#memory is immortality love is immortality

[fiendsgf]

lads headcanons .𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆⭒˚｡

pt 2!

pt 1 ft. sylus, zayne & caleb ⋆.here.⋆

ft. rafayel & xavier

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

 rafayel

    ⁃    lowkey a damsel in distress. we know he skips sleep and food when he’s locked in so you’ve watched him faint a few times. yes it’s unhealthy no he does not care. you are doting on him and scolding him for being careless and he is on cloud 9 because of it.

    ⁃    DOMINANT! loves to watch you have your fun before he flips you over and takes charge

    ⁃    has a sketchbook dedicated to you. draws all his memories of you from past and present and prays he immortalizes those moments.

    ⁃    acts like he will die without a kiss on the cheek. needs one in the morning, before bed, when parting, when reuniting, anytime you’re together really.

    ⁃    another reality tv truther however he will not hide it. he doesn’t like raunchy shows though, love island will actually send him into cardiac arrest. his poor lemurian heart cannot bear a situationship.

    ⁃   skincare god. you come to him with literally any complaint and he has a product rec for it. your skin is glowing so long as you’re with him

    ⁃   loves designing clothes for you, he likes to sketch pretty dresses with aquatic details. including your wedding gown, only the best for his beloved bride <3

    ⁃   kind of an insane sharp shooter, you have no idea where he learned that ability but he has your jaw on the floor at target practice one day

    ⁃   brainrot central. if you’re chronically online he’s just as bad. you two sound like aliens to other people when you start trolling. loves to annoy thomas with you

 xavier

    ⁃   very sentimental. keeps a polaroid of you in his wallet at all times. he would turn the world upside down if he lost it

    ⁃   cravessss physical contact at all times. he clings to you in your sleep, locks pinkies with you on the train, rests his head on your shoulder on the couch, plays footsie with you at restaurants, he is always touching you

    ⁃   lowkey a gossip but doesn’t realize he’s doing it. he gets all the tea on people’s personal lives because they don’t notice he’s in earshot. proceeds to tell you about your colleagues messy divorce over hotpot like it’s nothing while you’re just gagged

    ⁃   kind of a sneakerhead. he won’t put those hoodies down and generally dresses for comfort without much care, but you catch him on stockx dropping too much money on some random collab sneakers often.

    ⁃   owns minion boxers. you bought them as a joke but he likes them. SORRY

    ⁃   we already know he’s a freak but this man has special energy reserves for the bedroom. he’ll fall asleep during anything but sex. this man will go from sunset from sunrise and ask you for another round like you’re not about to pass out.

    ⁃   fucks with the lights to be petty. you two had an argument? omg the power just went out while you’re in the shower :( he should go check on you

an: sorry if xavier's are a bit weak, i'm the least familiar with his character. feel free to leave your hcs in the replies bc xav girlies need to eat too <3 also leave any reqs or musings in my inbox!

[no-te-lo-voy-a-dar]

Hob Gadling showed up for one scene and a half and grabbed my emotional, longing enthusiastic neck to slam me against the wall of sobbing

because first, this dude's dreams being a complete mush of all the things he's learned and lived through the centuries feels validating for fans - idk if it was confirmed in the comics, since I never read them and probably won't now - but it's such an endearing thing, meaning he doesn't forget as much as some theorized, because "the human brain isn't made to store so many years of memories", but what if it can, and Hob just loses the easy access. This also means this man probably still dreams of Robbie and Eleanor, which is devastating on its own.

then we go to the funny fact the computer he was thinking about is such a specific model? green letters display, not too big yet still in a whole desk, with the ones printing what you type/program. Point Is: he learned that. of course the guy who was delighted to be part of the printing industry when it happened would be excited to learn how the new machines would print what you wrote, faster than ever too!

and he was showing off. the lady queen was the same one he was excited to have back when he was Sir Gadling, right? he still craves validation, probably born out of the years counting for the meetings with The Stranger and collecting events and memories. Dream kind of trained/nurtured that behavior on Hob by simply telling him he would be back and to tell him about what he lived. considering Hob seemed to have a nice group of fellas in his original lifetime, maybe he was already a bit like that, but it definitely cemented thanks to Dream, me thinks

and the insanity of Dreams ACTUALLY remembering to go to him to say hi and let Hob know they may not see each other on their next meeting? he truly is treating Hob better than he has to most women in his life now lmao oTL actual communication

ALSO - for me Hob being so fast to realize that His Friend being there, plus the funky other things coexisting, meant he was dreaming, confirms that Dream told Hob was/who he was during the New Inn meeting. to me it's a sign they talked a decent amount. AND im headcanoning that Dream has showed up on other occasions on Hob's dreams, for Hob to get so good and fast at lucid dreaming. which. *clutches heart*

Dream looked READY to pounce. he seemed pleased at Hob being able to navigate dreams easily after being given a pointer, he seemed ready to devour him. i felt like I was intruding watching how he was observing Hob, heavy eyed and in some sort of trance. my gods was it hot ngl

and Hob just happy to see Dream, but then being worried-sad-devastated at hearing Dream would miss their next meeting, clearly wanting to ask more yet not being completely sure where he stands, not knowing that Dream going to him, seeking him to let him know is more than he does for many beings, and the moment he tries to then extend That Moment they were having, and hoping to cheer up his friend

Hob's toast is always an omnious revelation of sort, but it felt like his understanding of Dream's character mixed with his worry and love for his friend and his need to give hope to a loved one

the yellow lightning the room was gentle, soft, intimate and like a warm hug, the light being a sort of light at the end of the tunnel you hope is there, steady place waiting for you. which was a contrast to the darkness around it, shadows that can be comfy and add to that bubble of existence, but can be scary and haunting when not used to them, when they're the unknown.

but Dream isn't that to Hob. and the immortal human is a nice hope for better things for the anthropomorphism manifestation of a concept

gods they make me sick

post posting edit: HOW DID I FORGET THE INSANITY OF HOB TWITCHING IN HIS SLEEPING BODY WHEN DREAM HIM IS TRYING TO REACH FOR MORPHEUS AGAIN, TO TRY AND KEEP HIM MORE, TO KEEP HIM FROM WHATEVER HE KNOWS HE'S ABOUT TO FACE

he ALMOST called out to him, which would have been SO interesting with his girlfriend asleep besides him, and the wine bottle showing up besides his desk afterwards

the mumbling and trying to reach for something while asleep is just so devastating

AND THEN HOB BEING THE LITTLE SPOON?!? BWAAAAAH TT^TT

[sailingintothenight]

"Light of my life." Bob Reynolds Imagine.

Summary: You and Bob must pretend to be a married couple at a millionaire's party to complete a mission. The instructions: hand over the USB flash drive (with a virus inside), say how many years you've been married, and get out of there. It's easy, but between Yelena's voice in Bob's ear telling him where to put his hands on you, Walker's mocking voice encouraging you to respond, and a confidence Bob has cultivated within himself all this time, it's still easy, right?

A/N: The dress is just to give an idea of ​​what you're wearing, but feel free to imagine it differently, of course. The reader's skin color is never mentioned, nor is anything too specific about your body. And yes, it's Miss Jennie from Blackpink. Again, I'm using the image for the dress, not the body. I think this imagine came out kinda funny hehe, I hope you like it. The Bob here is a bit confident, although it feels weird writing him that way. If I forgot to add something more, sorry!

Warning: none(?) But words in bold and italics are the voices of Yelena and Walker.

“Make eye contact, Bob, touch only appropriate places—waist, hands, face—and keep a goofy smile whenever you look at your wife because you do love her. Remember, loving husband.”

Bob sighs, a little tired of hearing the same instructions, again.

The lobby of the luxurious hotel really looks like something out of a fairy tale—green plants, brown ceilings and doors, vintage furniture like a picture from the last century—but everything is just a backdrop created to highlight you.

Everything around is lifeless, except for you. You look like part of that aesthetic, standing out at the same time.

When the night has swallowed the sun and everything shines with artificial lights, Bob takes a look at you in the distance and steals it to keep it in his memory (even if he knows you are the only thing no one could erase from his mind). But this time, he's unapologetic in the way he looks you up and down, admiring the short ethereal blue dress you're wearing now, a delicate and subtly striking color like the captivating beauty of the daytime sky that always catches people's eyes and they immortalize in photographs. Tight enough at the top and bottom, defining every curve of you, turning you into a lethal weapon, ready to kill in any way you want. And Bob smiles, softly but confident through his nervousness, because you're such a perfect sight before his beautiful eyes that seemed to reflect only you.

You are such an angel, with that peaceful light on your face, and yet, Bob never stopped wondering what it would feel like to kiss that angel's sinful lips, ever since he met you. It was your light Bob fell for, and the way you wouldn't let the shadows of your past enter that sacred circle, protecting it bravely and calmly, never in a hurry.

"You ready, honey?"

But even through the layers of clothing, the blue on you, and the black of his suit, the arm Bob snakes around your waist burns like the sun on the hottest day of your life, his hand gentle but firm, so determined in his actions, without a nervous tremor, and you can almost feel his fake wedding ring on your skin, playing the role of your beloved husband so perfectly that you knew that everyone would be in tears hearing the story of your first meeting and your eternal love.

His touch stirs the nervous tingle in your tight stomach, in your heart, yet at the same time, his protectiveness gives you peace, because Bob feels like your home, as if his body surrounding you was a refuge to block out all the bad from the outside. His hand on your body is supposed to make you feel nothing in the inside, but it does, he makes you feel everything.

“This way please, Mr. and Mrs. Daniels.”

The manager of the hotel guides you and him down the aisle, clay–colored tiles complementing the entrance of one of the most exclusive places in New York City.

Your black velvet high heel boots carry you calmly, steps confident as Bob keeps you by his side, keeping pace with you. Tall, impeccable in a black suit that seemed perfect for his physique, monochromatic with his white shirt, and his golden skin seems to glow. His usually unruly hair is slicked back, except for that single untamed strand that now frames one side of his contoured and handsome face, as if life or God had taken its sweet time carving it to make him look perfect.

The plan is to look intimate, in sync and harmony.

And perhaps it was an imperceptible glimmer of the Sentry, Bob's own confidence built over time, with the support of his sometimes dysfunctional family, and the therapy, or maybe it was a mixture of everything what makes Bob walk now, tall and strong, just confident. He keeps his head high, his ocean–colored gaze does not waver, and there is a tiny hint of intimidation toward the fleeting glances that stop on you, but the strangers can feel Bob’s entire aura spreading out like a calm but deathly ocean, so they look away.

The pairing between you hadn't been accidental.

Bob's fresh, youthful, even nerdy appearance was the perfect mask for the role of the young creator—a visionary and talented innovator—of an innocent but powerful app for controlling military and nuclear weapons with catastrophic results if they fell into the wrong hands. And Jeffrey C. Durand wanted that more than anything, so much that he wouldn't mind dancing on the bodies that would perish along the way if it guaranteed him more power, more control, and more money.

A touch of expressive aggression: the men in the tower had it in them at first glance, but Bob's was subtle, almost nonexistent to the human eye until someone lit a spark. Bucky and John's faces—not counting Alexei, who was just a little bit adorable, but too old for the mission—could be threatening for no reason, their expressive aggression capable of burning the world down without needing a fire to light the fuse, so totally inappropriate for a plan like this.

Jeffrey Durand was charming, with a smile that masked his heartless chest, so attractive and dangerous like a lion behind a cage, and like any predator, he needed his prey submissive, or rather terrified—he wanted someone defenseless. But Jeffrey was just another fool who underestimated the power inside Bob.

Now, the doors of the steel cage open in front of the two of you, and the manager steps aside to let you in, his hand extended to guide the way for the party's most important guests.

“Have a lovely evening, Mr. and Mrs. Daniels.”

The man smiles, pressing button 40 on the side wall, and when the doors close again, your bodies relax, but still so close to each other you can feel the heat radiating from Bob.

“Gross.” John was having a little too much fun, speaking quietly into the intercom in your ear. “Although I could have done a better job as your husband than Bob, darling.”

Bob clears his throat, ignoring his own teaser whispering to him. Yelena.

“You remember our history, don’t you, honey?”

You nod, breathing calmly, though his hand hasn’t moved an inch.

“Yeah, we’ve been married for six years. No kids, but we have a dog who’s like our baby. We met right after college and have been together ever since. Pretty romantic.”

“Quite a love story.” Bob smiles, reserving a little happiness for himself only as his voice drops, just a little. “But it could be our story.”

"Bob, I can hear you clearly, so don't act too weird, okay?" Yelena's voice crackles through his own earpiece, with a knack for sounding both expressionless and mocking. "Just remember: loving husband. A lot of eye contact, touch only appropriate places, and keep always a goofy smile whenever you see your wife, but don't get all gloomy, the weather's bad enough today.”

Bob frowns.

“What do you mean?”

You glance over at him, even though you know each of you is having your own conversation with your guides, and Bob just shrugs.

“Nothing, lover boy, relax. Just act like you love her… a job that won't be too difficult.”

Bob sighs, letting go of any doubts as the number 40 finally appears in red above the metallic doors, accompanied by a ding, before announcing your and his arrival at the party. The fresh air from the terrace caresses your face at that height (and every bit of skin exposed) and as you two step outside, a symphony of violin music is released, a harmonious sound that marches to the rhythm of the refined laughter of important people, with the murmur of glasses clinking to celebrate their status and their unbridled, almost maniacal joy—always hidden of course—from always being on top, untouchable.

“Is there anyone besides Durand we should be wary of?” You ask, filling the silence.

“No one to fear. Maybe just the man at the bar who’s staring at you too much.” Durand’s bodyguard, you know him from the file. Bob’s brow furrows, his more gentlemanly side coming out, offended and deeply disgusted by the way you were being used as an object to slake a disgusting thirst, but he tries to play it cool, so hard his body seems to vibrate. “I think I should unleash the beast just a little bit and defend my wife from lustful glances. Just give me the order, honey. Anything for you.”

“Release the beast AFTER you hand over the USB, Bob.” Yelena grunts, more like a sound of frustration.

You chuckle, hiding your distaste for being objectified, and in response, you seek refuge with him, lovingly, but if you try to move a little closer, you would merge your body with his as if you two were one. Bob chuckles beneath his breath, a low sound that drifts in the wind, but he uses his arm to hold you against him, just a little more tighter, pressing his face into your hair and breathing in the scent of your shampoo to calm himself when the show is about to begin.

Only he can do that, only he can have the privilege of being in a place no one else had access to: being next to you, that close, making you feel protected. Finally, Bob was beginning to burn a word into his head, one that his fears and insecurities (his depression and the personalities that materialized from that illness) had taken from him since he was just a child: worthy, worthy of feeling great, beautiful things, worthy of being next to the person he loves.

“The target’s coming this way,” You murmur, and Bob straightens, shoulders firm, body alert but relaxed.

Wrapped in a white suit that gleams expensive even in the dull weather, Durand approaches you two with open arms as a sign of a warm welcome, holding a glass of whiskey in a hand that held several rings. His walking is elegant, like a lion walking gracefully, with the kind of smile of a man who was used to always winning, masking his perversity and even sadistic soul, according to rumors.

“Mr. and Mrs. Daniels, I’m so glad you could join us for my little party.” There it was, the false modesty, but Bob takes the hand Jeffrey offers. However, the host of the party squeezes a little harder to make his dominance clear, oblivious to Bob real strength. Bob shows a tiny smile, about to break his fingers, but he lets them go. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Robert. And thank you for feasting our eyes on your wife’s beauty.”

You were the contingency plan, just in case something went wrong. But never losing his charm or sinking too deeply into his own lust, Durand smiles and Bob mimic his action with a calm rhythm, though inwardly, the idea of ​​grabbing his neck is more tempting now.

“Please don’t look at my wife for too long, Jeffrey, or I’ll have to hurt you.” Bob chuckles.

And there is a bit of aggressiveness in the joke, just the right touch to make Jeffrey laugh to hide the pang of his awakening concern, the survival instinct that tells him Bob isn’t entirely joking, but one that comes and goes instantly when your husband relaxes, as if it were all a sophisticated joke by powerful people, those who thought money made them invincible, untouchable if they harmed others without regard.

“But tell me, please, how long have you been together?”

“6 years.” You say, at the same time Bob speaks.

“10 years.”

Durand frowns, confused, as the two of you stare at each other for a moment.

“What?!” Yelena's voice fills the void, followed by Walker's murmur.

“Oh God. We're dead.”

“No, sorry.” Bob laughs, a little nervous, but he hides his fear perfectly with a peaceful, almost cheesy expression as he follows Yelena's advice, looking at you with so much love that he seems unable to think straight. “We've been together for 10 years and officially married for 6.”

Durand smiles again, unsuspecting anything.

“Children?”

Bob smiles back, a new kind of smile, one he discovers for the first time in that second, but trying not to overdo it as the idea of ​​starting a real family, one he would know how to protect with his own life, threatens to pull the corners of his mouth and make him smile a little more than necessary.

“Not yet. We still want to continue loving each other a little longer before sharing that love with our first baby.”

The man in front of you smiles, enchanted by Bob's convincing voice professing his love for you and now for a nonexistent first baby, and uncontrollably, as if it has a mind of its own, you could feel in your heart that absurd happiness at something you knew wasn't going to happen. You didn't even know if you wanted children, but there you are now, smiling to make this fantasy story more believable, one that you knew, if it came true, would be a beautiful one to live in.

“I love that thought. And after so many years together, you two seem just as in love as you were the first day, I just know it. How lucky you both are to have found each other.” Jeffrey nods, taking in all the information with joy. “But let’s talk business later, okay? Now, please enjoy the party.”

His important persona is called from the other side of the venue, and he leaves with the sole mission of entertaining his other guests. Bob lets out a sigh, a second before his arm slides off of your waistline, his playful fingers feeling the thin fabric of your dress.

“Acting in love with you is so easy that, if he kept asking, I could have written him a whole book about our life together.” Bob chuckles, his nervousness cutting short his courage when his words leave his mind and now belong to the wind, only for a millisecond when he composes himself and his hand catches yours. “Will you dance with me?”

He leads you to the dance floor, people moving to a slow rhythm around.

“You don’t dance.”

With a nervous thump that shakes his heart and a little laugh that he lets out, Bob presses you against him, respecting your boundaries but closing the space between you, his hands on your waist as yours rest on his shoulders.

With nowhere else to look, his deep gaze and yours hold each other in pure love, even when sometimes the shadows wanted to attack, but your hearts now smiling, with a new kind of happiness that spoke volumes in the silence—and even if there are people listening on the other side, everywhere, you dare to speak.

“Did you ever want all that? I don’t know, maybe you picture yourself in a marriage and a life with another person.” You shrug, a little on the verge of fear of an unflattering response—even if you’re not quite sure what kind of response you’re looking for exactly. “I know life has been so unfair to you, but…”

But you're surprised by the way Bob smiles softly, with a certain peace, even though the past and the experiences are still present, but with him learning not to let them continue to hurt him and leaving him as a passive spectator, unable to protect himself and the future he really wanted to have—only with you—and it's as if he could dive into a new kind of ocean, an oasis that promised only happiness if he could ever make all those crazy dreams come true with you.

Once again, only with you. Because Bob couldn't see himself taking that step with someone else. If not, it was better to be alone.

“For some nights, I did think about it…” There's a chuckle from him, a sound that hides a certain melancholy. “I… I convinced myself that no one would love me and the broken parts of me, all of me, the good, the bad, and the ugly. And that it would be selfish of me to expose anyone to all of that, too. But as a very smart girl once told me: I'm not a bad person, I'm just a person who went through bad things, so now I'm just trying to be okay so I'm worthy of you.”

“Daaaaamn, Bob.” Yelena raises her eyebrows, surprised but proud. “I didn’t think you were so straightforward.”

“Wow. Little Bob kicked the ball into your court, darling.” John laughs, but he's unable to hide his own surprise. “What will you do now?”

“I hate you.”

“What?”

Bob’s face transforms into an expression of true pain, sadness in his innocent eyes, his eyebrows furrowing in fear, forgetting for a second that you and he aren’t alone.

“No, no, that was for Walker.” Your right hand slides from his shoulder to his arm, squeezing him gently so he’ll believe your words, but now, you can no longer sustain the deep friendship you’d formed with him. It hurt being just a friend, but having that was better than not having someone like Bob in your life. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you so… brave to say what you actually feel.”

Bob chuckles.

“Walker gave me a sip of alcohol.”

“What?!” With eyes slightly widening in surprise, you groan wordlessly as Walker’s desperation nearly ruptures your eardrum.

“No! I did not! Yelena, I swear to God I didn’t do it!”

At that moment, Bob laughs for real, not loud, not raucous, but real and calm like his life since he started finding the balance so his emotions wouldn't spill over dangerously, and his eyes crinkle adorably.

“I'm joking, Lena. Walker deserved it, tho.” Bob nods at the small earpiece in you, knowing John will hear it, but not caring at all about the confrontation that awaits him at home after that. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to corner you like that with my feelings, but I think I'm tired of just hiding everything I feel, y'know? Especially since the things I feel for you aren't bad at all.”

You nod slowly, taking a few seconds that feel like a lifetime.

But when Durand's bodyguard asks to guide Bob to his boss's office, you assure him you'll be fine, and he walks away.

Aware of his own power, Bob had always lived without feeling great emotions, without freedom, flying solo and close to the ground so as not to unleash his true nature and turn everything to ashes. But from the first encounter with you, Bob felt it in his heart, and knew later through living together, that he went from never having had anything to feeling fulfilled, complete, to feeling like he had it all and deserved every piece of that happiness he made with you.

You walk to the bar, to a discreet spot that covers the movement of your lips.

"Shut up."

Walker laughs.

"I didn't say anything."

"But you're thinking it. I feel the weight of your idiocy up to here."

From across town, Walker is sitting in a spot on the tower, agreeing with you with a nod, even though you can't see him.

“Though I must applaud Bob, that was pretty brave of him. I mean, pretty obvious if you ask me becau—”

“No one asked you.”

“Because it's something we all already know, very yesterday's news, but I don't think you should be afraid of that future, darling. Bob's good, he's broken, and he's trying to fix those parts so he doesn't hurt anyone else... like everyone else here."

You take a moment to consider his words, with a slight raise of your eyebrows as you realize this all came from John Walker himself, the one who suggested pushing Bob into the cremation vault when they first met.

"You sound ridiculous as a matchmaker."

"Screw you." But he laughs. "That's what I get for being supportive in a charming way."

You hum a response, contemplating your entire existence, the rainy days and lonely nights before, the devastating past, the present glowing with latent possibilities, and a future that it hurt to think about, wondering if life would continue that sad way—but that was before you met Bob—and now, everything, even through soul–gnawing anxiety, seems to have more meaning, a significance finally.

On the other side of the party, walking down a red–walled hallway, Bob continues talking to urge Jeffrey to do the same, someone in the tower recording the whole conversation, with the USB—and the virus inside that will decode his entire computer—finally in Durand's hand.

“Let me ask you a question, Robert. When did you know you wanted to marry your wife?”

The right curve on Bob's lips rises a little bit, and his blue gaze becomes peaceful, soft with a created memory that never actually happened, but that feels real in his mind and heart. You may say no to his unspoken proposal, and that's okay with him, because at least now, Bob knows that his mind isn't making anything up, that every smile and touch from you is real, that it has been real from the beginning.

“I don't know for sure, maybe I knew it from the beginning, since she said hello to me. I only know that she is the light of my life. We married young, yes, but when you know, you just know.”

Bob shrugs casually, but as they turn the corner and the walls disappear, replaced by the terrace, he can see you a few feet away from him, standing at the bar, your bored gaze fixed on the man in front of you, (Durand's bodyguard) your expert hand finding a butter knife from among the cutlery, so slow and imperceptible the man doesn't notice it, but Bob does, and he swallows hard.

“Oh, no,” he whispers under his breath, his heart pounding with a new kind of fear, and with a nervous smile, Bob catches Durand’s eye to say a quick goodbye. “I'm so sorry! I forgot my wife and I have to pick up Bucky today before it gets too dark.”

“Bucky?”

Bob blinks: in a moment of panic, it's the only name that comes to mind.

"Our dog. If I don't take him back to his mom by now, he'll start chewing on my shoes. And my wife is his mom."

Durand laughs, openly, as if he's enjoying the conversation, as if they're lifelong friends.

"Okay, I'll call you tomorrow with more details." He shows the USB, the closing of two weeks’ deal. "Say goodbye to your wife for me."

Nodding, not showing the terror on his face and his almost anxious gait, Bob walks away.

"Bucky? Really?"

"Can you delete it?"

Yelena laughs.

"It's already gone, you big idiot."

Bob reaches you in a few seconds, the knife touching the cold bar again as his hand closes on yours from behind, casually, the other snaking down your body again, this time from the back, pressing you against him. At the same time, Bob pulls you away, almost hastily, barely giving the man anything resembling a nod, not bothering to fully acknowledge his existence.

“Son of a…” You swallow the insult you were about to let out as you back away, Bob’s chest so hard behind you it’s like steel, feeling something hot about it as if it had been forced over fire. “I was two seconds away from stabbing him in the eye.”

“What?!” There are voices on the intercoms, but you don’t respond.

“Why do you think I pulled you out of there?” Bob laughs, calm, but with his heart and lungs on fire, as if he’d run a marathon, guiding you into the elevator as another hotel employee steps out. The doors close as he presses the number 1 button, and for a second, Bob stares at his blurred reflection in the steel, but he knows that from that second forward, he won't be just another blurry, shapeless blob. Never again now that there is only light to show him who he really is, and taking a deep breath, Bob turns to you. “Push me if you want me to stop, or pull me closer if you want me to continue. Whatever you choose, there are no hard feelings, never for you because all I have is thanks to you. Only happiness since the moment I met you.”

Bob wants to say love, but he replaces the word, his hands cradling your face before he closes the gap between you, uniting his entire being with yours as he presses his lips against yours, eyes closed and hearts pounding, barely moving but holding you there, softly, never demanding. Yet, you don't push him away when the confusion fades away and the adrenaline of the moment intensifies the moment your heart spills over with every feeling hidden inside, only for him, and your hands clutch the sides of his body, the fabric of his suit creasing against your fingers.

You want to pull him and press yourself against him, all at the same time, and Bob does it, pushing you gently with his own body against the elevator wall to kiss you. It's a little messy and inexperienced because life robbed you of those early years where a person discovers the mysteries of a kiss, but the starting line for learning together is drawn right there. His hands, eager to feel more, slide down your back, fingers burning every inch of exposed skin, stopping at your waist, yours traveling in response towards his face.

Hands touching, lips moving, and one of you lets out something resembling a sigh, something warm and tiny, maybe like a whimper.

You don't even remember or care there are agents listening on the other end of the headset until Bob pulls away, his fingers finding the device in your ear and his own with one hand before shove them deep into his pocket, breathing through parted lips close to yours.

"Do you want to go on a date with me?" He asks, light but serious.

He means it, but you chuckle sarcastically anyway, shaking your head gently, but holding him close, and he doesn't move away.

"No, thanks."

Bob chuckles because you are joking. However, at that moment, Bob can see a light shining on a beautiful future together.

"You are the light of my life, honey. You really are."

Then, Bob dives back into the addictive sweetness your lips give his, knowing his love for you would never die, no matter after being together for 6 years, 10 years, or however long he has left with you.

[aventurineswife]

hello!! Could you do Jing yuan x reader and Blade x reader

reader looks like Sua from alien stage except reader has long hair and reader has a really soft and enchanting voice

could you write how they’re like with sua!reader?

Thank youu ^_^

The Melody Between Wars

Summary: Caught between two immortal souls, you—an ethereal songstress with eyes and a voice that can silence storms—become the still point in the chaos of their lives. To Jing Yuan, you are peace; to Blade, a reflection of the humanity he lost. As you navigate the quiet tension and tenderness that grows between the three of you, your presence becomes both a comfort and a catalyst for healing in a world shaped by war, memory, and longing.

Tags: Blade x Reader x Jing Yuan, Sua (from Alien Stage) based Reader, Love Triangle, Soft Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gentle Intimacy, Emotional Healing, Fluff with Emotional Depth, Slow Burn, Past Trauma, Mutual Pining, Delicate Affection, Reader with Enchanting Voice.

Warnings: Mentions of trauma and emotional numbness, Hints at self-destructive behavior (Blade), Grief and loss, Emotional vulnerability, Mild romantic tension.

You first met Jing Yuan on a quiet evening.

The sky above the Luofu shimmered in soft hues of dusk, the air carrying a calmness that only the “Dozing General” seemed to know how to maintain. He had found you humming quietly in the gardens, sitting beneath a lantern tree, voice like glass dipped in moonlight. He didn’t interrupt. He watched.

“Your voice reminds me of snow falling over swords,” he said, when you finally noticed him.

You only nodded, a soft blush coloring your cheeks. You weren’t used to being heard without performing. And Jing Yuan… Jing Yuan listened with the reverence of someone who had heard too much of war.

In time, he began to ask you to sing in the evenings—nothing formal, nothing requested—just… be near him. Sit on the veranda. Sing. Speak, if you wished. Or not. Jing Yuan had a way of speaking into silences, as if your presence alone was conversation enough.

Blade found you differently.

Where Jing Yuan approached like a tide, Blade found you like a storm finds silence—abrupt, intense, overwhelming.

He heard your voice once. A song drifting from a corridor in the Luofu. A voice soft enough to lull demons. It made something inside him ache.

He hated it.

He hated how it reminded him of what it felt like to be human.

“Why do you sing?” he asked harshly one day, standing in your shadow like a ghost.

You turned to him slowly, eyes calm. “To remember I’m alive.”

Blade stared, caught between loathing and longing. You looked like something from a dream he couldn’t remember. Delicate. Too soft for this world. And yet…

You didn’t flinch from him.

You never did.

And that terrified him more than dying ever could.

There was something in you both of them needed.

Jing Yuan saw a reflection of lost time—of warmth he had quietly buried under strategy and duty.

Blade saw salvation—or perhaps, the knife that would end his suffering.

You let them both in.

To Jing Yuan, you were a lullaby.

In your arms, the weight of centuries melted. You’d sit beside him as he dozed, fingers tracing the braid of his long silver hair, your voice murmuring barely-there melodies.

“You ease me more than any peace treaty,” he once told you, eyes half-lidded as he pressed a kiss to your palm.

To Blade, you were a mirror and a wound.

He came to you in silence, raw and ragged. He never asked for songs. But when the nightmares clawed at him, you sang anyway. Not for him, but to him. As if he deserved tenderness, even if he didn’t believe it.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he whispered once, blood on his bandages, eyes wide and desperate.

“No,” you answered gently. “You’re already afraid enough for both of us.”

He kissed you then—desperate, rough, like drowning. But you didn’t push him away. You held him through the storm.

And somehow, between them, you lived like a song that never ended.

Sometimes, Jing Yuan would find you asleep against Blade’s shoulder. Other times, Blade would watch you rest in Jing Yuan’s arms, jealousy flickering like a dying flame.

But neither could ask you to choose.

Because they knew—

Your heart was big enough to hold them both.

And neither of them could bear the thought of letting go of the one soul who made the pain quiet.

[crownmemes]

Immortal Sentences, Vol. 7

(Sentences for immortal muses. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"I don't even know why I'm alive right now."

"Fact is, I don't even know who or what I am anymore."

"How was my funeral?"

"Is this what you do with eternity?"

"The dead at least have the luxury of being done with what they lost."

"Fate has a habit of not letting us choose our own endings."

"Sometimes I wish I had a thousand lifetimes."

"My whole life is just a long series of losing things I love."

"There is no always. There's just right now."

"I suppose there's no way I could just kind of ease into this modern age?"

"You are already dead, aren't you?"

"Deeds are eternal, not the flesh."

"You're the one fixed point in a changing age."

"No, no, stop; I detest conversation in the past tense."

"I used to be afraid of losing my memory. What I wouldn't give to forget a thing or two now."

"How do you know I'm not a god?"

"Maybe it's not a curse! It just depends on how you look at it!"

"I remember everything. Every single thing."

"Our world is changing. It's a place I don't belong in anymore."

"Our time here is an eye blink. It's one exhaled breath and then we're gone."

"I think the older you get, the harder it is to keep adapting to change."

"Dying is the most alive you'll ever feel."

"How are you still alive?"

"Times have changed. It's not like the old days, when we could do anything we wanted."

"Closeted away here, it is impossible for you to see the way the world is changing."

[littledykeblue]

since you're forcing me at gun point to make a formal request, give me the vampire ellabs and make it nasty now! love you <3

──𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐓𝐇;

(vampire!ellabs | ellie/abby): abby has a nasty habit of running away when immortal life becomes too much; ellie knows exactly how to put her creation back in line.

wc: 4k | cw: dom!ellie, sub!abby, toxic relationship, established relationship, angst, blood, blood drinking, blood play, pain play (burning via crosses and silver), biting (obvs), fingering, orgasm control, choking, degradation, marking, oral sex, MINORS DNI.

note: this is the product of this tweet & all the times i've said louis and lestat's whole deal would be hot if they were lesbians instead throughout my life. also i have never written ellabs before so be nice to me or i WILL cry. mwah!

Abby stands in the center of what was once her home. The walls are still here, sure, still cracked with years of decay and scorched around the edges where the fire had licked them but it’s the quiet that gets her.

It used to be loud here. She had friends once. People who laughed in this space, leaned against doorframes while sharing cocktails, shared stories on late nights when the world felt a little softer. Their names come and go now, like water slipping through her hands. She wonders if forgetting them is part of becoming what she is. If memory loss is another kind of rot, a quiet one that eats from the inside out.

Her father's different. She remembers him. She fights to. His voice is still carved somewhere deep, wrapped around the way he said her name. She knows the color of his eyes. The warmth of his hands when he pulled her in, solid and safe. That warmth is something she reminds herself of every night, like a prayer. Like penance. It’s what keeps her tethered.

Colors are duller now. Sounds are louder than they should be. But she tells herself his laugh was real. That there was a time when she felt sunlight on her face and didn’t recoil.

Some nights it’s not enough. Tonight is one of them.

She hasn't fed. Not properly. Just a few rats cornered in an alley, their blood watery and unsatisfying, barely enough to take the edge off. She drank because she had to, because it hurt not to. But it didn’t make her feel human. Nothing does. Her chin and collar are still stained with it, dried and sticky. She hasn’t cleaned up. She’s just standing here, staring into the cold fireplace like it might light itself if she wishes hard enough. Like warmth might find her again.

But nothing comes. Not light. Not forgiveness. Not even the merciful God she'd heard so much about.

She’s packed a bag. Not because she has a plan, but because leaving feels like something. If she doesn’t move, if she doesn’t at least pretend to run, then she’s settling into this—this hunger, this cold, this monster in her skin. And if she accepts it, then what’s left of Abby dies for good.

Ellie finds her, of course. But can she truly be found if she wasn't really running to begin with?

"Why do you even bother packing," Ellie says as she walks in, not bothering to linger. Her tone is easy, like she’s commenting on the weather, not the ruins of a woman standing in the middle of her own history. “You know, you'd be a lot harder to track if you went literally anywhere else.”

Abby doesn’t turn around. Ellie crosses the room with a heavy sigh, a sigh one might reserve for a misbehaving child.

“I’ve given you eternal life,” she adds, stepping closer, “and you insist on squandering it moping.”

She says it like she’d offered Abby a gift. Like immortality isn’t a curse. Like she didn’t force Abby to wake up dead with a mouth full of someone else’s blood.

“Have you been eating rats again?” Ellie wrinkles her nose. “Abby, please.”

Then she’s in front of her, close enough to touch, and she doesn’t wait. She licks the blood from Abby’s chin, slow and idle like she’s bored but still enjoying it. Her tongue drags up with a kind of lazy affection that makes Abby’s skin crawl and shiver all at once. She doesn’t stop her. She never does.

“Do you really never miss it?” Abby asks, barely above a whisper. She watches Ellie’s mouth, the sharp cut of her teeth, the way her tongue stains red and leaves smears behind on her lips. “Being alive?”

Ellie’s smile curls at the edges, her fangs on full display now, gleaming in the dark. “No,” she says. “There’s too much to see. Too much to taste. Mortality would’ve made it all meaningless. But now? I have forever. I have you, forever.”

Abby’s resolve slips like it always does. Her hands find Ellie’s waist, and she fists the fabric of her jacket, like holding onto her might make it all stop spinning. Ellie’s mouth is already at her throat, lips brushing where blood still stirs faintly beneath the skin. Her fangs scrape lightly, not piercing, just enough to remind Abby that they could. That she could.

Then Ellie kisses her, and it’s nothing short of consuming. It's all hunger and desperation and decades’ worth of bitterness poured into the way their mouths collide. Abby gives in to it with a quiet sound, the last of her strength unraveling under Ellie’s hands.

Ellie always knows what she needs.

When Ellie finally pulls away, she's smirking. It's a look Abby's seen countless times, one that makes her feel like she's playing a game that Abby doesn't know all the rules to yet.

“We’re going home,” she says, voice rough and final.

Not a suggestion.

Abby doesn’t argue. She never does.

Ellie turns without waiting for confirmation, and Abby—tired, bloodstained, still aching with a hunger she won’t admit—grabs her bag and follows. She slings it over her shoulder and steps over the threshold of her old life with barely a glance back. She tells herself it's easier this way. That she has nothing left to cling to here.

It'll keep her away for a while.

They don’t speak on the way. Ellie walks ahead, lithe and confident, the night bending around her like it knows what she is. The shadows part for her and close behind her, and Abby wonders—as she often does—what might’ve happened if she’d run faster. If she’d told Ellie no the first time. Or the second. Or the third.

But she didn’t. And now Ellie is carved into her like a second skin.

The manor rises out of the fog like something out of a storybook. Massive and silent, tucked deep in the woods, its spires and stonework cloaked in ivy. The windows glow faintly from the sconces burning inside, their golden light spilling into the trees like a promise or a warning. Abby swallows the lump rising in her throat.

It had taken her breath away the first time she saw it.

Back when she still had breath to lose.

Back when Ellie was just a charming, cross-dressing woman who quoted Shakespeare with a grin and tipped too much at the opera house bar. Abby had thought she was eccentric. Arrogant. Undeniably magnetic. She’d watched her from across the mezzanine and wondered what it might be like to peel back the layers and find the softness inside.

Abby had been like that, too. Once. She owned a club, played the piano until her fingers ached, laughed and partied through the night. She'd had no shortage of fans and suitors, but no one had ever been like Ellie.

The manor is beautiful. It always has been. High ceilings. Velvet drapes. Cold marble floors that echo underfoot. Oil paintings in every corridor, all framed in gold. A library that smells like dust and candlewax and old, dried blood. Ellie’s taste is impeccable, her wealth impossible, and Abby her pretty pet to bring it all together.

She hadn’t known it then, of course. She was just drawn in by the spectacle. The way Ellie filled a room. The weight of her gaze. The way she seemed to know things about Abby without being told. And maybe she should’ve realized what that meant. Maybe she should’ve seen the warning signs in the opulence and the perfect smile and the way Ellie always had the last word.

But it had taken one long weekend. One whirlwind visit. One stolen kiss and one bloody night. And by the time Abby understood what Ellie was, it was already too late.

Now, as they pass through the tall double doors, Abby looks around the entryway and feels her stomach tighten. It’s exactly as she remembers. Not a thing out of place. Everything polished. Everything immaculate.

She steps inside anyway.

Because she still doesn’t know how to say no.

─

Abby’s wrists strain against the chains bolted to the headboard. She’s not pulling hard. Not yet. But the weight of them presses against her skin like judgment. Her arms are stretched above her head, her body laid bare save for her underwear, the white cotton damp at the seam and clinging to the soft swell between her thighs. Her breathing is uneven. Shallow. Her chest rises and falls in sharp little stutters despite not needing to at all.

It's part performance and Ellie loves a performance.

Ellie stands beside the bed, fully dressed in black slacks, boots polished to a mirror shine, and a silken poet shirt.

The gloves she wears are thick and tailored, the leather worn but treated, lined inside to keep her from burning when she handles silver or presses her palm to the cold curve of a crucifix. Abby’s seen her slip them on with the same care she once reserved for undressing. Because this control, correction, requires more precision than pleasure ever did.

“You tried to leave me. Again.” Ellie says, voice low and razor-sharp. "How many times does that make, my love?"

"I don't know," Abby says, quiet. She does know, but the number would only serve to upset them both.

Ellie takes a step closer. The mattress dips under the pressure of one knee as she leans over Abby’s restrained form. Her eyes drag over her, slow and clinical, like she’s cataloging damage. The bruises under Abby’s eyes, the hollowness in her cheeks, the faint smear of blood at the corner of her mouth that Ellie hadn’t bothered to wipe away. The rat blood. The filth.

“You really are pathetic,” Ellie murmurs, almost sweetly. “Crawling through alleyways. Feeding like a dog.”

Abby’s mouth works uselessly for a moment before the words come. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, now you’re sorry,” Ellie replies. She leans in, face inches from Abby’s. “Like you were sorry last time and the time before that. Really, Abby, running like we don't belong to each other.”

“We do,” Abby whispers. “I do, I—fuck, Ellie, I just—”

“You just what?” Ellie cuts in. Her tone softens around the edges in the way that makes it worse. That makes it cruel. “You got confused? You forgot what you are? Is that it?”

Abby doesn’t answer.

Ellie’s gloved hand comes up to her face, strokes her cheek with something almost tender, and then trails down to wrap gently around her throat. She doesn’t squeeze yet.

“You’re a vampire,” she says, almost bored. “A predator. And all you’ve done since I gave you this gift is run from it.”

“I hate it,” Abby says, eyes squeezed shut. Her voice breaks around the words. “I hate what I am.”

Ellie laughs. “I know you do. And it's a damn waste.”

The grip on Abby’s throat tightens. There's no pain in the restriction of air, but the way grip is hard enough to start to ache and it makes the breaths she's been forcing herself to take stutter.

“You know it brings me no joy to hurt you,” Ellie says. “But you know, just as well as I do, what you need.”

Abby shakes, eyes still closed, breath trembling.

“Say it,” Ellie hisses, fingers slipping lower, dragging down her sternum. “Say what you always say.”

Abby opens her eyes, glassy and desperate. Her voice is a hoarse whisper, barely audible. “Fix me.”

Ellie smiles, slow and pleased. “Good girl.”

She reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out the blade. A compact silver knife, old and sharp, with an ivory handle that catches the low light like bone. She flicks it open with a practiced ease, then holds it up where Abby can see it. Where Abby has to see it.

Abby’s breath stutters.

Ellie’s eyes stay on hers as she brings the blade down. She presses it flat against the inside of Abby’s thigh, just for a second, and Abby hisses through clenched teeth as the silver bites into her skin. Ellie's purpose isn't to cut. It's to burn. Ellie watches the skin go red beneath the metal, watches Abby twitch in the chains.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Ellie coos, the corners of her mouth lifting into a mean smile. “You know better than to move. You’ll only make it worse.”

Then she cuts.

Clean, practiced slashes through the fabric of Abby’s underwear, slicing them away piece by piece. The waistband gives under the blade with a quiet snick, and the cotton peels away from Abby’s skin in ruined curls. The silver brushes her once more as the blade dips lower, grazing along the crease of her hip. Abby moans—more from the pain than anything else—but there’s heat building between her thighs, undeniable now, and Ellie notices.

“Poor thing,” Ellie murmurs as she tosses the shredded scraps to the floor. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

She sets the knife aside on the nightstand, deliberately within reach.

Then she leans in and kisses the angry red mark she left on Abby’s thigh. Her lips are soft. Wet. They drag over scorched flesh with reverence, and Abby chokes on the contradiction. The way it hurts, and the way it heals.

Ellie pauses. Looks down at her, and there’s something dark and proud in her expression. “You’ll need to be strong for me tonight,” she says. “And I know just the thing.”

She rolls up her sleeve and bares her wrist, then opens her mouth and bites. Her fangs sink in without hesitation, and blood wells up quick and dark. She lowers it to Abby’s mouth, lets it drip slowly, deliberately, onto her lips. The first taste is always the hardest to resist. Abby parts her lips without thinking, lets Ellie’s blood coat her tongue, thick and hot and delicious.

“Greedy,” Ellie whispers, and the word feels like it brands her.

“You need this,” she says, voice low and calm, like she’s explaining something to a child. “You need me. My blood is clean. Strong. Better than yours. Because I don’t waste time fighting what I am.”

She strokes Abby’s cheek with the back of her gloved hand as the blood continues to drip.

“I feed. I fuck. I take what I want and I don't let these things haunt me.” Abby knows that's a lie. She's seen the haunted look in Ellie's eyes when she thinks no one is watching, sees the way she fights actively to make herself not care.

She lets the words comfort her anyway.

Abby swallows, and the taste of Ellie spreads through her like wildfire. Her toes curl. Her eyes flutter. It makes her feel sated and starving at the same time.

It’s enough to remind her of the first time. Of the way Ellie’s blood made her see stars. Of the way it bent her to its will.

“Look at you,” Ellie goes on, watching Abby desperately lick at her lips, “choosing to starve. Is it because you know I'll take care of you”

She tilts her head and offers more, her voice darkening. “Drink, Abby. You’re going to need your strength.”

Her free hand slides down between Abby’s legs, fingers dragging through slick heat, not bothering to hide her satisfaction.

“Because I’m not stopping,” Ellie says. “Not until you forget you ever wanted to leave me.”

And Abby, helpless and aching, drinks.

Ellie doesn’t bother wiping her wrist clean when she’s done. She just rolls her sleeve back down, blood still slick along her skin under the cuff. Abby’s mouth is stained with it. Her tongue flicks out to catch the last drop on her lip, and Ellie watches with something close to affection. Or amusement.

Then she moves to the drawer in the nightstand and pulls out a small velvet pouch. She unties it with care, tipping its contents into her palm.

Abby’s breath catches.

It’s a rosary. Old. The beads dulled with age, the crucifix worn smooth where fingers once clutched it in prayer. She recognizes it immediately. It used to sit on her nightstand, back when she still slept like a person. Back when she believed in salvation. The sight of it now. Here, in Ellie’s hands, sends a jolt through her. Something like shame. Something like longing.

“You kept it,” she whispers.

“Of course I did,” Ellie replies. “I remember you, pink and warm. You told me I'd be your damnation.”

She steps closer, letting the beads slide through her fingers like she’s weighing their worth.

“You were right, by the way.”

Ellie climbs onto the bed and straddles Abby’s hips, her gloved hands dragging up Abby’s ribs, stopping just under her breasts. She leans forward, lets the beads dangle across Abby’s chest before trailing them lower, slow and deliberate, until the crucifix rests just above the soft, wet heat between her legs.

“You used to pray with this,” Ellie says softly. “Now it’s the only thing keeping you from coming.”

Abby’s hips jerk, the chain of the rosary catching on her sensitive skin. The silver stings. Just barely, but enough.

“Please,” Abby breathes.

Ellie shushes her, kissing the corner of her mouth like they’re lovers in the old-fashioned sense. Her fingers press between Abby’s thighs again, stroking slowly, deliberately, slipping through slick folds and circling her clit with maddening precision.

“I’ll let you come,” Ellie murmurs. “Eventually. But only when I think you deserve it.”

She brings her mouth to Abby’s ear. “You’ve been bad, after all. Trying to run. Starving yourself. Saying ugly things about the gift I gave you.”

Abby groans, arching into the touch, helpless.

Ellie’s fingers speed up. It's enough to push her closer and then she's stopping. She reaches between them, places the cool weight of the crucifix flush against Abby’s inner thigh and presses down.

The burn is immediate.

Abby gasps, hips twitching, mouth falling open as the silver sears into her flesh. It’s not enough to maim or scar, but there's no denying it. And it’s good. It hurts in a way that cuts through the numbness. It hurts like feeling.

Her eyes roll back. Her mouth drops open. She moans, wrecked and grateful, voice cracking around it.

“That’s right,” Ellie says, voice syrup-slow and cruel. “You like it. My good little monster.”

Abby nods, or tries to. She’s panting now, her face flushed with the false heat of Ellie’s blood still rushing through her. Her hands pull at the chains, wrists aching from where she’s been testing the limits. There’s blood at the corners of her eyes—thin rivulets streaking down her cheeks.

Her tears. Blood.

“Oh,” Ellie coos, brushing a gloved thumb along Abby’s jaw. “What pretty tears.”

She leans in and licks one tear off her face, her tongue slow and deliberate. Abby chokes on a sob, another broken noise tearing out of her chest.

“Say you’re sorry,” Ellie tells her, sliding two fingers inside her without warning, the stretch deep and perfect.

“I’m sorry,” Abby gasps. “Ellie, I’m—I’m sorry, I swear, please.”

Ellie curls her fingers and presses her palm against Abby’s clit, grinding down with cruel precision.

“Say you need it.”

“I need it. I need you! fuck, I—”

“Say you’ll never leave me again.”

“I won’t! I won’t, I swear, please don’t stop—”

Ellie kisses her hard, swallows her cries, presses the crucifix into her thigh again as she fucks her harder. Abby’s body arches off the bed, trembling, desperate. She's shaking, crying, bleeding. Her cunt clenches around Ellie’s fingers and she teeters right there on the edge.

“Not yet,” Ellie whispers, pulling back just enough to deny her.

Abby sobs.

“I said not yet,” Ellie repeats, dragging her fingers out so slowly it makes Abby's whole body seize. “You’ll come when I let you. And not a second before.”

Ellie settles between Abby’s thighs like she belongs there.

Because she does.

She drags the chain of the rosary aside with one finger, letting it fall forgotten onto the sheets, and then leans in close—close enough that Abby can feel her breath fan across her soaked cunt.

Ellie’s gloved hands grip her thighs, spreading them wide and pressing them flat to the bed, revealing every trembling inch of her. The scent of blood and arousal clings to the air.

“Look at you,” Ellie says, voice soaked in satisfaction. “So fucking messy. You’ve ruined my sheets.”

Abby whimpers, twitching against the hold, legs trembling.

Then Ellie leans in and bites.

Sharp, deep, and deliberate—right into the soft flesh of Abby’s inner thigh. Her fangs sink in, and Abby lets out a strangled moan, body arching off the bed. She’s not just marking her. She’s claiming her.

Again and again, she sinks her teeth in low, below the old cross burn, until the skin is mottled with red, with blood, with Ellie. Abby jerks against the chains, but Ellie holds her down easily, only releasing her bite when she’s sure it’s going to last a while.

“Ellie, please,” Abby gasps, hips rolling, searching for contact. “Fuck. I love you so much, I need you. I'll never leave again, I promise.”

Ellie hums into her skin, dragging her tongue through the shallow bite marks. “That's all you had to say,” she mutters.

Then she dips lower.

Ellie’s mouth finds Abby's pussy like it’s something she’s owed. Her tongue is hot, practiced, filthy. She licks broad and slow at first, savoring it, drinking in every broken sound Abby makes, every twitch and writhe of her hips. Then she locks onto her clit and sucks, and Abby keens, head thrown back, tears still streaming crimson from the corners of her eyes.

Ellie eats her in the way only a creature of lust and consumption can.

Her tongue works fast and ruthless, the way she knows Abby can’t take without unraveling, and her hands hold Abby’s thighs open as her mouth pushes her closer and closer to the edge.

Abby sobs. Her hips buck. Her chains rattle.

And then, finally, Ellie pulls back just enough to speak, her mouth slick with blood and slick, her lips shining. “Come for me,” she says. “Let it all go.”

The words slam into Abby like a command from God.

Her whole body goes tight, thighs trembling as her orgasm rips through her with punishing force. The chains groan against the frame—then snap, the screws yanked clean from the headboard as her arms fly down on instinct, hands tangling in Ellie’s hair, keeping her there.

She grinds helplessly against Ellie’s mouth, crying out wordless, broken sounds, riding it out with the full weight of the blood and heat and pain still buzzing through her body.

Ellie doesn’t pull away. Not even when Abby screams or tries pitifully to buck her off. She stays until Abby’s body goes slack, hands falling from her hair, fingers twitching.

And only then does she lift her head, licking her lips with obscene satisfaction, eyes glowing in the low light.

“Atta girl,” Ellie says. “Now you remember who you belong to.”

After, Ellie peels off her gloves with slow, deliberate movements. She drops them on the floor like they’re nothing, like she didn’t just use them to break Abby into pieces. Her hand comes up to stroke Abby’s cheek, her fingers now bare and cool, smearing the bloodstained tears still clinging to her skin.

“Hey,” she says gently. Like they’re just two normal lovers in bed. In another life, Abby would like to think that's all they are.

Abby turns her face into the touch. Her limbs feel distant, heavy. She’s limp on the sheets, chest rising and falling in shallow little gulps. Her thighs are still trembling. Her skin aches everywhere Ellie’s teeth and that cross touched her. She feels ruined. She feels alive. She feels warm.

Ellie leans down and kisses her. Not like earlier. This one is sweet. Chaste. A mockery of softness. Abby kisses her back, because what else is she supposed to do?

“I’ll clean you up in a minute,” Ellie murmurs against her mouth, then nuzzles close. “You did so good for me.”

Abby closes her eyes. She lets herself breathe in the scent of Ellie’s skin: smoke, copper, some musky scent, and tries to believe this is love. That this isn’t just part of the cycle.

Because tomorrow, they’ll be who they usually are: fierce and in sync, like some tragic epic. Ellie will wrap her arms around her in the bath. She’ll bite her gently and make her laugh. Abby will read to her in the garden while the moon cuts through the dark like glass. She’ll kiss Ellie's face and tell her she’s beautiful. They’ll be great lovers again.

For a while.

Maybe weeks, maybe months. Sometimes, it even stretches into years. But always, eventually, it slips. The hunger. The power. The way Ellie’s love turns sharp around the edges.

They’ll fight. And when it’s bad, it’s biblical. Fangs, claws, shouts through cracked walls. Then silence. And Abby will end up back here, in a ruined bed, bleeding and begging, wondering why it still feels like devotion.

But not tonight.

Tonight, Ellie wraps her arms around her like a cradle. She kisses her forehead and hums something tuneless. And Abby clings to the moment like it’s the last warm thing on Earth.

“You know what I think would make you feel better?” Ellie asks, voice soft, playful.

Abby blinks slowly, already halfway lulled into sleep. “What?”

"A new addition!"

[kinky-cas]

cas as the life partner dean doesn't have to parent, the person he can love without being responsible for

responding to @deancity's tags on this post of mine, because it got way too long to add to the original post.

tldr: you're completely right. cas is someone dean can love without having to parent or coddle or protect. he's someone dean can open up to and lean on and be leaned on in turn, as equals.

longer stream of consciousness meta under the cut!

i feel like this post sums it up really well.

obviously dean does often worry for and about cas, because he cares about him! someone he loves is frequently in danger, of course he worries. but he doesn't feel responsible for cas's well being the way he does with so many other people in his life. cas is stronger and so much more powerful than him! cas is immune to bullets, cas can smite demons, cas is supposed to be immortal, cas has been around for millenia! dean can be vulnerable with cas, he can let cas take care of him. he and cas watch out for each other, but cas is stronger, cas can protect them both.

dean can put things on cas, can share burdens with him, without worrying that he's gonna have to manage the weight of it all for both of them. and that's something pretty rare among dean's close relationships. he lets himself have it to varying extents with friends, acquaintances, civilians of the week, but he takes care not to put too much on any one person. (there are lots of examples of this, dean's go to approach when connecting with people is sharing his own experiences and that often includes opening up about what he's struggling with, though usually in a filtered way).

some of this has to do with physically protecting people. dean grew up being told constantly by john that his only purpose in life was to protect sam. that his body was a tool to use to save others. that his own feelings of safety and his well being were not a priority. this is summed up perfectly by the scene in home where dean calls john crying, desperate for help, and just gets a message telling him to call himself. and cas is strong, cas pulled dean out of hell! cas can heal him and cas protects him and the people he cares about. cas can take care of himself and he considers dean worthy of protection! so some of it is physical safety and strength. but a lot of it is also emotional burdens, and that's what i'm gonna dive into more.

when you grow up as the peacekeeper with an unstable parent, you learn to think carefully about what you ask for help with, about how and when you reach out and open up about what you're struggling with. because the absolute last thing you need if you're having a hard time is to now ALSO be managing someone else's feelings about whatever you're dealing with. and there's not much space for sharing your own problems when you're always triaging someone else's. this is something i think dean learned very early in life.

it's also something that gets reinforced over and over in his relationship with sam. when dean does open up to sam about what he's struggling with, sam SO often makes dean's feelings about himself (i'm thinking about the secret about john's dying words, about dean's memories of hell, but it shows up in s8 too, etc). he does want to help dean! but when he tries to get dean to open up because he wants to feel trusted and he wants to be the big brother for once, he rarely stops to think about whether that's actually what dean needs most. he gets better about it eventually but even then he falls for dean's performance too much to see dean clearly and know what he needs for support.

there is also, of course, the fact that dean raised sam. even as they get less codependent over time, that barrier of "don't want to dump my problems on my kid, it's my job to support them" never completely goes away. and sam never stops expecting dean to take care of him in a lot of ways, and continues to have blindspots about his own behavior that reinforce their parentified dynamic.

and sam is far from his only relationship where support should be mutual but instead dean is the one taking responsibility for the other person's well being, taking care of them without them returning that equally. this is also his dynamic with john and mary (as a 4yo AND when she comes back). even bobby, who cares deeply and is a reliable parent for dean, is... not great with handling dean gently when he's really struggling.

and some of this is on dean, he has to choose to break this pattern and not always put himself in the position of caretaker. but also when he DOES try to reject this role he often has his boundaries trampled (bobby telling him he has to reach out and be the parent john wasn't to sam at the end of s4, most glaringly dean being pushed into parenting jack in early s13). but regardless of where the blame falls, the fact is that dean is generally doing the brunt of the emotional labor in his closest family relationships.

except for with cas.

the scene i think you're talking about in s7 is in the born again identity, when cas is still emmanuel allen. and it's a perfect example of this.

dean opens up to "emmanuel" about how hard of a time he's been having since cas's betrayal, and how much he's struggling. when he's tried to open up before this season, to bobby and frank and even eliot van ness, he's been brushed off and told to suck it up and stop whining. cas is the first person to listen, to tell him it's alright to feel what he's feeling. to tell him that he's only human and he's allowed to grieve and hurt and give himself that grace and emotional space. that it's okay if he can't just bounce back, and he doesn't need an excuse.

cas isn't always the perfect listener, nobody is, but he's someone dean can rely on and turns to more than anyone else (a few examples off the top of my head are after gadreel kills kevin, the diner scene in 10.09, the phone call about how dean doesn't know how to interact with mary, the diner scene when dean is still keeping michael locked up in his head). he sees straight through dean's performance and offers him real connection and reassurance. dean can confide in cas without fear that his feelings will be minimized or his boundaries ignored. and this is reciprocal!!! cas opens up to dean right back, often in the very same scene, and dean listens for cas like cas does for him.

none of this is to say that dean never opens up to or leans on anyone else, but cas very clearly falls into the place of a spouse—his chosen partner for weathering life, his first choice when he needs aa confidant. i think this is why they feel so damn married in the later seasons, and it's something i fucking love about their relationship.

[ifishouldvanish]

Olrox being someone who loves one person with his absolute everything, who just pours every ounce of his heart and soul into the person he loves, vs Alucard being a poly king who collects people he loves like cool rocks.

Olrox telling Alucard he doesn't think he can ever love him the way he loved his Mohican lover and Alucard being like "that's fine, I wouldn't expect you to, love takes so many forms, loving someone differently doesn't mean loving them less, etc etc"

Olrox secretly wishing Alucard wouldn't be so accepting and okay about it because he part of him still feels like if it ain't bordering on obsession then it can't really be love. That if Alucard really loved him, he should be jealous or hurt. But at the same time, he finds a comfort and safety in the fact that Alucard has no interest in filling the hole in his heart that his lover left behind.

Alucard secretly wishing Olrox did love him as much because some part of him at times felt like he was a "third wheel" to Trevor and Sypha's relationship, and how must it feel to have someone love him as singularly and devotedly as his father loved his mother? As Olrox loved his late lover? And yet he knows he has no right to feel that way. He himself can't and wouldn't want to fill the Trevor, Sypha, and Greta shaped hole in his heart because it's all he has left of them.

Both of them secretly fearing they're not 'enough' for the other, each fearing that the other deserves better, no matter how many times they remind themselves and each other otherwise.

This tension ebbing and flowing, driving them apart for months/years/decades at a time before they come back together again, slowly accepting that love lies in them being the one constant in each other's immortal lives. In them each honoring and preserving the memory of the person and the people the other has lost by them each loving the other with all the grace and patience and understanding that those people would have.

uggghhh like I'm sorry but that they have each already had and lost their great loves and love so differently is so important to The Dynamic™ you don't understaaaand 🫠

[farahtissaiamyloves]

Freedom

Lucifer Morningstar x fallen!angel!reader

Note: Second fic in a day? I am so back babes 🥰 Plz send Lucifer requests because I am on a spree 🙏

You walked down the aisle of the castle.

After the Dream Lord's messenger arrived, letting you and Lucifer know that he was to come to Hell to save his mortal ex, the queen of the free men, or whatever.

You rolled your eyes at the memory of her. Everyone screamed and begged here, but that girl was naive enough to think that an endless, an immortal being, would truly love her and take kindly to her leaving him.

You used your wings to fly down the steps.

Lucifer had sent you off to talk to every single general of Hell to gather everyone first thing tomorrow.

You had just finished your task and were returning back to your partner.

You smiled at the sight of them. They were standing on their balcony, watching over Hell.

You quickly made your way behind their significantly higher figure and hugged them from behind.

"Love." The ruler of Hell greeted you.

You hummed, caressing your right wing with their left one. You rested your cheek against their arm as you looked up at them. "Dearest. Everything has been taken care of as you requested."

The fallen angel leaned down to kiss your head. "I know. Unlike everyone, you never disappoint me, darling."

You smiled at them. You had been together with Lucifer ever since before their fall (which was the cause for yours; you couldn't remain in the Silver City without your beloved partner) and yet the still made you feel more loved and cherished than everyone you ever met.

Lucifer kept looking down at the place while you kept caressing their wing with yours. "I still can't believe what we are about to do." You spoke quietly.

The late Samael finally tore their gaze off the fields of Hell to look down at you. They reached out, taking your head in their hands and locking eye contact with you. "Why, sweet thing? We are merely claiming what we are owed; our freedom."

You nodded, biting your lip. "Well, yes, but- but- Is it truly the only way? Maybe.... Maybe, we can reach out to him. He is merciful. He will understa-"

"No." Came Lucifer's response cutting you off. You swallowed hard, biting the inside of your cheek as you gave them an unsure look.

"God's a cunt." They added, still not tearing their gaze off from you.

You gave them a small reprimanding push with your right wing. "Yet, he is still our creator and that isn't about to change. Ever." You retorted, raising your hand to place it on top of theirs.

They rolled their eyes, dropping their hands from your face. Lucifer turned their head to the side.

Knowing that they were about to dismiss the argument. You walked around them to still be in their line of vision. "Samael." You whispered-yelled.

They gave you a very pointed glance at the choice of name you used. You both knew that were you someone else, Lucifer would have been unforgiving to you.

You took a deep breath. "I realize that this is what you want. And truth be told, I want to be free of this place as well." You confessed to them with a small pout.

Lucifer's stern gaze softened at your admission. "Then what is holding you back, my love?"

You swallowed hard. "If we go for this, Lucy, there is no going back." You whispered, fidgeting with your hands.

Your loyal companion sighed as they nodded in acknowledgement of your words. "I hear you, love. However, deep down, I know that you are very well aware that this is the only way." They spoke softly, caressing your left cheek and kissing your forehead.

You tapped your leg nervously against the stone floor. "I... I may be a little scared... I can't imagine a life without my wings.... Our wings." You teared up at the idea of having to mutilate a part of you that had been with you for over 10 billion years.

Lucifer nodded, kissing your forehead again and pulling you in their arms for a hug. "There is a price to pay for everything, love. You know how the world works."

You nodded in agreement. "There is a give and a take for everything." You agreed with their statement.

Lucifer hummed. "We will be free, my love. Free to explore and experience. Free to do whatever we want outside of this sickening place." They spoke softly.

You gave them a sad smile. "We will. I can't wait to swim."

Lucifer chuckled and you followed suit. Their laughter was always doing things to you.

You wrapped your hands around their neck. "And we will eat ice cream and be all loving and caring without a single care in the world of responsibilities or Hell." You added, your smile widening.

Lucifer nodded, pecking your lips. "We will, mu love. We will write our own story. For once."

You grinned at them. "I can't wait~" You looked at the side, down at the fields of Hell. "Mmmm. I will miss this place. But, I care little as long as I am with you."

Lucifer smiled at you, nuzzling their nose against yours. "Likewise, my love."

꧁☾︎❥︎☽︎꧂

Three months later, Lucifer was was laying down on the blanket.

You were taking the things out of the backpack ful of food that you had brought to do this 'picnic' that you had read in the internet.

Lucifer turned their head to look at you as you took out a tapper with a salad you had made; a recipe they used to do in Ancient Greece that Lucifer liked.

They hummed in satisfaction at the sight of the specific meal. "Mmmm. You are spoiling me, wife."

You chuckled as you fed them a bite. "Guilty as charged."

[artandbeauty71]

"Whoever wants to be you, always ends up being caught in my fatal embrace, Achilles."

"The memory of the gods is as unmatched as their solitude is endless."

"Even the immortals suffer if they stay too close to you: they risk getting sick with your feelings, with the painful desire of outliving you."

why am I sad? Bc there's this GORGEOUS book which needs to be talked about but cannot be bc it's written and published only in my native language and not known at all which basically means that I'm the only one in the whole world to know abt it lol.

it's almost like TSoA but...so much better imo? It's quite short but so accurate to the sources, full of feelings and passion, humanity and depth. the raw emotion and gentleness of the whole Scyros sequence and Deidamia. The sweet subtlety of the relationship with Patroclus (+ the way his death is described is absolute poetry🫠). The tragedy of Iphigenia. The war, the characters, EVERYTHING is in there literally.

And you know what's the best part?? It's all narrated from Thanatos' pov. Yes. Thanatos and Achilles (my little hades heart was exploding btw), bc wherever Achilles goes, Death has always followed...

Anyway this is the book.

The last night of Achilles (title translated. the quotes above were also translated by me)

It also has similar vibes to this song btw (which i LOVE), in my head they're associated

[assassin-artist]

Mild obsessed with Mercy and I wanna know more about her! What would you say her relationships with other heroes is like? Namely the current Guardians roster.

A couple of doodles to go with the answer (:

I talk about the events of the show including the latest episode (3x07) so don't read if you aren't caught up!

-immortal - bad. immortal started off with warning her that he's watching her every move, similar with mark. he doesnt trust the twins because he never trusted omni-man, and his distrust was clearly justified after the events of the first season. she thinks he's an egotistical asshole who doesn't care about anyone else because of his refusal to become attached to his teammates, he thinks she's a time bomb waiting to go off just like her dad and brother. more than anything, though - she hates that he keeps comparing her to her father. her dad is one topic that she's sensitive about and can get temperamental if he's brought up. she tries to just stay away from immortal most of the time because she's confident she'd just start fights with him every other conversation.

-black samson - okay! samson, to me, has the vibes of a guy who's trying to hold the team together as best as he can. he's a charming guy who seems to care about them, and he does his best to get to know each of them. mercy isn't part of the guardians of the globe roster, but she works with them often enough that he probably considers her an honorary member or something. mercy is pretty closed off to others trying to 'take care of her' because she's trying really hard to be seen as independent and mature, so i think she shakes his concern and compassion off most of the time. not too rudely, though - she appreciates his attempts to be friendly. she just wishes he'd be friendly in a 'this person is my ally and teammate' way instead of in a 'this is a child i need to protect' kind of way.

-bulletproof - okayish. i don't think they interact much with each other at all in the beginning. but considering bulletproof is the only other flyer that she works with on a regular basis, i think just them having convos as they fly to and from missions will go a long way to building a rapport - for no other reason than because it's something only they can do. they'd be work friends i think. getting along on the job, but not really talking much off the job. i think they could be good friends off the job too, both of them like art and being a hero, but Mercy is the one who isn't interested in getting to know him further. sorry man, let's keep it all strictly professional..

-rex - close friends. she kind of had a crush on him the first time they met, and then she realized he was dating eve so she backed off immediately. and then she learned he cheated on eve and hated him with a passion for a while. similar to immortal, she thought of rex as egotistical and a complete jerk for a long while. but of course after his near-death experience, he turned his personality around and started being less of an ass, so her opinion of him changed quite a bit. the only person on the team that Mercy actually hangs out with outside of the job - they're similar in age and can talk to each other about their struggles of being abandoned by a parent (or 2 in rex's case). i think it's interesting that they gave Rae and Rex a romance in the show, because if Rex didn't have a romance, she absolutely would have been interested in him again. Well... we know how it ends, so i guess it's better for her that she never let her feelings develop too far...

-robot and monstergirl - bunking them together because Mercy always sees them together so they're basically a duo in her mind. Robot is crazy intelligent and Mercy respects it, but his penchant to talk from multiple copies of his robots kind of creeps her out and interests her at the same time. Kinda wishes she could do that too lol. Mercy feels sympathy for Monstergirl because of her curse, and the few times they do talk they get along just fine. It's just that they don't talk often. They aren't on the same team together and they never interact outside of the job, so there's just not enough there to build a relationship of any kind off of.

-duplikate - they have an okay work relationship, but they're both headstrong people with very different views on things. i think one of them might throw a jab at the other and that's all it would take to start a fight between them. they do NOT talk outside of work, and in fact, only talk during work if they have to communicate during a fight. in the headquarters? they're not really interacting at all. Mercy rolls her eyes when she learns that Kate and Immortal are getting married because "yeah of course the asshole is marrying an asshole".

-shrinking rae - not as close as Rex, but Mercy and Rae could definitely get along pretty well. maybe if we get to learn more about Rae in the show I could see them being friends outside of the job as well, but for now they're just close coworkers.

-darkwing ii - lastly, darkwing 2. crush material, but very slow buildup. she didn't go on that mission when Mark took Darkwing in for murder, she only heard about it second-hand from Mark himself, so that might be why she's way more forgiving of his issues than she is willing to be for Sinclair(she saw Sinclair's labs and victims personally). she still thinks he's unstable in the beginning and generally avoids him for a while, which he definitely notices, but i think all it would take is one comment from him talking about his remorse for what he did, and she might be willing to stay and talk it over with him. a short debate about morals turns into a longer conversation about regrets and what they would change if they could go back... about how the things they've seen and done has changed them forever. i think the two of them could be very good friends.. and maybe more (: such a shame he disappeared so fast in the show, but maybe id change the story a little bit now that Mercy is here to save the day, heh...

Edit: I CANT BELIEVE I FORGOT SHAPESMITH.... He's my personal favorite hero on the guardians team, which of course means Ellie is going to like him too (: Another rare instance of Mercy allowing this coworker to hang out with her outside of the job. I think she'd be really interested in learning about his life on Mars, and in return she'd help him acclimate to life on Earth. Always bringing him little trinkets or candy from a dollar store, stuff like that lol. They would be the best of friends, I swear. He's not the best person to go to when she's looking to vent her frustrations about life and her issues, but he's always there to listen anyway, and she appreciates that.

[backpackingspace]

Odysseus: demanding Athena take off whatever enchantment she put on him the second the situation ends.

Odysseus: who constantly reminds Athena that he has great plans to grow old and die with his wife so don't even think about getting any ideas.

Odysseus: side eye diomedes who has started fucking glowing he has so many enchantments on him: bro you should talk to Athena about getting those removed. You're going to end up immortal or some shit

Diomedes: who has been a solider since he was 5 who has intersting thoughts about his own personhood who has a much more traditional relationship with Athena and would rather literally stab his own eye out with a rusted sword than speak out of turn: I don't know what you're talking about

[zu-is-here]

Love is blind

Fluffynightkiller Week by @help-im-a-gay-fish

Ccino by black-nyanko

Nightmare by jokublog

Killer by rahafwabas / rahaf-wabas / rahofy-sketch

[average-hua-cheng-fan]

another reason i think that xie lian felt an instant connection on the ox cart is because he and hua cheng both grew up in xianle.

there are maybe 4 people still alive that grew up in that culture. based on my own experience, you can pick up on things like accent, cadence, references, and humor that suggest a person is from the same place as you without consciously noticing it. that sense of comfort and similarity probably played into their instant chemistry.

[hexxter]

What if Luxu and Player encounter each other with each of the player’s reincarnation

Luxu who is stealing bodies vs the kid that keeps coming back to life

[many-gay-magpies]

I just finished watching The Old Guard (banger movie by the way, absolutely recommend if anyone’s been debating it), so naturally my brain went the route of Old Guard DBDA au. I don’t know any details; all I can think of so far is that Charles and Edwin are a pair of immortals that have been at it for a while together, and the timeline of the story starts with the appearance of a new immortal: Crystal. As for what’s beyond that, idk—are there other people on Charles’s and Edwin’s immortal team? Or are they just a duo? Idk if the immortality loss thing happens to either of them, I’m leaning towards no if it’s just the two of them… but like. It would fit SO well.

I’m already kind of envisioning that it’s just been Edwin and Charles, doing good and helping people from the shadows for decades (or maybe even centuries if we stretch out the timeline a bit); not a direct role-for-role cast replacement of the Old Guard, but more of an insertion into the story structure/world. Like, Edwin as the older of the two, having become immortal a while before Charles and almost immediately getting trapped and spending a canon-adjacent length of time being tortured for his abilities—then escaping a short while before Charles appears and he starts having dreams about him. Their deaths could even be similar to canon: Edwin gets sacrificed (literal sacrifice rather than a prank this time) or maybe even put to death for suspected homosexuality and comes back; Charles dies of hypothermia and internal bleeding after his “friends” turn on him, but he doesn’t STAY dead. Edwin has dreams of cold, and pain—utter impenetrable cold—and of an attic, and a lake, and he sees Charles’s face—he decides he has to find him.

Then Crystal comes around, and maybe she has a similar background to canon—maybe even with the memory loss? Like, her toxic ex-boyfriend kills her and she comes back without a bunch of her memories—some kind of complication with the process—and she gets them back gradually over the course of the story (probably as multiple deaths clear things up/shift things back to normal). When Charles and Edwin find her, there’s a lot of complicated emotions, stemming from—well, both of them wondering why NOW, why another one after probable centuries of it just being them, but where Edwin is resistant and standoffish (he doesnt trust new people this close, why did it have to change, their life was FINE as it was), Charles is excited to have a new person around!! Someone they won’t lose!! Someone like them!! And meanwhile Crystal is just,, fucking REELING from this and also maybe being stalked by her crazy power-hungry toxic ex-boyfriend who was maaaaybe in the government the whole time and dating her because her parents had whopping political status. It’s a lot.

Shit, maybe Esther could even be another immortal—one Edwin and Charles don’t know about; one that’s removed from the dream-connection somehow, or one that they haven’t been able to pin down/get clear enough memories from to realize it’s a whole other person and not just, like, them having weird dreams and shit. And maybe Esther LOSING her immortality correlates with Crystal gaining hers, and Esther tries to figure out a way to steal the boys’ immortality somehow to get hers back… or maybe she’s NOT an immortal, but more of a Merrick-type character that finds out about the immortals and wants to take their power for herself? Idk.

Last thing I’ve been thinking about is, I want Niko to be an immortal too… but is she an immortal from the start? Probably not. Maybe she’s a normal mortal girl they meet while dealing with Esther and all get really attached to, who then breaks everyone’s hearts by dying when she tries to help Crystal get the boys back from Esther, providing Crystal’s first big lesson about the futility of relationships with normal human beings (while still being worth the pain for the value of the love while its there)… UNTIL she comes to in her grave in Japan weeks or months later, and the inside of a coffin shows up in all of their dreams. Or something.

I am hereby inviting anyone who wishes to participate in this idea with me to do so, in any way you please