#Dead Again in Tombstone

[anachronistic-falsehood]

ok pause. i just thought about wolfwood's death scenes in both trimax and 98 and i'm crying. what the fuck do you mean he just found a will to keep on living after so long of being willing to die for any bullshit reason and he died anyway. what do you mean trimax ww died next to the man who taught him how to live and love again and vash buried him alone. what do you mean 98 ww died wanting to spend his days with vash ans the girls and vash carried ww's gun around after that and used it in the final fight. what the fuck do you mean. that's the saddest shit i ever heard get said in my life

[skyward-floored]

Just realized in IAU they uh. they probably had a funeral for Sky, huh.

[itsalwaysdark]

sry my beef eith that pastor is unending i fucking hate that guy like ugh . he soent maybe 5 minutes talking abt the actual ppl who actually died and then spent 2 hours just preaching and telling us we were all going to hell. is that how it is at all christian funerals. protestant i think if that means anything.

[tired-chaos]

Don’t imagine Danny who just realized why he feels unfulfilled by saving Amity.

Don’t imagine him trying to psych himself up into telling Jazz, Sam, and Tucker.

Don’t imagine him getting the news that he’s the ghost king

Don’t imagine him realizing that he can’t explore the stars because the weight of that crown falls heavily on his shoulders.

Don’t imagine how heartbroken he would be every night that he was too exhausted to watch the stars.

But imagine the usual circumstances of the Justice League summoning the Ghost King, something about Darkseid.

Imagine how they would’ve been prepared to give souls to Pariah Dark only to see a sickly child ghost, in both senses of the word, in the summoning circle.

(Obsession neglect is the same as starvation for a ghost, after all.)

Imagine him being terrified that the Justice League found out about Dan only to realize that he’s needed to save the day. Again.

Imagine him realizing he’s in space and demanding that he gets to spend time there in exchange.

(Jazz had to drill self advocacy into him at some point.)

Imagine this tiny child, one that Dark swears is the King and millennias old, easily defeating Darkseid on his own because Darkseid is alive, and could never compare to Pariah or Dan.

Imagine the Justice League occasionally seeing this dead child floating outside the watchtower, occasionally doing outside repairs without being asked to.

Imagine the Justice League watching this child slowly get healthier everytime that he shows up to exist in the stars.

Maybe one day, they’ll even get to give him flowers, since Zatanna said that it’s a Ghost Culture Thing, and they want to be hospitable to this world endingly powerful royal.

Imagine how surprised Danny would be. He might even let it slip that he was never mourned, that no one noticed he died except the ones there to see it.

Imagine how heartbroken the leaguers would be, especially Bruce because his own kids have died and he couldn’t imagine them being unmourned.

Maybe, just maybe, imagine Danny getting a grave right beside Jason’s, with stars engraved on the tombstone.

Imagine how relieved Danny would be.

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Every single member of the Batfamily lies about their taste in music

Damian will claim that he only listens to classical music and that everything else is beneath him.

Damian will unironically listen to trashy Arab pop and the absolute worst Bollywood songs known to man (Dick introduced him to them and he hates the fact that sometimes he gets Sheila Ki Jawani stuck in his head during missions)

Tim will put on the most ear grating hyper pop you've ever heard and claim with full chest that these is the peak of humanities capabilities with music (Damian, Jason and Steph have all tried to kill him for this take) He will also play stuff like the living tombstones and sing it obnoxiously loud when he's working on the computer.

Tim however loves his 90s grunge and it's all that's playing in his headphones. (think nirvana, pearl Jam, Melvins, Alice in Chains etc) He has tracked down so many shirts and concert posters and watched every bit of content from the older shows.

Jason will claim he only listens to east coast rap, biggie, Nas, Jay etc and maybe some older metal. He will fight you on east vs west coast music, there will be weaponry involved.

Jason likes rap music... he unfortunately prefers west coast rap and has listened to no vaseline like 500 times. He will deny this till the day he dies...again. (Dick knows and threatens to tell Steph)

Steph will steal the aux and play Taylor Swifts greatest hits until one of the Boys threatens mutiny. Every single one of the bats has had style stuck in their heads during a stakeout at least twice. She will claim that the only rap song she can tolerate in Eminem and the 7/11 is Beyoncés best song.

Steph is an underground fan, think the dude selling mixtapes on the subway type shit. She also unlike Jason genuinely loves East Coast Rap music more than anything and knows every single wu-tang clan song by heart, same with Biggie. Not only does she love the music she also spends any free time binging those "history of rap and its consequences" videos and has been a firm believer that P.Diddy had a hand in a lot of the Death row records well...deaths.

Cass, well everyone thinks Cass has really good taste bc its Cass and she has zero flaws (don't @ me) she never takes the aux and will usually listen to her music while she's chilling or doing stretches. None of them have heard or seen a single one of her playlists except Duke.

its all 2010s top 40s pop music and like the trashy kind too, Beauty and the Beat, Kesha, Katy Perry. It's her turning of her brain time and she will be straight vibing to Rude! by magic or Boom Clap or Shower. she has shown this to Duke, smirked and told him that even if he tried to tell anyone they wouldn't believe him.

Duke is the only one who doesn't... lie. He just hides a few things. Lies of omission don't count as lies when the bats will lie to you about what they had for breakfast, while they are visibly eating breakfast. Duke says he listens to everything and he does. Literally everything. His patrol Jam is offensive bc it with start with Norwegian death metal and immediately switches to "like a G6" followed by kendrick Lamar and then descendants Disney channel movie music.

Bruce... Bruce is just weird, everyone asks him and gets a different answer. Bc he doesn't... like music. Like at all. It's all noise, his mother played instruments so he learned like 14 and he hates how they all sound. He just like vague batwings fluttering in dead silence.

Dick Grayson will obnoxiously play top 40 and radio music religiously around the bats. He claims it's the best music for rhythmic acrobatics and trapeze work and that true! Jason hates this kind of music the most, it's formulaic and holds no substance and drives him insane.

But Dick only listens to that music when he's moving, flipping doing high energy stuff. When he just wants to chill? This man has the most depressing music taste you've ever seen. You know that sad song from ur favorite artist that you can't listen to without crying. Yeah that's his bread and butter. Every single song is just flat out tear inducing, some of these bands have like 100 listeners and he is one of them and it's just their saddest song that reads like suicide note. The titans have conducted an intervention bc its just... concerning. He just thinks it's neat!

[darkbluekies]

Talking to the dead

Mafia!yandere x reader

Warnings: dead sibling, mentions of digging up the grave

He's furious that you've escaped. Infuriated that you managed to slip past the guards again. He wants to put a bullet through their chests. They've tracked you down to the cemetery, a weird place, Silas thinks.

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees you sit by a tombstone, talking. There's no one around, who are you holding conversation with? He tells his men to stand by while he sneaks over.

"I'm in danger", you sob and chuckle slightly. "I've put myself in a dangerous situation, you know. I wish you were here. I could need a big sister/brother now. I need guidance. I don't know what to do, I'm so scared. Everything is terrifying." You sigh. "Well, now I've told you everything that has happened since you passed away. Quite the story, isn't it? Yeah ... I really miss you."

Silas sighs and scratches his neck, looking back at his guards, thinking. He knew that your sibling was dead, but he never imagined that he would find you like this.

"Y/N", he says carefully, wanting to catch you attention.

You gasp and hug the stone for dear life.

"Don't take him/her!" you scream in a heartbreaking tone.

Silas walks over to you, sinking down beside you. His heart breaks.

"I'm not going to take them", he reassures you. "Why don't you introduce me? Or have you already done that? I heard you told everything."

You still hug the stone tightly. Silas puts his hand on your shoulder, reassuring you that he won't dig up the grave and steal your sibling. He brings you back and takes a look at the name on the stone before placing his hand on it. I'll protect them, he thinks and hopes that your big brother/sister will hear him, I will die for them.

Silas brings your shaking, sobbing body into his arms and kisses the top of your head. He won't punish you for this, his heart can't allow it.

While taking your defeated form to the car, he turns to his men and tells them to visit the grave every week to plant new flowers, water them, light candles, and clean the stone. And if they ever miss a week, he will kill them.

[corkinavoid]

For @mysterious-messages, to 'Bless the child' by Nightwish

DPxDC Long Time No See

The crow was incredibly persistent. Which, of course, made it ten times more annoying in John's opinion, because he was trying very, very hard not to pay attention to the pitch-black bird with blood red eyes that was perched right outside the window.

Can't he have one single night where no impossibly powerful force of nature interrupts his attempt to drown himself in liquor? Honestly.

The crow knocks on the window again. Three perfectly timed knocks; this bloody bird sure knows how to draw attention, but it also definitely knows Constantine is avoiding it. Which is why it's insisting on making itself a nuisance, no doubt.

To be fair, John is not even entirely sure who's crow is it. Morpheus has a crow at his disposal, but his crow is a bitch. He wouldn't have simply sat on the windowsill and enjoyed annoying Constantine for the sheer spite of it. Death has her crows as well - very thematic, if you ask John - and then there was that one asshole raven that claimed itself belonging to Apollo.

And then, of course, there was-

Actually, maybe he should see what the crow wants. Might be important, after all.

Constantine sighs and puts his whiskey back on the bar before standing up. The world tilts to the side a bit - he might have had a few too many drinks, yeah. But then maybe it's just the side effect of the messenger crow being here, who knows. Constantine would rather put his money on the latter for the sake of his dignity. Not that he has much of that left.

He makes his way to the window, looks at the crow for a long moment, making his last internal debate obvious, and then opens the window.

"The hell do you want?" He asks, but quickly realises it was in vain.

He is not at the bar anymore.

Instead, he is standing in the middle of a graveyard, surrounded by tombstones, fog, and eerie silence. 4/10 on the creepy effect, John has definitely seen this shit done better.

The cloaked figure sitting on the nearest tombstone stays silent, watching him with unblinking, blood red eyes. John sighs again, pinches the bridge of his nose, and reaches into the pocket of his trenchcoat for cigarettes. If he ended up out of the bar anyway, he might as well use it for a smoke break.

"I'd rather you not," the cloaked being says, not a demand but a request by the sound of it. Constantine grimaces, but puts the pack back in the pocket. Arguing with this one will get him exactly nowhere.

"What's this all about, then?" He vaguely gestures around himself, at all the death, decay, and other things that start with the letter 'D'. "I never knew you're into this kind of thing. Very Mary Shelley of you," he raises an eyebrow.

The being - the Dead God, the Ghost of Time, Clockwork, Chronos, and any other name he likes calling himself - huffs a deep, low and breathy laugh. Then, he stands up, his feet firmly planted on the ground for once. He looks different to how John is used to seeing him, all sharp edges and monochrome colors, shiny leather oxfords and loose sleeves with tight cuffs.

Honestly, he kind of reminds Constantine of vampires. He really hopes this is not actually some kind of a new kink of his because John so didn't count on that kind of night. Despite what he's said before.

"No," Chronos shakes his head, his appearance shifting from young to middle-aged. Constantine blinks; if there's anything he learned about the Dead God through their various get-togethers, it's that his age usually reflects his level of seriousness.

But he doesn't have time to ask, nor does he get a moment to prepare, when a child, a literal goddamn child no older than ten steps out from behind Clockwork.

It looks like a boy, dressed in jeans and a blue hoodie with a NASA logo on it, and- He does look like Clockwork. Same pale skin, same eerie, unblinking eyes, same unearthly air around him.

Only, his eyes are a faint blue, like ice and winter skies. Like Constantine's eyes.

The unholy fuck. And he means it literally.

"Is that-" he starts, his throat suddenly dry, pointing his finger at the boy before he even thinks about it, but the Ghost of Time laughs again, a dirty grin on his lips.

"Yours? No, thank the Ancients," he says, making sure to sound just a tad bit offended even if John can see the mirth on his face. Bloody wanker. Constantine lets out a slow, loud breath through his nose.

"Amen to that," he agrees and looks at the kid again. And, as soon as the initial shock wears off, a sneaking suspicion starts to form in his mind. He narrows his eyes. "I don't want to ask, I really don't, but I'm going to anyway. Why?"

Clockwork's face looks distant for a moment, his features shifting into old.

"A child blessed by time has no home in his own life. A child blessed by death has no place among others," he says, and John hates when they speak in riddles, but he thinks he might be getting this one right. "I am only loved when I'm gone, the moments being held dear in memory. But a child does not deserve that," Clockwork's voice sounds almost sad, and, while John does understand it's supposed to be a metaphor, it doesn't feel like one.

But then, he is the Time itself. Maybe for him it's not really a metaphor.

He looks back to the kid, and catches the boy looking away with a grimace. Seems like they have at least one thing in common - they both hold a great distaste to Cronos' solemn way of talking.

Constantine is so going to regret this, but he knows where the Dead God is leading.

"Yeah, okay," he rubs his face with one hand, and, before he has time to ask or say another word, the whole graveyard is gone, and he is standing back in the bar, the low murmur of nightly crowd and warm light around him. Just like before he opened the window to the blood-eyed crow.

The only difference between then and now is the kid standing by his side, looking at him like John is the stupidest man he'd ever seen. Oh, he is already regretting this.

Constantine drops his hand down and goes back to the bar, where he left his drink.

"Want a beer?" He asks, and the kid rolls his eyes, trailing after him.

"I'm twelve," he deadpans, and, yeah, okay, he's got a point.

Fuck it, he is calling in a favor from Bats. That man has, like, twenty kids, he should have some parenting advice.

~•~•~•~

Yeah, the song really reminded me of Clockwork for some reason. Why am I loved only when I'm gone? is really stricking me as a line written for him because you only cherish the time after it's gone, you smile at your memories and pictures, but you rarely ever pay attention to it in the moment.

Also, I did my best with the Gothic aesthetic there, and here's the additional vibe.

Clockwork, just dropping a random ass kid on his occasional one night stand and vanishing into the night, knowing that John Constantine has a soft spot for kids and won't just fuck off to who knows where: it's for the greater good the better timeline

Danny, left alone with a clearly too drunk to think magician whose soul looks like a jigsaw puzzle: the fuck it's not

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Restoration Worship

Nikolai x Fat F! Reader Tags: monsterfucking, gargoyles, dubcon, overstimulation, tail sex, anal play, double penetration, squirting, cunnilingus, p in v, dirty talk.  I think thats about it, I think yall should know by now that every reader I write is fat, blacked out and wrote 3K words of gargoyle smut sooo… enjoy!

It had begun as a research effort, a little trip to the cemetery to hopefully procure some interesting insight into a little project she’d been working on for the museum. Eyes scanning over lichen covered graves and cracked mausoleums, words long faded in time. 

She’d seen the videos before. Kind strangers brushing away years of decay with a brush and patience. Who would we be without the knowledge from our predecessors after all? 

So with a passion for restoration and a need for busy hands she set to work, uncovering gracious prayers and one of the best cookie recipes she’d ever tasted set within the worn stone. 

It’s months before she comes across him. He’s a big boy, covered in lichen and the webs of spiders, stone stained heavily from the elements. Sharp claws curl into the pedestal he hunkers on, broad wings curled against his back, stone teeth bared in warning. 

Even like this he’s beautiful, strong features carved delicately in tarnished marble. 

She’d found her next project. 

A decade had passed since death had been at Nikolai’s doorstep, when he’d let the stone take him, closed himself off from the world to rest after an egregious injury. He’d watched over the lowly cemetery with weak eyes, until they too became covered. Until he’d lost himself to the void, consciousness falling into inky blackness as he waited amongst the trees. 

That is, until her.

His days had shifted from the chittering of squirrels and bird song to an incessant chatter. A soft english lilt that stirred something in his hazy mind. He likes the english. Past visions of old friends flash in his mind, warm dark skin, cigars, a mask made of bone. 

How could he forget? 

He strains, willing his senses back to life, listens harder for the soft voice amongst the tombstones. 

She talks to the dead, chattering away at graves that will never speak back to her. This graveyard is old, quiet, its occupants long passed over after they stopped burying the dead here, when their loved ones had long passed on themselves. 

She asks them questions, makes up stories, tells them about her day. She’s a museum conservator and she brings things back to life all the time. Making them shiny and new, loving them through hard work and careful hands so that others may get to love them too. 

And when she’s not talking she’s humming, or singing so off tune that even the birds grumble. But she’s laughing at herself,  looking up songs from the years written on the graves and playing those too, a little tune the deceased might be familiar with. 

Her voice bounces from grave to grave, and he realizes she’s cleaning them, scrubbing the dirt away and bidding them adieu when her task is finished. 

Sweet thing, he muses, wishing he could see her, wishing she would bring him to life too.

His dream comes true on a sunny afternoon, the summer rays warming his stone, waking him just a little more. 

She’s close, footsteps rustling the leaves at his feet as she circles him. 

“You keep watch don’t you?” she asks him seriously, and she’s right there. So close he can smell her, like blueberries and vanilla sugar, it’d make his mouth water if he could just move.

She speaks again, but he can barely register the words as warm gentle hands clear the infinite dark from his field of view. Brushing away vines and lichen.

“There! That’s better!” 

And there she is. A big soft girl, with sweet round cheeks flushed from the heat. He needs to hold her, crush her close and reward her for her kindness, but she’s gone just as quickly, promising to return to clean him properly, and his marble heart warms at the thought. He commits her form to memory, watching her soft braids sway against her back as she leaves.  

A longing seeping deep into his marrow as he lets the sleep take him again. 

She returns the following weekend, small spray rig and gentle cleaner in hand when she finds him again. She’s mindful, soft hands gently tugging at his limbs to test the durability before ambling her soft body onto his platform. It’s wonderful, to finally feel the heat of another against his skin, and he thinks if the sun weren’t touching him he could come to life now, tackle her into the soft grass and ravish her. He knows she’d be so sweet, whimpering and mewling under his touch. 

It would wait for another time. 

She works from the top down, soaking him with warm water before scrubbing him with soft bristle brushes. She’s delicate, leaning her soft body against his as she cleans, washing away years of dirt and moss. She scrubs behind his ears, in the bend of his horns, clearing the nests of insects from between his teeth. He revels in the feel of her, soft breasts and belly pressed to his skin, gentle hands stroking over the sensitive margins of his wings. Had he been mobile he’d be purring, with spread wings and stiff cock all over some gentle petting. 

He mourns when she leaves, water cooling against his stone as she packs up before nightfall. 

But it gives him time to practice.

It takes days, weeks, before he can move under the cover of night, limbs coming to life sluggishly, the world becoming more clear to his dulled senses. 

She returns like clockwork, spending the afternoons with him, chatting and humming, leaning against his platform as she eats her lunch. 

He can’t move far, just a few movements, but he gets greedy, finally willing his wings to open, letting them stretch pleasantly in the cool night air and freeze there when the sun freezes him again. 

She’s a bit startled when she returns, eyeing him with confusion and the broad reptilian wings spread proudly behind his back. Come closer love, they’ve always been this way.

Nevertheless she scrubs those too, warm hands petting over the webbing, ghost along the modified fingers of his wings. He has half a mind to wallow in the night, cover himself in more dirt if only to keep her trips regular. But he knows his time is coming to an end when she dusts away the last leaves from his pedestal. 

She has a final rest with him, his sweet keeper perched at his feet as she watches the sun disappear behind the trees. 

And finally, finally. As the soft light of the moon kisses his skin, he greets her. 

“Hello solnyshka” he purrs, voice low and gravely,  amusement crinkling pupil-less eyes, as he watches her nearly jump out of her skin. Scrambling away and whirling to take a look at the massive gargoyle.  He can see now, really see, and she’s lovely. Freckles dusting round cheeks, bulky denim and cotton hiding big soft curves underneath. 

She’s frozen, staring at him with wide eyes. He stretches, not unlike a cat, trembling slightly with the effort as he spreads his wings, lifts his hands above his head to crack his own spine, shaking away the stiffness from his tired bones. He relaxes again,  smiling at her fondly, revealing sharp fangs underneath. 

“I’m grateful for your work.” he calls again, taking a slow step off of his platform, clawed feet digging into the earth below. He is truly, his new keeper being the first ray of sun to truly grace his skin in decades. Just the light he needed to wake him from his slumber.  He needs to hold her, feel her softness under his claws. 

She swallows, clasping trembling hands in front of her. 

“I didn’t mean to be a bother, sir”

Sir.

He purrs at the honorific, but why did she think she was a bother? Had she not heard him?

“Not a bother, you’ve “restored” me” he chuckles, “quite well too” he adds looking over his limbs as he eases closer. “Call me Kolya.”

She repeats it, mimicking the accent just right, and being the polite thing she is, she gives him her name in return. It melts in his mouth like sugar, His pretty prize unaware of the hold she’s given him with just her name alone. 

“Come here, let me have a look at you”

She hesitates a moment before inching towards him, and he meets her halfway with a long stride, chin to his chest as he looks her up and down. His poor thing is so nervous. Fidgeting under his gaze, pulling, pushing and twisting at the joints of her fingers, desperate to get them to pop, to alleviate some of the tension in her body. 

He takes her hand in his, sliding a claw between her fingers to shake them loose, letting her soft little hand curl around his own. He dwarfs her, already half-hard with just her palm in his. He moves her carefully, flipping her hand over to trace a dark claw over the sensitive lines of her palm drawing a small shiver from her that has his cock twitching in interest. 

He continues, gliding his fingers up her arm, over her shoulder, toying briefly with the denim strap of her overalls. She’s bashful, keeping her eyes averted, a hot flush to her cheeks as he looks her over. 

“None of that” he chides, sliding his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her back. Her lips part, pupils blown as he smiles down at her, some of her nervousness melting away as he handles her so gently.  “So pretty, daragaya” and the stars in her eyes as he praises her break what little self control he has left. 

He’s quick, catching her round face in both hands and bending low, pressing a hungry kiss to her lips. She squirms briefly, hands flying up to grip his wrists in panic, he curls a tail around her calf, holding her neatly in place as he licks into her mouth, earning a soft gasp from his keeper as her lips part for him. 

Good gods, she even tastes sweet. 

He purrs happily into her mouth, savoring the taste of her flavored chapstick, the end of his tail flickering happily, brushing the soft curve of her ass. She’s panting now, a soft little whine bubbling from her throat at the contact. He dives low, licking a stripe across her jaw, reveling in the salt of her skin before nibbling and kissing his way down her throat, clawed fingers easily popping the cheap metal clasps of her outfit, pushing the denim away before yanking off the extra cotton shirt underneath. 

Nikolai thinks it should be forbidden for such soft curves to be hidden like that. She’s a vision, an angel with the most beautiful soft curves, and when he has her back in his den he’ll dress her in the finest silks and jewelry, pretty chains to hug her waist, dangle nicely between her breasts. Highlight all his favorite parts. He might even keep her bare, just for his eyes to see. 

She shivers in the cold, using her arms to cover her breasts as best as she could, eyes averted from his hungry gaze.  Why did she hide from him? There should be paintings of her, statues in her image. She was perfect. So warm and soft, he kneaded at the handles at her hips, clawed fingers tracing over the soft swell of her belly, the rolls at her sides, skin hot beneath his fingers. He huffs, snagging her wrists and holding them well above her head, using the extra digits at the ends of his wings to hold her there, pulled taught and vulnerable beneath his gaze.

With a sharp claw he rips away the scrap of fabric that covered her chest, large hands palming them eagerly, nipples pebbling under the warm drag of his thumbs. He hums, pinching and pulling at her perfect little tits, hard cock nudging incessantly at her belly, leaving glistening webs of pre-cum over her skin as she whimpers and gasps. 

“Kolya” she whines as he drags a hot tongue over her soft peaks, flicking his tongue over her pert skin before drawing a nipple into his mouth, nibbling and suckleing greedily. He breaks away, grinning up at her, sinking his teeth into the meat of her breast cheekily. She squirms, eyes squeezed tight and teeth dug into her plump lip as she tries halfheartedly to escape him. Though the wiggling only gives her tits a lovely jiggle that has him diving in again, nipping at her nipple just to earn himself another squeal. 

He kisses over the skin in a gentle apology before sliding down her belly, pressing a trail of hot kisses there before he reaches the seam of her panties, cute little curls peaking out around the edges at her thighs. He marvels at the dark stain of her arousal, pressing his nose into the soaked fabric and breathing deep. She bucks against his face, squirming madly to get some kind friction. Not so demure now are you?

“I’ll take care of you greedy girl, patience.” he warns, tail patting her ass fondly as he drags his tongue along the sodden fabric. He rips those away too, thick tongue sliding against her folds with little preamble, the resounding moan like music to his ears. Using his tail to tug her legs further apart, he lavishes her in earnest, slurping at her cunt like a beast, using his thumbs to spready her puffy lips apart. She’s heaven, sweet and tangy on his tongue, and he would stay here for hours, drinking her down until her legs gave out and then taking more. 

He sinks his tongue inside, licking into her tight heat as his nose brushes against her clit, humming wickedly as she cries and bucks. He takes control, dragging his claws up to grip her hips, guiding her into a nice and easy rhythm against his face. He loves every minute of it, reveling in the drag of her soaked folds against his tongue,  the broken whines as he breaks away to suck her clit. He drags her to the edge over and over, fucking his tongue back into her wet heat and nosing at her sensitive nerves until she’s gushing against his face with a choked cry. 

“So good, solnyshka” he praises, sitting back on his haunches to admire his work. He leans in, licking a hot stripe up her thigh, catching the errant rivulets of slick as they drip from her. 

“So wet, I bet we can make a bigger mess can’t we?” he purrs, dragging his knuckles against the soaked seam of her sex, drawing a tired whimper from her. She sags against his hold, chest flushed, and thighs soaked. He could devour her whole like this. 

He releases her, lifting her spent body into his arms, easing her down onto the clean pedestal that was once his. Pushing her legs apart he slides between them, sliding his neglected cock over her folds, using his tip to rub at her sensitive clit before sliding it along her body. He’s thick, head tapered to a near point, thick ridges rippling along underside of his shaft for a textured drag. Heavy balls kiss the seam of her sex as he rests there, tip drooling against her stomach. He needs her to see what she’s getting herself into, how much she’ll need to take for him. His soft girl looks up at him, big glassy eyes full of nervous anticipation. 

“I know” he coos, grinding himself against her skin, “you can take it, my perfect girl, we just need a little more room.”

He needs her pliant, well stretched to take him fully. With his claws as they were, using his fingers wasn’t an option,  but he does have another solution. Dragging a heavy palm through her slick he grabs hold of his tail, coating the tapered end thoroughly before guiding it toward her entrance, using a thumb to circle her clit as he slips inside. 

The tip is easy, no thicker than a couple of her fingers as it pushes its way inside, the glide nice and easy from her previous orgasm. He fucks nice and slow, thrusting the tip in shallowly until she’s whining for more. He leans over her, rutting his cock against the crease of her thigh as he sinks his tail in further, fucks into her with more speed, using his hands wisely to play with her tits, rolling her nipples between his fingers and nibbling at her lips to distract her from the stretch. She’s holding on for dear life, hands gripping his horns for purchase. 

Even as spent as she is, she clenches around him desperately, sweet pussy desperate to take as much of him as she can. He can’t wait to feel her pulsing against his cock. Wet and hot, and so so tight. 

He growls, rutting into her with more fervor. She’s close, chubby thighs clenching as he curls the tip of his tail a bit, just to bully more of his length inside of her. She’s lost in it, frantically kissing at his face as her peak draws closer and closer.  Sneaking a thumb against her clit she cums again, legs slamming shut against his tail as he fucks her through it, laughing as she sobs, shoving at him weakly as she gushes messily around him again, slick coating his abdomen and dribbling down the stone underneath. 

“Good girl, one more for me zoloste, I know you can do it.” He yanks her thighs apart pulling his tail from her greedy cunt and dragging her further down the pedestal, her plush ass hanging off the edge. He rests her thighs against his chest, kissing her ankle soothingly as he drags himself through her slick folds, thoroughly coating himself before lining up with her entrance. 

Even with the prep it’s a tight squeeze. He takes it slow, bullying his way inside her soaked heat, gummy walls squeezing him tight as he sinks in, whimpering as the ridges of his cock drag against her sore entrance.  He fucks slowly, pumping in shallow thrusts before he pulls out again, teasing her tired clit and pushing in again, head thrown back with victorious groan as he finally pushes himself to the hilt. 

Its a gorgeous sight, her pussy split open on the girth of him, legs spread wide and clit twitching as he fucks her with tight shallow circles. She’s a mess, cheeks streaked with tears and trembling against the stone, whimpers and little hiccups falling from her lips. He hushes her, sliding his palms against her thighs, catching her hands to curl his fingers in hers, anchoring her there as he picks up the pace. 

She’s already close, cunt clenching around him with every thrust. He fucks into her with earnest, her pretty fat pussy swallowing him down to the balls as the sticky slap of it echoes through the cemetery. 

“Fuck, taking me like you were made for it.”  he snarls bending over her to lick into her mouth, swallowing every little cry and plea as he fucks her mercilessly, soft body jiggling with the harshness of it. 

“You’ll give me anything won’t you? Let me fill up this pretty pussy.” he pants, yanking her closer, and with a sick knowing grin, his tail slides underneath her, slick tip toying with her asshole. “Let me fill this pretty ass too, wouldn’t you?”

“Anything you want, Kolya, please, please,”  she begs, his perfect girl cock drunk and hazy, tears spilling down her cheeks as she rocks into him for more. 

“Don’t even know what's good for you, silly girl, you’d let me tear you in two.” he chuckles, “ but I’ll give you a little taste.” His tip slides between her cheeks, already slick from her own juices.  He teases her there, flickering playfully at her hole before sinking in slowly, pushing just past her tight ring of muscle to fill her up, groaning at the feel of his own cock sliding against her walls. 

Her next orgasm takes her like a freight train, soft body arching and trembling as it ravages through her. He fucks her through it, pussy clenching him like a vice as he pulls his tail from her ass, sharp claws digging into the meat of her hips hard enough to draw blood as he chases his own end. 

Snarling like a beast he pounds into her, sinking himself deep as he comes with a low growl, painting her insides with long spurts. Filling her completely until his spend seeps out around his cock, spilling down her thighs and into the soft earth below. 

He holds them there like that, cock buried deep as he marks her from the inside out, his bulky head resting against her breasts as they both come down. 

His, his, his. 

His perfect soft girl, flushed and damp from sweat and slick, trembling hands carding though his dark hair.  Kind and gentle despite the way he ravaged her. 

And when she leans up, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips with a nervous giggle, he knows he’ll guard her for the rest of his days. 

[amaranthine-apollo]

i was wondering if you could do some sort of jinx x reader in which the reader somehow gets hurt and possibly dies due to the injury infront of jinx?? (sorry im not specific and im a sucker for angst lol)

thanks!

“ᴛɪʟʟ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴅᴏ ᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ”- ᴊɪɴx

-——————————𒅌——————————-

•How Jinx would react to her lovers sudden death and the effects it would have on her- {GN reader}

Fandom: Arcane

Genre: Angst/ Bullet points

Warning(s): Death, violence, gore, self harm

-——————————𒅌——————————-

⌖ Immediately she freezes in her tracks whilst all hell continues to break out around her. Time does not stop for her as she stares at your corpse, gunshot wounds inflicted by the guns enforcers wield littering your body with holes that weeped copious amounts of blood. It’s like the gears in her mind stop and her own legs nearly give in at the sight until the weight of someone crashing into her side snaps her out of her disbelief. And as the chaos goes on her first action is to rush over to your body, frantically struggling to pick you up while signaling towards Sevika to guard her as she rushes you back into Zaun.

⌖ All of her previous plans are eradicated from her mind as she runs through the narrow alleyways back to where she hides out a majority of the time. There was no time for her to call for help so that maybe you’d have a sliver of a chance of saliva. No, she could feel just how frigid your skin had become the moment she’d picked you up. You were dead on the spot, and you had the wounds on your chest and sides to prove that.

⌖ She’s hyperventilating as she clutches onto your stained clothes with a desperation she hasn’t felt in a while. The fabric is damp with crimson and when she bunches it up within her fists your blood is what flows out and drips onto the flooring. And as her eyes wearily drop downward to stare at her bloodied hands she finally lets out a guttural, broken scream. Next thing she knows she sobbing against your neck, blubbering out incoherent apologies against your skin until her voice is going hoarse.

⌖ She lays there with your body in her arms for hours upon hours, even after her voice gives away and her heart stops pounding painfully against her ribs. She simply cradles you in her hold, subconsciously petting your hair as her mind plays back the events leading to your death in her head over and over like a broken record.

⌖ After she pries herself away from you she begins to get your body ready to lay down to rest. Her hands are still trembling violently despite how she seems calmer now on the outside. Tears well up in the corners of her eyes that threaten to spill whenever she blinks but she tries her hardest to not break down again. If not for her own sake then for yours. She grabs various items of yours: some clothing, jewelry, and other trinkets belonging to you. She adorns your body with some of your necklaces and rings and shrugs on the jacket she crafted you herself by hand onto your shoulders. The rest of the things she’s gotten lay on your chest as she secured them with a piece of fabric so that they wouldn’t slip off.

⌖ Your burial is nothing special admittedly; but then again how would it be in Zaun? Whilst the filthy rich over in Piltover bury their loved ones in casket’s gloriously crafted with a tombstone where they lay the blue haired girl is left to place your corpse in one of the spots you and her would frequently visited or was your favorite and just.. place you there. If your death is after Silco’s and you had a strong enough bond with the man she may dip you into the very same water she’d taken Silco to.

⌖ Jinx’s hallucinations only worsen, especially on holidays you used to celebrate with her or towards certain anniversaries like when you both first got together and so on. It gets to a point to where it cripples her mentally and she finds herself in a deep depression that she struggles to get out of. All she sees and hears is you in front of her, berating and belittling her for doing this to you- for causing your death. Your lifeless eyes digging into her with such a hatred she ends up on the ground in a fetal position with her nails clawing deep red lines into her arms until she’s bleeding.

⌖ Her hatred towards Piltover spirals only further as a result of your absence and after staying hidden drowning in her own sorrows she’s planning attack after attack on them. It’s like a suicide mission more times than not with how violent her schemes get, and a part of her isn’t against the fact she may die fighting. She feels a sense of pride at the damage she causes, knowing that shes taking from the very people who stole everything from her.

⌖ Sevika often sees her struggle and after a while she suggests for her to get something made in your name to lessen how much your death still affects her mentally. So, she gives herself a tattoo that was symbolic of you. It’s right on her chest where her heart is, and sometimes when shes by herself she’ll run her hand over it and imagine it’s you she’s running her hand over. Your clothes are apart of hers now, taking a few of the rugged pieces to sew together on her own clothes in patches. She’ll also make a doll resembling you with two buttons the same color of your eyes. All of these things are what hold her together, and even though she’ll never get over your death and the love she felt towards you she’ll be damned if the memory of you ever dies.

[psychotic-nonsense]

"I'm sorry."

It's the first thing Steve says after everything.

After getting Vecna Cursed. After nearly dying. After a hallucination of Eddie saved him. After running through a looped forest. After finding sanctuary in Steve's memory of that Starcourt bathroom. After Eddie reveals himself as Eddie.

It's the only thing he can think of. It's not big enough to fit everything, but it's the only thing that fits in his mouth.

"Don't be."

Maybe that's the only thing Eddie can think of too. The only thing Eddie can bear to say.

Because don't be can't stop Steve's eyes from watering when he sees the vest in his closet. Don't be can't stop Steve's feet from dragging him to the cemetery every evening to clean Eddie's graffiti-covered tombstone. Don't be can't stop Steve from sitting beside Wayne and listening to him talk about the Eddie he remembers. Don't be can't stop Eddie's body from showing up in Steve's dreams, nor Eddie's corpse from his nightmares. Don't be couldn't keep the pain away enough, didn't stop Vecna from latching onto it while Steve was walking alone in the woods.

Don't be isn't enough for what Steve wants to hear. But even stuck here waiting, hoping, for someone to get Steve out, there just isn't enough time.

"I miss you."

"...Why?"

Eddie says it back so quickly, so quietly, like it's just unfathomable to him. Maybe it is, considering their last memories. But their eyes meet and he looks just as sad, just as longing, as Steve.

"You were my friend."

Steve can't help but say it like that. Like they were friends for years instead of days. Like Eddie was that important to him in their final moments. Like his heart really aches for Eddie every second of the apocalypse.

Can't help but say it like he means it.

"I wish we could've had more time..."

Steve's voice cracks a little there as he turns away, hiding. It's all he wants. It's all Vecna used to entice him with. It's all that's keeping him going, to finally fulfill the last request Eddie made. It's all he has left to feel close to Eddie.

The Eddie that's sitting right next to him, silent, his sight weighing on Steve's skin. Conscious and aware and the real Eddie. Trapped in Vecna's head as a backup power source, yet who still risked everything to come save Steve. Who Steve will never see again because killing Vecna means killing Eddie for good, and his heart doesn't want it, is begging for another solution...

But for once, his broken head overpowers his shattered heart.

"Maybe we did."

Eddie takes Steve's hand. Meets Steve's surprised look with his own small smile of hope. They're both suddenly tearing up, eyes glistening with life in this gray stall.

"Maybe in another world, we got a second first chance. A first second chance. Maybe even a third, or fourth. Maybe in a different life, we had everything we wanted. Because you, Steve Harrington, are too good for me to be doomed to meet just once."

And for a moment, Steve sees it. Feels it. Versions of them connected through the universe.

Little kids playing in the lake. One with bruised skin and shaved hair, loud but unfathomably lonely. One with a bruised heart and soft eyes, timid but stubbornly hopeful.

A rockstar with glittering chains, center stage in the spotlight. A set of eyes in the crowd or behind the curtain, watching only him.

A werewolf and a vampire, two cryptids of horror, meeting in the dead of a full moon night to feel safe with the only other one who understands.

A future where they won, where the only death was the one that mattered. A process of healing and learning, coming home to a family every single day.

A world without pain, without their hell, where two high schoolers found freedom from their shackles and company in each other. Hiding away together in the dark corners of the town.

Steve even sees other versions of them. Versions that he knows were originally never supposed to meet, yet forces so much greater than them pulled them together.

A metalhead drug dealer, constantly getting into trouble with one nail-bat-weilding cop.

A criminal's fugitive nature leading him to a rugged trailer park, and the dangerous owner within one such home.

An eccentric king in an old coliseum, always choosing one particular warrior as his champion.

A young programmer being pulled away from his work by sobs above his apartment, running upstairs to check on the law student that recently moved in.

Two actors, finding an easy friendship in the months of filming one season of a show that would change their lives.

In that moment, Steve's overwhelmed by the closeness he suddenly feels with the soul beside him. Falling into tears, he pulls Eddie into a tight hug, holding him so so close to convey everything he can't say. Feeling Eddie hold him back, hearing everything Eddie can't say in return.

Familiar music comes on outside the stall. Robin's voice calls out to him, telling him to come home.

And when he does leave, Steve hopes that someone out there will understand that he never can. Because here in Eddie's arms is the only place that will ever truly feel like home.

"Thank you... for everything, Eddie."

Thank you, Steve. For everything and more..."

--------------------

- List of AUs, in order, after, "Versions of them connected through the universe": Childhood Friends / Rockstar!Eddie / Werewolf!Steve & Vampire!Eddie / Eddie Survives / No Upside Down & High School

- List of Multiverse Steddie AUs, in order, after, "...yet forces so much greater than them pulled them together": Eddie x Gator / Baron x Michael / Geta x Sean / Keys x Eric / Quinn and Keery

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DP X DC prompt: ~It's April 27~

Happy Death Day, Jason! or 

How to Get a Medical Certificate of Death for employment.

~~~~~

Jason: Replacement,where’s my death certificate? In Infinite Realms they require it when applying for a job.

Tim: We..We burned it.

Jason: What the hell?!

Tim: Well, you broke your tombstone and it hurts to think about..so, you know, we thought you wouldn’t be happy to see it.

Jason: And what do you offer me now? I will not lie down again on the autopsy!

Tim: Well, actually..

~~~~~

Jason: Hey, Bruce, did you know that your close relatives might refuse traditional autopsy? *condemningly pointing to his autopsy scar*

Dick: It’s only possible if death was nonviolent, Little Wing. We’re sorry.

Jason: I don’t care! Call whoever you want but I need directions to virtopsia in an hour.

~~Meanwhile, Fenton Works~~

People may ignore the similarities between Fenton and Phantom but what about instrumental diagnostics?

~~In an hour, near the morgue~~

Danny: Where are my forensic results?

Doctor: Mr Fenton, your C.T.’s not ready yet, so wait outside.

Danny: I’m already dead! Should be afraid of too much ionization? All my molecules already got all rearranged.

Jason: Hey! It's my turn!

Danny: Sorry. the Ancients send me second time for expertise, damn bureaucrats.

Jason: Are you getting a job too?

Danny: Not by choice but by fate, unfortunately. What position are you applying for?

Jason: Royal Knight.

Danny: Ambitious. But you don’t look like a guy in armor or with a sword.

Jason: Kid, my guns will replace any weapon. Ask anyone in Crime Alley. What about you?

Danny: Well, take that piece of paper and don’t bring me your resume, you’re hired. Let me introduse myself. New King, Phantom. Don’t be late, work day starts at 7 a.m. I like black coffee, no sugar.

Jason: I’m not your secretary, asshole.

Danny: See you later.

~~the next morning.the dining room of Casper High~~

Red Hood: Your coffee, Your Majesty.*smiles*.

Danny: Did you spit in there? *drinks some*, *senses 15 spoons of sugar in 300 milliliters of drink*.

Danny: Ha! Reverse psychology works great. Jazz is right! *drinks it all in one gulp*

Red Hood: M-monster! Disgusting! On a level with Tim, I swear!

Danny: Why is it official? Just call me Danny. And who is Tim?  

Jason: ..I’m not letting you people without taste buds meet, ever.

Danny: Too bad, it seems we have a lot in common.

[targayrenss]

Join Me In Death-Eddie Munson

summary: Eddie manages to escape from the Upside Down and receives the terrible news that you, his girlfriend, had been murdered at the hands of Jason and his gang seeking to avenge Chrissy.

Guilty of your death, he decides to seek revenge at his own hands.

authors note:English is not my first language so please excuse any mistakes (feel free to correct me)

This was a bit inspired by The Crow and Join Me In Death by Him since I love the band, I hope you enjoy it.

Eddie had woken up disoriented, he began to cough in search of some air among so much dust.

He recognized his surroundings, he was still in the upside down only now it looked different.

No more bats, no lightning, no neighbor.

With pain he stood up, there was no trace of the bites caused by the demobats, only blood and pieces of his shirt missing.

He began to walk looking for a way out, it took him time due to the pain he felt, his head was pounding with pain, his heart ached without knowing why.

When he managed to get out he went straight to his trailer, he hoped that there was no one home but unfortunately it was not like that.

“Eddie?”

Wayne who was sitting in the same place as always while watching TV stood up while his eyes filled with tears without being able to believe what he saw.

He quickly pulled Eddie into a warm hug.

“W-we thought you were dead, we buried the only thing that kid of yours managed to rescue from you along with his body”

Eddie walked away from Wayne in confusion.

“Whose body?”

Wayne immediately noticed his mistake.

“I think I should call your friends for this”

Eddie was begging Wayne to tell him what he was talking about, but he refused until the others were here, he didn't want to be the one to give him the terrible news, not his boy.

Minutes later the door was knocked hard, Eddie could hear Steve's voice scolding Dustin.

He opened the door finding himself once again with his friends.

Dustin hugged him with emotion almost taking both of them to the floor “yeah, I missed you too Henderson”

As they hugged each other he saw how the others looked at him with pity, his chest felt tighter than in the Upside Down.

They asked him to sit down and not lose control but the anxiety was eating him alive.

Nancy sighed before speaking “while you were hiding and we were looking for clues, Jason Carver decided to gather a small search party.

Eddie nodded “I know, I remind them that they found me”

This time it was Robin’s turn “you weren’t the only one they found”

Steve quickly hit Robin, who moaned in pain

“What?

“They found y/n”

Eddie felt like his heart had stopped, this whole haunted town thing had distracted him so much that he hadn’t had time to think about you.

“Jason did to her what he thinks you did to Chrissy”

Eddie searched Wayne’s eyes hoping it was all just a simple joke in very bad taste, but he only found tears.

Wayne loved you as much as he loved you, you almost lived with them, you never spent time in your own house.

They were your house.

“Hopper is official again, we are doing everything we can to seek justice for her, but some people think…” Nancy stopped.

“You think!?”

“You think she was also involved with Chrissy’s death”

Eddie began to cry not caring that everyone was watching, you were dead because of him.

Those idiots murdered you and you didn’t get the justice you deserved.

He ran out of the trailer, ignoring Dustin and Wayne’s screams.

A loud thunder unleashed the cold rain, as if the world knew that they had lost you forever.

His mind clouded by the memories of you two led him to the old Hawkins cemetery.

He desperately searched for the tombstone with your name, without knowing it he spent two hours searching desperately until he finally found you.

A tombstone with your name on it and next to it one with his.

Yours was adorned with red roses and his with white roses, both had been painted with hateful messages in red.

He fell to his knees in front of your tombstone, he couldn't believe that it was you who was buried in a coffin that he would never be able to open.

He was going to avenge you, all those who hurt you will pay in the worst possible ways.

[deadly-diminuendo]

Those Three Little Words

a short spawn astarion x fem!tav reader oneshot / nsfw / ~1k words

Summary: Every year you and Astarion return to the place where he began his life anew and every year you indulge in your love for each other.

(Or: a short and saccharine tribute to graveyard sex)

CW/Tags: piv sex, oral sex, pregnant Tav, graveyard sex, elf ear play, tooth-rotting sweetness, post-game

Read on AO3

Or read below...

I love you.

The words spill from his lips and then echo from yours, again, again, again. A refrain neither of you ever tire of repeating.

You love him. You love him. You love him.

And though your spoken affections always fade into a symphony of sighs, you know every caress, every kiss, every moment of bliss is another declaration of your devotion to one another.

The love between you is sweetness. Safety. Care, compassion, companionship. Shared laughter and shared tears. An anchor in the wild waves of a stormy night.

And it is passion, pleasure, paradise. Sensual secrets. Hours spent intertwined. Fire and flames and a thirst you can never quite quench.

But, oh, how you try.

Astarion lays you down beneath a midnight sky—a canvas dotted with sparkling stars and lit by a bewitching moon—and yet as you gaze above all you see is the adoration in his eyes.

He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.

The night he told you meant the world to you—and still you know it meant so much more to him. It was also reclamation, renewal, rebirth. That his first act of his second life was to indulge in his love for you made your heart sing.

It is here, at his grave, where he laid his past to rest and it is here where the two of you return year after year to celebrate freedom, celebrate love, celebrate life.

You bask in the nostalgia of it all, your body aching to replay and to reenact all the ways you connected and bonded and merged. The tenderness of memories past and the radiant hopes of the future and the precious now all come together here. You have so much to be grateful for—the ring on your finger and the babe in your belly among the latest and greatest testaments to your love.

A soft laugh falls from your lips as his knee slides under yours, spreading you open. A familiar gesture forever part of this yearly ritual. He grins back at you and you beam at this sense of levity you share; the comfort, the ease, the fun that comes from a true understanding and unconditional acceptance of each other.

He peppers little kisses everywhere, and you giggle. His lips linger on the swell of your stomach, and you sigh. He licks a thick stripe along your slit, and you moan.

You claw at the earth below, not concerned in the least about the dirt under your nails nor the mess he will make of you, your mind blank but for the bliss his tongue brings. He knows you would surrender to his deepest desires—at any time, really, but especially on a night as meaningful as this—and yet he chooses to put your pleasure first. You suppose it is as he once told you.

You were the answer to his prayers and so he will dedicate himself to your worship.

Astarion works you expertly, tongue dipping between your folds and flicking against your clit, an expression of his stunning fluency in your body language. Heat coils within your core until it snaps, his name a shrill cry you can no longer suppress as pleasure pulses through you.

He cannot help but to make a little joke about you waking the dead and you give him a playful swat. And though your limbs are still shaking, you think it time to turn the tables, time to tease him and tempt him until he is throbbing to be one with you.

You start with his ear, tracing a single finger from soft lobe to pointed tip, smiling at the way it flushes beneath your touch. He whimpers, and nods, and those gorgeous eyes fall closed, and you know you have him. He lets you play with him as you like, guiding him to sit back against the tombstone and immerse himself in you. You give his ear a lick. A nibble. A kiss.

Your lips trail down his neck and across his chest, admiring his lithe frame and lean muscle, and you want him, and you need him, and you love him, oh, so impossibly much.

You settle between his legs, and you wait for that final nod that grants you this gift, this chance to give to him what he gives to you so fervently. And when he offers his assent, hungry eyes heavy-lidded with lust, you take him into your eager mouth.

You stroke and you suck, swishing your tongue to work the underside, seeking out those sweet sounds that signal his satisfaction. You revel in the way he loses himself in pleasure, head lolled back, jaw open, groaning, moaning, trusting in you. 

To you he is a lover, a partner, a husband, a father to the little life growing inside you. He is everything. He deserves everything. And you will give him everything you have.

Though it comes as no surprise to you when he gives you a reluctant but gentle nudge, his need to bury himself within you stronger than his urge to spill down your throat—and so you roll onto your back as he clambers over you, his usual finesse lost in his feral desperation to fuck you.

He sinks into you. You wriggle and you writhe, making no more attempts to stifle your cries. In this moment the world is his and yours alone. Together you are whole. He plunges into you with animalistic abandon, as if his sole purpose is to stuff you full of seed, as if you aren’t already plump with his child.

I love you. Those three little words spoken from his lips are what makes you fall to pieces beneath him as he finds his release inside you. You tremble as you ride out every last second, savouring every sensation you share with the man you love more than anything.

You lie together, marvelling at how lucky you are to be by his side, to be part of his life as he learns to live again, to have built this life together, to have created a whole new life inside you, a miracle that makes you both smile.

And yet all you say is those same three little words.

I love you.

+++ Thank you for reading! A bit shorter than my usual work, but I wanted to get something out into the world as I continue to chip away on a few other wips!

My AO3 | My Masterlist

[draconic-desire]

DD’s Yandere Poll Series: Surviving the Yan!Penacony Boys (based on this post)

Rules/warnings: Read the below scenario and pick your answer or comment your own reaction. Dark content ahead!

Incident #1 — The Maze

You really should have gone left.

The series of passageways stretches before you, each step seemingly bringing you farther and farther from your goal: escape from Penacony, from the Family, from this Pavilion, from him.

Fathoming the reasons as to exactly why he took an interest in you are fruitless and tiresome. You’ve gone over it time and time again, replaying your initial meeting in the Dreamscape, your own personal escape. How he descended on you like a guardian angel, expecting your arrival. How you fell for his initial charms and illusions. How it seemed you would serendipitously run into him every time you descended into dreams. How his midnight birds followed you everywhere, before you knew they were his very own eyes.

One of them is watching you now.

You give it the middle finger.

Left, right; port, starboard. You are the captain of a vessel of one, and the ship is sinking fast.

I can take your pain away, he promised. Just stay here, with me. Dream, forever. Isn’t that why you came to Penacony in the first place?

Before entering the Dreamscape, that may have sounded like a blessing. You’d have nothing to worry about; no external problems could ever harm you again. You’d be free of your debts, your job, your responsibilities, your failures… But now you see his promise for what it is: a curse, a nightmare. Your freedoms stripped, your soul laid bare to a man who simply wants to control you.

An attempt was made to run. You hadn’t even made it out of the dream. Hence why you find yourself here, in this abominable maze, with the power of an Aeon ripping into your consciousness and tearing down every last brick of your willpower.

You take the next left—to be met with a dead end.

The Harmony squeezes around your mind once again, and you gasp at the invasive sensation. Pain, sharp and all too intimate, shatters through your skull. Shimmering colors flood the edges of your vision as you fall to your knees, bracing your palms against your temples. “No, stop it, it’s not real—!”

Light, leisurely footsteps echo behind you. “And who of us is qualified to say what is real or not?”

A low growl escapes your throat, but you do not look up. You will not give him the satisfaction.

“I can make it all go away.” A lithe finger tilts your chin up, and you are met with bright golden eyes, pupils dashed with deep violet. You swear you see swirls of iridescence floating around his irises.

Sunday smiles at you, and your stomach drops. Not like before, when butterflies danced in your chest, but like a weight being dropped, a tombstone being erected over a grave. “Just give in.”

[feyascorner]

Alternate timeline for TFBU where Astarion goes to the underdark with the other vampire spawns? He still leaves the group permanently after you kill Cazador without giving him the chance to choose to do it himself, but he never actually comes back.

He spends decades—maybe even a century in the underdark while you spend the rest of your days with that day haunting your dreams. You never pick up your lyre again, you eventually stop coming back to the house to your other companions at all, and you become a ghost of the city. While everyone moves on, you're just numbly existing in a time that only freezes for you.

But you still make sure to visit Astarion’s grave every few days. You don't know how you managed to find it, but you'd recognize the name carved into the headstone anywhere. And every day you leave flowers, and it’s the most you can do to cope with the unresolved feelings he’s left behind.

He spends years with the other spawn, mending his relationship with some of them but finds himself constantly thinking back on the day he left you. The day he nearly killed you. He's not sure how long it takes, but eventually, after so many years, he begins to understand. Living without Cazador’s dreadful presence makes him realize that perhaps power wasn't what he needed along—he only wanted to be free to live. This, of course, makes him realize how much in the wrong he was for reacting that way toward you, and he finally ventures back into the city.

But when he gets there, you're no longer there.

Too much time has passed. Too much of which he hadn't even noticed, because the sun doesn't rise in the underdark.

He finds his own grave where there’s a pile of dead flowers surrounding all parts of it. And despite how old it is, his tombstone is far cleaner than he remembers it, as if someone was taking care of it until recently. Carefully. Lovingly.

Then, he sees it. And he cannot deny how his stomach drops.

Your own headstone, on the opposite side of the graveyard.

Yours, is stuffed in the way corner, where nobody but the ones who actively search for it would ever notice its presence. It lies under a tree, and he doesn't have the heart to even read the years etched into stone, because he fears knowing how much time he wasted in just being able to understand you. To understand you'd done what you thought to be best for him.

He places a hand on the top of the stone. You feel cold now. No longer can he feel the warmth of your skin, see the gleam of your eyes, hold your soft hand against his face. No longer can he do what he came here to do, if you'd pity him enough to allow it. Instead, all he can do is stare at a stone with your name on it.

This is not you. You are not here anymore.

He rather wishes he'd just died the day of the ritual in Cazador’s plans. He would've died knowing how your warmth felt, but now—all he has is the memories of someone he threw away.

If there’s truly any merciful god left in this world, he's sure they'd kill him now.

[allurilove]

Halloween Costumes My Yanderes Would Wear.

“Also featuring Henry as well.”

Yandere Husband & Henry

Henry wanted to be a character from his favorite new show— a show he’s been watching in secret. Game of Thrones wasn’t exactly kid appropriate, and you had not idea who was letting him watch that show, or how he even got access on his kid restricted tablet. And to your surprise—out of all the characters that appeared on that long fantasy series—your son wanted to be the dragon. Not just any dragon though! He wanted to be the dragon. You had zero clue on what he was ranting on and on about, and your husband wasn’t any help either since he just handed his card to Henry to shut him up.

Henry got to be Drogon for halloween, well he wore a generic dragon costume, and he slapped on a name tag on his chest. You were of course Daenerys Targaryen, and dad was well… dead.

“Seriously?” Your husband frowned as he looked at the tombstone costume in his hands. “This is what you got me?”

Henry shrugged and he happily grabbed his halloween bag. “It’s lore accurate.”

Yandere Boyfriend

Your boyfriend just wanted to be hot. He was sick and tired of going as some niche character from a show people didn’t even know about, and he wanted to have some sex appeal for once. There was nothing hotter than a man dressed up as a masked killer, right? The costume was rather simple, it just contained a long mask, and what seemed to look like a black gown. He tossed the gown into the trash and he swiftly took off his shirt, he then puts on the Ghost face mask.

He hoped that you would be turned on by the sight him. That was the goal anyways.

Yandere Best Friend

“Guess what I am!” Your bestfriend had stormed into your basement with a huge smile. His chest was proudly puffed up, and his hands gestured at his outfit. Well let’s see.. he wore an apron, a tall chef hat, and some black pants.

“You’re a firefighter aren’t ya?” You rolled your eyes and went back to cracking open another can of pop.

“Real funny. No, I’m the best cook in town. Obviously.” He then approached you over at the couch, and he sat awfully close to you. His smile never faltered, and he pulled out a red lipstick. “Wanna make this outfit complete and kiss the cook?”

Yandere Professor

If you were still together with yandere professor, he wouldn’t go to the halloween parties that’s on campus, but he would show you a cool night club he likes to go to. He doesn’t care about dressing up really, and he thinks he’s too old for that. Halloween is a holiday for kids, teens that are desperately clinging onto their childhood, and childish young adults.

You met up with him at a secluded bar that you walked past a couple of times. You had to go through multiple doors, and you eventually found the steps that led to the booming sound of dark electronic music. Yandere professor waved you over, a small flower in his breast pocket, and he stood up to hug you.

He then brushed your hair behind your ear, and he whispered, “Do you like my costume?” Which confused you at first since you noticed nothing different from his usual professional attire.

“Oh c’mon, I’m dressed up as your date. It’s sweet right? It’s a one of a kind costume.”

Yandere Classmate

“Explain to me your costume again?” You sighed exasperatingly, your cheek resting on your hand as you stared at him blankly.

He smiled proudly, the most insane words escaping his lips with a little wink followed after it, “I’m dressed up as the best pussy eater of course.”

“Right…” you say slowly, “and who is that?”

He gave you a pointed look. “Take a guess, y/n. I’ll give you three tries, and if you get it wrong, you’ll end up back in your cage.”