#maybe i'm unto something here

[rmorde]

This idea has been bouncing off my head.

Tengen evolving is a threat because she will become a higher being and may become a threat to humanity. Keyword: May.

Just spitballing here, what if her evolution is something similar to what Gojo experienced while he was "high"? He is definitely NOT acting like how normal humans would react during that time. He was too busy just vibing with the universe and looking like a loony.

Gojo didn't even seem to want to pick a fight and just showed up to Toji so he can rub it in that he survived. Toji is the one who initiated a Round 2 with Gojo going "Is it? Yeah. Maybe!"

While "high", Gojo was blissfully indifferent - just floating and smiling like a loony in the air. Toji even get to warm up. He could have retreated and Gojo wouldn't give a fuck.

Gojo only went for the kill when Toji made it clear his intentions was to slaughter him again - the moment when the assassin ignored his instincts that "Something was off".

Now, what if that is how Tengen's evolution would work? She would become "high" - blissfully one with the universe but utterly indifferent with humanity until attacked which is inevitable.

Humanity fears what cannot be understood. Again, this can be observed when Gojo was "high". Toji called him a "monster" while Geto looked scared at Gojo even when the latter was asking for his advice.

Humanity will always attack what they fear. Maybe that is what Kenjaku is preparing for: 1) Let Tengen evolve and humanity develop its weapons. 2) Foster fear in humanity to attack Tengen. 3) Tengen retaliates with extreme prejudice at the perceived threat (just like Gojo did with Toji).

[sttm99]

Part 2 here!

'Fuck.'

It had been just two nights since you'd given him head in the dark of his dorm room, and Bakugo hadn't been able to rid his mind of the sensation ever since.

He knew it was stupid to even agree to it. You were the one girl in class he felt comfortable enough to talk about anything with. Be it grades, his fears and even more sexual topics. It also helped that he knew you wouldn't ever judge him for anything.

You were his closest friend; more so than Kirishima. And he liked that... he liked that he has someone he could trust with his life, someone he could relate with so effortlessly.

And you felt the same way with him. You told him everything; every little secret, every dirty detail, and he never laughed or judged.

Which was why you both were in his room, many hours past his bedtime, sitting opposite each other on his bed as you recounted your most recent almost-sexual endeavor.

"-and it was so awkward cause it was just hanging there in my face and I didn't know what to do." You groaned out, with your body hunched over, face covered with your palms as you recounted your experience in the school's storage room with a General Studies boy you'd been seeing casually.

Bakugo chuckled at your demeanor from where he was. "Yeah then maybe you should have stopped him when you saw him undoing his fucking belt."

You glared at him through the cracks between your fingers.

"Seriously," he laughed. "If you didn't wanna give him head, you should have told him the moment you entered the closet."

You groaned and fell back unto his bed. "The thing is I want to do it."

You turned your head to stare up at Bakugo.

"So why didn't you?"

You groaned again. "I don't know. I mean... look, I wanna be able to make the guy I like feel good, you understand. And I really thought I wanted to give him head, but then he was pulling his jeans down- and I was getting cold feet and then he pulled down his boxers and I wanted to run away right then....

"But I pushed through- and I got down... and it was just staring at my face and-"

"Maybe you just don't wanna do it." Bakugo raised his brow, cutting you off from your rambling.

You frowned. "Maybe. I mean, I think about giving head...and I wanna do it, and then I get an opportunity and I panic. You're probably right."

There was silence for a moment, before Bakugo shifted in his position, pulling his knees higher up, closer to his body, and leaning his forward.

"Or maybe... you don't wanna do it with him."

You furrowed your brows. "Meaning..? I don't really like him or what?"

Bakugo shrugged, "I mean, do you?"

You began sitting up. "Don't I?"

"Come on, Y/N." He raised a brow, giving you an unimpressed look, "You don't even text him unless he texts you."

"Yeah because he's always texting me."

"See! You even say it like you're frustrated." Bakugo jutted his arms out at you.

You paused, sitting up and pondering it.

Bakugo groaned. "Listen, I know you, okay? You- frankly, you're horny... more so than most people-"

You scowled at him.

"-and the fact that you don't even let him put his hands under your fucking skirt most times should tell you that you're probably not all that sexually attracted to him."

You stared at Bakugo, eyes narrowed as you began to see his point. "I guess you're on to something."

"Look," he began, "I honestly think you're just with him because of how aggressively he pursued you. And that's fucking dumb."

You pouted. "I guess... so now I have to find someone else to practice head with."

"Why do you wanna learn how to give head?" He laughed.

"Cause the girls were talking about giving head one time and I wanna be able to join in conversations." I groaned out, exasperated, and flopped back unto your back.

Bakugo took a moment to look you over, before adjusting his shorts and clearing his throat.

"I can give you pointers if you want."

Silence.

"What?" You mumbled, sitting back up, with your weight on your palms and narrowing your eyes at him.

He scowled at you. "I'm not repeating myself."

You rolled your eyes and hissed at his stubbornness. "You idiot."

"But..." You started slowly. "If you're offering to give me tips on sucking dick, I don't mind."

He shifted a bit. "Yeah... well- it'll only work if you're sexually attracted to me. If not, it'll just be like with that guy earlier- and shit would be awkward." He was looking away now.

"Wanna find out?"

And that was how he found himself heaving against his headboard with his shorts and boxers flung at the far end of his bed.

"Shitshit- fuck Y/N."

His hands were fisted into your hair, knees raised in the hair and thighs spread on either side of your head, as you laid on your stomach before him, nose pressed into his dark blonde pubic hair and lips wrapped tightly around his dick.

His eyes were blown wide, lips parted as grunts forced their way out his mouth.

It was just bordering on too much; the sensation of your mouth, and he'd suddenly realised how seriously you'd taken his analogy.

-"Consider it a bottle of smoothie or something, and there's that chunk that can't pass through the bottle mouth properly, so you're trying to suck it out." He'd said, holding his already hard dick against your cheek.

"That sounds stupid, Katsuki." You retorted, as you scowled up at him.

"That's the best I got, I ain't some sex therapist, okay!"-

"Oh shit- you're good," he groaned out, head thrown back and thighs quivering. "Fuck- fuck! Fuck, you're fucking good, baby. Just like that, yeah..!"

His grip on your hair tightened, pushing you down on his dick so he could feel the sliding of your tongue on his shaft as he dipped into your throat.

It didn't help that you were drooling all over him- and yourself-, your hand cupping his balls and squeezing softly.

He was going into overdrive, thrusting up unto your mouth, his eyes rolling back as he slipped down your throat over and over again, and he moaned as he felt you gag, your throat constricting against his tip.

He brought his head forward to peek over at you.

"Slut," he groaned out, eyeing your positioning; one hand infront of you, playing with his balls, and the other stretched underneath your body, fingers dipping into your sleepshorts. "You fucking slut- you like this shit, don't you?"

You moaned around his dick, vibrations coursing round his veins and your eyes looking up to meet his; lids hanging heavy and pupils blown out as you sucked on his cock.

He came heavy- hard. With spasming thighs and choked out groans as he spurted his seed down your throat.

It was a lot... too much. He kept spurting out his cum and his sight was blurry as he looked at you.

Now he couldn't look at you without remembering your stupid, fucked expression when you were between his legs. And it's weird, because all you're doing is grinning an Sato as you hover around him whilst he bakes.

It's stupid. He knows it is.

You don't even like him that way.

Part 2 has been posted here!

[anneapocalypse]

I cannot help feeling like the tendency to see Inquisition!Leliana in stark contrast to Origins!Leliana has led to some people forgetting what... Leliana is actually like in Origins.

In fairness, as in all Dragon Age games some very revealing character moments happen in party banter which makes it easy to miss. But the gentle-hearted mystic who desires only to draw others unto the love of the Maker has never been all that Leliana is, and it's always been in direct conflict with the side of her that is not only adept at intrigue and yes, violence, but enjoys those things. This is the central conflict of her whole character, and it's not a trivial conflict, because there is not one simple answer to who Leliana truly is. She is both of these things. She is deeply religious and finds comfort in her faith, and thinks it should bring comfort to others as well. She's also prone to gossip and pettiness and all the qualities that helped her thrive as a bard.

There's this one particularly revealing piece of banter with Alistair if the Warden is in a romance with Morrigan:

Alistair: So have you heard? Morrigan and him are... you know. Leliana: Have you nothing better to do than to spread idle gossip? And besides, he can probably hear us both. You're not being very discreet. Alistair: No, look, he's not even paying attention. Leliana: Hmmm. maybe. You don't... think that he's serious about it, do you? The woman is a vile fiend. Alistair: Well, look here, now who's an idle gossip? Me-ow! Leliana: You're the one who started this, I might remind you. And I'm... well, I'm ending it!

I once had the especially entertaining experience of getting this banter, and minutes later hearing Leliana turn to Morrigan to give her the "It's so nice that you're together, isn't love wonderful?" line. But whether or not you have the pleasure of hearing them back to back, I think this dialogue make it pretty clear that while Leliana would like not to think of herself as a gossip, it takes very little prompting from Alistair to get her to slip back into that mean girl persona. And Alistair (who is more perceptive than he often gets credit for), calls her on it immediately, clearly embarrassing Leliana--who realizes that her mask has slipped.

I don't think it follows from this that Leliana necessarily hates Morrigan unilaterally. There's something much more complex going on between them, in my opinion, because they are such distinct opposites in upbringing and personality. Both Leliana's faith and her life of courtly intrigue are nonsense to Morrigan, who neither believes in the Maker nor has much patience for intricate social graces (at least, not yet). Meanwhile, I think Morrigan's outward self-possession and the sense of power she exudes is a source of both fascination and frustration for Leliana, who thinks she understands power, both social and divine--but finds in Morrigan a kind she cannot fully comprehend. (I also think you can definitely feel some sexual tension into their banter, especially the much-beloved banter about the velvet dress.) Ultimately, both of them are very concerned with power, but approach that concept very differently. And Leliana responds to this clash of ideals in a particular way because her own self-image is so conflicted.

As all great Dragon Age foils do, Leliana and Morrigan needle one another, push each other's buttons, challenge one another's sense of self, and in doing so reveal one another in their complexity and sometimes in their ugliness. It is perhaps easy to write this off as the tired trope of women being unable to get along with one another, or conversely to claim that they get along just fine and fandom has fabricated the tensions between them; I think to do either of those things diminishes a genuinely complex and sticky relationship that serves to reveal a lot about both characters.

[angelpuns]

“ I've eaten bigger birds than you for lunch, is that all you got?” Leo chuckled, hopping backwards as one of the thugs slashed at him. A lie, since he quite literally had run away from said ‘bigger guy’ just a little bit ago, but these mutant thugs wouldn't know that. 

He’d stopped running when he realized those guys weren't following him, hopping down into an alley to see if he could find something to wear for the time being. It was still chilly, even as the sun was rising into the sky, and he wasn't sure how long he'd be out here. 

After all, he'd yet to come up with a good plan. 

All three of thugs were some kind of birds, though obviously Leo didn’t have the time or care to identify them. 

The one attacking him screeched and slashed at him again with knife-sharp claws, barely missing his plastron. He could probably take these guys, but he had also just woken up, been ran out of his home and was fucking freezing. 

Time for plan B. 

“ As pheasant as it was talking with you, this is starting to get hawk-ward,” 

He dodged another swipe and opened a portal, giving the oversized birds a quick salute as he stepped into it, 

“ so I'm gonna go ahead and duck out while I still ca-”

He was cut off by a screech and the painful tug of one of the thugs grabbing his leg just before he made it into the portal. 

It wrenched him out with a grip far stronger than he thought it'd be, the creature flinging him into the nearest wall with a CRACK!. 

His shoulder burned with pain, a thin line of blood oozing down from a scratch there. He barely had a moment to cover it before he was slammed back into the wall, face pressed into the gritty bricks. That was gonna leave a mark for sure, especially because he was missing his mask. 

His swords were on the ground, just next to his feet but still just a little too far too reach. 

“ H-hey, don't get your feathers ruffled, guys!” He chuckled, fear creeping unto his chest. This felt a little too familiar. Like the leftover sensations of his nightmare were creeping into reality. 

The thug holding him scoffed and pressed harder, sharp talons pressing into his scales. 

“ all turtles this fuckin’ talkative or just you?” 

Leo swallowed. Shit, what was he gonna do? No swords, and he was never really good at hand to hand combat. If he could just…

“ Hey, I'm the only talkin' turtle out there,” he tried to sound convincing, even if then hulking creature in his bedroom had been vaguely turtle-shaped, “ your whole flock as fowl-mouthed as you?”

That earned him another slam into the bricks, and a harder squeeze. Blood trickled down his face and into his eye, Leo blinking hard to try and clear it. He inches his right foot closer to his sword, if he could just distract him enough to break free…

He was starting to feel a bit lightheaded, though, and one more slam could easily be a concussion if he wasn't careful. Or worse. And trying to get home like that would be…yikes. So he had to time it just right. 

“ Hey, what do you call-”

The joke has barely left his beak when something slammed into the thug, taking him down in an instant. There was a flash of red, purple and orange, and Leo quickly grabbed his swords.  Whatever it was, they acted so fast he could barely keep up. Shit, maybe he already had a concussion. He hated treating those, keeping himself awake through’em was like torture!

He hurried to make a portal, turning to thank whoever it was, only to see the same hulking creature and the only slightly familiar faces of the two other guys from his room earlier. 

He went cold from head to toe, falling backwards into the portal and letting it take him wherever it took him. He couldn't go home, they were following him. 

Tracking him! But how - he has portaled, he had- 

Leo swallowed as he landed firmly on his bed - despite not wanting to go home - and a new dread filled his stomach. 

They must have put some kind of tracker on him while he slept. He sat up, the motion making him dizzy. 

How the hell was he gonna get out of thus one?

-----

More of this unnamed au :)

I don't like writing fight/action scenes so this one ended up being pretty short, but I hope y'all like it nonetheless ;)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | part 5

[yanderehsr]

Hope you have a wonderful day and remember to take breaks every now and then! 😴

Unto the request, can I please request yandere high cloud quintet (Jingliu, Jing Yuan,Blade and Imbibitor Lunae) finding out that Baiheng had a descendant before she perished, that descended being the reader who bears a striking resemblance to her. I can just see the 4 of them being obsessed and overprotective of the reader.

-I just recently watched the cutscene for Jingliu’s companion quest and its so top tier

3 hours is plenty of sleep, sometimes I even get 4🥴

And I knoooow, that cutscene was truly top tier😆

Hope you'll enjoy😁

Trigger Warning: Yandere, Obsessive behaviour, Possessive behaviour, Kidnapping

Jingliu: Baiheng was her biggest regret, and now that she sees you who not only is her descendant but also look just like her, how could she help herself but to feel protective against you, and not only that but to possess you as well.

Jingliu's Mara-Struck mind makes her even more possessive over you, she can't help but fall into instincts around you even with her high resistance against the mara. She knows it's wrong, horrible of her even, but she has to admit, you look so pretty when you cry for her.

"Don't move, don't make me repeat myself... Baiheng would be disgusted with what I'm doing to you, but I can't find myself to care right now, you're mine and you will need to accept this"

Jing Yuan: He knows about you, he always had known about you as well, you are his secret, something he wouldn't even share with the rest of High-Cloud Quintet, you look so much like Baiheng that it's ridiculous. He has known you for so long that he doesn't even see Baiheng when he looks at you, he instead thinks Baiheng looks like you instead.

Jing Yuan hides you away from the world, what happened to Baiheng will not happen to you as well, you are locked away at his home, he treats you like you're above him, probably due to his guilt about Baiheng, he will guard you, you are safe with him and nothing will ever befall you, least of all death.

"It's almost uncanny how much you look like her... *sigh* Anyways, what do you want for dinner today, I'm cooking"

Blade: He doesn't see you as a descendant, no he thinks you are Baiheng, nothing can convince him otherwise. He never adresses you by your name, he always calls you Baiheng cus that's who you are, he thinks you have just lost your memories but that's okay, he will always be around to remind you of who you are.

Blade calls you that so many times that you may believe him yourself, I mean how can you know about what you have forgotten, and reincarnation is a thing that happens so maybe you really are Baiheng. Blade doesn't care what you think you are, all that is important is that Baiheng is back and you are all his.

"I am so sorry Baiheng for the past... but you are here now... yo-you make me feel whole and alive again, never leave my side ever again, okay"

Imbibitor Lunae: When Dan Heng is like this he starts to remember his past life a bit more clearly but there is one thing he can remember a bit clearer then others, he can remember Baiheng's face, and in turn he recognizes your face as soon as he sees you. Imbibitor Lunae knows that this isn't Baiheng but he still went to talk with you, you looked just like her, he couldn't help himself.

Imbibitor Lunae finds you to be a joy to talk to, not only that but he finds you beautiful as well, a look he has only caught in his dreams now stood before him, he can't help but fall, and he falls deep and hard... he wonders if he can convince you to join the express, otherwise he might need to use... unpleasant ways to get you onboard.

"You look heavenly, like a deity... isn't the view from the express lovely, I hope you'll get used to it, you will be seeing it a lot in the future"

[lunememes]

🌙 * ― 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐓 ( a collection of sentence starters from season one of amazon's fallout show. feel free to adjust the wording and pronouns as needed! do not add to the list. )

❛  and in that respect, he could be a cannibal or just like, crammed full of tumours. ❜ ❛  flesh is weak but steel endures. ❜ ❛  unless you know what to find and preserve, you're more useful as a corpse. ❜ ❛  how do we know they're not feral? ❜ ❛  well what makes you think i give a good goddamn about that? ❜ ❛  well what the fuck would you know 'bout where i'm from? ❜ ❛  but for me, well, i do this shit for the love of the game. ❜ ❛  you come from a place of rules, of laws. this place is indifferent to all of that. ❜ ❛  question is, will you still want the same things when you have become a different animal altogether? ❜ ❛  you earn the suit through acts of bravery. this is an act of bravery. ❜ ❛  and i'm telling you you're gonna go through a whole lot worse if you stay 'round here. trust me. ❜ ❛  clean hair. nice teeth. and all ten fingers. must be nice. ❜ ❛  the vaults were nothing more than a hole in the ground for rich folks to hide in while the rest of the world burned. ❜ ❛  you know your kind ain't welcome here. ❜ ❛  you gotta be fucking kidding me. ❜ ❛  you'll be lucky if you can make it to fucking breakfast. ❜ ❛  i'm sorry for yellin', been shot in the leg. ❜ ❛  do you have anyone else you can trust in this town? ❜ ❛  do i really have to kill him? ❜ ❛  well, if you like the taste of lavender, why not just drink a bottle of perfume? ❜ ❛  that's the worst thing i've ever put in my mouth. that's horrible. ❜ ❛  do unto others as you would have done unto you. ❜ ❛  thou shalt get sidetracked by bullshit every goddamn time. ❜ ❛  water water everywhere, and not a drop to drink. ❜ ❛  where do you think you're going? you ain't going nowhere. ❜ ❛  there you are, you little killer. ❜ ❛  no! what a disgusting idea. i'm simply going to harvest your organs. ❜ ❛  i may end up looking like you, but i'll never be like you. ❜ ❛  i really wanna believe you but practically every person i've met up here has tried to kill me. ❜ ❛  listen, hey. you don't get this medicine, you're gonna pass out, okay? and if you lose consciousness, we're both gonna die. ❜ ❛  i've seen these in old engineering manuals but never in real life. ❜ ❛  now, seeing as everyone on earth seems to be after that thing, i'm guessing that's what you're looking for too? ❜ ❛  and you could've killed me when i collapsed back there and you didn't. ❜ ❛  i get that trust doesn't come easily up here. but you can trust me. ❜ ❛  i hate it up here. ❜ ❛  the things i'm willing to do for you never cease to amaze me. ❜ ❛  hey, hey, hey. come here. i'm sorry. i know you always try to do the right thing. that's what i love about you. ❜ ❛  trust doesn't come easily to those of us with a guilty conscience. ❜ ❛  in my experience, the apple tends not to fall too far from the tree. is that true in your case? ❜ ❛  these people are hiding something from us, and i'm gonna prove it to you, okay? ❜ ❛  there's always some new little faction, ain't there? brand new team of believers with their own dumbass ideas about how they gonna save the world. ❜ ❛  so what d'you think [name]? am i really walking out of here today, or are you gonna try and draw on me for what i did? ❜ ❛  a good bad guy doesn't see themselves as the bad guy. ❜ ❛  and yet power is taken, not given. a lesson you seem to have learned. ❜ ❛  war never changes. ❜ ❛  you look out at this wasteland, looks like chaos. but there's always somebody behind the wheel. and that's who i wanna talk to. ❜ ❛  maybe you can stop them. maybe you can't. maybe all you can do is try. ❜

[dnickels]

I don't think Gibson gets enough credit for how skillfully he extricated himself from the sodomy allegations. Long post to follow ->

The evangelical mindset is "we are constantly under siege from both invisible powers and our fellow man (and even one's own thoughts), every waking moment is nonstop spiritual battle" so Gibson framing himself as too weak to refuse advances (without spiritual backing, naturally) is a brilliant play for Irving's own anxieties while also putting him in the position to be the shepherd rescuing one of his flock. A direct appeal to the Victorian bourgeois savior narrative, expertly played. He's given Irving a script so familiar and one he's so eager to act out he doesn't for a second question its veracity.

And now we depart to the realm of pure speculation (oh boy my favorite) but I always wonder what exactly Gibson told him, and how much it actually corresponds to what we hear Irving scold Hickey for. I wonder if something got lost in translation (Irving heard what he wanted to hear which is not quite the same as what's actually being said). I think Gibson is perfectly capable of shopping Hickey to save his own skin no question, but that scenario doesn't quite jive with how surprised/concerned he is that Hickey and Irving apparently had a chat about the situation. Surely Gibson didn't think he could say "I was coerced" without some kind of follow-up? It could be a feint, he's just acting to try and keep Hickey from holding a grudge (I think Gibson knows with brutal clarity that you do not want to be on Hickey's shitlist) but his reaction reads to me like he's seeing his fib start to spiral out of control. Of course, one of the grand themes in Terror is people not being as smart as they think they are (or, more charitably, that even well-conceived plans often shipwreck on the shoals of human unpredictability) so it could just be an example of a reasonable plan blowing up on contact with an unreasonable person, as individuals are a universe unto themselves and truly unknowable to each other. Or maybe he really didn't think Irving would do anything, because he asked him to keep it quiet? Maybe that's how it usually goes, everyone agrees to keep it quiet-- sobering thought.

Still, it intrigues me to think about Irving as the wildcard in Gibson's plan, not Hickey-- bringing baggage to it that Gibson didn't include in his calculations. I wonder if Gibson heard the lecture, how many of his own words would he recognize? I can see the shape of a communications breakdown, where a tactful "the temptation was overwhelming, I couldn't resist him" becomes "he used overpowering force" or "I didn't come forward because I was afraid" becomes "he threatened me into silence". Not unreasonable assumptions for Irving to make, honestly, I just think its interesting to play with the idea that they are assumptions and not part of Gibson's ass-saving explanation. Just no accounting for what happens in the pressure-cooker of the evangelical brain!

Obviously the darker read here is that Irving can't understand a messy gay situationship despite spending years at sea is because he is homophobic (while desperately refusing/denying/fighting his own desires) or was himself party to coercion, either towards himself or someone else.

I just think its interesting to think of how it might have played out if Gibson and Hickey been surprised by say, Hodgson instead-- who might have given them a stern "I don't want to catch you two not at work again" but otherwise let the matter slide, or Little, who I can see loading them down with donkeywork but refraining from escalating because doing so means talking to Crozier and Oh God, Please No.

I keep coming back to the question of whether or not Gibson was ready/intending to burn Hickey as badly as his lie makes it seem. While I think he's perfectly capable of it, but it seems like such a risky move when his confession (owning what Irving has no real proof of, I'm more familiar with the early 19th century legal situation on land but the standard of proof for sodomy specifically was actually pretty high) could just as easily backfire on him rather than exonerating them both. We only have Gibson's word that he acted for their mutual benefit, and even if he's telling the truth it seems like stepping on a landmine: no one seems to think Hickey would hang on his accusation, so he's going to still be around after a potential flogging and presumably pissed off. Obviously its a bad situation all around but I am so curious about his own risk/reward accounting. For me, I really enjoy imaging him trying to play master manipulator to Jirv who is absolutley not a player and mostly lets Jesus call the shots. Very funny to me to be so ambitious and skillful and willing to play the Great Game but it all comes to nothing due to human folly. Thesis moment.

[lucabyte]

i am looking at nohats au 👀 please share more

So! NoHats! I'm going to grab you and use this to ramble. A Lot.

The NoHats AU is @samhainian's it's just that I'm the strange little freak who takes the words said unto me and executes on them. But I can still do a little explainer on what our overall thoughts and vibes are. (And, that we are in fact propping up a little box with some cheese under it here. 🪤 Please (PLEASE) feel free to pick up what we're putting down.)

We're far from the only ones exploring a "what if siffrin fucking died" AU, though the main difference with NoHats is the placement of the death in the timeline. Instead of being 'Mal Du Pays Wins' or 'Act 6 encounter goes horribly wrong', the death is… Just after the (literal) falling action.

(This placement is because Sam is a comic book fan who thus has become used to characters being ripped away at the cruelest times by shitty writers. THANK FUCKING GOD adrienne is not that and isat is delightful yippieee, but, back on topic.)

Giving the party the full understanding of What Happened that you get by putting the death after black hole siffrin, but before the A6 encounter leaves an interesting gap to be filled. See, making Siffrin's death very much not Loop's fault means that… this once again reads (when not read as simply a tragedy...) as the universe doing what it sees fit to fulfull Loop's wish… Thus making Siffrin's death Loop's fault again, but only in their eyes. And only in a way they could express if they were honest about who they were…

And this is where having had excuse to waffle about my general Postcanon Loop thoughts the other day comes in handy, because Sam and I have that as our canon-compliant reading to begin with, NoHats plays off of a lot of the same readings of Loop's character. Namely: Uh Oh Somebody's Lying By Fucking Omission Again. (BECAUSE TO BE FAIR THIS TIME… HOW THE FUCK WOULD YOU HANDLE THAT?)

Now, neither Sam nor I are fanfic writers, so this has been a little bit trapped in our heads and DMs (and my unfinished art but,)

But our thoughts on how NoHats like… Goes.

Siffrin's death is peaceful, but that does not mean the aftermath of it is. I can't imagine the party takes it well, especially after understanding the circumstances of the Loops. (And, of note, in A5 where nobody had the discussion on what to do with each other's bodies should something happen…) But I'd imagine it traumabonds them somewhat (understatement of the century) and now knowing how the rest of the party feels, they resolve to travel together for the forseeable future.

The party track down Loop to deliver the terrible news, since they were clearly Siffrin's friend too, and invite Loop along to travel at least long enough to (let them grieve) get the burial over with. Loop, here, can be helpful in knowing what Siffrin would've wanted where the party would be at a loss. Loop, I think, takes a bit of a lead on the funerary aspects of it all, because, um. (Performing rites on your own body, huh?)

Then, as things are after a death, life just… Kind of has to continue on as normal. The party travel, pick up Nille, and get to know Loop as this mysterious new person. Maybe in this situation they might stay in Bambouche for a while to give Bonnie more stability since. They are probably taking it the worst. It would've come out of absolutely nowhere for everyone in the party obviously but god, for a kid? For A Kid?

It should be stated NoHats is not intended to be grimdark, just y'know. An exploration of grief. This is also why it's got a bit of a lopsided focus on Bonnie vs the rest of the party because hhrrhghghhghghhhghhghhh <- incoherent

Now, a crossroads.

How does the party discover Loop to be Siffrin? How long does it take. How much have the party embraced them as part of the family (especially with something as intense to bond over as this)?

There's the Odile option. Have her put it together and have to bring it up somehow. This could also be done by Isabeau, perhaps. He's smart. (which. God. If anything's the real Isabeau Torment Nexus it's this)

Then there's the other option batted around by Sam and I. The: The Universe Dislikes Duplicates option.

The items in the house that fzzt away when inspected. The Universe doesn't like there to be two of something, at least not when they're acknowledged. But one of something is just fine…?

Which is to say. I'm not a personal proponent of 'Loop getting their body back'. EXCEPT …… except this one time.

There's only one Siffrin now, so they don't need to be obfuscated to exist.

Consider, if you will. Loop swallowing their guilt for long enough to be comfortable. Falling back into old habits. Without another Siffrin around to compete for the niche of, they actually begin to act like Siffrin again. Not intentionally, it's just… The party is as welcoming as they've always been. And the party swears they keep catching glimpses of a face under all the light.

Then, one day, while still not fully human again, the resemblence becomes undeniable. Loop having not even noticed until everyone looks at them like they've seen a ghost.

Has it been months? How long have they kept up this lie? Is it even a lie, to them? They're Loop. But they were, once, Siffrin.

Even after explaining it, does that make it better or worse?

Bonnie cuts through the betrayed, struck-nerve reactions with a sobering "I missed you."

… Anyway !

Yeah so that's the vibe for NoHats. As for LoopLoops? That's more nebulous. I think it can go anywhere really in the NoHats timeline. I err personally toward the "Loop continuously replays the last 10 minutes before Siffrin's death almost immediately after they find out and have to parkour their ass up the House in the most distressing situation possible to try and get them to hold on, just please hold on." (Remember! Siffrin can remember the contents of Loop's loop backs in the A6 fight!)

But there is the possibility that this happens months, or worse years down the road. One last Loop back. Throw it all away for the chance to just get that one thing you didn't know you even wanted but now know you NEED.

Misc:

Okay miscellaneous time.

This is where I admit that I have a bunch of unfinished NoHats art that I haven't gotten around to yet because I feel like a right tool being so obviously Loop-Centric with my fancontent (I AM . . I REALISE I AM NOT DOING MUCH TO BEAT THE ALLEGATIONS.) So like if people want to see that please say because euaghghghhfh <- the nervous.

this is like the most fucked up place to do isaloop fr. anyway.

one of Sam's mid-game observations that I'm just going to share for no particular reason is that Bonnie's hair shares a bunch of shapes with Siffrin's. The flick up at the top, the 3 pronged shape of the fringe… just something to think about.

Without 2 Siffrins around to compare each other to it'd likely be a lot harder to notice Loop's similarities. Doesn't mean that those similarities don't sting more in this context though.

If you do NoHats without LoopLoops. The concept of this all fading into memory years down the line while they just have slightly-glowy but otherwise regular Siffrin hanging out is fucked up to think about. Just like real grief. Augh

6. a peek into the original dms as a treat from us

[madthetruemad]

man, i'm hurt af after reading that fic 😭 if it's not much to ask, can you do a part 3 to the aventurine fic "longing"? thank you!

Spoilers for the recent trailblaze quest (2.1)

Part 1

Part 2

"It was you?"

Not long after your talk with Aventurine, everything seemed to go down hill.

Robin was murdered along with a girl named Firefly, and soon you found yourself entangled into a murder mystery along with the other Trailblazers.

It was all so confusing.

Until it wasn't.

"I do apologize, you seemed like a nice person. A shame you stuck your nose where it didn't belong," Gallagher said as he flipped his lighter closed.

You coughed as you felt the blade of "Something unto Death" pierce through you. You winced and groaned. You wanted the pain to just go away.

Though, you did have to admit that it was a good distraction from the pain of longing.

"W- why," you managed to ask.

Gallagher merely smiled, "I should be asking you that. All the others who were pierced by Something unto Death would die immediately, and yet here you are. Clinging to life. I wonder ... is it because you do want to die? Are you still searching for the meaning of life? Or maybe your life has meaning and you're trying to hold onto it?"

When Gallagher got close to you, you spat in his face. He merely raised a hand and wiped your spit off. His gaze narrowed into an angry glare.

"No matter, I'm sure, death will still take you."

And it did. It was so dark. So lonely. You felt like you were floating, but for some reason, you knew this wasn't death.

Death couldn't be so empty, could it?

"That's odd, aren't you missing one," Aventurine asked as he met up with the Astral Express and Black Swan. His arms crossed over his chest as he stood a little away from them in the room. A sly smile always seeming to dance across his lips.

Himiko was the first to speak, "they were...murdered by Something unto Death. We believe they found who the murderer was, but before they could contact us, the murderer...got to them first."

"I ... see ..." Wait, what?

He took a moment to collect his thoughts. You were gone?

Gone...?

He turned his head to look at the door. The need to go to your room and see your body for himself was starting to take over. But he remained where he was.

He brightened his smile, "well, I'm sorry for your loss. If they were able to find the culprit then all we have to do is follow their footsteps. Memo Keeper."

He brought his attention to Black Swan, "I'm sure their memories are still lingering in the dreamscape, right?"

"Yes, they should be."

"Then let's get going. A murderer is waiting for us, no?"

He was longing to see you again.

He couldn't deny it any longer.

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

chapter 2 | chapter 3

The crowd had gotten louder the moment you opened your eyes, squinting at first against the sun. You wanted to shield your sight but with your hands tied behind your back, all you could do was wiggle your head to the opposite direction. And when you looked to the sides, there Cersei stood, her lips curved into an evil smile, along side her son, King Joffrey. The sound of a man grunting beside you made you turn your head. A masked man was pulling some kind of rope beside you. Your eyes followed where it leads, ending on a machinery located on top of you. It only took you a second to figure out it was a guillotine.

Thwak!

You abruptly woke up, grasping your neck as if on instinct if it was still connected to your body. You weren't scared to die, not for now, anyway. But you'd have a far chance getting killed from drowning rather than execution.

It was only a harmless threat, you thought. Cersei was known for it. And even when you knew what you were getting to in the end, it couldn't hurt you a little less to try, that maybe the endless looks you get from Cersei during dinners and passing meant something other than distaste.

Sleep was hard to get by after that. With nothing else left to do, you decided to wake up for the day.

Oberyn and Ellaria were still fast asleep so you tried to find food for breakfast. And if luck permitted you, you might bumped into the Queen herself.

It was not the Queen you met by the courtyard near the Kitchen's Keep but Tommen, her youngest son. It appeared he was chasing something that scurried further away into the bushes.

When he didn't see you standing behind him, he bumped into your chest. "Apologies My Lady, I was just chasing my cat."

"No worries, My Prince," you greeted back as you bowed. "In fact, I saw him running towards those bushes. I'd help you, if you'd allow it."

"Please, I don't want to bother-"

"Nonsense," you said, then you and Tommen crouched unto the dirt and began looking for his cat. Fortunately, a sliver of gray caught your eye before it jumped to the nearby fence.

"Got you," you said as you caught the furry cat, brushing its fur as you returned it to a smiling Tommen.

"Thank you, My Lady," he said.

"Does it have a name?"

"Ser Pounce."

"An honorable name."

"Do you think so? Joffrey doesn't think so," he said sadly. "He always says he'd kill him and make me eat it."

"I'm sure he's only kidding, My Prince," you said, though you didn't doubt Joffrey wouldn't do it. "If you need any place for him to hide for the meantime, you can always ask me."

Tommen smiled from ear to ear. And that was when you finally noticed you two weren't alone.

"It's time for breakfast, Tommen," Cersei called, her hands tightly clutching against the post. The Queen possessed a kind of beauty no one could compare. And you were completely enamored.

"Your Grace," you greeted, bowing your head.

"Coming, Mother!" Tommen answered before turning back to you. "Would you like to join us for breakfast, My Lady?"

Before you could reply, Cersei added, "I'm sure Y/N has something else to tend to this morning-"

"Of course, I'd like to dine with you," you interrupted, chuckling softly. "I feel famished myself already. Tommen here can tell me more about Ser Pounce and how he became a knight."

Tommen laughed as you walked together towards the dining hall, ignoring Cersei's warning glare she was sending your way.

Luckily, Joffrey wasn't around to join. And that meant Tommen was free to discuss with you about his cat and about the cats in Dorne. You had shared with him how you used to have a pet cat who died due to old age. You mentioned it was your late cousin Elia's cat.

"That's terrible, I don't want that to happen to Ser Pounce," Tommen said as he brushed the furry cat on his lap.

"I'm sure he'll live a long life, My Prince," you assured him. "In fact, Myrcella has also gotten herself a cat in Dorne."

The mention of Cersei's daughter made the Queen drop her spoon.

"Really? I can't wait to meet them. Mother, can we go visit Myrcella in Dorne?" Tommen asked.

Cersei could only force a smile. You didn't mean to put the Queen on the spot so you eventually changed the topic.

When Tommen had excused himself to chase after Ser Pounce, who suddenly jumped from his lap to chase a mouse, the air in the room grew thick.

"You seem to have gotten close to my daughter," Cersei began, after sipping her wine. "I'm glad hospitality is still being practiced in Dorne nowadays."

You smiled at her. "Yes, Your Grace. Myrcella's a bright girl, kind and exceptional. I loved having her around when we're reading scrolls about the night sky and the history of Dorne."

"She doesn't need to know the history of Dorne, when she'll be back to the Capital once she's of age," Cersei said.

"Well, Myrcella always seems curious. And there's no harm seeking more wisdom when there's nothing left to lose."

There was utter silence as you both continued to eat.

"She misses you, Your Grace," you said sincerely. This softened the Queen's stature. It even brought a little smile on her face.

"Mm, we do send each other letters from time to time," Cersei answered.

"You know no words would be tantamount to physical presence-"

"Are you suggesting I should visit Dorne?" Cersei asked, chuckling.

"Why not, Your Grace? I, myself, could give you a tour."

Cersei laughed softly. And it was the kind of laugh that didn't sound evil. It was a genuine one. A soft one. One that's full of longing.

The conversation went on as you both talked about Dorne, about Myrcella, about Cersei's travels when she was young, how being a Queen caged her from exploring and how she once had a dream she had a boat of her own and she'd be the captain.

It only ended abruptly when Jaime arrived, setting his helmet on the dining table rather loud and harshly, as if he was intentionally interrupting your conversation.

~~~

Later that night, Tywin held a small dinner for the guests. You would have enjoyed it, however, the sight of Cersei and Jaime rather close together only made your stomach churn with spite.

And there was King Joffrey, boastfully showing off the wild boar he had caught earlier that morning. You knew he had ordered a servant to do that for him. You were about to counter his speech but decided against it, remembering how you had promised to control yourself around Cersei's first son.

The only time you couldn't pretend to be happy were the times Cersei was with Jaime. Jaime came back a week ago with a decapitated hand. You felt pity for the man who had suffered being a hostage by the Starks yet you couldn't help feeling bitter whenever he and Cersei had gotten close.

You knew the rumors. Drunk Tyrion even confirmed it one night you accompanied your cousin in certain brothels. That Cersei was truly involved with her twin brother Jaime. That the King was not the true heir. Even Myrcella. Or Tommen.

You decided to ignore them when you could still control yourself. One wrong comment from you would make your nightmare come true.

And then there was Ser Loras Tyrell from Highgarden, brother of the bride to be Lady Margaery, the one Cersei is arranged to be married.

This made you feel more hatred as if you had any right at all.

Cersei was staring outside the window alone with a glass of red wine in her hand when you noticed Loras approached her. She immediately dismissed him the soonest he opened his mouth to talk before she went to watch by the next window instead.

The disappointment on Loras' face brought comfort in yours.

This was the time you finally approached Cersei.

If she'd dismissed you like the way she did to the poor guy, it was probably a sign from the heavens to give up on pursuing after her.

"Your Grace," you greeted, bowing your head before standing beside her by the window. The celebration had spread outside the Red Keep, where you could see a couple of people drinking loudly and yelling outside their houses.

"Parties in Dorne are different," you commented. "It's lively and thrilling."

Cersei snorted before she sipped her wine, her eyes still on the horizon. "And what of the Capital?"

"It's dark and dull, the complete opposite to be honest, but I mean no offense, Your Grace," you replied.

"If it was such a bore to you, why bother come?"

You smiled. "And miss this chance to meet you, Your Grace? I wouldn't trade it for anything in this world."

Cersei's cheeks flushed but your eyes could only be imagining it for the torches inside the castle could be playing tricks on you.

She licked her lips before speaking, "What do you want?"

"What?"

"You've been certainly making it your priority to catch my attention," she went on with disdain in her voice. "Sparing with Joffrey, getting close with Tommen and Myrcella. Is it Tommen you want? I'm sure Dorne won't tolerate such a thing."

It made you laugh. "I believe you're right, Your Grace."

Cersei chuckled darkly. "I'd better be dead before I'd allow your marriage to my youngest boy."

You quickly shook your head, still laughing. "No, Your Grace. It was just to catch your attention."

"To what end?"

And you only stared at her as if you had nothing else to say.

She scoffed, suddenly realizing. "You must be out of your mind. In fact, I believe you want to get yourself killed."

"Dorne is amazing," you reasoned. "In fact, richer and more powerful than Highgarden. And we all know Ser Loras is a pillow biter. And. . . Myrcella already loves it there in Dorne-"

"I don't think you have noticed one wrong physical aspect. How would you even gift an heir to my father?"

You smiled. "Trust me, I have no problems with that, Your Grace. I'm sure the rumors about me have also spread upon my arrival."

Cersei only fell silent as her eyes quickly darted to your crotch back to your face before gazing out the horizon.

"If you think I'd entertain such a ludicrous idea then I suggest you guard your doors at night because I myself will slice off your tongue. You're not even a known Martell. What makes you think degrading myself to your level would even be a fair comparison as to marrying Loras?"

"Forgive me, Your Grace." You bowed, hurt upon the admission. "I didn't mean to offend-"

"Offend? You insulted my family name."

"Cersei, a word?"

Both of you turned to Tywin's voice.

"Apologies My lady Y/n, I have something to discuss with my daughter."

"Of course, Lord Tywin," you said, then you looked at Cersei, avoiding her eyes. "Your Grace."

[miryum]

"Halloween III"

Summary: Detective!Jason Todd x detective!Reader based on Jake and Amy’s relationship

Series Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of violence (but nothing descriptive), guns and other police stuff

Series Masterlist

"Attention, squad! Today is the most important day in the history of this precinct,” Y/n cried out in the briefing room. She raised a dramatic hand and said in a low voice, “for today is Halloweeeeeen!” She turned to Captain Wayne, pouting. “I thought we were going to say it together.”

“I never agreed to that,” he stated.

Y/n sighed and continued, “as you may know, for the past two years, Captain Wayne and I have engaged in an epic battle of wits. The goal: to determine who must call the other an amazing detective-slash-genius.”

Wayne cut in. “The first year, by sheer, dumb luck, Y/n eked out a feeble victory.”

“And last year, I let the Captain win, because he's old and sad,” Y/n retorted. 

Wayne raised a brow and quickly quipped, “sad because the competition was so dismal.”

“Is this meeting about something?” Steph asked from a chair. Jason sat next to her, his nose red and eyes tired.

“It's about everything.” Y/n said, aghast that her best friend would even ask that. “This year's the tie-breaker, a final heist to decide once and for all the true ruler of the six-six. Halloween Heist Three: The Heistening. Tagline?” She pointed at Captain Wayne excitedly.

“This year we both attempt to steal the same object instead of L/n attempting to steal one from me.”

Y/n huffed and whispered, “I gave you one direction on the tagline! Make it snappy. But yes, we will be attempting to steal the same item... this.” She held up a plastic crown etched with faux jewels.

“The crown will be locked in this briefcase, which in turn will be locked in the interrogation room.” Wayne took the crown from Y/n and placed it in said briefcase. 

Y/n sang quietly, “And so unto the briefcase goes the crown!” 

“This year,” Wayne continued, “we have decided to include the rest of the precinct, and so to be fair, we're holding a draft.”

“Everyone who participates will get the night off,” Y/n said. “Captain?”

Wayne hummed. “With the first pick of the draft, I choose… Richard.”

“Alright, I'll take Steph.” Y/n grinned and high-fived her best friend.

“Damian.”

“I take Cass.” Y/n said.

“Todd is too sick to participate,” as if on cue, Jason sneezed. “In fact, I don’t even know why he's still here…” Wayne muttered. “And Drake is too loyal to L/n.”

“Nuh-uh!” Both Y/n and Tim cried. 

“Have you seen his ass-kissery?” Y/n asked incredulously. ”I can’t trust him! Tim would do anything to win your approval, including pretending to be my friend for the past years only to betray me now even though Wayne only joined the six-six three years ago.”

“L/n, you are majorly overthinking this,” Tim said.

“Maybe, but it's a risk I'm not willing to take. Tim’s out.”

“I agree. So we agree that by midnight, whoever has the crown shall be the ruler of the six-six.” Wayne had a rare smirk on his face.

“So,” Steph strolled into the room and said to Damian, “I see you've been assigned to guard the briefcase too.”

“Correct, Brown. I’ve been given clear instructions to keep a close and clear watch on both the briefcase and you.” He nodded towards the briefcase which sat in the interrogation room. He and Steph currently stood behind the two way mirror.

“Well, I have exciting news!” Steph exclaimed. “I found the perfect guy to set you up with!”

“After zero consideration, I'm happy to say, ’hard pass.’ It's incredibly… sweet that you wish to set me up with someone, but I do not trust your taste in men.”

“I have spectacular taste in men. You would love Jon.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “You are impossible.”

Y/n paced the break room. Jason lay on the couch, a blanket tucked over him and a box of tissues at the ready. Y/n had Doordash open on her phone, popsicles ready to be ordered for his sore throat. Jason lightly groaned and turned over in his sleep and Y/n’s head whipped over to him. She crouched down next to him and brushed her hand over his forehead. He officially had a fever and she placed a cool washcloth over his forehead. She went back to pacing the room and suddenly, a Halloween decoration with motion sensors rang out. The cackle of the fake witch blared throughout the room and Y/n cried, “gah! Scary witch! Scary, so so scary!”

“I am not going to meet my next boyfriend through a Stephanie set-up.” Damian crossed his arms.

“It's go time, Brown.” Y/n whispered into her comm from up in the vents. “Holt and Terry have closed the blinds... release the spiders.”

Stephanie discreetly took a bag of spiders out of her pocket and dumped them onto the floor. “Oh, my god! Damian, look! Spiders!” She let out a scream and jumped back.

Damian squatted down and hummed. “Achaearanea tepidariorum. The common house spider.” He placed a finger on the ground and some spiders crawled over his hand. “How did you fellas get in here?”

Y/n strapped herself into the harness and grinned. “Commence operation, ‘oh crap, wrong vent.’” She opened the vent cover and dropped down, suspended a couple metres from the ground. “Oh crap, wrong vent,” she said. “This was a mistake.”

Damian scoffed. “Nice try, imbeciles. You blew it. Honestly, I expected better from you, L/n. It seems as if all my trainings failed to pay off.” While Damian was distracted, Cass used two plungers to suction the window glass off of the interrogation room door.

Y/n smacked her lips. “Yep, we totally blew it. And all because Brown marked the wrong vent.” Meanwhile, Cass silently somersaulted through the window and to the table the briefcase was handcuffed to.

“It's not my fault!” Steph defended. “I thought it was the right vent.” Cass took out a knife and cut open the briefcase and extracted the crown. She placed it between her teeth and flipped the briefcase over, hiding the hole.

“I'm having trouble even believing you right now.” Y/n shook her head, still hanging in the air. “That is the last time I let Steph mark a vent.”

“I'm normally great at marking vents.” 

Cass jumped back through the window and replaced the glass. She whispered into the comms, “lock picked.”

Y/n was attempting to stall for time. “Never, ever, never, ever, ever, never, ever, ever, never, ever, will I ever, never, ever, ever, ever, ever, never, never, never- I forgive you, and good-bye!” She hoisted herself up at Cass’ command and crawled back through the vents. Steph quickly excused herself and Damian’s eyes flickered to the briefcase. It was still there.

Later, the trio met crowded around Y/n’s desk and she gushed, “wow, you should have seen us, Cass! Steph and I were amazing.”

Cass folded her arms and announced, “I somersaulted through a window, cut the crown out of a briefcase, and replaced everything in under a minute.”

“Yeah, I guess you helped a little.” Y/n stuck her tongue out and returned back to her and Steph. “But our fake argument was super convincing. And all of a sudden, we had to make it longer, and we did!” She took the crown from Cass and stuck it in a filing drawer. ”Anyways, now all we gotta do is guard this drawer until midnight, and the best part is that Wayne has absolutely no idea.”

From inside his office, Wayne towered diabolically over his monitor which showed the video feed and sound from the bullpen, the camera and microphone pointed directly at Y/n’s desk. “She is such a fool,” Captain Wayne said. “Yes, believe I'm the fool. You fool.”

“So we wanted Y/n to take the crown?” Dick asked, peering over his shoulder.

“Sergeant, are you familiar with the Hungarian fencing term, Hosszú Gorcs?”

“You gotta realise my answer is no,” Dick deadpanned.

Wayne explained, “it’s a strategy of letting your opponent win points early on as to give them a sense of overconfidence, thus exposing a much easier target for you later.”

“You think she's overconfident enough?”

From the monitor, Y/n proclaimed, “I'm the smartest woman alive. I'm never gonna die!”

Damian was doing his best to ignore Steph when a knock sounded on the door. Stephanie grinned and said in a high-pitched voice, “oop, I wasn't expecting anyone.” She threw open the door with a flourish. “Come in, Jon.”

A tall, muscular man with dark windswept hair entered the room, smiling brightly. “Hey, Steph. What’s up?”

Steph turned back to Damian. “Dami, this was the boy I was telling you about.”

Damian’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down before he regained his composure and glared at Stephanie. “I know what's happening. This isn't a setup... this is a setup. He’s supposed to distract me from the heist.”

“The heist?” Jon asked, glancing at Steph.

“Shut your cute face,” Damian snapped before scoffing. “I don't buy it. This is an obvious trap and I expected better of you Stephanie. I thought you were one of the smart ones.” He turned back to Jon. “Who are you, really, Jon? If that even is your real name…” He poked Jon in the chest and pushed him towards the door. “Okay. Bye-bye, Jon!”

“Hey, Cass,” Dick shuffled up to her, knowing he was probably about to lose one of his nine lives. “I'm not saying these are from your motorcycle,” He held up a pair of handlebars. “But... I found these outside.”

Cass’ nostrils flared. “You better not have messed with my bike for this heist.” Her voice was laced with venom. ”Let me remind you, Sarge, I'm carrying a weapon and I’m not afraid to stick it to the man.”

“We all have the same weapon, Cain,” Dick deadpanned. However, when Cass pulled out an SRK, he exclaimed, “Geez, Cass! Where'd you get that?” Cass grumbled a swear and stalked off. Relieved he hadn’t died, Dick said into a comm, “Orphan has left the nest.” He swept out of the room.

“And…” Captain Wayne folded his hands together, smirking. “Ding.” On cue, the elevator opened, emitting a ding.

“You wanna see Daddy?” Kori led her daughters into the bullpen. “Come on!” Martha and Tammy were dressed in small replicas of police uniforms for Halloween, clutching pumpkin candy bags in their fists. They had just turned three and looked absolutely adorable with identical pigtails.

“Time for the twin twist,” Wayne said. “And I love a good use of alliteration.” 

“Hey, Y/n.” Kori greeted her friend.

“Hey, guys!” Y/n cooed at her goddaughters.

“We wanted to surprise Dick. Have you seen him?”

“Oh, he just went downstairs for a bit, but he should be back soon,” Y/n said.

Kori nodded and called to her twins, “Martha? Tammy? Do you guys want to take a picture with Auntie Y/n?”

“Yeah!” Martha abandoned poking a sleeping Jason and Tammy looked up from inspecting a pair of handcuffs. Y/n’s eyes narrowed at the question.

“You don't mind, do you?”

“Uh... no, of course not.” Y/n began nodding slowly. “That would be so fun.”

“What if we do it in the briefing room, like you're assigning them a case?” Kori was a perfect actress, delivering her lines with ease.

Y/n hesitated and glanced around for a sign of Damian, Wayne, or Dick. “No, I mean, you know what would be even more fun than that... is if we took a picture right here, and I could have my hand on this cabinet.” She smiled broadly, laughing loudly.

“Okay,” Kori conceded.

“Nailed it,” Y/n congratulated herself quietly.

From outside the window on the precinct deck, Captain Wayne could be seen peeking through, carefully watching Y/n and her filing cabinet.

“Here we go…” Kori held up her camera. Wayne slowly opened the window and rolled through it, crouching on the ground. “Oh, God, it was in video mode... sorry.”

“Take your time,” Y/n reassured her. “I could do this all day. Matter of fact, what if we did one where I had both hands on the cabinet... one on top, and then one on the front?” She took her arms from around the twins and placed them on her cabinet. Wayne crawled to the backside of the cabinet and took out a silenced drill. He began unscrewing the bolts of the backside of the cabinet.

“Uh, yeah? Looks good.” Kori held up her phone again as Wayne stealthily took off the back of the cabinet and extracted the crown from inside. “All right, smile... three, two, one…” The camera snapped just as Wayne stood up and showcased the crown in the picture. “Cheese! Very good.” Kori beamed and gestured to her girls. Wayne somersaulted, akin to Cass, into the break room. ”Great, you guys. Let's find Daddy!”

Y/n snickered and muttered, “daddy.”

As Wayne straightened up, the witch decoration cackled loudly. At the sound, Y/n shot out of her seat and Jason startled from his sleep. “What's going on?” She ran to the break room where Wayne threw the crown into the trash to conceal it. “Aha!” Y/n points an assuring finger towards him. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing…”  Wayne looked around and spotted a can of soda. He picked it up and studied it. “Just enjoying a taste of my favourite beverage, the… soda pop.”

Y/n glared at him. “Really? I have never seen you enjoy soda before.” She clicked her tongue and tilted her chin up. “Why… uh, why don’t you have some now?”

Wayne stared at her, a look of contempt and hatred deep in his gaze. Not breaking eye contact, he took a sip. “It's delicious,” he said, grimacing.

“I don't buy it,” Y/n sneered. “You're making the same face you made when you found a chocolate chip in your trail mix!” She shook her head. “Something's up. I'm patting you down,” she decided. “Though I hope it’s not weird though, work dad. It’s just for the heist.”

“Of course,” Wayne nodded and held out his arms.

Y/n patted him down quickly and swore. “Fuck, nothing but a surprisingly toned set of abs!”

Wayne raised a brow. “And why would I have the crown, L/n? Isn't it still in the interrogation room?”

Y/n put her hands on her hips. “Yes. Yes. Of course. Of course it's still in there!” She sucked in a breath and conceded, ”Welp, I guess I'll see you at midnight.”

“After you.”

“No, after you,” Y/n smiled tightly.

“I insist.”

Y/n glowered and moved past time, triggering the witch again.

Later, Dick met up with Wayne in his office again. “You drank a soda? I’m not sure that's the worst thing in the world.”

Wayne shook his head and looked at Dick like he was delusional. “It was the worst thing in the world... worse than a fruit-forward Riesling.“ He held up a hand to stop Dick from speaking. “And no, I'm not exaggerating. Anyway, I cleverly ditched the crown in a trash can. We must wait a moment so as to not arouse suspicion when we retrieve it.”

“Got it.” Dick moved towards the door then looked back at his capitan and snickered. “Hey... while I'm in there, should I get you a soda?”

“I know you're joking, but on the off chance you aren't… No.”

“The handlebar thing was fake,” Cass announced as she marched back into the bullpen. ”They were trying to distract me. I think they made a play for the crown.”

“I thought so too, but I had my hand on the cabinet the whole time, so I'm pretty confident there's no way they could have gotten it.” Y/n said before opening the drawer to reveal an empty cabinet. “They got it.”

“Look at the back.” Cass squatted and pointed to the cabinet. “The screws are loose.”

“Damn it.” Y/n slammed her fist on her desk. “That son of a bitch is good.”

“Sir, we have a problem.” Dick rushed back into Wayne’s office. “The crown wasn't in the trash can. Y/n must have taken it back.”

“Damn it.” Wayne slammed his fist on his desk. “That son of a bitch is good.”

“We have to get that crown back!” Y/n exclaimed. “I already changed my email to "queeny/nrulez" with a z. Everyone's going to think I'm an idiot!”

“Hello, L/n,” Wayne glared at his detective.

“Captain,” Y/n greeted stoically. “Midnight nears.”

“Yes, it does.”

“Tick tock.”

“Tick tock indeed.”

“But tick tock for who?” Y/n hissed.

“It's ‘for whom.’” Wayne corrected.

“Don't try to provoke me!” Y/n cried out.

At the same time, both captain and detective declared, “I'm going to get that crown back!”

“Wait... what?” Y/n paused and squinted at Wayne.

“Huh?” Wayne shook his head. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”

“Yes, I too need to be excused,” Y/n stuttered.

Y/n pushed Cass into the briefing room and whispered sharply, “he doesn't have the crown! Cass, what do we do?”

“Pull the security tape,” she decided.

Damian stepped back into the interrogation room after Dick had informed him of the events. “Richard said you stole the crown when Y/n came through the ceiling,” he hummed.

“Yeah, I can't believe you fell for that,” Steph shrugged. ”You really think I'd mark the wrong vent? I've never marked a wrong vent in my life!”

“You're incredibly intense about vents,” Damian commented. He paused and then said, “wait... so Jon wasn't a distraction?”

“No, he was very real. Handsome, cool, hair as thick as a collie's. I found you the perfect guy, and you drove him off,” Steph said.

“Ugh.” Dami’s head fell into his hands. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted you. Please call him and tell him I messed up.”

“Yay!” Steph squealed.

“Alright,” Y/n and Cass poured over the security tape. “Here I am taking pictures with Dick’s kids.” She sighed and said lovingly, “man, I look so cool standing next to them. Should I have Jason’s kids?” Jason lifted his head up from the next-door table and groaned questioningly. “Go back to sleep, love,” Y/n reached over and patted his head.

“Okay. It's Wayne.” Cass watched as Bruce tumbled through the window and extracted the crown. “Whoa, how did he do that?”

“Man has an insane set of abs,” Y/n explained. “Oh, look, he's got the crown. And he's headed to the break room.”

“He dumped it in the trash,” Cass narrated, exhaling. She fast forwarded the video. “Did he go back and get it?”

In the feed, a janitor slumped in the room and pulled the trash bag out before hauling it away. “The janitor came in and grabbed it. But which janitor? Looks like I'm going to have to squint.” Y/n pushed her face close to the computer and glared at the screen. “Her name is Alice… Alice the janitor.” She glanced at the clock and mumbled, “it's eleven p.m. now. Alice's long gone.”

“How are we going to get her home address?”

“Who's the one person you know who sends out holiday cards to every single employee?” Y/n grinned.

“Tim!” Cass shouted out.

“What do you want, L/n?” Tim didn’t look up from his computer.

“What?” Y/n scoffed and brushed him away. “Why would you assume that I want anything? What I want is to apologise to my bestie, who I hurt.”

“It's ‘whom,’” Tim corrected.

“Why does the word ‘who’ even exist if you're not allowed to say it?!” Y/n huffed. “Anyways, now that I've apologised and you've accepted, can you please give me janitor Alice’s address?”

“This is related to your heist, isn't it?”

Y/n shook her head and stumbled over her words. “No, no. It's- uh, about a crime. I think janitor Alice is... going to kill the president.”

Wayne strolled up to Tim’s desk. “Oh, Drake. There's my protégé.”

Tim took a breath. “Let me guess? You want the janitor's address.”

Wayne looked up at the ceiling and then down to the ground. “Janitor? Address? Alice?”

“I never said her name,” Tim pointed out. He then leaned back in his chair. “Well, isn't this nice? After being excluded by both of you, here I am with the power to decide who wins and who loses your little heist.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” Wayne interrupted. ”You are my wisest detective.”

“Pathetic,” Y/n spat. “He can't be manipulated, sir.” She then turned to Tim and begged, “Tim, we are best friends! I know I usually reserve that title for Steph, but now’s a good time for you to take that, huh?”

“Friendship? Ha.” Wayne gawaffed. “What's friendship compared to the respect of a workplace superior?”

Y/n looked around desperately before bending some on one knee. “Timothy Drake, will you-”

“Excuse me?!” Jason shot up from his desk.

“Enough!” Tim yelled out, silencing everyone. “Pretending to be nice to me is worse than being mean. You know what? You want the address?” He picked up his phone and typed away. “Here, you can both have it.” Both Bruce and Y/n’s phones dinged. “Hope you're happy, you selfish monsters.” He stomped to his feet and slammed the break room door shut.

Y/n groaned and murmured, “I feel terrible. We should apologise.”

“Yes, I agree,” Wane said. “You definitely should now; I'll do mine later.”

“Fat chance!” Y/n snarled. “Steph!” she yelled into her comm. “I need you. Meet me downstairs.” 

Y/n, Cass, and Steph stood on the front steps to a tall apartment building, glaring up at it. “Okay, she lives on the sixteenth floor,” Y/n announced. “I think we beat Wayne here.”

“Or did you?” Their Captain appeared behind them, Dick and Damian in tow.

“I'll get the elevator,” Steph offered. When she noticed the ‘Out of Order’ sign, she cried out, “Shit! Looks like we're taking the stairs.”

“Alright, it's sixteen floors,” Cass breathed out. “Pace yourselves.”

Wayne’s team dashed ahead of them and Y/n screamed, “Forget it. Run as fast as you can!”

After a gruelling sixteen floors, Y/n pushed Wayne out of the way and slammed her fist into Alice’s door. “Ha ha! I win. I knocked first.” The door opened and an old woman greeted them. “You're not Alice…” Y/n said.

“You're looking for Alice?” The old woman asked. “She’s having a cigarette on the roof.”

“The roof?” Wayne grimaced.

Y/n burst through the roof door and panted, “yes. I did it. I… I am the greatest- holy shit that’s a lotta stairs- the greatest athlete in the world.” She leaned over and promptly vomited as the rest of the six-six trouped up after her.

“Alice? Alice?” Wayne looked around. “Where's Alice?”

Y/n glanced up to see a woman standing by the edge of the roof. “Oh, there she is. There she is! I did it! I did it!”

Wayne stared at Y/n, disgusted. “Good God.” He shook his head before turning back to the woman. “Are you Alice the janitor?”

“Nope. I'm your worst nightmare.” Alice turned around and took off her cap and the wig sewn into it. 

“Tim Drake…” Y/n gasped. “I don't understand what’s happening.”

Tim chuckled deviously, yet before he could speak, Y/n piped up and said, “allow me to explain. Tim and I were ahead of you the whole time.”

“No, you aren’t part of this.” Tim shoved Y/n back towards Wayne. “Get back to the loser side, loser.”

“Worth a shot,” Y/n murmured. “So how'd you pull it off?”

“Y/n, remember when you set off the witch?” Tim asked, lips curled into a smirk. “You made Captain Wayne flinch, which was weird, since his door was closed, but not weird, since he actually heard it over a bug he planted at your desk.” Y/n’s mouth dropped open and Tim continued, “I tapped into the bug's frequencies, so I had ears on Y/n. However, I still needed to know what Wayne was up to. That's where Jason came in.”

Jason stepped out from behind the door, still wrapped in a fuzzy blanket and his nose more red and snotty than ever before. He said in a nasally voice, “I masterminded the entire plan.”

“Jason, you did one small thing and I had to explain it to you forty-five times because you accidentally took NyQuil instead of DayQuil.” Tim shook his head before beginning his speech again. “He left a tiny crack in the blinds so I could read the Captain's lips.”

"Kori and your kids will distract Y/n. They'll be here at nine-thirty sharp. My waffle xylophone on the cheese man."

“What?” Wayne asked incredulously.

“My lip-reading is not flawless,” Tim admitted. “Now that I knew your plan, it was simple to disrupt. After I got into character, Wayne triggered the witch, which brought Y/n into the room.”

“And I threw the crown in the trash can…” Wayne nodded along.

“Exactly as I planned,” Tim grinned. “Then I sent you all here, placed an out-of-order sign on the perfectly functional elevator, made you all walk up thirty-one flights of stairs, and vomit.”

Y/n grumbled and muttered, “actually, it was three times, if you count all the stairwell stuff.”

“I'm my own person, capable of making my own decisions, and I decided to humiliate you both,” Tim finished his speech.

“One last question: where's the crown?” Wayne asked.

“Oh, it's at Orin’s Bar, the official site of my coronation.”

Tim strode into the bar, decked out in a royal cape and sash. Wayne held up the crown and declared, “all hail the crown of destiny.” The precinct cheered as their capitan concluded, “and all hail who wear it, Tim Drake, the ruler of the six-six.”

“And I believe there's something else you both need to say,” Tim snarked.

Both Bruce and Y/n said, “Tim Drake is an amazing detective-slash-genius.”

“Drinks are on us!” Wayne shouted. Y/n shook her head and he corrected himself. “Drinks are on me.”

“Heyyyyyy Y/n…” Jason sniffed as Y/n helped him through the door of his apartment. “I forgot to tell you but I think I broke up with Rose.”

“You think?” Y/n chuckled. “How about you tell me when you’re not hyped up on meds?”

“I will.” Jason fell down onto his bed. “I’ll also tell you I love ya.”

Y/n stilled and flushed. “O-oh? Really?”

“Yeah.” Jason sniffed once more before falling asleep, snoring loudly. 

Y/n swallowed before leaning down and kissing his forehead. His fever had finally broken. “I’m gonna make you some soup,” she whispered, “and you better eat it tomorrow. I already told Wayne that you’re not coming into work tomorrow, so don’t you dare try to pull another stunt like today.” She moved out of his room and before Y/n closed the door, she smiled softly. “I love you too, Jason Todd.”

[famwhy]

Right Way Up (02)

Stranger Things

Yandere! Steve Harrington X F!Reader, Yandere! Eddie Munson X F!Reader, Yandere! Billy Hargrove X F!Reader

Synopsis: You always hated when your favourite characters died in shows or movies; always longed to have the opportunity to save them. So when you're transported into one of your favourite shows of all time, what else are you supposed to do besides save your beloved characters?

Warnings: Threat/violence, Gore, Mentions of sexual content (implicit), Death, Manipulation, Depictions of toxic relationships, Drugs and alcohol abuse

Note: Sorry for the wait, my loves, but here's Eddie, Steve, and Billy to make it up to you 💕

prev part. masterlist. next part.

02. bring unto me vanity

enter: billy hargrove

YOU stood there, expression blank as you stared mindlessly into the Eddie Munson. It almost felt as though all your thoughts had left you the moment you bumped into him—flooding out in an endless, blank stream of nothingness you couldn't even begin to comprehend.

Then—not even seconds later—it all came rushing back.

Scenes of him lying in a pool of his own crimson, straining as he told Dustin about how he didn't run away—how he wasn't a coward for once. Scenes of the town believing he was some sort of satanic worshipper—vandalising his missing posters with pentagrams after he had just died protecting them. Scenes of Dustin informing Eddie's uncle of his noble death with tears streaming down his face; unrelenting in their cruel pace.

Scenes that always shot straight through your heart no matter how many times you rewatched them.

"Woah, hey, are you o—?"

You couldn't help it—the way you flew into his chest, arms wrapping around his back in a hug so tight—so inextricably emotional—that even the most affectionate of lovers, the most intimate of partners, would envy your outpour of emotions in that one embrace.

You couldn't help it because—because he was here. And he was okay. And he was alive—oh god, he was alive.

"Wha—?"

And apparently, he was also confused.

Get it together, Y/N. What kind of weirdo randomly throws themselves onto a stranger like that?

But he wasn't a stranger though, he was a character you had watched and grown attached to on screen; a beloved character you had witnessed die over and over again without being able to do a single thing about it.

But, a small voice prodded in the back of your mind, maybe you could do something now?

"Are you... okay?"

You blinked, further scattering a wet substance across your eyelashes. "Oh, yeah, um... it's just that—"

You didn't deserve to die, Eddie.

"—well, everyone is always so mean to you and— they're always like, calling you a freak just because you like playing a fantasy, role-playing game and it's just— it's so unfair because you seem like such a nice guy who doesn't deserve any of the shit that you get and I'm just— I'm so sorry!"

Ah, maybe you let out a little too much there, judging by the way he reacted.

His mouth had hung open, brown eyes wide in what you could only describe as disbelief, bewilderment and utter, utter shock.

For a moment, you were worried that you had accidentally made him malfunction or something; maybe said some type of dialogue that he couldn't compute and, therefore, couldn't respond to—like some sort of unaware NPC being told that they weren't real—which, in a way, is quite similar to his actual circumstance anyhow.

But then, to your utter surprise, he spoke again; in a tone that seemed light, almost—playful, even—"woah, uh, you always psychoanalyse people when you first meet?"—but... there was a waver in his voice, a vulnerability breaking through.

And you knew; you knew he was trying so hard not to let it break through.

Oh Eddie...

"No, sorry, uh—" you cut yourself off, pulling away to rest your arms against your sides, to really look him in the eyes as you offered, "—do you want to be friends?"

"Woah, hold up, Y/N L/N, the Y/N L/N—the Queen of Hawkins High herself—"

Queen of Hawkins High? You knew you were popular but—Queen? Damn.

"—is asking me, Eddie 'The Freak' Munson, if I want to be her friend?"

His words ushered the corners of your lips down and you felt that familiar constricting feeling in your heart again. "Don't call yourself a freak, Eddie. You're not. Please don't ever refer to yourself that way."

Cue the look of absolute astonishment making its way back onto his face.

"I uh—"

"Please, Eddie." Your fingers intertwined, eyes widening in what you hoped—prayed—was a look that resembled irresistible puppy dog eyes—

"Well, how the hell am I meant to deny you when you give me that look, sweetheart?"

—and resemble them it did. 

"So, does that mean—?"

He smirked. "Yes, Queenie, I'll be your friend."

The voice at the back of your mind was louder now, hope swirling together with mere hypothetical scenarios to grant you a vision—a world in which Eddie survived the bat attack he was subjected to in season 4; a world in which you saved him.

And hey, if you were lucky, maybe you'd be able to protect him from all the awful bullying he was a victim of as well. Lord knew he didn't deserve it.

"So, would you mind me sitting in on one of your DnD campaigns?"

He blinked, looking confused for what was probably the nth time. "You know what DnD is?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. I, uh, know someone who plays it. I mentioned it just now, remember? Definitely not a game that encourages satanism."

A bubble of laughter left his lips—and you swore you felt a swirl of warmth gather in your chest—his pretty eyes crinkling up as he said, "yeah, it definitely isn't." Then, his hand rose up to the back of his neck before he continued, albeit awkwardly, "I uh, actually have one today after school, if you wanna..?"

He trailed off but you knew what he was about to ask—and so—smiled at him as you confirmed, "I would love to."

"Great!" He beamed—rather cutely, if you did say so yourself—before immediately faltering, and soon, his hand was back on his neck. "We should probably head to English, huh?"

So you shared your next lesson together? Sweet. Saved you the hassle of running around like a headless chicken trying to find your class.

You let Eddie lead the way, following behind him with a pep in your step as you passed by doors upon doors, each looking just as beat-up as the last—but you were too over-the-moon to criticise their condition.

Perhaps the reason you were so happy was because you genuinely befriended a super nice, super fun guy that you always wanted to talk to when watching the show. Perhaps it was because you knew you had a shot at saving him; at giving him another chance to live in this fictional world. Either way, your mood had definitely lifted and for that, you were grateful—

"Munson, L/N, you two are late." 

—until, of course, you weren't.

Having arrived at class, you were met with a chorus of gasps sent your way, almost every single jaw dropping to the floor as soon as their eyes landed on you and your companion. 

The lady in front of you had her arms crossed over her busty chest, eyes narrowed specifically at one of the two of you and said person seemed to be very aware of it.

Eddie parted his lips, a grin manifesting on his face as he seemed to gear himself up for some sort of speech; one that would never get to leave his lips—at least, not on your watch.

"Sorry, miss, I held him up a little." Your lips stretched into a sheepish smile as you shrugged.

Not bothering to hear what she had to say—because why would you?—you made your way over to one of the empty seats at the back. There was another one in the middle of the room—one surrounded by broad-shouldered kids all adorning the same, bright varsity jackets—but, you would much rather be taking the seat away from them.

Besides, the back seat had an empty one right next to it.

As soon as your thighs landed on the smooth—yet highly uncomfortable—surface of the wooden chair, you tilted your head up, eyes meeting with the sweet character you were just walking with, before one of your hands rose up and gestured towards the other empty seat right next to you.

Another gawk. Another chorus of dramatic gasps.

Oh my God, it's not that big a deal.

"Well, Mister Munson? Will you be taking your seat or will you keep holding the whole class up?"

Snickers; mocking and malevolent in their nature—all bouncing off the walls of the room and into your ears, edging your lips down.

It didn't seem to bother Eddie though, who only let out his own sheepish chuckle before making his way down the row of beaten desks to the empty one beside you.

Your lips twitched back up, then he opened his mouth—"you weren't kidding about wanting to be my friend, huh?"—and you found them twitching down once again.

"Of course not, Eddie. I'm not that—"

A new voice abruptly cut you off. "Ahem. Now where was I?"

You couldn't speak for the remainder of the class, but that didn't stop you from communicating with Eddie regardless. All you had to do was rip out a page from your notepad, write a quick 'I meant what I said', scrunch it up and throw it his way.

You had then propped your head up on your hand, elbow resting on the bumpy table as you leaned forward to really gauge his reaction. The goofy way his lips had tugged up was very much infectious and you smiled as he furiously scribbled back a response before sneaking a quick glance at you—one that resulted in him freezing up, eyes widening and pink rushing to his cheeks in a way that was so cute, you couldn't help but widen your smile.

His blush grew deeper.

He was quick to pull himself back together though, and soon, the rest of the lesson was filled with the two of you tossing that same, crinkled sheet of paper back and forth—each time filling it with more and more ink as small giggles bubbled out of your mouths; childish and carefree with a hint of awe. You felt like a middle schooler all over again—it was nice, it was fun—

—so fun, in fact, that time passed by like a flash of lightning and, before you even knew it, a 'brrring!' rang through the air; one that had you rushing over to Eddie's side, ready to accompany him out the door. Were you being a little clingy? Maybe. But it was the Eddie Munson, who wouldn't be clingy?

"Oh wow, being waited on by a queen, boy do I feel special," his words were accompanied by a light tone you'd heard many a time over the TV, one you absolutely adored.

"You should feel special. You're awesome, Eddie. I'll stop at nothing until you realise that." 

He paused again, that pink colour from earlier returning to reign terror on his cheeks once more.

What a cutie.

You watched as he continued packing the remainder of his stuff in his bag, eyes trained on the glint of his solid-metal rings that would disappear and reappear from behind the rough cotton. Damn, how did they make him look so much more attractive?

Eddie was really attractive, you had no idea how no one in the school seemed to notice. The way his bouncy, brown curls framed his face—perfectly complimenting that pretty pair of eyes he was so lucky to have; the way he would exaggerate his hand gestures like a true drama queen—playfully joking about with a charm that seemed signature to him; the way he always seemed to—

"Uh, ready to go?" 

You blinked. "Huh? Oh yeah."

How long had he been standing there with his bag slung over his shoulder?

"So, sweetheart, I was thinking... for DnD later, do you wanna join in or, uh, just sit and watch?"

"Oh, well, I'm not too—"

A pang; shot straight through your arm like a bullet—and all of a sudden, your whole body jerked to the side, eyes landing on a pair of brown ones; different to the ones you were just staring into.

The very pair of brown eyes that had been the first ones to greet you in this world.

"Ack! Steve!"

He was frowning, brows furrowed and eyes filled with so much dejection, you found yourself wanting to do nothing more than wrap him up in a loving hug and tell him he was worth the whole world. 

"N/N," his voice came out soft, afraid, "what was that earlier? Did I... do something? Whatever it was, I'm sorry, please don't avoid me."

Dear lord, was he whimpering?

"No! Steve! No, no, no, no," you frantically shook your head from side-to-side, mentally beating yourself up for making him upset, "I just— I overreacted because of my arm."

One more cute, inquisitive stare from him and you finally broke. Damn his puppy dog eyes, was this how Eddie felt when you used them on him?

With a light sigh, your fingers found their way down the sleeve of your jacket, slowly bunching the material up to reveal the graying gauze underneath—yikes, looked like it was due for a change.

"Gah!"

Another tug—on your wrist this time—had you tumbling forward, almost smacking straight into Steve's chest had you not planted your feet and caught yourself in time.

He was so close—you could feel his breath on the bare skin of your arm, feel the warmth that radiated off his form. The proximity was almost causing you to lose focus in your vision, colours blending in to create blobs of indecipherable objects.

It didn't seem to bother him though, judging by the way his eyes stayed trained onto your bandages—not straying from them for even a second. Ever the caring one.

"What happened?"

"Oh, uh, just a wolf attack. It's nothing really."

"It's not nothing—" he finally looked up, gazing straight into your eyes with that familiar sense of concern given to you at the start of the day, and the day you arrived—you know? the one that never failed to give you a plethora of butterflies in your stomach? "—you're hurt. That could never be nothing."

Your breath was stolen from you for a few moments—unfairly and unlawfully—but soon, with a shake of your head, it (along with your vision) was seized once more. "Steve. I'm okay, really."

"At least let me take you to each class, please."

Well, when he put it like that—

But, in all seriousness, this was the perfect temporary solution to your problem and you were being handed it on a silver platter thanks to Steve. If you two really were as close as everyone claimed you to be, then Steve would definitely have your timetable memorised, meaning you wouldn't have to arise further suspicion by asking for a physical copy.

And have it memorised, he did. The rest of the day, he accompanied you to every class, looming behind you like a bodyguard and flat-out refusing to let you carry your stuff. Even when lunch came around and another pair of pompoms came to grab you, Steve was there to shut her down, not even giving you a chance to consider going to practice. Not that you would—you weren't stupid.

Soon, the end of the day rolled around and Steve was stood at the doorframe of your class, muscled arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wood with one foot crossed over the other.

"Let me drive you home."

You paused, hand frozen mid-air with a book slotted between your fingers. "It's okay, Cain's picking me—"

Just then, a thought occurred to you, and your mind dragged you back to your conversation in the early morning.

("I uh, actually have one today after school, if you wanna..?")

"—up..."

Oh shit, Eddie.

The book in your hand was inside your bag within milliseconds and you were right out the door in even less time than that, Steve's body having been slightly pushed aside in your haste.

"Woah, what's going—?"

You turned back around abruptly, almost causing him to bump into you had he not halted in time. "Do you know where Hellfire is?"

"Hellfire? That cult club?"

Your eye twitched. "It's not a cult—and I need to speak to Eddie."

His brows furrowed and his lips tugged down, expression shifting with an emotion you didn't have the time to decipher. "Eddie as in Eddie Munson? Super Senior Eddie Munson? Eddie 'The Freak' Munson?"

"He's not a freak, don't call him that." You narrowed your eyes before continuing, "and yeah, I mean Eddie Munson. So do you know where he is?"

"Why do you wanna know where Munson is?"

"I need to talk to him, Steve, now can you tell me where Hellfire is or not?"

"Are you sure? I mean, that kid sells some real serious shit and I don't want you—"

"Steve." Your arms folded over one another and you gave him the best stern look you could muster. 

Luckily, it seemed to do the trick, and soon, he let out a large breath before briskly walking forward.

You blinked, watching as his back shrank with each step.

"You coming or what?"

Then, your lips stretched into a grin. "Coming! Thanks, Stevie!"

He didn't respond—and you could have been imagining it—but, your ears seemed to have picked up on a hitch in his throat.

Cute.

Steve led the way and you passed by a multitude of bland, white lockers—or well, meant to be white, they were obviously going grey with age though—before you found yourself standing in front of yet another tall, wooden door.

You rose a fist... and lightly knocked on it three times.

A muffled shout greeted you; a sign to open the door, probably.

Palm rested against the cold surface of the knob, you twisted your wrist and gently pushed against the weight of the wood.

A multitude of chairs, each one seating a wide-eyed member of the rejected club, with one specific throne placed at the head of a rather long table—Eddie's seat.

Speaking of the club leader, his arms stretched out the moment you peeked through the gap. "Miss Queen Bee! How nice of you to join us!" 

You didn't even pay mind to the many gawks sent your way, practically used to it all by now.

 "Hey Eddie!" You beamed and he smiled with just as much enthusiasm—though you swore you heard a growl coming from behind you. "I'm so sorry! I know I said I'd join you guys for this campaign but I completely forgot about my brother coming to pick me up! I'm so so so so sorry! I promise I'll join you next time!"

His shoulders sagged and he practically deflated, smile faltering as his eyes dimmed in lighting. It was only for a few seconds though, not even that long honestly, and soon, he was sending a gentle smile full of so much understanding your way—you almost flew over to give him another huge hug of utmost gratitude.

"It's okay, I get it. See you tomorrow?" His brows rose up and his eyes swirled with a sense of hopefulness you could never bring yourself to shut down.

"Of course," you spoke softer, eyes losing any hint of a sharp edge as you addressed him, "see you tomorrow!"

His smile was back, bright and blinding as ever—but before you could enjoy it any longer, your arm was tugged on and another pang shot through.

"Ack! Steve, seriously?!" You looked his way just in time to catch his furrowed brows and heavy frown, but his expression quickly shifted from one of fury to one of panic.

Wait... fury?

"Shit. Sorry, I completely forgot." He quickly took his hand off your arm in lieu of placing it on your shoulder, any hints of that previous expression now completely gone.

Did you just... imagine it?

"We should go, your brother's probably waiting for you."

"Yeah, uh—" you placed your hand over his own, brows furrowed and expression not all there, "—let's go."

Well that was confusing.

It wasn't long after your puzzling interaction that you found the grey, beat-down truck belonging to your eldest brother—parked up near the front of the school building with few vehicles nearby. 

He was sat behind the wheel, elbow rested against the open window and used cig between his two fingers—still leaking the toxic gas youth in the 80s seemed to be so obsessed with.

"I'm guessing you wanna take her to school again, huh Harrington?"

Not wasting a second, your best friend nodded.

"Well, you never failed me before so I guess it's fine. If she's okay with it, of course."

Steve, once again, gave you those big, pleading eyes and—c'mon—how the hell do you refuse that?

"'Course it's fine with me, Stevie." 

His lips quirked up and his eyes brightened much like Eddie's had earlier—though, unlike Eddie, Steve opted to go farther when expressing his delight.

How far? Well, his arms had wrapped themselves around your waist and you found yourself being pulled into a warm, sturdy chest—so, that far, you guessed.

You weren't quite... used to receiving affection so frequently—especially by a male friend. Though, judging by how naturally it seemed to come to Steve, he was normally quite touchy with you.

Now, you didn't particularly mind it, it was just... foreign to you—but, with time, you would definitely grow used to it. Besides, it was Steve 'The Hair' Harrington, who wouldn't want a daily hug from him?

"Alright, you two, break it up." Cain narrowed his eyes. "Don't think I don't see those wandering hands, Harrington. Don't you have a girlfriend?"

A particularly loud noise—that sounded like someone clearing their throat—came from beside you. It was followed by a sudden breeze against your waist and the following words—"they, uh, they weren't wandering."

"Sure." Then, with a flick of a finger, Cain's cigarette was sent flying through the air. "C'mon sis, time to go home."

"They weren't wandering, N/N—"

"I know they weren't, Stevie." You chuckled. "He was just teasing you."

You didn't let him respond—opting, instead, to ghost your fingers over his arm and wiggle them in one last goodbye before making your way around the truck, kicking a pebble or two while you were at it.

Your hand slotted between the handle and the knob, and with a pull—accompanied by a step up—you were off, leaving the dazed form of Harrington in the dust.

Houses, one after the other—zooming by in a blur of colours; of people and cars that still seemed so surreal to you. Being in the 80s was so... weird. There was one thing you hated for sure though—the lack of mobile phones.

Like, seriously?! What did a girl have to do in order to get some entertainment around here?! The TV shows weren't good and the VFX in films was enough to make you empty your stomach contents in a gross assortment of sickly green vomit. Maybe you were being spoiled but damn, living without the Internet to entertain you sucked.

"We've got new neighbours," Cain's voice pierced through your thoughts, "just moved in a bit ago."

New neighbours? Could it be...?

"When'd they move in?"

"A day or two ago." He shrugged.

"How did I not notice?" That question was more for yourself than him.

"We didn't particularly let you." But he answered anyway.

"Right. Did you see who they were?"

"They have a son, 'bout your age. Why? Do you wanna hook up with him or something?"

You slowly turned his way, expression scrunching up. "No, ew, you're gross."

"What? You're a teenager, it's only natural."

"True—but also, dude!"

His shoulders bounced up and down as he chuckled at your misery. Big brothers sure sucked sometimes.

"Alright, we're home. Get out, shithead." 

You playfully rolled your eyes but obliged, jumping out of the elevated truck with a big swing of your arms before landing on the ground—a light 'thud' following after. Thank god you were on the sidewalk and not sinking into mud right now.

Well, now was as good a time as ever to test your little theory of who, exactly, had moved in to the previously-empty house next to yours.

Your eyes flickered to the side, scanning the house and frowning at the empty driveway that greeted you.

No blue camaro.

Maybe he was out on a drive? Cooling off some steam by recklessly going over the speed limit?

"What are you doing standing around? Get." 

Guess it'd have to wait until tomorrow.

You twisted open the door to your house and were immediately greeted with the sound of grunts and plastic harshly smacking against plastic coming straight from the opening closest to you. 

"What d'you wanna eat?" Cain's voice calls from behind you.

"You can cook?" 

He sent you a weird look and you found yourself wanting to rip off a piece of duck tape, coat it in the most sticky glue you could find, and slap it bang in the middle of your lips.

"I've always cooked for the three of us."

"Right. Yes. You have always done that. Silly me." With a tiny giggle, you looked off to the side to eye the suddenly-very-interesting wall.

"Oookay, what do you want then?"

What did you want? You weren't particularly in the mood for anything—your mind was way too occupied for choices right now. How could you worry about food when your brain constantly replayed the events of the demodog attack and scenes that happened in Stranger Things as a whole?

"Alright—" you blinked, tossing your gaze forward again to see Cain heading to the kitchen, raising one rough arm to wave dismissively in your direction, "—I'll just make lasagne."

Then, you jumped as you heard a yell from the other room. "Fine by me!"

Maybe you could ask Curt if he had anymore info on the family next door. You were fairly certain it was who you thought it was but better safe than sorry, huh?

"Currtt." 

You appeared from behind a pillar, slowly walking over to your second eldest brother with the most artificial smile you'd ever worn on your face.

"What?" His fist continued colliding with the bag.

"Do you know anything about our new neighbours?" 

"Why the hell would I give a damn?"

Immediately, your smile fell. "Useless."

"What was that, you little shit?"

So much for getting info from him. 

Well, you had time to spare so you might as well spend it gathering your thoughts some more.

First things first, you had no idea how to get back to your world—and to be entirely honest—you weren't sure if that was your top priority as much as surviving was. This was Stranger Things, a world that contained a hidden dimension filled to the brim with bloodthirsty, plant monsters that could, quite literally, rip you limb from limb.

There was also one glaring question that really stood out to you; one that prodded the back of your mind earlier today; that had you leaping into Eddie's arms in the first place. Could—

"Alright, shitbirds, dinner's ready!" 

"Fucking finally." 

Well, guess you had to wait for some other time to contemplate that question.

All three of you gathered at the table to eat and, as your fork prodded against the pasta sheets on your plate, you found yourself eyeing the two extra seats—empty and unoccupied. Were they for guests? Or perhaps... your parents? 

Did you even have parents in this world? Curt and Cain never spoke about it—you never really saw anyone in the house other than them so... were you parent-less? It made sense seeing as Cain was the one who cooked for you three—a fact you weren't privy to before because of... wait, why didn't he cook before? You had been in this world for a few days now and you hadn't been cooked a single meal since arriving.

"Hey, Cain?" You turned to the eldest, keen on finding an answer to your question.

"Hm?" 

"How come you never cooked before?"

"I have cooked before, what are you talking about?" He rose a brow.

Shit. Careful with phrasing.

"I meant like, when I was on house-arrest."

"Well, I don't know if you noticed but I was busy fixing a car commissioned to me by the Wheelers."

Ah, that made much more sense.

"Are you okay, Y/N? You haven't been acting yourself lately."

Well shit.

Before you could stutter out a response, he had already beat you to talking.

"Is it... 'cause of the attack?"

"Oh!" You saw the opportunity given to you and seized it. "Uh, yeah! I'm just... still shaken up by that wolf attack."

His lips tugged down and concern creased his brow, sending your heart into that constricting feeling for the nth time. You were starting to grow sick of it.

"You know what? I think I'm done."

"You barely touched your—"

"It was great, thanks, goodnight!"

"It's not even—"

You tuned out the rest of what he was trying to say, rushing up the stairs with loud 'thud's echoing after each step; hand barely resting on the rail as you zoomed by.

Did you have a valid reason for running away this time? Not really—at least, nothing as justified as when you ran from Steve before. Your only reason right now was... well, you didn't even know what it was.

All you knew was that your bed looked mighty comfy right now.

And comfy it was, you passed out as soon as you hit the mattress in fact, entering the land of slumber with nothing but the vast expanse of darkness to greet you when you arrived.

It seemed like only seconds passed before you felt your shoulders start to shake gently, long fingers wrapped around the exposed curves; long fingers you were now quite familiar with.

You eyes fluttered open and you were met with the soft, brown eyes of your best friend hovering over you.

"Steve? What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to pick you up, Nance is waiting in the car."

His words brought your attention to behind him, seeing the shine of the sun's rays making its way through the clear glass of your window to light up your room and coat it in a warm, yellow glow. Unfortunately, you couldn't bask in the beauty of the scene for long.

"Oh shit! It's morning?!"

"Yeah—did you... sleep in your cheerleading outfit?"

"Yes, yes I did, Steve. Now get out so I can get ready!" You sprang up, placing both of your hands on his shoulders this time before you spun him around and pressed your palms against his back, lightly ushering him out of the room.

"You already look ready to me." He snickered.

"Oh shut up." 

With that, you slammed the door shut in his face and quickly got to fixing your bedhead.

Luckily, you didn't have to change, but you definitely had to reapply your makeup which took quite a few minutes. That plus the time it took for you to refresh yourself in the toilet and you were looking at just narrowly avoiding being late to school.

Your feet carried you down the steps swiftly as your eyes locked in on the door, passing by a very flabbergasted Cain on your way there.

"Wait, you forgot to—!"

His words were cut off once you slammed the door shut, rushing down the front yard to stumble into the back seat of Steve's BMW, where both he and Nancy sat awaiting your arrival.

Your chest heaved up and down. "What are you waiting for?! Go!"

"We aren't late." Nancy replied, raising a brow at you.

"We... aren't?" You paused to catch your breath.

"No, we aren't."

You slowly turned your gaze to the left, meeting the ridiculous facial expression of your best friend; cheeks sucked in and eyes looking off to the side.

"Steve."

Then, a huge bout of laughter tumbled out of his mouth and you found your eyes scanning the interior of his car before landing on a half-full water bottle. Perfect.

Within seconds, you snatched it up and sent it hurdling towards the back of his head.

"Ow!"

"Not funny, asshole!"

"Liiittle funny."

"Just drive, Steve," sighed Nancy, fingers kneading through her temples.

"Thank you, Nancy," you huffed, "at least someone here isn't a dick."

Cue another snicker coming from the driver's seat.

You rolled your eyes as the car started up, bouncing you up and down against the smooth, leather seats. It was kinda bizarre how this was a car from back in the 80s but was still the most expensive car you had ever found yourself sitting in.

Okay, maybe the 80s didn't suck that much.

You still missed your phone though.

Now, you would've happily continued reminiscing all of your memories with your beloved device, but—just then—your ears picked up on a sound; one you were awfully familiar with, the roar of an engine you couldn't bring yourself to ignore even if you wanted to.

Your hand moved on its own, wrapping itself around the handle of the door before pushing it open as you placed one foot out, your other following straight after. Now leaning on top of the door of Steve's car, you gazed straight forward.

Metallic blue; shiny and glinting in the sun's rays. At the bottom, a yellow number plate stared you right in the eyes: PCE 235. 

The left door clicked open and out came black boots paired with light blue jeans. Adorning them was a guy rocking a denim-on-denim look—blonde mullet rested comfortably on his head and striking, electric blue eyes scanning the parking lot with little emotion swirling inside.

Then, he made eye-contact with you, holding it for one, two, three seconds before breaking away, flicking his cigarette, and sauntering off in a way that exuded pure confidence.

There was no doubt about it, that guy was Billy Hargrove. And if he was Billy Hargrove, then that meant—

—the events of Season 2 had officially started.

@bdudette, @tanyaherondale, @killerqueenfan, @l3xiluve, @thedoubleexposurephotography, @xxqueenofdemonsxx, @briarsheart

[sweetvamp03]

All I Want is You

Word Count: 1795

Sam Winchester x Female Reader - No Y/N - Mostly fluff - Implied Smut - Talk of death

Summary: With all that's been going on in your and Sam's lives as hunters, you have to confess your worries to him; hoping he shares your concerns.

As you lay beneath the cream comforter, you can feel an arm coming from behind, wrapping around your bare waist. You didn't have to open your eyes to know who it was. "Mm, morning Sam" you grinned as you became aware of his toned chest pressed to your back. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, "Goodmorning beautiful", he planted a kiss on your jaw and returned to his previous position, head on your pillow rather than his own; he always seemed to make it over to your side of the bed by the morning, you didn't mind sharing though.

Every morning felt better than the last, you were excited to wake up each day and see Sam Winchester laying next to you. It didn't matter how long you two had been together, there would always be butterflies in your stomach when your sleepy eyes met his. You moved your hand up to intertwine with his, he reciprocated with a tight squeeze. Even though you were happier than you had ever been before, there was still something that constantly popped into your mind, making the butterflies turn into crows, pecking at your flesh, trying to gnaw their way out. You hadn't brought it up to Sam, it seemed a shame to ruin perfect moments, but every moment with him was perfect. Letting out a small sigh, you started, "Hey Sam-".

"What's wrong baby?" he sat up, hands still joined, and leaned over to see your face. "Nothing" You replied, not wanting to worry him. "It's just- have you ever thought about the future? I mean our future, what it will look like." you began to probe him, to see if you shared any of the same worries.

"Yeah, well I mean I think about it all the time. Do you?" he curiously asked, his brows furrowing.

"I do, I just wanted to know what you see when you think about it."

"Oh, well, hm..." he trailed off trying to think of the words. "I see us here in Kansas, in a nice house with a big backyard. A cat and maybe a dog-" You intererupted his sentance with a light chuckle. He knew you weren't really a dog person, but he had been trying to convert you. He continued, "Or no dog, just a cat" a tiny smirk emerged unto his face. "We're married and maybe have a kid or two. I work a boring mundane job in town, and our house has a huge office that you can use to write in. And theres a porch-swing out front, and every night we sit out, you wrapped in my arms, as I read to you while we drink tea."

You rolled over to face the man who had just spilled his heart out to you. Gazing in his eyes, you wanted nothing more than that life he had imagined for the both of you. But you were scared that you may never get it. He could see the sadness overcome your features. "Hey, hey, hey, what's wrong? Did I say something? We don't need a dog, or kids for that matter." he rambled.

"No, no it's not that. It's just-" you trailed off, not wanting to ruin this beautiful moment. Sam cupped your face with his large hands, giving you the puppy dog eyes that would coax anyone out of their deepest darkest secret. You began to explain, "Sometimes I just get worried. Worried that we're never gonna have that. That- that- I'm not gonna have that." He cocked his head to the side giving you a puzzled look. "I just mean- I love you baby, you know how much I love you. But the people that you love don't tend to make it out of this unscathed. I'm not afraid of dying, really I'm not. I'm afraid of leaving you."

His confused expression changed to sadness as he started to reply, "Sweetheart, I swear I will never let anything happen to you. I promise. I would die for you, you know that."

"I know Sam, but I don't want you to. I don't want either of us to die. That's the problem. I don't want to leave you but I also don't want to lose you. But with everything Chuck has done, it feels like it's inevitable. And it's selfish- I want you with me, I don't want to die and have you go fall in love with another girl. That's our house and our dog- that we can get, because I know how much you want one baby- but it's awful, I should want the best for you, right? I just want to make it through this so badly Sam, but I'm scared." you blurted out your speech that you had been holding in for months.

Sam grabbed you up into his arms and buried your face in his chest, holding the back of your head so you were as close as could be. He clung onto you like he never wanted to let go, and part of you was hoping that he wouldn't. "I'm scared too. I know I don't show it but I am. All I want is you, and I'll do whatever I have to to make it happen."

You were trying so hard to keep it together, but his words made you unravel, a few tears escaping. He pet your hair to try and calm you. He held you like that for a few minutes before you decided to pull away, wanting to read his face. He looked sad but resigned. He planted a kiss on your forehead, and as he pulled away you could see a lightbulb go off over his head. Sitting up, he reached over to his nightstand drawer, "Now, I was planning a more romantic evening to do this, but I think now is good too." he picked out a little black velvet box and turned back to face you. Sitting up, you felt like this was all a dream and maybe you had never woken up at all. "Sam- What is that?" You were not sure if you were imagining things. "Baby, I know that it's been tough and that things haven't really gone our way lately, but I know for certain that this is one thing that we can do right. So, will you do me the honour of marrying me?" he couldn't help but smile as the words escaped his mouth.

"Yes!" you yelled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, squeezing him tighter than he had been before. Holding him in the hug, you felt nothing but the good butterflies fluttering around. "Uh do you want to see the ring first?" He laughed out. Pulling back, you rolled your eyes at him, "It could be a ring pop for all I care."

Grinning ear to ear, he took the ring out of the box and placed it on your finger. You looked at it admiringly, it was beautiful, you never wanted to take it off. "It antique, from the late 1800's, it belonged to one of the first few women doctors here in America. She actually became a doctor after she was married, and her husband supported her decision and was proud of her."

"It's gorgeous, and the story is beautiful. It's perfect Sam, you're perfect." You planted a kiss on his lips before returning your gaze to the ring. It was a stunning gold band, with a perfectly cut ruby surrounded by little shiny diamonds. Sam knew you so well, he knew you didn't like most of the jewelry they make nowadays, and prefered something with a history. You couldn't believe it. You were engaged to Sam Winchester. Looking back at him, a devious look painted your face. You moved around in the bed to straddle his lap. Hands pressed to his chiseled chest, you left kisses up and down his neck. His hands were running all throughout your hair, then down your back. Your lips moved up to meet his as you joined in slow passionate movements. Fidgeting with your bra clasp, he managed to remove it quicker than usual, while your hands were making their way down to slide his boxers off.

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

Laying curled up around Sam, your head tucked under his chin, you took a peek at the alarm clock on his side of the room, realizing it was nearly 11am. "Wow, I don't think I've ever seen you in bed past 9!"

Sam scoffed. "Well I didn't sleep until 11, I still woke up early, I just- got distracted." he smiled at you, and you realized you had never seen him that happy before. "How's about we make some breakfast- or I guess brunch at this point?" you suggested.

"I'll go make us something, you can stay here." he offered. But you weren't having it, "Nuh-uh, I'm coming to help." you lept out of the bed and grabbed one of Sam's t-shirts out of the dresser, throwing it on and prancing out the door.

"Wait for me" you heard him call as you left the room. He caught up to you after he was dressed, grabbing your hand as you pulled him along to the main entry room of the bunker. There you were met with Dean, Cas, and Jack, sitting around the table. Dean and Cas were reading books, while Jack was fixated on Sam's Ipad, playing some game he found yesterday. You stopped in your tracks, making Sam nearly trample you. The three men looked up from their respective activities. "Hey guys" You couldn't help but grin like an idiot. "Someone looks happy" Dean pointed out.

"We have some news to tell you guys- we're engaged!" Sam blurted out, unable to contain his excitement. You threw your hand out to show the ring as proof of the event. All three boys jumped up and ran to give you both hugs and congratulations. Dean took a step back and formed another thought, "So that's what those happy noises were about, I just thought Sammy had learned to-" You cut Dean off with a playfull push on the shoulder and an eyeroll. "Enough Dean! And just so you know, Sammy does know how to-" This time Sam was cutting you off, "Whoah, Whoah, Whoah." He pulled you tight beside him, trying not to turn red.

"Wait- what does Sam know how to do?" Jack piped up. And all four of you adults suddenly remembered his real age. You tried to change the subject, "Oh nothing, we were just about to make some brunch, any takers?".

They all agreed enthusiastically, so you and Sam started towards the kitchen. "Come on, Fiance" you linger on the word, thinking of your future together that has already started.

[yanderehsr]

Hii! May I request a break up but with Wriothesley? If not its alr dw, u r free to ignore my request <3

Been waiting to write something for my favorite new hubby🥰

Hope you'll enjoy😄

Trigger Warning: Yandere, Obsessive behaviour, Possessive behaviour, Kidnapping

Wriothesley is in his office when you break up with him, you couldn't deal with his possessiveness anymore, you hadn't seen the sun for months, hell you weren't even a prisoner, he just didn't allow you to leave.

His heart clenches, it hurts that his beloved would want to leave him. Wriothesley starts with asking you why you want to leave, maybe he can fix this. You still want to break up and turn around to leave. Then he begs you to stay, throwing away all the pride he has to make sure you don't leave him, Wriothesley would even grovel at the ground. His pride isn't as important as you are to him.

If you still want to leave then Wriothesley doesn't have a choice, he grabs your head and slams it unto his desk, you get knocked out immidiatly, he is so sorry but he can't let you leave, he loves you so much, it would feel like dying for him to let you go, he'll make this up for you during the years you will live with him from now on.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to hurt you but you left me no choice, but to be fair it was partly your fault as well. Just so you know, no one will help you here except for me, so be good for me and stay here while I get your food"

[kunikukitty]

✐ Always An Artist, Never The Muse

Scaramouche/Wanderer x Fem!reader

xi. covet

The last time you held a pencil was a couple of months ago, and it was used for shading your answers in exam.

You prepared yourself mentally before going here, yet you really cannot run away for too long.

You thought that messaging Mona would atleast ease your nerves, but it's no use, you're still overwhelmed. Being inside an art studio where you're surrounded by different types and brands of mediums is surely taking a toll on your mind.

You're tempted to pick up something, whatever it is, anything could be used to create strokes and form a shape.

But you can't. The materials not being yours is one thing, but the fact that it might cause you to actually give up on art. Because yes, you still have hope, you are still wishing for that talent to magically come back to you, just not yet.

You remember the times of your frustration. A blank paper awaits in front of you to be filled with yet another masterpiece. With a flick of your wrist, you guided your pencil to leave an ink behind. You did it a few more times, but it's not turning out good.

Erase, draw, erase and draw.

The lines ain't making sense, the paper is almost ripped due to the continuous erasing. You're beginning to lose your patience, the image in your head is turning blurry. The more you try to correct the mistake, the worse they get. It is the only thing you're capable of doing, so you have to finish it. You cannot fail.

Silly you thought it was just an artblock, and you told yourself that you cannot have that now. You have to fight it. You have to create something. You did not allow yourself to rest until you manage to draw something pretty.

You tried, tried and tried again and again. Until your hand stopped moving and your creativity dried up.

You remember how your wrists, fingers, and inside your head feels like there's something so itchy internally that you cannot soothe.

"What are you doing?"

You were surprised that you almost let out a gasp. You looked over to the door to see Scaramouche looking at you with a raised eyebrow. "I suggest not to steal anything, I have all of my materials memorized."

The gasp now left your mouth. "Are you accusing me of thievery?!"

He simply shrugged, and when he put down something that's when you noticed he's holding a tray, with food in it.

"Wow, I didn't expect you're the type to give food to your guests."

"Yeah, right? Shocking. Especially to you? I'm too kind." He rolled his eyes at you. "Quick. Eat now so we can start."

"Oh wait, you mean... you'll paint me eating?"

"You just confirmed my assumption of you. You're pretty stupid." He remained indifferent while you glare at him. "I told you I'm too kind, didn't I? I'm letting you eat before making you stay still."

'Oh yes, of course of course...' you muttered irritably under your breath as you walked towards the table where he placed the tray. He managed to hear them, even heard his name being cursed—a predictable response from you, really.

Nonetheless, you're thankful. Although you aren't on good terms(but not really much on bad terms either) with each other, he still prepared something for you. He can choose not to, but he did. Not to mention, you are indeed hungry right now.

You look at the plate and it's a... jelly? Transparent too, but you can't make out what's inside. The most dominant color is light brown, and theres some orange, yellow, white— maybe it's a gelatin cake? You've only seen those in videos, where they decorate floral designs and whatnots inside the gelatin. This jelly is not as pretty, though.

You took the spoon he prepared and sliced a small piece, and the texture inside interests you. The spoon glides easily unto it yet at the middle part it gets a little hard— and inside the brown part is white. You took a closer look by bringing the spoon close to your face, the closeness made the scent of it go through your nostrils.

By the look of it, it seems like a— wait... is that...

"Is this meat??? Inside a jelly?!" You were appalled. Is this a joke? Is this a prank? Your eyes are wide open as you looked at him, stunned.

"What?" He clicked his tongue as he shook his head. "That's a traditional snezhnayan dish, kholodets. How rude of you to react that way."

Wait, what? "Oh." You calm yourself. Right, you're in a different country, their cuisine is different from your homeland. Now you feel bad from reacting like that, it's no different from his earlier statements about blind people, you think.

Not wanting to stoop down his level, you fixed your composure and sat straight. "Right, sorry." you say with seemingly matured tone, putting the spoon down.

"I even chose carefully what to serve you, especially after I heard from Caps that you're a picky eater." He said, shaking his head and clicking his tongue again repeatedly. He looked so disappointed, too.

You may dislike him, that's true, but you're a person with morals. You don't like upsetting people unless you're purposely doing so.

So took the spoon again in your hand, the little piece still in the scoop, then you brought it into your mouth.

Your eyebrows contort in disgust as you taste the unfamiliar food. Boiled meat with meaty jelly, complex seasoning and unusual flavor— you don't understand. The jelly... is it supposed to be the broth? It doesn't go well, in your opinion. Disturbing, for you.

Amidst your evaluation of the taste, your ears caught on a quiet chuckle.

You turn your head, only to see Scaramouche looking down at you as if belittling you.

"So it's true," he starts, "for foreigners, kholodets is unappetizing at first glance. I really thought you wouldn't give it a taste, but you did. How surprising."

The face you make is that of someone who just got betrayed. He doesn't even look like a snezhnayan himself! You forced to swallow the bits in your mouth, "You..!"

The remaining chance for your relation with him to be amended is completely gone now. How dare he? You regret playing nice with him. Men are truly atrocious beings. How can Capitano even tolerate this guy?

You're utterly shock. And how did the fucker react now? Giggling, like an ass. He looks too amused, in fact.

While he's in a laughing state, you took the time to drink water.

"Glad to give you fun. Didn't know you're so childish."

He shrugged, unaffected. "You won't eat anymore?"

His sarcastic smile is annoying you. You really shouldn't had agreed to this. "It was so delicious Im already full at first bite. Thank you very much."

You watch him take a round brush and sit sit on the stool with the canvas im front of him. He looked at you, "Come on." he said, pointing at the other stool.

You rolled your eyes before obeying. "Pose?"

"Arms up."

"Fuck you."

He chuckled again and you're beginning to dislike the sound of it. "Try Mona Lisa's."

You crossed your legs elegantly and straighten your back. You faced left a little, mimicked her hands in your memories, and... should you smile too?

"Is Da Vinci your fave artist?"

...Fuck.

You want to slap your mouth at this very moment. That was out of instinct, you guess. You like asking artists you meet their favorite historical artist— well, before.

No, it's alright. Knowing Da Vinci is a basic knowledge, even non-artists knows that. You shouldn't think too much.

"What if I say it's Picasso?"

You don't know how to react to his answer. Would it be obvious that you're an (ex) artist if you react as if you know?

You remember how confused Itto was when he learned that not many artists like Picasso. He's dumb though... but still!

Should you act confused too? Should you act knowledgeable?

You glanced at his artworks on the wall with your peripheral vision, who could he be inspired of? However, when you looked at him again, he's paying attention to his canvas.

Maybe he doesn't care. Good, good. Stay that way.

Wait... His hand is moving. He started now, yet he hasn't told you to smile yet, should your expression remain fierce?

Okay, now you're nervous again. Does your face look asymmetrical? Can he see the texture of your face at this distance? The corner of your eyes do not have gound, right? You want to lick your lips but you're not sure if you should move. It's not chapped, right? You only applied light make up, it's not too much, right?

"Relax." You heard him say. It felt like you were allowed to breathe again.

Right, right. Relax. This is another one of your reasons why tou dislike being a muse, you feel awkward! What are you so nervous of, anyway? This man, asshole one at that?

He doesn't deserve your kindness anyway. You may make funny faces to tick him off, you couldn't care less.

Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. You don't know how much time passed but you guess the painting is going smoothly. It doesn't seem like he's struggling nor does he look stressed.

But what matter is... how long is this going to take?!

You, personally, it takes so much time to finish a painting. Hell— you don't think you were able to finish a piece in just one day.

"Can't you just take a picture of me?"

Not being able to move too much is annoying for most people, you're not an exception. You're an impatient person, too. And you're still on a stool, too!

One word, tiring.

"That defeats the purpose."

Your eyes narrowed and your lips curled inwards. "Everything has evolved, we're in modern world."

"Besyashchaya devushka." You didn't understand what he muttered under his breath. "Shut up and stay still, fix your expression."

There's no point in convincing him, you realize.

Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. Being in this room is surely annoying. The emotions you've been trying to reject ever since you step foot in here is resurfacing much stronger now. Especially now that you have nothing to distract yourself and there's an artist painting in front of you.

You miss it— holding a brush, the feeling of relaxation when the process is going well, the challenge of drawing the reference...

You miss all of it. You want to paint again.

"Fix your expression."

You were taken aback of his words. He noticed the slightest change, he must be really paying attention. Artists are truly amazing, aren't they?

Scaramouche. That's his name, right?

He's rich, he can buy as many materials a he like. Based on this studio; he can sculpt, paint, draw with charcoals, color with different types of mediums.

This could've been your life too if you didn't stop drawing, you think. But no. He's much more capable and skillful.

Come to think of it, you never even hang your works on the walls of your house. You don't even have many finished artworks, and the finished ones aren't that beautiful.

You heard him click his tongue. "I told you to fix your expression, don't I? If you're eager for this to be done as soon as possible, then do as I say."

"When did you began to draw?"

"None of your business." He glared at you, "Look, if you have time to kill, waste is somewhere else. Don't start a chitchat with me, I don't have all day."

Wow. Now he's the one annoyed, when he was the one who wasted time earlier by making you eat something he know you wouldn't like? He's funny.

Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. After a while, it was done. You checked the time and it has only been two hours and a couple of minutes that passed ever since he started.

That was fast.

"Can I see it?" When he nodded, you immediately approached the painting.

Honestly, you were expecting it to be a little messy in style with some defined parts since it was just done in two hours. But the painting is a perfect copy of you, as if he took a picture of you. The only blurred part is the background, and your entire image is refined. He caught everything in perfect precision.

Is this even humanly possible? Two hours is too short for this.

You take back what you thought earlier. This could've been your life too? You wanted to laugh at yourself. Compared to him, your level is way too low— even if it's the you from before.

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taglist. @veekoko @aeongiies @featuredtofu @kodzusmiles @magica-ren @feiherp @beriiov @hiraethhv @kleej @eutopiastar @keiiqq @bananasquash @kuniisvt @tamikahoshiko @scaraenthusiast1 @sketcheeee @xxrougefangxx @luciledreamz @icomeheretolaughnottofeel @sereniteav @lily-lmao @h3xi2g0n3 (i cant tag those in bold)

note. i searched the worst rated russian food and interviewed some russians for this okay, don't come at me (for this ill share something in my country that foreigns would find disgusting— a cup of coffee poured in rice!)

[illegiblewords]

SOME ILLEGIBLE RAMBLES AND REFLECTIONS: THE DEAD THREE

Finished my first/main playthrough of Baldur’s Gate 3, and it’s had me turning over all sorts of ideas tied to Dungeons and Dragons lore. A bunch happens to be about cosmology so I'm slapping together one post about the Dead Three and a follow-up about deities more generally. Buckle up if you decide to proceed dudes. This is chunky and opinion/interpretation heavy. CW for mention (not extensive) of graphic violence and sex crimes during discussion of Bhaal and Yeenoghu.

MYRKUL

I get that there are multiple death-affiliated deities in DnD. Our buddy Jergal is the end of all things and the original incarnation of the concept. Myrkul stands for the experience of dying, decay, necromancy, graves, bones, and the fear of mortality. Kelemvor rules over the dead. Orcus is a demon lord and quasi-deity of undeath. Could prob go on.

I've read many different incarnations of death over the years. To set the stage on my Myrkul read, it bears mentioning that Terry Pratchett's Death is probably my favorite. I don't have it in me to see death as something totally malicious. It's very natural, and I tend to imagine that if there were to be an incarnation embodying it this persona would have an intimate view of all the love and grief, vulnerability and intimacy, ugliness and solitude, etc. that mortals deal with. Death has witnessed the end every living being faces, from the dawn of creation until now. Even if it isn't consciously accessed at all moments, death is ancient and experienced and not likely to be shocked by what mortals are capable of anymore. Mortals are small. Uncountably numerous though we are we are far outnumbered by the unliving. What are lives next to planets, to stars? Here I'd argue against assigning value according to how big or small something is, how eternal or how brief, how simple or complex. Everything that is, is a universe unto itself and deserves the gravity of that. It is also very mundane at the same time. To me, death needs to be able to balance the preciousness and commonality of life, of existence, on the tip of its scythe. Death needs to be able to deal with the most depraved beings to exist, but also with every beloved pet put to sleep. Every lost child or parent. Everyone who dies surrounded by loved ones and everyone who dies alone.

Initially, even knowing Myrkul in particular had been a mortal necromancer and not of particular moral standing--I had mixed feelings about him being the evilest of evil skeletons. He worked it well, but the idea of any aspect of death (or any character tbh) being flat evil felt off to me. Especially with 'we're all the protagonists of our own stories' being at work. People don't often look at what actions they'd consider to be evil then go 'I'm going to make myself that on purpose'. Disregarding morality maybe, but being evil on purpose is weird.

So I looked into further lore about Myrkul. One spot that gave me pause was that Myrkul as death (rather than the adventurer Myrkul Bey al-Kursi he’d once been) revels in inspiring fear of death and driving home experiences of loss. From what I found he isn't focused on the name of the individual holding the office of death, but for the force itself being feared. He can be bribed, and he will allow for necromancy/resurrections--but the fear and gravity of death is a sacred thing to him. Disregarding that is a pretty good way to get onto Myrkul's shitlist. I want to take a moment to emphasize the importance of Myrkul focusing on his portfolio over his own ego. That is far from a given in the DnD pantheon, and like I said he's a former mortal himself. It wouldn't be out of the question for him to be a petty and insecure deity. He could have been the sort of guy where becoming a god of death by itself wasn't enough power. If Myrkul was a different person, he might have wanted people to stroke his ego and say how strong he is. He might have been someone who felt inadequate as a god without that affirmation. He could have (as a character) been unsatisfied and forever wanting/dependent upon the views of others to define himself. The fact that he DOES focus on death and decay as forces rather than himself is a big deal in reading him imo.

Anyway. Myrkul's emphasis on death as something feared got me thinking about what would cause a person to put such weight on death being understood in its negative aspect. It struck me that this is actually a very common and even important thing. You don't need to demonize death to see it, either. If you value life as sacred, the idea of life being treated as cheap or disposable is horrifying. When you love something dearly, the idea of that beloved thing being defaced is beyond outrage. It's a kind of sacrilege. People who kill as casually as breathing, who revel in the permanent destruction of someone else, become a source of horror. The absence of love creates a sort of cruelty that can't even perceive itself. And it's not uncommon for human beings in particular to partake in this. Humans dance on the graves of those they deem enemies not because they're relieved to be safe, but because they glory in the end of other lives. They don't recognize that anything of value was lost. There is no tragedy in death anymore. Every gentle moment, every vulnerability, every tragedy in their opponent's life is something to be crapped on and gloated over. There is no greater insult to life itself. Myrkul stands as a reminder that such behavior cannot stand. You can't treat life or death as cheap. To see something horrific and fail to realize the weight of its horror is itself a form of horror. The idea of a death that demands to be acknowledged for what it is, particularly by the living, imo actually denotes a level of care for life too. It might be harsh or ugly, but I don't know about evil. So while Myrkul is certainly flawed and often serves as an antagonist, I’d argue the function he performs is not only important but necessary.

And while it might vary between players, I found Aylin's enthusiastic executions and body defiling pretty uncomfortable. I understand she went through a lot and am fine with her as a character. But I think Myrkul's point stands if the audience feels even a moment of disquiet seeing her celebrate over the corpse of a broken person.

Some things are meant to be ugly.

BANE

Of the Dead Three I find Bane the most disturbing and dangerous tbh—but not for how Gortash invokes him. Way I see it, the other word for tyranny is authoritarianism on a macro-level, abuse on an individual level.

I’d argue that in life, we can only healthily control ourselves and our own individual actions/choices. We can try to persuade others or appeal to their judgment, but we can’t MAKE another person think or act how we wish. When folks attempt otherwise (individually or more broadly) it involves fear, force, deceit, or other forms of pressure. Coercion, enslavement. These fall under the umbrella of tyrannical practice to me. You treat another person as subhuman and strip them of agency.

We don’t live in a pure and ideal world. If a tyrannical person is committing crimes and denying others their free will through force, I wouldn’t call defense through force tyrannical as long as it wasn’t needlessly excessive. Power struggles exist. But the whole practice of using fear, force, deceit, or pressure to control another person is dangerous imo. They're to be utilized as little as possible.

In DnD I don’t think the fringe evil cults would be the ones most at risk for corruption by Bane. I don't think individuals or groups who prioritize self-indulgence would be most at risk, either. The most dangerous and frequent disciples of Bane imo would be within good alignment. This means followers of benevolent gods as well as the nations or groups that consider themselves to have righteous causes. ESPECIALLY those with chips on their shoulders.

When someone assumes they have and always will have the moral high ground, that they are incapable of committing injustice, that their end justifies whatever means, that it doesn’t count as abuse with the 'correct' target… that, to me, is where tyranny festers. The person convinced of their own moral infallibility is the one who sees no need for brakes and so cuts them without concern.

I’d argue everybody has a seed of tyranny in them that can be fed or starved. We feed that seed with our own indignation to become a tyrant victimizing others while still seeing ourselves as powerless. The person who first victimized you can still also be victimized by you. There isn’t a target that exists where finding joy in cruelty gets a pass.

Bane, I think, thrives on the idea that it's no problem if you're enforcing your will. Especially on people contemptible to you.

For DnD purposes, imagine you have zealous followers of idk Tyr. They are willing to do whatever it takes to enforce and spread their definition of justice. They believe in making examples of people at every opportunity. They torture, isolate, rob, and shame those they consider to be unjust or dangerous. If their victims are falsely accused—well. It’s for a noble purpose so the sacrifice is not in vain. And imagine Tyr abandons these followers as hypocrites. He no longer empowers clerics or paladins no matter how they cite scripture or brand ‘heretics’ with his symbols.

Bane doesn’t enter calling himself Bane, god of tyranny. Bane claims to follow a higher justice. Maybe he uses an avatar, maybe he chooses a Banite disciple, maybe he finds a true believer. But he argues that Tyr as an individual was never ultimately what those zealots stood for—it was justice itself. And if Tyr has turned traitor to his own portfolio, mortals need to go over his head to the core concept and implement that. Bane offers a name that suits his purposes and begins sourcing power to clerics and paladins instead. And throughout, as the zealots commit increased atrocities against those they deem dangerous or evil they fail to realize they’ve spiraled into evil alignment after all. They’d think they were either just as good as they’d always been OR BETTER. The compassion of Ilmater is spent on the depraved and corrupt as far as they’re concerned.

I think the real threat of Bane is that he should be 100% capable of corrupting an otherwise heroic party member if they aren’t wary of that capacity in themself. You suddenly find your friend who listened to your problems and supported you through awful shit mocking a person sobbing on the ground as they kick them. And that friend looks betrayed and hurt (or outraged) if you challenge their actions, because they think you should know exactly how disgusting this piece of shit is and how much they deserve the abuse. And even if you concede that individual case—it’s not the only one. The slights worthy of torment become smaller and smaller. A thought or word out of line betrays the ideology of an evil alignment, with the only solution being to beat thoughts and words out of the target until they can only repeat approved ideas back. And even then, it may not be enough.

If it was explicitly confirmed that the deity the zealot followed was Bane all along, the zealot might genuinely not believe it. They might get pissed at the very suggestion. What they do against the wicked isn’t tyranny after all. They’re righteous.

Denial doesn’t serve to disempower Bane in the least if tactics remain unchanged.

BHAAL

I’m holding off on more detailed Bhaal thoughts until I complete a dark urge run, but I’ve listened to lore on both him and the demon lord Yeenoghu recently—and I think there’s room for a really cool potential contrast.

Yeenoghu Lore

Providing this particular video link for the curious, as a way to help illustrate what I’m drawing from.

Yeenoghu holds the title as demon lord of slaughter. He glories in filth, rape, excessively graphic murder, torture, violence, and playing with corpses along the way. He’s meant to come across as a bestial, self-absorbed, remorseless desecrater. And when I say bestial, I want to draw attention to a particular IRL factoid that might be worth considering.

I love animals to bits. I don’t think animals generally contemplate morality the way humans do just due to cognitive differences and limitations. I also think it’s important to remember that humans are ALSO animals, so certain things umbrella’d under ‘human experience’ would probably apply to at least some animals too. If there are human altruists and human serial killers, we should be able to expect that animals likewise have some altruists and some serial killers within the scope of individual variation.

Cruelty is not exclusive to humans. Orcas will essentially torture smaller animals to death by flinging them into the air with their tails repeatedly like balls until repeated beatings and suffocation kill them. Dolphins commit rape and chew on live puffer fish to get high off the toxins. Chimpanzees are a horror unto themselves with cannibalism and mutilation and basically whatever atrocity they can commit. Wolves and cats sometimes hunt to excess just for the joy of it and don’t eat all they kill. Hannibal the swan (as a specific and notably homicidal individual) beat and drowned any other swans visiting his pond and showed his signet how to do it. I could go on. Some cases it might be a matter of the animal not having theory of mind to recognize that they are inflicting pain on another conscious creature. Other times, like with pissed off chimpanzees, they know EXACTLY what they’re doing and it’s on purpose to cause maximum suffering.

I think Yeenoghu should embody a little bit of both propensities. He’s just utterly self-absorbed and doesn’t give a fuck about the experiences or perspectives of other living things except insofar as they impact him.

Bhaal I want to research more like I said, but one thing I remember from my initial play through was finding a note from the Dark Urge to Orin.

Little sister, whatever in the Gray Wastes are we going to do with you? Bhaal will never care that you waste your time, posing your corpse-dollies. Bhaal doesn’t care whether you give him the corpse of a pauper or a king. At the end of the day, all Father wants is death in droves, death in numbers. To sap away the life of this dull world as swiftly and widely as we can. You plan, you plot, you prevaricate, and you waste his time. Bhaal doesn’t need us to think. He needs us to kill. You kill beautifully, and have talents in your shapes’ magics that I never will. But you do not understand Lord Bhaal. Perhaps it is a failing of your diluted blood, as a mere grandchild. I am his sole living pureblood. I will accept no challenge from you, until you show some damned respect.

To be honest this is interesting af to me because it positions Orin a bit more in-line with Yeenoghu’s modus operandi in some ways. But what sets apart the principles of Bhaal from Yeenoghu or Myrkul?

The Dark Urge suggests the goal of Bhaal is the extinction of all life, but to be honest I’m a bit skeptical. Seems like short term thinking. Even if Bhaal pulled that off, once it’s done there is no more murder or god of murder for that matter. If Bhaal is aiming for a cessation of existence and wants everyone else along for the ride maybe that’s what he’s after, but I dunno. That seems like something fans/players/loremasters would have touched on before.

I’d like to invite this possibility for foiling instead:

Life consumes other life by nature. Animals, plants, fungi, bacteria, so forth—it isn’t just a matter of philosophy. One life cannot exist without destroying another. We need to eat. If we don’t, we die well before reproduction enters the picture. But it’s more than that… you take a step, you kill countless tiny organisms you aren’t even aware of. You swat a fly. You hit something with your car. You move gracelessly or touch carelessly, and catastrophe ensues. Etcetera.

It is inevitable that your existence will mean the end for the life of another living thing. That’s just how it goes.

It could be interesting on a LOT of fronts (both as members of the dead three and as former adventuring companions) if Bhaal acted as a kind of philosophical opposite to Myrkul the way I previously described.

If the Dark Urge’s note is to be trusted, Bhaal has no interest in ritual or glorified death per se. Bhaal would be more about the mundanity that comes through the act of killing. Life is fragile as-is and often ended by accident. Killing in its most common form is thoughtless and unconscious. To Bhaal, if every life is a universe then the universe looks meaningless. There is no importance or fanfare to any of it. If one side is ‘everything matters, give weight to life and death’, Bhaal would be ‘nothing matters, we are not capable of affording reverence to every single life and death we encounter’. More specifically, the mass deaths Bhaal favors would be a kind of illustration of the uncaring and casual relationship living things have with killing other living things. The more casual and effortless it is, the more I’d imagine it serves Bhaal. Sadism and revelry miss the point—there is no hierarchy. Suffering is inconsequential. Fear is inconsequential. Instinct is inconsequential. To live is to kill by Bhaal’s logic.

It isn’t limited to murder in the sense of a member of one species killing a member of the same species. It’s more Bhaal is the god of killing. He’d gain power from murder too sure, but also hunting, harvesting, and butchering. With these interpretations in-mind, we can actually figure out how the Dead Three might have answered Jergal's question about what worth a mortal life holds. With the disclaimer this is very much conjecture. I think Myrkul would likely be "Each life is of infinite value and merits sacrificing everything for." That lends life a heavy weight and makes death a fearful force for all. It would also mesh with Ketheric as his chosen. Bane would lean into "That depends on a person's deeds", "The only life that matters is mine", or "Depends on the mortal". From those positions, the speaker argues for a hierarchy of life where some is more expendable than the rest. It's easier from that position to slide into adopting a role as judge and executioner, and from elevating yourself into a role of authority where other voices and experiences count less than your own. Bhaal I think is reflected in "Life’s only value is as currency. Doesn’t matter to me otherwise", "The only life that matters is mine", or "No one life is worth more than any other. We are equal." Bhaal has the implicit question in-turn: what is the blood-price of your own life? How much have you claimed in your own name to keep moving? It's kind of the belief that while "The only life that matters is mine" is Bhaal's answer, every other living thing should be answering the same way. There's more nuance than that of course, and likely truth falls somewhere in the middle. We aren't mentally capable of giving reverence to every death, but we can recognize in general terms and do our best case-by-case. We have a right to protect ourselves and what we love, but others share that right.

Feel free to offer different stances or thoughts though, and if you made it this far goddamn thank you for reading this monster.