#so many homes built are so lifeless

[simplyghosting]

Crown molding and carved fireplaces being standard in housing would fix people I just know it

[sincere1ystar]

Shining just for you

coriolanus snow x fem! reader

After things get messed up between the two of you at the gala, Corioanus is desperate to fix things between you two again

authors note: guys when i mean desperate i mean DESPERATEEEE

Everyone always said that the C in Coriolanus Snow stood for calculating. What a silly saying, because when it came to you the C in Coriolanus Snow stood for clueless.

The image he built himself as a man who oozes with power crumbles in a matter of seconds around you. You liked it that way, you knew it was just a persona and if life hadn’t pushed him around the way he did he would’ve stayed soft.

When the two of you first met you didn’t fall pity to his charms like the rest of the peers around you. He liked that about you, you were diligent. You had beauty and brains, unlike those lifeless souls that threw themselves at him as they fluttered their eyelashes. He considered himself lucky to call himself yours and he wasn’t afraid to show it either. Every gala he was there right on your arm, and if you didn’t encourage him to go converse with the other party-goers  to others he probably would have stayed there.

You had built a home in Coriolanus’s heart, love was too weak a word to describe his emotions towards you. He didn’t consider himself a violent man, but for you he wasn’t afraid to roughen up the edges of himself. To make his image seem more powerful than it already was, so people would fear him and not even think about hurting you. 

Of course he got invited to many galas, it was only natural considering he had made a name for himself now. Still, he viewed them all as pointless affairs and if you weren’t so fond of going to them he wouldn’t bother to even step foot in the venue. 

Although his signature color is a shade of deep red, he often matched whatever color you were wearing. Tonight it was a cerulean blue to match your dress of the same color. The only thing that stayed the same was the white rose in his handkerchief pocket that eventually ended up behind your ear. 

As you’re finishing up the final touches to your look Coriolanus comes behind you, adjusting the straps of your dress as he leaves soft kisses on your neck.

“Coryo we’re gonna be late-“, you try to protest but he quickly silences you with a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“We can spare a few minutes can’t we darling?”, he cooed.

By the time you manage to drag him to the car sent for you two, you’re already late to the party. Not like Coriolanus cares though, it was time well spent.

Usually when the two of you arrive to any sort of event, he would stick by your side for atleast the first part of it until some buisnessmen or some senator pulled him away. But this time since your arrival was later than usual, the minute you two walked through the doors some of his fellow associates dragged him off to discuss business. You don’t mind much, knowing he has work to do as you walk over to a few friends of your own.

While you enjoy yourself, chatting away like the social butterfly you are, Coriolanus finds the whole event to be tedious and torturous . He wasn’t even paying attention to what his colleagues were saying, too busy stealing glances at you giggling as your friend told a story about her latest date. He’s so intrigued by observing you as if he was stuck in some trance, that he doesn’t notice Aurelia, a woman married to a local senator whom she openly despised, practically throwing herself at him.

He doesn’t snap out of it , not until he feels her red painted lips slightly touch the tip of his ear. The only thing he feels in that moment is utter disgust. The fact that someone other than you attempt to get this close to him was appalling. Did she not see the wedding band on his finger?

After chatting away with your friends for a while, you politely excuse yourself to make your way to Coriolanus since it seems that all his fellow politician friends have now left. Just as you’re about to approach him, you notice her. The woman who is all over Coriolanus, as if she wasn’t married already to another senator and he wasn’t already yours.

You’ve always been the confrontational type, which is why it’s no surprise when you come up right beside them ready to tell Aurelia to back off. Well that was before you overheard her say in that sultry voice of hers, “A man like you shouldn’t be stuck at some flimsy party like this Coriolanus. I bet you want to get out of here don’t you? Y’know my hotel room is better than any party…”

Before Coriolanus responds, you storm out with anger hot on your heels. How dare he. You decide to just go home, taking the car despite Coriolanus still searching for where you went. He can find his own way home. Better yet why doesn’t he get a ride with Aurelia, surely there’s another spot left in her husband’s car.

Your rage doesn’t die down, even as you reach the manor and tuck yourself into bed. You don’t have too much time to notice how empty it seems with Coriolanus’s side of the bed being vacant before he rushes in, his words overflowing out of his mouth. But it’s all a blur to you, tuning him out completely as you shift your body to face the wall while pulling the blanket up.

It’s not until late at night just as you’re about to fall asleep, when you realize he’s begging.

“Darling.. darling please”, he mumbles almost pitiably. He continues desperately kissing your skin with your back still turned to him. “Didn’t even notice what she was doing.. was too busy looking at you”.

You don’t say anything in response and continue staying still, but you’re not pushing him away and Coriolanus takes this as a sign to keep going. “I pushed her away the minute I noticed what she was doing. I would never be unfaithful to you darling, you know that… you’re the only one for me”.

The stubborn part of you wanted to continue to ignore him, but the more reasonable side of you decided to hear him out. “I suppose… I was overreacting just a little bit. Fine”-, you start before you were cut off by his kisses.

“Thank you. Thank you sweetheart… I know I don’t deserve it”, he rasped while leaving little frantic kisses all over your face, “Don’t deserve your forgiveness. Don’t deserve you”.

“Not so stoic and cold are you now Coriolanus Snow?”, you think to yourself. Oh how funny it would be if all his politician friends see how he acted under your finger.

[gxbbyhoneybadger]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write a Predator x reader?

Leads to smut (0u0")

Where he breaks into he readers house/apartment for safety, he looks around and his heat sensors pick up the readers body heat.. He notices she's mostly defenseless but searchers her for weapons.. in the process he's touching her everywhere then leaves. he comes back a few nights later to see her and then BOOM SMUTTY SMUT!

This. . . This is just amazing! Ofc, and enjoy the treat. I'm gonna use Scar boy from AvP, he's my favorite Yautja out of them all heheheh. This is also my first monster/predator smut so. . . Please do be gentle with the comments if u don't approve 🥹

A/n: the Yautjas can roughly speak human languages, I'm using this from the end scene of Predator (1987) movie. I'll give them a reason to speak as well, don't worry. There's a plot for that lol.

Mission XXXIV-XXXV

Pairing: !Yautja!Scar x !F!Shy!Reader

Summary: After making an escape from the Alien Queen, Scar manages to hide away within an empty home—not knowing who was still there and wide awake. After finding and searching the shy human to make sure that she was no threat, she was rather aroused by the strange creature's lingering touches. When he leaves, he can't get the woman out of his mind, causing the Yautja to run back to where she was just a few nights later to finish what he had unintentionally started.

Warnings: Blood and gore, death, adult language, eventual smut, gentle sex (Scar a horny mf but he's a gentle giant imo), size kink, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before ya tap it folks), fluff, anonymous ending.

Part 2

Minors DNI 🔞 18 below the cut

--

Many things happen for a reason, times of events line up for destruction or something wonderful. Not right now apparently, not for Scar. This was destruction, he wiped out the rampant Xenomorph younglings, now the Queen was left. She was raging with fury as she searched for the few Yautjas who were hiding and planning their ways to kill the unforgiving creature.

Scar was wounded—bleeding out the neon green substance from his left shoulder. He shouldn't have let his guard down, he could've spotted that one Xenomorph that leapt at him. At least he made it out alive, he'll make it back to his planet soon. He entered a home, it was dark but he used his mask to read the room. Everything was clear, before he saw the acidic burn on a book that fell onto the floor from the fallen bookshelf.

His guard was already on high alert, his weapon at hand as he slowly approached a broken door where he saw a tail of a Xenomorph lying lifeless. It was already dead, he scanned the room once more, this time using the heat sensor built within his mask. He caught the glowing body within the dark kitchen, the lights flickered on by her trembling hand. She seemed to stunned to even react by the giant watching her, her clothes were disheveled, a few cuts on her arms but not too much damage.

She didn't move from her place, still taking in who this was. "You're one of them. . ." She muttered before her eyes moved to the side. Scar followed her gaze and saw one of his fallen brothers dead in the corner, impaled through the chest most likely from the Xenomorph itself. His neon green blood coated his stilled chest and the ground beneath him.

". . . I didn't know. . . what to do. . . he tried to. . ." She whispered. Scar looked at the dead alien next, seeing that it's head and neck was severely wounded by one of the Yautjas weapons: A Wrist Scythe.

He looked to her and saw the weapon around her arm that she must've taken from the corpse to defend herself from the Xenomorph. "I-I'm s-so sorry. . ." She mumbled. His mandibles clicked as he lifted his hand and held out his index fingers, slowly circling his wrist—telling her to turn around. She read his silent command and turned around, dropping the Wrist Scythe she held behind her back as she rested her hands against the wall.

Scar scanned her body, reading the wounds she sustained as his large claws grazed over her smaller arms. His entire hand could wrap around her neck if he dare harmed her, but he was simply checking for any hidden weapons she may have carried. Gently letting his hands lower down from the sides of her breasts to her waist and hips, his large hands then clasped over her left thigh. The bridge between his thumb and index finger softly brushed against her sensitive nether regions.

She silently scolded herself to stop thinking about such disgusting thoughts, she didn't even know what this thing was or what was happening. Y/n was a shy person, not really out there in the dating or hookup life. But her thoughts were rather intrusive about this strange being that was touching her.

She felt her face heat up from the unintentional touch, he moved on and checked her other thigh—again, touching her nether regions. Palming around her calf before he stood back up and towered over her frame, his shadow completely swallowed her own. His large mitt held her left shoulder and turned her to face him. She followed his movement and let him scan her body.

He read her vitals and smelled something. . . Something rare for any Yautja to smell from a human, her very own arousal, her vitals showed that her heart was beating erratically, a sign of nervousness while her body heat rose significantly, her pupils widened as she looked away from him. She was healthy and stable, but aroused and nervous around him. Scar stepped back and looked at the fallen Yautja, Y/n slowly slid down the wall and sighed.

". . . Um. . . I. . . I'm Y/n. . . Not that, you'd need to know. . . or anything. . ." She said, Scar looked down at her, his dreadlocks hanging over his shoulders as he tilted his head. His mask translating her words into his own language, his understanding of the human languages and different types were vaguely known to his species. Only a rare few of Yautja elders knew the humans entire lot of languages by memory, no mask needed for translation.

Scar was learning bit by bit each day he spends on earth hunting down worthy opponents, and Bad Bloods. "You're hurt. . ." Her shying voice said, bringing Scar's attention back to her, "Your shoulder is bleeding. . . are. . . are you okay?"

Clicking his mandibles again, he grabbed the items he needed and started to clean his wound and patch it up. Y/n grunted as she stood up and wandered towards the dead Xenomorph, she watched it, lightly kicking it's leg to see if it really was dead. . . which it was.

After he finished patching his injury when he saw Y/n standing by the body. It twitched just a little bit caused her to jump back and squeak with fear, making Scar's mandibles click in a chuckling way at her reaction. She growled and kicked the body before looking at Scar who was checking outside for any sign of the Queen nearby. The coast was clear and he turned to pick up his fallen brother's body.

"W-Wait!" She gasped when he walked out of the door, he paused in his step and glanced at her as she stumbled out of her house while watching him with a tiny glimmer of appreciation. ". . . D-Do you have a name?" She asked him.

Scar didn't say or do anything as a response, he looked away and continued to walk away, leaving the girl alone.

~Three Days Later~

He couldn't stop thinking about her voice, her eyes, the shy voice and her smell. He refused to go back to her for three days, for those three days he still couldn't stop thinking about her. Her bravery to take on a Xenomorph, one that even a Yautja couldn't defeat.

His species never mated for life, they simply procreated to reproduce for their species. To grow more warriors for more hunts, their mating wasn't loving either. The females were known to be rough and quite deadly with the males, just making it out alive and injured was considered lucky after their mating.

But after that, they'd go their separate ways. Mating with others and every four hundred days, they'd all mate again for reproduction. But here was a Yautja, searching for the same female he had ran into by accident, a female who wasn't even a part of his species, no, of course, she was human. A species that was noteworthy of being their opponents to hunt and kill, perhaps even ally with.

But something. . . Something shined from this human, and it wasn't because of the thermal scan. This human, this female human of the human race killed a Xenomorph when one of his kind failed to do so. She wasn't a regular human, she was a warrior.

Scar quietly remained perched up in a tree as his scanners searched her house. The damaged parts of the house were cleaned up and repaired over the days, the light in her bedroom was the only thing on. There he saw her exit the restroom, wearing nothing but a towel around her body as she brushed through her semi-dried hair. She seemed low and lonely as she sat on her bed, not even hearing the camouflaged Predator entering her home.

~Y/n pov~

I turned and looked at my folded clothes to wear; it's been three days, whoever that creature was isn't coming back. I already know that's the truth, but it's so hard to accept. For those three days, I couldn't stop thinking about him. Those large hands, the claws, those dreadlocks and his large abs lining his abdomen. Fishnets on his legs, his large build, his tall height.

He couldn't be just six feet, he had to be close to seven at least. I felt stupid when I remembered how I touched myself last night, thinking about him in such erotic ways. I don't even know what he was or who he was, and yet there I was—finger fucking myself over him.

He didn't even answer me or anything, I don't even know if he had a name. I was more pissed off at myself as I stood to grab my clothes, I opened my shirt and sighed as I turned around. Gasping as I dropped the piece of clothing when my eyes landed on the behemoth in front of me. Him. . . It was him! He was here. . .

He was back. . . But. . . why? Shit, what is he going to do? Kill me? Finish whatever job he had to be here? He stepped forward and I couldn't move, I was either scared or really brave to face this giant. . . I highly doubt that I was brave, I was just petrified. I saw him raise his hand at me, was he going to strangle me? Break my neck? I closed my eyes and accepted my fate, maybe he'll make it quick.

But that anticipation was for nothing, I slightly gasped when his claw dragged against my cheekbone. I opened my eyes to see his fingers gentle caressing my skin with care, it really showed me how truly big he was. His hand could cover my entire face, I looked up at his metal covered mask, those dreadlocks were out of this world. Hesitance drowned my confidence as I lifted my hand towards him, slowly and steadily.

He didn't move or growl, that was a good sign. . . right?

I let the tip of my index finger brush one of his dreadlocks, he seemed to have shuddered from the contact. I moved my hand—thinking I did something to cause him discomfort, but that was debunked when his hand held my much smaller wrist. He brought it up to encircle one of his dreadlocks, it felt smooth, rubbery almost, fake to the touch. But it was real nonetheless.

"Y-You're back. . . Why did you come back?" I asked him with a stutter lining my words. I heard the familiar clicking come from behind his mask, I didn't understand what he was saying but I saw his hand lift towards the tubes connected to the side of his mask before pulling them out. A hiss of air was heard when his hand lifted the disguise.

I didn't know what to think when I saw his face, those large mandibles, sharp pointed teeth, sharp and deadly eyes. Never in my life have I seen a creature like him, this was an extraterrestrial level. Forget E.T, this guy definitely takes the cake. I lifted my hand and grazed my finger over his lower jaw mandibles, they clicked and spread open to reveal his teeth within.

I couldn't stop looking at him, but when I did I glanced at the towel I was wearing. My heart rate picked up as I argued back in forth in my head. What if this is truly the last time I ever see him? He'll be gone, what if he forgets about me? This is my only chance, I've never done this before, but this'll be one hell of a first time story for anyone to hear.

I closed my eyes and gulped before bringing my hand towards my towel, I looked back at the creature before pulling the cloth loose—feeling it fall down to my ankles and the cool air breeze across my bare breasts. I shuddered as the coolness, but kept my eyes on his. His clicking grew to a low growl, almost like a warning sign.

Did I read the signs wrong-? oh fuck! I can't even get a regular guy and here I am, not even getting a damn alien or whatever he was to—"Bee-U-Tiff-all. . ." His semi-audible voice growled out. I gasped at the wonder of his voice, it sounded like he tried to put the words together correctly, but with struggle of course. I grew a light smile as I placed my hand on his chest.

"I don't know. . . if you can understand what I'm saying but: you. . . are the most amazing thing I've ever seen walk the earth. . ." I said to him. His large calloused hand slithered up my arm and towards my neck, his thumb gently pushed my chin to look up at him. His large head tilted to the side as he used his unintelligible clicking to communicate to me.

"I don't understand what you're saying. . . But if you mean. . ." I glanced at my bed then back at him, I took his hand and led him near it before I let him go, crawling backwards on the bed and watched him, "If I'm misinterpreting whatever you're trying to say. . . Then I'm sorry. . . But if I'm right. . . Then can you. . . be gentle? I-I've never. . . did this." I mumbled awkwardly.

He seemed to have understood that rather quickly when he held my ankle and lifted it, like he was examining my skin before he rested his knee on the bed. Pulling me closer and spreading my legs, I whimpered at my exposed place. He's ten times my size, yet he's being gentle as he could be. Maybe this will feel good like my friends say.

~~~

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Not good! Oh fuck! I was laying on my stomach, my ass was perched up and this thing was hovering over my back while his unnatural massive cock was prodding at my unexplored entrance. His hands were locked on my waist as he rubbed himself against me, I mewled from the sensation, it was some sort of friction for me.

He was so big, I was terrified on how he'll even make it fit inside of me. I'll barely get the tip in alone! Without warning me, he turned me over on my back again and knelt on the ground. He held my thighs open before letting his forked tongue run over my clit—there I gasped as I clenched the bedsheets.

"Ah!" I moaned, it was a strange feeling, but it felt good. I heard his growling rumbling within his chest as his hands squeezed my thighs. I wanted to touch him, but I wasn't sure of what he was comfortable with so I kept my hands to myself. I felt his mandibles slightly dif into my pelvic area as his lower ones cupped the backs of my rear, his tongue then slithered inside of my glistening petals and through my cunt.

My legs started to shake when his tongue flickered over my clit as he started to tease my labia. I felt my sweat beginning to form over my chest and forehead, I started to feel the tightening string building inside of me. He fully plunged his tongue deeper inside of me and struck the cord—my back lifting off the bed as I bit my hand to not moan out loud. With trembling legs and the flash of white blurring my vision, I didn't even see or feel him turn me back over on my stomach.

But I did feel that initial sting when his cock pushed into me, I used my pillow to squeal into as he added more pressure. Slowly but surely breaking through my hymen, my tears started to sting my eyes as his hands pushed down my shoulder—making my chest lay flat on the bed as I endured it.

His cock was large, too large, it filled me up as he started to slowly thrust, each thrust made his length dig deeper inside of me. I choked on my whimper as he slammed against my cervix, "FUCK!" I screamed out. He remained still and lowly purred beside my head, not moving and letting me adjust to the sheer size of him. My knuckles turned white as I clenched the sheets, I whined when he slightly moved. He was growling while letting his hands touch my body, I felt his dreadlocks drag across my skin.

After a minute or so, he slowly pulled back and pushed forward. Filling me again, he surely reached the deepest parts of me. Mewls and gasps came from me as he continued with his slow motions, rolling his hips into me and growling, letting out snarls and purrs as he clenched my hips—his claws digging into my skin to resist the urge to go faster. I appreciated the thought, but was terrified if he did let loose on me.

"Ah, Ngh! K-keep goi-NG!" I moaned while hugging my pillow with tears. I felt my sweat beginning to coat my forehead and my back, I felt him lower down and lick the shell of my ear with his forked tongue. A whimper flowed from my lips when he picked up the pace just a bit, I could feel his balls hitting my clit just right. They were so big slapping against me; I choked on my air when he pulled me up on his chest.

He hugged my waist and started to thrust into me again, I reached towards one of his locks and brought it to my lips to kiss. He roared and started to grope my breasts while thrusting quicker, each thrust was heavy and deep. His scale like arms held me tight, his claws tracing over my nipples as his mandibles clicked right next to my ear.

My body felt like it was going to split in half from his cock, I was shocked by my moaning and my begging for more of him. I held his arm while I shut my eyes to enjoy this overriding pleasure, my orgasm was approaching as he continued to grind against me. He laid me down again and snarled—digging his nails into my flesh as he restrained himself, I bit the pillow and squealed when the ball tightening within me snapped.

My back arched as I pushed against him, moaning as I felt my desire squirt out of me. That white bliss glossed over my vision, leaving small black dots to see as he continued to grind against me. He didn't stop, his thrusting grew more intense as he clawed at the sheets to avoid harming me—I covered my ears when he roared out. Then gasping when he finished inside of me.

It felt warm, and thick—I could feel his thick desire coating the walls of my uterus and filling my cunt to the brim. His dreadlocks were dragging over my shoulders as he slowly got up from me, I winced feeling him pull out from me. I felt his cum leaking out of me. I felt so tired, drained of all my energy.

His arms gently turned me over, my eyes felt droopy, they started to close when I felt him cover me with a blanket and pick me up before his deep voice growled out, "Sc—aar."

Unaware of where he was taking me. I don't know how long I was out but I was still sleeping. Until I heard more clicking and snarls from other creatures near me.

_____________________________________

I hope you enjoyed the smut! Feel free to follow and request for ur own!

[shadowsandshapes]

𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 | afab!Reader/Geto Suguru

◇ summary: Sometimes you forget Geto is just a guy. But then he shows a sense of vulnerability that surprises you. After a particularly emotionally draining battle, you run him a warm bath and take care of his aches. ◇ contains: Friends To Lovers, Pining, Reverse Comfort, Splish-Splash Water Activities, Casual Nudity, Fluff ◇ tag: @the-milk-anon ◇ wc: [4.1K] (Ao3)

Suguru Geto was just a man.

You tended to forget about that fact every once in a while. To most people, he was this mysterious, enigmatic Buddhist priest — a healer who never turned away a soul in need. A kind, smiling man who received the ill and distraught and cured their worries with a simple wave of a hand. It was a carefully crafted image that came almost naturally to Geto. You had to admire his acting skills. The truth was much, much darker than that. Geto was building an army of curses and those people were merely tools he used to achieve that, a means to an end. Their pain meant nothing to him. Only a select few people ever got to see the real Suguru Geto, the man behind the polite smiles and unparalleled poise — and they better pray to whatever god was listening they never crossed him in a bad way.

He was so kind, patient and understanding with fellow curse users. There was a deep, caring fondness in his eyes whenever Geto looked at you or the little girls he had adopted all those years ago. Every sorcerer under his wing had his seal of approval. More than just that, you were a family in Geto’s eyes — with him as your just but stern patriarch. He cared for you in his own way and built his entire philosophy on wanting to see his fellow curse users thrive in a world that had been cruel to their very existence.

A beautiful wish — in theory.

It was easy to forget that only a lucky few received such gentle treatment from him.

Each time Geto cut down a civilian, you were reminded of how monstrous he could truly be. They were ants beneath his boot. Inferior, useless beings not even worth keeping as a pet. He didn’t even blink as their blood tainted the earth beneath his feet, pooling toward him and staining the bottom edge of his robes. Their cries for mercy went unheard, morphing into a chilling scream as one of Geto’s many curses tore them limb from limb. No matter how often you witnessed the man’s cruelty manifesting like this — it never got any easier to digest. The crunching of bone and snapping of tendons sent a chill down your spine, each brutal rip of flesh echoing in your brain as you closed your eyes to the horrors. 

Curses were easy to kill — humans were not.

Geto’s eyes were cold, devoid of any emotion as their lifeless bodies slumped to the ground. He didn’t care. They weren’t people in his eyes. Dealing with them was as easy as snuffing out a candle or flipping a switch. You approached him, as you always did, and placed a hand on his shoulder. A subtle tension settled in his muscles as you touched him — like every inch of his body was on high alert, burning with adrenaline and subdued rage.

Those people, those insects, they were inferior to you and him in every way. Monkeys. Nothing but the scum of the earth.

But Suguru Geto was a man. And no matter how much he liked to pretend the faces of the people he killed didn’t haunt his dreams, he couldn’t lie to himself forever. You saw the emptiness in his eyes and knew it was difficult to distance himself from what he was doing to these people. Even if he genuinely believed it was necessary. 

“Let’s go home,” you offered, wanting nothing more than to take him away from the nightmare he had created. Geto nodded — the movement of his head was slow and sluggish like he wasn’t quite there, present in the moment with you. You couldn’t blame him. 

As soon as your soft fingers brushed against his palm, Geto blinked, regaining some of his senses. A smile returned to his face but you couldn’t help but notice how the shine didn’t quite reach his eyes. This was merely a feeble attempt at saving face — he wanted to show you how strong he was for you, for everyone, but you knew better. 

He followed you in silence, using the grasp of your hand as a tether to keep him grounded in reality. No matter how dark things got, Geto could always rely on you to bring him back to the light. How did you do it, he wondered, shuffling after you as you led him back home, staring at the back of your head while his mind came down from the mental paralysis brought about by his misdeeds. Killing the weak, shaping humanity for the next step of evolution — it was easy to get lost in his own head doing what he did. All for the greater good. Some days Geto wondered if and when he’d lose his mind. It was a grim prospect.

Perhaps he already had.

It wasn’t until you made it back to Geto’s borrowed estate that the man was able to come back to earth. His eyes locked onto his reflection in a hallway mirror as he passed by. The blood and sweat caked to his skin burned like a raging inferno as he caught sight of it. He looked — cursed. Monstrous and vile. It wasn’t right. Geto didn’t want to feel this way anymore — this soiled, broken image of a tyrant wasn’t how he wanted to be perceived. But even he couldn’t deny the truth the mirror was showing him. 

Something had to be done.

“Would you draw me a bath?” His voice was quiet, barely rising above a whisper. You almost thought your ears were deceiving you when he first asked the question.

Such an honest request — its simplicity caught you off guard for a second. When you looked at him now, you didn’t see your fearless leader or the enigmatic priest – Geto just seemed lost instead. His brow was furrowed, taut with concern and uneasiness. Deep lines, ones you had never noticed before, carved their way across his forehead, making the man look much older than he really was. Your hand tightened its grip on his palm and he smiled at the touch. It was a small and insignificant gesture, but it was enough for him. For once in his life, Geto was asking for help. He needed you.

Maybe not you, specifically, you told yourself. But you would not deny him this vulnerability.

“Of course.” You tugged the man along behind you as you headed for the bathroom without delay. Geto followed quietly, letting you be his guide both mentally and physically. You wouldn’t lead him astray, he trusted you in that and more. His sweet, loyal little sorcerer. The world was desperately yearning for more people like you. It was starved for the type of tenderness your touch could provide — Geto himself could relate to that sentiment, more than he would ever admit out loud. 

You sat on the edge of the bath, waiting for it to fill up and making sure the water's temperature was to his liking. Suguru came up behind you and gave you a pat on the back, a tired smile tugging at the edge of his lips. He was exhausted but your presence felt like a comforting blessing. This life would be miserable for a regular person but you were one of the few people able to understand his struggles.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted Suguru disrobing. Without another word, you left the tub to fill up and assisted in removing the layers upon layers of ceremonial garb. His eyes softened as he watched your deft hands loosening his robes. It was always such a hassle getting them on and off—you knew he tended to struggle with that. He didn’t even have to ask for help, you just appeared whenever he needed you. 

Your brow creased as you tugged at the silks, your frustration apparent in the soft huff that escaped your lips.

“I know, I know—why do I wear this thing in the first place?” Suguru asked, anticipating the question floating around in your head.

“I know why. Showmanship. It sells the whole holier-than-thou act.” You slid the first layer off his shoulders, carefully folding the garment so it wouldn't crumple. “Doesn't make it less annoying to take off, though.”

Suguru laughed. “It's a good thing you're here then. I can use the extra hands.”

You were so adorably meticulous as you helped him undress, Surugu couldn’t help but smile at the way you carefully folded and stowed away each layer of clothing. For all your complaining about his little priest get-up, you sure did show it a lot of respect. Even though you knew it was essentially just a prop, you moved his clothes onto the bathroom counter with the utmost care. Suguru noticed the way your fingers lingered against the fabric as you smoothed out any wrinkles.

So gentle. Soft. 

In contrast, Suguru was jagged. Marred with blemishes that would never truly heal. He was willing to risk life and limb for his cause and the evidence of that could be found within the deep, unsightly scars on both body and soul.

You caught sight of these marks as Suguru removed his hadajuban—laying himself bare. This wasn’t the first time you’d seen him naked and you knew better than to pry about his healed injuries. Sorcerers who could heal others were in short supply, doubly so for your little family of rogue curse users. As a result, any injury sustained in battle would have to heal the natural way—which left a myriad of scars behind. This time, he’d gotten away with just a few bumps and bruises but that didn’t mean Suguru would be as lucky next time around. You couldn’t help but release a sigh. He looked tired. Dried blood crusted his hair and trailed down the side of his neck and chest. You made a mental note to take care of that as soon as possible. 

When the bath was full, Suguru didn’t waste time sinking into the warm water and closed his eyes with a satisfied grunt.

"Do you want me to leave you in peace or should I wash your hair?" you asked, moving a little side table closer with all kinds of soaps and shampoos, brushes and sponges. If he wanted to be by himself, you would respect his wishes but a part of you really wanted to be there for Suguru. He didn’t seem quite himself tonight.

"You can stay, sweet girl," he replied simply and opened his eyes to meet you with a faint smile. As much as Suguru loved being alone, he was always comforted whenever you decided to stick around. "Your company is nice," he added as your eyes followed the movement of his hand as he splashed the bathwater, the realization of what Suguru was implying slowly setting in. “Why don’t you join me?”

Oh. Okay.

"Give me a minute," you said and scooched to the corner of the room to unrobe.

His eyes never left you—you could feel his gaze in the back of your head as you shed each and every layer of clothing until you were completely bare. Despite this sense of awareness, you felt comfortable. Suguru had that effect. Any other man laying eyes upon you like this would make your skin crawl, but not him. The bond of trust between the two of you was stronger than that. You didn't feel the need to hide from Suguru—there was a sense of respect to his gaze, an appreciation for your body as if it were a priceless artifact.

After safely stowing away your own garments, you climbed into the warm water right alongside him–leaning on the opposite side of the tub with a blissful sigh on your lips.

"You may be the prettiest sorcerer I've ever seen," Suguru commented, the heat of the bath and the exhaustion of the day making his voice raspier than normal. Damn–he was exhausted.

"You're just saying that."

"Am I?" Suguru questioned back, staring as you waved a hand, dismissing his compliment, and grabbed a sponge to lather your skin. “Am I lying?” he prompted again–pushing you to look at him and truly think about it.

This was not the first time the two of you had bathed together–and in that time he had always found a way to steal a glance or two whenever he could, discreetly admiring just how utterly breathtaking you were. But there was no hiding his appreciation this time. There was a raw honesty to his expression that took you by surprise, making your hands pause mid-scrub as you let out a quiet chuckle in response.

"You're not lying, you're being polite," you said. "Come here, you've got blood on you."

You leaned forward in the tub, placing the sponge on his chest and rubbing it in small circles to loosen up the grime stuck to his skin.

Each stroke and drag of the sponge had an almost ritualistic quality to it. With these gentle, careful touches you managed to banish all of Suguru’s burdens and aches. If he didn’t know any better, Suguru would have thought you were casting a spell on him. He let you clean him, his heart skipping a beat as he felt the gentle touch of your hands. In the midst of everything he does, this moment, this feeling was the closest thing he had had to being human in a very long time. You were careful and concentrated as you worked, taking care to clean and wash him properly. His chest, arms and stomach all got a gentle scrub. When the grime and dirt were all gone, you turned your attention to his injuries. Nothing too serious at first glance but your brow still furrowed with worry. Your focus then shifted to his older injuries, scars that told of many battles. Your fingers reached out and traced them gently, almost absentmindedly as you quietly admired his strength.

"You know, you deserve a little tenderness every now and then," you said. It almost sounded like you were scolding him for being so rough all the time but Suguru knew you didn't mean it that way.

"A little tenderness, huh?" he echoed—wondering if he truly qualified for such a luxury.

"Mhm," you hummed in agreement, placing the used sponge back on the side table. You would take care of yourself later—right now Suguru needed some attention. Something to wash away not just the literal grime of the day, but also soothe his mind and soul. If you could help with that, you would. You scooted a little closer into his arms, sitting on your knees. "Let me wash your hair...c'mon. Then we can get out of this tub."

He was surprised by your forwardness and your little maneuver to get into his arms in particular. Suguru did not mind it one bit. He had always been curious to see just how far you'd take things between the two of you. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, nothing made him feel as safe as letting you be near him.

"That sounds nice," he replied, smiling softly at the idea.

Your fingers gently massaged his scalp, running through his long hair to detangle it gently. Your eyes remained focused on Suguru as you worked, soaping up his hair and running your fingers along all the little pressure points you could find. The touch was soothing and relaxing, rubbing away the tension on his brow and scalp with each pass of the fingers.

The more you worked, the more his stress melted away. After a while, he couldn't help but let out a quiet moan from the satisfaction your hands provided. Your touch was different—it felt genuine. There was something almost otherworldly to it.

He let his eyes drift closed, allowing the sensations to overcome him as he leaned his head onto you for more comfort. Seeing him this blissful and happy did bring a smile to your face. When his hair was thoroughly shampooed, you took a small cup from the side table and filled it with bath water. One of your hands rested against Suguru's forehead, preventing water from cascading down his face as you rinsed the soap from his hair with the little cup.

"Feeling good?"

"Very," he replied with a smile, his eyes still closed in blissful relaxation. There were few people in the world who could make him feel like this. Few people he trusted so deeply that he'd ever put himself in a situation where he was truly relaxed, vulnerable and at your mercy. "What about you? Are you feeling well?" he added with a tilt of his head, his breathing slightly shaky from your touch.

You nodded quietly, fishing a bottle of leave-in conditioner from the side table. It was yours, but you didn't mind sharing it with Suguru for once. You spread the product between your fingers before gently running it through his hair. It smelled just like you.

"I'm just glad to see you finally relaxing a little," you said, massaging the leave-in conditioner onto his roots.

Normally he would be against the idea of someone taking care of him like this. He was the strong one—the protector, after all. But he decided to surrender his pride to you and let you be the one in charge for now. You were a special case. You were the one friend that he trusted so dearly.

"I was only able to relax because..." he trailed off, deciding to show his vulnerable and honest self for once and finally admitting the truth. "Because of you, sweet girl. You always go above and beyond for me," he added, letting out another satisfied sigh.

The gravity of those words made you halt your movements for a second. But only for a second. Suguru could see you took what he had said to heart—a small, genuine smile forming on your lips as you continued to pamper and care for him. As soon as you were satisfied with your work, you rinsed off your hands in the water.

"I'm glad I can bring you some peace," you whispered. 

"I'm glad too."

You were done. Bathed, pampered and cleaned from top to bottom, which meant it was time to get out of the tub. He watched as your smile flourished and found himself smiling back as well. You always managed to brighten up any room, just by being you. No matter what misery Suguru found himself in, you were a spark of hope. Of love. And if he were a braver man he’d tell you this.

Suguru took hold of your hands and helped you up, a warmth growing inside his chest when you took his hand. "Shall we get out of here?"

"Yeah," you said being careful not to slip and fall on the slippery surface as you rose from the tub. One of the racks on the wall held clean towels: you handed Suguru one and took another for yourself, then returned to the tub to drain the water and stow away all the things you had used. Suguru took the towel and started drying himself off. Once he was finished, he returned the towel to you and put on his robe before stepping over towards you.

"Come here. I have something I'd like to show you," he said in a low tone of voice. It felt different when he spoke to other people. He had such a way with words when it came to you, and it caught you off-guard every time.

You had retrieved one of the robes too, wrapping it around yourself and tying the ends of the waist shawl to keep it closed. Your eyes found Suguru's as he approached you: they widened ever so slightly when he placed a hand on the back of your neck.

"What is it, Geto?"

He continued to gaze at you quietly, a slight grin tugging on his lips.

"Close your eyes," he said after a small pause. His voice was soft and quiet. There was a different kind of warmth to it now, a hint of intimacy that he had yet to display with you. "I have...something I feel like showing to you." Suguru could feel your skepticism even as you obeyed this command, chuckling at the suspicious little pout on your lips. You were wary of him–but decided to place your trust in his hands regardless. "No funny business. I promise."

Suguru was being a little disingenuous right now, he knew that. All he really wanted in this moment was to admire you for a moment, to work up the courage to speak on what was in his heart. But it was hard. He'd faced countless horrors and consumed the rot of the world all for the sake of his unfathomable dream. In that pursuit, he'd felt lonely. And then you came along. You meant the world to him—and the fact that you weren't aware of this was a most unforgivable deception. 

What are dreams if they’re not shared with the one you love most?

He sighed. His hands moved to cradle your face, gently resting against your cheeks as his thumbs stroked the soft skin beneath his palm. You were so beautiful—Suguru could stall no longer. He should bury these feelings. Really. It was the safer bet, but it would kill him to keep lying to you.

"Open your eyes please." As soon as you did what he asked, a smile spread across his face and his eyes immediately locked with yours. "What do you see when you look at me?" he asked. The question carried something raw–a vulnerability you were not used to seeing from Suguru. You immediately knew this was serious. "Do you see someone worthy of your time? Worth your trust?"

"What–of course I do, Geto. You have my trust and time. Always."

You could hear the relief in his breath. The pure affection shining in his eyes was in such contrast to the coldness he normally expressed that it was difficult to grasp the truth. This wasn’t one of those fake, practiced smiles he had mastered in the name of manipulation—no. Suguru looked thoroughly smitten—almost miserably so.

"I just... wanted to make sure." His voice was shaky and unsteady. "I don't want to lose you."

"You're not going to lose me," you assured him.

"Promise me you won't leave me," he replied, his voice shaking with intensity. Too many people had let him down—too many souls had left his care.  "I don't have anything without you."

"I promise," you affirmed—voice steady and certain. The only thing you wanted was to make him happy. To bring him relief and peace when he needed it. Leaving him was the furthest thing from your mind. You were in this together.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"You have nothing to thank me for, Geto," you said, brushing your thumb against his cheek. This must have been difficult for him to do, you realized. Confessing one's true feelings and desires was never easy. For a man like Suguru, doubly so. "Now that your cards are on the table, what's next?"

"I...I want to kiss you more than anything," he replied quietly. "I want you and I need you. Is that too much to ask?"

How could you refuse him? You couldn't. Not when he was this vulnerable and real for once in his life. The hand on his cheek continued to gently caress his face, even as you leaned in to grant his wish. Your lips found his as you kissed him, answering his question in the only way you could.

Suguru Geto was just a man. And he would never be too much for you.

He wanted this more than anything, and the moment you felt his lips on yours, a wave of relief washed over him.

Suguru wasted no time pulling you closer as he let out a quiet moan into your mouth. It felt almost unreal that he was showing this much intimacy to you. All other thoughts were lost as you let the moment wash over you, allowing yourself to sink into his kiss. Suguru felt like he couldn't possibly get enough of you. This was love. It couldn't just be a passing fancy or lust. You meant so much to him that the very thought of anyone or anything taking you away from him made him sick.

Suguru allowed himself to be weak—just this once.

"...I want you," he said, breaking the kiss with a breathless sigh.

Hearing those words, that spontaneous admission of desire, made your heart skip a beat. Suguru, who was always so deliberate and collected, was desperate enough to say something like that in the heat of the moment.

"You already have me."

If you liked this, please leave a little reply or reblog | [Masterlist]

[fyonahmacnally]

Their eyes meet across the tower. They’re surrounded by the ragtag family they’ve built over the years, but their eyes are firmly fixed on each other. They weren’t exactly on speaking terms when Kara was sent to the Phantom Zone. Working together, sure, but friends again? Not even close. Most days, Lena felt like she was mostly tolerated. 

There are so many words left unsaid, so many things unresolved. Now that Kara’s back, Lena isn’t sure what to say or do. She’s served her purpose, she brought the hero back. Her presence here is no longer needed and likely no longer wanted. Kara needs to spend time with her family, get to know her father again. 

Lena should go. She doesn’t belong here. Did she ever? She should definitely go.

Veridian eyes are the first to look away. Seeing the disappointment that is probably swimming in ocean blue isn’t something she can handle at the moment. She waits until the others swarm the superhero before she quietly gathers her things and makes her exit. Getting Kara back is what she promised Alex and she’s fulfilled it. It’s time for her to figure out what her future looks like. She’s on her own, starting over again. 

But first, she needs to grieve. Lena’s lost everything. Again. Kara’s betrayal broke her in a way nothing or no one ever has. She’s lost the only person that ever actually believed in her. Yet again, she is mourning someone that is still alive. First Lex, then Andrea, and now Kara. Sure, she played a role in the rift with Kara, but any time she lets her guard down, someone rips her heart out. 

As she enters the cab, she thanks her past self for removing all of her things from Kara’s apartment before the rescue mission. Getting a hotel room was a good idea. At least she doesn’t have to see the inside of the apartment again, doesn’t have to face those otherworldly blue eyes in the only place that ever felt like home. 

She can grieve in peace. Eventually she will find her own place again. At this point, she’s not even sure she’s staying in National City. What’s the point? There’s nothing here for her anymore. She’s got more money than she will ever spend, maybe she’ll head to Ireland. Back to the place her mother’s memories live. 

The beep of the door unlocking startles her from her thoughts. The lifeless, sterile room matches the way her soul currently feels. Empty and achingly lonely. Now she needs to find something to numb the ache in her chest. Her legs automatically take her to the dining table in her suite. Her past self made sure to stock up on her preferred poison, Macallan double cask single malt scotch – a tried and true method of numbing what ails her.

Her current emotional state causes her to bypass the tumbler in favor of drinking directly from the bottle. Not that it matters, there’s no one to care anyway. She opens the bottle and makes her way onto the balcony. Kara won’t be flying around anytime soon, it will be at least a few hours before she has her powers back fully so she feels safe sitting outside. 

Besides, as soon as she is a few drinks in, she’ll activate the lead shield she created. Then her favorite Kryptonian won’t be able to hear her heartbeat. It’ll be better for both of them. Kara deserves better than she will ever be and she’s pretty sure the hero doesn’t want anything to do with Lena anymore. She releases a humorless laugh before taking a swig from the bottle. Swallowing and feeling the burn promptly turns into body wracking sobs. 

She ends up sitting on the balcony for longer than anticipated. Between sobs, she manages to drink about half of the bottle of scotch. Pushing herself up from the chair, she stumbles her way inside to activate the shield. At least now she can drown her sorrow without the risk of the woman she loves more than life finding her in such a chaotic, sad state.

The next two days pass in a blur. She manages to eat just enough to sustain her mostly liquid diet. A pretty steady drunkenness propels her into a numbness that prevents the stark emptiness from being front and center. Unfortunately, it does nothing to quell the loneliness and grief. Every inch of her body is engulfed with loss. No matter how much she tries, the love she feels for Kara remains threaded into every fiber of her being. So she drinks more.

When the third day rolls around, her luck runs out. She knew it wouldn’t be long before Kara figured out where she was. It’s not hard when her suite is the only one in the city with a lead shield. As she anticipated, around noon on the third day a tentative knock sounds on her door. First she ignores it, just like she has her phone. All of them have tried to call and text. Unfortunately, she can’t ignore the now insistent knock on her door. Still, she tries.

A tired voice penetrates the threshold between them. “Lena, please open the door. Please.” Kara’s weary words drift into the silence around her. “I’m not going to leave until I see you. I need to, Lena. Please.”  

The last word cracks with emotion and breaks what little resolve the youngest Luthor has. She staggers to the door, engaging the sing bar lock to crack the door enough for Kara to see her. “T-There. Nowsh’you see’shmme.” Lena slurs, leaning against the door to hold herself up. 

The hero’s shoulders slump and the already welling tears cascade down her face. A shaky whisper of “Lena” escapes her lips before she reaches her hand out as if to touch the porcelain skin peeking around the barely open door. “Please let me in. I’ll sit out here in the hallway until you do. I’m not going away, Lena.”

The sound that escapes her throat is something between a groan and a resigned laugh. She is weak to the woman standing in the hallway, always has been. Closing the door and disengaging the swing lock, she reopens it before staggering back to her third bottle of scotch. With the bottle in hand, she plops herself onto the couch without looking at the hero.

Kara just stands at the edge of the room watching the raven haired genius swallow the last dregs of what appears to be her final bottle of scotch. She’s never seen the woman in such a state. In the five years of their friendship, she’s seen Lena tipsy and even drunk, but never like this. Her usually stoic facade is nowhere in sight. Kara has never seen her this disheveled and out of sorts. Immediately, her stomach drops and she feels some sense of responsibility for it. 

Their friendship wasn’t anywhere near mended before her unplanned trip to the Phantom Zone. It was a tentative truce at best. Her time with the phantoms was riddled with “what ifs” and “should haves” related to her relationship with Lena. Seeing the state of her best friend (ex-best friend?) now makes her want to vomit. The fact she felt the need to run from the tower after their shared moment of eye contact twists the proverbial knife in her heart. 

Kara’s selfish behavior and lies ruined everything they built. After Lena told her countless times she’d been betrayed and lied to by the people she loved most, Kara continued to keep her secret. How is she ever going to get back into her good graces? 

Here she is standing at the edge of the room while the woman she loves drinks herself into oblivion. Standing and staring, saying nothing. In truth, she has no idea what to say. How do you tell the person that means the most to you that you didn’t mean to break their heart when deep down you knew it would happen? She has no words. She’s paralyzed by the possibility of losing Lena for good. So, she watches as the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen fades into unconsciousness. 

Saying nothing. 

Lena wakes up at noon the following day, head throbbing and stomach roiling. She’s confused because she distinctly remembers being on the couch, but she’s in bed with the curtains drawn. Her eyes squint at the glass of water and ibuprofen sitting on the bedside table. That’s when she realizes what she thought was a dream must have been real. Kara was here. A sigh escapes her lungs and she rolls over to push herself up. Sitting on the side of the bed, she gingerly grabs the glass of water and pills to swallow them down. Of course Kara would take care of her. 

Forcing herself to sit still for a minute, she listens for any sign of the blonde in the suite. When she doesn’t hear anything, she grabs a change of clothes and heads to the bathroom. Thankfully, the cool shower tempers the hangover a bit. As she opens the door to the bathroom, she is greeted by Kara sitting at the table surrounded by food. The sight stops her in her tracks. She didn’t expect the Kryptonian to still be here, much less sitting at the table waiting with food. 

They make brief eye contact before Lena moves again. Neither of them say anything, the silence filling the space with their internal shame. Each harboring guilt and blame for the current situation. She makes it a point to sit at the opposite end of the table from Kara, knowing she can’t share close quarters with her without shattering. Not right now, maybe not ever. The meal is spent in a deafening quietude that makes them both squirm, but neither is willing to speak.

Or maybe they just don’t know what to say. Is it too late to salvage what they had? Can they wash away the mistakes and talk about how they feel? The doubt swims across the air between them like sharks circling an injured seal. How can they possibly rebuild their relationship on such damaged ground? They’re both frozen in place, paralyzed with fear and indecision. 

Lena finishes what little she manages to eat, grabs her sunglasses, a bottle of water, and steps out onto the balcony. She spent three days trying to wash away her mistakes, erase her pain, and all she did was make herself feel worse. Now she can feel every pulse of heartache, every ounce of remorse and guilt. She’s no closer to knowing what to do than she was before. There’s a part of her that wishes she wouldn’t have survived the phantoms. Maybe that would have been easier than whatever this is.

Her whole body stiffens when she hears the balcony door open and close. The presence of the hero appears in her periphery. Close enough to see, but far enough away they don’t run the risk of an accidental touch. Kara is close enough to pull her into a hug, but she won’t. She can’t. 

They both stand there, saying nothing. 

Lena chances a glance to her right and immediately regrets her decision. There is a deep, profound sadness in the blue eyes that meet hers. Glittering tears flow down unusually pale cheeks and it further guts her. They’ve both spent so much time bottling up their feelings to save themselves from pain only to cut their own throats with the knife of their lies. 

Here they are, two women who spent most of their lives trying to please others by hiding behind walls and facades. Now they're broken and damaged standing in front of each other afraid to speak. They need to talk, to tell each other how they feel, expel their pain, but they stand there and say nothing. Lost in the stare of regret.

Neither of them are sure which one of them moves, but they drift together, inches apart. Stormy blue eyes are focused on churning sea green. There is a question asked in their intense gaze, each seeking permission to pull the other close. With silent permission granted, they bridge the divide and wrap their arms around the other. It’s a step, toward what, who knows, but it’s a step.

Lena stands there. 

Kara stands there.

For now, that’s all they need. Arms wrapped around their world.

To simply say nothing.

[cloudyskydreams]

How do u think the sans/papyrus AUs would reacts to their S/O being killed by frisk during a genocide run??

(ik this a little angsty, my bad if thats not ur thing<3)

I LOVE ANGST awful at writing it though. Hope this is up to your standards thanks for the request ::3!

There's no real way to do horrotales since frisks route was neutral and their reaction would be the same as sans and papyrus at the time of SO's death so I'm gonna do something special for them and have SO die of starvation because angst woo!!

couldn't decide if this was a monster or human SO so I'm goinggg human for this one! So some background SO is another fallen humans who fell about two years before frisk and has built friendships with the people underground and even started dating a special skeleton after wooing him.

As always hope you guys enjoy!

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄���⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･･ ⋆ ･

Undertale:

Sans:

He's in shock at first. It doesn't seem real seeing frisk strike you down. He rushes to your side and holds you to his ribcage as he looks over your wounds. Frisk is quick to abscond not wanting to deal with the power they know sans holds yet. Sans does the best his can on your wounds not wanting to give up. He promises you he's going to fix this and we all know how much he hates promises. Sobbing loudly as he holds your limp body against him he crys for awhile until he goes numb. Standing up he takes something of yours a piece of jewelry or clothing. Burries you while in the same numb state. He wears the reminder of you constantly until his final battle with frisk. Once he's hit he laughs and mentions your name as well as Papyrus's as he stumbles and then falls to the floor.

Papyrus:

Upon seeing frisk strike you down his soul cracks a little. Someone he considered a good person a friend even hurting the one he cares most about. He rushes over and frisk debates taking him out to make it easy on their self but something stops them and they abscond. He holds you gently and trys to heal you as he shakes, the sound of his bones rattling filling the cold air. Eventually he realizes it's pointless and sobs as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear trying to soothe you as you go. Sans helps him bury you and he isn't the same afterwards. He's quiet and drained of energy wanting nothing more to see your gorgeous smile again. When frisk stands before him in an encounter he hardly fights back and when they strike him down he feels a semblance of peace knowing his soul will be reuniting with yours.

Underfell:

Red:

His soul stops when he sees frisk strike you down. Immediately rage fills the numb feeling and he rushes the small child. They battle until frisk somehow manages to escape and Red is left with you slowly drifting away. He panics upon seeing you and grabs you teleporting you home. He rushes through the house and forces you to eat monster candy cursing when it hardly does anything. He holds you to his chest begging you not to go not to leave him. He continues to plead far after your gone cradling your lifeless body to him. Edge finds him like this and after separating him from your corpse and calming him down the two bury you. Red also takes a keepsake of you and wears it until his final battle with frisk. He grins as he gets hit he tried his hardest and he killed the kid as many times as he could and now he gets to be with you and his brother again.

Edge:

He's frozen watching Frisk strike you down. Frisk smirks and throws up a peace sign upon seeing him before running away and that snaps him out of his frozen state. He's by your side in seconds all medical training with the guard running through his head. He stays relatively calm at first believing he can handle the situation...until he realizes he can't. Freezes again while watching you struggling to take breath in. He cradles your head gently, he knows what's going to happen and he's not ready. Kisses you softly and whispers soft words into your ear about how sorry he is about how he should've protected you and how he loves you so much. He sits there with your body in his lap for a long time as he zones out simply petting your hair. Red finds him and helps his brother bury you. He doesn't cry until he's home alone where he destroys his room and then cry's into the blankets that still smell like you. He puts up his hardest fight when frisk fights him, full of rage and as determined as a monster can get to avenge you. Of course it doesn't work out and Edge is cut down. He's ashamed he couldn't take down the one who killed you but he's grateful to return to your side hoping his brother will sprinkle his dust near on your grave.

Underswap:

Blue:

Shrieks upon seeing chara attack you and immediately sends a bone attack at the child. Rushes over and Chara flees as your body drops. Blue trys to catch you but he's a few seconds late and immediately scoops you up into his lap. Assessing your wounds and apples pressure covering his hands in blood he trys not to focus on. He reassure you promises it's going to be okay and gives you a bright smile even though his eyelights are swirls of distress. He starts to sob as he reassures you and when he realizes the pressure isn't doing anything he cradles you to his chest and sobs loudly, kissing your face and telling you how much he loves you. He rocks you back and forth softly as he watches the light fade from your beautiful eyes. Blue is heartbroken but beyond that he is so fucking angry. Stretch finds him while he's burying you and joins in on the funeral Blue shaking in rage in the entire time. He says a speech and sheds a few more tears before stomping off. He hunts down Chara not waiting for the child to seek him out and pulls them into an encounter. Blue gives it his all pulling out all the stops and fighting till his magic is depleted. He feels at bittersweet peace when Chara hits him and closes his eyes as he thinks about you and his brother for the last time letting the cold dark of death overtake him.

Stretch:

Panics immediately upon seeing chara strike you. He knew they were in a genocide route. He should've sheltered you more, hadn't left you leave the house. All the should'ves run through his head as he dashes to your side sending a bone after Chara who dodges easily. His attention is on you at the moment though so that doesn't matter. He's by your side in seconds grabbing you and teleporting you home. He freaks when you both land and situates you on the couch as he runs around like a chicken with it's head cut off looking for anything to help you. He trys patching you up and monster food but it doesn't work and he's slipping further into hopelessness as he watches you fade. Once he realizes it's over and he can't do anything he cuddles up with you and whispers shaky reassurances into your ear. Blue finds him shaking holding your body as he sobs quietly on the couch. Stretch takes his keepsake and keeps it on him at all times. When he faces off with Chara he kills them so many times they don't return for three days before their final attempt when they finally get him. He's tired so so tired and ready to rest by your side as he teleports to your grave slumping over on it so his dust will spread across it.

Horrortale:

Axe:

He tried so hard to find food for you and his brother. He realizes humans need more sustenance than just magic like him and his brother and he was hoping what he managed to catch plus his portions would be enough... but it wasnt. It was really hard on him waking up each day and seeing you slowly dying in front of him. It gets so bad he forgets what you originally looked like when you fell and that tears him apart. He holds you gently to his body as often as he can knowing he doesn't have much time with you. Mourns you while you're still alive and when you get to the point of being bed ridden he doesn't leave your side. You pass in your sleep and Axe was awake to hear your heartbeat stop. A part of his soul breaks away as you slip away from him. He and Willow bury you in their backyard. It's really hard on Axe because even though he wrote it down he still forgets and expects to see you by his side when he wakes up in the morning. In a state of lost puppy confusion looking for you until Willow reminds him what happened and his soul cracks again. He stands by your grave for hours. Doesn't talk at all anymore besides the occasional word to Willow. He doesn't want to leave Willow behind but a part of him desperately wishes for him to just die already so he can reunite with you.

Willow:

Much like his brother when he noticed you getting thinner he started devoting his portions to you. He tried his hardest to grow mushrooms or find things of sustenance for you. It's agonizing for him to watch you become a shell of your former self. When you start to get worse he starts babying you taking care of your chores and making sure you get plenty of rest. He refuses to give up hope even when your nothing but a frail husk of a person. He treats you gently as if your glass and starts reminding you more of how much he loves you. Cry's quietly during the night so as to not disturb you or his brother. When you become bedridden he stays by your side and reminisces on your time together as he trys to keep it together for you. He makes sure you're as comfortable as you can be at all times and is constantly showering you in love and affection. He knows when you die by your lack of heartbeat but doesn't want to believe it. He tells himself you're just sleeping for now and let's himself believe that lie until morning. Sobs softly over your body as he tries to wake you gently. He and Axe bury you and Willow is an emotional wreck. He trys to put on a happy face for his brother but when he gets moments alone he's numb. Loses his appetite and struggles to eat slowly growing weaker. He does eventually force himself to eat for Axes sake but he never really returns to how he was when he had you.

[atinyslittleworld]

Ghost Of You

idol!seonghwa x f!reader

Genre: angst, breakup

Word Count: 1,131

Warnings: mention of crying

a/n: this was requested by @arki-sha, it took me sometime to complete it but I hope that you like it, thank u so much for the request, enjoy!!

Inspired by the song "Ghost Of You" by 5sos

Seonghwa stared blankly at the ceiling, his mind replaying the words that had ended everything. The apartment was silent, eerily so, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting for her to return. But she wouldn’t. The truth settled heavy in his chest every morning as he forced himself out of bed, only to find the world she’d left behind scattered around him, pieces of her clinging to every corner of his life.

He pushed the covers away and stood, the weight of his grief anchoring him to the floor. As he moved towards the kitchen, his eyes caught the small vase of dried flowers sitting on the windowsill. They had been vibrant once, fresh and full of life when she had placed them there, insisting that the place needed "a touch of nature." Now they were brittle and lifeless, much like his heart. He couldn’t bring himself to throw them away, though. It was as if discarding them would erase the last trace of the life they had once shared.

In the kitchen, Seonghwa reached for a glass from the cabinet, his mind numb with the routine of the motion. He filled it with water, staring at the clear liquid as if it held answers to questions he didn’t even know how to ask. When he lifted the glass to his lips, his breath caught. There, barely visible but unmistakable, was a faint lipstick stain. A remnant of her. A moment of carelessness on her part, a mark that had been left behind. It was from a night just a month ago, when she had been standing right here, laughing as they cooked dinner together.

He’d missed it in his half-hearted attempts to clean up after she left. The sight of it now brought an ache to his chest, a sharp reminder of how real her absence was. It was a ghost of her presence, lingering in the mundane details of his life. He set the glass down with trembling hands, unable to take another sip.

The days had turned into weeks since their breakup, but time hadn’t dulled the pain. If anything, it had only sharpened the edges, cutting deeper with each reminder of what once was. Seonghwa found himself wandering through the apartment, aimlessly moving from room to room, as if searching for something he knew he’d never find.

He stepped into the bedroom, where the scent of her perfume still lingered faintly in the air, clinging to the pillows and sheets. His eyes fell on the pile of laundry he’d been avoiding, and with a heavy sigh, he began to sort through it. As he lifted a worn, oversized T-shirt from the pile, his heart twisted painfully. It was one of his, one she’d always worn to bed. The fabric was soft from too many washes, and her scent still clung to it, despite his attempts to move on, to let her go.

He remembered how she used to wrap herself in it, how it hung loosely on her small frame, making her look even more delicate than she was. It had been a comforting sight, something he’d come to associate with the warmth of home, of love. Now, it was a cruel reminder of everything he’d lost.

Seonghwa pressed the shirt to his face, inhaling deeply. The tears came then, unbidden and unstoppable, sliding down his cheeks as he held onto the last piece of her he had left. He had thought he was prepared for this, that he’d seen it coming, but the reality of it was so much harder than he’d imagined. There was no way to prepare for the emptiness she’d left behind, the gaping hole in his life that he had no idea how to fill.

He tried to push the pain away, to focus on something else, but it was no use. Everywhere he looked, there were traces of her, little pieces of the life they had built together. The framed photos on the wall, the books she’d left on the coffee table, even the half-empty bottle of her favorite wine in the fridge. It was like living in a museum of their love, each item a relic of a time that felt both distant and painfully close.

Desperate for some form of relief, Seonghwa walked to the bathroom, hoping the mundane task of showering would offer a distraction. But even there, he wasn’t safe from the memories. Her toothbrush was still in the holder, her shampoo still in the shower. He had avoided touching any of it, as if doing so would mean accepting that she was really gone.

The sight of her things, so ordinary and yet so painfully significant, broke something inside him. He sank to the floor of the bathroom, burying his face in his hands as the sobs wracked his body. He hadn’t cried like this since the night she left, when he’d stood in this very spot, listening to the sound of her suitcase wheels rolling across the floor as she walked out of his life. He had been too numb then, too shocked to fully comprehend what was happening. But now, the reality of it was inescapable.

He couldn’t escape the memories, couldn’t escape the reminders of her that haunted every corner of his life. And maybe that was the worst part of it all—not the fact that she was gone, but the fact that she was still everywhere, still a part of his life in all the ways that mattered. Her absence was like a wound that refused to heal, and he didn’t know if it ever would.

Seonghwa spent the rest of the day moving through the apartment like a ghost, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were afraid to disturb the fragile peace that had settled over the place. He didn’t know how to move on, how to let go of the life they had shared. All he knew was that he couldn’t keep living like this, trapped in a past that was never coming back.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the floor, Seonghwa found himself standing at the window, staring out at the city below. The world was still turning, still moving forward, even though it felt like his had come to a standstill. He knew he had to find a way to keep going, to find some kind of solace in the midst of the pain. But for now, all he could do was hold onto the memories, even as they tore him apart.

Because as much as it hurt to remember, it was the only way he could still feel close to her. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to keep him going, one day at a time.

[nausicaamusiclover20]

Hello)) Blame this on my grandma, I watched too many soap operas with her growing and we still do it 😂

So basically 2022 James x younger reader maybe she was his sponsor after he got out of rehab after 2019 relapse and she stayed him him during the pandemic (let’s pretend he divorced earlier than 2022, im not a home wrecker) and obviously it evolved into romance. Since he got vasectomy, they kinda weren’t very careful with protection, but it’s actually proven that these can fail, so she finds out she’s pregnant. Of course he doesn’t believe her and thinks she cheated and demands a DNA test. Having no options and feeling betrayed by his behavior, she moves out and they do a tests a few months later. Of course it comes back confirming he’s the father, but she also sends him something like NDA saying that she will never file for child support and will not disclose him as the father + the note that she doesn’t want to do anything with him as he betrayed her by accusing her of cheating. So the moment they have a break in tour he comes to beg for forgiveness? It takes her a while but she finds the strength to forgive him? And then she even joins them on tour and even goes to labour at the end of one of their shows (that’s actually happened with one of the fans)

Damn those TV shows did make sure my fantasies run wild 🫢

Don’t worry, how many times watching a series I made a lot of mental films (and it’s better not to know them🤭) I hope you will like it!❤

A New Beginning

I could still hear the echo of the accusations in my head, ringing louder than the sound of the tour buses or the distant crowds that gathered for Metallica’s show tonight. “You cheated, didn’t you? You couldn’t have gotten pregnant by me… it’s impossible!”

I closed my eyes, trying to suppress the flood of hurt that still rose in my chest every time I thought about it. I’d never cheated, never given him a reason to doubt me. I had stood by him through his darkest moments, through rehab, through the pandemic lockdowns when the world felt like it was falling apart. I gave him my heart, my love, my everything. And in return, he gave me distrust.

The memory of how we met flickered in my mind like an old film reel—those early days, before the weight of fame and fear crushed us under its heel.

I had been his sponsor after his 2019 relapse. A fresh face among the older, battle-worn members of the program, I hadn’t expected to be assigned to someone like James. I still remember that first meeting—how he slouched into the room, the weight of the world on his shoulders, his eyes distant, almost lifeless. His tattoos were visible beneath the sleeve of his worn-out leather jacket, and his hands trembled slightly as he held a paper cup of coffee, more like a shield than a drink.

He was a legend, a rock god, someone I had grown up listening to, but none of that mattered in that room. There, he was just another man struggling to find his way back from the brink.

I had introduced myself, unsure of how someone like me could even begin to help someone like him. But as the days passed, we found an unexpected rhythm. He was raw, real, and unfiltered, and I wasn’t afraid to call him out on his bullshit when he tried to downplay his struggles.

“You’re not invincible, you know,” I had told him once during one of our private sessions, my arms crossed as I stared at him down. He had tried to laugh it off, but I didn’t let him. “You might be James Hetfield to the world, but in here? You’re just another person trying to get better. And if you want this to work, you’re going to have to face the hard stuff.”

To my surprise, instead of pushing back, he had listened. Really listened. And slowly, over time, the walls he had built around himself started to crumble. We spent hours talking, not just about his addiction, but about life, music, and everything in between. I saw glimpses of the man beneath the rock star, the man who had been buried under years of fame and pressure.

The pandemic hit not long after, and somehow, through all the uncertainty and isolation, we grew closer. What started as a professional relationship morphed into something else—something deeper, more intimate. The nights were long, filled with shared stories and quiet moments where it felt like we were the only two people left in the world. And somewhere in the midst of it all, I fell in love with him.

He was still broken in so many ways, but I loved him for it. I thought I could help him heal. I thought I could be the one to put him back together.

But I hadn’t expected him to break me in the process.

Now, months later, here I was, sitting alone in the apartment I had moved into after his betrayal. The DNA test had proved him wrong, of course. The baby was his. But that didn’t matter. Not anymore.

I absentmindedly placed a hand on my growing belly, feeling the flutter of movement beneath my fingertips. A bitter smile tugged at my lips. He knew now, without a doubt, but I couldn’t bring myself to care about what he thought. I had sent him the NDA weeks ago, making it clear I didn’t want anything from him. No child support. No public acknowledgment. Nothing. It was his choice to betray me, to accuse me of something so vile, and I would never forget that.

A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. I hesitated for a moment, not expecting anyone. Slowly, I stood, heart racing for reasons I couldn’t quite place, and opened the door.

It was him.

James stood there, looking more worn out than I had ever seen him. His eyes were puffy, as if he hadn’t slept well for days, and his shoulders were hunched, weighed down by regret. His gaze met mine, and for the first time in months, I saw something I hadn’t expected—tears. He blinked them away quickly, but not before one slid down his cheek.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, keeping my voice steady even though my emotions were anything but.

He shifted nervously, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. “Can I come in?”

I wanted to slam the door in his face. I wanted to tell him to leave and never come back, but a part of me—a small, treacherous part—still longed for the man I had once loved, the man I had thought he was before everything went to hell. So, against my better judgment, I stepped aside and let him in.

The silence that settled between us was heavy, oppressive. I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for him to speak, to explain why he was here after everything he had done.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice rough and low. “I’m so sorry.”

I didn’t respond. What was there to say? Sorry wasn’t going to erase the hurt or make up for the months of pain I’d gone through because of his accusations.

“I was scared,” he continued, taking a hesitant step toward me. “I didn’t want to believe it because… I didn’t think I deserved it. You, the baby… any of it. I thought it was too good to be true, and I freaked out. I messed up. I know I did.”

“Damn right, you did,” I snapped, my emotions finally bubbling over. “I gave you everything, James. I stood by you when no one else did, and the second I needed you, you turned your back on me. You accused me of cheating—like I was some random groupie. Do you have any idea how that felt?”

His eyes dropped to the floor, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I know. I know, and I hate myself for it. I was wrong. You didn’t deserve that.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

He looked up at me, his eyes brimming with emotion. “I want to make things right. I can’t take back what I said, but I want to be there for you—for the baby. Please… I can’t lose you.”

For a long moment, I just stared at him, the weight of his words hanging in the air. His lips trembled, his hands shaking as they reached out for me, and that’s when I saw it—more tears. They fell silently, streaking down his face, and it shook me to my core. James Hetfield, the man who never showed vulnerability, was standing in front of me, broken and pleading.

“You already lost me,” I whispered, feeling my heart crack all over again. “The moment you accused me, you lost me.”

He took another step closer, his hands reaching for mine but stopping short when I didn’t move. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that I’m sorry, that I love you.”

I blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over, torn between the love I still felt for him and the pain he had caused. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “But I’m not giving up. I’m going to fight for you, for us. I love you. I always have.”

The vulnerability in his voice, the raw emotion, broke something in me. For the first time in months, I saw the man I had fallen in love with, the man who had been buried beneath his fears and insecurities.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

James nodded, his eyes glistening. “I’ll earn it back. I promise.”

We stood there, both of us broken and scarred, but maybe—just maybe—there was a chance to heal. I wasn’t ready to forgive him, not yet. But as I looked into his eyes, I realized I wasn’t ready to walk away either.

___________________________________________________________

Months had passed since that heart-wrenching conversation, and though the pain hadn’t entirely vanished, we had started to rebuild—piece by fragile piece. James and I had taken things slow. He had apologized countless times, not only with words but with his actions, showing up for every doctor’s appointment, staying by my side during the hardest days of pregnancy, and fighting to earn back the trust he had shattered.

By the time the band’s tour kicked off, I had grown more comfortable with the idea of us—tentatively agreeing to join him for a few weeks. There was something cathartic about seeing him on stage, in his element, pouring his heart into the music. It was the same passion I had fallen for, the raw energy that made him who he was.

That night, the crowd roared as the band played their set. I stood backstage, watching James from behind the curtain. The energy of the performance was electrifying, but as the night wore on, I felt an unusual pressure in my belly. It started out mild, but soon a sharp pain gripped me. I pressed a hand to my stomach, my breathing becoming shallow.

I knew what it was. The baby was coming.

Another wave of pain surged, and I leaned against the wall, trying to steady myself, but it was no use. My knees buckled slightly, and panic flared in my chest. No, not now, not during the concert!

I winced, unable to call out over the blaring music and the chaos of the backstage area. The crew was bustling around, completely unaware of my situation. My vision blurred, but I managed to catch the eye of a stagehand nearby, my voice barely a whisper as I gasped, “Get… James…”

Her eyes widened in alarm when she saw the state I was in. Without hesitation, she rushed off, navigating through the flurry of activity until she reached the side of the stage. She tapped on the shoulder of the band’s tour manager, urgently pointing toward me, and within moments, a message was relayed to James over the in-ear monitors.

It didn’t take long. Within seconds, James glanced toward the side of the stage, his expression shifting from focused to alarmed. The guitar in his hands stilled mid-song, and the rest of the band kept playing as he tore off his in-ear monitors, rushing offstage toward me.

By the time he reached me, another contraction hit. I was clutching my stomach, struggling to breathe.

“The baby’s coming,” I managed to say between breaths, my voice weak. “Now.”

James’ face went pale. “Oh God, okay, okay… we need to get you to the hospital.”

He quickly helped me up, supporting me as I leaned on him, and together we moved through the maze of equipment and crew members. The sirens wailed in the distance as we made our way to the ambulance parked outside.

Once inside, James squeezed my hand tightly, his brow furrowed in worry. “You’re going to be okay. I’m right here,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but I could hear the tremor beneath it.

The drive to the hospital felt like an eternity, each contraction more intense than the last. James stayed focused on me, whispering encouraging words, but I could see the tears welling up in his eyes.

Finally, we arrived at the hospital, and I was rushed into the delivery room. The world outside faded as I focused on the task at hand, the pain consuming me but accompanied by James' steady presence.

 

After what felt like hours, the moment finally arrived. The cries of our baby filled the room, and I looked at James, who stood by my side, tears streaming down his face.

 James leaned down to press a soft kiss to my forehead, the weight of the past finally began to lift. The room was filled with the soft coos of our newborn daughter, and in that moment, I felt a warmth spreading through me—a mixture of hope and love that I had thought lost forever.

“Can you believe we made her?” James asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he glanced down at our daughter, who was peacefully nestled in my arms.

I smiled, my heart swelling with emotion. “She’s perfect.”

“Just like her mom,” he said, looking back at me with eyes full of adoration. There was a sincerity in his gaze that sent shivers down my spine, a reminder of everything we had been through together.

He gently reached for our daughter, and I carefully transferred her into his arms. The moment our baby was in his embrace, his expression softened, transforming into one of sheer wonder. He gazed down at her as if he had just been handed the greatest treasure in the world.

“Look at her,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “She has your smile.”

I watched as James became utterly enchanted, rocking her softly as if to soothe a restless heart. “But those eyes,” he continued, his breath catching in his throat, “she has my eyes.”

I leaned closer, gazing at our daughter, and my heart swelled with love as I saw the truth in his words. “You’re right. She has your eyes,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “And your spirit, I can tell already.”

James grinned, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I can’t believe I get to be her dad,” he said, emotion pouring from him. “I promise to always be here for you, for both of you. I want to build a future—a real future—with you.”

A thrill of excitement raced through me. “Really? You mean that?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, looking up at me, his gaze steady and sincere. “I’ve learned so much about myself, about us. I won’t let fear or mistakes dictate our lives anymore. I want to be a family, to share every moment with you.”

As he continued to cradle our daughter, a soft smile spread across his face. “I can’t wait to teach her about music, to show her the world,” he said, his voice filled with warmth. “I want to be the dad who’s always there, who shows up to every recital, every birthday. I want her to know she’s loved.”

My heart raced at his words, overwhelmed by the love radiating from him. “I want that too,” I said, feeling tears of joy prick at my eyes. “I want to share everything—the good and the bad.”

James took my hands in his, his grip warm and reassuring. “Then let’s do it together. One step at a time.”

As he leaned in, our foreheads touched, and the world around us faded into a soft blur. In that moment, everything felt right. We were two people, imperfect yet wholly devoted to each other, standing on the brink of a new chapter.

“I love you, James,” I breathed, feeling a sense of peace enveloping me.

“I love you too,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “Always.”

With a renewed sense of hope for our future, we shared a tender kiss, the promise of a beautiful life ahead lingering in the air.

As he continued to cradle our daughter, he looked down at her with a mixture of awe and determination. “You’re going to be so loved,” he said, his voice a gentle whisper. “And we’re going to take care of each other, always.”

Together, we would face whatever came next—hand in hand, heart to heart, as a family.

[thirstyformoreheizuha]

-Heiji girl dad au.

One of the most horrible cases that Heiji solved was the murder of a young little girl who was barely five years old. The three suspects were the mother, the father and the live-in nanny of the little girl.

Murder cases always had a suspenseful air that he grew used to, but nothing compared to this. The mother wept and howled for her dead daughter. The father sobbed and was barely coherent during the interrogation. The nanny kept staring into blank space and the police struggled to get her attention.

Truly, a horrifying case.

The little girl was found in her bed, a knife to her chest. Despite being surrounded by dolls and plushies, forensics informed them that the little girl desperately hugged one particular toy in the brink of death : a Barbie doll.

Heiji kept staring at that bloodied Barbie doll, feeling a sense that he recognised it, but couldn't put a name to it.

He tried focusing on other aspects. But nothing helped. It was a locked room murder, and they still haven't found any key evidence such as the clothes the murderer was wearing. The suspects were all too out of it to get any more info.

But seriously, he knows he's seen that Barbie doll.

Forensics were finally done tracing and taking photographic evidence, so they began extracting the lifeless body. The mother's screams grew hysterical and the father wept louder and fell to his knees as their little girl was taken away.

Truly, he could only look away solemnly to prevent himself from imagining his own daughter in such a state.

Please, never.

He noticed an officer about to put away the bloodied Barbie doll into a ziplock bag.

"Excuse me, can I have a look?"

After wearing his gloves, he took the doll and inspected it. In true Barbie fashion, it had blonde hair, wore a pink dress and a pink tiara. The only noticeable difference is that this Barbie had a microphone in her hand and a built in necklace.

Wait, a built in necklace?

He realised something and pressed the heart shaped necklace.

A song played.

Everyone in the room stared at him as the Barbie doll in his hand started singing a song he's heard before.

He knew this doll. He knew which Barbie movie this doll was from.

A few months ago, Kazuha and their daughter were having a Barbie movie marathon in the living room and dragged him along. Despite his initial protests, they were able to shut him up by shoving some homemade Okonomiyaki into his mouth. One movie stood out to him because their daughter basically held a concert while watching the movie; Barbie the Princess and the Popstar.

And during a visit to the toy shop last week, she managed to secretly show him a Barbie doll she wanted before Kazuha caught her red-handed.

"Ya already have so many dolls at home"

"But Mama! It's Princess Tori!"

"Nope. Auntie Sonoko just bought ya a Barbie doll the other day. And YA BARELY EVEN PLAY WITH IT!"

"Papa!! Help me out please 🥺"

Heiji took one look at Kazuha's glare.

"Sorry Princess. Your Mama wins"

Their daughter looked at him with such an adorable sad face that he almost gave in. Luckily, Kazuha snatched the doll from his hands in time before walking away to place it back on the shelf.

As Heiji carried their crying daughter and rubbed her back to calm her down, Kazuha walked next to him outside the store.

"Trust me, she's not going to remember that doll at all when we get home"

And sure enough, when they reached home, their daughter turned on Youtube on their smart tv and watched Kpop girl group music videos instead.

"Papa, I like Le sserafim"

"Hmm? Why so?"

"Because Mama's in it"

"Hah?"

Kazuha laughed before explaining to him that one of the members is also named Kazuha. And just like the wonder of childlike innocence, her current favourite K-pop group is simply based on the fact that a member has the same name as her mother.

"How did she even found them?"

"I don't know. I looked away for just half an hour to cook dinner and then suddenly she's now a Le sserafim stan"

" ..... I'll try coming home earlier to reduce her screen time"

Suddenly, he realised the nanny's name: Hirai Tori.

Suddenly, it all clicked together and he started noticing little bits and details that he initially looked over because they were too circumstantial.

And sure enough, within minutes, he figured out where the evidence was and how she managed to perform an almost perfect locked room murder.

Almost.

When he cornered her with his deductions, the nanny stared at him wide eyed and her feet gave away "H-How?"

"I won't deny that you planned all of this really well. Unfortunately for ya, the one thing that gave you away was this Barbie doll"

"that Barbie doll?"

Heiji felt a prick of annoyance. "What the? You're her nanny and ya don't even know her toys? Ahou, this Barbie is a Princess Tori doll"

"Tori???" The nanny asked in rage.

The father, who barely managed to calm down, asked with a strained voice "so, our daughter was trying to tell us who killed her?"

Heiji contemplated whether to tell them the truth.

"THAT LITTLE BIT*H. I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M CAUGHT BECAUSE OF SOME STUPID DOLL"

The nanny lunged towards Heiji but the police were quick to restrain her.

"Even after death, that little monster still manages to ruin my life"

"No. You're wrong"

Heiji looked at her dead in the eyes.

"She's just a kid. She wasn't trying to ruin anything. It's simply the childlike innocence of hugging the one toy that reminds her of her beloved nanny for comfort "

After a moment of silence, the murderer was finally dragged away from the scene hysterically laughing at the irony of the situation. The parents broke down further into tears, holding each other in a futile attempt to console each other.

He heard some officers whisper of the possibility to make the murderer take a psychopath test, but for now he's exhausted and just wanted to go home.

To his own little girl.

..............................

"Tadaima"

"Okaeri" Immediately Heiji was caught off guard by a fluff of pink running into his arms.

"Woah there Princess!" he caught his daughter and lifted her up.

"Papa you're back! You can become Prince Charming and save me from the monster!"

"Who are you calling a monster you little brat?"

The girl shrieked and hugged Heiji's neck to hide her face while Heiji laughed watching his favourite two girls.

"Welcome home" Kazuha smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Dinner?"

He nodded with a smile and three of them ate with the usual scenario of the little Princess chattering away whatever adventure she had today. However, Kazuha noticed that Heiji seemed a bit distracted whilst responding to whatever it is their daughter was saying.

In the background, the night-time news started airing on tv and the news reporter began reporting on a murder case of a little girl that happened just a few hours ago in Osaka.

Despite the tv being on low volume, Kazuha's sharp hearing caught the news reporter stating that the young girl was murdered by her nanny whom police suspected was a psychopath.

"Turn it off. Please"

Kazuha was surprised that the father-daughter conversation was interrupted by the sudden request, but she noticed him clenching his fists.

Oh.

That was his case.

Their daughter seemed unfazed by her mother getting up to turn off the tv or her father's tense face. She gobbled up the last remaining pieces of her meal and drank from her sippy cup.

"Papa! I'm done! Let's play!"

Heiji snapped out of whatever daze he was in. "What? Oh. Alright. But let me help Mama with the dishes first okay?"

Their daughter was about to pout before her mother came back to the table. "It's okay Heiji, I can handle the dishes"

"But.." Heiji looked at Kazuha in confusion. Kazuha smiled and whispered to him to go.

He looked at her once again.

She knew.

She knew exactly what was bothering him.

He thanked the lucky stars for the angel of his wife.

"Okay Princess. Let's go fight that big bad dragon you were telling me earlier"

"Yeayy!" Heiji picked his daughter up from her seat and carried her to the sink to wash their hands together. After drying off their hands, they start heading towards the living room.

On their way, Heiji managed to sneak a little kiss on Kazuha's head and a soft 'thank you'.

..............................

That night, for the first time in a long while, Kazuha suggested a 'sleepover' and have their daughter sleep together on their bed instead of in her own bedroom.

The little girl was delighted to be held in between both of her parents under their warm blanket. After a good night kiss from Mama and Papa, she drifted away to dreamland and slept soundly.

Heiji, who held his family close in his arms gazed at the two people he loves the most. He brushed his thumb over Kazuha's cheek gently, which prompted her to look up towards him sleepily.

"Kazuha"

"hmm?"

"Love you"

Kazuha smiled and held his hand that was holding her cheek. A few moments later, he watched as his wife also fell into slumber without letting go of his hands.

Truly, it was a horrible case that would likely continue to haunt him for the rest of his career. But for now, with his wife and daughter safe in his arms, he's going to be okay.

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

I think I read somewhere before that in Japan, it's quite rare for people to actually say "I love you" literally even between parents and children. Something about saying "I love you" too often takes away the sanctity and meaning of it.

I kept going back and forth on whether Heiji would say 'thank you' or 'love you' before falling asleep because it is even rarer for men to directly express their affection verbally.

But you know what, I believe this case took a heavy toll on Heiji who he himself is now a father to his own little girl. And despite trying to (kinda?) hide it, Kazuha still caught on that the case disturbed him and so tried to calm Heiji's nerves by making him stay close to their daughter in small but subtle manners.

And I think that the subtleness is exactly what Heiji needed to calm down on his own instead of direct words and affection.

It would comfort him more to see his daughter jumping around and having fun with his own eyes instead of having someone tell him that their daughter is safe verbally.

Hence, the "love you" had a deeper meaning of thank you for understanding me. Thank you for knowing exactly what I needed. Thank you for being patient. Thank you for marrying me. I love you and I'm truly grateful for you. God damn I should have confessed earlier.

GOSHO AOYAMA MAKE THEM CONFESS PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU.

[intriq]

✧ Starfall

contents: more angst, the "in another life" trope

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Zhongli knew that falling in love was going to be hard for him, considering he was an Archon who could at any moment suffer the dire effects of erosion.

Not to mention he’d likely outlive any lover he had.

But yet, when he’d come across you in his early years as a young god during the Archon War, you had already settled down in life. In that lifetime, Zhongli only admired you, and did not think it would be right of him to fall further for you.

So he spent his youth making sure the home you’d made, now lost to time among the now bustling Liyue Harbor, having been built over for centuries, was safe. You never once suffered the effects of the Archon War, and was among the first to settle in the now present-time Liyue Harbor.

A few thousand years later, during the fall of Khaenri’ah, he’d met you again. And this time, you were still within your youth, likely your mid to late 20’s, looking almost exactly alike to the you in your previous life.

So he allowed himself to fall for you after just doing a bit of work to find information on whether or not you were in love already.

And when it was confirmed you had yet to fall for anyone, he swooped in to take you for himself.

A risky endeavor, considering you would only be a fleeting existence in his eternal life, and he treasured you greatly. Anything you could ever want, he would bring you. Anywhere you wished to be, he would bring you.

And whenever you’d need him by your side, he was there, your hand gently cradled in his.

And before Zhongli had known it, he had fallen for you so greatly that he could not imagine existing without you. He was almost desperate, wanting so desperately to make you a god yourself that you would always be with him.

But for a human to become a god was impossible.

And when Kheanri’ah was destroyed, he rushed to your aide as the swarms of monsters came. He rushed as fast as he could, hurrying to your aide as Liyue held its own, making the swarm follow them back into the Chasm, causing the soldiers and the one Yaksha inside to be lost.

But that did not hold any weight in Zhongli’s heart, as he’d so desperately abandoned Liyue’s army to rush back to your side, to make sure you were safe.

And when he did return, his sight was greeted by your home nothing but a charred crisp, with a trail of blood from the charred door at the front to you.

You were leaned against a large rock, and blood pooled beneath you, and the sight made Zhongli instantly fall to his knees by your side.

His blood in that instant was as cold as your lifeless body, and you almost looked to be peacefully sleeping, if it were not for the wounds on your body.

His hands tremble as he holds you in his arms, one hand shaking terribly as it moves up to cup your face. He calls your name, his thumb running over your cheek as he hopes your just sleeping, hoping to delude himself as to your true fate.

He pulls your lifeless body closer to his chest, his head hanging as he weeps, still calling out your name over and over until his voice is hoarse and his throat raw.

After many hours when he is no longer able to cry and no longer able to call your name, he buries you. And after you are buried, he erects a mountain above your gravesite, a mountain which is now known as Qingyun Peak. The abodes of his adeptus rest around it, guarding your gravesite.

And now, five-hundred years later, his heart still bitter of your loss, he is stunned to discover you.

He was sitting at Third-Round Knockout when he’d heard your voice. Despite hearing you many years ago, it still rings clear as day in his mind, his heart recognizing it instantly. His head turns, almost dropping the cup of tea in his hands as his gaze locks on you.

Even despite this being probably your third or more reincarnation, he knows its you. He knows it, for you have the same hair, the same face. Everything about the way you looked and acted was the same.

But most of all, your voice was the same.

He practically jumps out of his seat, his cup of tea long abandoned on the table now. And as he approaches he freezes as he hears you speak and show your hand to the friend you were with.

A ring glints in the light as he stops, his gaze locked on it. You were engaged.

You had fallen in love before he could find you again, and his heart is torn.

The greeting he was going to give you doesn’t make it past his lips as he can only watch you walk away with your friend, gushing with a voice so full of love about your fiancé. A voice that he wished could only be for him.

His hands clench into fists as he watches you disappear, the wound in his heart opening as he is reminded of the pain he’d felt when he’d discovered your dead body in your previous life.

In this life, you were meant to be with another. He could only hope that in another couple hundred years, he’d be still left alone by erosion so he could fall in love with you again before anyone else could.

And so, he turns, departing the center of Liyue Harbor as he tries to console himself. A few hundred years would go by quickly, he hopes. He could wait that long. After all, he waited five-hundred years to see you again.

He could try to be patient once more.

[mithrilandvilya]

The Loneliness of Kings

I decided to write this for @chicotfp as a small thank you for all your beautiful art creations. I hope many will enjoy this short tale.

Trade with Lake Town, or whatever other unimaginative name it went by now, was important for the Woodland Elves.  The forest had limited material resources, and if he wanted better armor for his fighters, it was not to be found in the trees, but deep in the mountains.  His people had long had minimal interactions with the dwarves, distrust built between them over generations of unresolved grievances.  Dwarves held long grudges, and elves had long memories. But the Lake Town men eagerly remained the neutral trade intermediaries for metal from the mountains as well as what they could grow and hunt at the lake shores that didn’t thrive in the forest, in exchange for wood, wine, and intricate, high-quality crafts and wares fashioned through centuries of skilled practice that the artisan villagers couldn’t hope to approach in their short lifespans.   

However, the king’s thoughts of Lake Town were bitter.  He had nothing against the pitifully short-lived men there, but the lake itself was to him blacker than the Dead Marshes.  When he closed his eyes, the grayed, gangrenous corpse of his father with blood-stained, angry pupils stared up at him from beneath liver-colored wind-swept waters, bony fingers pointing to him accusingly from the marshy waters, his father’s whispered voice, full of disgust and disappointment, chastising him for failing to bring him home.  But from the Lake, nothing.  It was dark, deep and silent.  And the unbearable weight of that silence said more to him than all the cruel whispers of his father’s ghost ever did.   

He had risked his diminished people two years hence in a secretly desperate measure to do some small thing toward relieving himself and all in his realm from the lingering evil that engulfed the lake as a suffocating mist, just as it spread through the edges of the forest and utterly overpowered the southlands.  It was growing. The people of Lake Town and even the nearby dwarves held no memory or record of the dark events of the earliest days of his reign upon return from the south with so many fewer than had set out.   No relief met them at home, and rather than recovery and rebuilding, his earliest rule at home was instead marked by more defeat, more loss, and more tragedy.  He immediately lost all aspiration of ever living up to his father’s legacy or of setting any bold future for his son.  The body of Legolas’s mother lay as irretrievable as Oropher’s, on hard, cold lifeless bedrock, crushed under the weight of nearly a kilometer of black water at the lake’s deepest part, her mortal wounds unseen and untended.  Never did he see her in any vision or dream, and to his heart it was the harshest judgment of his rule that she made herself lost to him forever.  If she would haunt him like his father, he would fall to his knees in gratitude, but the lake remained dark, deep and silent. 

So he endured.  And his kingdom endured.  It was all he could do. 

--- 

Bard had, he thought, found an ally and friend in the king in the course of the Battle of the Five Armies.  He was thrust into a position of responsibility he had never desired or imagined in its outcome, and had naively expected guidance from his far more experienced and seasoned elven counterpart.  

Each day when he awoke, the faces of Bard’s children looked at him expectantly for instructions for the day, but he did not want to instruct anyone.  He didn’t want to give orders, listen to annoying officials, or make another decision with consequences he could only vainly hope to foresee.  He did his best to serve his people well regardless of his insecurity and self-doubt, but the way his children looked at him, as if they believed he knew what he was doing, kept him awake at night more than anything else.  

He remembered their mother looking at him the same way each day he came home to her with some new remedy for her illness, gathered with little optimism from a different witchy old woman in the market.  She expected every remedy to be the last, but for a different reason than he.  She was cheerful and grateful to the end, and sang soft, sweet lullabies to the youngest even on her last night. At every dawn she would comment about feeling a little better in the fresh light and she would list off chores she planned to accomplish that day with her newly returned vigor, but he knew they would remain undone.  He knew she was dying and felt the sting of failure and hopelessness, unable to hide his despair even to spare her or his children from his dark mood, contrary to the jovial spirit he was usually known for.  As she finally, after months of wasting, drew her last breath, a grimace of surprise at death’s arrival froze upon her face.  He was haunted by her unwarranted faith in him and the dawning realization of its betrayal as her final expression was seared into his memory. 

His letters to Thranduil for advice piled upon his cluttered and dusty desk, unsent.  He had sent only one, the invitation to his ceremony which was replied to quickly by staff with nothing more than a yes, the King would attend. There had been no other communication or visit between them since the King’s departure at battle end.  Aid had come from the elves in generous measure, but it still took two years to rebuild to a semblance of normalcy.   

The thusly long-delayed autumn ceremony was held on the great dock over the blackest side of the lake, where the waters quickly plunged to unmeasured depths, the cedar posts decorated with purple asters, yellow ribbons, and shiny copper pennies hung from strings gently bowing between them.  The elf-king had stood erectly, two heads taller than all the residents of the town, on the shore by the dock, arms held down in front of him, right hand over left. He was dressed in beautifully woven shimmery green and red robes, yet peculiarly in his battle crown rather than the expected autumn Rosehip and Aster. He stared into the distance with a hard-set jaw and hardly paid attention to the proceedings.  He had congratulated Bard with a warm handshake at the event’s conclusion, but his smile had been weak and he and his party were nowhere to be found when the later noise of festive fiddle, drink, and dance by firelight carried to all shores of the lake in the unseasonably warm and starry night.   

At first opportunity to make excuse, Bard sought out the companionship of the last chirping crickets of fall while morose thoughts of the king grabbed his mind and wouldn’t let go.  He analyzed and counter-analyzed every memory he had of Thranduil.  Where had he misjudged?  Was he reading too much into nothing, his own insecurities tainting his vision? Surely he was.  He imagined Thranduil stepping out of the darkness in front of him, shining eyes and mirthful expression with a quick, clever joke about Bard’s foolishness.  But then he felt ice-cold as he recalled the king’s distant expression at the ceremony.  The image of the regal elf’s face gazing over the water and his wife’s dead stare were all too similar , and they confirmed his self-reckoning as a great imposter, unfit to rule. 

 His lifespan and its mark in the depths of time, no matter what he did or did not accomplish as leader or father or husband, could amount to nothing but a drop in the oceans of memory of the eons-aged Thranduil.  Bard and his imposterous legacy would be gone before an elf-king could hardly even notice.  It would be a waste of time for Thranduil to bother at all with Bard.  Indeed, how silly he had been to send that invitation.   

He felt his cheeks redden with shame now at wanting more from him.  He was selfish in his desire for friendship and guidance from the ever-graceful king.  In truth, he was deeply lonely without his wife and greatly felt the burden of now finding himself in a position where everyone looked to him.  Who could he himself look to?  In his fanciful daydreams, he had looked to Thranduil and felt himself secure in his embrace.  It gave him comfort and hope, but if such fantasies had any reality, had he not considered what it would be like for his Comforter?  He knew but rumors of the great losses in the long life of Thranduil Oropherion, but he had seen enough in his eyes to know there was some truth in those rumors.  How could there not be for anyone so long-lived?  How could any ellon or elleth’s life be anything but a long string of grief after grief, especially if they entangled their hearts in kinship with short-lived humanity?  Bard well knew the tortures of memory from just decades of existence, but the thought of the weight of eons of memory nearly broke him then and there, and he buried his face in his hands and sobbed. 

--- 

It was almost unbearable to stand on the shore over her resting place.  Indeed, when he received the invitation, he had no hesitation in accepting it, but he resolved to wear his battle crown to give him strength to bear it. Today he battled memory. A cool breeze wafted off the lake, competing with an unseasonably warm afternoon haze.  In his peripheral vision, a small cabbage white butterfly flopped around between purple asters that were hung along the dock while Bard officially rose to the station he deserved.  

 Without turning his head, he turned his eyes to the butterfly only for it to vanish. Unbidden, a memory of his beloved, smiling broadly and laughing as a white butterfly landed on the aster crown upon her head took over his consciousness.  He could sense every aspect of that moment – the fluttering of dusty white wings, the sparkling low-angled sunlight illuminating her smile and making her hair shine like starlight, the lilting musicality of her laughter over the sound of leaves being gently rustled by the breeze.  It was a hallucination as vivid as reality, but as soon as he tried to grasp it for even more detail, it, like the butterfly, vanished suddenly, replaced by cold black waters.  He steeled his jaw and told himself to “Endure, Thranduil, as you must.”    

He willed his mind to turn to Bard.  He was most pleased to see him rising in position.  He was a man of good quality, and this bode well for the future in this part of the world, if little else did.  He greatly enjoyed Bard’s down-to-earth forthrightness and light-hearted humor.  He was saddened to think of him growing old before his eyes, but in the short time he had interacted with Bard, the man had a way of keeping him in the present, living in the moment. Staying in the present was something Thranduil needed.  No matter how much time he had to live, spending it all in memory was spending it all unwholly alive. Memory was a half-death. Despite his age, he wanted to live.  

Bard’s chestnut eyes and stride were full of youth even though his dark hair was frosted at its edges with a touch of gray, and the quick recalling of his smile and laugh made Thranduil wistful.  His reverie was stalled when he saw it was time to offer his congratulations and he did so sincerely, but his heart continued to tug him back and forth between now and Then , so he set off on his own down the shoreline, lost in his thoughts.  

The butterfly came back to his mind. Butterflies were a symbol of hope, and his wife’s name had meant hope.  Was she speaking to him at long last? He barely dared to entertain the idea. He reasoned that convincing himself so was merely his own will fabricating a construct to justify what he wanted but did not deserve. The Silvan elves, he knew, deeply revered and trusted their King, but he knew better his own unworthiness, reminded constantly by the haunting and the lack of haunting of Oropher and Hope. He had let them down, and he had merely wrought survival and endurance, but not thriving, for the people who counted on him. He tried to make long life merry for his people, making great efforts in the seasonal festivals for their enjoyment, but it was all thinly veiling the darkness barely kept at bay.  

His people deserved more, but without Hope, he could barely imagine there being better days in their future. Thranduil was amazed at the general optimism of men, who died barely beyond birth. Perhaps their brevity allowed it, being unburdened with the full knowledge of the endless onslaught of evil . Indeed, Bard epitomized the hope in men. He was born to no station, beaten down by poverty, corruption and plague, yet shot straight the arrow to a seemingly impossible victory, the full impact of which would unfold fully over decades to come. Thranduil desired to ride that arrow, to soar and strike the heart of darkness. 

The sky had long since changed from light blue to brilliant copper and deep purple, now to a sea of ink teeming with brilliant pinpoints of varying size and hue arrayed in artful asterisms. He beheld the butterfly constellation, with a large white star at its head, slowly rising in the East. Yes, it did so every fall, but tonight he decided to heed its rising as a call to action. He turned back along the rocky shore he had traveled down for miles, a decision made, a soft smile on his lips. 

--- 

“My friend, tonight is a night for celebration, not tears. Let us enjoy the present. Set aside your grief of the past and your worries of the future. I will help you.” 

The sonorous voice rose from the darkness right in front of Bard and he raised his head to find Thranduil’s hand outstretched before him.  Bard gingerly put his hand in his, and felt himself instantly being lifted both in spirit and body into the arms of the Elven King.  He took a deep breath, inhaling the wintergreen scent of the King’s cloak. His weight was born by Thranduil for a moment as he gained his footing, and in that moment the Kng carried him, he felt relieved and refreshed, as if he had slept well after many long sleepless nights. His tears formerly of despair transformed their chemistry to those of unexpected joy.  

 “I have longed for you,” he dared to whisper into his friend’s ear, with a tinge of fear in his voice.  Thranduil’s action was small, a gentle word and an outreached hand, but it had changed everything. His fear was in making too much of the action, but surely it was a gift of elven magic that had so instantly transformed his mood. A soft chuckle rose in the King’s throat, and Bard’s fear was quelled. 

“You are forthright and brave to bare your heart to me. So I will bare mine to you to tell you that I seek you as a salve for the loneliness of kings. In so doing, perhaps I can spare you some of that loneliness as well.   So, come with me, and let us enjoy the present together.”   

The pair walked away from the shore together, into a finger of the forest that concealed them from view of any passersby, and soon joined together in a bed of moss on the forest floor. When lightness split the eastern horizon, they emerged as the pair that went in, together.  

---

Over the years, many people remarked about the strength of the bond between the King of the Woodland Realm and Bard of Lake Town, and happily recounted how the deepened alliance had improved the futures of both realms for centuries. The story of their bond became an oft-related tale crafted to say that true companionship had the power to change the fates of many. 

Thranduil had just heard report of one of the latest versions of this tale as part of a recounting of the news gathered on the latest rounds. As he changed into evening robes, the Butterfly 's bright head and fluttering body rising in the eastern night sky filled his view. Bard had been gone for generations now, but he counted the wisdom of the tales as true, for many fates had changed, including his. He cherished the memory of Bard, his companion against the loneliness of kings.   

[themenendezbrothers]

Erik Menendez: As much as I lived to punish myself for my crime, I still wanted to be free.

"As I sat contemplating the events of the past, I was snapped back to reality by the signs marking Pleasant Valley State Prison. The facility had been built in the small town of Coalinga, on the ancient and reportedly sacred burial grounds of the Yokut Indians. It was a land now officially known as Pleasant Valley, but it looked more like "Death Valley." Barren and lifeless, the name was out of place.

Despite the signs marking the turnoff, the van kept driving. Twenty Minutes later we stopped at a gas station and fast food center. The guards ate lunch while the prisoners watched. Then one by one we were taken to the toilet facilities. While I waited, I watched people stream in and out of the mini-mart. After so many years in prison, and this last year in solitary confinement, I found it unsettling to suddenly be mixed with society. I watched people come and go and marveled at their lives. The idea that someone could walk into a store filled with every kind of food now seemed like such an extravagance. It's not that I had forgotten how the world worked, just that the necessities of my life were so different now. And something else struck me as odd. Nobody appeared remotely concerned with who was walking around them or behind them. They were oblivious. It seemed absurdly unsafe, even dangerous. A man could get himself stabbed or killed for such a lapse of judgment in prison.

It was hard to imagine how released prisoners coped with the stunning array of sights and sounds. Relaxed freedoms, trust, community, esprit de corp - all of it was enough to make a person dizzy with envy. And that was exactly what I felt: envy. As much as I lived to punish myself for my crime, I still wanted to be free."

Chapter 23 "Home" written by Erik Menendez. Excerpt from Page 13.

[writingpei]

lee know | 리노: fake relationship

tw: graphic descriptions of being stalked, physical abuse and trauma response

your job was driving you absolutely nuts.

it was tiring, consuming, far away and paid the absolute necessary for the rent of the small apartment you lived. taking several subways and walking a few blocks to reach the comfort of your home was not at all satisfying, the only thing that encouraged you to continue every day was the envelope stuffed with money that arrived at the end of each month and made it possible for you to survive in the big city.

life at the office had always been unpleasant, but now everything was stranger, a tense atmosphere hovering over your head that became more and more present. you felt like someone was watching you from afar, yet when your eyes ran across the room in search of the culprint, it was always a dead end, seeing nothing but the usual, but the feeling hammering in your head incessantly even so. maybe you really were going crazy.

this feeling lasted for weeks, until one fateful day. you were getting coffee from the pot for your boss, when innervation creeped through your body as it had many times before, a chill that crept up slowly like a snake up your neck. the only difference is that this time you caught him.

a tall young man wearing a well-seated suit stared at you from behind a wall, eyes glazed, searing your flesh. the shiver ran all over your body and the hand pouring the coffee into the "#1 boss" mug shook, spilling the hot liquid onto your hand. this caught the attention of the man, who walked quickly but calculatedly towards you, throwing an apologetic smile that crept across his face as if he didn't know how to smile and was copying someone he had seen do it.

"is everything okay? was it too hot?" he asked, and you took a step back on instinct.

"um... yes it is. it was just an accident" you answer quietly, still not daring to take your eyes off him, ready for the next reaction he might have. there was something really weird about this guy, but you couldn't put your finger on what it was.

"one second" he asks, but you just wanted to disappear from there. every second dragged by like hours and you were already scared enough. he reaches into his blazer pocket and pulls out an elegant white cloth that has probably never been worn before.

"here, clean yourself up" he held out the cloth and you just looked at him hesitantly. "take it" he says, losing the smile on his face and his voice becoming more commanding, his gaze darkening.

this time you catch it quickly hoping he'll leave you alone as soon as he does, but you were completely wrong. after drying off and running to your boss's office, hoping you'd never have to meet him again, you were just choosing to believe a comfortable outcome. what happened, unfortunately for you, was the opposite.

resigning was almost like a death sentence, you wouldn't manage to get a decent job in a long time and you wouldn't be able to pay your bills. at that moment, you just didn't know which was worse, to go or to stay. the only fear that compared with what you felt for him was the fear of reporting him to the company. he had technically never done anything to you and getting scrutinized and fired for misconduct in the workspace would forever tarnish your resume.

now it was impossible for you not to notice him everywhere, lifeless eyes traveling through the rooms always looking for you, the icy sensation that lurked through your soul every time you were in the same environment as him. you avoided him whenever you could, you only dare to leave your desk when he went to the bathroom, or when you needed to go to your boss's office you ran before he had the chance to get up and chase after you.

the tension just built over time and he took your evasion strategies with some humor, as if it were a game and you were playing hard to get. because of that, one day when you were asked to print some papers in the company's printer room, you knew you were fucked. it was in a very secluded place at the end of a corridor and was rarely frequented. your fake smile fell off your face dramatically when your boss gave you the order, but you just sucked it in and grabbed the pendrive he held out to you. maybe if you were discreet enough you could go unnoticed, but it was too optimistic a thought for the situation. the guy was a creep and was on your tail, he would be alert as soon as he noticed your empty table in the middle of so many others.

you made your way very cautiously, however much your hands were shaking and your breathing was uneven. the endless hallway was clear and you took long strides until you reached the little door at the end of it. if you were fast enough he might not even notice it in time.

you set to print the pages, looking around incessantly as if he would magically appear out of thin air. "hurry up, please" you whispered to the printer, praying that it would be quick.

you thought you were going to die when it made a choking noise out of nowhere, and then a second later it stopped printing one of the sheets in the middle. "no" you blurted out in desperation, slapping the machine in hopes of getting it working again, but it was still stuck. "no, don't go stuck on me" your hands were shaking more than ever, and in the middle of your heavy breathing, footsteps reached your ear.

"finally a chance to talk to you" and your spine froze. you could hear the creepy fake smile in his voice and his slow, hard steps coming towards you.

"the printer broke, I need to tell someone to fix it" you say and try to circle him to leave the room but he is impassive and stands in front of you, towering over. the proximity terrifies you and you're sure you'll have nightmares about the face he gives you. you take a quick step back in an attempt to put some distance between the two of you and he takes advantage of the act, taking one in your direction for each one you take to move away.

"no" he says coldly, losing the good guy posture he tries so hard to display. "now you're going to talk to me, you've run away from me too much" you wanted to throw up. "when are you going to go out with me?"

when he says that, a different smile blooms on his face, and you're sure it's his natural one, because it's brutal and terrifying.

"i can't" you manage to get out somehow.

"and now, why couldn't you?" he just smiles wider and shows his teeth more. "you will go out with me"

he takes another step towards you, and you don't know if it's just your head making you hallucinate or if it's the universe working in your favor, but you can see someone entering the room behind his shoulder.

a man with dark hair and white shirt sleeves with sleeves enters the scene, a folder full of papers catching the attention of his eyes and he takes a few seconds to look forward and see the situation that displays itself.

when he does, his eyes are intense and travel from the creep to you slowly, trying to read the room.

you waste no time running to him and hiding behind his arm, relieving yourself slightly by the distance created and the presence of another individual in the room. "i can't go out with you because i'm dating him" you lie, but your desperation makes your voice sound believable, and to add to that, you shyly hold the unknown man's arm with both hands. he's reluctant and looks at you in shock quickly, but something in his eyes makes it look like he understands what's going on and his muscle relaxes under your touch.

"bullshit, you don't date this guy" the creep seems to lose his cool with your attitude, nostrils flaring and eyes widening hideously.

"how do you know?" the man beside you asked in a completely calm voice, and it was your turn to be surprised.

your savior speaking directly to the creep only seemed to make him even more enraged, and the horrible eyes were glued to yours again.

"i've never seen you two talk, stop lying" he says.

"i..." you start to speak but your words are forced out of your mouth and your hands start to shake against the stranger's skin. "i..."

"i like to keep things professional in the work environment, so we don't interact here" he answers for you, tranquility intact. the creep was still fuming, terrifying eyes growing wider. he walks towards you aggressively, steps no longer calculated and silent, full of hate and nerve. when he gets close enough to hurt you, you close your eyes expecting the worst, but only feel your body being pushed slightly.

when you open your eyes you are facing the back of the unknown man's neck, who placed himself between you and the creep, and the protection of your field of vision that he provides preventing you from seeing the other man brings a coolness to your body.

"hey, hey, what are you doing man?" he says to the man you can't see. "get out of here before I call security, are you insane?"

now the stranger seems to have lost some of his temper too, and after a few seconds of silence, you hear quick footsteps leave the room and walk down the hall into complete silence.

you fail to let go of the man's arm at first, taking time to regain a controlled breath. when the oddly gentle feel of your skin against his is lost and you step back and lean against the wall to maintain the balance that your feet alone cannot give you he turns towards you, eyes still intense and calm.

"has this ever happened?" he asks but you're still recovering, eyes scanning his face warily, traveling from the bridge of his nose to his pale cheeks.

"what is your name?" you ask out of nowhere.

"minho. has this happened before or is this the first time?" he asks once more, not backing down.

"well minho, you just saved my life" you say. "it's not the first time, my life has been hell for weeks"

pushing yourself away from the wall, you take short steps to the damn printer, tearing off the half-printed paper, crumpling it up and throwing it away.

"you never reported him?" he asks behind your back and you just give a humorless laugh.

he seems to understand what your sarcasm means, and just walks closer as you try one more time to print your boss's stuff.

the printer gets stuck again and the strange noises start once more. even being watched by minho, you don't feel even an ounce of the fear you felt in the creep's presence.

"fucking hell" you whisper frustratedly seeing your work fail once more, and your trembling hands cover your eyes. it feels like the weight of what happened finally catches up with you and your eyes start to get wet behind your palms.

"hey, he is already gone, it's okay" minho says reluctantly in an attempt to comfort you, but the tears won't stop, and soon you're sobbing. at no time does he leave you alone, the low but constantly present sound of his breathing gives you security.

"listen..." minho speaks softly and his hand touches your shoulder with the weight of a feather, as if you would break easily with a slightly rougher touch. after a few seconds you take your hands off your face, wiping the tears in the process and looking at him with glossy eyes. "what do you think about going home for now? i'll talk to the boss, i'll tell you that you felt sick and had to go home" he suggests, his voice velvety and sweet as if he were talking to a crying child.

the idea of ​​going home was too enticing, even more so the possibility of hiding under the safety of your blankets. however "i don't want him to follow me home" you say, real fear clouding your voice.

"don't worry about it" he says genuinely, hand still on your shoulder. "he won't leave the office. not with me here"

"really?" you ask, hope rising in you.

"really" he confirms. you walk side by side to your desk, where you collect all your belongings. the creep’s gaze burns your skin, and you're terrified now that you've made him angry. if before you were scared of him without having done anything to put you on his bad side, now things were much more serious.

minho takes you to the building’s entrance and you feel safe enough.

"minho" you call him when he is already going back inside the building. "thank you so much for what you did for me today, you really saved my life" you say in genuine gratitude.

he looks into your eyes for a few seconds, and a small gentle smile appears on his face. how could you never have noticed him before in the sea of ​​white desks and dreary work light? "no need to thank me"

going back to work the next day was the source of all your despair. you were right, you had a nightmare about the ugly, scary face of the man who was always in your tracks, keeping an eye out for you, making you wake up with sweat running down your neck in fear. you were lucky that minho interfered in the situation, but perhaps that luck has run out and you have no way to escape.

the subway ride to the company building progressively made your hands shake more and more, and as you rode the elevator up to your floor you were already feeling dizzy.

however, what surprises you is that the lady who sat at the table next to yours and spent all day playing card games on the computer was no longer there, and in her place, minho sat comfortably as if that spot had always been his.

"minho?" you asked confused standing in front of him.

"oh hey" his attention is shifted to you, eyes kind and cool. "I asked to change desk. I needed to change up a little bit" he says and you sit at your own table.

now it was minho who wouldn't let go of you. whenever you went to lunch he would come along and sit next to you at your table. when you had to get coffee for your boss he always followed in your footsteps with the excuse of needing to stretch his legs a little.

being close with him, even if suddenly and under less than ideal circumstances, made your life at work bearable. you still felt the man's presence across the room, you still felt the sting of his hateful gaze on your skin, but now with minho's presence you felt constant security.

before long he was dropping you off too, walking you on the subway and walking hip to hip with you through blocks until you were safe and sound on your doorstep, telling you about sooni, doongi and dori along the way.

the nightmares have not ceased, quite the contrary, they have become more and more present as if your brain were playing a mean trick on you, abusing your limits. none, however, had been as bad as this one.

you wake up exasperated, sweat making your skin sticky. your chest rises and falls incessantly in ragged breathing. you count to 10 hoping to calm down but you can't. no light you turn on in the small apartment reassures you. it's 2 am and you don't want to disturb minho and wake him up, but your body aches for the comfort and security he provides, the tranquility of the beautiful voice that comes from his rosy lips. you don’t think you'll ever feel calm again without his presence, and it's driving you crazy.

in an act of pure selfishness, you open the messaging app and your fingers flick across your phone's keyboard fast.

you:

minho, are you up?

and so you wait, looking hopefully at the stalled chat, praying that he responds, that he gives you the relief of his presence, the joy of his attention. just as you start to lose hope that he's going to respond, a chat bubble appears in your view, and you can't ignore the way your heart races against your chest.

minho:

now i am

everything good?

you:

i had a bad nightmare

it's stupid, sorry to disturb you

i'll buy you the next lunch to make up for it

a minute goes by, then two, and you start to get scared that he's upset with you. you're regretting doing it in the first place in a spiral of overthinking when your phone starts ringing in your hand. minho is calling you, and you hesitate a little before answering. maybe he would scold you for your selfishness, waking him up late at night for something so silly.

"don't think about it" when you accept the phone call, the only thing that reaches your ears is his groggy voice, tainted with sleep. "don't think about the nightmare, everything’s alright, i’m here with you"

and then you can breathe again.

you no longer think about the nightmare, now your mind is intoxicated by his presence, which fills your head so intensely that it leaves no room for anything else. that's why you blurt out "talk to me, minho" after seconds of comfortable silence.

"what do you want me to talk about?" he asks softly.

"anything. let me hear you, please" you ask softly, cheeks reddening, ashamed of your own attitude.

"doongi slept on top of the fridge today" he starts to tell, giggling softly. "i was looking all over the house for an hour for him, i was going crazy thinking he got out somehow and got lost in the street, but the little bastard was just taking a nap up there. i don't even know how he managed to get there"

you laugh at the story but mostly at his dazed voice, the intimacy of the whispers in the middle of the night bringing a rush of heat through your body.

"now you speak" he asked, voice low but gentle, always careful with you.

"i have nothing to say" you admit, the only thing on your mind right now was him, and it would be weird for you to say out loud how much you'd like to be consumed by his velvet voice and perfume with a hint of vanilla that he wore over his dress shirt every day.

"what time is it now?" he asks.

"2:36 am"

"what color pajamas are you wearing?"

"gray"

"do you prefer strawberry or peaches?"

"peaches. why are you asking me so many things?" it's your turn to question, genuinely confused.

"i want to hear your voice too" he replies like it's obvious and you're grateful you're not face to face with him, because your mouth opens in surprise and your cheeks heat up in seconds.

"that was smooth, minho" you whisper humorously after a few seconds of silence, recovering from what he said.

"i know" he laughs softly. "is it working?"

and the shy, silent voices stretch out into the night, the stars dripping from the sky until the two of you fall asleep in each other's presence, unfinished call, synchronized breaths until the morning of the next day.

for the first time you don't feel apprehensive about going to work, instead it's an excitement that creeps up your body and overwhelms your mind. you feel like a teenager going to see your crush at school all over again.

and when he flashes a boyish smile when he sees you arriving at your table next to his, you feel your legs turning to jelly and butterflies in your stomach.

the day goes on as usual, lunch, coffee, trip together to the printer. you take any opportunity to touch him, his skin soft like you never expected anyone's skin to be. it was as if it was forbidden to have him in your hands and you would soon be expelled from the garden of eden for wanting what is not yours, but his presence, now more physical than ever, was too good to let slip through your fingers.

at some point in the day he gets more tense and you don't understand why until he turns to you out of nowhere, puts his hands on your swivel chair and turns you completely towards him. you blink a few times in confusion.

"listen" he begins, not letting go of his chair and keeping you in place. "a meeting of mine was rescheduled for tonight, a little later than your leaving time. will you wait for me here so i can take you home?"

“yeah” you respond. you would wait for him anywhere, anytime. “yeah, of course. i’ll wait here” and he smiles at you, that one smile that you like oh so much.

minho promised that it wouldn't be long, and when the time for the meeting arrives, you keep working ahead of the next day's tasks.

as time goes on you grow more and more wary, it's late and people are starting to go home, the big room emptying out fast, faster than you expected it would.

the feeling that you haven't felt for some time now began to make itself present, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. you look around and just feel a rising panic when you don't see anyone else at the tables around you, and you're terrified to look back and just see him. the one you've avoided all this time by hiding in minho's comfortable, safe shadow.

as if you were trapped in one of your nightmares, the sound of footsteps you know so well starts to sound like a flashback. this time you get up from the table and go in the opposite direction of the sound, through the labyrinth of empty tables. he starts to speed up behind you but you don't dare look back, you don't think you could stand the sight of the man once again so close to you.

your skin turns cold when you feel his hand gripping your shoulder like a claw and pushing you up an empty table, the touch full of aggression that was starkly different from the tender touch that minho had always spared you.

you instinctively lower your head to not look at him and it seems to burn something inside the man, because his calloused hand comes up to your jaw and forces you to look at him, another hand gripping your arm so hard you're sure you'll stay with bruises.

no physical pain in that moment was as unbearable as the sight of his face. he was possessed, eyes hungry and wide like a maniac. you were frightened, eyes filling with tears from the fear of what might happen. you were completely alone and it was the perfect situation for him, you were in the palm of his hand and nothing could stop that.

"please don't hurt me" you beg in a whisper, tears streaming down your eyes. his fingers just press deeper into your cheeks and he breaks into a cruel, transfigured smile.

"too late for that isn't it?" and you shake your head, sobs rising desperately in your throat. "you pissed me off!" he screams in your face and you squeeze your eyes shut. "you walk around this office practically begging me to pay attention to you, and when I do you embarrass me like that?!"

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry…" you whisper with your eyes still closed, begging him to let you go.

"now you apologize, don't you?" he says, hand going up your arm to your shoulder and shaking you hard. "i already told you, it's too late for this" you can't feel your cheeks anymore from the way he pinches them with his fingers, and you try to focus your brain on asking the universe to get minho out of the meeting, that somehow he realizes something is wrong and he comes to you. the tears don't stop flowing and you couldn't get him off you even if you wanted to. his grip is deadly on your skin.

"get your fucking hands off" the voice of the one you wanted the most makes you cry even more.

the man in front of him looks back quickly, strength in his hands diminishing in surprise. you take advantage of the seconds you have and use all the strength in your body to push him away, making him fall on the desk that was behind him the same way he did with you.

you immediately run to minho's side and up close, you can see the concern in his eyes. he holds you by the shoulders gently, creating a palpable discrepancy in how he touches you and how the man behind you has hurt you. "are you okay? your face is all red" he says, examining you closely, noting the fingerprints that smudged your face.

"i..." you started but turned back to look at the creep that was getting back on his feet. you take a step back in fear and your back collides with minho's and he steps in front of you the same way he did the first time you met.

minho however stands still, just looking from the man to you, from you to the man. after a few seconds he takes your hand and quickly pulls you towards the exit of the building at a speed so that the creep does not follow you.

"minho, where are we going?" you ask looking back constantly in fear of him just appearing out of nowhere behind you.

"my house" he answers firmly, and the path is silent. he sits next to you on the

empty wagon of the subway, hands holding your hurt arm tainted with the grip marks and wipes your tears with the tips of his fingers.

"I'm sorry" he says, sadness apparent in his voice. "I should have known, it's my fault. I'm sorry"

you approach him, touching your foreheads in confidentiality.

"I trust you" you say in a low but sincere voice. "it's not your fault, you always did your best for me. I trust you more than anyone"

minho's apartment was as small as yours, but in his there are three pairs of curious eyes that look at you suspiciously from afar while you are sitting on the minho mattress and he dips in the closet for something of his for you to use to sleep. sooni doongi and dori are as cute as they seem through his stories.

“here” he gives you a pair of clothes for you to feel more comfortable. “i’m going to be sleeping in the couch, you can sleep here” he points to his bed and quickly turns to walk away.

"um, minho" you call, feeling bad for making him sleep out of his own bed. "you can sleep here if you want, it's yours"

"oh" he opens his mouth a little but then shakes his hands in front of him dismissing himself. "the couch is comfortable, you don't have to worry, just rest" and he turns once again. tired of it, you get up and take it by the wrist lightly, turning him to you.

"minho, i want you to stay here with me. i want you to sleep by my side" you force yourself to admit. he widens his eyes slightly looking at you. the proximity between your faces is accentuated, you can feel his breath on your skin and this causes chills in your spine, your cheeks blushing by sudden sincerity.

this was arguably one of the worst days of your entire life, when the words simply come out as you plead for his presence you can't hold them back. you need him, the warmth and affection he provides, his heart of gold. only he can make you feel safe, and if you have the opportunity to drown in his arms that night you will take advantage of it. that’s why when he quietly asks “do you really want me?” you don’t hesitate in answering “more than anything”

when he lies in front of you on the mattress, you would think you were dreaming if it weren't for the pains in your skin that brought you to the real world. at first it's quiet, but his fingertips meet yours, and timidly his skins leans more and more on yours until he is holding your hand in the dark. his other hand makes a path like a snake and curls slightly around your waist, pulling you close, the heat you wanted, the intimacy that warms your heart so much. you fall asleep quickly, intoxicated by his presence, so close.

waking up the next day, you feel something hairy under the palm of your hand. strangely, you raise your head lightly and see that the place where minho was the night before is taken by three beasts, all in a deep sleep, webbed in your body.

"they like you already" you hear coming from the door. minho enters looking like he came from the street, his elegant clothes hugging his body.

“where were you?” you sit up, looking at him.

"in the company" he sits on the mattress right next to him, and his heart beats faster by the recovered contact, the heat that comes from him. "I'm friends with one of the security guys, he got me the video of what happened yesterday. i've already stopped at the police station too..." he says.

“you what?” you ask dumbfounded.

“he’s going to jail” he says and puts his hands on your cheeks. “you don’t have to worry about him anymore. he’s gone, it’s okay, i’m right here”

“minho, i…” you couldn’t take your eyes off of his even if you wanted to, those pretty eyes that pierced through your soul making you weak in the knees. “i can’t take you enough, i…”

“hey, it’s alright” he interrupts you. he breaks the eye contact and takes a glance at the way you look wearing his clothes. “now that i’m really looking at you, i really, really wish you could stay”

“stay? stay how?” you ask.

“stay with me, here. i really like seeing you first thing in the morning” he says.

your eyes travel to his lips, enjoying the warmth of his palms against your cheeks.

“i…” you begin, not being able to refrain from touching your noses, getting as close as ever. “i would really like that”

he smiles, getting even more close, lips barely touching.

“come on, give me a kiss” he whispers and you can feel the vibration in your own lips.

you waste no time in sealing your lips together, laying all your love on him.

skz as romantic tropes masterlist

[elizadoll]

Alone Once Again

TW: Implication of Death

One day, a doll was built by a witch. It was that witch's first doll, and for many years, it was that witch's only doll. For a long time, the doll and the witch were happy together, but as the years dragged on, the doll grew lonely. It loved its witch dearly, as all dolls do, but it couldn't help but feel something was amiss. Somewhere, in its clockwork heart, it held a desire for more, it wasn't whole as an only doll.

One day, the doll spoke to its witch, begging to be given a companion. The witch was, of course, hesitant, she worried she might not be able to take care of two dolls at once, but the doll remained insistent. It promised its witch that it and its companion would take as much care of one another as she did for them. Still, she remained cautious, but she could tell her doll was serious, and in the end, she trusted the doll.

One day, the witch came home with enough material to build a new doll, much to her original doll's glee. It took many sleepless nights to build, but the doll happily waited, brimming with enthusiasm as it watched its witch go to work. Eventually, the body was done, and the witch breathed life into her new creation. The new doll woke up and was embraced by its companion, who couldn't help but bounce in joy upon seeing its new friend. It took some adjusting, for witch and dolls both, but soon they were closer than ever. As a doll loves its witch, the dolls loved each other, and together, they were all the happier.

One day, as the dolls were chatting, the witch had a spark of curiosity. She asked them if perhaps, the two dolls would like a third. Now it was the dolls who were uncertain, they wondered if their bond with a new doll could ever be as strong as the one they shared. Still, the excitement, the idea of a new friend, won out in the end and they said that they would indeed. So once more, the witch got to work, building a new doll just as before, pouring her soul into her new creation. Just as before, the dolls waited patiently, and soon were rewarded when their third now opened its eyes, smiling from ear to ear.

One day, the third doll announced to the house it had brought something home that the witch and its friends needed to see. In its arms, it held yet another doll, cracked, nearly lifeless, but still clinging to reality. The dolls begged and insisted that the witch fix it up, unable to bear the sight. It was hard work, just as always, but it wasn't long before the doll was repaired. Then and there, the new doll now declared its fealty to the witch, begging to be part of its family. The witch and the dolls looked at one another, and in an instant they all agreed. They all brought the newest doll in for a great big hug, holding it close as can be.

One day, the dolls went out to a fair, the next they went to a museum. Together they shared tea, tended to the witch's garden, and took care of her every need. Day by day, they'd stick together sharing life's love and its uncertainties. Some days, the house felt crowded, and sometimes that led to fights. But even when the dolls were at their angriest, they always knew they loved one another, and would always patch it up in the end. For even though they might all have been built, and sharing but one witch's soul, they knew that they loved one another. They knew that they were family.

One day, though, something was wrong. That day, the first doll woke up, and looked around. The others were nowhere to be seen. It searched the house high and low, desperately calling out their names. It ran to its witch, begging to know where its companions, where its family could have gone, but even she did not know. They searched for hours and hours, they waited for days and days, but the dolls never came home.

One day, it became clear, that just as they had once been, all those years ago, the witch and the doll were alone. Though it hurt to say it, they both had to accept, that the other dolls were never coming home. The house now felt empty, and often they'd both try to call out to the dolls to share moments of joy... only to remember that they were gone. In the end, though, what could a doll or a witch do, when their family suddenly disappear? They both pushed on forward, and just as it had before, the doll remained diligent in taking care of its witch, and the witch remembered to adore her doll. Their lives could never go back to the way they were, before the doll made its first request. Still, they were forced to carry on and do their best, for what else could they be expected to do?

[deadandphilgames]

Imagine. The Urge but no homo

okay challenge accepted

It was a crisp winter's night in London, England. It was that particular time in late January where there was no longer any frost, but simply biting cold air in what felt like a completely empty atmosphere.

Dan Howell was walking down the road; his tall black silhouette cast shadows from the artificial amber glow of streetlamps. His breath formed swirls of mist with every exhalation and he decided to slide his exposed hands inside his coat pockets to retain some warmth. The street was empty at this time and his footsteps echoed up and down around him, only interrupted by the cruising hum of a taxi driving past. He wasn't totally alone after all. Dan had time to think on this journey, time to think about what had happened the night before.

The events had played in his head so many times over that he didn't know whether he could trust their accuracy, or if his own perceptions had rewritten how the events unfolded. Any way he thought about it, one thing was certain. His friend roommate, Phil Lester, was dead.

Phil had a habit of always being in the worst place at the worst time. It was an endearing quality that often resulted in funny stories for him to share with his friends or his followers on the internet. He was a kind person. Perhaps that's why he was singled out as a victim. It wasn't fair. A painful stab of recollection shot through Dan's brain, as if forcing itself through a wall he had built to protect himself. He saw it again. The dead, lifeless eyes, the way it moved so swiftly out of the darkness, the blood. The blood was the most vivid memory of all. Dan had somehow found himself collapsed in a corner, unable to move, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the crimson trail of his friend's life weaving around the cobbled stones of the street and down a drain. Dan saw his hand twitching, those last moments of resistance and hope that something, someone, would be able to save him. Then it stopped. That is the last time he saw Phil Lester alive.

Dan arrived home at their apartment. It felt wrong. Opening the door to the living room, the usual bright colours of their possessions seemed inappropriate, disrespectful even. How could anything dare to be so bright at this time? He turned off the lights and collapsed on the grey carpet of their hallway. Sleep.

The next day was to be Phil's funeral. Dan had no interest in going. He would rather be having lots of sex with women that day. His friendship with Phil was personal to him and not something he wanted to share with family and friends who would mean well but insult with every word of comfort. He decided that even if he had to attend physically, he would be somewhere else in his mind, thinking of cars and beer. He had to.

Dan remained silent and stoic through the service. People left to return to their lives, the relatives trading condolences, leaving Dan alone in the room with the coffin. He didn't want to look - it would be real if he saw. He wanted to run away from this nightmare, but he had to see. Dan strode over and gazed into the box. Lifeless. Even with Phil's typically pale skin you used to see the warm glow of life within. All that could be seen here was the sickly pale-green colour of death.

Dan went to turn away, to walk out of the room into a life where everything familiar was gone, when something grabbed his wrist.

'Don't go, it's okay.' Dan turned to see the same pale skin he had just had burned into his memory gripping at his shirt.

He looked up slowly to see his dead friend sat bolt upright. Dan ran. Not stopping to blink, breathe or process a single thought he sprinted out of the back exit and all the way across the grounds of the building to underneath a tree. He vomited. It wasn't real. He was hysterical. He tried to rationalist the thoughts in his head as his eyes shook with distress.

'Dan, stop running, I'm not going to hurt you.'

He spun around to see Phil, standing upright as if completely fine with his hands forwards as if anticipating Dan's irrational behaviour. 'You can't, I mean, this can't be real,' Dan said, grasping behind his back to try and hold onto the tree as if it was a tether to reality.

'You know I'm real, Dan, this is real and I think you know why.'

'No!' Dan shouted and pushed Phil backwards in utter disbelief. Phil punched dan and didn’t pin him to a tree, that would’ve been very homoerotic. Phil grabbed Dan's wrists and pinned him against the tree. Dan could feel the sharper edges prodding uncomfortably into his back as if the tree itself was pushing him towards the nightmare. 'It was a vampire.' The words stuck in penetrated into Dan's head and seemed to pull down on his soul as if everything he had been trying not to believe in the last two days was sinking like quicksand. 'I don't know how, or if that's exactly what it is, but it explains it well enough,' Phil said in a calmer tone, clearly aware of Dan's slow realisation.

‘oh sick. a vampire,’ Dan said.

‘Let’s go look at boobs. I won’t bite you, because I don’t want you to join me for eternity. that would be kinda gay,’ replied Phil. The end

'You aren't the real Phil,' Dan said in a flat, emotionless tone. His head was bowed and in Phil's grip it seemed Dan wasn't trying to resist anymore. 'If what you're saying is true, you aren't Phil. You're just a beast possessing his body.' He looked up and stared into Phil's eyes. He didn't see the bright blue pools of life that he used to, he sat emptiness. He must be right.

Phil stared back at Dan, seeing his brown irises blazing with fury. Phil let his grip loosen for a second. Dan realised and swung a punch as hard as he could, hitting Phil square in the jaw. Phil reached towards his lip. Blood. He looked down at it in a strange way and glanced back up at Dan who seemed to almost be expecting something. Phil decided to wipe the blood on his shirt. 'I won't lie,' Phil said, rearranging his suit jacket and sweeping his black hair away from his eyes. 'I feel different. I feel urges. I still know who I am, what I do, what the difference is between right and wrong. And yet something within me, something primal ...' 'Shut up.' Dan said, clenching his fist and visibly shaking with rage. 'You are not my friend and if I have to destroy his body to give him peace, do not think I won't.'

Dan spun around, reaching for the sharp wood that was cutting into his back. In one sure motion he snapped the branch and immediately swung towards Phil, who, as if in slow motion, leant backwards, smacked the branch from Dan's hand and grabbed his by the throat. Dan's head banged against the tree with a force that shoo. The leaves from the branches, falling over the boy's shoulders. His breath was heavy. He could feel the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. This was fear. He tried to move but the force his friend was applying to his neck seemed immovable and impossible.

Phil stepped closer until their noses touched and looked Dan directly in the eyes: 'I could kill you. Every fibre of my being is urging me to tilt your head back and bite your neck, but I can choose not to.'

'What?!' Dan said, spitting out warmth before taking in a huge gasp.

'I don't want to kill you. I want you to join me.'

Dan felt his heart drop in pressure. An overwhelming stillness waved through his body until he was stunned into silence. 'No p-please,' he stuttered.

'You don't have a choice, but I do. Appreciate it,' said Phil. 'Think about it, Dan, things can continue like normal! We can tell everyone it was one of those miracle situations where I was never actually dead. We can go back to our apartment and continue our normal lives ... with some dietary adjustments, I guess.'

Dan had completely lost his ability to think. Part of it made sense, maybe it would be okay if he didn't have to lose his friend, or his own life. He knew it wasn't true though. Even though Phil was right in front of him, there was no breath coming out of his lips. The only sensation he experienced was the damp chill of Phil's skin pressing against his.

Just then Dan noticed a man who must be the groundskeeper walking by in the distance. Dan had made his choice, and he knew it would be the right one. 'HELP!' Dan shouted, shaking as hard as he could, causing Phil to almost loosen his grip. 'He's trying to ki-'

Then he felt it. Two sharp stabs pierced the skin of his neck. Dan dropped his arms and buckled his knees, he had lost.

Phil moved in closer, pinning Dan's body against the tree as he gulped gallons of thick blood through his teeth and down his throat. Phil almost felt himself losing control, feeling a desire to completely give in to a more powerful force within himself. 'No,' he said, pulling away, feeling the blood run down his neck past the collar of his shirt. Quickly he raised his wrist and pierced his own veins. 'Drink!' he ordered, pressing his wrist against Dan's mouth. Dan, with the last moments of his fading energy attempted to resist, pitifully shrugging his shoulders. It would t be enough. His natural instinct to breather opened his lips and the pungent taste of iron filled his mouth and flowed across his tongue. Dan's vision faded to black.

Blinking. Vision hazy and unclear. A yellow light. A white ceiling. After what seemed like a dreamy eternity unable to move, Dan's eyes focused and noticed the familiar patterns of his bedroom ceiling. He was home. Had it all been a dream? Dan asked himself this as he reached to touch his bare chest with his fingers. He could still feel. Surely that meant he was still alive? His hand stopped. Palm lying flat over his chest, he tried to focus all senses of detecting something, anything. No pulse.

He looked to the right to suddenly notice Phil, sitting in a chair leaning over the bed.

'How do you feel?' he asked, with what seemed like a degree of confidence.

Dan's eyes darted up and down trying to decide what he made of this person, or whatever it was, who sat next to hi. He sat up and swung his legs over the bed. Lifting his head up with a strange, new assuredness he had never felt before, he locked eyes with this friend. 'Hungry,' Dan said, feeling within in an urge, a biological mission he now felt he had to begin.

'Me too,' Phil said with a smirk. 'Why don't we go find someone to eat?'

The End.

[sharpsuite]

this is totally not because of the message i just sent you on discord shhh. but do you have any headcanons about chishiya's living space? how does he decorate it (if he decorates at all)? does he have a preference for any colors or styles? etc etc

Not me still giggling at you sending this at the same time i was considering making a headcanon post over this very thing.

Chishiya's living space is very....sterile and cold. It's never a mess, always very clean or is cleaned up very shortly after if not immediately. It feels more like a SHOWROOM than an actual place where anyone would live in. There's nothing personal about it if you look around for things. Furniture is nice and expensive, but it's not personal. He doesn't have pictures of himself or other people up, doesn't have any plants ( other than the odd time a patient at the hospital gives him flowers as thanks - accepted SOLELY because they'll die in a few days anyways and he just throws them out because he'd rather avoid a scene if he threw them away at the hospital. ) He doesn't keep any drawings or cards from patients, doesn't have many trinkets that lay around. He does have BOOKS though that are carefully organized on a built in bookshelf in the living room.

His place isn't particularly colorful which also ADDS to the sterile and cold appearance of it. He tends to just go white, black, silvers, darker blues. Maybe a splash of red here and there. Think appearances along THIS and THIS ; very open floorplan with tile floors and large windows - his place is a sub-penthouse a few floors down from the top. in the main living space. He also has a lot of the bright, harsh lighting in the kitchen, dining room, and bathrooms. His bedroom isn't much different from the sterile and cold appearance other than having blackout curtains. The only real signs someone lives there besides obviously having Chishiya's stuff in there are there's a handful of fuzzy blankets on the back of the couches & his bed as well as the soft pillows on the couches. Sometimes you might find a textbook open or his notes on the living room table / aisle in the kitchen or his music player somewhere, but that's all. He does have warmer lighting and nice rugs in the the living room, his bedroom, and the unused guest bedroom.

The thing is, it's not that Chishiya even LIKES this minimalist, contemporary appearance that his place has. But it is familiar even if he won't admit to that. Not that he needs it; Chishiya's not attached to it. People tend to have a habit of subconsciously either REPLICATING what they know or entirely AVOIDING it. Chishiya falls into the former category of replicating it. His home growing up was also extremely sterile and cold, so he's familiar with this sort of look. It looks as empty as he feels. Chishiya just...doesn't care too much. He's not particularly attached and it's not 'home', just where he lives. IN REALITY? I think Chishiya WOULD much prefer a warmer, cozier place. But it's not something that will naturally occur to him because he's never experienced it. He won't think to change it and wouldn't even know how to go about it. No one else ever sees his place though besides him so he doesn't ever think about it. Post-Borderlands, he doubts anyone would be surprise to find it so lifeless if they come over to visit. ( Ironically, should he go to someone else's place, the living room probably IS his favorite spot because of how inviting it is. )

Chishiya doesn't decorate for any holidays either. He doesn't even OWN any holiday themed decorations. For one, he typically is working during the holidays themselves. Secondly, he doesn't see the point. It's just him anyways even if he ISN'T working a holiday, so he doesn't see why. The hospital decorates some for the holidays, good enough. POST-BORDERLANDS, he will very reluctantly accept it if anyone he was close to there came over and insisted on decorating it. The decorations don't mean anything to him, but Chishiya...might like just the memory or symbolism of it. Or the desserts because I'm sure he's being bribed with holidays desserts and he will accept that.

Ironically enough, despite the 'temporary' nature of the Beach in the Borderlands, it reflects a lot in his room THERE as well. For example, even with Arisu's first few days at the Beach he already has jackets and shirts on the couch/desk, there's snacks and drinks scattered around, shoes kicked off at the doorway / middle of the room. IN CONTRAST, even in the Borderlands Chishiya's room looks like its barely used. Other than the blankets on the bed and his sneakers for the games and a radio/music player on the desk, there's very little evidence his room is used despite him being there for quite a while. Chishiya's hard to read as a person, and his living space is just as difficult to gain anything from at the man himself no matter where he is.