#Ashes Caskets

[crocodiledeathspin]

Holy Blade // Holy Blade

Closed Casket Activities // 2024

[oncamelliastreet]

i am actually genuinly struggling to come up with a watercolor idea that won’t make my art teacher send me to the counselor because he’s concerned that that’s where my mind is going

[vyborg]

In my head Russia's funeral starts like a normal closed casket funeral but at some point the casket is opened (Belarus) and there’s just a random man of Russia’s height and weight crammed into the casket so the funeral turns into a treasure hunt (the treasure is Russia's corpse) and no one can figure it out. because decades before kicking the bucket he arranged for his corpse to be cremated and had his ashes put in the confetti tubes America was planning to burst at his funeral but no one let him do that because it’s generally improper to burst confetti tubes at funerals.

[4thegadiesandlentlemen]

I want Ray Cist to box his Grandma. Throw him in the ring, 0 prep time. Cameron Geller, make it happen this instant. I want to see this racist man throw hands with his black Grandma.

[bumpscosity]

when i die there better not be a funeral. if you have to do something do a chuck e cheese pizza party or something. if it had to be all traditional in a church or whatever don't do eulogies make it a roast instead. ppl don't even have to be roasting me roast everyone in the room i want a fight to break out at my funeral

[mutxnts]

HUH????

[star4daisy]

18/02 - husband - 1272 words - @rosekillermicrofic

“Where is he?” Barty asked desperately as soon as he entered the hospital. “Where the fuck is he?”

No one answered him. The place was a convoluted mess, with people running around, crying kids and wounded people in the waiting line. Barty barely avoided colliding with them as he ran to the front office.

The line was so big he considered stabbing himself to get admitted, that’s when he saw his salvation in the form of one Pandora Rosier. Barty skipped the line to where she was way ahead, ignoring all the protests around him. If anyone tried to stop him, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from getting physical.

“Do you know how he is?” he didn’t bother saying hi to her, he couldn’t make himself talk about anything other than Evan.

Pandora didn’t look nearly as distraught as Barty felt, but she had always been better at keeping her emotions in. It must run in the blood.

“Haven’t gotten any information yet, they said I needed to check here first.”

“Motherfuckers.” Barty cursed, ignoring the old lady in front of them who was sending him dirty looks.

It felt like an eternity before they were called, but Pandora only had two people in front of her in line. Barty let her do the talking, he wasn’t in the right headspace to be polite to anyone right now. Not when Evan was injured and Barty didn’t know how he was doing. Didn’t even know if he was alive. No. Barty couldn’t let himself go there or he’d lose his mind. Turn the entire hospital into ashes in his wake. Hell, he might let himself burn too so that he could meet Evan again.

“What’s your name, sir?” The lady finally turned to him after Pandora had already given all her information and Evan's.

“Bartemius Crouch Junior.” Barty had no patience to entertain her.

“Document, please.”

Barty gave it to her as quickly as he could, almost dropping it in the process, he didn’t know why his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Okay, Mister Rosier just got out of surgery, he’s still at the ICU, so only family members and partners can go up.”

“Okay, I’m his partner.” Barty didn’t even blink, there was a time when it would’ve cost him everything to admit it, but now it came as easy as breathing.

“I meant legally,” she clarified with an apologetic look. “His sister can go in, but I’m afraid you're not on the allowed list.”

“Excuse me?” Barty’s voice went up without even meaning to. “I’ve been with him for years, we’ve known each other since we were eleven and you’re telling me I can’t fucking see him because we don’t have a stupid piece of paper saying we’re partners?”

“I’m sorry sir, but only spouses and family members are allowed, you’ll have to wait until he’s out of the ICU.”

“Wait my ass, I’m going in to see him.” Barty hit his fist on the glass separating them.

“I’m gonna need you to calm down, sir. Or you’ll be asked to leave.”

Barty’s laughter was brittle. “The only way I’m leaving here is if you're all on a casket if you don’t let me in.”

“Barty,” Pandora interrupted his tirade. “Evan is fine, he’s in the room now. He wouldn’t want you to end up in jail or worse when he’s okay.”

“Fuck off, easy for you to say when you can go in. I need to see he’s okay with my own eyes. I don’t believe this cunt or any of these useless motherfuckers.”

“Barty,” her tone was full of warning.

“I need to see him.”

“There’s nothing we can do.”

“Yes, there is,” and then Barty turned around and started running.

He had no idea where he was going, barely avoiding hitting running nurses, he heard footsteps behind him but gave it no thought, he had a one-track mind when he was determined and nothing made him as focused as Evan.

Barty saw a sign with ICU written indicating that it was located on the seventh floor and ran to the elevators. He pressed the button five times before he saw security coming in his direction.

“Shit,” Barty checked around him for anywhere else he could go when he saw the sign for the stairs, without thinking twice he threw it open.

Barty was out of breath before he hit the third floor. He wanted to kill himself. Fuck him for never accepting Potter’s invitation to do cardio with him. They reached him before he got to the fifth floor. Barty was never smoking again, he was so out of breath he thought they might have to call a doctor for him too.

Maybe they would have if Barty hadn’t punched the first security guard to reach him, or if he hadn’t kicked the second one making him almost fall off the stairs. Unlucky for him he wasn’t in his prime anymore after all the running, Barty should've dealt with them before running, maybe he would've had a shot but as it was now he was taken kicking and screaming bloody murder.

Barty spat blood at the security guards' feet as soon as they threw him out through the emergency exit, he hadn't even felt it when they hit him. “I’m gonna kill all you motherfuckers.”

“You’re lucky we aren’t calling the cops on you,” They warned him.

Barty paid them no mind, even though one security remained outside to watch if he was gonna try to make a run for it again. Barty had never been so pissed in his entire life. How dare they not let him in just because he didn’t have a stupid piece of paper saying Evan was his forever?

It wasn’t like they hadn’t already been committed to each other for years, Barty had simply never believed in the concept of marriage. Not when all the examples he had were bloody awful. But now, after this, he was making Evan his husband as soon as he got out of the hospital.

Barty was pacing in front of the hospital when he had his most brilliant idea, he wasn't sure what gave him the idea, but he knew it was the only way he was being admitted to the hospital again after the stunt he had pulled. 

Barty turned to the guard with a shit-eating grin on his face — he couldn’t stop himself — he was a bloody genius. Barty took out the pocket knife he carried everywhere he went. He was getting in there even if he had to draw more blood.

“Don’t even try it,” the man warned him, his eyes widening as soon as he saw the knife in Barty’s hand. “Stay back,” he said as he reached for his walkie-talkie and called for reinforcement.

There was no need, Barty just needed him to see what was happening. As soon as the others stepped back outside, complaining that he was still there Barty turned the knife and stabbed himself on his side.

“Oh, shit.”

"Crazy motherfucker."

“Oh my fucking god, hold him.”

Barty was still smiling when they stopped him from hitting the floor and carried him inside the hospital. He laughed when they admitted him to the ICU and said he needed immediate surgery. 

“Barty?” Pandora asked with worry when she saw him passing in a litter. He didn’t even see when they put him there. “What the fuck did you do?”

Barty got one glimpse of Evan sitting down on his bed with a frown on his face before he passed out.

Evan was alive.

It was worth it.

[alliseaisfandom]

this will probably be disproven across episodes but I have the Gwen brainrot so indulge me.

I know a lot of people hope that Elias is out walking around happy and high, but see the Magnus institute burned down in 1999. Jonah took Elias in 1996.

So don't imagine Gwendolyn coming 'home' after a few years studying on daddy's money, daddy's name and daddy's contempt that his youngest daughter seems perfectly fine with ignoring what is expected from a Bouchard.

Don't imagine Gwen running into her brother one night after he himself hasn't been in their family house for weeks. And realising the thing in front of her isn't Elias.

The stone cold sober, easy smiling man with impeccable posture is not the man who taught her how to play their parents to secure a peaceful life and a place in the will at the same time.

The eyes looking back at her never winked at her from across the dinner table, never shed tears of rage at the golden chains around both of them, never looked at her at her lowest and told her everything would be okay one day. Because those eyes do not belong to Elias.

'A promotion' it tells her, with the same pride Elias used to talk about a student strike that would absolutely wreck their name if it were printed on papers, but this thing wouldn't do that because this thing is. Not. Her. Brother. But she's almost as good at acting as it is, so she plays along. 'Head of the Magnus Institute'.

And Gwen knows very little of the Magnus institute. But she knows enough about Elias Bouchard. She knows about Allan and the eyeless thing that got to him, tale whispered in a panic on the night she first saw her brother as a child instead of a role model. She knows about the letter that arrived unprompted. She knows the stories of what goes on inside the too old building.

And she knows how easy it is to get her hands on gasoline for the bits of it that aren't already flammable.

When she's called in as his emergency contact, she feigns shock at the fire, throws the bone that 'the idiot couldn't even keep his fucking lighter straight' between tears.

She throws the ashes off a foggy cliff onto the sea and attends the empty casket funeral with the same expression she learns to carry from that day on. And after years of clipped conversation, she does what she promised Elias to never do.

'Get me in.' She tells her father. And his smile of relief at 'still having a worthy heir' on the day of his son's funeral sickens her. But she keeps the same expression.

Because she may have killed the thing that took Elias. But the OIAR is the place that can tell her what she killed exactly.

And she won't make her brother's mistakes.

[fallintomidnight]

Regulus, very drunk : "Remus... would you like to be cremated or buried when you die?"

Remus, equally drunk : "I would like to be buried in a simple wooden casket..."

Regulus, casually: " OK then I would cremated your body and seperate your ashes into 4 parts and scatter them across the 4 oceans IF you ever hurt my brother..."

Remus 🤝: "deal"

Sirius:

Sirius : "I don't know if I should "aww" or "WTF " right now.."

[ttdamian]

Buried hope

⸺ summary ; How would an encounter between Jason and his dead lover go?

⸺ Authors note ; Jason todd x gn! reader. English isnt my first language. Feel free to send request while i figure out how tf tumblr works. wc : 750 drabble. not beta read.

Gotham never forgot how to mourn.

Even the sky bowed under grief, sagging clouds weeping into alleys where saints and monsters shared pavement. Jason stood beneath that sorrow, soaked to the bone, every footstep echoing like an accusation.

He hadn't come looking for you.

That would imply hope — and he’d buried that six feet under, right next to you.

So, when the blade met his throat— not metaphorically, but actually— he didn’t even raise his gun.

It shimmered like moonlight made solid, kissed steel now slick with rain and vengeance. He smelled ozone and blood. He saw boots—familiar, scuffed. And then…your eyes.

Dead people weren’t supposed to have eyes like that.

But there you stood—your boots silent on the wet rooftop, a blade poised against his throat. You were a ghost wrapped in flesh, breathing air that shouldn’t fill your lungs.

You were real. Solid. Breathing. Soaked. And angry.

Still breath taking as ever.

He didn’t speak. He feared that if he did, the moment might break, and you might fade. After all, you weren’t supposed to be standing. You weren’t supposed to be anything but ash.

He had held your body.

He had buried you.

The ground hadn’t just taken you—it had swallowed you whole. The day he put you beneath it, something in him went with you. Something he hadn’t felt since…well, since the last time he died.

Now, here you were. Rainwater traced the hollow of your cheek like a tear that refused to fall. Your face was harder now, older. Not by time, but by torment. The city had shaped you again, carved you anew like a statue unburied from ruins.

"Do it," he said, voice low. “If that’s why you’re here.”

You didn’t speak.

And yet you screamed.

Not with sound—but with every ounce of what you were. Your silence was not absence. It was mourning. It was accusation. It was betrayal and survival and something Jason couldn’t name because he hadn’t earned the right to.

His eyes traveled to your grip.

Steady.

But your jaw tightened.

Not fear. Not doubt.

Pain.

Jason exhaled, slow. “They told me you were gone. I saw the blood. The wreckage. There was a fire.”

Your gaze didn’t shift.

He swallowed. “I brought you home. I... couldn’t even close the casket myself.”

Still, nothing.

Only the storm spoke. Thunder rolled in the sky like distant drums, a funeral procession above the clouds.

He wondered what they had done to you. Who had pulled you back. What hell you’d clawed through to stand here now. He saw it in the weight of your shoulders, in the way the sword didn’t want to leave your hand.

"You died," he said, softer now. "But you came back."

And wasn’t that the story of his life? Of all their lives?

He could laugh, if it didn’t feel like blasphemy.

Instead, he dropped to his knees.

Not in surrender.

In recognition.

In reverence.

The blade followed, pressed now against his cheek, trailing his jaw like a lover long gone. A line of red bloomed beneath it—just a whisper of blood. It felt holy.

Jason closed his eyes.

“I deserve it,” he said.

Maybe not for what happened.

But for everything else.

The times he didn’t come back soon enough. The times he let his anger drown his grief. The nights he dreamt of you but let you fade by morning. The way he let the world move on while some part of you still bled beneath it.

You watched him.

The man who once lit the world on fire for justice. Now kneeling in the rain, waiting for your judgment.

And then—

You dropped the sword.

It clanged against the concrete, the sound sharp and final. Like the closing of a door. Like the exhale of a spirit released.

Jason looked up.

You stepped forward.

Your hand hovered over his face—not quite touching, but there, trembling in the space where memory and reality finally collided.

He didn’t breathe.

Didn’t dare.

You let your fingers ghost across his cheek.

And that was it.

That was all.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t explain. You simply turned, cloak catching in the wind, boots silent as dusk, and disappeared into the rain.

Jason stayed there, kneeling.

The blood on his jaw mingled with water, turning pink, then clear, then gone.

The sword lay beside him.

Still warm.

Still theirs.

Still yours.

He didn’t chase you.

Some things had to be earned again.

@ TTDAMIAN. pretty please, translate and rewrite any of my works, or repost my works in any other platform without asking. (ts a joke get out)

[authorsofghosts]

You're Not Him | Horseman!Gambit x Reader | Pt. 1

Author's Note: I do not enjoy the design of black gambit in the comics so i decided to go with another design(that i made the fuck up), my apologies horseman gambit fans.... anyways enjoy the first fic we're posting here !!! thank you @genderqueerbarbie777 for beta reading :3

Summery: Remy was dead. Or so you thought. There was a man that sounded like him, had his powers, but... why did he look like that? Who was this? This wasn't your Remy.

Themes: Angst, Hurt w/ No Comfort, Previous Relationship, Betrayal, Crying, Cursing, Kidnapping, R's a mutant/x-man (no powers written), Violence.

Word Count: 1.6k

next pt

Apocalypse had chosen the perfect moment to strike, the X-Men still mourning Gambit's death. You were still shaken up about it, though it had happened months ago. You loved him, you really loved him. Even if you never let anyone but him know. You stood up from the blast, dusting yourself off till you're frozen, hearing a voice behind you.

"Cher...?" You heard, a raspy of remnant of something from your past. It wasn't him. It couldn't be. You turned to look for Remy, but you were met with something... ghoulish.

"Y-... you're not him." You say, voice strained as you look at the creature that stood there, stolen Remy's voice to fool you. The silvery skinned man smirked. He wore Remy's jacket, his fucking jacket, he had his voice, a dark deck of cards in one hand and a baton in the other. This had to be some kind of trick, an illusion, anything but real.

"Oh, but Gambit is him, petit..." The ash covered man walked towards you, his white hair covering his blackened eyes. Even his walk, his mannerisms, they were Remy's. But he was dead, Remy Lebeau was dead. You watched his casket get put in the ground, there was no way this was your lost love.

You backed away as he stood in front of you, looking down with pink glowing eyes as he put the deck of cards in the inner pocket of his jacket. He went to place his bone-y, gaunt hand on your cheek, being met with a quick swat as you took another step back.

"N-no, you're not! Wh-what are you?!" You yelled out, tears swelling in your eyes as you yelled at the thing in front of you, mocking you, mimicking the man you loved, the man you watched die.

This Remy chuckles, a sound that would normally make your heart swell with love, but this... this was dark, something evil behind it. You know if this was really Remy, he'd never hurt you, but you couldn't help the chills that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He grabs your wrist, pulling you close.

"Gambit's 'Death', baby..." He starts, another low chuckle coming from his lips, "But he remembers you, cher. You're mine, remember?" These words, they brought a memory that shook you to your core.

"Cher, what are you doing?" Remy spoke softly, watching you walk into his room at the mansion. He laughed at the sight of you, your face flushed as you took off your jacket. "Ya gonna answer ol' Remy or nah?"

"I'm tired. I want... to be held." You murmur, laying on the bed next to him, quick to get his attention away from whatever he was doing before. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling the covers over you and placing you between his arm, flush against his bare chest.

You both laid there in silence, breathing synced up as he caged you in his arms, head nuzzling your neck, his stubble tickling your skin. "You're okay, mon amour... You're here, you're... mine."

You tried pulling back, the walking corpse in front of you growling lowly. "Don't ya dare fight my hold on you." His voice hissed, strong hand gripping your wrist so hard it made you gasp in pain, the tears finally falling from your eyes.

There's a shocked look on his face, grip loosening ever so slightly as he watches you closely. You notice something slight, something that reminded you of the Remy before. "P-please..." you cry out softly, "Lemme go, Rem."

This upset him, but it also made him smile as you finally acknowledge he's really who he says he is. "I don't think I will, cher..." He turns you around, placing an arm across your middle to hold you against him, other hand still tight on your wrist. "I ain't gonna leave you again. And yer not leavin' me, ya hear?"

The gaunt hand holding your wrist lets go, traveling up your arm, up your neck before finally resting on your chin, holding it softly, thumb caressing your cheek. You can't help but shiver. This causes Remy to laugh again, nuzzling into your skin. "Why are ya afraid of lil ol' me, petit? I ain't gonna hurtcha..."

"Y-you're not?" You ask, voice hoarse and breathy. You smile nervously, leaning your head back against his chest to try and show him you want to trust him. You swallow hard as he sits up, setting his chin on the top of your head.

"Of course not, cher. Why would Gambit do that to ya?" He says softly, eyes looking around at the make shift battlefield that used to be the X Mansion, pointing his baton at your teammates as they fight in the distance. "Looks like they've forgotten you, amour."

Your eyes widen as you realize what he means. It wasn't just that they'd forgotten you, you knew this wasn't true, but that they were fighting without you. They hadn't even bothered to look for you. "No, they... they need me-" You go to walk forwards but his arm around your middle brings you back flush against him.

"No they don't. I do." He growls out, his hand on your chin turning your gaze up to him. "I said it already. We ain't leavin' each other again, yer coming with me." His eyes glow, staring down at you as his grip around you tightens even more.

Your eyes widen "With you? What are you-" You're cut off by his hand on your chin covering you mouth, Remy shushing you softly. Before you can protest, you feel his baton snap to your neck, hitting a pressure point and causing you to pass out.

"Cher? Cher, wake up, please..." You heard, the cold sting of the metal table in the medical bay pressed against your back.

"Remy?" you said weakly, feeling his hands move from your own to your face, pulling you flush against his chest, a tear falling from his eyes. "What's wrong? W-what happened?" You ask, unable to remember the fight from before.

"You got hurt, bad, petit... Gambit though he was gonna lose ya fo' a moment..." He says softly, nuzzling into your skin, his warm touch against your cold skin sending chills up and down your body. It was nice, being in his arms, but in this situation? It felt live a saving grace.

You woke up, your vision blurred and and the sounds around you muffled under a sharp ringing in your ears. You can't move, the small amount you can making your realize you're tied down, laid against the corner of two walls. You try to focus on the voices, eyes closing.

"You brought an X-Man here?! Are you fucking stupid?!" An unfamiliar voice says, angry.

"It's not just any X-Man, it's... my cher..." Remy says, voice breaking slightly. After a second you hear him scream out in pain, causing you to wake up fully, your eyes wide as you look in the direction.

"Weak... he shouldn't even be able to remember his life before becoming Death!" You see the tall, menacing Apocalypse, his arm turning from some kind of taser to his normal hand. He looks over at you, eyes widening as he sees your awake. "What a surprise, though..." He takes a step towards you.

"N-no, don't!" You say, backing yourself against the corner as the towering monster stands a few feet in front of you. You scream out as he grabs you, taking you across the room and throwing you down once again. You hear a click as something snaps around your neck. Your binds are taken off just to be replaced with the same metal that adorns your neck, pressing you flat against whatever surface you're on.

Your eyes look back at Remy as he stands up, face full of defeat as he looks at Apocalypse. "Sir, I'm sorry-" He starts, cutting himself off as the man looks at him. He backs away, lowering his head. You still can't believe it, Remy's alive, but... not himself, working for Apocalypse.

"Well, now that we have an X-Man... why don't we celebrate? This means we won the fight." The tall, broad creature known as Apocalypse says, voice dark with intent. He looks down at you, a grim smile on his face as he speaks again, "Don't try to do anything, mutant. Your powers are useless with the bindings you're in. If you do, however, there will be punishment."

You don't want to test his words, nodding quickly. Your fear and submission causes the man to laugh, clearly entertained that you're so quick to listen. "It seems Gambit has picked the perfect hostage." Apocalypse chuckles, turning his back to you as he addresses the others in the room. "That does not mean I am not disappointed, though, feeble mutant."

He walks up to Remy, who sits up, eyes shaking as he looks up at the taller man. In a swift movement, Apocalypse grabs him by the throat, causing you to yell out. He brings Remy to eye level before speaking, "If you were not needed for the unstoppable force of the Apocalypse, you'd be dead by my hand. Do you understand, mutant?"

Remy nods, closing his eyes as the other man drops him. You stare at him as he lands on his knees, not fighting back. It was strange to see him so... weak, submitting to the orders of terrible force. It was frightening, even. Remy opened his eyes and looked up at Apocalypse, "Yes, sir."

His voice was just as weak as he looked next to Apocalypse. You could tell by the ways his eyes shifted that he was biting back an insult or some smart alack response. That was until they met yours again, all of the pain in them leaving and being replaced with something much more positive. A love that you'd seen many times before, making you sure that this was in fact your Remy.

[astra-ravana]

🜏Astra's Grimoire; Masterlist🜏

Working with Spirits

Abaddon

Angrboda

Arachne

Aradia

Astaroth

Asmoday

Azazel

Buer

Bune

Cernunnos

Dantalion

Decarabia

Eris

Gaap

Leviathan

Lilith

Loki

Lucifer

Marbas

Medusa

Melinoe

Morrigan

Murmur

Nyx

Paimon

Ptah

Raum

Ronove

Samael

Seere

Stolas

Uphir

Valac

Zagan

Invocation Ritual

Spells/Recipes

Commanding Oil

Crow Sleep Spell

Create a Dark Talisman

Clavum Et Spinam

Casket Boxes

Materialization Potion

Invocation for Integration of Multidimensional Gifts

Fire And Water

Attract the Fae Using a Faerie Ring

Black Opal Charm

Phoenix Ash

Hunter's Curse Enchantment

Hex Bag of Illness

To Give The Evil Eye

Folk Chaos Recipe: Influence Powder

Jar Candle Road Opener

Black Arts Oil

Other/Various Topics

List of Baneful Components

The Dark Moon

Notes On Crossroads

Magickal Herb Sets

Serpent Symbolism

Obscure Spell Components

Sigils Part 1

Sigils Part 2

Necromancer's Tool Kit

Courtesies Of Sect Law

The Powers That Be

A Dive Into The Dark Feminine

Interacting With The Fae

Eleven Powers of Witches

Essential Herb Collection

A Selection of Weather Magick

Bypassing Wards and Protections

A Collection of Symbols

My Personal Correspondences

Wand Woods

Key Magick

The Magick of Spiders

Celtic Astrology

Creating Servitors

Basic Incense and Their Uses

Hedge-Riding

Candle Divination

The Satanic Statutes

Basic Numerology

Liminal Spaces in Witchcraft

Cursed And Bonded Objects

Bug Correspondences

Magickal Uses For Bindweed

The Basic Principles Of Spellcasting

Egyptian Zodiac

Cursing By The Moon

Cartomancy

The Power of Hair

Tarot Tips

Blood In Magick

Soul Connections

Spiritual Downloads

The Four Powers Of The Magus

Types Of Witchcraft

Crystals By Use: Quick Reference

Witch's Runes

The Faerie Star

[millyondollarbaby]

Just saw your rules thing and HOLY SHIT YOURE SO REAL ON THE "he's yandere because he LOVES you" TYPA SHIT LIKE IM SO SICK AN TIRED ON SEEING "he chained you up because you were being naughty" LIKE UGHHH GIVE ME A YANDERE WHOSE WORLD WOULD FALL APART THE MOMENT YOU START EYEING SOMEONE ELSE!!! GIVE ME PATHETIC MEN THAT WOULD ABSOLUTELY DO ANYTHING FOR THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE!!!

Okay enough of my bullshit, can I still request??

Heh....Yandere prince (who is the heir to the throne) who is untouchable (figuratively and literally) by anyone falls inlove with a bounty hunter who he was tasked to kill? Like the scenario would be like:

•Prince was tasked by the king to slay a bounty hunter cause someone from the court died from their hands

•Prince (now disguised as an assassin) tries but fails, leading him very wounded

•Bounty hunter!reader sees him in his state and decides to nurse him back to health (they don't know he's a prince btw)

•Prince wakes up, grows wary of reader patching him up, but he quickly became Mr. Nice guy because he has plans on how to kill them

•all of his plans fail, and most of those plans lead him to getting injured, therefore extending his stay (much to the reader's amusement and his dismay)

•months turn to years, the kingdom is distraught over the crowned prince going missing, meanwhile the prince has grown to love the reader and is CONVINCED that they are married (delusional much??? Also reader does NOT know about this, they just assume that their Friend is way more clingy than usual)

Additional info: due to him being a prince, he prefers to stay indoors so that no one could take him away from his beloved❤ (he would burn the world and then kills himself if he were to be gone from them for more than 7 hours (he'll never hurt them, he'll rather kill himself than do that))

The ending is SUPER up to you!!! (Though I prefer it angst....though I am not sure if you do that) and can the gender of the reader be unspecified and they go by they/them? If no, then can the reader be female? (muscular females ohdodjdojdk)

Tysm for this opportunity to request for pathetic men❤❤ sorry for my rambling

The Crowned Prince is Dead.

(Not proofread. Will go back at some point)

That’s what the posters say now. The bounty’s been lifted. The court’s gone quiet. The palace is in mourning.

They buried an empty casket.

“Ash.”

That’s what you call him, the man you found bleeding on your doorstep two winters ago. He was half-dead, torn up, muttering nonsense in a voice meant for velvet robes and palace marble—not the woods. You didn’t ask questions. Just dragged him inside, stitched him up, and gave him soup.

You had no idea he was royalty. A crown prince. A sword sent from the king’s own hand to slay you.

Your name had reached the court after a noble’s blood stained your bounty ledger. Self-defense, really, but the nobles don’t care for context. They wanted a spectacle. A hunter hung at dawn. So they sent their perfect boy in a black cloak and a false name.

But he failed. Because when he saw you—not your reputation, not the price on your head, you—he hesitated. And in that hesitation, he was wounded. Left crawling, broken, slipping out of the castle’s grip and into yours.

And now you share a life.

Days slipped into weeks. Weeks melted into months, like snow thawing into riverwater.

Ash wove himself into your life so quietly, so seamlessly, that you hardly noticed it happening.

He began gathering firewood before you could ask, stacking it neatly by the door every morning, the scent of pine and sap clinging to him when he slipped back inside. He mended your torn clothes with clumsy stitches, tongue poking out in concentration as he tried to match thread to fabric. When you hummed old songs by the hearth, he listened with a kind of aching reverence, as if every note stitched him more tightly to this place, to you.

You teased him sometimes. Called him clingy when he hovered too close. Poked his side when he pouted in that wounded, boyish way that made you laugh. He would flush a violent red, stumbling over excuses, and you’d ruffle his hair without thinking, amused by his bashfulness.

Ash never protested. He only followed you more faithfully, his gaze tracking you with a devotion so profound it was almost prayer.

You thought he was just lonely. You assume he’s just… odd.

You thought—maybe—he was grateful for kindness after too many brutal winters alone.

You never realized what he truly believed.

In Ash’s mind, there were no blurred lines, no tentative half-steps. In his mind, you were already his spouse.

You were the sun he orbited, the river he would drown in gladly.

When you laughed, he thanked gods he didn’t believe in. When you touched him, even in jest, he memorized it, sealed it under his skin like an oath. Every night, when you slept, he sat awake in the dark, whispering prayers to whatever spirits might listen:

"Let me stay. Let me stay. Let me stay."

You didn’t know. You didn’t know that he had already killed for you—the strangers who had wandered too close, the bounty hunters still searching for your head, the royal scouts sent to reclaim their prince.

You didn’t know how ruthlessly he protected the fragile, stolen life he had built around you. How much blood had already been spilled in the name of your quiet, domestic peace.

But he never hurts you. He would never. He’d tear himself open before letting harm come near you. You are his divinity. His purpose. The axis on which his world spins.

All you saw was a boy with burnt hands and wide eyes, smiling too softly by your fire.

You have no idea he’s in love with you. You have no idea he’s convinced that this is marriage. That the gods dropped him at your door because you were meant to be his. That his entire being is now tethered to you.

And then one day, you disappear.

Just a short hunt. You leave a note. You’ll be back by dusk.

But the sun dips low and you don’t return.

Ash is calm for the first hour. Then the second. Then he starts pacing. By midnight, he’s wrecked the house. By morning, he’s on his knees in the forest, screaming your name.

He thinks someone took you. He thinks the palace finally found you. Or worse—you left him.

He doesn't sleep. He doesn’t eat. He patrols the woods like a cursed thing. His body withers. His eyes go hollow.

And then, finally—you come back.

Your hunt took longer than expected. You got trapped in a storm. You arrive soaked, shivering, cursing the weather and laughing like nothing happened.

You find him in the doorway. Knees bloodied. Face gaunt. Eyes wild.

“Where were you?” he breathes, and it’s not a question—it’s a confession.

You tell him. You smile. You reach for him like always.

But he flinches.

“I thought you left me.”

You frown. “Ash…”

“I was going to kill myself.”

Your blood runs cold. “What?”

“I was going to do it,” he says, smiling, like he’s proud. Like he passed some test. “But I didn’t. Because I knew you’d come home. You always come home.”

You stare at him.

And something shifts.

Now you know, you understand. Understand all those nights he looked at you a little too long, a touch that lasted longer than needed. Now you understand why he always seemed on his toes when you mentioned leaving. He couldn't handle it. He can't.

Will write a part two? i just couldn't structure it all in here.

[blintzestein]

if i die you have to find my open casket funeral and stand over my body like no joan does this all the time actually you just have to kinda smack her around a bit. and then keep upping the bit until you are beating the shit out of me on the floor. then burn my body to ashes on a stake and throw those ashes into the kansas wind

[crossnamara]

when curt eventually dies on a mission or from his alcoholism or whatever kills the poor bastard, his mother is told they dont have a body to recover. she buries an empty casket, but there was a body. hes cremated, and as one last act of friendship, tatiana scatters his ashes near where she knew curt had buried owen

[ddollys]

“NIGHTS LIKE THIS…”

────୨ৎ────

⋆｡‧˚ʚ💭ɞ˚‧｡⋆

:: IN WHICH :: you’ve been killed during the shibuya incident. and yuji, who had feelings for you—both platonically and romantically, misses you. so, now, he finds himself in a dream with you.

:: angst, fluff, comfort :: — afab reader, bottled up feelings, angst with a happy ending, yuji itadori missing you, reader has dimples, etc. not proofread.

i really hope this is good , reblog if you enjoyed. 🤍

—

yuji itadori loved you—but in fear of rejection, he bottled up his feelings in a space that was somewhere in the back of his mind. he refused to acknowledge the bittersweet love he felt for you, pushing it away. he didn’t want it to get in the way of your tight friendship. he didn’t want you to avoid him because you felt uncomfortable being with a man who liked you.

“hold my hand until we turn to ashes.”

he didn’t get any time to genuinely confess the truth about how he truly felt about you… because, now…

you’re laying right in front of him. dead.

he stared in disbelief—he should’ve… he should’ve protected you! he promised, he made a deal in his mind that he swore to protect you; to reserve your place in life.

he didn’t move. he didn’t breathe. his lungs begged for air yet when they received oxygen, they denied it and closed up. his throat was shutting down, burning and pleading for water.

but, he stood still. same stance, same form, same face. he was splattered with your blood, and he begged god for it to be his instead of yours.

your bodily fluid on him felt like an unforgivable sin. yuji itadori… didn’t know in the afterlife, when his time came… that you would forgive him.

that you would accept his bittersweet love for you, the true love he felt for you.

“love me til’ they put me in my casket.”

weeks later, he was still restless. he kept reliving the same moment in his dream. it kept repeating, each time he thought that he was finally letting go of the memory; the dream would crash down and morphed into that same, horrifying reality.

it felt like his brain was taunting him, letting him experience the haunting guilt that gnawed in his guts. each time he felt an ounce of guilt—he was rushing to the bathroom to puke out all his sorrow.

“i got all these feelings that i’m maskin’.”

his dream tonight was a stark contrast to his prior experiences… it was oddly peaceful. it wasn’t anything special; just a plain white room.

but there was just a gentle presence that soothed his nerves, that helped shake off the feeling that it was going to turn into a nightmare.

“…yuji.” you called out, behind him. your voice was devoid of ill intentions, just pure. “…i’m glad you’re holding up.” you spoke, a soft smile on your face. yuji whipped his whole body around.

it wasn’t a fake smile—yuji knew that you had small dimples when you actually put a genuine smile. “…i—i missed you.” yuji shakily whispered, his knees bucking down and he was on the floor. tears bubbled up in his eyes as he looked up at you. “…it’s… it’s really you.” he murmured, his pretty light brown eyes still locked on yours.

“hey… no, get up.” you coo, bending down to grab his hands and lift him up. “…yuji,” you say, “…you’re strong. please, don’t give up just because of me.” you console, your hands still clasped with his. you were glowing, just how he first met you.

“…i—i can’t-” yuji whispered, but got cut off by you.

“…oh yes you can.” you replied. “…i love you, yuji.” you smiled, the dimples that he always took notice to appeared.

“…i love you too, love…” yuji replied. you gave yuji a gentle kiss on the lips. “…everything wasn’t your fault, please, don’t stress about it.” you say. you faced your back against him and walked away; your body fading.

for once, he finally found solace in a dream.

“can i lay it on you? that’s what i’m asking.”

nights like this - the kid laroi.