Graphic Discriptions of Injury and Death, The Ocean, Body Horror, NonCon Touching, Dubcon, Female Reader, Extreme Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Chapter 3 Index Chapter 5

Author's Note: next chapter chumssss @creepysweetie @my2phetaliaheadcanons @smolnuggie911 @spicylove4ever @acaribeau @mel-vaz

You laid there; face pressed against the cold, rocky sea floor as you squeezed your eyes shut in a meagre attempt to block out the world around you. Each breath you took, you could feel saltwater filtering through those things on your torso. Each time you tried to adjust your position you could feel that horrendous tail moving along with you. The rough ground scraped against your new talons, and every second you spent awake you were reminded of what had happened. 

That creature – merman – had left you alone, having realized that his presence was adding to your panic. And panic you did; crying, screaming, and thrashing around like a mental case as you begged for someone – anyone – to help you. You weren’t sure how long this lasted, time simultaneously speeding and crawling by, but it continued until you were exhausted, both in mind and body. 

You were beginning to dose off now, when a clammy hand on your shoulder jerked you awake. You weren’t brave enough to turn around. 

“Please,” you said, “change me back.” 

“[Y/N]... that’s not possible.”  

Your chest tightened at his words. It was all so unfair – you never had a say in any of this. You gained control of your breathing and composed yourself enough to look at him. He had given you his name before, but until now you had refused to use it. 

Lotan. 

“Please...” 

You forced yourself to meet his eyes. They were so milky, so soulless, and you had hoped he might show you some sympathy. But the longer you looked at him, the more you noticed how he seemed to look past you.  

“It’s okay...” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“I... I don’t understand...” 

“You were the first.” he said. “Not the first human I’d ever seen... I had seen many of you, you know, from a distance, but you were the first one I had ever touched...” 

He must’ve taken your shocked silence as a cue to elaborate. 

“With my people, you know... It’s forbidden. Humans and merfolk have such a bloody history. But with you... You were so sweet, back then, so innocent...” His hand reached towards your face, and immediately retracted it when you flinched. “I just had to have you.” 

You remembered the last time you had been in the ocean before this. All those years ago... when you were only a child. You remembered the way something had grabbed onto your ankle, dragging you into the water... you remembered the terror that you had felt. Your hand instinctively went to touch the scars that had been left on your leg, only to draw them away when you felt the sharp, piscine scales that now took their place. 

“...And so, I studied,” he continued, “I devoured every resource that I could, everything that could tell me how to make you one of our kind, because I knew that you, [Y/N], you were the one that was meant to be here, with me...” 

He dared to get closer.   “Don’t you understand?” he said, “I broke my people’s taboos so that we could be together...!” 

He spoke so passionately as though it were the world’s most beloved love story. And with each second that passed, you only felt more ill. You tried to push him away. 

“No, no, please, just... please, leave me alone...!” 

His hands were surprisingly strong when they grabbed your forearms. 

“No.” 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, at the monster that had stolen your humanity away.  

“Come now,” he said. “It’s time that you learned how to swim.” 

How pathetic you had to have looked, struggling to move your newfound tail and begging for mercy. The next few hours were ones that you would try as hard as you could to block from your memory. Of course you were bad at it – you couldn’t swim before, but now you were trapped in a foreign body, with appendages and muscles that you didn’t know how to use. You had to check out, mentally – anything to help you get through these strange exercises to the point that Lotan deemed you good enough. 

“It’s time,” he said, finally, after what felt like an eternity. “I must present you to the colony.” 

He took you, then, holding you close as he knew that you were still unable to swim gracefully or quickly enough. It was... honestly, it was disgusting, really, feeling his chest pressed against yours as he made his way to his people.  

You really had no choice in the matter. You had to let him lead you deeper into the depths of the sea, far, far away from any shore that may have lead you back to humanity.