#like that cat thing where they bring you dead animals because they think youre a cat thats too dumb to hunt on your own

[wolfcat-hybrid]

Trying to remember what humans eat after spending 5 years in a basement is HARD, okay?

(apartment anon here!) I forgot to add this, but I think it's so cute to think of mc buying/trying to learn how to cook meals for Nathan, putting them of the freezer with sticky notes like "EAT -BW" (adds little face with fangs)

I think I might not have gotten the first half of this ask, but I will say I love the implication that MC has forgotten how to cook human food.

MC: "I have prepared some human food for you."

Nathan: "Is this... just a single unchopped lettuce?"

MC: *lizard blink*

[reikissu]

Baji Keisuke dating headcanons.

a/n: a new dating hcs for baji, since my last ones were ooc as hell 😟 (mikey, draken, mitsuya, pahchin, kazutora)

genre: fluff, a bit of comedy

reader: gender neutral

warnings: cursing, mentions of violence and injuries

baji’s an odd one, despite him being an infamous delinquent and being held back a year, he’s the sweetest boy ever.

he’d call you baby, dumbass or babe, it depends on different days.

he’ll do anything for you, even if it meant killing someone. need help with something? alright, he’s up for the job, but if it involves homework, he’ll try his best. you hate someone with a burning passion? he’ll beat the living hell out of them for you.

he sometimes gets into fights on purpose so you’ll take care of him, you’ll hear a stone hitting your bedroom window and you’ll see your beaten up boyfriend with a shit eating grin outside your house.

“babyyy! treat my wounds please!” “you got into another fight? oh my god. 😠” “hehe.” “don’t hehe me, keisuke! whatever.. get in here.”

his mother adores you, she’s very happy for you and keisuke. she’s proud of her son because you always tell her how well he treats you, she now knows her son will be a good husband. ryoko would give you food as thanks for making keisuke happier, she’d also always ask him about you.

“how’s y/n?” “huh? oh, they’re doing good.” “oh okay, when will they stay over again?” “hmmm.. not sure, i’ll ask them tomorrow.”

there’s times where he’s in a bad mood, he gets the urge to punch someone or burn cars, but he then remembered that you told him not to. so he just pays you a visit whenever he feels cranky.

his type of dates would be after school or at night, after school you both would go to his favorite café and eat while telling each other what happened in your day, at night he would take you out on a ride or bring you to a night market.

he dreams big, and he works hard to make sure he’ll be able to achieve that life with you. a life with you where you both are newlyweds, living in an apartment without a single worry, having cats and cute kids. it makes him blush when he thinks about it.

if you’re a hardworker who never takes a break, he’ll drag your ass out. “Huh? Kei, where are we going?” “We’re going to that place you like so much.” “Why? I was doing something you know!” “Dumbass, it’s been days since you haven’t left your room, i don’t wanna open the door and see you dead on the floor.”

he would give you small things as his way of showing you his love aside from kisses and hugs. like your favorite snacks, keychains of your favorite flower or animal, and jewelry he can afford.

you both would have matching phone charms and rings, the phone charms would be cats and the rings would be sun and moon themed. he never takes off his ring, even if he was in a fight or if he was taking a bath.

he would proudly introduce you to mikey and the others, he doesn’t care if it’s embarrassing, he wants to show you off.

“Meet Y/N, they’re my lover.” “Wait, what?!” “Woah, you got yourself a saint if they can handle how much of an asshole you are.” “Nice to meet you, Y/N.” “Man, i never thought you’d be able to get a lover!” “They’re hot.” “HA?!” and everyone else has to hold baji back from beating kazutora up.

he gets jealous, even of kids. one time, a little boy came up to you and told you that he wants to marry you one day, you just said thank you and laughed it off… while keisuke, was glaring down at the kid and was like “😠… Hm.”

he would introduce you to every cat he owns. “This one’s Yuko, this one here is Peyoung, and this one, my favorite is named Y/N Jr.” “You seriously named a cat after me?” “Duh, you should’ve expected that from me.”

he’d always crave for your warmth, even at school. whenever you two are alone in a place at school, he’d hug you, if you two are staying over at his place or your place, he’d cuddle you. his arms around your waist, his face buried into the crook of your neck as he takes in your scent.

if you have younger siblings or pets, he’d gladly take care of them if you are busy or anything. he’d be the type to get along well with your parents too.

he would smell like Versace Eros, he would probably have that as his perfume because one of his rich relatives gave him that as a birthday present. so it makes you giddy inside whenever you hug him.

he isn’t very talkative and nice to other students except you, if they’d try flirting with him he’d immediately tell them you’re his lover. you are the only exception to him, no one else can play with his hair, touch his body, or even try to fix his necktie and fake glasses.

rando: “Ah, Baji-kun, your collar’s wrinkled.” he’d swat their hand away if they even try to touch his clothes, “Don’t touch me, i can fix it myself.” but if it’s you, it’s an automatic yes.

baji would ask help from you if he was having hard time with some topics in some subjects, and he’d feel bad for bothering you. but you always assure him it’s fine for him to ask for help. that’s why his test scores went up, all thanks to everything you taught him.

in short, he’s the type to improve his flaws, to study hard, to be more careful with his attitude, all for you. he’s willing to do everything, even if it has risks of death. his heart only belongs to you.

© reikissu do not repost/steal any of my works and repost it on other platform/s. I do not own the characters i write for at all, reblogs are appreciated though ♡

[illubean]

Hi ! Can you do the main four hxh (platonic Gon and Killua) x reader neko who has the reflexes, hearing and speed of a cat. But who takes a lot of naps during the day and is very lazy .

How will they react if as a 'gift' you gave them a dead animal (cats do this when they like someone, and I think their reactions would be rather funny).

(Sorry if my English is bad, it's not my native language.)

Have a nice day!

Main 4 (HXH) With a CatHybrid!Reader

Characters: Gon Freecs, Killua Zoldyck, Kurapika Kurta, Leorio Paladaknight Type: Platonic, Headcanons, Gn!Reader

personally I prefer using the word hybrid instead of neko idk

Warnings: mentions of dead animals

Gon Freecs

coming from an island I think Gon knows a lot about animals

he's not too surprised when you bring him rodents you've caught

he literally goes fishing and I'm pretty sure there's others on the island who hunt so he doesn't think much of it

he probably gifts you some of the fish he catches too

he lets you do your own thing most of the time, since you're lazy and he's like the polar opposite of you

he is always out and about doing things or just simply exploring

Gon has both exceptional sense of smell and hearing just like you so you guys often react the same to certain sounds or scents

he doesn't know how to tell how your feeling by your tail behavior but he does know how to tell by your eyes

he knows that whenever your pupils blow wide, you're feeling mischievous

Killua Zoldyck

you'd probably mistake him for one of you if he hadn't been missing the ears and tail

both your reflexes and speed were evenly matched

but your hearing is much better than his

he generally trusts your judgement, so if your ears twitch and you take off in the opposite direction he's following you without question

you're very lazy so he knows that if you're running its for a reason

as for the gift thing...

the first time you dropped a dead rat at his feet he was very confused

you literally sat there like :3 while he was kind of disgusted...

"What the hell is this" "A gift :D" "Uh ok then..."

when he sees you laying around taking naps either basking in the sun or curled up in some corner he probably joins you since you find it so comfortable

and after that he understands the appeal

#nappingbuddies

Kurapika Kurta

he already gives me cat owner vibes so your whole hybrid thing doesn't bother him

he probably knows how to tell what you're feeling by the flick of your tail and position of your ears too

he often finds you sleeping or lounging about in odd places around his cozy apartment

and if you ever so choose to nap on top of him he will simply refuse to wake you up

he will stay wherever he is until you get up on your own

he has to hide any catnip he may have from you because yk...you're much larger than a normal cat and would probably go insane and accidentally destroy things

he knows about your little gifting habit so when you eventually start bringing small animals to him he pretends to accept them and throws them away when you're not looking

you are a very spoiled kitty; whenever he has the time this man cooks you fresh meals

whenever you're feeling moody he hits you with the behind the ears and under the chin scratch combo

and it works to make you feel better every single time

Leorio Paladaknight

he's 100% tried the cucumber trick on you

he watched you turn around then launch like 15 feet into the air and laughed because he couldn't believe it actually worked

pls hit him for that it's not funny.

in my head Leorio uses strong cologne so with your heightened senses you'd probably have to keep your distance

and he's lwky bitter about it...

but sometimes you manage to catch him on days where he's not going out therefore he feels no need to put any on

and boom you can cuddle with him then

when you brought him a dead animal one day he screams like a girl

"WTF GET IT AWAY!" "But it's a present :("

he kind of feels bad after seeing the dejected and confused look on your face but please for the love of god get that poor bird out of his living room

when you take it away he ends up forgetting about it until he finds it hidden under the couch or something a few days later

he ends up screaming again...

[impactedfates]

Love In Different Shapes - Various HSR Girls x GN! Reader

★ Summary: Your lover loves to show that they love you, however some of their methods to do so, aren't something you'd expect - i.e HSR Girls and their love languages (but it's not your typical love language)

☆ Characters Included (Separate): Jingliu, Topaz, Serval, Qingque, Asta, Tingyun, Kafka

★ Genre/Trope: Romantic + Crack (?)

☆ Warnings: None

★ Extra: Just had random thoughts about HSR characters love language and decided to write about what theirs is in my opinion - just not your typical ones. // Not proof read - we die like Himeko // There's a HSR Boy version as well! Right here.

Y'know those cats who come to your doorstep and drop a dead bird in front of your door? That's her...but it's an actual person.

As Jingliu is well...dead herself (I think) and I believe currently in the Shackling Prison which probably means very small times where she can see you if she can convince Jing Yuan, the fastest gift she can give you...is well...y e a h.

If you do ask her to stop, she will...not getting rid of people, just bringing you the bleeding results. She'd probably steal something from them as I doubt many people would want business from a criminal/dead person.

She writes notes and gives you gifts...but she gets Numby to send them to you.

It's not that Topaz is shy about giving you gifts, she's more then happy to give you a kiss on the lips if she wants too, but for some reason. To her, if Numby is the one giving the gifts and letters from her to you. She thinks it's more affectionate.

You don't know why, neither does Numby. But you both find it cute, even so. Getting the little daily visits from number with a letter in it's mouth and the page having a small bite mark from where Numby was nomming on, it's sweet of her. As much as this was of showing affection is strange to you.

Serval.

WARNING, DO NOT DATE SERVAL IF YOU RATHER BE UNKNOWN/j

But honestly. Serval gives the vibe to call you up on stage during one of her songs, you have an automatic V.I.P ticket and there's a seat/area dedicated to you, that you are the only one allowed in.

She writes love songs with you in it as well and will announce it during her concerts.

Serval: "THIS ONE GOES TO MY PERFECT, AMAZING AND CARING PARTNER. MY WORLD, MY LIGHT, MY EVERYTHING NI-"

Someone in the crowd: "GET ON WITH IT"

(Dw, she won't do this if you're uncomfortable...she'll still write songs about you though)

Lazing with you. Qingque shows her love by being lazy around you. Y'know how some animals show that they trust you be like being more near you? (Or something like that)

That's her, having a boss(?) like Fu Xuan who scolds her for slacking and others also doing the some. Her lazing around you is her way of showing she trusts you. It doesn't even matter if you'll tattle. She will laze around you or even WITH you.

Asta loves giving you gifts!...Like an entire planet-

Her love language is gift giving, but none of her gifts are small. There big in terms of how much it costs her, but it probably won't even make a DENT in her income. Avoid saying what you want, because she will buy it for you, even if it means buying thousands upon thousands.

You may need a special room to put all the gifts she buys you...which she also bought...

Point is, her love language is gift giving...extreme version.

Ever sob when you find out you don't have enough money for something? Tingyuns got you covered! Every single thing that you need shall be handed to you on a silver platter...in terms of coupons and discounts-

She probably has thousands of coupons saved up that she'll give you, and you always get discounts from her store for just being her lover. Every anniversary she gets you a gift you really want, she's sweet like that...but expect a book full of coupons from shops you frequent.

Coat.

.

.

.

.

.

Anyways, Kafka loves buying and getting coats as we know. And we also know she buys you a bunch of coats and styles you in all of them. (Separately, don't worry)

She can come home from a mission and have 3 bags full of coats for you to try on.

YOU can come back from a mission and she'll still have bags full of coats.

Your closet is so full of the article of clothing she oh so loves to buy all because she thinks it'll look cute on you...she probably lets you wear some of hers as well if you get far enough in the relationship.

Hehehe. I spent a good bit rambling with my friend about certain HSR characters "unusual" love language and decided to write one! It's not proof read as most of the time, my rambles aren't proof read. But as always, if I messed some spelling or grammar up. Inform me and I'll fix it :D

[mydarlingclaudia]

taste no evil

note : divider is from @/adornedwithlight. this fic does have dark content in it I totally get it if you don’t wanna read <3 this was inspired by the vvitch, it’s not totally like it but it made me wanna write something witch-y (????? I know nothing about witches this is just idk) I rewrote this a couple of times this is the version I ended up liking the most even though the last couple thousand words suck ass :P

wc : 6.9k

tags : @withonly-sweetheart @clitorphosis

desc : it's just you and your husband out in the woods. oh, and whatever is living among the trees. you think it's some beastly animal, Leon knows it's witches. but he can't tell you that, you'd freak out, insist on moving closer to town or even further away from where you already lived. Leon can keep you safe, he knows he can, why must you be so paranoid all the time? it doesn't help his case when your animals start being picked off and you start seeing things more clearly. it only ends badly for the both of you. established relationship, tiny bit of fluff, gore, animal death, I make shit up about witches, cannibalism, major character death, au, fem!reader, re4r!Leon

back to the party <3

You’re hearing things in the woods at night. Not your usual deer or coyote or flock of birds, it’s something different, you don’t know what. Your husband hears it, too. It doesn’t sound like the wind, even though that’s what he says it is every time you sit up in bed in the dead of night and squeeze his arm, digging your fingernails into his skin until he wakes up.

Leon begs that you never leave your bed to go and see what scrapes against the windowpanes, that you stay with him and let him be the one to deal with it if anything were to get in. It couldn’t be the dog, his bark sounded much different than whatever this noise was. It couldn’t be neighbors, the closest house was two miles west, town was six miles further. It couldn’t be children, you were yet to have any.

When you go out in the morning to check on your animals, they’re all still there. All ten chickens, all four sheep, both your horses, the three goats, the four pigs, and one cat all remain. The cat hadn’t been yours originally, just showed up one night, Leon let it stay because it controlled the mouse population even though it fights with the dog. Nothing seems to be getting into your garden, either. That doesn’t settle your unease, though.

It’s even worse when Leon has to leave. Since town is so far, whenever he has to leave to go get medicine or supplies or something else, he was usually gone for the day. Sometimes, he’d get stuck in town or it got too dark to see the dirt road back to your home, on those days when he wouldn’t come back, you could hardly sleep, curled up on his side of the bed, your knees tucked into your chest, breathing quietly to hear every creak in the house.

But Leon always returns to you, and he kisses the top of your head and holds you tight while you scold him for taking so long to get back.

Your crops aren’t growing anymore, you know it’s because fall is nearing its end and the morning dew that coats the ground in the morning is beginning to freeze, but the thought that this isn’t because of some force of nature still looms in the back of your mind. It’s okay, though, because Leon will run out to town and get whatever vegetables you may need if they haven’t already been stockpiled in your pantry. You try to refrain from asking him to go out and get things for you, you try to keep him home whenever you’re able to, partly because of you missing him, the other part because of fear. 

Leon takes things well, he always does, that’s why it’s his job to calm you down. You’ve already spent three winters in these woods, you really shouldn’t be so worried about the things that naturally change with the seasons. Leon still goes out to chop wood and bring it back in, he still assures you that the animals aren’t out there freezing, and if there is a problem, he’s quick to fix it. You should try to take things as lightly as he does. 

It’s warm inside your home, though. You’re happy for that. You spend more and more of your days inside, tending to the fire and cooking over it, even if you’re still cold, Leon wastes no time in wrapping you up in his arms. 

Leon’s home again, finally. He spent the day in town yesterday, apparently it takes a while to buy ammunition and fabrics, but you don’t fight with him about it. Leon comes back inside with another armful of freshly chopped wood, stacking them next to the fireplace where you had already lit a fire. Your back is to him, you’re too focused on chopping up the deer meat Leon had brought home last week. The sounds of your knife hitting the cutting board again and again drown out Leon’s steps as he comes up behind you, you only know he’s there when he wraps his arms around your middle and presses his chest to your back.

The kisses he presses to your neck are soft, his body warm against your own. You stop your chopping and rest your head atop of his, this happens most nights, Leon holding you while you cook for him and yourself. 

“I’ll hunt more tomorrow,” He murmurs against your skin, “Another deer, maybe a turkey.”

“Whatever you want,” 

“You can come along if you want.” 

“You know I don’t wanna go in the woods.” 

“It’s not that bad during the day, I wouldn’t let anything get you, you know that.” 

“If I go with you then who will watch the house?”

“The dog,” He scoffs lightly, pulling away from your neck and squeezing you closer. “I won’t make you join me, I just wish you weren’t so afraid.” You sigh and continue chopping, Leon knew you wouldn’t go, anyway. But he’s certain nothing would be after you in the day, hiding behind the trees, breathing down the back of your neck, making you flinch away. It’s probably better this way, he knows that nothing with the women in the woods is certain, but if he can keep you safe and keep you happy, then maybe you’ll forget about those things outside the house. 

You can’t know about them, not the way that he knows them. If you see them, those women, those witches, he hopes you think nothing more of them than someone lost in the dark, looking for town, but Leon knows about them all too well. Leon knows they aren’t a frightened young woman knocking on your door at night, asking you to spare her some food and a place to rest until morning. He knows they aren’t coming from the city, marveling at the quaint home you’ve made for yourself on her way to town. He knows they aren’t a new neighbor from a mile or two away, bringing you a fresh apple pie to introduce themself and get to know the delightful young couple a bit better. 

Leon found them not long after the noises at night started. He had been coming back in from the outhouse and found a woman in just a torn up, bloody nightgown stalking around your house. He hadn’t known what to do, simply just stared and tried to quiet his breathing. Well, she noticed him, Leon was sure he was about to die, but the girl just smiled, showing off her bloody teeth before running past the animal pens and into the woods. Leon went back inside, wishing that it had been nothing more of a dream, but you noticed how something had frightened him and he knew nothing he told you would ease you. But you called him brave for going out there. 

He saw the witch again a few days later when he was coming back home from town. She didn’t threaten him, didn’t make any move to hurt him, hardly even tried to intimidate him. Just watched him from the side of the dirt road and followed him for a few yards until he stopped his horse and confronted her. Again, she presented those bloody teeth to him in a smile he knew he’d see more times than he’d like. 

She instantly began to speak of you, that’s when the subtle threats found their way into the conversation; “Pretty wife that you have, I was like her.” “I hope she isn’t too scared, but you take good care of her, don’t you?” “My friends like her, too. Shame that she doesn’t come out to see us.”. Leon could hardly stand it, he tried to dismiss the woman, told her that you weren’t the kind for rituals and sacrifices, but she wouldn’t let up about it.

“I’m sure you’d keep her safe, that’s what a good husband does.” The witch had giggled, circling his horse like she was sizing up a plate of food. 

“Please, just leave us be.” She hadn’t even looked at him, keeping her eyes on the horse beneath him who was starting to shift in its place. “What do you want so badly, huh? Why my wife? What would make you back away from her?” When he said it, it wasn’t an offering of any kind. But the witch took it that way, gave him a grin that would continue to make him sick, and he knew that was it. 

Leon would make a deal with the witch, then she told her little friends and they all joined in. He became the errand boy, a pet for the witches, a man desperate for his wife not to become what they were. He did as they asked, stomaching down whatever disgusting they would have him do every few nights. “Bring me a young man.” “Bring me a virgin girl.” “The head of a goat, I need it.” “Butcher us a lamb, bones, organs, flesh. Tonight.” Leon did it all. In return, your safety would go on for longer, these errands would become what most of his trips into town were actually about, but he’d bring something back for you so his story would be believable. 

You could never find out. 

The worry never leaves you no matter how badly Leon wishes it would. Soothing you gets less and less easy with each night that you’re up, trying to decide if it’s one of your animals making that noise or your imagination. So you keep yourself busy, Leon does the same, desperate to be by you during the day in case those women finally decide it’s time and that he’s no longer needed. 

“I will stay,” You look over your shoulder and smile at him, stopping again to gather the slabs of meat into your hands. “You’re a better shot than I am, anyway.”

–

You can see your breath in the air, the cold wind nips at whatever skin is exposed as you drag the knife down the deer's front, the fur pulling back and exposing the white flesh hidden beneath. 

Leon had gone hunting, as he said he would. He brought you home a deer, this one is to make jerky of and keep stored, it’s always best to keep extra meat around in the winter. Odd thing was that as soon as he had dropped the deer off in the yard, he came inside for a quick kiss as a goodbye, saying he needed to run into town, you didn’t question him even though you really should have. 

Nonetheless, the warmth of the deers bare skin warmed your cold fingers, you almost found yourself leaning into it. You’ll make something of its coat, be it a rug or something to heat the inside of a jacket, so long as it serves some use. Blood trickles down out of the gash in its throat and the bullet in its eye into the metal pail beneath the deer’s head while you continue to skin it, the deer sways slightly from where it’s strung up because of the force of your cuts. 

You learned how to butcher things because of Leon, it was before you were married, but it proved to be a useful skill to have when you had a rabbit infestation in your yard back when you lived in town. 

Once it's fully skinned, you slice down the middle, crack the ribs and push them apart, and you’re met with the hot, red insides of a dead deer. The steam from its body comes up to warm your hands, and you let it be that way for a few minutes. Some of the organs fall to the dirt floor of the barn after a minute, you cut out whatever hadn’t slipped away already. You cut down its groin until you hit the first rib, then follow along that until you pull the meat away and set it on the butcher's table a few feet to your right. Repeat on the other side, cut out the tenderloins, get behind the deer and cut horizontally where its back meets its legs, then slowly start to cut along the spine and- 

The cat rubbing up against your boots and licking at the deers spilled organs stops you, you never did find a fitting name for the cat, but you loved her nonetheless. You give her a soft kick and she stops to stare up at you, licking at the blood that coats the fur around her mouth. “Stop that,” You scold quietly, she doesn’t understand you, she never does. You give her another soft kick, pushing her away from where you’re working, “Go, kitty. Shoo.” She finally leaves you, rubbing up against wooden beams on her way out of the barn, you’re about to begin your cutting again, but the dog barking tears you from your focus.

You wait a few seconds, hope that he stops barking, but an angered yell is only accompanied with the awful noise. You stab your knife into the wooden table with a huff, leave the barn, go around to the front of the house and look around, but you find no one at your door or in the yard or even by the animal pens. You look around for a few minutes, wondering if you have missed someone, but all that you can see is your animals. 

The dog comes to you, panting with his tongue out, he has that smiley look that all dogs have. You kneel to pat his head, but he barks and turns from you before scampering off past the pens, you follow after him. Nothing is unusual, nothing is out of place. You count all the animals that you see, make sure no fences are broken and that there’s nothing hiding around the corner.

You almost trip over the dog when you stop, he sits there, looking out at the treeline, barking softly. A chill runs through you, but when you look down and see the trail of footprints in the mud that leads from the sheep pen and out into the woods, it feels like your whole body has gone numb. 

How could you have missed this? How did you not hear someone wandering around your property? Surely the animals would’ve started squealing and cawing if they had been disturbed, right? If they let this fly by, then what did they let pass through at night? Is this what the dog deals with most nights?

Leon’s getting an earful when he gets home.

–

Leon’s met with you pacing around the home when he finally returns late at night. You should have been in bed by now, awake and waiting. The deer had been butchered and stored away so you could finish cooking it tomorrow, but the yelling, he hadn’t been ready for the yelling. 

You repeat yourself over and over about how someone had come to the house today, and how that someone had wandered through the yard and had gotten chased away by the dog. You keep telling Leon about how you hadn’t heard them when you should’ve, how the animals didn’t even make the faintest noise when they passed through without a sound. Leon knows who it is, of course he does, why wouldn’t he? He really should know better than to trust those women, but he can either ignore them and let them take you, or he can do as they say and leave you here by yourself knowing they may not honor the safety deal that had been agreed upon. Lose-lose situation. 

Leon hates leaving you, he really does. This does nothing to ease him. He doesn’t know what would’ve happened to you or the animals if the witch hadn’t been chased away, he doesn’t know if it’s happened before, but he knows that it will probably happen again and that he’ll get scolded by the witches for letting his dog scare one of them like that.

You’re still talking his ear off, Leon simply sits at the edge of the bed and stares at you as you pace around your house in your nightgown. You look so worried, it pains Leon.

“Next time- Next time I’m coming to town with you.” You don’t even look at him when you talk, you’re really just talking to yourself, but he listens. “I wish that you had been here, you could’ve- I-I dunno! You could’ve done something!”

“Done what?” Leon muses from his seat on the bed, resting his chin on his hand. You finally turn to face him, your worried look replaced with a glare.

“I don’t know. Kept watch? I don’t mind strangers, but this is scary, Leon. I don’t want someone snooping around our house, and if that’s what I’m hearing outside in the night then- Then I want them out of here!” You walk closer to him, your hands are all over the place as you confess your worries to him for the umpteenth time. 

“I know, I know. I don’t like this anymore than you do, and I promise to you that I’ll take care of it.” Take care of it means beg the women in the woods to not come to your house when he’s sent away on an errand. That’s why he left in a rush yesterday. One of those girls found him in the woods and demanded he bring her some of an old man's livestock. He can’t say no. All Leon can do now is listen to you talk and think of a way to fix this. 

“Leon, please. I- I’m scared. You know that.” You finally stop in front of him, the tears that well up in your eyes make his heart ache. He reaches out, holding your hand in his, pulling you closer. 

“I hate seeing you worry like this, you’ll go gray by the end of the year.” He tries to joke, it does get a small giggle from you, that’s good. “I’m never going to let anything hurt you, you have my word. Things are gonna get better, I’ll be here, I’ll watch the house, make you feel better.” He gives your hands a squeeze, you nod your head and sit down next to him on the bed, he takes the opportunity to wrap his arm around your shoulder and rest his head on top of yours. “We’ll be okay.”

You nod your head beneath his, sucking back the snot in your nose and wrapping your arms around his waist. 

“I’m sorry things are like this, I hope you know I’m trying to make things as easy as possible for you.”

“I know that, but you being gone so much doesn’t make me feel as safe as you think it does.” Leon sighs through his nose and brings a hand up to stroke your hair. Oh, how he wishes things were as simple as they once were. 

“I love you.” Is all he can think to say.

“I love you, too.” 

Leon holds you like that for a few moments, listening to your breathing soften as you burrow into the side of his neck. Tomorrow will be different, he hopes. He hopes he can cook up that deer meat with you, sit with you and watch you sew while he reads to you, maybe tomorrow night will be special. But that’s always how he hopes things turn out to be until he has to head back to town again. 

The moment is interrupted by a pained yelp from outside, it’s made by an animal, you bolt upright, already thinking about what could be happening outside the four walls of your home. Leon doesn’t do anything just yet, he sits for another few seconds, but he’s met with growling and more yelps.

“Stay here, please.” Leon says softly, he kisses your forehead as he grabs the lantern from the nightstand, stands from the bed and walks to the door, grabbing his shotgun before stepping out into the cool night air. You do as he says, good wife that you are. That rush of fear finds its way back into your body, you hear Leon yell. The shotgun is fired once, then a second time, a more human scream following after the second shot, you hold back a sob. 

After maybe five minutes pass, you can’t take it. 

You pluck Leon's coat off of a chair and throw it on over your nightgown, you don’t bother with shoes when you get to the front door and open it. You’re scared to find Leon dead on the ground even though he’s the one with the gun, you shuffle slowly around the corner of the house. There’s snow under your feet, it’s barely any, really. But you can feel the softness of it that melts when you step on it, only for it to melt and soak into your skin.

“Leon?” You call out. And you find him, by the far end of the house, kneeling over something. The shotgun is on the ground, so is the lantern, you still can’t see very well even as you make your way closer. “Leon, you-” You cut yourself when you finally reach him. You stare at your dead dog from over his shoulder, Leon knows you’re there because he’s gone completely still. Words die in your throat as you take in the sight of the canine's organs that’ve been torn from its body, they stain the snow a dark red. Poor thing, it curled itself into a ball trying to chew out its own guts, its jaw is still open, sharp, bloody teeth out on display. The sight is awful, the smell is even worse, you know you won’t forget it. 

Leon can hear your breathing quicken behind him, he turns to look at you. Your eyes are blown wide, mouth agape, chest heaving, you look like you’re about to puke. He quickly stands when you finally turn away from the bloody sight and lean over, one hand holding your stomach while the other covers your mouth. You’ve seen plenty of disgusting things, you’ve helped birth animals, you’ve butchered more game than you can even remember, but this is wrong. 

Leon wraps his arms around your hunched over form, whispering quick “I know,”’s and “It’s alright,”’s. You pant for a few more seconds before the feeling of acid in your stomach finally starts to fade, Leon continues to hold you and rub your arm, trying to reassure you. 

The animals made no noise, you can feel them watching you, though. They didn’t make any noise when the stranger came by earlier, they didn’t make any noise when your dog was attacked, they didn’t make any noise when Leon shot at something you didn’t get the chance to see. 

Instead of puking, you start sobbing, leaning into Leon’s touch as he brings you to sit on the cold ground so he can try and hold you tighter. The kisses he places on your face do little to help ease your shaken state, tears well up in his eyes as well, but his tears are for a different reason.

–

What was Leon thinking, shooting at a witch? 

He had hit her, he’s always been a good shot, but it had only been in the arm, she wouldn’t die. Though, he knows that this is only going to get him into trouble and put you at more risk. 

He assumes that she had attacked the dog because of how it had chased her away earlier that day, who knows what would happen now. Seeing you cry didn’t make him feel better about anything, and now he knows you’re going to need him now more than ever. He does your chores for you, he doesn’t even try to pry you off of him when you don’t let him get up from your bed in the morning. As much as he enjoys being close to you, he knows that this is partly his fault. 

You hardly sleep now, neither does he. The two of you cling to each other at night, you both listen to the noises that come from outside your home, trying to tell when they get too close.

You don’t ask him about what happened, you don’t want to know, but you know that there’s something he hasn’t told you. Maybe it’s better that way, maybe you haven’t just been hearing things this whole time and there’s something Leon knows that you don’t. But your ignorance has kept you safe thus far, right? Sure, you’re scared, but nothing’s hurt you. As much as you want to ask Leon about what he may or may not know, you stop yourself. Now probably isn’t a good time, you don’t want to get into a fight with him, especially when you feel like you’ll die if he has to leave again. 

You know he didn’t kill your dog, you know he tried to save it, but the person he shot– you heard it, you know you did. 

You try thinking about who it could’ve been, why they’d come to your house at such a late hour, why Leon didn’t go after them, but you come up with nothing in the end. You don’t like thinking about it, it drives you crazy, but you really can’t help it. Even though you have your doubts and your fears, you never pull away from Leon’s touch, you can’t risk losing it.

–

Leon hasn’t left in nearly three weeks, which you don’t mind in the slightest. 

You have enough vegetables, you don’t need any tools, anything that you need, you have. The roads are probably too packed with snow to even get anywhere and not get lost or freeze, anyway. 

The only problem you’re really starting to run into is with the animals. They keep fighting with each other, three of the chickens have already been killed by the others, their eyes pecked out, feathers torn off, chest ripped open. Your billy goat had killed one of the other goats, ramming its horns into her side until he ended up impaling her, Leon separated the billy goat from the other goat quickly after that. The sheep and horses don’t seem as bad as the others, well, they’re not violent, but they are sick. The pigs are fighting with each other more than normal, they keep biting one another and fighting over food even though there’s plenty for all of them. You make Leon deal with those things. 

You still had that deer meat from the one Leon had brought home a few weeks ago, you’ve mostly been eating that. There’s something wrong with the chicken eggs, when you crack them, instead of a white yolk and clear, slimy insides coming out, all you get is an already popped yolk that’s turning green and chunky egg whites. The smell is awful, you can’t imagine how bad it would taste. It’s with all the eggs, neither you or Leon know what to do about it. 

Even if there were good eggs, the chickens would have eaten them before you would get the chance to collect them. They do it now with these disgusting eggs they lay, they don’t seem to mind, they keep fighting them, the inside of the coop is a mess. 

You’ve tried cooking up the chicken and goat meat, but the meat is already rotting. It doesn’t make sense. Winter has begun, the earth is frozen over, your animals have been dead for barely two days and there’s already bugs living inside the graying flesh. It disgusts you. Leon apologizes for it all, you aren’t sure why, it’s not his fault the animals are being this way. You feed whatever untouched bits you can find to the cat. 

Leon’s gone out hunting since the dog has died, you went with him this time. Even with Leon, you find nothing to eat. No deer pass through, not a rabbit burrowing in the snow, nothing. Just a few birds that are so small they’d be blown apart by the force of a bullet. It’s fine, the deer meat should last you for a bit longer, and if you really need to, you can just kill one of the pigs. Anything you eat tastes rotten, you’re not sure why, it should be perfectly fine. Maybe it’s something in your head.

It’s colder now, though. It won’t stop snowing and you’re trying to save as much firewood as you can so Leon doesn’t have to keep going out into the deep snow to get more wood everyday. 

You don’t like seeing Leon so worried. He’s too stiff when he holds you, he’s been so on edge for the past few weeks, more than you’d thought he’d be. 

Time moves on, it waits for no one. 

You and Leon eat whatever you have, burn the wood you’re able to, try to sleep as much as you can. He doesn’t bring up the dog, or the fact that your animals are either dying or killing each other. You can’t bring yourself to go outside and see what’s become of your poor animals, Leon understands, it’s another thing he tries to take care of and hide just to keep you happy. 

–

The snow is cold under your feet, as is the air around you that continues to bite at your skin. No jacket, no shoes, what are you thinking? You’re gonna get sick, Leon will just have to keep taking care of you. But you couldn’t stay inside anymore, you heard the keening cries of your poor sheep early in the morning, you ran outside before Leon could stop you. 

The scene in front of you is almost the same as that of your dog’s death : blood in the snow, torn open chests and stomachs, warm, heavy organs that melt the snow around them and let steam rise up into the air. You say nothing, you do nothing besides stare down at the pen that once held your sheep in them, their wool is turning the same color as the snow. There’s footprints in the snow, not yours, not Leon’s, some are bloody, some aren’t. 

The pigs are dead, the goats are dead, the chickens and horses are on death's doorstep, and now your sheep have gone too. You’ve been feeding the animals, was it just a change in the weather that made them all sick? To be fair, the pigs fed themselves, you didn’t know they ate their own. The goats got violent, the sheep were as weak as ever, but you’ve never heard of an animal's organs falling out on their own. It’s not a rarity for farm animals to be wiped out in one winter, but they’ve survived winters like these before, what’s so different about this one? 

You finally decide that it’s not an animal who’s done this, that the things you’ve seen and heard in the night weren’t animals, either. 

Whenever you do get to sleep now, there’s these women in your dreams, you don’t know them, but they seem to know you. And in these dreams, you’re eating with them, their faces blur together and you feel warm, full. They laugh and talk, serve you plate after plate of something raw. There’s blood in their mouths as well as yours, it’s like you’re under some kind of spell. Leon isn’t there, and as much as these dreams leave you feeling a bit more content than the day before, there’s something about them that terrifies you. You don’t tell Leon this, though. 

Maybe in your dreams you’re eating your animals, you still don’t know who the women are supposed to be. But the sounds of their laughter have poured out of your dreams and into the sounds you hear outside your house at night. 

Leon follows you outside after a couple of minutes, holding a jacket and blanket meant for you while he doesn’t have one for himself. 

You let him come up behind you and put the jacket over your shoulders, then the blanket on top of it. “You’ll catch a cold,” He mumbles. 

“I’m tired of this.” You breathe. Leon doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, but you hear him gulp, then feel him run his hand up and down your back.

“Tired of what?”

“Of this-” You look at him and gesture to the pen of dead sheep in front of you, Leon doesn’t look. “I- Is it wolves, or something? Leon, this has never been a problem, I don’t understand what’s changed but we can’t just… We can’t just act like this isn’t a problem.”

“I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Well, we won’t be able to stay here next year. You know, I’ll go anywhere with you, right?”

“Of course, but we can’t just leave our home.”

“Well we can’t stay here if there’s something in the woods that’s treating our land like its feeding ground!” You scoff, you move from your spot in the snow and step closer to Leon, rubbing your hands over your face. “I- I’ve told you about how scared I am, you keep doing nothing.”

Leon wraps his arms around you and pulls you into him, “You don’t know how sorry I am.” You stay quiet, letting the warmth of his body seep into yours as you try to ignore the chill creeping up your legs and the smell of blood in your nose. “I wish things were different,”

“Maybe we should wish harder,” The chuckle he lets out is humorless. “We can’t stay here anymore, you know that.”

“... I do.”

“Let’s head back into town as soon as there’s a break in the weather.” Leon goes quiet again, he’s thinking, you can practically see the cogs turning in his brain.

“I like that plan.” He hums after a few seconds, giving you a squeeze before letting his grip on you loosen. His hands slide down to yours, he still hasn’t looked at the dead sheep when he starts to pull you back to the house. “I don’t want you getting sick.”

“So make me feel better.” 

– 

The night is colder than the day, it’s always been this way. 

Leon’s asleep in your bed, but you’re wide awake. You had another one of those dreams about the women for the brief amount of time that you got to sleep. It felt different this time, probably because you had been in your barn, eating away at a rotted deer carcass, it tasted sweet on your tongue. You could hear Leon talking to you in your dream, but when you looked around you he was never there and you were left with those odd women again. 

Your fingers trace over his face gently, careful not to wake him. You’ve always thought he looked peaceful in his sleep, you hope his dreams are better than yours. It’s too quiet tonight, there’s no tapping on the window, no shouts from outside, nothing. Something tells you that you should go check, though. 

You press a soft kiss to Leon’s cheek and stand from your bed, managing to pull on a coat and shoes this time around before you step out into the cold night. 

You’re met with silence, the moon shines brightly in the sky, lighting up the snowy land and the woods that surrounds it. You lean back against the wooden door, wrapping your arms around yourself as you wait for that something that drew you out here. 

You wait for a few moments, then for a few more seconds before you decide that this is futile. You turn around and reach for the door handle, but a sharp whistle to your right stops you, it’s already too late to go back inside. 

“You look so tired.” Says the voice, you turn to look and see who it is, only to find a stranger. She can’t be any older than you are, she watches you, waiting for you to answer as a smile creeps onto her face and she takes a step closer. “What’s got you so worried?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m worried about you,” She speaks quickly, alive and energetic. “You can trust me, what’s got you up so late?” You shudder, you’ve seen her face before, but you can’t remember where. In your dreams, maybe? The way she stares into your soul makes you feel like she already knows the answer to her question, she just wants to hear you admit it. 

“... My husband. And the animals.” You mumble, her smile grows. 

“Really?” It’s almost a giggle when she asks, she sways slightly, stepping closer to you once again. “You’re a good wife, then.” You don’t say anything, only watch her. “I bet there’s something I could do to take away that worry.” Again, you give her no answer. “Can we sit and talk?”

It’s stupid, you know it is. The closer she gets, the more clearly you can see the crusted blood on her lips. You grip the door handle, but you can’t move under her gaze. 

“I just want to help.”

“Th-Thank you, but I- Uhm, I’m f-fine.” You stammer out, “I just- I’d like to go back to sleep now.”

“Don’t you want to know how I can help?”

“You’re too kind,” You chuckle shakily. “I’m fine, really.” 

“Please.” Her voice is firm, she’s not asking you this time. “That husband of yours shot me, you know. Helping you would make me feel better.” 

“You-” She reaches out and grabs your wrist, her icy skin makes her grip on you even more uncomfortable. 

“Say yes to me.” You both stop, her eyes bore into yours. “You’ll freeze or you’ll starve, do you want to see your husband freeze?”

“It’s just one winter.” She smiles again, like she knows something you don’t. 

“Do you want to see your husband freeze?” She repeats. “Do you want to watch him starve?”

“Of course not!”

“I can help you, you won’t have to worry about him anymore if you just say yes.” 

“I don’t know you.”

“You don’t have to know me,” She snaps, “You just have to trust me. Your life can be easy again. You love your husband, don’t you?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course I do.”

“Then let me help you.” 

“… How?” 

“You’ll just have to see. But you’ll be okay, I promise. We’ll feed you food sweeter than anything you’ve tasted, don’t you want that?”

“… Yes.” 

— 

Those women from your dreams surround you, their laughter is the same, but you can see their faces more clearly now. The fire is warm, even in your nakedness you don’t feel the chill of the snow and crisp air. 

You almost laugh with them, but Leon’s here with you this time, that’s what makes you stop. His body lays on top of the snow and you lean over him, holding his hand against the side of your face, his skin is cold, but you still cling to his touch. Leon’s breathing is slow, he can hardly keep his eyes open, you can’t really blame him, not when he’s got chunks bitten out of him, the other women said he had tasted good, offered up the rest of him to you. 

You were easy to convince, you wouldn’t call yourself desperate, maybe dumb, in a sense. Easily tricked. How could you know it would lead to this? 

Your eyes are watery, tears of your own drip down onto Leon’s face and mix with his. You can’t fully hate this, he’s here with you, there’s something either wrong with your mind or body telling you that this is the right thing. Before you can really stop yourself, you lap at the gash on his wrist, his blood is sweeter than anything you’ve made up in your dreams. The way he looks now isn’t far off from any of your animals' deaths, the only thing is that he’s no animal and there’s still air in his lungs. 

He winces when you suck on the wound, the sound is weak and breathy, but it still makes something in you ache. 

“Sorry,” You mumble against his wrist, coaxing more blood out with more gentler sucks and nips at the torn skin. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” Leon lifts his head only for it to fall back against the snow, you pull away from his wrist, a small string of saliva connecting your bloody mouth to the ugly gash before breaking. You push the hair from his face, still holding his wrist in your other hand.

“I-” You start, stopping when you see how glossy his eyes become. “Were you protecting me?” A weak nod comes from Leon, you smile. “You’re everything to me. I love you, you know that?” Another weak nod, you lean in and press a gentle kiss to his lips, feeling the way he stops breathing as you hold him. You smear blood across his lips when you pull away, his eyes have gone cold and you can’t seem to find a pulse in his throat. You let out a shaky breath as you kiss your way down from his jaw and back to his wrist, focusing solely on the feeling of his limp arm in your grasp. 

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper against him, no longer sucking and nibbling, instead sinking your teeth into him, working your way into the skin to pull it away from him and back into your mouth. You take the first bit, chomp down on the chewy bits of meat, tonight is the beginning of your new life.

[johnwickb1tsch]

A Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick Imagine Part 7 by:

@treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @johnwickb1tsch and @tammykelly

Warnings: So many dead doves! Do not eat! Unless you like dead doves, that is. You're in good company here. 😘 Violence, sexual content, blood, murder, kidnapping, possessive behavior, dubcon, yandere sh!t...it's all here! Please take care! 😘

ALL CHAPTERS

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

They take you outside. They take you outside.

“Which house is this, John?” You lay your head on his shoulder, and he kisses your hair. 

“Mexico.” The fact that he feels comfortable telling you where you are speaks volumes about trust. 

Either that, or he’s confident you won’t get away. Ever. And he’s absolutely right. He can outrun, outmuscle, outwit you at any point. Not to mention he’s got a clone with the same capabilities. 

Part of it is this; the fact that you can’t run or hide without your boys finding you. The knowledge of being owned and tracked and possessed wholly. 

The other part, the one you lie to yourself about - you have to, really, for the sake of self preservation - is that you’re completely in love with them. Smitten. Consumed. Captivated and bewitched by your captors. You don’t want to run away most days.

Especially not when you’re pressed between them and being pampered and kissed and played with - sweet, awful pleasure the only thing you can focus on. Absolutely drunk on the balance of rough and soft, light and dark.

Tex is good with his mouth - of course he is. That silver tongue can do more than talk you into a writhing, soaked mess. As much as he adores helping John edge you for hours and making you sob in frustration, he likes it a little better when you’re overstimulated, babbling and bargaining, only able to chant his name as he makes you cum endlessly.

John is… different. Slower. More patient. Builds you up and down, watches and listens, observes - tilt of his head, tiny smile, “pretty girl likes that a little too much, huh?” 

He’s sickly romantic, the kind that only exists in Hallmark movies. Always thinking of you, grabbing flowers and little gifts while he’s away. Bringing home trinkets from Paris and Brazil and even bumfuck Ohio. Obsessed with kissing you, holding your hand, calling you beautiful and pulling you closer and ruining your little heart. 

Even when he’s rough, fucking you into the couch cushions at an almost inhumanely pace and mottling your cervix and hips and ass with bruises - even then he is rubbing your back, brushing your hair off your shoulders and littering sweet soaked kisses on your skin, praising and sweet-nothinging and groaning that you’re his, his, his. 

Tex presses himself into the other side of you, skin sparkling and scratchy from salt and sand, and hands you a beautiful iridescent pink seashell. “Get in the water.” 

“You’re not the boss of me,” you tell him, grinning, brushing sand off his cheekbone. 

He chuckles. “Nah, but Johnny is.”

They both pick you up and drag you into the clear ocean ripples while you laugh and scream, take you out past where you can touch so you have to cling to them. 

Sometimes, though, you want to run. Taste freedom and independence again. You want to feel needed instead of always being so needy. You miss volunteering at the animal shelter, working in the little book shop. 

Sure, the boys want you. Sometimes, too much. Sometimes, you have to use that lock on your little cozy nook room to shut them out because you’re so overwhelmed and overworked. But they don’t need you, can’t really gain anything from you; not like the sick, dirty cats or the elderly women who forgot their reading glasses and need help finding a particular selection. 

After you’re done playing in the water like children, laughing and splashing and getting sun drunk, you find yourself wrapped in a beach towel and cat napping on the big couch by the bay window. 

“Wanna wake her up?” Tex asks John, plopping down beside him and offering an open, frosty beer. 

“Let her sleep,” John says, flipping the page of his book and taking the drink. 

Tex grins. “Aw, I don’t think she’d be too disappointed after she realizes I’m sucking on her little clit.” 

John shuts his book, puts it on the stand. 

“What?” Tex groans like he’s about to get lectured. Just like you’ve become used to them, they’ve become used to each other. Sometimes it’s a recipe for disaster. The first day you were alert enough to wake up and eat and drink after the bullet, they got into a fight. And not a verbal one. 

It was actually terrifying. You thought Tex was going to meet the pearly gates when John curb stomped his already beaten face, so you had jumped in front of him to stop the next smash of a foot and earned yourself torn stitches and bloody bandages as a reward for the sudden movement. 

“We need to figure out what we’re doing, Tex.” John looks over at you, watches how the sunlight bastes your shoulders and glows on your pretty skin. 

Tex is looking at the same thing. “I’m not leavin’ er, John. And she sure as hell ain’t leavin’ me.” 

“She needs to make that decision.” 

“My ass. You think she’ll be safe out there? Think just cuz you put a bullet into father and son that sister and mother won’t come knockin next?” Tex takes a long pull on his bottle and leans elbows on knees. “You can go if you want, but y/n is stayin’ with me.”

John gives him a dark look. “You know I won’t let you, Tex.” 

Tex laughs cruelly, leans back and spreads his arms over the back of the couch. “Then you’re gonna have to fuckin’ kill me.” 

“John? Tex?” Your tinny voice cuts through their tension, immediately gaining full attentions. You hold out your hand to them, eyes half lidded, smiling softly. “Come lay with me?” 

They sandwich you between their big heated bodies, curing the goosebumps brought on by the conditioned air. It reminds you too much of the cold steel room where Bradford kept you on ice, so you start to cry. Again. 

It’s become such a common occurrence, now: one or both of them cradling and shushing and rubbing your back as you sob on their chests or laps. You cry more often than not. Sometimes you’re able to hide it, but not right now when you’re sleepy and vulnerable and so close to them. 

Tex kisses the tears off your face. “Hey, honeypie, it’s alright, c’mon, I gotcha.”

“We’re right here, y/n.” John brushes the hair off your shoulders and kisses your salty sunned skin. “We’ll protect you.”

“Nobody’s gonna hurt you again, m’kay?” Tex tilts your chin up and kisses your head. 

You wonder how in the hell they’re still so empathetic to your plight - any other man would be annoyed, telling you to let it go, reminding you that you’ve already cried about it a zillion times before. But not Tex and John. Never your boys. 

They say they’ll protect you, but if they’ve already failed to do so, doesn’t that mean they can drop the ball again? Doesn’t that mean anyone could just come and plummet you into an unbridled world of violence and torture? What if they leave? What if they decide they don’t want you anymore? You’re helpless here - can only rely solely on the two people you’re cuddled between and it’s making you spiral into an internal inferno of chaos and doubt. 

You feel like you’re losing your fucking mind. You feel powerless. 

You fall asleep in their arms, fresh tears drying on your puffy cheeks, holding onto Tex’s waist, legs wrapped around John’s calves. 

They wake you up for dinner, and you’re in a shit mood again, all venom no honey, squirming out of the cuddle pile, glowering and losing your towel in the process. 

Before you can grab it back, Tex snatches it, holds it away, grinning. 

“Give it back,” you tell him, trying to take it but only succeeding in pressing your belly into his beard.

He nips your skin and blows a little raspberry, and you screech, pulling away before a puckish arm can coil around your waste. 

You groan, cover yourself, shivering on the cool wood floor. “Fine. I’m going to take a shower.” 

“Need some help?” Tex asks. 

“I can manage.” 

You can feel his eyes on your ass as you walk away. 

Do you feel bad about being bitchy? A little bit. Although it never really deters Tex. As much as he complains about your attitude problems, he gets ten times more impish when you have them. You just wish you didn’t find him so incredibly damn hot while he’s handling you like he would an angry hamster. 

While you’re showering, whatever John is cooking smells delightful. It wafts around you, mixes with the hot steam of the shower, makes your stomach clench in longing. Hangry, then, maybe. 

Pressing on your ribs wrong while you’re lathering still gets you groaning in pain. It’s taking a long time for this shit to heal, and it makes you wonder how exactly John can just take one and keep going like it’s a normal Tuesday. Your first few days of consciousness were agony. Morphine, IV drips, rolling the wrong way and screaming, John’s hands always two seconds away from wrapping around Tex’s throat. 

“Please stop fighting,” you had asked them, woken not by their bickering but John’s low, guttural growl. 

Four hands immediately on you, soothing, cooing, feathering over your skin like it was made of glass. You sort of felt like the oblivious kid in the divorce. They were so mean with one another, but always so soft with you. It was when you asked them to get along like they had been before that they actually started to try. 

Honestly, though, them actually getting along means your undoing every single time. There are no upper hands to be had against the two when they share one common goal, and usually you’re the one begging in the end. 

Your tiny crumb of power, whether you like it or not, is contained in feminine wiles, and sometimes you use it just to spite them. Especially since they can’t be rough with you because you’re still healing from said nasty bullet. 

You pick out a pair of cheeky lace and silk panties and grab some cotton shorts that make your ass look great to pair with them. To literally top it off, you slip on a shifty tank top that leaves little to the imagination. 

You check yourself in the mirror, turn around a few times, smooth your hands down your tummy and legs, bite your lip to plump it up a little bit. Fuck the shorts. You slide them off and leave yourself in the panties and tank top. 

Now, you’re ready. 

You feel like the vulnerable bunny walking into a cage of chained Dobermans. All eyes on you. You press the issue, bend down in front of them to pick up something John dropped. 

You think maybe this will be the night he actually fucks up and maybe burns a piece of chicken, and, oh, wouldn’t that scratch your ego just right. 

You press into him, lean your weight against his solid mass because you know he can handle it, and put the towel back onto the counter. “John Wick leaving a rag on the floor?” You tsk. “Sloppy tonight, eh?” 

He raises an eyebrow down at you.

You tuck a rogue hair behind his ear, pausing to tickle your finger over the sensitive shell, and then turn your attention onto Tex. 

He’s all hooded eyes and bobbing Adam’s apple while you saunter up to him and fix the collar on his shirt. “Not you too,” you sigh, grinning his devil’s grin right back at him. 

“Playing a dangerous game, rattlesnake,” he tells you, tugging softly on the bottom of your top. 

You try to remain composed, take the seat beside him. “Sure, Tex.” A little eye roll. 

“Someone wants to sit funny for a few days, huh?” He grabs the bottom of your chair and tugs you closer. 

“Are you forgetting who took a literal bullet for your ass?” You ask him, pursing your lips and batting your eyelashes. 

John chuckles. 

“You’re about to take more than that for me—”

John surprises you both. It’s hard to get used to his constant stealth mode. He sets hot plates down in front of you, then takes his own place at the table. “Y/n, we need to talk.” 

“Great, I love hearing that.” 

He shoots you a stern look that reminds you he’s not Tex, and you back down, spiky fur softening.

“Things have settled down. No one is out for your blood anymore. You’re safe to settle down somewhere new with the bounty and start again.” 

Tex’s head twists so hard you hear his neck crack. “You sonofabitch, what did I say, huh?” 

John levels a glare back. “She needs to make her own decision.” 

Tex slams an open palm on the table, makes you jump and yelp. “I’m gonna—”

“Stop!” They both turn attention to you. Tears well on your bottom lashes, shoulders shaking in anger. “Really? All this time spent and you’re just gonna let me go? And act so—” you resist the urge to scream, but end up with a softer version of it -“fucking aloof about it?!” You whip around to face Tex. “And you, you fucking big bully, you just make all my decisions for me, huh?! Treat me like I’m incapable of thinking for myself.” Your yell drops to a quiet quiver, salty liquid spilling down your cheeks. “Both of you never even stopped once to ask me what I wanted. You’re both too concerned with using me. Like I’m some fuck toy who doesn’t have any say in…. In anything. And now you wanna end it?” You look back at John. “Just like that?” You shove your plate away. “I’m not your fucking chew toy.”

You stand up and walk out the door, slamming it for good measure, stomping and sobbing, following the sound of dark ocean waves. It’s pitch black out here, the only light provided by a shy, foggy moon. Still, you walk. You walk until your feet get sore and tired and you have to sit down on the sand and ruin your cute underwear. 

They don’t come after you, which you think would satisfy you, but, instead, it makes you even angrier. They don’t give a shit, and that’s apparent now. They don’t care and they never did. You selfishly hope there��are more Bratva members out here with your name in their pocket just so you can prove a point. 

You sink into warm sand and sob on the dark beach, cresting waves drowning out your pathetic cries.  

Johnwickb1tsch:

It is late, by the time you return to the villa. You are listless and tired from crying. You see a single lamp on inside the house, but you don’t want to see them yet. A part of you yearns for them, even after your fight, like a missing limb, but the other half of you can’t stand the thought of facing them. They’ve been so sweet after your ordeal, and yet you know they’ll probably have cooked something diabolical up for you, for daring to show your true feelings about it all.

  You are covered in sand. It really does get into everything. At the poolside you strip down, using the outdoor shower to rinse off. The pool is infinity style, affording a view of the beach beyond. Subtle lighting around the courtyard throws the various tropical plants in dramatic shadow. Kroton, monstera, palm trees, organ cacti and prickly pear, and a pink bougainvillea bush that is almost as big as the house. You love the garden here. You love this house, if you’re being honest.  

You dive into the pool. It’s not very often you get to have it to yourself. Usually one or the other of the boys is shadowing you. Pulling at your swimsuit, stealing kisses and sending you to pieces in one way or another. You resent it, the effect they have on you, even as you’re not sure you can give it up.

Floating on your back, naked as a jaybird and looking up at the stars, you wonder what your life would even look like now, without them. Could you ever be content in the real world again, knowing who and what you left behind? Women would sell their souls to have just one of your assassins in their bed—and here you are, complaining that you have two.

If that’s not human nature in all its absurdity, you don’t know what is.

“Fuck,” you sigh. You want to scream it at the sky, but you don’t want to wake them, if they in fact are sleeping, and not sitting up in the shadows waiting to ambush you.

What do you want, actually? What would really make you happy?

It’s a question you’ve never been terribly good at answering for yourself, and that was before the shit got weird. You love animals. You’d enjoyed volunteering at the shelter. You imagine turning this beautiful compound into a fucking zoo of creatures who were discarded by people, if the boys gave you half the chance. That probably wouldn’t fly. And what if you all have to flee again? What would happen to the babies? It wouldn’t be responsible.

Then you think about what they might say, if you proposed conducting an actual relationship. Living in a place where you could come and go as you please, and not be kept in total isolation. Go to the fucking store without a hulking shadow of a bodyguard by your side. Get a cup of coffee, go to the library. They could come and go too. Dinner at seven. How was your day, honey? Well I popped a low-level state representative who wasn’t getting the picture from 600 yards, then I picked up my dry cleaning.

Ye gods. You have to keep reminding yourself that this is not normal.

“For a minute there I though we’d caught ourselves a mermaid.”

The silence could not last, of course.  

You right yourself to tread water in the deep end, looking up at Tex standing at the poolside with his muscular arms crossed. His face is thrown half in shadow, his eyes glittering like obsidian orbs; why does he have to be the most handsome man you’ve ever seen? Next to John, of course—but they’re practically fucking twins, even if they won’t admit their physical similarity.

 When Tex starts to pull off his t-shirt you pipe up, “Sure you want to do that? Mermaids are famous for drowning men.”

Tex pays you that wolfish baring of teeth, kindling a familiar fire in your belly. What is wrong with you, that you so love to fight with this dangerous man? He always wins. Every fucking time. And yet you keep coming back for more. Maybe you’re the crazy one. Doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results, and all that…

“Them’s big words, from a gal who can barely touch the bottom even in the shallow end…” he teases.

“Fuck you.” You splash at him, but he’s already shimmied out of his shorts and is jumping in with you. It’s a pleasure to watch him glide through the water, truth be told. Long of line, bare skin, sinewy muscle—it makes you mad all over again, how the sight of him moves you. He surfaces an arm’s length from you, spitting water playfully into the air while pushing his dark hair out of his face. When he reaches for you, you splash him in the face.

“Don’t touch me. I’m still mad at you.”

He makes a show of wiping water out of his eyes, even though he’s already soaking wet.

“Cuz I’m such a bully, huh? Always tellin’ you what to do?”

“Yeah.”

“C’mere, you little rattlesnake.”

It’s like arguing with a brick wall, and his grip on your arm won’t be dislodged. You already know this—but you kick out anyway. Your foot finds his ribs; the push of it makes your side ache. The “oomph” you get out of him in answer is almost worth it though, and for good measure you do your damndest to dunk him.

“Goddamn, woman,” he curses, spinning you in his arms so he can drag you to a part of the pool where at least he can stand.

“Let go of me.”

“Can you just listen for once?” There’s a surprising earnestness in this request that makes you still in his arms, all ears.

“Yeah?”

He gathers you to him, your back to his front, and the warmth of his bare skin against yours in the water with his arms around you is a distracting thing.

You wait, but he’s not forthcoming.

“I’m listening?” you prompt impatiently.

“I’m thinking.”

“Think faster.”

He laughs in the bend of your neck, though there is an edge to it. He grazes your cheek with his teeth, but he doesn’t bite down. This man has an oral fixation worse than a puppy dog. You’re never sure if he wants to kiss you, or eat you.

“I’m no good at this,” he finally admits.

Well that���s the understatement of the century.

“You know, the more you think about what you want to say, the more time you have to convince yourself of a lie?”

The sound he makes behind you is more growl than sigh. “Fine. I’m fucking crazy about you, alright? And the thought of being without you feels like feeding my heart through a woodchipper.”

Hearing this makes you go dead still in his arms. It was not the thing you expected to hear from this man, ever. Suddenly you feel hot all over; there’s a ringing in your ears, your heart is in your throat. You remember what Bradford said about Tex. Psychopathic narcissist. Which means, from a text-book standpoint, that he will say anything he has to, to manipulate the people around him to his liking.

But goddamn, if it didn’t sound like he meant it just now, when he said he cares about you.

Does he mean it? Can you trust a damn word that comes out of this man’s mouth?

Do you want him to mean it?

You don’t fucking know. And you’d better say something back fast, or you’re going to be in a world of fucking trouble.

“I am…quite fond of you as well, for some reason.”

This makes him snarl, pinching your side that didn’t take a bullet. “Ow! Ok, ok!”

“What was that? Last I checked, people don’t jump in front of a bullet for someone they’re just fond of.”

“Fine. In a split-second decision…the thought of the world without you in it seemed intolerable to me.”

This, however, does not appease him.

“You just can’t say it, can you?”

“Why should I? You’ll punish me either way. I lose no matter what, in this game.”

Tex flings his arm in a wide gesture, sending crystalline drops of water flying in an arc towards the house. “You call this losing?” he demands hotly, and now you sense you’ve succeeded in truly making him angry. “Holed up in a mansion in Mexico with two men who love you more than life itself? We were ready to die for you, when Bradford took you! Don’t that mean anything at all?”

You’re so mad that the last part of that statement hardly registers with you. “Holed up? I am your prisoner. John says he loves me but he’s ready to let me go. You say you love me but you won’t give me the freedom to live. Your dicks are very nice but I need something more than sitting around the house waiting for the two of you to pounce on me!”

“What do you need?” The question is so calm in comparison to you and Tex’s yelling that the both of you fall silent. John has joined you, standing like a tall shadow at the edge of the pool, the yellow lights at his back illuminating him like a fiery halo. In that moment for all the world he resembles something that just materialized from the fires of hell.

“Freedom,” you answer before you have time to think about it, or before Tex can stop you. “I don’t like being kept in a cage.”

John is still as a statue, only his hair stirring in the salty breeze coming off the sea.

“And the two of us?”

Tex’s grip around your waist tightens, vibrating with tension, as though he’s scared of what you’ll say. He doesn’t shut you up though, silent for what may be the first time in his life, waiting for your answer.

“We can work something out.”

In the depths of the shadows, you almost miss the slight curl of John’s lips at the corners. “Well, that’s nice to hear.” You can’t tell if he means it—or if he’s just amused by you.

You watch as he strips out of his clothes to join you in the pool, and you know…nothing has really been settled, and you only sort of feel better about your situation. Talk is easy. What they actually decide to do with you? Remains to be seen.

Yet when John cups your face in his big hands, kissing you so sweetly you start to tremble—in Tex’s arms, his hot mouth upon your neck, his long fingers gliding down your belly to dip between your legs—maybe it’s all a problem that can wait until tomorrow. Or next week.

Or next month.

You do kind of like it here, with them.

Sweetwolfcupcake:

There's a ringing in your ears as you blink. Looking at the phone screen. Apparently, you now have a new bank account, a new identity and a whole new life.

A life without them in it.

When John brought up the 'coversation' last month, you had an outburst.

But now, when he has made all the decisons on your behalf, made all the arrangements to ship you the fuck out of his life-- of their lives, you sit in silence.

The conversation began a few...minutes ago? You aren't entirely sure. Because you are busy trying to keep your breathing normal and not let your tears show.

If they can take decisions for you, discard you like nothing.

They do not deserve to know how easy it has been for them to shatter you.

"One of my friends will drop you to the airport. From there, contact this man, he'll lead you through the security."

John speaks as if he is dealing with any other person as he slides a paper with a name and number on it, even a picture. He sounds strange to you now.

Indifferent.

Stoic

Unreadable

And of course, Tex makes no appearance. You have not seen him the whole day. You should have seen the signs. But you naively thought he was running some errands.

What a dumb litttle woman you have been.

Stupid.

"Finally got bored of me?" You don't know if its your voice, or your eyes but something vulnerable and readable flashes in his eyes.

"I am doing what is right for you." He has the guts to look and sound sincere.

You fist your fingers and let out a slow, quivering breath, trying to keep your voice stable through this.

You realise that you are in love with them.

You are so in love with them that even breathing hurt, looking atnthe screen showing the promised 2.5 million made you feel like a protstitute.

So you really were their 'expensive' whore.

Tex's words ring in your head.

"And when did you decide what's right for me?"

Your voice does not come out as strong as you would have liked, but you want to pat your back for keeping it from cracking. For keeping the tears from filling your eyes, for keeping yourself from breaking down and for letting it show that your heart now is in pieces - tiny but sharp pieces - pieces that would go unnoticed - but make one bleed.

"Because I know that it is for the best." He asserts.

Your giggle is unexpected, but it somehow helps. "Oh, yeah?" you shake your head. "Now you decide what's best for me?"

"(Y/N)---"

"When can I go?"

Enough of this game.

You do not want to hear anything else, you do not even want to look at him, at them. If Tex isn't here yet.

Good.

You think spitefully. He should not show his fucking face!

Anger, restentment, betrayal, heartbreak and helplessness-- everything amlagamt into a dangerous fusion that oddly numbs you. But you know that this is the silence betfore the storm.

They do not even deserve to see your outburst. You will not give them the satisfaction of any reaction at all.

There is a charged silence from his end. And when you finally manage to glance up from the screen. You almost curse out loud.

You don't know what he is thinking. But it does not seem any good.

"You think---"

The ringing of the phone becomes your saviour. You think you actually felt the growl on your skin seconds ago. Why else would there be goosebumps on your skin. Why else would your heart be thumping?

When he picks the phone, he keeps his eyes on you, but you revert your gaze back on the phone screen. Oh, you now have a new phone as well. A parting gift from them. It feels more like a return gift.

'Hey party's over, you can go hom enow, and yes, thank you for being our little plaything. Here, a return gift. Happy Journey!'

You almost laugh at your own mental mimicry.

----

John's friend arrives within an hour. You have packed your bags mechanically, but you've meticulous about it. Nothing of you would remain with them, and no part of either of them shall go with you.

The shirt you've been wearing for so long that it now basiclaly smells like you?

It actually belongs to Tex, you remember, because he would always joke about you robbing his wardrobe every time he would see you in it, only to rob you out of your breath the next moment.

So, the shirt is left in the empty closet.

The two-in-one shampoo that saves time? It s John's, so it is left on the counter.

You shove down the sob itching to emerge and steele yourself. Tex is still nowhere to be found.

Bastard.

You load the bags at the back of the car. Only two bags. Funny how your life has been alterned permananently, you are to 'start afresh' and all you've got are two bags to begin with.

Oh, and a fat bank account.

The man and John speak in Sapnish, John does most of the talking for a change. You just want to get in the car and sit down.

But you stop, somehow. Soemthing tells you to turn around. Something in you is sure that Tex is here. You know it is most probbaly your silly heart, still whimpering like the stupid fucking thing it has been for so long. You want to finally listen to your mind. But as soon as you hold the handle to yank the door open, a painful tug at your heart makes you freeze.

Listen to your fucking brain for once!

See where your stupid heart has got you---

Fuck it!

You turn around, almost hoping to see Tex, so much the image of him standing a few feet away flashes before your eyes even before you turn around.

But there in no one behind.

The fiery hope fizzles into cold nothingness in you.

No one is standing there, hoping to see you, no one is there, rushign to stoip you, to stop John. To stop this.

There is no Tex.

You scoff lightly.

But you promise yourself that this is the last time you make a fool out of yourself by listening to your heart.

You should have seen this coming. But you were just a lonely, love-starved, pathetic little woman, weren't you?

Yanking the door open, you get inside the car. The man, John's friend, joins shortly after, taking the driver's seat.

He greets you in accecented English, and you reply politely, despite the effort that it takes to be civil with anybody at themoment. You feel John's eyes on you, but you refuse to look his way.

"Can we go now?"

You ask the man, barely keeping your voice from cracking. The man nods and starts the car, but only after approval from John. You bite your lips, keeping your tears at bay-- its not easy, but you have turned into an expert in bottling up emotions at this point of life.

John's ears are ringing, and his eyes are blurry as he watches the car taking a turn, completely disappearing from his sight. He blinks, relenting under the stubborness of his tears. One tiny drop finds an escape to his cheek. Silently, he turns around.

Tex is standing a few feet behind him. He has been there ever since you walked to the car with her bags.

He simply did not have it in him to face you. So whene you turned, he hid behind a wall.

John undertands Tex, and he knows that Tex would never forgive him for doing this.

But John likes to tell himself that is the better of the two when it comes to 'doing the right thing'. Angels do not belong with devils. They're cursed, doomed beings, destroying everything good that touches them, defiling that they touch.

You don't deserve that.

John tells himself for the nth time. Maybe, if he convinces himself, it would be easier to make Tex see his reason one day.

He watches as Tex silently walks back inside the villa, slamming the door shut behind him.

Tammykelly:

You would sit and stare at the walls of each airbnb for hours. Hours would turn into days, days - into weeks. You were losing count at that point, having learnt that a passing minute could turn into lingering eternity when every day was just a routine of waiting. So patiently waiting for the impossible, you weren’t sure you were breathing.

And you were hoping they’d come bursting right through each door, as it would crack open under sizzling fire and stand agape, akin to the gates of oblivion, forever sucking you into the whirlpool of tarnished hopes.

But they never came, always teasing you with a fog of a visit in your dreams, so flawlessly unattainable, even in the thicket valley of your own mind. You could practically feel their presence, looming somewhere behind you. And yet when you did turn your head, you’d always be greeted with only shadows, playing dirty tricks on you.

And what came to fill that befuddled void was an unstoppable force of burning tears and searing pain you carried in your chest every time you’d go on a new road trip across Europe.

Eucalyptus trees, turquoise sea, passing by the road, birds flying high, sometimes matching the speed of the car.

It wasn’t them leaving you feeling discarded that made you mad. It was the fact that it was the decision made for you. The taken away chance for you to fight for your own freedom and liberate yourself on your own terms.

Crowds of people laughing, dancing, cheering, a few couples kissing and hugging slipped by your sight.

And who would’ve thought that the freedom, once forced upon you, tasted like emptiness, and boredom turned out to be second to the suffocating loneliness. For now, instead of being caged in the glass house, you found yourself waking up every day to the ringing sound of the cage that was your own subconscious, slowly erasing parts of you.

The excitement of the first few days would always vaporise into the thin air, the towns, the mountains, the forests, the beaches - everything turning into a never ending lane in between the world you daydreamed about behind the world you were escaping. For freedom, with no one to share, became a burden just for you to carry.

This is probably what they wanted, you’d think every day, staring at yourself in the rear mirror of your rental car. For you to hate your own company and long for their so bad you wanted to curse your own existence.

They’d always play a game of push and pull with you, giving you everything that you wanted in a controlled amount - just enough for you to feel satisfied and less than enough that you keep coming back for more.

You drive the car down one of many hills of Italian Riviera, onto an empty secluded beach, then stepping into the nauseating midday sun accompanied by the loud crying of cicadas. The scorching sunlight and eucalyptus shade being the only things that kiss your skin, as you leave your sundress discarded in the backseat. Soft sand embraces your feet, slowly guiding you to the warm crystal clear blue water, letting you escape deeper and deeper in, until your bikini is fully wet and your chin touches the surface. Your eyes close, your breath in synch with your heartbeat fueled by the fleeting thoughts.

You exhale one last time, emptying your mind, and let the Mediterranean sea swallow you whole.

- a flashback -

You feel your head come above the surface, air filling your lungs, and then late noon sunlight graze your wet hair, as you walk out of the turquoise pool, emerging slowly, your eyes locked on the dark chocolate ones that devour each curve of your body, too distracted to notice you calculating your steps. You reach the pool bed and grab the towel, drying yourself, the sunlight shining over you in the most flattering way, making the man beside you hardly resist pulling you onto his lap. You feel his arms find their way around you in a firm embrace, and in a swift motion, the towel is discarded somewhere on the floor, droplets from your bikini are now falling down onto his skin.

“Hey”, you say softly, making yourself comfortable, at the price of his discomfort.

“You’re a fuckin’ goddess, you know that?” - Tex’s lips fall on your chest and trace a line up to your jawline.

“Never noticed, no”, you tease, your fingers on either side of his face, making him look up at you. A little naughty butterfly sets an array of flowers blooming in the bubble inside your heart, as you watch him study you with the eyes full of a promise to devour you right then and there, meticulously edging you on, before the other hawk comes for his piece of the prey.

Having nowhere to run means you’ve got nothing to lose.

You kiss him deeply, feeling his arms pull you flush against his chest, before you pull away right when the scales are about to tip not in your favor.

Your gaze penetrates his dark irises, igniting more fiery canons he throws your way in a form of his fingers digging deeper into your hips and waist.

Out of the two, Tex is more impulsive. And impulsivity means a behavioural pattern. And where’s a pattern, there’s a loophole. And where’s a loophole, there’s a way out.

Your ears catch his voice before your brain registers it.

“What?”, - Tex chuckles, making your resurfacing back to him speed up its pace.

“Nothing”, - you whisper, your fingers touching his cheekbones.

A small smirk turns into a wolfish grin, as he continues: “It’s never nothing with you. You told me once, we are nothing more or less than what we choose to reveal. So tell me, what’re you hidin’, my rattlesnake?”

Him leisurely drawing absentminded circles on your hips makes your chest rise and fall a bit deeper, as if setting off in-built alarms. You lock your jaw and let go.

“Sometimes my mind still wonders back to that kidnapping day”, the circles stop, “as I remember watching you and John obliterate the enemies, I kept thinking how graceful you two looked, as if almost entranced in a dance, deadly one at that”, his jaw plays under your fingers, “as time passed, it made me wonder, what more can you do for me?”

You notice a flash of darkness sparkle through his gaze, as if a shadow of a thick lone storm cloud approaching, but never leaving, with lightning brewing deep within.

Tex growls: “Oh, you’re so spoiled,”your cheeks flush a deeper tone, “we’re ready to kill anyone for you, is it not enough?”

You can’t keep your eyes off his, so you reply: “Although I do appreciate the thought, it’s not”, his eyebrow twitches, “you know, it’s easy to break, to kill and to bring destruction to the doorstep of anyone who dares to encounter you. But you know what’s hard?”, you let a pause escape into the abyss, “sacrificing and living”.

His head tilts, “we’re both willing to sacrifice our lives for you”. You pull away.

“I know, you do, but that’s not what I mean”, you tell him, “getting killed in the name of love is easy. But giving up what you love is not”. The hairs at the back of your neck stand up, for your heartbeat quickens at the look, emanating from his narrowed eyes.

“What are you talking about?”, he asks lowly.

A shallow breath escapes your lips when you feel tears pool in your eyes, before you can speak again: “You keep dancing with the death because you were born to be its angels. You love hunting, because you were born to be hunting dogs”, you let yourself run your fingers through his raven locks, feeling your chest tighten, “but you know better than anyone that death always catches up to you, you can’t outrun it”, your eyes wash over his face, “hounds get shot down too”.

You feel a vibration of his laughter echo through you, as Tex’s voice softens: “Well, that’s one way to call us old”.

You smile bitterly, feeling a single tear roll down your cheek. “Oh, you don’t think your employers just gonna pat you on the back and thank you for your service, do you?” Tex’s fingers wipe your cheek gently, butterflies in your belly forming a growing gurgling sensation of an upcoming avalanche, “the difference between a dog and a man is that dogs can’t talk, they act on instinct”, he watches your eyes search his, “either way, both of you will always remain a liability. There’s no grace in dying and no dignity in fighting a losing game”.

Suddenly, you hear another deep voice quietly respond, sending shivers down your spine, as its owner steps into the light, away from the shadowy greenery.

“So, what are you saying?”, you hear another pool bed creek, as John sits down.

“Devils are forever bound to Hell”, you feel an instinctive urge to wiggle out of Tex’s grip and let your feet touch the ground, “so don’t fucking drag me into it. Make your choice”, you tell them, both men now looking up at you, their laser sharp pitch black eyes staring right through you, goosebumps arising on every inch of your body.

“You know it’s not that simple”, Tex says lowly, earning a glare from John, which he shrugs off. You raise an eyebrow.

“Is this your final answer, Tex?”

He doesn’t reply.

You don’t take your eyes off Tex, while you hear John’s voice pierce through you: “We’ll always choose you”, making you slightly step away.

“Doesn’t seem that way”, you reply in a tone that matches his and turn around, speed walking back to the mansion.

You immediately feel the AC blasting, while you pace your breathing, as you step inside and walk into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water with shaky hands. You glance into the window, watching the boys’ backs, as they lean closer to one another, whispering secrets not meant for your ears. Secrets that the tree shades will evaporate and never reveal.

You feel your hand clasp the glass harder, your vision focusing on the blurry reflection of you, tears making your silhouette on the window glass even fainter, as water slips past your lips and down your throat.

- the present -

As you look away from your reflection in the bar window, lazily skipping over LA street view, you put the glass down, the burning sensation in your mouth tingling pleasantly.

So much for fighting to be a puppet master when in the end it’s always been their game, for they were the ones who invented it. Haunting you. Taunting you. Tainting you. Akin to the glass in front of you, stained with your fingerprints and lipgloss.

Fuck, your breath fogs the glass.

You hear the bar doorbell ringing, letting the late night air in, and, after a few seconds, a bar stool a few sits over scraping, as the person sits down. You look up from the glass and into the mirror behind the illuminated shelves that hold liquor.

You suddenly feel like your stomach is flipping somersaults, as if air was knocked out of your lungs. For when you watch the stranger’s reflection, you can’t help but notice the singularity of similarities, wondering whether you’re seeing double.

How many Jesus-looking handsome devils are there?

You forget that it’s not polite to stare and he pretends not to pay attention to it. After a few seconds you inhale again, as if starved for oxygen, your heartbeat overpowering the loud music in your ears.

You fail to see a scrawny middle-aged guy sitting down next to you, missing his chatting up and lewd looks, as he’s checking you out. Finally, your eyes lock with your mirrored ones, your jawline hardens, as you try to move away from the noisy stranger. As you take a sip of your drink, he tries to snatch your hand, which makes you jolt and snap your hand back, throwing him a deadly glare. Instead of taking the hint, he grabs the back of your stool and spins your seat, so you’re facing him.

“Fuck off”, you hiss at him.

“You’re so rude”, - the guy moves closer and you - further from him, your skin crawling with unpleasant thoughts, “someone’s gotta teach you manners”, placing a hand on your bare lower thigh, above your knee. You exhale with a smirk on your lips, before grabbing his palm, curling your fingers and digging your nails into the centre of the thinnest part so hard that bloody creases appear, making him yelp. Fingers of your other hand wrap around the thumb of the hand you’re clawing in, and you’re not shy to painfully bend it in such a way that if you put more force to it, it’d break.

“Remind me again, what was it about the manners?”, you whisper, dangerously low, the guy’s cries drowning in the music. His other hand claws at your arm, as he calls you names. You yank his hand hard, as he does the same in his direction, which leaves deep scratch marks, then grasping his collar, your wide crazed eyes staring into his drunk red ones.

“Don’t try me”, you growl, “I will bite”.

“You crazy fucking bitch”, the guy grabs you with one hand, his glossy eyes filled with rage, his hot breath fanning over your face. As his other hand moves to slap you, you turn to the side briefly, noticing dark obsidian eyes staring right at you, when the stranger’s hand wraps around the guy’s wrist.

“Don’t be rude to the lady”, he says to the drunkard, as you let go of the guy. You lean back, watching the stranger’s eyes glow, akin to jet-black nothingness of the dark matter in space.

“Who the fuck are you?” the guy asks the stranger, who turns his attention to you:

“Is he bothering you, angel?”

You nod, your gaze never leaving his, making you feel an almost familiar sense of security, as you fall deeper into the bottomless fiery pits of his eyes. Before the guy can say a word, the handsome stranger is forcibly throwing him onto the ground, then casually asking the bartender to call the security, ignoring the guy’s threats to call the cops. You watch the stranger squat in front of the drunk guy and tell him to stay quiet, which he doesn’t listen to, making the first one roll his eyes.

You hear a sound of his fist colliding with the guys head, knocking him out. The stranger’s black eyes find yours, pulling you into the intricate labyrinth that is his curious gaze.

“Happens all the time”, he explains, his presence close enough to make you feel the heat of his body, but respectfully away that you don’t feel like he’s intruding your personal space. All thoughts completely leave your mind, as you don’t think you have it in you to divert your gaze, especially when the security drags the drunkard out onto the street.

You feel blood flow to your cheeks when the man’s eyes study you with the same intensity you once knew, making your stomach turn and throat dry up, as you absentmindedly reach for your drink. You force yourself to look away, blinking the fog of memories clouding your consciousness, as if a waterfall washes away the imprints it once knew. You let the pretty devil read your body language, not paying attention to him sitting down next to you, as you look through the window, into the depths of the night, for a split second thinking, indeed, you’re seeing double.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost”, the man’s voice reaches you, once again the illuminating black hole of his irises not letting go of you, as if the sound and space around you are nonexistent anymore.

“Maybe I did”, you reply, pleasant tingles all over your body mixing with barely noticeable shivers, coating your flesh, your mind fully in control of your thoughts and actions, despite several cocktails.

You break the thick silence between you: “Do you, like, have a twin or something?”

“No, why’d you ask?”, - he responds, his gaze slowly increasing the heat of your body.

“Sorry, you just remind me of someone”, you apologise, hiding the truth behind the sip of your drink.

“Are you running away or looking for them?”, - the stranger asks.

“I dunno. Maybe a little bit of both”, your lashes flutter.

You feel him lean closer, the speed of your heartbeat rising.

“What’d you do if you saw a ghost?”, he whispers, your eyes lock on his again.

You bite your lip, thinking for a second, and tell him: “Well, it’d depend on where I see them. If I saw them in my apartment, I’d ask why the fuck they’re here rent free. If I saw them in a Church, I’d probably meet Jesus right then and there. If I saw them in an alley, I’d probably punch them so hard I’ll send them back to where they came from”.

Your eyes find his playful smile so enjoyable for some reason, when he teases: “You’ve got spirit”.

You mirror his expression: “No, just a whole lotta anger”.

You both let a pause vapour into the air and then he speaks again.

“So, which one is it?”, he asks, searching your eyes.

“Well, I’m here and they’re there. End of the story”, you let out before another beat passes by, as your mind and heart fail to create any excuse not to keep up with him.

He tilts his head, his short messy hair falling all over his forehead. “So, what brings you to the city of Angels? Business or pleasure?”

“Haven’t decided yet, maybe both”, you say, watching a wolf-like grin appear on his lips, a smirk you know all too well, which makes your heart sting just a tiny pinch.

“Looks like you need someone to do a whole lotta deciding for you”, - his eyes glimmer with a shade of darkness you can tell brings no good but a cheeky pretext for more.

“Excuse you, you don’t think you have anything you can offer me, do you?”, you match his smile with one of your own.

“Depends on what you’re looking for”, the man replies, watching you feign curiosity.

“Depends on what you have to offer”, you raise an eyebrow.

“So you do want something from me”.

“Huh, maybe the question is what don’t I want”.

You feel the heat of his body on yours even stronger when he moves closer.

“Maybe the question is what can you offer me?”, he asks, earning a glare from you. The counter meets with your arm, as you lean on it, your body now facing his.

“What are you looking for then? Business or pleasure?”, you throw one leg over the other.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, angel. It could be something you can’t give me”, he leans back, looking down at you through his lashes.

A pause washes over you two.

“What, cat’s got your tongue?”

“No, I’m thinking”, you tell him.

“Think faster”, he urges.

Deja vu much?

You exhale, smirking: “Fuck off. You’re a prick”.

“You can’t expect to receive something without giving something in return. So, that makes you…a…what?”, he waves his hand absentmindedly.

“A fucking saint”, your voice sounds as a matter of factly.

“Quite the opposite, actually”.

“Yeah, you ever see a saint doing charity work?”

“I’ll let you know when I see one”

He’s so devilishly handsome it’s annoying.

Your jawline moves but you don’t dwell on the feeling of rising heat under your skin.

“So, what is it that you want”, you ask flatly.

“Stick around and find out”.

“Nah, I’ll have to check my calendar first”, you pretend to think, “hmm, I don’t think so”.

You catch a tiny sparkle of interest grow bigger in the eyes opposite yours, though he doesn’t move a muscle, buying into your pretence when you both can feel the underlying truth on your fingertips.

“Can I buy you a drink”, his low voice vibrates through a thin layer of deceptive indifference. You note how his eyes are the opposite of the ones that embody icy coldness laced with a warm hue that you’re used to. His irises are so warm with a glint of a cold breeze, blowing through them.

“No, but you can pay for mine. I don’t drink much, especially with scruffy strangers”.

The man waves to a bartender who’d just come for his shift, you hear the voice of a man behind the counter: “Good evening, John”.

Oh, so help me God

“Put the lady’s drinks on my tab and get me a glass of Ardberg”, he turns to face you, “name’s John Constantine. You’re indebted to me now”.

“For a fucking drink?”

“Three, to be exact”

You laugh.

Guess you’re not escaping the devil tonight

“You’re such an asshole, John. So what is it that you do for a living”

“I hunt”

Fucking Hell

“And then I help the souls leave this realm”, he continues.

Even better

“Like, with a bullet or a prayer?”, you draw circles on the glass ring.

“A little bit of both”

“That pays well?”

Constantine smirks: “One does what one can”.

“You like it?”

“Not at all”

“Why’d you do it then?”, you ask quietly.

“To atone for my sins”, your eyes can’t help but notice an almost sad glimpse appear in his irises and then switch off back to a playful hint. He watches you look at him with wide eyes.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

You nod, expectantly.

“I don’t do bullets these days”

“So, you’re like…Killer Preacher? Fiery Priest?”

“Haven’t thought of it like that. But yeah”, he replies, as your heartbeat almost makes you nauseous, the ephemeral sensation of being watched from a place you can’t see making your ears turn red, you almost don’t hear him finish his sentence, “I’m not a killer. On God”.

You force a giggle: “Sure”.

Constantine’s eyes loom over yours once more, taking in every micro expression of yours, when he suggests: “You’re sure you don’t want a drink?”

You look him right in the eyes when you take his drink from his hand and down the rest he hasn’t finished yet, then saying: “Yeah, thanks. It’s been nice knowing you, John Constantine”.

He quirks an eyebrow: “You drank my shit and you’re leaving?”

“Yeah. I’m done with killers”, your heels make contact with the floor and you begin to walk away.

“Be seeing you, angel”, Constantine throws your way, neither of you turning around, as you reply: “No, you won’t”.

You go outside and light a cigarette with a trembling hand, staring into the darkest part of the alleyway, fear slowly subsiding and blood pumping in your veins with a newfound purpose of hot radioactive anger.

There’s a Nietzche saying, “and if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you”. For you can sense that two pairs of eyes are locked in on yours, shining in the darkness.

John notices a venomous smile playing on your lips and a hint of glowing in your eyes, not from the street lamp but rather the thoughts brewing in your mind, as he’s gripping the wheel tighter, the pain causing him to feel more grounded. Tex feels like they’re both staring at the reflection of them, him and John hiding in the shadows, you - right there, embraced by the light, forever favoured by the bold fortune. For “he who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster”. For you turned out to be a true angel in the city that is the land of the devils.

Just as you throw the cigarette out, your ears pick up the sound of the doorbell before you hear footsteps approaching you.

“Well, you sure took your sweet fucking time”, you tell Constantine, offering him a cigarette.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’ve been waiting for me”, he says before popping a piece of gum into his mouth, as you put the pack into your purse.

“No way in Hell, ew. It’s just taxis take for-fucking-ever here”

“Waiting for the ghost?” he sits down next to you on the bench.

“Yeah. I think I’m going ghost hunting tonight”.

“There’s more than one, I take it?”

You nod and continue: “And I also think I’m gonna take you up on that offer and let you humour me”.

His eyes glow with the same hue as yours: “You’ve figured what you can give me?”

You smirk: “Yeah. I got a debt to pay off, after all, third time‘s a charm, remember?”

“4, in your case”

“3 and a half”, your firm voice claims.

Constantine leans closer, grinning, his gaze devilishly capturing yours in a bargain your body could never deny.

“Thought you were done with killers”, he growls, his quiet voice making shivers roll down every inch of you.

“I guess not tonight, no”.

“Why a change of mind?”

“You look like you’ve been through Hell and back”, you let him get closer until your faces are just millimetres apart, not caring whether your other devils are watching or how they’re feeling anymore.

“Damn, I’ve been called worse but, wow, my God, angel”.

“I wonder what gives”, you tease, letting a Tex-like accent slip past.

“Mhhmm, what makes you say that?”, Constantine’s eyes urging you to lean back, as you recross your legs.

“Because I know what Hell feels like”.

“Well, I am most certain you did not wait for a sympathetic shoulder to cry on”, he purrs, placing his big warm hand on your knee.

“No, I did not”, you send a small smile his way, allowing his hand to travel up your bare thigh, “I don’t want ghosts following me anymore”.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about”, he says, his watchful eyes boring into yours, your heart flutters.

“Who are you to tell me what I do and don’t know”, the sound of your whisper hiss-like.

He smirks: “Okay, do pray tell”, his gaze never leaving your irises.

“I know what devils look like because maybe Hell is other people”.

You let distant sirens be the only sound filling the street.

‘So, you’re running away?”, Constantine breaks the spell, as you feel his skin on yours clearer than ever, ignoring the alarming temptation to stare into the darkness again and seek answers that’ll keep you up at night.

Instead, you tell him: “You keep calling me angel like it means something. I’m far from that. I’m no angel, and I think you’re no devil”.

“Are you sure, little dove? Appearances can be deceiving”.

“But the eyes never lie. And see, you can’t be really running away, when it wasn’t your decision to leave. So, I’ll take my chances”.

Abruptly, all of his warmth leaves your personal space, when he leans back and tilts his head: “You’ll have to pay if my head gets bitten off”

“Make sure to keep it on your fucking shoulders then”, you retort and pull him by the tie.

- 6 months later -

Constantine rolls over, though one of his arms still around you, both of you flushed with after sex glow, rocking messy hair. There’s a pack of unopened cigarettes on your nightstand, he reaches out over you and grabs a pack of gum, offering one to you first and throwing the next one into his mouth. You get up from the bed, Constantine’s eyes following your naked form. He rolls his eyes upon seeing you turn around and cutely blow him a kiss, before the bathroom door clicks shut and he starts to get dressed.

After a while, as the scent of coffee fills the apartment, he hears the sound of you walking across the room, the chair scrapping against the floor and cricking, as you sit down at the table with a towel wrapped around your hair, opening your UCLA mock exam book. He looks up at you from the two cups he’s just poured and sets one in front of you, his eyes glowing.

You glance up, thanking him.

“Last push?”, the corner of his mouth quirks up a little.

“Yeah”, - you set the cup back down, “God, I really did forget what it feels like to be this nervous a week before the exam”.

“You’ll do great, this is just an entrance exam for the undergraduate program, how hard can it be?” he teases, “plus you’ve already gone to college”.

“Yeah, you know I never graduated. Also shut up, genius, see if you can take it”, you mock him before burying your head in the book. Suddenly, you hear a phone buzzing on the table, looking over and seeing it’s Constantine’s, the screen lighting up with a call from “Angela”.

“Your girlfriend’s calling”, - you muse, sliding the phone to the man.

“She’s not my girlfriend”, he states, his eyes not leaving yours, as he ignores the buzz.

“You should take it”, you tilt your head up, as a shadow falls on your face, feeling Constantine’s hand somewhere behind you, “seems important”.

“She can wait”, you feel a whisper pass over right above your ear before he leans closer and his lips find yours, the scent of coffee and gum mixing on your tongues. You break the kiss after a while, lightly smacking his chest.

“I gotta study, John”, you pout, ignoring his wicked grin.

“I know, just giving you a little motivation”, Constantine downs his coffee and winks at you, before walking over to the sink to wash it.

“Ew”, you say, though your eyes follow his movements, as you bite your lip, smiling. As he turns around with a cheeky smirk on those gorgeous lips of his, you roll your eyes.

“Get me something to eat, will you?”, you ask.

“On it”, he laughs, “be right back”.

“Don’t be too long”, - you take a sip of the coffee, as he’s leaving the kitchen. Just as you start revising, you hear his voice calling you again.

“Hey”, you look up, “I’m proud of you, angel”, Constantine smiles at you.

“Get outta here, already”, you throw a cramped paper ball his way, your chest filling with butterflies, making you giggle, as you set your eyes back on the study paper.

You hear the doorbell ringing and Constantine telling you: “Don’t get up, I’ll get it”.

“Thanks, cutie”, you reply, dodging the said paper ball.

After a door click, strange silence greets the air, turning warm LA air icy cold.

“What the fuck”, you hear a voice that makes your blood freeze. “Who the fuck are you?” a deep voice repeats.

“I’m John. The owner of this house. And who the fuck are you?”, Constantine replies and you hurry to the door, your eyes taking in the scene of two men, standing almost chest to chest, about to come unleashed upon one another in a deadly dance of bulls.

Your eyes then lock on dark obsidian ones that spew fireballs.

“Y/n”, the man with long hair, holding a huge bouquet of your favourite flowers, exhales your name softly. Before he can utter another word, you are right up in his face, punching him in the nose, as hard as you can, making him stumble back with blood now dripping down his lips and chin.

“What the actual fuck?” the man exclaims, clearly he didn’t expect such a warm welcome.

Your eyes lock with Constantine’s.

“Nice one”, he high fives you, as you smile at him,“that’s one of the ghosts, I assume?”

“Number 2, actually”, you reply, calmly watching Tex look at you with confusion but his bloodied fingers wrapping around the bouquet, knuckles white, his eyes growing darker with each passing second.

Constantine’s eyes peel off yours and assess Tex.

“Can’t say it’s a pleasure to meet you, asshole”, he says and you almost feel a breeze pass you, as he launches forward.

A screen freeze frame:

Constantine’s fist raised, the other grabbing onto Tex, Tex’s hand with the bouquet about to collide with Constantine’s face.

The angle pans to you.

You look into the camera, amused, yet terrified.

Shit

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

You take the blood speckled flowers and put them in a purple glass vase by the window where the filtered sunlight can illuminate and nourish the pretty stained petals. The silky roses and lilies - what a combo - invite you to run your fingertips across them and smell the heavy sweetness of the cluster.

After you take your time with the flowers, you go to Tex, sit beside him and dab at his swelling face with a cool washcloth. John watches this display with a barely contained scowl, hip against the counter, cigarette pressed tightly between his lips, bag of frozen peas pressed into his own blooming bruise - you had insisted he blunt the freeze with a rag so his skin didn’t get damaged.

“I’m sorry,” Tex says, and it makes you pause. Takes you aback.

“What?” It’s really the only thing you can manage. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him say he’s sorry and genuinely mean it. However, the enchantment is short lived when you realize that his repentance is probably a ploy to get you pliant and small for him again.

“I said I’m so-“

“I heard you, Tex, but come the fuck on. You actually think that shit is gonna work?”

Ah, there’s that punchable, handsome, toe curling half raise of his mouth. “It was worth a try.”

“You want another black eye?” You ask him.

“You know I’ll take anything you wanna give me, rattlesnake.”

“Die in a fire.” Despite harsh words, you’re still cleaning the caked blood off his face. You think that says way more about you than it ever could about him, but you’ve learned not to question yourself too much nowadays. If everyone else is resigned to being immoral, selfish douchebags, then why shouldn’t you be?

“I miss you.” This is his reply as he sports an almost infatuated expression on his face. He looks like a love sick puppy, and you kind of don’t mind it. Submissive suits him. Begging, strung up to the headboard, cock angry and purple, dribbling fat liquid pearls onto his belly, still having the audacity to be cheeky even while he's so desperate he’s humping air.

“You thinkin’ about me, huh, darlin?” He blows you a kiss and you scowl. Still, your face is hot, hands shaky, breath uneven. Curse this man for his ability to make your cunt throb traitorous in zero point five.

“Where’s John?” You deflect.

“I’m right here.”

You turn to Constantine. He’s got the full icy bag pressed to his face without a buffer again. Remedying his disobedience with a sigh, you snatch the veggies, slap the washrag back on, and then place them to his cheek gently. “You’re gonna get freezer burn.”

He holds you steady on tiptoes, broad hand pressed into your waist, leans down to kiss your top lip. “Who’s John?” He asks.

“A friend.”

Tex snorts. “You know, I’m startin to think ya like him better than me. Every time we have a homecoming, the first words outta your mouth are always ‘where’s John?’”.

His poor imitation of your voice, if you’re giving him credit, actually does make you giggle. “That’s cuz I do like him better than you, Tex.”

You can’t see the way he shoots Constantine a heavy stink eye. “Clearly. Now come’er, you missed a spot.”

Instead of glaring at him, you smile, grab a coke from the fridge and lean into the counter to sip on it. “It’s cute that you still think you’re the boss of me, Tex.”

His grin turns into a sneer. “What? You think just cuz you got a little bodyguard now, I can’t still slap that pretty buxom bottom all red and raw?” He flexes a bulky hand as testament to that, and you hate yourself for shrinking a little bit. Half out of fear, half because your insides give a violent boil of desire that you’re afraid both these men can feel despite distance.

Constantine, in true fashion, rolls his eyes. “Where did you find this guy? The bargain bin of Tractor Supply?”

“Close. A diner in Ohio.”

“Hey, I was the best lookin’ guy in that Diner, thank you.” Tex is back to his usual lazy grin, tipping an imaginary hat.

“You never change, do you?” You ask him, shaking your head.

“Momma didn’t raise a quitter,” he shrugs.

You can try to deny it all you want, but you did miss Tex. That dangling piece of your heart - held by only a tearing thread of muscle - reattached when you saw his beautiful face, leaving you warmer and sturdier and… fuck. Happier.

It’s not your fault. He should be outlawed for the combination k.o. of those handsome features, deep honey voice and annoying, endearing wit. His black hair has grown disheveled and wild, stubble thickening into a wiry mess that you want to tug at. Constantine is always clean shaven, and, god, you miss having constant rugburn between your thighs.

And those hands. Jesus, those big, beautiful, chunky hands, all bruised from beating Constantine into the ground. It wasn’t a fair fight. Although of similar height, Tex’s burly stature overpowered Constantine’s lithe frame. If it wasn’t for John knocking Tex back a couple feet with a burst of black flame, he’d look a lot worse right now. And it’s a good thing he did it sooner rather than later, because you were just about to attempt to pull Tex off of him.

However, that pulse of dark magic created a brand new set of problems. Because Tex now has a, to quote John Constantine, “worrying” symbol burned into his chest.

“The sixth seal of what?” You ask John as he digs through his messy desk of papers and odd collectibles. Occult bobbles and silver trinkets, brown stained parchment from careless papercuts, a few extra lighters. Finally, he rips a book from the bottom of a drawer.

“Saturn.” He flips through, reads faster than you can think, comes dead stop at a page with the identical marking on Tex’s chest. “Oh.”

“Oh?” You say, leaning over him and trying to read Latin. “What does oh mean, John? I’m worried here.”

“Pentacle of Saturn. Creates a magnet for demons and dark hearted creatures.”

“Meaning?”

“Howdy Doody is fucked.”

“I heard that!” Tex calls from the kitchen.

After a hushed discussion with John - well, it starts as a discussion. “So, take it off him.”

“I can’t. I need help.”

You fix him with a stubborn look, grab his t-shirt and drag him over. “So, get help.”

“What’s in it for me?”

You kiss him hard, lick your sharp tongue into his mouth and press him back into his office chair as he tugs your hips down into his lap.

You’re not nice about carding your fingers through his thick hair, and he gives the same treatment while he palms your thighs and ass. You tug his velvet mane back to reveal the long pillar of his pale throat and nibble at his pulse, making him groan and shift under you.

Your cheeks only burn a little bit while you smile down at him, hand still holding his head back. The other heel of your hand puts a little pressure on the thick bulge in his pants, and he bucks into you.

You chuckle. “Would you ever tell me no, John?”

His voice is sandpaper, thick with saliva, it induces a violent shiver from your head to your toes. “Only if you asked me to.”

You pat his flushed cheek, kiss his sensitive swollen bruise. It’s like this more often than not. Ever since that day in the alley where he pressed you into the cold damp concrete and fucked your eyes into the back of your head, you’ve been clinically diagnosed with ‘can’t keep your hands off eachother’ disease.

Whereas Tex and John would only give you what they thought you deserved - held you under a tight thumb and always made sure you were the one licking boots and begging for thread - Constantine can’t fucking resist you. He’s at your beck and call, completely enchanted despite being the magic user in the relationship.

Having a man like Constantine at your feet, by your side, it’s a heavy drug, and a damn miracle if you don’t end up fucking like feral beasts a few times a day.

A heavy, interrupting knock on the front door pulls you from his lips. You feel his baby hairs stand on end, skin prickle in goose flesh, watch his eyes curtain black. He’s a thrumming ball of dark energy, a black void meant for consumption. It’s his bodies malefic defense against black magic. It puts your heart in your ears.

“Fuck.” He picks you up, outer calm betrayed by a sickly nervous sweat beading on his skin, and sets your feet on the floor.

“Are we about to die, John?” You reach out to grip his forearm, and the look he gives you makes your blood cold.

“I need you to go out the back door.” He pops open his weapon cabinet and shoulders a big rifle out. “And I need you to get away from here. Fast.”

“John, I don’t-“

“Do it. Fuck.” He rethinks being demanding, grabs you with one hand and presses his forehead to yours. “Please, Angel, I need you safe.”

You’ve come a long way from that sniveling, scared girl kneeling in gravel with a 9 mm barrel pressed to your temple, but John is right: despite your fierce independence and growing sense of self worth, you have no tools to fight against whatever monsters are knocking at his door.

“What about Tex?”

He kisses your head. “Can he shoot a gun?”

“Yeah?”

John cocks the rifle. “Then he can hold his own.” Your attempt to follow Constantine’s request is very short lived. Turns out, demons are smarter than anyone gives them credit for. As soon as you make it over the threshold, you’re grabbed up. Four men, occult symbols written permanently into their flesh, heads shaved bare. They grip you by the throat and the wrists, but you still have your feet. You lash out, catch one in the groin, and as he stumbles back you have enough leverage to palm another’s nasal bone into his skull.

Then, you run. Gunshots echo behind you, and, of course you’re worried about your own skin, but what about Tex and John? What about them fighting off even more of these brutes? The desperate thought almost gets you to turn around.

Suddenly, your legs seize up, and you land face down on the pavement. It’s like you’ve been paralyzed, rolled over by tons of crushing weight. Your lungs tighten and breathing gets exponentially harder. You feel your bones creaking under the stress of an invisible steam roller. Gravity is a thousand times sharper down here.

A little kick to your thigh is child’s play compared to the boulder crushing your chest. “This is Constantine’s bitch?”

“Yeah, I know, underwhelming.”

You don’t exactly mind the insults - you’re being suffocated by a slow, unyielding force and that seems to be the more pressing issue.

“Kill her?” You didn’t hear the first part of the sentence because your eardrums were popping painfully.

“Yeah.”

And, actually, death would be preferable to suffering like this, feeling like you’ve been shoved into a 3 inch underwater steel drain pipe, like every breath you take is the last one your lungs can handle before they explode.

The weight lifts, air filters through your throat, your body spasms back to life. You can move again, breathe again; it’s painful and glorious. You turn around, and there is your dark angel. In the flesh. Hair nestled back behind his ears, collar tucked neatly on his shoulders despite the dark brown stains slashing through it.

You forget that you’re supposed to be mad at him, especially when he’s looming over a pile of bloody bodies - saving your life once again.

“John?” You breathe.

The stoic expression you fondly remember is contorted in agony. He holds his hand out for you, and you let him pull you to your feet.

It only takes you a stunned few moments to remember that he abandoned you after using you for months on end like a rag doll.

You rear back and slap him hard across the face.

You give yourself kudos - he does flinch a tiny bit. Then, he’s on you, cradling you to his chest, soothing hands rubbing over your head and back, big deep rumbles shaking his broad chest. You lash out with your hands, hitting and scratching, screaming at him to get the fuck off you and that you hate him and that you wish he were dead, but he is unfazed. A force to be reckoned with. Just like you remember him.

He cradles you calm, holds you like he’s never going to let you go again - you have no idea - and, in the same way that Tex repaired a piece of your broken heart, John’s embrace stitches the entire thing back together in some visceral, risky surgery that leaves you agonized and whole again.

Your tears stain his jacket.

[simpfordemetri]

Can you do a headcanon of the Volturi guards with a human mate that is a teacher in preschool or at a daycare and always brings up wanting a baby of her own.

ALEC

Silence

Like dead silence

Pretends he used his own gift on him and suddenly he is deaf cause he will act like it

You want one?A what?Suddenly he doesnt know what babies are

He is just not good at saying no to you so he may just act like he is dumb when you bring this conversation up

Honestly he will have Aro talk to you cause he cant deal with hurting your feelings

JANE

She is more stern about it so she will just flat out NO

Without realising you were really serious and your feelings were hurt

Thats when her brain stop working and for the first time in centuries doesnt know how to deal with something

Things could have been different and a whole different conversation would have gone between you two

Cause even if you dont think so,she knows how to explain why something cant be done

DEMETRI

Oh he wishes to darling

Imagine a little you in his arms and having a family with you and his own just makes him smile

But he cant provide you that cause things wont turn out good and you are aware of that

So please dont put him in this anxious situation

You already know

The most he would do is giving you a sad smile and go away to deal with his own emotions

FELIX

His problem with babies doesnt come with the Volturi rules,he just think how he would break his baby without effort

He is scared to even break you so

He is okay with fantasizing about a family with you and sometimes you two would create your own imaginary world and invent stories where he is human too and get married

In that world you two have cats and three kids,two boys and a girls

HEIDI

She is not too fond on kids

Just not for her,i think she is more an animal person

She absolutely loves dogs but despise kids,when she is giving tours and hear babies crying and screaming she wants nothing but to be deaf

So you already know,and dont want to make her uncomfortable

So maybe a few comments here and there but not innuendos

Because she is not scared to talk herself up and tell you a big NO

[heavenlybackside]

Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May, and they still smelled pretty good by June. Since they were starting to smell, however, brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odor. Hence the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting married.

Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women, and finally the children. Last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it … hence the saying, “Don’t throw the baby out with the Bath water!”

Houses had thatched roofs-thick straw-piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the cats and other small animals (mice, bugs) lived in the roof. When it rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof, resulting in the idiom, “It’s raining cats and dogs.”

There was nothing to stop things from falling into the house. This posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other droppings could mess up your nice clean bed, therefore, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded some protection. That’s how canopy beds came into existence.

The floor was dirt. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt, leading folks to coin the phrase “dirt poor.”

The wealthy had slate floors that would get slippery in the winter when wet, so they spread thresh (straw) on floor to help keep their footing. As the winter wore on, they added more thresh until, when you opened the door, it would all start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed in the entrance-way, subsequently creating a “thresh hold.”

In those old days, they cooked in the kitchen with a big kettle that always hung over the fire.. Every day they lit the fire and added things to the pot. They ate mostly vegetables and did not get much meat. They would eat the stew for dinner, leaving leftovers in the pot to get cold overnight and then start over the next day. Sometimes stew had food in it that had been there for quite a while, and thus the rhyme, “Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old.”

Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special. When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could, “bring home the bacon.” They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around and “chew the fat.”

Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with high acid content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead poisoning death. This happened most often with tomatoes, so for the next 400 years or so, tomatoes were considered poisonous.

Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top, or the “upper crust.”

Lead cups were used to drink ale or whisky. The combination would sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days. Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial.. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up, creating the custom of holding a wake.

They used to use urine to tan animal skins, so families used to all pee in a pot & then once a day it was taken & sold to the tannery. If you had to do this to survive you were “piss poor.”

But worse than that were the really poor folk who couldn’t even afford to buy a pot; they “didn’t have a pot to piss in” & were the lowest of the low.

The next time you are washing your hands & complain because the water temperature isn’t just how you like it, think about how things used to be. Here are some facts about the 1500s.

England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people. So they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a bone-house, and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive, so they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night (the graveyard shift.) to listen for the bell; thus, someone could be, saved by the bell or was considered a dead ringer.

And that’s the truth. Now, whoever said History was boring?

[flightfoot]

Do you have ML fic rec with supernatural theme? Smt like Spellbound or Bell the Cat thing perhaps?

You're in luck, I love supernatural/fantasy ML fics! I tagged everyone I know the tumblrs for, feel free to tag anyone I missed!

COMPLETE FICS:

---

Dreams of You by @chocoluckchipz

Dreams had long been his only escape. Dreams of Ladybug, the girl who had always been there for him. If only in his dreams. And only while she was also sleeping. Because with the first rays of sunshine gliding over her skin, with the first fluttering of her eyelashes, from the moment she opened her eyes in the morning, memories of Adrien would vanish from her mind. She would go on living her life. He would always be the only one who remembered. At least until they meet in the real world and fall in love all over again, something that would’ve been easier to do if Adrien wasn't a prisoner in his own home.

---

May I Introduce Myself, Your Highness? by @chocoluckchipz

Whether picking up a stray animal off the streets or saving a dying child at the market, Adrien had always strived to be the best version of himself. Truly, he would've been the perfect candidate to be snatched up by a kwami, were he an orphan, dying somewhere remote after a short life full of nothing but suffering and misery. Yet as it stood, the sole heir to the French throne had little to complain about. Apart from, perhaps, a complete absence of a love life. That is until a mysterious girl, wandering around his gardens at night, catches his attention.

---

How Marinette Learned to Stop Worrying And Love The Ball by @rosie-b

Hidden from the crowds thronging around the busy fairy portal in Paris's town square, a fae gate sits at the edge of the forest, locked, rusty, and full of ancient magic. Marinette thinks that this abandoned gate must not work anymore... but one day, a fairy disguised as a black cat steps through it.

---

a winter so warm by @rosekasa

winters were hard for even the best of vampires, but at least adrien had marinette to keep him warm with her cuddles.

december was going to suck without her. so it was only to be expected to get extra cuddles in before she left, right?

(well, not really, considering those heating supplements he was taking, but she didn't need to know about that).

---

Stitched Together by @nedjsmlfavs

Stitch Witch Marinette was just supposed to be having a nice, terrifying outing with her best friends. She never expected to find a magically trapped kitten, but here we are! Whatever happened to this poor little guy?

---

The Mer-Human Race by @rosie-b

Bringing her hand closer to his lips, Adrien tried to plant a kiss on it, but Marinette pulled away before his lips could touch her.

“Save it for your girlfriend,” she said teasingly. “Or do you still not have one yet?”

Adrien smirked and crossed his arms.

“It’s a girl,” he said. “And I know her in real life. That’s all you get. Now, let’s get back to planning, shall we? We have a mermaid to beat.”

---

See This Chance by @19thsentry-blog

Luka died in 2016. Yep. Crushed by the Arc de Triumph when Mayura’s Robustus slammed into it. It was kind of a big deal, but once you’re dead, you’re dead—especially when there’s no Lucky Charm to bring you back.

Luka’s been dealing with it in the typical ways.

Written for FeLuka week 2023.

---

the legend of the firefly by @agnes-writes

“She’s… beautiful.

If he were to describe her, he’d say that they bottled summer in her eyes, and painted the night sky in her hair. Her lips are curved into a wistful smile, eyes trailing the thicket of trees where Adrien stands.

Her gaze sets his heart stuttering in his chest as it softens, and Adrien almost believes that look is meant for him.”

OR: A pair of lovers create a romance that transcends time, and leaves a mark like no other.

---

Anchor by @liiinerle

“Marinette. Please take that sabre out of your neck.”

“Right. Thanks. I forgot it was there.” She grabbed hold of the guard and pulled; the blade slid out like it had only been run through butter. After dropping it on the floor, she picked up one of the teacups and picked up a biscuit from a tin she’d brought in; she placed the biscuit on the saucer plate and handed the whole thing to Kagami, who could only really resign herself to accepting it.

-----

Marinette has raised Kagami from the dead, and also happens to be dead herself. It turns out some bad choices were made in the past. But that doesn't mean they'll lead to bad outcomes for them now.

---

delicate in every way but one by katrinette

When Marinette finds a wanted ad that provokes just enough questions in her mind that she can't help answering it, the reward is sweeter than she could have imagined.

---

whose woods these are (I think i know) by Reiaji

Four years after his future turns to cinders, Adrien is a servant in the house he was meant to inherit. Disowned by his father and abused by his stepmother, his days are filled with drudgery until he meets a masked huntress in the forest behind his father's chateau. As his friendship with Ladybug turns to first love, he dreams of a future spent at her side. Then, on the eve of the Princess's masquerade, he meets his guardian—and is granted a wish. [Ladrien Cinderella AU]

---

don't you worry child by @mexicancat-girl

Marc and Nathaniel have a good life, married and living together in a cottage in the woods. But they consider having children at some point. Marc in particular really wants to start a family with his husband. He knows the fey are real, so he goes searching in the woods to find one to strike a deal. He may get a bit more than he bargained for in the process.

---

hella enchanted by @xiueryn:

Years ago, Marinette's father died and she was left with her awful stepmother. With magic forcing her to obey every command, she lived as a servant and gave up hope. When a man appears, searching for the very fairy that blessed her, Marinette decides to give life one more try. AU.

(a different ella enchanted au.)

---

How Could I Not? by SorryJustAnotherPerson

In fairy tale books, Princesses were saved by nights from ferocious dragons. Those books were not their story, but Rose was happy to flip over a new page with her Juleka every single day.

Many years ago, she was put to this tower by her parents and her kingdom, along with a fire breathing dragon, so she could find her prince charming one day. How foolish for them to not calculate her falling in love with the dragon. I mean seriously.

How could she not?

Once Upon A Time by kao_rei:

"Humans fear wolves. I mean, we're horrible, sickening creatures, aren't we?" Adrien laughed.

"I don't think so," Marinette muttered. "Well, not anymore when I met you."

Marinette's days are all the same—she puts on her red cape, makes deliveries for her parents' bakery, and goes home to rest before another busy day. Adrien is a wolf-boy who watches her from afar, awaiting the day they finally meet to change their stories.

While falling in love may bring about some challenges, they're willing to fight through them together because they'd never settle for a "the end". They want a "happily ever after", too.

(In which Marinette is Little Red Riding Hood, Adrien is the Wolf, and they fall in love somewhere between deliveries, flower fields, and shiny red apples).

---

life's waiting for you by @mexicancat-girl

Marc is the shy and soft-spoken Prince of the Underworld, used to being ignored at best and feared at worst. He greatly admires Nathaniel, the Prince of Nature, who’s much too out of his league. Handsome, kind, charming, and charmingly modest, with hair as red as a rose and talented artists' hands. Yearning for the love of a nature deity when he’s a deity of death is beyond ridiculous, so Marc keeps his hopes low. But an encounter at the border between the Underworld and the surface leads the two to speaking, which leads to Marc showing Nathaniel his writing and Nathaniel his art. And from there blooms a beautiful friendship…Or maybe more.

---

to love beauty is to see light by sagansjagger

Young common-mer Adrien will do anything to please his father, Gabriel Agreste. Adrien will even alter his tail, that hideous thing. But the sea witch he seeks out is not who he expected. A common-mer striking up a friendship with an anglerfish-mer is taboo among mermaid kind, but Marinette Dupain-Cheng is too interesting for Adrien to just leave her alone...

---

Ghost of You by its_just_iori

It finally happened. The akuma attacked at the wrong time. They weren't prepared. For the first time, there was a casualty. Someone was killed. Marinette doesn't care that her identity was exposed to the world; she can't stop blaming herself for what happened. If only she'd been ready... if only she'd done more... There's nothing for Adrien to say. There's nothing he can do other than stay by her side and help her through this pain.

---

The Pink Lady: Marichat May 2018 by seasonofthegeek

In this story, Chat Noir, Carapace, Rena Rouge, Queen B, and Paon are the heroes of Paris. The Ladybug Miraculous has been lost for almost a century and it takes all of their combined power to cleanse akumas sometimes but they’ve found something that works since they don’t have another option. Hawkmoth is one of their villains, but not the only one plaguing Paris. Chat Noir happens upon an old hotel one night on patrol and discovers something and someone he didn't expect.

INCOMPLETE FICS

The Beauty of a Rose by properjitterbug

In the small town of Bellerose, Marinette and Adrien are childhood friends while secretly pining for each other. They lead happy lives until one day a long, forgotten promise is stirred awake; changing their lives in ways they couldn't imagine. With time marching on, Marinette is left to chase after ghosts of her past as a strange creature appears in the depths of the mysterious forest. Arc 1: Chapters 1-11: Complete Arc 2: Chapters 12-?: In Progress -- Werecat!Adrien x Marinette

Note: this one's M-rated for a reason.

---

what worse luck by GuardianKarenTerrier

He doesn't know what happens. One minute he's struggling against the leash spell, the next he's tripping on his own momentum as the magic suddenly snaps, as he tastes freedom for the first time in- in ever, probably. Adrien doesn't stop long enough to think about where he's going or why. He just bolts. (Marinette's spell goes wildly off-target, but it's a stroke of luck for everyone involved that it does).

---

fire lily petals by @fragileizy

“Do you believe in soulmates?” His little witch looks up from her mortar and pestle, setting a heavy book in front of him at the table. The weight of the textbook upsets the flame of their oil lamp enough to scatter and smudge the shadows around them, and he stares down at the page for something to do instead of looking at her glittering eyes. Of course I do, he wants to say. Of course I believe in soulmates. I believe in it every time you look at me, Marinette. It’s as true as the demonic seal that stains my chest at our contract— it’s as true as the demonic seals that burn on your ear lobes that you keep hidden with your hair at our contract. But he’s a coward. He’s nothing more than a coward. The great Chat Noir, the legendary demon who has fought countless demonic wars, who has looked at the concept of death thousands of times, helpless to the way this witch looks at him. “It’s very... fairy-tale-like. Is it not?” Part One: Chapters 1 - 20 Complete Part Two: Chapters 21+ In Progress

---

Living With Dragons by @nomolosk

Stifled at home, Prince Adrien just wants to have an adventure. Accidentally captured instead of her mistress, Marinette Dupain-Cheng just wants to go home. But when you're living with dragons, things are bound to get interesting, and both of them might just end up finding something they like better. Set in the world of the Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C. Wrede.

[bluiex]

I got to pirates smp an hour late and then had to dip before the stream ended nonetheless I was watching Scar's POV and now I'm having Scarian thoughts.

Mostly spoiler free all I really share is a mention of Scar's faction.

-@scitties-enjoyer

---

Scar drops the anchor on his boat. It's not much now, but one day he'll have something grand, he's sure of it. He hops down onto the rocky shore and picks his way inland.

In hindsight, maybe a single knife was not the right weapon, but Scar doesn't have anything better. Yet.

Scroll, scroll.. where was- Ah

Scar spends more than a moment reading the piece of paper... 'return to the mainland with the head of the isle's monster for 300 gold'

Yep, that's a good deal. Hopefully.

Unless it's something really vicious in which case, Scar is absolutely being ripped off here. Goddamn inflation.

Again, all he has is a knife.

This is... fine, probably.

Scar can hear Jellie meowing from his ship "I'll be back before you know it!" He reassures his cat.

It takes hours. He scours the island at least twice, with no success.

Then he spots a cave he didn't notice before, stepping in to an animal den of some kind where... a bird creature is goring the wolves.

Yeah this is ... fine actually. Mhm, definitely fine. Definitely not terrifying.

It's even more fine when the creature looks up at the sound of Scar's presence, dark eyes locking with his before it scrambles back in fear, wings braced around itself as if that can possibly protect it from him.

Scar makes a reckless decision, carefully putting his knife down behind himself. He's not completely stupid, if the bird-thing makes a lunge for his knife, he's dead.

Scar had been expecting an animal, not something that had the intelligence of a human. And Scar knows what it feels like to be hunted - or, knew once - so in a moment of uncharacteristic gentleness he's opening his heart to this so-called monster.

"Do you understand me?" Scar asks, softly.

The creature flinches at the sound of his voice. So it's that bad...

"I was sent to bring back your head. But neither of us want that."

The thing curls tighter around itself.

"My name is Scar. If we play our cards right we can get the reward money without you getting hurt."

The bird hisses. Which is progress, in Scar's eyes.

"I know how you feel, I do. If you come with me- if you come aboard my ship, you'll be safer." Scar feels a little faint, thinking of how mercilessly some of the other pirates would no doubt have already slaughtered this bird in Scar's shoes. "You could be my bird! Every pirate needs a bird!"

---

It's three days back to the kestrels' tavern base of operations. Or, it should be. It ends up taking Scar around a week, because Grian - the bird creature has a name! - doesn't quite have his sea legs yet so they have to stop at this island and that island and then Grian has to hide from other pirates

.Grian had gotten washed up after they left the cave, and it turns out that he's completely adorable under all that blood and viscera. Scar thinks it's very unfair that he can't just spend hours watching Grian, and instead has to steer his little ship.

Grian spends his time on the boat playing with Jellie, and honestly it warms Scar's heart.

It's one such stop where Grian finally accepts more than the bare minimum of physical contact necessary from Scar. It's particularly cold that night, sleeping under the stars, and Grian huddles up to Scar for warmth, burying his face in Scar's hair.

After that, it's like a switch has been flicked in Grian's brain. He's constantly latched onto Scar's arm, or perched on top of his hats, or his shoulder, asking questions.

---

Insert continued falling in love here I've run out of traction. Anyway the quest loophole Scar had *worked* so they do get the reward money

OOOOH BROOO THIS IS SO CUTE. PIRATE SCAR TAKING A CONTRACT TO KILL A CREATURE

And it being birb Grian- AAAAH this is so good Scitties. I love it so VERY MUCH

It takes awhile for Grian to come out of his shell fully and start speaking to Scar- he's started with the physical touch and protectiveness because Scar's his flock now

[wazzappp]

I have this. Extremely specific scenario. I like to pull off the daydream bookshelf quite a bit.

After Robbie kills Ivanov, everybody there still like. KNOWS WHERE HE LIVES. So I'm thinking some new motherfucker rises up and is like 'alright were gonna hit him where it hurts. protect future business ventures n' stuff' and sends someone to take Gabe as leverage. Lisa and Robbie have actually managed to TALK about things and once theyr'e on friendly terms again she is once again babysitting Gabe.

Anyway this mob guy shows up and attempts this kidnapping. Lisa manages to get the upperhand with a kitchen knife somehow and just. GOES HAM. LIKE. 'GETS ON TOP OF HIM AND STABS HIM TILL HES NOT MOVING ANYMORE AND THEN JUST A LITTLE EXTRA FOR GOOD MEASURE' GOES HAM. Naturally calls Robbie afterward because WHAT. This guy is clearly MOB AFFILIATED she has NO IDEA what will happen if she calls the police SO PLEASE JUST FUCKING GET HERE AND MAKE IT MAKE SENSE.

It's a complete and total clusterfuck all around. For EVERYONE.

Lisa is IN THE MIDDLE OF A CRISIS OK. SHES EARNED A LITTLE FREAK OUT. SHE JUST FUCKING KILLED SOMEONE. Jesus christ why didn't she stop after he was down why did she keep fucking going god what does that say ABOUT HER. Does she feel the right amount of bad about this? She doesent really REGRET it she just wanted to keep Gabe and herself safe. But did she really need to go that far why did she take it that far and SHE WAS READY TO DO IT AGAIN IF SOMEONE ELSE BAD WALKED THROUGH THE DOOR is something wrong with her? please dont let there be something really wrong with her shes tried so hard to be good shes tried SO hard please please she is. spiraling. bad.

Gabe is having... a fucking time of it. This is the second time in two months that someone has been killed right fucking in front of him. At least the first one he was only semi conscious for but still. @moosemonstrous helped develop two GLORIOUSLY, BEAUTIFULLY angsty directions this could go. 1. 'WOW the world is dangerous I'm so lucky that I have people who can protect me. Those guys must have really deserved it.' (bonus points if him and Lisa are still not on the best of terms but this like. endears her to him. jesus christ I love your brain moose thats so cutely fucked up). OR 2. he can go the self blaming route of 'This is the second guy to die. And he died because people were protecting me. Is this?? My fault?? Is there something wrong with me? if people keep getting hurt because of me maybe it would be better if I just wasn't around.' (<- ROBBIE GET YOUR BROTHER NOW.)

And Robbie. Jesus christ. His brain is being pulled in SO MANY DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS BY THIS. Eli is elated, naturally, 'OHHHOHOHOHO ROBBIEEEEE I KNEW YOU HAD TO HAVE GOOD TASTE IN SOMETHING OTHER THAN CARS! See!!? I TOLD you killing is a perfectly natural part of being a person! Look at all those stab wounds she CLEARLY had a good time!' Robbies part of the brain is going 'HOLY FUCK' and IMMEDIATELY jumps to problem solving. He needs to get rid of the body first and formost at least that shouldnt be too hard oh god getting rid of bodies is something hes GOOD at what the fuck. HOW MANY?? OF IVANOVS MOB?? KNOWS WHERE HE LIVES??? Oh fuck does he have to go kill them ALL ?? (<- que Eli doing backflips out of absolute joy at that possibility) Also, brother. You cant tell me. that demons don't have weird social structures and expressions of affection. And Robbie is like. HALF DEMON. AT LEAST. So this shit for him is at least a little bit like when a cat brings you a dead animal (SHE IS SHOWING!! THE LITTLE ONE!! HOW TO HUNT!! SHE KILLED FOR HIM!! FOR US!!). IT IS. CONFUSING. FUCKING CONFUSING AS ALL HELL FOR HIM!!

Idk man this is just the particular brand of clusterfuck that is like my own personal brand of heroin to quote one sparkly boy.

[triptychofvoids]

First things first, I love your head cannons and the way you draw it's very very crunchable, now the question, do you have any science party head cannons? That's all, thank you!! :3c

thank you i appreciate it!! and yes i have a few im normal about them <- foaming at the mouth btw

you know the drill theyre going under the cut in case it gets long

someone made a post about this already i think and i dont remember who but medic and engineer would be so good at parallel play. theyre both content to be in the lab or in the workshop doing their own thing just alongside each other, maybe occasionally dragging the other over to look at what theyre working on either to show it off or get feedback of some kind. they both find each others work to be fascinating even if they dont completely understand it, and on the occasion they combine their knowledge to work on something together it always ends up being Really Fucking Cool and fun for them, regardless of whether or not it ends up being something successful. thats their idea of a date. parallel play working on fucked up and evil science stuff

out of all the mercs, engineer and heavy strike me as the ones that would do most of the cooking. not that the others cant cook (although i think some of them would need supervision....) but most of the time they just dont really want to, and besides theyd both be very good at it. but anyway engie would know about medics sensory issues and him being picky about certain foods and hed always try to make meals everyone will enjoy. if there is something in a dish that he knows medic wont like then he will either mess with the recipe a bit in order to exclude it or will just make it on the side so everyone else can have some but medic wont have to deal with it.

medic uses a weighted blanket and likes to hold onto things in his sleep as well so anytime they share a bed engie gets compressed into a jpeg. this is sometimes avoided because it isnt uncommon for engie to pull an all-nighter or for medic to wake up freakishly early so sometimes medic will already be asleep and/or will get up before him but still, its like a hydraulic press in there

like i said about engie knowing about medics sensory issues and whatever else, sometimes on the battlefield if medic is starting to get overwhelmed he will fall back to a dispenser and engie will shoo anyone else off to go find a health kit instead so medic can get just a few brief moments of peace

they have the kind of relationship where neither of them ever get bored of each others company and neither of them ever run out of things to talk about. which is very cool and awesome for them and sort of boring and awful for anyone else who might get stuck in a room or a car with them for any extended period of time

medics love language, platonic or otherwise, can be best described as 'all of the above'. hes very affectionate and bitey and he isnt always very good at communicating that he cares but he tries to convey it through things like weird gifts (like how a cat brings back dead animals), surgery and medical evaluation, talking a whole lot and hoping it counts for something, acts of service but he can only kill and dissect, etc. and engie somehow has the patience to put up with it. engie is big on acts of service and words but it doesnt matter because medic saps up any and all affection he is given like an infinite sponge and then tries in his own deranged way to return it tenfold

also. i think shipping these two is so funny because at first glance it might look like medic is the feral one and engie is the responsible one but then you look again and the roles have switched. and then you look a third time and theyre actually both a little unhinged. anything in the name of science

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Grain of Salt "Facts"

I don't know if these are true or not but they come from a source I tend to trust. Still, take 'em with a grain of salt and please excuse the word used for urination. The fact just doesn't make sense without it.

People used to use urine to tan animal skins, so families used to all pee in a pot & then once a day it was taken and sold to the tannery…….if you had to do this to survive you were "P*ss Poor". But worse than that were the really poor folk who couldn't even afford to buy a pot……they "didn't have a pot to p*ss in" & were the lowest of the low.

The next time you are washing your hands and complain because the water temperature isn't just how you like it, think about how things used to be. Here are some facts about the old days…

Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May, and they still smelled pretty good by June. However, since they were starting to smell … brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odor. Hence the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting married.

Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children. Last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it … hence the saying, "Don't throw the baby out with the bath water!"

Houses had thatched roofs with thick straw piled high, with no solid roof. The cats and other small animals including mice, bugs lived in the roof to get warm. When it rained it became slippery and sometimes they would slip and fall off the roof … hence the saying "It's raining cats and dogs."

There was also nothing to stop things from falling into the house. This posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and droppings could mess up their nice clean bed. Hence, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded some protection. That's how our luxurious “canopy beds” came into existence.

The floor was dirt. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt. Hence the saying, "Dirt poor." The wealthy had slate floors that would get slippery in the winter when wet, so they spread thresh (straw) on floor to help keep their footing. As the winter wore on, they added more thresh until, when you opened the door, it would all start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed in the entrance-way. Hence: a “thresh hold”.

In those old days, they cooked in the kitchen with a big kettle that always hung over the fire … every day they lit the fire and added things to the pot. They ate mostly vegetables and didn't get much meat. They would eat the stew for dinner, leaving leftovers in the pot to get cold overnight and then start over the next day. Sometimes stew had food in it that had been there for quite a while. Hence the rhyme: “Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old.”

Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special. When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could, "bring home the bacon." They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around and “chew the fat.”

Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with high acid content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead poisoning death. This happened most often with tomatoes, so for the next 400 years or so, tomatoes were considered “poisonous”.

Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top, or the “upper crust”.

Lead cups were used to drink ale or whisky. The combination would sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days. Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial.. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom of holding a “wake”.

England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people. So they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a bone-house, and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive … so they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night (the “graveyard shift”) to listen for the bell; thus, someone could be, “saved by the bell” or was considered a “dead ringer”.

[onlypaws]

Every time a dog person explains why he likes dogs over cats, he just explains a cat.

Seriously though, if you ask a person why they like a dog they always explain things dogs don't like or don't do but cats do naturally.

"I want a animal that snuggles and loves me!"

If my cat does not get his nightly snuggle he dies inside. If he's not around you 24/7 he just hides under the bed. All the cats I grew up with thrived off of pets and love and the one who didn't was a weirdo barn cat who absolutely did but just wanted to be pet in places where he didn't have scars/ trauma from his past life.

You look at dogs and even the most friendly ones don't like being fawned over. They don't like their heads pet (cats love that, that's how they spread their scent). They don't like being hugged (cats live for that). They don't like being manhandled (cats love being held upside down and dangled and messed with ((gently of course))).

Like every time they bring this up they will mention their dog and it is whale eyeing, panting, appeasement smiling and visibly very very uncomfortable.

"I don't want a animal that pees everywhere."

Literally clean their cat boxes daily and it stops. If you can't or your cat is like Taz and demands an every 12-hour schedule, affirm pay an automatic catbox like I did. Problem disappears. I would also like to point out, if you aren't at your dog's beck and call to let them out, they pee and poo everywhere! I had many dogs over my life and like it was the single most problematic part of them (Aside from the eating the drywall). You had to let them out CONSTANTLY or there was a biohazard in the foyer.

"I want an animal that won't eat me when I am dead."

Neither will eat you unless you are dead for days and they are starving, and statistically speaking, your dog is much more likely to eat you than your cat. Have you ever seen a cat after someone they love dies? They nearly go cationic, they are far more likely to starve to death trying to wake you up, but also lets be real, if you are dying alone and going unnoticed to the point that you're eaten... baby in the nicest way possible you probably shouldn't have pets. You have bigger problems.

"I want an animal I can do anything to without being bit"

Then get a fish. You can't "do anything to your dog without being bit". Often people train the vocal warning signs out of dogs while refusing to learn any sort of doggish body language. You CAN'T do anything to your dog, you may not have been bit yet, but you will be if you have this mentality. This is the reason why so many small breed dogs bite and are violent, not because they are by nature, but because a considerable amount of dog owners think they can and should do whatever they like without repercussions and it is easier to ignore and belittle a animal when it is small.

But also if you're looking at tolerance to bullshit cats are where it's at. My cats have their claws, and they don't like being picked up, none the less if I decide to annoy them and pick them up and give them belly kisses and shove my face in theirs they just fix me with a resigned "god you're stupid" look. If I did that to my non-traumatized dog he would lose his mind. If I did it to my rescue, I'd lose my nose, and it would be completely on me.

Tolerance for handling depends on size, breed, animal, temperament, and treatment and I hate to break it to you, dogs have a significantly lower tolerance for it than cats. A lot of you abuse your dogs through your negligence to learn their behaviour. Literally just watch "It's me or the dog" and 99% of the time it's "leave him alone, stop stressing him tf out, you don't need your whole body on him all the waking day."

"I want an animal I can train"

You clearly have never had a cat. They are incredibly smart and comparing training my cats to training my lab is night and day. Dude is 10 years old and still cycles through everything before he gets to "sit" (he does it on purpose looking for more treats.) You can train cats to do literally everything a dog can do. I mean I've never taken my cats hunting or anything but watch them with a mouse and I figure they'd do well. The thing is if you never try to do something, you can't say it's impossible. I've never tried meth, yet I'm sure it still exists.

I mean I could go on but it's every time they explain why they prefer dogs, it's just a cat in a different form.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

I'm curious on your take on the Ratman and ratlings' relationship with animals. Do you think they'd keep any and risk becoming attached? I feel this would outwardly effect Jack the most considering his love for all the weird shit they got in Australia but I think Arthur is also the type to be really hurt by the loss of a pet. But in a dad way. Like he'll begrudgingly take in the fucking cat one of his kids brings to his home out of the rain and the animal ends up being his partner in crime. He's stone-faced when it passes away and it takes a while for the pain to subside but he doesn't let it show for even a second. I don't imagine Matthew could handle the mental load of losing a beloved pet. Alfred is too fucking busy to properly care for one. Zee probably has a few birds whose babies she cares for for generations maybe a kiwi lol

TW for pet death

Alfred has had horses his entire life. He's got a ranch in his name somewhere where the descendants of the pair of horses, Liberty and Justice, that Matt gave him during the Civil War live. Justice got shot out from under him in 1864 but he went full Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie, dropped dead of idk, the shits and when he was feeling better Liberty was getting her hump on with a local stallion so he just made a ranch there and their descendants still fuck amongst the grasses or however the prairies work. Liberty is immortal because fuck I already killed one horse this post and I'm already emotional.

Matt... He just kept trying. Nations have semi immortal pets. All he wanted was a goddamn friend. François gave him a lap dog when he was little. It died in its first Canadian winter as was often the fate of anything smaller than a terrier. He tried a newfie. It drowned. Finally, around the 1780s he had a little black and white working dog he named Sel et Poivre who lasted a decade. But eventually he got ripped up by a wolverine and Matt was damned to eternal loneliness until Arthur had mercy on him and got attached enough to the wee fat house lion he named Flufferton he didn't die. Matt's best friend for awhile and favourite heat source at his father's. Cue 1980 with Canada finally getting it's full independence and Jan dropping him like a hot rock and Alfred got him a Samoyed puppy in the aftermath. I've called this dog Kuma, Bud and Buckwheat before. The neighbor backs over him by accident! and Matt low-key has the worst mental breakdown of his life like he's 20 seconds from getting the axe and ending up in grippy sock jail. Then the pupper pops up licks him and Matt has the happiest sob fest for like a solid week. Finally! Immortal pupper. No more perishing.

Jack is a fun example because he's very in tune with the circle of lire and his favourite pet was a tortoise named Harriet he's had on and off since 1830 when she died in 2006. So when she finally died of natural causes he was absolutely fucking devastated. Didn't get out of bed for a week after the funeral, cried his eyes out every time he saw a turtle or tortoise for years. She was his baby since he was a baby. Closest thing to losing a childhood dog a nation can express. He had plenty of snakes and spiders and dogs that passed on and they made him sad but oh Harriet 😭.

Zee has a budgie named Pavlova that Jack got her when she finally dropped the family name. Just so she can say she owns Pavlova. It spent a week with Uncle Matt during hockey season and went back to Mum telling everyone, "Give your balls a tug, tit fucker" and making nondescript sobbing sounds. And the singular devotion with which New Zealand intervenes in its bird's well-being? Oh yeah, they're her children. Entire genomes of Kiwi-birds and Kakapo and Kea. She personally hunts rats that threaten their population like it's 1916, flashlight between her teeth, knife in one hand, Arthur sweating like mad somewhere. Bird watching is something she and the old man have in common so he probably does jokingly call them her grandchildren. Zee gets beat in the shin by a screaming kiwi-bird, and he just picks it up like, "Now that's no way to treat your mother, lad! Mind your manners." Before it toddles off and any on-looker is just pure, what the fuck.

[sea-salted-wolverine]

The House of Usher and the cardinal virtues

I thought to myself it's no good to whine about slotting characters into boring reductive categories without a good rebutal, so here's a dose of slightly more interesting archetypes.

Prospero reflects the cardinal virtue of Diligence and its mirror the sin of Sloth ("But he has an orgy so it has to be lust," by god you're so boring) He is the only Usher who tries to make anything of value. When Camille goes on her little spiel about how Ushers don't make stuff, she's not wrong. Perry got pretty ruthlessly shot down when he was presenting his ideas for trying to make value and start a night club chain, rather than just taking credit for someone else's work like all of his siblings and his dad. But he was at least trying. His drive to prove himself and gain respect is how he gets himself into the whole mess. However, it is the act of not doing his due diligence that kills him.

Camille has an interesting one because while breaking into a lab facility to expose mistreatment of animals would seem like the cardinal virtue of kindness, she's only there to get one over on her sister. The inverse of Kindness is Envy, and for as important as her role is as the family spin doctor, Camille is valued the least. Everyone suspects Perry when they hear about an informant, but that's because he's an idiot baby. Victurine is useful with her heart mesh implant, Napoleon took the role of the "chill fun sibling", and the other two are original Ushers, so Camille is left as the unfavored child.

Napoleon tried to buy his way out of his problem with Charity. He could have come home with a different cat entirely and told his boyfriend he was looking in shelters for Pluto and accidentally fell in love. Name it Mars, let the boyfriend chalk it up to a weird grief response. Bummer Pluto never came home. Verna would have had him trip over the thing on the stairs in the middle of the night and that would have been that. Instead, everything was transactional as he maximized what he could get out of his relationships for the least amount of effort. The boyfriend can live with him, the boyfriends cat can move in too, but as soon as that becomes even the slightest bit more effort (like when boyfriend wants to meet the family, or curb the drug use, or the cat brings home a dead thing) Napoleon wants it gone from his life.

Victurine likewise could have had a painless clean death had she mustered up the Humility to say that the device didn't work. Her demise, unlike her younger siblings, was a compilation of smaller shitty decisions and white lies. She could even recognize that each choice was morally wrong, but it was little choices that were easier to brush off. A dead monkey, a foraged signature, a rightfully concerned patient reassured with platitudes. Even before she was scrubbing blood off the floor to Bonnie Tyler, her inability to admit her choices were flawed was getting her in trouble.

Tamralane with her perfectly manicured curated life, is the one to take Temperance to its furthest extreme. I think it was Atwood who wrote about women and the internal voyeur to preform for, but I'm not going to Google it for a post about horror characters losing their minds and dying horribly. She lives under a personal panopticon of her own expectations and can never allow herself to experience her own life lest she fall short. Her wealth rather than mitigating this exacerbates the issue, giving her access to any and every distance she could possibly want. Death by mirrors isn't so much her going insane as it is the culmination of the life shes built for herself.

(Plus, I know her lonely evening was meant to be ~spooky~ but babe, that is literally just ADHD. Can't remember where you put the thing? Can't remember doing the thing? CAN'T SLEEP?! DOES EVERYONE HATE YOU AND THINK YOU'RE AN INSANE BITCH FOR PERFECTLY VALID REASONS?! Looks like Adderall for you).

Fraudrick. You dickwad. No Patience to allow your very injured and traumatized wife explain herself. The inverse of Patience is Wrath. Demonstrated that one in spades. I'm on Verna's side on this one. Pliers, really?

(His wife's name is fucking Mori. As in momento mori.)

Which leaves Madeline and Rodrick. What's a Gothic horror story without some really fucking weird and unsettling sibling dynamic? Dull, that's what. Anyway, never letting anything touch them or impede them in their lust for power and wealth offers a strange sort of Chastity. There's no love, not for the kids or Annabelle Lee that could touch them, no moral they wouldn't overturn, no value they wouldn't abandon. Madeline values her freedom above all else but she spent her life bound to her brother. They wouldn't even spare each other in ruthless pursuit of just a little more power.

So yeah, bummer for August Dupain that he wound up against the most supernaturally fucked up family that ever lived.