#something something bad cannot die but he can bleed

[bruciemilf]

Still very haunted by the idea of a young! Justice League AU.

They come across each other with an intentional, common goal. It feels like coincidence, but it also doesn’t. It’s destiny at work.

When Clark is 18, spoon-fed good manners, tall like a tree who thinks it’s a flower, sunshine laughing in his blood, he gently carries two cows back in the barn when he hears it.

Buildings decomposing. Faint, blaring cars dying. Soft whispers of ‘please please— oh god — I don’t want to die— what is that? What is that?!’

Metropolis cracks open. There’s a wound in the sky the police, the army, cannot heal. He tried calling. No one picked up.

It’s wide and scary and red and bleeds violently and Clark is so scared — but if he can survive being Perry White’s intern, he can survive this.

He grabs his Pa’s red flannel, ties it across his midsection, and flies faster than fear.

Clark learns two things that day.

1) He hits good, but he can’t throw a punch to save his life.

2) The scariest boy in the world has eyes that could make oceans cry.

Dressed in tactical gear, cobalt blue, bat shaped symbol drawn in neon across his chest. Runny eyeliner, smudged, mixed in stale blood running down his temple.

Glare so strong it could bury God.

The Bat carries an injured civilian on his back and two kids under his arms. Looks at Clark like someone seeing a shooting star for the first time.

Clark’s heart caves in on itself. Say something cool.

“I like your — blood.”

Clark hopes the next alien thing leaking from that gaping hole puts him out of his misery.

The boy blinks.

“How hard can you hit?”

Clark gulps. He gets a truck thrown at him and he stops it with one hand. He doesn’t even look at it.

“Pretty hard.”

—-

Barry Allen doesn’t arrive into battle. He trips into it.

Fifteen. Physics homework slams against settling air when he stops. Blur of red and shaking like a live wire. His sneakers light up when he walks.

“Hi! I’m Barry! Does anyone have a granola bar?”

Bruce blinks. He hands him one from the emergency compartment.

“Did everyone see that thing?! I mean — you can’t really miss it, I saw it from my house and thought ‘oh that’s weird I better go check it out’ and — IS THAT BLOOD?!”

Bruce, flat, “Not ours. Entirely.”

“Oh, okay. Coolcoolcoolcoolcool. “

Clark — carefully — moves Barry out of the way so he doesn’t get impaled by a car. Barry screams.

—-

Hal Jordan, 17 and 4 months, is five bad jokes in aviator glasses and holds the world by his teeth.

He sees Metropolis burn from Jupiter.

He inherited a dying wish from a good man, got chosen by a purpose three times bigger than him, and begs the council to go.

They have to debate first.

Hal can’t sit around to decide if this is the day he’s gonna be brave.

He crashes into battle like a green meteor, blasts Britney Spears from his ring (the battle remix), and pretends he’s not rotting with fear.

“Green Lantern, willing and able! No need to panic, people! Coast City represent! Let’s GOOOO— IS THAT A BROKEN LEG?!”

Bruce, half his face shielded by Kevlar, swallows a molar. “Fractured.”

Hal throws up a little. Clark cries. Barry looks a sugar rush away from exploding.

“You call yourself Green Lantern?” Bruce raises a brow, like he’s speaking to the human version of a typo.

“Yeah? What do you call yourself? Nickelback and Trauma?”

“The Bat.”

“…Man? Boy? Customised?”

“I can’t call myself Batman yet. If I do it now, it won’t be chronologically accurate.”

—

Oliver Queen, 17, watches it on the news.

He’s got a meeting at 11, a tan at 1, a court hearing for punching a senator at 3, and a half broken bow from last night’s patrol.

He’s pretty sure he’s going to die if he goes.

He knows he’ll regret it more if he doesn’t.

“We’re gonna die, aren’t we?”

Clark takes a breath, raises two fists he doesn’t know what to do with, and looks up to a dying sky like he’s begging it to last longer. He doesn’t answer.

He just looks at Bruce, summer blue eyes wide, fear melted over.

“I’m not hitting until you do.”

So Bruce does.

—-

A girl, taller than all of them, older than all of them, grin sharper than her sword, pierces through battle like she has war on a leash.

Diana is 18, — in their years. She kills three aliens in under a minute.

Covered in guts and glory and sunny, walks up to them like nothing.

“We will fight together, yes?”

They all nod, a bit too scared of finding out what happens if they don’t.

[ros3maryt3a]

Loved your dating hc's!!! They all felt really convincing and in character 💕💕 How do you think the pt (preferably chrollo, uvo, phinks and feitan if thats too many) sleep next to u?? are they cuddlers, kickers, white noise users, midnight bathroom breakers, snorers or whatever else?

Ahhh glad to hear it!! I’ve only really wrote a lot about Chrollo so I was worried the others were OOC-

I’ve only really been thinking of writing for Chrollo, Feitan, Phinks, Shalnark, Machi and Paku but given as you asked for Uvo I’ll add another onto that list! (Small spoiler warning: I love the troupe, but they’re all messy sleepers and I won’t be convinced otherwise!)

Chrollo

He definitely has a night mask, incense and all that to help him doze off. Chrollo is a chronic suffer of predormitional insomnia: his mind runs a million a minute, man is NOT used to sleeping a healthy 8hrs.

You can guarantee if Chrollo falls asleep before you (a very rare event) you’ll find him stiff as a log. He falls asleep in whatever position he’s in and will stay there until he wakes up. Honestly, it’s a wonder he isn’t ridden with all sorts of issues (get him a chiropractor one day.)

On the other 364 days a year when he falls asleep after you, well aren’t you just the perfect little teddy bear! His arms are always wrapped around you tightly.

If you happen to be a light sleeper? You’ll definitely wake up in the middle of the night to his face buried into the crook of your neck; fingers tapping away at your abdomen as his breathing settles, the smell of lavender drowning out any other senses. So definitely a cuddler. (I will die on this hill)

Sometimes he might even pepper your neck with kisses if he notices you’re awake.

If you’re a heavier sleeper? You better get used to waking up in the morning under a vice like grip, a mat of black hair brushing against your cheek and -whether he’s awake or not- you’re not getting out of it

Big spooner, you could be twice the height of him and he’d still demand it.

Not much of a snorer, maybe the few light hitches here and there but overall he’s sound asleep.

Most nights when Chrollo can’t sleep, he’ll sit up with a book in one hand and his other arm wrapped around your sleeping form. Sometimes he’ll doze off and sometimes he’ll only be brought away from his book by your stirring.

On particularly bad nights, where his insomnia truly flairs up, you’ll have to listen to a plethora of podcasts or “soothing sounds” for him to actually sleep. And yes, you’ll have to listen to them. There’s something innately intimate about having you indulge him in his interests: makes it far easier to sleep.

Feitan

You cannot tell if this man is awake or asleep 9/10.

“You sleep. I watch.” Kind of deal, he has many things to preoccupy himself with: like watching you! (In a: ‘someone takes even one step in this general direction, you’ll have a lullaby of screaming to doze off to’ kind of way)

It’s not that he can’t sleep, it’s that he doesn’t want to. Feitan sees sleep as a waste of time, it bleeds days into days and he could be spending that time well, instead of sleeping.

Everytime he wakes up he mentally kicks himself for having made such a waste of time

That’s where you come in! Hope you’re willing to have a human sized cat latched onto you every single night! Big spoon, little spoon, doesn’t matter to him: you’ll wind up with him clinging onto you for dear life regardless.

Despite this fact however, you’ll never know the plethora of times he wakes up in the middle of the night, painstakingly, detaches himself from you and paces around the room feverishly. Muttering about who knows what, head flicking to every angle at even the minutest of sounds. Feitan doesn’t like not being alert: loathes it, so this is his way to regulate the nerves that rest often brings.

Feitan is a very light sleeper, any slight movement may set him off and cause him to completely switch back on (sleep maintenance insomnia hits him hard).

He doesn’t strike me as a snorer but definitely isn’t quiet, sounds like a Guinea pig sometimes. A total teeth chatterer. Seriously, you’ll wake up and hear a light ‘Tch Tch Tch’ from wherever the hell he’s grabbing onto you tonight.

Will not ever wake up in the same position he falls asleep in (not that you’ll ever know that fact, he’s always looking over you long before you’re awake.)

Trust me: you’ll know if Feitan has a bad dream. His claws (yes claws) will be digging into you, his hold on you tightening with a particularly sharp ‘hiss’ of his teeth.

Likelihood is: his sleeping patterns will leave more marks on you than any other activities ever will. But, don’t worry! It shows he cares (I think?).

Phinks

Kicker, oh he is a real kicker.

You’ll wind up waking up off the bed more times than you will on it.

On and off cuddler, there’s very few times that you’ll fall asleep cuddling but by god is it a wild guess as to whether you’ll wake up doing so.

Phinks will fall asleep with his back towards you, teetering off the edge of the bed. And, In the matter of minutes can have one leg half way across the bed, the other swung over the edge, left hand across his face, right on his chest, mouth slack and whole body at a 45* angle.

Other times, you’ll find a knee digging into your back as he’s (very awkwardly) cuddling you from behind.

Surprising the masses (not): he snores. Has a whole box of nose strips to stop this.

Despite all of these, interesting, idiosyncrasies. The few times you fall asleep cuddling: he’s an entirely different sleeper. It’s like he takes a page out of Chrollo’s book and doesn’t move an inch (aside from rolling, he’s a total roller).

The snoring won’t stop though.

Doesn’t need anything to help him sleep, his head hits the pillow and he’s out like a light. Real heavy sleeper as well, you could roll him off the bed with an almighty thud and he’d still be sound sleep. It’s actually fairly endearing.

Will sleep for 6 hours, wake up for 1, roll around for a bit, settle down and then sleep for another 2.

Best pray you’re a heavy sleeper: that’s all the advice I can give you.

Honestly? It’s like sleeping next to a bear, vaguely adorable as much as it has you fearing for you life (and place on the bed).

Uvogin

If Phinks is like sleeping next to a bear, Uvo is a bear hug.

You’ll find your place settled neatly against his chest, as if he’s one of those comically large backpacks (like Johnny’s from Hotel Transylvania). Don’t worry about anything, truly, you’ll be snug as a bug in a hug.

Surprisingly, not a snorer (when sober at least). Often needs noises to fall asleep to though. If there’s not calamity afoot then Uvo tends to get angsty; you may have to deal with the occasional outburst.

So, you often have loud games or shows blaring in the background as he rests his chin on your head. Uvo doesn’t fall asleep easily, meaning there’s very few times that you can turn the noise off before you head to sleep yourself. You best get used to sleeping to the volume of a rock concert! (with his constant screeching he blew his own ear drums)

Invest in earbuds of some kind, it’ll help the both of you.

The LOUDEST snorer when drunk. I mean LOUDEST. Cotton buds line your bathroom cupboards for whenever he drinks, you’ll have to pick out bits of cotton on particularly bad nights.

Absolute hoarder. Whether it be you, a pillow, the duvet, he’ll have it and he isn’t letting it go. It’s honestly quite comforting, his presence isn’t exactly small, so with this hoarding comes a sense of security.

He’s surprisingly gentle as well, it doesn’t feel infantilising, more like you’re something from a heist that he doesn’t want to break.

Can fall asleep anywhere there’s noise. It’s a skill, you’ll find him contorted in a corner just so long as the TV’s humming in the background. Don’t think of moving him, you won’t.

Probably takes a good few trips to the loo during the night. Which, unfortunately for you, given your nightly position: leads to you being woken up every time he does.

Shalnark

Not a fan of cuddles, like at all. Shalnark is quite the squisher when you’re both up and about or even just lounging on the covers, but when it comes to sleeping? He’ll do it, sure, but he won’t be too thrilled most nights. There’s the odd time that he’ll be uncharacteristically for the idea, pulling you close and running off a mile a minute! He doesn’t tend to actually sleep those nights, more ramble on like you’re at some two person sleepover; the sentiment’s there nonetheless.

Despite this fact, he’s very specific with having at least something pressed up against his back -little spooner- and will get agitated if this requirement isn’t met.

Podcasts, lots of podcasts. Shalnark has about ten to twenty playlists that he’ll be sat scrolling through: trying to find the one he wants to sleep to. You’ll never be privy to these of course, he tends to keep a pair of headphones shoved in some drawer.

Oftentimes, before even attempting to sleep, he’ll be scrolling through some forum or busy doing: something. Though, for some reason you don’t remember any of his chronic scrolling…

Bathroom breaker, it’s nothing annoying but you’ll never not notice the shift in weight, as he swings his legs off the bed and heads to the bathroom. He’s always careful not to make too much noise, which winds up causing more in the process.

Has a small assortment of glasses of water that will accumulate through the week, all filled to different volumes. He swears he’ll drink them! He never does. It just ticks that little box of ‘just incase’ and he can’t sleep without it. Same with most other amenities.

Late sleeper, this man will never be up before you. That may be attributed to the fact he never falls asleep before you, but who’s to say!

Machi

The fact you don’t have single beds is both a gift to thank her for and a curse. Machi is a sleep tosser; she tosses a lot.

You tend to sleep on opposite ends of the bed. This is both in part to her overall distaste of sleeping together and the kicking. Oh boy, the kicking.

You know how the immune system can sometimes misinterpret things as threats, causing autoimmune reactions? That Machi when asleep. It’s like a subconscious instinct, a defence mechanism is you will; it’s certainly a good one! It’s just, not always needed. Especially not when you wake up at 4:34am after a particularly sharp jab at your side.

Though, some nights she’s stiff as a board! Not one movement or peep. As if death herself had stole Machi away.

She’s not a particularly picky sleeper, Machi can rest to almost anything. However, there is one thing that seems to expedite the process. Fire - whether the simple crackling singing off in the distance, or the chocking scent of smoke pervading the air. It seems to calm Machi, there’s no foreseeable reason for it. She just, likes fire.

L i g h t sleeper, you can’t count the amount of times she’s jolted awake, swearing she heard something. Windows, doors and anything else that might throw the room into disarray or stir up noise are a must close.

Sleep mutterer. It’s a rare occurrence, but Machi will sometimes have whole conversations with the air. You’re usually both asleep when these conversations take place (there was once that you overheard one to its completion. You’ll never tell her of course).

Pakunoda

Incense galore.

Seriously it’s everywhere.

Pakunoda needs some form of soft scent to lull her to sleep. This often comes in the form of floral scents, but can branch off into other soothing smells. Her particular favourites include cedar and amber.

You wouldn’t describe what you and Pakunoda do as cuddling, per se. She treats you more like a support pillow than anything else. Arms wrapped around you tightly and chin resting upon your head.

Neither of you will be able to move an inch throughout the night. Pakunoda has a very specific pre sleep schedule that she’ll run through every night (including final bathroom breaks, cleaning and small talk) and after that, it’s lights out. It doesn’t matter if you wake up and need something: she’s out cold. You might be able to escape, if you can pry yourself out. But just know: getting back in the same position will prove twice as difficult.

Not a snorer, hell, you can hardly hear her breathing most nights. If it weren’t for the subtle rise and fall of her chest against your back, you’d question if she even was.

Up long before you are, usually has one half of the bed already made (haphazardly as not to disturb you.)

I had a lot of fun doing this one; might return to it for further Troupe members at a later date, so cheers for the ask Anon! (Little irrelevant thing I just want to mention for future reference: if any PT ask includes Hisoka or Illumi please specify as such.)

[luvvixu]

mind over matter pt. 3

synopsis: witness how your marriage was bound to fall apart with you on the front seat and your husband gojo had missed the show—now, he gotta figure out the story on his own.

content: arrange marriage au, angst, husband!gojo, mean!gojo, mention of blood, strong languages, some unsettling scenarios, emotional trauma, read at your own risk

a/n: yooooo, finally an update!! thanks for waiting everyone~ i actually took a small break because my friends and i had a beach outing and that was great!

previous / masterlist / next

you feel like you had the longest dream in your entire life the moment you slowly open your eyes and reveal the white plain ceiling with matching beeping sound coming out from the machine.

it takes a second or two to realize that you're in a hospital.

like a seemingly newborn, your half lidded eyes traveled across the room until it reached the sight of some peculiar white haired male with his face buried on your arm, sleeping uncomfortably while sitting on the cold hard chair.

you could feel your whole body ache when you tried to move some parts of your body to stop it from numbing when you noticed some kind of empty feeling—like something was missing.

it did not take you a while to realize that your stomach feels so empty right now, and you know it's not because you're hungry, but because you couldn't feel your baby anymore.

an anguish screech escapes from your mouth when you realize that the baby isn't part of your body anymore. tears stream like a waterfall as your body automatically sits up and hugs your lower body, specifically your stomach, because you cannot accept the fact that your baby has been taken away from you.

this immediately woken satoru up and started to console you. “hey, hey, y/n! i’m here. i'm here.” his voice was soft and comforting but there's a hint of shakiness due to your sudden outburst.

“satoru, my baby! i can't feel my baby! my baby is gone!” as an upcoming loving mother, it hurts you so bad that you'd rather die than to accept this.

the sound of the machine keeps on loudly pulsating, meaning that your heart rate is rising quickly and it's dangerous for you to get stressed since you just came out from the operation.

“y/n! the baby is fine. our baby is fine. they were being cured by the best doctors so don't worry.” pulling your body close to his, satoru caresses your hair and keeps on murmuring some comforting words to calm you down.

but it seems that his actions were no avail when he saw your lower stomach bleeding. feels like his own blood had disappeared, his pale face becomes more paler when your extreme sadness cry turns to extremely painful cry.

his body seemingly moves on its own and presses the button to call for help while still managing to calm you down.

“where's my baby? g-give me back my baby! satoru, do something!” it pains satoru to see you like this. a whole crying mess who cannot even digest the fact that her baby was in intensive care so they can become better.

suddenly, the door in your room opened, revealing the doctor and their nurse—shoko was there too. they immediately inject you with midazolam to calm you down and it works almost instantly. satoru watches your body go limp as your wound continues to bleed.

satoru and shoko were instructed to wait outside as they transfer you to another room to tend your wounds. after you were scouted to exit the scene, satoru fell on his knees and leaned his back on the wall.

god, what did you do to deserve this kind of thing?

letting out a soft sob, satoru prayed once again—something that he just learned yesterday. he prayed that all of your pain, burden, suffering, and all must disappear because satoru couldn't list any single reason why you must suffer like this.

“you should go back at least for now, gojo. i’ll handle things here while you freshen yourself up.” shoko suggested but satoru just shook his head, refusing to leave your side.

“don't be a fucking stubborn. you still have other things to do, don't forget that.” shoko hissed.

“but i need to be by her side. i need to be there to support her whatever i can.” satoru slowly let himself up and looked shoko straight in the eye.

“do you think she still needs you to be by her side? oh please, not after what you had done.” the doctor rolled her eyes as she toys with the unlit cigarette on her lips.

for some reason, satoru was having a deja vu, it was like they're in her clinic once again and they argue where you heard things that you shouldn't have. as much as satoru would like to shut her down, he's worried that you might hear him say nasty things that he didn't mean to say.

“shoko, please…i know you're mad at me and you wanted to be hostile towards me. i actually don't care if you hurt me or insult me, just not now. i need to stand by her side and i don't need you to tell me what to do.” satoru stood up and his gaze on shoko became hard.

the doctor just tsked and decided to drop the conversation for your sake. there's a whole silence in the atmosphere when satoru suddenly thinks about your little breakdown earlier. you're looking at your child and he is too. he really wants to go to the baby but he thinks it would be better if the two of you are together.

satoru was excited to see his baby, sure. but something inside stirs up something that he personally couldn't explain. was it because he remembers your conversation when he first knew of your pregnancy? that he found himself unable to answer your questions during that night?

but whatever the reasons are, satoru was ultimately willing to ignore it and just focus on becoming a better husband and now a new father towards his child with you.

the strongest sorcerer of his generation, the one and only satoru gojo, the pride of his clan, your husband on papers, your most hated person, your child's father—swore to himself that he will treat his son as his own flesh and blood, not as the heir that will dethrone him from being the pride.

and most of them all, he swore to himself that you will be treated way, way better than everyone, specifically and especially him. satoru will patch up the wounds that he had caused you.

but not all wounds can be treated by a mere bandaid.

an hour had passed and now you're once again in your room, but this time, you're more than calm as you finally understood the situation—thanks to shoko who patiently explains everything to you.

like right now, she's standing by the end of your bed while satoru was on his seat just like the first time you saw him in this hospital. shoko carefully and softly explained what was going on with you and gave you some sort of assurance.

“you suffered from placenta abruption which caused your placenta to detach from the inner walls of your uterus. it unables the baby to receive oxygen and nutrients with the placenta detached. that is why the doctors had no choice but to put you into a cesarean delivery so it can save both of your lives.”

“and about your baby, don't worry, they're in safe hands. currently in the neonatal intensive care unit where the baby is under process of developing it since it came out during your six months of pregnancy and is premature.” she continued.

then, shoko put a hand on your shoulder, slightly massaging it to give you some comfort. “worry not, y/n. we're not going to let anything hurt your baby. they're safe here and are guarded with blessings and restrictions so no other curses or unauthorized people could touch your child.”

all this time shoko speak, your head was hanging low and it seems like you're having a hard time digesting everything. but you still get what she meant by putting you under a cesarean because it's the only way to save you and your baby's life—which you're incredibly grateful for.

“c…can i see my baby?” your tone was quite hushed, probably because you hadn't really talked to anyone after what happened to you.

shoko gently shook her head and gave you an apologetic smile. “i am so sorry, y/n. but you need to rest first and we, the doctors, recommended you to not move too much since it can open up your cesarean stitches once again.”

to everyone’s relief, you nodded at her words, like you agreed to get better first before seeing your child.

“alright, i gotta excuse myself now. i have an appointment later this afternoon.” shoko gives you a smile before sending a knowing gaze at the man beside you, saying ‘you better not forget that you still have other things to do’ look.

“mhm. take care and thank you for helping me during all of this, shoko.” you replied tried to return the same smile but it only reached a have, you just wished she could feel your sincerity towards her.

“i don't accept thank you’s, yet. i can only accept it if i see you in a much better condition. so if you want me to say you're welcome, then get better.” her words make you giggle a little but you take that as a note.

giving you a one last smile and a secretive glare at your husband, she finally left the scene…and that leaves you two, you and your husband. silence engulfs the whole room, only the sound of your beeping monitor keeps on echoing and adds awkwardness to the atmosphere.

you take a small peak at satoru who's looking at an empty space somewhere, looking like he's in a deep thought. you're not sure if you want to talk to him or not, but taking the preceding events from earlier, you see no reason.

on the other hand, satoru was lost in his thoughts because he's trying to construct everything that he needed to say to you. he's kinda bad at impromptu when it comes to you and mostly forgot his points and other subtopics because he's being blinded by the emotions that keeps on distracting him.

satoru also noticed your small gazes towards him and it feels like you're not planning to talk to him first, so he finally initiated a conversation.

“do you feel any pain in your body?” he asked you.

however, it took you a while to answer because you're not sure if your following responses are gonna be normal, sarcastic, or not answering at all. but you choose the first one because the two other choices would most likely put you into stress and makes your healing process becomes slower.

“my tummy hurts but i'm fine…and i'm also hungry.” you replied, that's it.

satoru was glad that you're answering him…well. anyway, he smiled at you and carried on with the conversation. “if the pain gets worse or it causes you discomfort, you must tell me immediately. and about that hunger, we still need to wait at least eight hours for you to eat something heavy. but for now, you can only take liquids and…the doctor said you could eat oatmeal and eggs—maybe we should get that. the doctor also to avoid greasy food and it would take at least six weeks for you to recover, and then…what are the other things he said again?”

while satoru was busy yapping, you slowly think that he's speaking to himself more than he's speaking to you because of how concentrated he looked and it somehow brings some sort of warmth in your chest because he really tries himself to remember all of the things that the doctors had prescribed him for you.

“satoru…” you called out to him, but he's still busy talking about do’s and don'ts and keeps on going while you occasionally call his name.

“satoru.” he's still busy talking.

“...satoru?” yep, still talking.

his yappings are getting too long and you're running out of thin patience, so you hold into his arms and that makes him look at you and stop talking instantly. breathe in relief, you finally stopped him from his own shenanigans.

“i—i’m sorry, i talked too much.” satoru awkwardly chuckles to himself, but you just shrugged it off. “anyway, what is it?” he asked.

“satoru, i was wondering…how did i end up here? all i know is i was in my room, i feel my tummy hurts really bad and it got me so worried about my baby. then all of the sudden, there's blood seeping down on my legs then everything black out.” you said.

“well…” then satoru proceeds into another minutes of yapping about what happened based on what they had said to him back then. you'd understand that yuuji and megumi were planning to cheer you up by a surprise room visit when they smelled blood and that made them instantly realize that something was going on with you. so they called shoko and yaga to break into the room, and there they saw you lying in your own pool of blood.

nodding slowly, the question that was formed because of the preceding events were finally put into the end. “oh, so that's what happened. anyways, do you think yuuji and megumi could be here tomorrow? i wanted to thank them.”

“sure. i’ll come with them tomorrow. but now, let's get you some light foods so you can sleep tonight.” satoru stood up but he froze as his feet were not walking. you watch him turn back to you while you give him a confused look.

“will you be alright being alone for like…five minutes? i’m just gonna be quick and get you some food. i promise i’ll be back before you know it.” you just let him do what he wants and just continue watching him. satoru looked at you for a long seconds, rather seemingly so hesitant. but you told him you'll be fine and just do his thing, so satoru assured you once again that he'll be back then uses his teleportation.

now, you're alone (for a while) in this room. your thoughts wandered towards your baby who you knew is in the same building as yours. you really want to run towards that room where they are located but you forcefully shut yourself because it'll just make things worse. you're still in the process of healing and you want to be at your strongest when you're with your baby.

but something was still arguing inside your head. it's the desire to run towards your child and the desire to get better—

“y/n.”

“shit!”

something—no, someone was suddenly in the room. it was satoru who's pouting at you like a puppy who got lost. his sudden appearance makes the beeping machine beside you go wild as you curse out profanity because you're that shocked.

thankfully, your heart beat becomes normal again and nothing bad happens. but you'll be sure to send out a death glare to your husband who's still pouting.

“what the actual fuck, satoru?! do you want me to die of a heart attack?!” you glared at him, still your hand is at your chest.

“i'm sorry about that. but i cannot bring myself to leave you like that even for a minute.” he said.

“i told you i'll be fine. you don't need to guard me 24/7 anyway, so go and grab or do whatever you want.”

“no!” satoru whined…and that surprises you, because this might be the first time you saw him whine like a child, especially without any involvement of alcohol or sugar to activate this kind of his system. this was just a new sight to you.

“then how are you going to get some food?”

“i’ll just have them deliver it here.”

“seriously? you're going to order and deliver oatmeal and eggs?” your eyes were wide at his crazy idea. like yeah seriously, for an oatmeal and eggs? he could literally get it from a convenience store.

“what? i'm gonna order some food for myself too, you know.” he pouts, again.

“okay, you order your food online. and we'll get mine at a convenience store.”

“what? no! i told you i don't want to leave you alone.”

“then i’ll come with you. we'll go and buy my food together if you're really that worried about leaving me alone.” you said sarcastically.

“what the hell is that suggestion? absolutely not!” satoru gasps. he's so dramatic.

“well then, i’ll just starve!” you huff at him before turning your head away from him.

“i—wait, i'm sorry. i really can't force myself to be away from you. i'm just scared that when i'm gone even for just a minute, s-something might happen again and i’m not there to help you out instantly.” the sad look on his face is back, similar to what he looked like when he confronted you in the hallway.

after hearing his explanation, you turned back to him and said, “there are things that come unexpectedly. you cannot also force yourself to stick with just in case an emergency would occur, you'd be there. for all that i know, you still have other things to do, like you have your priorities.”

“but you're my priority,” he said seriously. well that caught you off guard.

“whatever, just go and get me some food.” you brush it off.

“...”

“...ok.”

the night ended with satoru eating his ordered food happily while you were still glaring at the man because he really stick to his words and ordered your food online instead of just running to a convenience store or buying the hospital once. although, it makes you wonder, how is there a plain, plain! oatmeal and a boiled egg that has been selling online?

well, whatever it is, at least your hunger has lessened and your relationship with satoru has gotten…at least a little better.

[part 4 is up tomorrow! and you know the drill, for those who would like to be added to the taglist , just comment — ©luvvixu2024]

taglists: @mistymuii @kalopsia-flaneur @sherryuki-callmeyuki @aish777 @tttttttf @username23345 @slyhersophia @netyxms @rirk-ke @lvstru @roscptalsaa @labelt-san @shinruo @yaninnaacu @testrella @sad-darksoul @kurookinnie @mountvesuvu @chwesuh-imnida @cole-silas @elernity @buttermilktea11 @berenevenstarzetaestelar @maddie-jayne @yozora7154 @kawaiivillainess98 @jiupark @forourpoets @aishies-stuff @numblytemporary @souyasplushie @hotsauce247 @catarinemirandax @aerithsthingss @h1gh4ru @ssetsuka @jskodn @khoiyyu @the2ndl @veryverysadauthor @vebbiewuzhere @kouyoumarryme @dreamyescapesfromreality @local-mr-frog @haesify @openthenyoor01 @blkmystery @slowlyshycomputer @babybarbs12 @thickemadame @bleppt @leavem3al0n3 @arminloverlol @roscpctals99 @megumisthirdog @shirabane @skepticalleo @sheismaryy @tragicgirl444

a/n: istg guys i'm trying my hardest to get y'all tagged but some really did not appear when i @ your blogs huhu. but don't worry, that won't stop me from tagging y'all, so i am just going to manually mentioned you on every chapter update ;)

[thus-wrote-mrs-zeppeli]

AHHHH HIHIHI !!

just wanna start by sayinh youre like one of my fav people on this platform i live and die for every post 😭💞

And i finally caught the requests so !!

Headcanons for various jojo characters with a reader who has a healing stand mayhaps?

Feel free to put whoever else in, i dont mind, but i'd love it if you could do bruno and diego, my bbgs fr 🙏

Hihihi!! Aaaaa thank you so much I am SO honored!!!! And when u mentioned Bruno and Diego r your bbgs I had a “did I just send MYSELF a request??” Moment lolol literally I had to physically restrain myself from calling Bruno my wife when Jojo came up while I was chatting with some people irl the other day lolol-

I love him and Diego so much! And YES, I can do this! Sounds interesting~

Bruno’s takes place before Giorno joins the squad

Content: for Diavolo and Diego: possessive and controlling behaviors, light depiction of injury

Various jjba characters x reader with a healing stand:

“Doctor! Doctor!”

Characters: Rohan Kishibe, Bruno Bucciarati, Diavolo, Diego Brando

Rohan Kishibe: You cannot BELIEVE he sometimes argues with you over healing him. Rohan has had a difficult personality for as long as you’ve known him, but really…you must insist you accompany him on his travels despite his protests. You’ve seen on more than enough occasions he’s liable to put himself in dangerous situations and get hurt. So you’re going with him.

He’ll always fight you on it, claiming it’s much easier to travel alone; but he has SOME nerve saying you in particular are difficult to travel with, because he always has some sort of grievance about almost everything when you go anywhere together.

You tell him if he didn’t put himself in harm’s way all the time you wouldn’t have to follow him around.

And even if he claims he won’t this time, you both know that’s not really a claim he can make. His inquisitive nature will Always get the best of him, so you will be there for when that curiosity inevitably gets him terribly injured in some way.

Thank goodness your man is difficult to kill…but he really needs to stop pushing his luck, it’s bad for both of you.

And despite him pretending your presence doesn’t change anything on his trips, he will try to be a little bit more careful when you’re involved. He thinks it’s because your constant worrying is irritating, but honestly he can’t bring himself to willingly lead you into something too dangerous. Most of the time.

Bruno Bucciarati: He will always consider himself responsible for the safety of his team, and the nature of your stand ability means you ease his mind when you’re near. You’ve seen his gang. They’re reckless, quick to get into fights, even with each other-there’s no need to worry about him but PLEASE do whatever you’re willing to do to make sure the others aren’t bleeding out from stab or gunshot wounds, or limping around with broken bones.

At Bruno’s request, you would always prioritize healing the injuries of the people he’s in charge of, but when the opportunity arises you will offer him some healing too.

He might not get nearly as bloodied and beaten as Mista does all the time…but you’ve noticed your dear Bucciarati seems to get chronic headaches, that especially intensify when he’s stressed about his work or managing the team. You never make a big deal out of it, don’t even mention it really, when you use your stand to ease his pain.

But he’ll always make a point to thank you. And gently remind you that he’s fine and you should focus your energy elsewhere.

You can only try to respect that for so long though. I mean, the reason your stand heals is because it’s in your nature to severely hate seeing your loved ones suffer.

And it’s not like he can be mad at you for caring about him. It’s just an unfamiliar feeling for him…he’s used to focusing all his attention on others and shouldering their burdens and taking care of them…so having you around trying to ease his pains…very unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.

It will take a while, but eventually he’ll grow comfortable enough to even ask for your healing touch when his pain is a little too much to bear on his own. But more often than not you’ll have to nag him to not push himself too hard and let you help him.

Diavolo: He considers it very fortunate you stumbled into his path. You consider it very Unfortunate. The Boss of Passione is an extraordinarily demanding partner, expecting absolute obedience and loyalty from you in return for his “love” and protection.

You’re not sure when you even wanted to be in a relationship with him, but you’re in too deep now. Defying an obsessive and paranoid man like him at this point would only get you in even more trouble.

He’s smothering, constantly breathing down your neck and making sure you’re not planning anything, and when he does let you leave wherever he’s decided to hole himself up, Doppio is always accompanying you. You’re expected to heal him if anything should happen, but you know Diavolo only says that in a weak attempt to veil that Doppio is actually the one watching you.

Daring to reveal your stand in front of anyone that is not him or Doppio will get you in hot water with the entire Italian mafia.

But it’s not like Diavolo needs your healing…he’s never around anyone who can hurt him anyways! You really are some just in case tool he keeps in his pocket; so your life is incredibly boring, even if it’s safe. And moving around all the time for his anonymity’s sake is annoying and uncomfortable. What’s the point of your stand if you can’t use it to help people?! He Really hates that compassionate nature of yours. Makes sense, given how thoroughly selfish he is…The two of you do not click at all, but he doesn’t care. You don’t need to like him, but he’s not letting you leave as long as you’re an incredibly useful tool.

Diego Brando: He does so adore how useful his partner’s stand is…To cure any sort of fatigue and injury…such a boon to him! He wants you all to himself and he will NOT be sharing you. So don’t even THINK about flashing your stand to anyone other than him, he won’t forgive you if you do that! He’s definitely using you a bit to his advantage. But he takes care of you in turn, making sure you live a comfortable life and giving you whatever you ask for. All you have to do is follow his easy rule and he’ll be a sweet and doting husband for you. Simple, right?

It tugs at your conscience sometimes though. To sit quietly on the side while someone suffers, simply because your husband demanded it. But a part of you can’t bear even the thought of upsetting Diego, after he’s been so good to you…and all he asked for was one simple thing.

And he was just looking out for you by telling you to keep your gift a secret…He cupped your cheeks in his hands so gently as he reminded you how bad it would be if an evil person found out about your powers. You could be in a lot of danger, and he might not be able to save you. So please, don’t needlessly endanger yourself like that. He couldn’t bear it if anything bad happened to you.

Deep down you know he’s just saying that to keep you under his control, but you love him…and you honestly believe at least a part of him also loves you.

So you’ll bend to his will usually. But what Diego doesn’t know can’t hurt him. If you mend a broken bone or ease a sore throat on occasion he might not find out. And even if he does find out, how mad can he really get at that? (Pretty damn mad, but you have too much value in his eyes for him to deal Too harshly with you, despite what he might say in the heat of the moment).

-

Ngl I kinda blanked when coming up with additional characters, so I just went with some more faves, haha, the POWER of: “feel free to put whoever else in”!

[junkdrawerfan]

I know it’s for the angst and maybe it’s a thing in canon cause comic books. But if the batfamily are just human — Just straight 100% human — then they cannot hide their injuries.

A sprained ankle, once sprained, is easier to sprain. A bruised rib can turn into a fractured rib. A cut can get infected. A bruise can be hiding internal bleeding. All injuries, if ignored, can get worse.

First off. Just to clarify. The reality of the situation is that our very fun fleshy human characters just cannot be getting as hurt as frequently as they do in fics. In the comics, Bruce getting bruised ribs is a sign he is not taking care of himself and is being reckless and dangerous after Jason’s death. This might have changed in modern comics (that’s dumb. Batman doesn’t get hurt because he’s skilled and prepared. If they’ve changed that for shock or vibes, it’s stupid.) but it just can’t be true. The human body doesn’t heal that fast. There is no “magnify the sun to heal faster” tech for the batfamily. It’s one thing if Bruce used magic so they could insta-heal. But he doesn’t like magic either!

Bruised ribs and sprained ankles which seem “not that bad” in a lot of fics can keep a professional athlete from practice for weeks if not months. Let’s not even get into how it can affect a professional during the actual game/race/event.

The batfamily ��� who must be operating at peak physical fitness and pushing their bodies to the physical limit on top of the rigorous training/working out they do to enhance their skills — must 1) treat their bodies intelligently, 2) have some kind of rest day system so their bodies don’t shut down from the stress and 3) treat every injury seriously and timely to avoid exasperation and unnecessary healing time.

I get its comic books. I get Damian has such perfect awareness of his body he can shift his organs (ew.) to avoid being fatally stabbed. He’s still just a guy! They’re all just guys in super cool futuristic body armor and some neat gadgets.

(Side note: That body armor has gotta have some kind of kinetic dispersion system like Black Panther’s to keep the bruises minimal. Which means that body armor has to be good at stopping knives and guns from piercing the human flesh underneath. Which means that body armor cannot have any obvious flaws or weaknesses like only the cape is bulletproof and short shorts revealing the femeral artery!

(What I mean is maybe Dick and Jason had some like flesh colored armor leggings. Please let me live in delusion!)

Plus there has to be under layers. The color pattern top might be spandex or some kind of colored Kevlar-like fabric, but there must be special under garments, jock straps, compression shorts, ankle and wrist wraps. Something! Just Kevlar against bare skin would be impossible. Think of the rash! The sweat!There must be some kind of sweat-slicking layer or something that keeps you cool while you exert yourself running around a massive city like Gotham*. Otherwise they’d pass out from overheating!)

And since they’re just guys, when they get injured it is a big deal! They cannot hide their injuries, especially if they’re working with others. Injuries mean physical limitations which means your teammates have to pick up the slack. If your teammates don’t know they have to pick up the slack, not only are you endangering yourself but you are endangering your teammates.

And no matter how frustratingly emotionally constipated the bats are, no way are they choosing to risk their friends and family welfare for the sake of pride.

Think about it:

If you have mobility issues then you’re on sidewalk duty? Youre walking or motorcycle. Either way you’re off rooftops until you can safely grapple without pulling some stitches on your side or exasperating the ache in your upper back.

If you hide it and then you lose your gripe on your grapple because you have a full body flinch from pulling something and your teammates have to catch you or you die. Well that’s stupid. That’s a stupid way to die. No ego is worth that stupid death.

If you’re not sleeping which means your reaction time is sloppy** then you’re just not patrolling. There is plenty of work that doesn’t require the bats to be fighting around the city. The detective work can be done at a desk looking through camera footage, tracking down informants or victims or witnesses, or just mining the web for info. Plus paperwork, gadget maintenance, and the other fussy work that happens when you don’t have a company dedicated to maintaining your status of superhero like Ironman does.

All I’m saying is I know the cool part is the swinging and the patrolling and the fighting. Having an injury — a serious one with bone and blood — sounds cool and adds tension. Hell hiding an injury sounds like something they would do because they’re emotionally stunted idiots who don’t want to be a burden on their loved ones, right?

But they’re Bats! They’re effective, efficient, smart. They are human with human limits that can keep up with Supers and Flashes and Themyscirans. But to do that, they have to be managing their human limits intelligently.

TLDR: The BatFam cannot be getting injured that frequently or hiding injuries from teammates — the family or otherwise — without becoming massive liabilities in the field which would make their jobs nearly impossible to complete at the level of excellence they must do to keep up with the rest of the superhero community.

——

* By the way, Gotham is a city with a population of 10 million. For reference, NYC has 8 million people. Gotham also has enough land to have entire city blocks permanently unoccupied. Think about that! If NYC had a plot of land unoccupied, it would be built up into housing and business space immediately because space is a hot commodity in a city of 8M! How much fucking space does Gotham have!!!

** Yes you can survive without any sleep up to 30 days but that’s because by day 30 your organs shut down. Lack of sleep starts costing you as soon as 36 hours without sleep. They have to be sleeping a full 8-10 hours (or more because again they’re moving so much!) at some point to keep up. If they have insomnia then maybe they take something to go to sleep like a special bat-ambien.

[gakukitty]

04 . LONELY GIRL

featuring. . . SHIN ASAKURA + FEM!READER

summary . an assassin is never , ever , under any circumstances supposed to get attached . it’s better to retreat from this mission . . . but what are the consequences of this decision ?

cw . kinda sad but not rlly , uhhh like some violence , errrrr i don’t rlly know what else !

masterlist ✦ next

the rest of your night passes by in a total haze. you’re left flustered, nervous, embarrassed, excited— and everything in between.

shin kissed you, and you really don’t know if you think that it’s good or bad. his lips felt so nice against yours— so right. but there’s nothing right about an assassin kissing someone like that.

you’re not meant for the life of a lover, and you know it. your line of work is dangerous; a matter of life or death thst cannot be ignored.

but even then, you really can’t forget the way he looked at you, or the way his hand touched you so gently. shin is so cute you think you could just die right now! you roll over in your bed, your cheeks warm and lashes fluttering. you feel like a schoolgirl with her first ever crush. it’s almost embarrassing.

however, when the initial rush wears off, your heartbeat slowing back down and your shoulders relaxing; you find yourself sighing softly. it’s so late now, you really should be sleeping. but you can’t forget about that moment! did it really just happen, or are you dreaming?

by the time morning comes and the sun rises, you feel like an absolute mess of jumbled emotions and thoughts. groaning softly, you sit up; only to be a little surprised by a sound from your phone.

you hum quietly to yourself, hand reaching out to turn off your alarm. time for work. today, the thought of killing someone almost feels… daunting. you’ve never felt this way about a job before, not even on your first assignment.

maybe shin put a spell or something on you during that kiss.

yes, that’s what you tell yourself as you dress up and get ready for work. this is all shin’s fault, definitely.

as you step out of your apartment, you make a decision. you can’t see shin or visit the Sakamoto family’s store anymore. you can’t, and you won’t.

i mean, you’re sure that there are many other handsome men out there like him, right?

your attempts at convincing yourself of this are useless. once the job’s done, your mind drifts to back to shin. you look down at the person on the floor, bleeding out and desperately clinging to life. shin’s probably the type of guy who’d try to help them or at the very least get them some help, you think. but you’re not.

you have a job to do. so, with a sigh, you shoot the last shot, bullet piercing right through them. you’ve never felt so bad after completing a job.

it’s whatever, your thoughts echo. on your walk home, you lightly kick a smal rock off of the sidewalk; while being mindful of your shoes, of course. you definitely do not have the money to replace these. and they’re kind of cute, too.

your mind shifts back to thoughts of shin after a while, the cool air gently brushing through your hair— which actually serves as a nice and almost soothing contrast against the subtle heat from the sun. then, without thinking; here is where you find yourself, standing outside of the Sakamoto family’s store. you’re just getting a snack to eat on the way home, and this is the closest shop. definitely. totally.

but shin knows better; he can literally read your mind. once he noticed you stepping inside, his back straightened just slightly. he was totally not slumping against the counter just then.

he’s a great, honest worker— well, until you come around. that’s when he starts to feel like his brain is leaning out of his ears. shin has absolutely no idea what’s gotten into him, but he thinks that he doesn’t mind it too much.

what he does mind, though, is that look on your face. it’s grim; guilty, almost. he can already guess why. have you really not given up on that? he wishes you would, he really does.

but part of him is totally panicking. your mind’s been a total mess; he can’t understand anything. so he has no idea if you’re freaked out by that kiss or not. that kiss— the same kiss he’s been thinking about since then.

either way, he steals a glance at you as you pick out your favourite snack. the one thought that shin can really make out is just: “yummy!”

you’re so cute, he thinks. how is someone like you an assassin? he really doesnt get it at all.

after a few more moments of debating, your feet finally carry you to the register. the two of you share awkward eye contact for a second, so many words threatening to escape your lips. none of you can bring yourself to really speak, except for shin’s quiet mutter of the price and the small “thank you” that you respond with after paying.

he’s almost disappointed when you leave without another word.

and after that interaction, you’re sure that you need to end this little.. thing that you have. crushing on some guy will never ever work out for you; not as long as you’re an assassin.

so, for the next few days, you swallow down the lump in your throat and will every thought of shin away. you take the longer way back home, and do your best to pretend that kiss didn’t happen.

and shin’s almost distraught. you haven’t visited the shop for a while now. well, you’ve never been a regular customer. but he wanted you to become one. he wanted to see you again, feel your fingers brush against his as he hands you your change and— whattt?! what is he thinking?!

he doesn’t even know how to answer Lu when she pokes him and ask why he’s practically moping. he’s not even moping!

the next day comes around, and shin is questioning everything now. was he too pushy with that kiss? he really hopes not. you seemed to enjoy it— was he just interpeting things wrong?

and as the tenth day of no words from you, he has made up his mind. shin is going to confront you and find out what is going on with you.

© gakukitty please don’t copy my work , repost it and claim as your own , translate , or do anything stupid with it ! try and improve on ur own skills first ♡

[apollonia4]

Heyaaa

Could you do another part with the side characters where Mc turns into a vampire?

I NEED to know how would Dia and Luke react to seeing mc with long sharp fangs

Hellooo thank you for the request furrywizardexpert, and sure! ♡♡

Fangs?! - MC turned vampire (part.3)

Pt.1 and pt.2

Cw: blood, mentions of pain and discomfort, !¡Luke's part is platonic¡! Otherwise established relationship.

DIAVOLO is devastated. To think such pain happened to you? In the human world?? Were you safer in Devildom after all this time? He was also grave serious about talking to the vampire leader about control over their subjects.

Your first days as a vampire were horrible. You had spent them in the castle. Diavolo deemed it more safe and secure for everyone but the reality was, he also wanted to just keep you close. Even if you didn't exactly welcome his company now, he'd do everything to bring you comfort. He watched as Barbatos came in and out of your room, was it a room? The prince had a hard time admitting it but it was more like a prison cell. And he didn't even visit you once. He must be cruel. His longing became heavier everyday and it had reached a point when he cannot think of anything but you. He decided to pay you a visit, even if you'd throw yourself to his neck, he didn't care. He knocked on your door and slowly but surely stepped inside, locking the door behind him. The room was obscure, he could barely see anything. "MC? My dearest it's me." He exclaimed, making himself known. He expected you to attack him from the shadows but all he felt was arms wrapping around his waist and your posture hugging him from behind. "..I missed you." you said. Your tone weak and sadened. He carefully turned around to face you. He had misjudged you and he felt bad about it. You may've been thrashing about when Barbatos checked on you but you'd never, ever hurt him. His love. He cupped your face and smilled faintly, looking at you with adoration. Even as a vampire you still looked so beautifull. "I missed you too MC, don't be afraid I'm here with you every step of the way."

BARBATOS kept his cool. He was taught to do that in serious situations. But inside he was hurting knowing, he might've been able to save you if he'd only used his powers. He felt responsible for what happened to you but he made it his biggest priority to take care of you now and face the consequences.

I did not surprise anyone that you didn't want to eat normal food anymore. You needed blood. The last thing barbatos wanted was for you to die from starvation. So he made sure you had your pray everyday. It had to be alive, vampires cannot drink the blood of the dead. He made his way to your room, as always the long corridors only stretching at the thought of seeing you in pain again. He carried a goat in arms, the daily meal for you. He let himself into your room with a previous "Darling, it's me, I'm coming in." You sat on your bed, haid dishelved and eyes half opened, did he interrupt your sleep?? "No, I wasn't sleeping. It's okay." Barbatos stopped for a second, then chuckled quietly. You got a grip of your powers it seems. He set down the goat and sat not to far from you so he can prevent you drinking your meal dry. He watched as you grabbed the animal and bared your teeth. My, what gorgerous sharp fangs were they. But right as you were about to sink them into the food you stopped. Your face turned from hungry to sad as you placed the goat back down, gently petting it on the head. "What is it MC? Shall I bring you something else today?" You shook you head no as tears threathened to escape your eyes. "I don't..I don't wanna kill anymore, please I'm sick of it." His heart shattered, was it really that hard for you all this time? He must admitt, biting into an animal, watching it struggle and then bleed out on the floor was...not the best sight. "It's okay darling, you don't have to..it's okay." He said as he carressed your back, seemingly cluelessly exposing his neck at the same time.

SIMEON did not hesitate in terms of wanting to see you. It was more for you than it was for himself. Of course, he yearned to see you more than anything but he knew how lonely, sad and in pain you must be. As soon as you were let out of the castle, he invited you over.

The purgatory hall was empty today. Simeon made sure of that. He didn't want you to get overwhelmed with all the noise and attention. Not to mention your bloodthirst. It's better that you see Luke after him. You sat silently in the livingroom, looking around. Simeon has left you for a minute to get you both something to drink. Your gaze wandered around the well decorated walls, the celling, the carpeting, then..the mirror. It was settled right infront of you. But your reflection was not there. You'd lie if you said it didn't hurt. You tried to recall the last time you had seen your own face. As you sat there, lost in your own thoughts you felt a hand on your shoulder. "Are you okay?" Simeon's voice was gentle and caring as always. Your head dropped as you started playing with the fabric of the blanket draped over you. That was enough of an answer for you lover. He knew you like no one else. Slowly, careful not to scare you off, he placed the drinks on the table and knelt down infront of you. "I know it's tough right now MC, but I'll help you. I can imagine it's rough, not beeing able to see yourself in that mirror. But I see you. And I have to tell you, you're as radiant as before, as is your soul".

SOLOMON is shaken. He's the first person you contact after you'd been attacked. Never ever in the wildest depths of his imagination had he thought of this happening to you. On top of that in the human world?? In the safe space you both shared, far from the chaos of the usuall life?

You breathing was heavy as you slid down against the wall of your apartament. You were shaking, trying to stop the bleeding from your neck only to find out it had already healed due to your newfound powers. You groaned reaching over to your bag to grab your phone and call your partner. Once Solomon heard the news, he teleported to your side right away. "MC! I'm here..it's okay." He said as he took your hands in his, trying to calm both of you down. You winced and cried spontaniously among the ragged breaths. He looked panicked, not knowing what to do. He put his hand on your cheek and you imidiately leaned into the touch as he performed a soothing spell for pain. You calmed down after a couple minutes but you were still very uncomfortable. You bared your fledgeling fangs as if you wanted to bite him but you quickly turned your head away from him, biting your own arm instead. "My love! Please! Just..let me." He looked scared, for you. He carefully took away your arm from the sharp teeth. Then he uncovered his own wrist bringing it to you. "Go on. Drink up. I'm with you, you're not alone".

(!¡platonic¡!) LUKE is scared and worried. It took him a long time, getting accustomed to demons but vampires? He never even wanted to try. For him, vampires were just violent monsters but when this fate met you, he felt like he could try to understand.

It had been a couple weeks since you've been attacked. You tried to move on and not pity yourself but it was hard. You knew you had to accept it sooner or later, you just couldn't. You felt as if welcoming this change would turn you inevitably into a kill machine. And you weren't ready to kill just for your own satisfaction. Following this thought you decided to at least try eating some normal food. Even if it tasted bland, it was one of the few things that helped you hold onto your humanity. It was one of your last days in the castle. You were free to wander now, Diavolo decided to trust you but still, Barbatos was often guarding you. You both walked into the royal kitchen and you froze once you saw Luke. The small angel was cooking up something on the counter and when he saw you he mimicked your action. Barbatos sensed your anxiety "Seems I have forgotten to bring my baking gloves, I'll be right back" he said as he made his way out of the room. But you knew he was not far away "what a comfortable excuse Barbatos, leaving me alone with the kid." Your voice echoed in his head as he smirked to himself. "Hey..Luke. How you've been do-" before you could finish your sentence, he ran to you and hugged you tightly. He was still shaking a little, visibly afraid. But his fear of vampires wouldn't overcome the way he still, despite all of it cared for you. "I missed you MC..".

[speaknow-sw]

THE POET AND THE ROSE

Content : mdni, smut, pussy eating, PiV.

A/N : erm…8.2k words guys ??? Is this too long ? Idk but this chapter is very Shakespearean I reckon…anyway here’s your smut @anisangeldust try not to cheer too loud, you’re gonna wake the kids up.

꧁ Chapter 4 : Letters in the Dark ꧂

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

The ink whispers secrets the tongue cannot bare,

A fragile bridge between despair and care.

In shadows, hearts awaken to yearn,

Letters ignite what words cannot discern.

The mist clung to the rolling hills, softening the edges of the battlefield that had been marked by blood and valor. Anakin Skywalker stood at the crest of a hill, his dark cloak brushing against his boots, a sharp contrast to the pale light of dawn. The air was still, thick with the aftermath of war and the unspoken tension of what was to come. He waited, hands resting loosely on his belt, his sharp gaze scanning the horizon.

A lone figure emerged from the fog, his steps deliberate and his broad frame unmistakable. William Wallace, the Guardian of Scotland, approached with the bearing of a man who carried the weight of his people’s dreams on his shoulders. He wore no armor, only a simple cloak, the fabric frayed but dignified. His weathered face bore the scars of countless battles, his blue eyes sharp and unyielding.

When they met, there were no guards, no banners, no intermediaries—only two men who had come to speak plainly in the fragile quiet of dawn.

"You came alone," Wallace said, his voice rough but not unfriendly.

"As did you," Anakin replied. "It’s the least we could do, given the blood that’s already been spilled."

Wallace nodded, his gaze sweeping the hills. "Aye, too much blood. And for what? Kings with greed in their hearts and chains for their people."

Anakin’s jaw tightened. "I didn’t come here to defend my king, nor to apologize for the crown I serve. But I agree—wars are seldom fought for noble reasons, even when noble men die in them."

Wallace turned to face him fully, his towering presence unyielding but calm. "Then why do you fight, Skywalker? You’re no tyrant’s lapdog—I can see that much. So why march under his banner?"

Anakin hesitated, the weight of the question settling on him. His hand brushed against the hilt of his sword, not out of threat but as if seeking an anchor. "I fight for the men who follow me. For the farmers turned soldiers who trust me to bring them home. For the people who want nothing more than to live without fear."

"And yet, you march into Scotland, where those same people bleed for their land," Wallace countered, his voice steady but laced with quiet fury. "Do you see the irony in that, General?"

Anakin met his gaze, unflinching. "I do. But if I laid down my sword, another would take my place—one who cares nothing for mercy or reason. At least I can temper the madness."

Wallace studied him for a long moment, the silence between them heavy with understanding. "You’re a good man caught in a bad war," he said finally. "But no amount of tempering will change the truth—Scotland will never bow to England. We’ll fight until there’s nothing left of us, because freedom is worth more than our lives."

Anakin’s voice softened, a trace of respect in his tone. "You fight for freedom. I fight for peace. And yet, here we are, enemies on the same field."

"A cruel jest by the gods," Wallace said with a bitter chuckle.

They stood in silence for a moment, two warriors bound by the same honor, the same burden of leading men into battle.

"Do you ever wonder," Anakin said quietly, "if all of this will be remembered? If the men who die for us, the families torn apart—if any of it will matter in the end?"

Wallace’s expression hardened, but his voice was tinged with sorrow. "Aye, I wonder. But I’d rather die fighting for something than live on my knees for nothing."

Anakin nodded slowly, his respect for the man before him deepening. "I wish we’d met under different circumstances, Wallace. Perhaps in another life, we’d have fought side by side instead of against each other."

Wallace smiled faintly, the expression fleeting but genuine. "Aye, perhaps. But in this life, we fight. And if I fall, I’ll fall knowing I stood for what mattered."

The sun began to rise, its light breaking through the mist and casting long shadows across the hills. The moment of fragile peace between them passed, the inevitability of their roles pulling them back into their separate paths.

"Until the next battle," Wallace said, turning to leave.

"Until then," Anakin replied, watching as the Scottish leader disappeared into the mist.

As the first rays of sunlight warmed the earth, Anakin stood alone on the hill, the words of their conversation echoing in his mind. A good man caught in a bad war. And for the first time in years, he felt the weight of those words press against his soul.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

Chains may bind the flesh, but not the fire,

A dream that climbs, relentless, higher.

Through blood and stone, through ash and pain,

Freedom is the breath we fight to regain.

Anakin sat at a rough-hewn table in his tent, the candle’s weak flame flickering against the soft night breeze that crept through the seams of the fabric. The clamor of the camp had begun to fade, soldiers retreating to their bedrolls after another day of skirmishes and hard marches. Yet for Anakin, rest remained elusive.

His armor lay discarded in the corner, the dented metal a testament to the brutality of recent battles. Dirt and blood clung to his hands, faint smudges smearing across the blank parchment before him. He hadn’t written a letter in years—not since his mother passed. Words weren’t his craft; they never had been.

And yet, here he sat, quill in hand, staring down at the blank page as though it were an adversary.

The faintest image of you surfaced in his mind—the way your fingers had moved over your canvas as if weaving life into color, the soft arch of your brow as you’d stolen glances at him when you thought he wasn’t looking. He shook his head, willing the memory away. But it clung stubbornly to him, just as your presence had lingered in the halls of the castle long after he’d left.

With a sigh, he pressed the quill to the page. The first words came haltingly, their formality feeling both a shield and a chain.

“My rose, I trust this letter reaches you swiftly and in good health.”

He stared at the words, his jaw tightening. Too cold, too distant. But wasn’t that safer? Still, something inside him rebelled against leaving it there.

“The days here are long and unforgiving, but it is the nights that weigh heaviest. When the fires die and silence falls over the camp, my thoughts stray to the castle—to you. It is a strange thing, for I have spent my life carving paths through stone and steel, yet now I find myself wondering what might lie beyond them.”

Anakin paused, his brow furrowing. He had always been a man of action, not introspection. But the words seemed to pour from a place within him he didn’t fully understand.

“I am no poet, nor a man given to sentiment. Yet, as the days pass, I find myself curious. You are not what I expected. Your quiet strength is a balm I did not know I needed, though I lacked the grace to see it before I left.”

The quill hovered over the page, its tip trembling as he fought against the vulnerability clawing its way into his chest. He thought of the way your eyes had flickered with defiance during the wedding reception when Count Aulbry had dared to slight him. The memory stirred something deep within him—a flicker of admiration and something else he dared not name.

“Perhaps you see me as a hard man. I would not blame you for it. The battlefield has no room for softness, and I have worn that truth like armor for many years. But in the quiet moments, I begin to wonder—what might a life beyond war look like? What might it be to know peace? To know you?”

Anakin leaned back, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The words felt foreign, almost too raw, but there was no taking them back now.

“When the fires die and silence falls over the camp, my thoughts stray to the castle—to you. It is a strange thing, for I have spent my life carving paths through stone and steel, yet now I find myself wondering what might lie beyond them.”

He glanced at the folded leather notebook lying on the edge of the table, the same one he had taken to scribbling in after long days of battle. It was filled with fragments—half-formed thoughts, lines of poetry he would never dare to share. He briefly considered copying a verse into the letter but shook his head. That would be too much.

Instead, he signed the letter with practiced precision.

“Yours sincerely, General Anakin Skywalker”

He folded the parchment carefully, sealing it with his family’s insignia. As he handed it to his most trusted messenger, his voice was low and firm. “This is for Lady Skywalker. Ensure it reaches her swiftly and safely. Do not linger.”

The messenger saluted and disappeared into the darkness. Anakin stood alone in the dim glow of the tent, staring at the candle’s flame as it danced and sputtered.

Why had he written to you? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was guilt for the way he’d left, or perhaps it was the way your painting had lingered in his mind’s eye, haunting him with its quiet beauty. Whatever the reason, the act of putting his thoughts to paper felt like loosening a knot in his chest.

He reached for the notebook and opened it to the last page, where a half-finished poem lay scrawled in his uneven hand. The words seemed to taunt him, unfinished and raw, but they felt truer than anything he had spoken aloud.

“Beneath the armor, beneath the steel, Lies a yearning I dare not reveal. For peace, for light, for a hand to hold, In her gaze, I find my soul.”

Anakin snapped the notebook shut, tossing it onto the table. His gaze lingered on the shadows dancing across the walls, his thoughts torn between the battlefield before him and the woman he had left behind.

The letter arrived two days later, just as the sun was setting, its light spilling through the tall, narrow windows of your chamber. You sat at your desk, your brush poised above the unfinished painting of Anakin, the colors of his armor muted and incomplete. The messenger bowed as he handed you the parchment, sealed with the unmistakable insignia of House Skywalker.

Your heart stumbled. Anakin had never written to you before.

The wax seal broke easily under your trembling fingers. You unfolded the letter, your eyes scanning the elegant but reserved handwriting. The first words were formal, distant even, but as you read on, the tone shifted. Subtle hints of longing emerged between the lines, soft admissions cloaked in restraint.

“When the fires die and silence falls over the camp, my thoughts stray to the castle—to you. It is a strange thing, for I have spent my life carving paths through stone and steel, yet now I find myself wondering what might lie beyond them.”

A breath caught in your throat. You reread the words, each line piercing through the defenses you had built around your heart. There was something unspoken here—something fragile.

The letter ended simply: “Yours sincerely, General Anakin Skywalker.”

The parchment fluttered slightly in your hands as you set it down, the weight of his words pressing against the knowledge you carried. Your father’s betrayal.

The intercepted letter was still hidden in the bottom of a chest in the corner of your room. Its contents had unraveled the delicate threads of trust you had begun to weave with Anakin. Your father had plotted to manipulate both sides, using your marriage as a pawn in his schemes. If Anakin knew, would he believe you complicit?

You rose from the desk and began to pace, your gown brushing softly against the stone floor. The walls of your chamber seemed to close in around you as the dilemma clawed at your mind.

Anakin’s words lingered. “I begin to wonder—what might a life beyond war look like? What might it be to know peace? To know you?��

Could you risk breaking this fragile connection by telling him the truth? Would he see you as a spy for your father, as another piece in a game of politics and power? The thought of losing whatever tenuous bond was forming between you left a hollow ache in your chest.

But silence, too, was its own betrayal.

You moved back to your desk, reaching for a fresh sheet of parchment. The candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows across the room as you dipped your quill into the inkwell.

“Dear Husband,” you began, the words coming slowly, each one weighed with care.

“Your letter reached me as the sun was setting, casting the castle in hues of gold and crimson. I find it fitting, for your words carried a similar light—unexpected and strangely warming.”

You hesitated, your quill hovering above the page. How much could you reveal without unraveling everything? How much of your heart could you show?

“You speak of carving paths through stone and steel, of wondering what might lie beyond them. I, too, have wondered. Perhaps we are not so different in this—both searching for something that feels just out of reach.”

The quill paused again. You closed your eyes, picturing Anakin as you had last seen him: the determined set of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes, the unspoken weight he carried.

“I hope this letter brings you some measure of comfort, as yours has brought me. Though we are apart, know that my thoughts are with you. May the stars guide you safely home.”

You signed the letter with a simple “Yours,” leaving the rest unspoken.

As you sealed the parchment, the weight of the intercepted letter still loomed in the back of your mind. The decision to remain silent gnawed at your conscience, but for now, you pushed it aside.

The messenger was summoned again, his footsteps echoing through the corridor as he carried your words back to the man who haunted your thoughts.

You returned to your desk, your gaze falling on the unfinished painting. The armor was only half-complete, the strokes hesitant, as if you feared finishing it would solidify the distance between you. You reached for your brush, but your hands trembled too much to paint.

Instead, you turned to the window, staring out into the growing darkness. Somewhere out there, Anakin was reading your words, just as you had read his. And somewhere within that exchange, a fragile thread of connection began to form, even as shadows of doubt lingered on the edges.

The first letter had been cautious, a measured exchange of pleasantries cloaked in formality. But as weeks turned into months, and the battles stretched endlessly across the rugged Scottish terrain, the tone of the letters began to change.

“Lady Skywalker,

The campaign against Wallace progresses steadily. Though victory is within reach, the cost has been high. I trust the castle remains secure and that you are well.

Yours,

Anakin Skywalker”

The letter had been brief, almost impersonal, yet it was the first time he had reached out since departing. It stirred something in you, a faint flicker of hope. You responded in kind, careful not to reveal too much of yourself.

“General,

The castle remains quiet, though I must admit its halls feel emptier in your absence. I hope the tides of battle turn in your favor soon. Yours, Your Wife”

The next letter came weeks later, its tone slightly warmer. His words hinted at exhaustion but carried a thread of something more personal.

“My Lady,

The battles are fierce, and the Scots fight with the desperation of men who have nothing left to lose. There is an honesty to their resistance that I cannot help but respect, though it makes victory no less bitter. In the quiet moments, I think of the castle—of its stillness and the sanctuary it must offer. I hope you find peace within its walls, even as I find none here.”

His words lingered in your mind long after you read them. You wrote back that night, pouring a small piece of yourself into the ink.

“My Dear Husband,

The castle is peaceful, though it is a hollow peace. The roses have begun to bloom again, their petals bright against the gray walls. They remind me of you—unyielding, even amidst hardship. I hope you return soon to see them for yourself.”

The letters became a lifeline, weaving an intimacy neither of you had anticipated. Anakin began writing more frequently, his words shedding their rigid armor. Each letter revealed a man wrestling with the weight of his role, his responsibilities, and the yearning for something he could not name.

“My Rose,

The days are long, the nights longer still. In the quiet hours, I find myself thinking not of the battles but of the life I might have had—one without swords or blood. It is foolish, perhaps, but I wonder what such a life would have looked like, and whether you might have been part of it.”

You read his letters with trembling hands, your heart caught between longing and fear. His vulnerability was disarming, his words a window into the man hidden beneath the hardened general.

Your responses grew bolder, though you still held back the secret of your father’s betrayal. That knowledge weighed heavily on you, a dark cloud over your growing bond with Anakin. Yet in your letters, you allowed yourself to dream, to share pieces of a future you knew might never come.

“Anakin,

Your words are not foolish. I, too, wonder what our lives might have been if the world were kinder. I see glimpses of that life in your letters—in the tenderness you try to hide, in the dreams you dare to share. Perhaps there is a part of us that can still claim it, even amidst the chaos.”

In the heart of the Scottish highlands, Anakin read your letter beneath the dim light of a lantern in his tent. He traced your words with calloused fingers, his chest tightening. For years, he had buried his softer inclinations beneath layers of duty and discipline. Yet your letters stirred something he had thought long dead: hope.

One evening, his letter arrived with a small addition—a fragment of poetry hastily scrawled at the bottom of the page.

“I do not know if these words are worthy of your eyes, But they carry the echoes of nights I cannot sleep. In their frailty, they whisper of the stars, And of a face I see in every dream.”

You read those lines over and over, your heart pounding. His words were unpolished but raw, a glimpse into a side of him he had kept hidden even from himself.

Anakin’s words grew softer, more unguarded, like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds. Each letter carried with it the weight of exhaustion and longing, but also a vulnerability he hadn’t shown before.

"The days blur into one another—steel clashing, men falling, the air thick with smoke. Yet amidst it all, your image anchors me. Your words remind me there is a world beyond this chaos, a reason to hope."

You read his letters in the quiet of your chambers, clutching the parchment like it was a lifeline. Each line drew you closer to the man you had once seen only as a distant, stoic general. In his words, you found a soul searching for meaning amidst the violence, a man yearning for something gentler, even if he didn’t know how to name it.

Your own responses began to mirror his, shedding the formality that had first marked them. Where his letters spoke of the horrors of war, you offered solace, painting images of the castle’s gardens in bloom, of the birds nesting in the eaves outside your window, of the peaceful moments you dreamed of sharing with him.

“I wish you could see the roses this spring—they climb higher than ever, their petals like drops of blood against the gray stone. I think of you when I walk among them, wondering if you are safe, if you feel the warmth of the sun through the armor you wear.”

Anakin's next letter arrived on a rain-soaked evening, its ink slightly smudged but his words unmistakably clear.

"You write of roses, and I think of the ones that grow wild near the fields we fight on. They are stubborn things, surviving against all odds. I wonder if that is why I thought of you, unyielding in your strength, even in a place where others might falter."

You traced the words with your fingers, your heart tightening at his unexpected tenderness. Each exchange stripped away another layer of distance between you, revealing the raw humanity beneath.

As the weeks wore on, the letters grew bolder. Anakin began sharing fragments of the poetry he wrote in his leather notebook, words he had once kept hidden from everyone, even himself.

"I do not know if these words are worthy of your eyes, but they have been my solace on nights when sleep refuses to come. Perhaps you will find in them some small measure of the man I wish to be, rather than the one I am."

His poetry spoke of the stars, of fleeting dreams, of longing that burned like a fire too fierce to contain.

"You haunt me in sleep—your eyes in a thousand forms, your voice a melody that slips through my grasp. I am a fool to cling to such visions, yet they are the only peace I know."

Your letters in return began to echo his vulnerability, though always with a touch of guardedness. You had not yet told him of your father’s betrayal, the weight of that knowledge still pressing against your chest.

One evening, you sat by the fire, Anakin’s latest letter spread before you. The castle was quiet, the servants retired for the night. You dipped your quill into ink and wrote with a courage you hadn’t known you possessed.

“There is a line in your last letter that has stayed with me: ‘Perhaps you will find in them some small measure of the man I wish to be.’ I want you to know that I do. In your words, I see someone who yearns for more than war and bloodshed, someone who carries the weight of others' burdens yet still dreams of a gentler world. That man is already worthy, though he may not yet believe it.”

You hesitated, then added a final line: “I, too, dream of that world, though I am not sure I will ever know it.”

As you sealed the letter, you felt the sting of unshed tears. For the first time, you wondered if you and Anakin might have been different people, had the world been kinder.

The letters continued, carrying your words back and forth like a bridge over an unspoken chasm. Though you remained separated by miles, the distance between your hearts began to shrink. In the ink-stained pages, you found something you had both longed for, though neither dared to name it yet: connection.

The castle was bathed in the faint hues of dawn when the sound of hooves echoed through the courtyard. The guards rushed to the gates, startled by the unannounced arrival of riders cloaked in frost and exhaustion. At their head was Anakin Skywalker, his armor dulled by battle and travel, his features shadowed by fatigue.

The news of his return spread quickly through the castle. You were still in your chamber, seated at your easel, a brush poised over the canvas. The unfinished painting of Anakin stood before you, a labor of longing and frustration. You had been adding the slightest details to his eyes, trying to capture the sharpness and sorrow you remembered, when the knock came at your door.

"My lady," a servant announced, "the general has returned."

The brush slipped from your fingers, leaving a streak of paint across the edge of the canvas. Your heart leapt and then sank. You hadn’t expected him back—not yet, not like this. A thousand emotions surged through you: relief, excitement, fear. How would he look at you after all these months? Would the intimacy of your letters translate into the flesh, or would the distance you had felt before his departure return?

You stood, smoothing your gown and composing yourself as best you could. When you descended to the great hall, Anakin was already there, speaking in low tones with his second-in-command. His presence was magnetic, as always, drawing every eye in the room.

For a moment, you hesitated at the edge of the hall, watching him. His face was sharper, leaner than when he had left, and there was a new weight in his gaze. Yet when his eyes found yours across the room, something shifted. His stern expression softened, just for an instant, before he turned back to his conversation.

When he finally approached you, he gave a slight bow. “My lady,” he said, his voice formal but warm.

“General,” you replied, feeling the strange distance of titles again.

“I trust you have been well?” he asked, searching your face.

You nodded, unsure what to say. His presence was overwhelming, and you couldn’t reconcile the man standing before you with the one whose tender words had filled your letters.

"I must speak with the king," he said after a pause, his tone turning serious. "There are matters of unrest in the kingdom. Whispers among the courtiers, rumors spreading like fire. I sense that something is brewing in the shadows. It is not just the threat of external enemies; it's the court itself that is beginning to fracture."

His words sent a chill through you, and the weight of them lingered. Anakin’s sharp instincts had always been his strength. He was never one to ignore the subtle stirrings of danger.

“I will find out what is happening, my lady,” he continued, his gaze hardening. “But for now, I must meet with the king. I trust you will be well while I’m away?”

You nodded again, though your mind was already swirling with thoughts. What did this unrest mean? Could your father’s machinations already be coming to a head?

Anakin hesitated, then stepped closer. “Later, we will talk,” he said quietly. “I’ve missed you.”

He turned and walked briskly toward the king’s chambers, leaving you standing in the hall, torn between the need to understand his sudden tension and the fear that you might already be too late to prevent the kingdom’s ruin.

Later that evening, after he had met with the king and addressed the court, Anakin wandered through the castle, finding himself drawn to the tower where your chambers were. He had meant to wait, to give you time to adjust to his return, but something pulled him forward.

The door to your chamber was slightly ajar, and he hesitated before stepping inside. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

The room was filled with paintings—of landscapes, of still lifes—but most prominently, of him. There were sketches of his profile, studies of his hands, and in the center of it all, the large, unfinished portrait.

It was him as you remembered him, clad in his armor, his expression resolute yet touched by something softer. The details were painstaking: the curve of his jaw, the strands of his hair, the sharp focus in his eyes. But it wasn’t complete. His gauntlets were left as rough outlines, and the background faded into blank canvas.

Anakin moved closer, his breath caught in his chest. He reached out, his fingers hovering over the painted surface as if afraid to disturb it.

Behind him, you entered the room quietly, startled to find him there. “Anakin?” you said softly.

He turned, his eyes meeting yours. “You painted these,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, stepping closer. “I... I wanted to keep you close, even when you were far away.”

He looked back at the painting, his expression unreadable. “You see me differently than I see myself,” he said after a long pause. “In your eyes, I am... more than I feel I am.”

“You are more,” you replied without hesitation. “You’ve carried so much, fought so hard. I see it in every line of you.”

His gaze flickered to you, and for a moment, the stoic mask he wore fell away. “Your letters kept me alive,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “And now this... I don’t know if I deserve it.”

You stepped closer, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “You do.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, as if breaking from a trance, Anakin straightened. “I should let you rest,” he said, his voice once again guarded. “Thank you, my lady.”

He left before you could stop him, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. Yet as he walked away, you saw him glance back, his eyes lingering on the painting one last time.

The weight of the day’s events hung heavily between you, the silence stretching longer than either of you was comfortable with. Anakin had returned to the castle, but the shadow of the kingdom’s unrest still loomed over him, and the tension in the air was palpable. He had been gone for so long, and now, with the sharp edges of his absence still fresh, it was difficult to reconcile the man before you with the man who had filled the pages of your letters.

You watched him from across the room, his back to you as he examined a map of the kingdom, his fingers tracing the contours of the land, drawing lines of strategy and war. There was a distance between you now—one that you both seemed to carry, unspoken but undeniable.

You couldn't bear it anymore. Not the cold, not the distance, not the gnawing feeling in your chest that kept you awake at night. You couldn’t stand to watch him walk out again, leaving your heart behind. Without thinking, you pushed yourself off the chair and crossed the room, stopping just behind him. Your breath caught in your throat, but you forced yourself to speak.

“Anakin,” you said softly, the name slipping from your lips like a plea. His head turned slightly, eyes narrowing as he saw the resolve in your face. It was as if he had already known what was coming, and yet he was unwilling to acknowledge it.

“I cannot let you leave again,” you continued, voice trembling with something you could not name. “Not like this. I… I have missed you. Every day, every moment you were gone, I felt it.”

He took a step closer to you, his eyes searching your face, his expression unreadable. “I know you have, my lady. But there is much that must be done—there is unrest in the kingdom, and there are threats that must be confronted.”

“I understand that,” you whispered, “But I—” You hesitated, unable to say what you truly felt. Your heart felt torn between the loyalty to your father, who you still feared, and the love that had slowly, painfully, bloomed in the cracks of your isolation. You had learned so much during his absence, and yet you felt as though your trust was slipping through your fingers like sand.

He reached for your hand, his touch sending a jolt of warmth through you. “You don’t have to explain,” he murmured. “I know. It’s never easy, being torn between duty and love.”

“I can’t,” you said quickly, almost pleading with him. “I can’t lose you, Anakin. Not now, not after everything that has happened. But I—I don’t know if I can trust anyone anymore. Not even my own blood.” You let out a shaky breath, the confession more difficult than you had imagined.

Anakin stepped closer, his hand lifting to gently cradle your cheek. “Trust is fragile,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your skin. “But love… love is built on it. And I want you to know, whatever happens, I am here. I will stand by you. But you must be honest with me, Aurelia. All of it. No more hiding.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek, and you closed your eyes, unable to hold it back. “I don’t know how to tell you,” you whispered, “What if you look at me like I’m just another pawn in this cruel game? What if you—”

He placed his fingers against your lips, silencing your fears. His voice was low, filled with a raw tenderness that cut through the tension. “You’re not a pawn. You’re the woman I’ve come to love. And nothing will change that.”

For a moment, you stood there in the silence, the weight of his words settling over you like a blanket, warm and secure. And then, as if the storm inside your chest had finally subsided, you closed the distance between you. Your hands reached up to pull him close, your lips finding his in a kiss that was both desperate and tender.

Anakin's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before he melted into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him. He held you tightly, his fingers splaying across your back as he deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you with a hunger that stole your breath away.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you lost yourself in the sensation of his lips on yours, his body pressed against your own. The world fell away, the weight of the day's revelations and fears momentarily forgotten as you lost yourself in the taste and feel of him.

Anakin's hands roamed over your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on the swell of your hips. He pulled you impossibly closer, his hips rocking against your own in a slow, sensual rhythm that sent molten heat coursing through your veins.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were both breathless, your chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Anakin's eyes were dark, filled with a desire that made your heart race and your skin flush with heat.

"My rose…" he murmured, his voice rough with want.

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that clung to your cheeks. "I know the path ahead will not be an easy one. But I swear to you, here and now, that I will stand by your side. Through whatever trials and tribulations may come, I will be your constant companion and your fiercest protector."

His gaze bored into yours, intense and unwavering. "And I need you to trust me, my love. To be honest with me, always. Hold nothing back, no matter how painful or frightening it may be. We can withstand anything - but only if we face it together."

You nodded, your voice thick with emotion as you spoke. "I trust you, Anakin. With my life, with my heart... with everything I have. I know the road ahead is uncertain and fraught with peril, but I choose to walk it with you. Always."

Anakin's hands roamed your curves, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your gown to caress the smooth skin beneath. He tugged at the fastenings of his armor, impatiently loosening the straps and buckles until the heavy plates fell away, clattering to the floor.

His lips trailed down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive flesh. You arched into him, your head falling back to grant him better access as a breathy moan escaped your lips.

Anakin's hands slid lower, his fingers splaying across your lower back before gripping the globes of your rear. He lifted you effortlessly, his strength evident in the way he positioned you on the edge of the strategy table, the maps and parchment crinkling beneath you.

He stepped between your parted thighs, his hips nestling against your core as he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue delved deep, tangling with your own in a dance of passion and desperation.

Your husband’s hands roamed your body with reverent fervor, his touch a balm to your weary soul. He traced the delicate lines of your face, marveling at the beauty he found there. "My rose," he whispered, "a bloom of purest grace, your beauty far outshines the fairest flower's face."

His fingers trailed down your neck, skimming over the delicate curve of your collarbone. "These hands, once stained with battle's crimson hue, now tremble to unbind the silken threads that cloak your tender form. A sacred trust, a privilege I've earned by love's own code."

Anakin's gaze smoldered with adoration and unspoken promises as he slowly peeled away the layers of your gown, revealing the creamy skin beneath. "As I lay bare your flesh, I swear to lay bare my heart, to open wide the chamber where it beats for you alone."

He leaned in to press fervent kisses along your shoulder, his lips a brand of branding love upon your skin. "Behold, I am the thorn entwined within your stem, the guard and shield that shall defend you evermore. My life, my honor, my eternal troth, I pledge in this moment to love's eternal shore."

Anakin's hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks. "These buds of beauty, tender and unrivaled, shall be my constant stars, my north and south in life's vast sea. I'll cherish them, as I shall cherish you, until the end of days, our hearts entwined as one eternity."

As he lowered his head to worship at the altar of your flesh, his voice rumbled with solemn vows. "Fair lady, my sweet rose, I am your loyal knight, your champion, your eternal friend. With every breath, with every beat of this heart that beats for you, I vow to love you, honor you, and stand by you, forevermore. Let no foe, no fate, no force on heaven or earth sunder the bond that joins us now and evermore."

His hand pressed gently on your stomach lowering you on the table as he send sweeping all his strategy papers off. “Wait…your plans…” you whispered trying to stop him. 

Anakin paused, his hands stilling on your waist as he sensed your gentle protest. He looked up at you, his gaze intense and filled with a fierce, burning love. A slow, sensual smile curved his lips as he took in your flushed cheeks and heaving chest.

"My rose," he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion, "No strategy, no plan, no matter how carefully crafted or vital to the kingdom's fate, could ever be as precious or as worth the sight of my beloved wife laid out before me like a feast for the senses."

Anakin's hands slid up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the last remnants of your tears. "I would gladly burn my maps and scatter my plans to the wind, if it meant I could hold you like this for eternity. You are my everything, my reason for living, my love."

He leaned in to capture your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all his ardor and desire into the caress. "Let the world wait, let the kingdoms crumble, let the wars rage on," he declared fervently. "For in this moment, with your sweet body beneath me and your loving heart entwined with my own, I have found paradise. And I will cherish it, and you, above all else."

Anakin knelt between your parted thighs, his gaze locked onto your glistening sex. The flickering candlelight cast a dance of shadows across your curves, illuminating the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "I could spend a lifetime exploring every inch of you."

Slowly, reverently, he leaned forward, his breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. The first touch of his tongue was electric, a bolt of lightning that shot straight through you.

"Anakin!" you gasped, your fingers fisting in his hair.

He hummed against you, the vibrations adding to the pleasure that already threatened to overwhelm you. His tongue delved deeper, stroking along your slit, teasing your entrance.

"What do you want, my rose?" he asked, his voice low and intimate. "Tell me what you need."

His fingers teased your thighs, his thumbs brushing against the tender skin of your inner thighs. He could feel your muscles quivering, your body coiled tight with anticipation.

"Please," you whimpered, your hips rocking slightly as you sought more of his touch. "Please, Anakin..."

He smiled against your flesh, the action sending a new wave of sensation crashing over you. "Please what, my love? I need you to tell me."

His fingers slid higher, brushing against your sensitive clit. The touch was fleeting, a promise of more to come.

"I want...I want you to make me come," you gasped out, your cheeks flushing hotly at your own boldness. "I want to feel your mouth on me, your tongue inside me, your fingers filling me...please, Anakin, make me come."

Anakin licked a long, slow stripe up your dripping slit, savoring your essence on his tongue. At the top, he found your sensitive clit, swollen and throbbing with need. He flicked his tongue over the tender bud, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

"Anakin!" you cried out, your fingers tightening in his hair as pleasure sparked through you.

Emboldened by your response, Anakin sucked your clit between his lips, his tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh. He could feel you trembling beneath him, your body winding tighter and tighter.

As he pleasured you with his mouth, Anakin tugged down his trousers, freeing his aching cock. It sprang forth, long and hard, the thick length pulsing with each beat of his heart. The sight of his manhood, so powerful and ready, sent a fresh surge of arousal coursing through your veins.

Anakin's hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking himself as he continued his ministrations between your thighs. His tongue delved deeper, thrusting into your entrance, fucking you with his mouth.

The dual sensations of his lips and tongue on your most sensitive spots, combined with the erotic sight of him pleasuring himself, pushed you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

"Anakin, I'm...I'm going to..." you panted, your body tensing as your climax approached.

He could feel your walls fluttering around his invading tongue, your body desperate for release. With a low groan, he suckled your clit harder, determined to bring you to your peak.

"Come for me, my love," he growled against your sex. "Let me feel you come undone."

He thrust two fingers deep inside you, pumping in and out, as his tongue and lips worked in tandem to drive you wild. The combined stimulation was too much, and with a scream of his name, you shattered in his arms.

Anakin held you close as you rode out the waves of your intense climax, your body trembling and quaking against his. He gentled you through it, his strong arms wrapped around you like a protective cocoon.

"Shh, I have you," he murmured, his voice a soothing rumble in your ear. "You're safe with me."

As your trembling subsided, Anakin pressed soft kisses along your neck and collarbone, his touch reverent and tender. He could feel the pounding of your heart, the way your skin glistened with a sheen of sweat.

"Beautiful," he breathed, his eyes shining with admiration and desire. "You're exquisite when you let go."

His hand slid up your side, cupping the curve of your breast. He could feel the soft weight of it in his palm, the way your nipple pebbled beneath his touch.

"Tell me, my rose," he asked softly, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. "Did that feel good?"

He knew the answer, of course. He could feel the way your body had responded, the way you'd cried out his name in ecstasy. But he wanted to hear it from your own lips, wanted to cement the connection that had begun to blossom between you.

Anakin's own need was a throbbing ache, his cock hard and heavy against your thigh. But he held himself back, determined to focus on your pleasure first. This moment was about you, about the trust and intimacy you were building.

He waited, his heart pounding in his chest, for your response. Whatever you said, whatever you chose, Anakin knew he would follow. This was your journey now, as much as his own.

“Anakin….please…take me…”You whispered, clinging to his strong back. You probably left crescent marks in his shoulder but he didn’t care. He wanted you to brand him with every single part of your body. 

“Anakin, ”you cried out his name, your voice resembling a divine plea in his ears “Don’t stop…” you gasped. 

Anakin's heart swelled at the desperate, needy sound of his name falling from your lips. With a primal growl, he redoubled his efforts, his hips slamming against yours with increasing force and speed.

"Never, my love," he rasped, his voice strained with exertion and desire. "I'll never stop. I'll take you again and again until you're fully satisfied."

His fingers continued their relentless assault on your clit, rubbing the sensitive bud in tight, rapid circles. The combination of his thick cock driving into you and his fingers stroking your most sensitive spot pushed you closer and closer to the brink of another shattering climax.

Anakin could feel your walls starting to flutter around his plunging length, your body tensing as your peak approached. He leaned down to capture your nipple between his teeth, biting and sucking the hardened peak as he fucked you with abandon.

"That's it, my rose," he urged, his hot breath washing over your skin. "Come for me. Scream my name as you shatter. Let all the world hear who you belong to."

His words, rough and raw with passion, sent a fresh surge of arousal coursing through you. You could feel your orgasm building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

"Anakin!" you cried out, your voice echoing off the stone walls of the chamber. "Oh God, Anakin!"

Your body convulsed beneath his, your inner muscles clenching and rippling around his pistoning cock. The sensation was exquisite, your silken heat gripping him like a velvet vise.

"Yes, my love!" Anakin roared, his own release fast approaching. "Milk my cock. Take every last drop of my seed."

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you. His cock jerked and throbbed as he spilled his hot, thick essence deep within your spasming channel. He continued to grind against you, working you through the aftershocks of your shared climax.

Anakin collapsed against you, his weight pressing you into the table as he struggled to catch his breath. His heart pounded in his chest, his skin slick with sweat from the exertion of their lovemaking.

He could feel your nails raking down his back, the slight pain only heightening his pleasure. The marks you left on his skin would be a badge of honor, a reminder of your passion and desire.

"My love," he murmured, his voice rough and sated. "That was...transcendent."

He propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at you with a satisfied smile. Your cheeks were flushed, your eyes glazed with post-coital bliss. The sight of you, disheveled and glowing, filled him with a profound sense of masculine pride.

Anakin leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. It was a kiss of thanks, of gratitude, of deepening affection. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you granted it willingly.

As they kissed, Anakin's hand slid down your side, tracing the curve of your hip, the flare of your waist. He marveled at the softness of your skin, the way you yielded beneath his touch.

"You're exquisite," he whispered against your lips. "A goddess, made of flesh."

He knew he was being overly sentimental, but he couldn't help himself. In your arms, he felt a sense of peace, of belonging, that he had never known before. It was a feeling he wanted to hold onto, to nurture, to let grow.

Anakin's hand slid lower, cupping the rounded globe of your buttock. He squeezed gently, pulling your hip forward to grind against his own. Even in the aftermath of their lovemaking, he could feel his spent cock beginning to stir, to harden once more.

"Again?" you asked, your voice breathless with surprise and a hint of trepidation.

Anakin smiled, a wicked glint in his eye. "Is that a challenge, my rose?" he teased, his voice low and intimate. "Because I assure you, I'm up for it."

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

In your eyes, the heavens rest,

A goddess clothed in love’s caress.

You walk the earth with light divine,

And in your heart, the stars align.

[lukie17]

Mixed Myths

Like Tyrant!Sylus! x Rebel! MC x Rebel! Xavier.

Imagine Sylus not remembering anything and being a ruthless Tyrant, he wants to unite the continent for a reason, but he doesn't know why. He is looking for something or someone. MC and Xavier do not want that because its making people suffer, his military campaign only left destruction at its end. They want to kill the Tyrant.

One night, Sylus's man captures MC, and something makes Sylus click in, he wants MC but doesn't know. He only wants to keep her close but that confuses him, he wants to understand his feelings, so he forces MC spend time with him. MC tries to take the opportunity to kill Sylus, but she cannot bring herself to it. Something about his eyes, something about the way he smiles. Why do you feel like being in a shield of flowers with him?

Meanwhile, Xavier is furious, he wants to rescue you, he wants to take you back, but he also starts noticing the way your eyes doubt when talking about killing Sylus. Xavier is confused, why do you want to keep him alive? Xavier is your partner; he is on the rebel side and so are you. Why are you like this?

Until one day everything crashes, Sylus and Xavier fighting, you try to stop them. Trying to find it away, but you die. You shield Xavier form’s Sylus's claymore, and he kills you. Sylus drops the weapon and tries to stop the bleeding but it's too late. The damage is already done. Xavier picks up the claymore and kills Sylus, his blood mixing with yours. Xavier is disgusted. He picks up your body, and he makes a tombstone just for you. In the middle of a forest where he can only see you.

Or

Duke! Zayne! x Maid! MC x Knight! Caleb

You being a lowly maid has never been easy, but the master that you serve is not cruel. People fear him but you laugh at his jokes. Zayne only shows that side of you, like the way you move and the way you warm a room. If he could, he would take you away, but there is a voice that whispers at the back of his mind that if he gets closer to you then something bad will happen. So, he just watches from afar.

Zayne is not blind to the way, Knight! Caleb crawls for you. He had seen the Knight kill three men with one swing of his sword, but when it's about you, his gaze softens. He lifts you up so you can pick an apple. His status is not noble, so he can be open in his affections. He courts you and you let him. Zayne can do nothing but watch, his heart freezing.

Until one day the King wants you, he says that you hold power, and you will be his concubine, nor queen nor consort, a mere concubine. Caleb and Zayne are mad. Caleb escapes with you because he will not let anyone take you away. He had known for a long time that you have power in you, but he didn't care. Caleb loves your smile, and he will protect it. That is why he trained so hard to be a knight. That is why he swallowed his pride to serve Zayne a man who loves you.

But they both fail, the king takes you away, the king kills you and tries to take away your power. They go berserker, they call Zayne from the devil, but Zayne knows that he is not a monster nor from the devil. He doesn't know why but he is freezing everything, and he doesn't care. Caleb is the worst. he took down the royal guard one by one until they arrived at the king. The king is crying and what only is left of him reminds him frozen with Caleb's sword in his throat. Zayne had enough time to take your lifeless body and freeze with you. Rumors have it that an old man is watching the chambers where two lovers are frozen in time.

[tiddygame]

Ghoap god type AU.

Soap is the long forgotten god of death.

Ghost is his first follower in a very long time.

[this started as a humble text post and has snowballed into 60,000+ words]

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7 /// part 8 /// part 9 /// part 10 /// part 11 /// epilogue

————

At first, Soap had been seen as kind and benevolent. The one to end someone’s suffering and help them along to the afterlife. However, as more wars began to break out, his perception changed into that of a bloodthirsty warmonger. The type that you sacrifice the blood of innocents to for luck in your upcoming battles.

Soap had simply ignored the brutish offerings. But then they spread. Like a plague, soon everyone was murdering their chosen victims in his temples in the hopes that it would bring them even more fortune.

Realizing that his presence was just causing more and more to die, he let himself fade away. He was reduced to nothing more than a comforting feeling people felt before they died. Over time, the so-called offerings stopped. Scared of what would happen should he return, he continued to fade.

A god is only as strong as their followers believe them to be. With no followers, no offerings, they are nothing. While mortal weaponry may hurt a god, may even get them to bleed, it cannot kill them. A god can only truly die when they are no longer remembered.

Soap is waiting for the day that he is truly forgotten and can pass on when he gets a feeling. One he has not had in an age. Though his worshippers have abandoned him, his temples and statues remained, though now significantly worse for wear. And someone just provided an offering of a single slice of bread on one of his statues.

A meager offering, sure, but it’s enough to get his attention. He has almost no power nor any energy left, but he sees a soldier sitting next to the statue as he ate his meal.

Meanwhile, Ghost hadn’t the faintest clue what god he just gave an offering to, but he felt a little better afterwards and so just hoped they weren’t evil. He took note of the statue’s appearance and when his troop was encamped near a town, he snuck away to a local library to see if there were any books he could find about it.

He was not apart of the army willingly, but he owed them a life debt and they had decided that it would only be repaid upon his death. Just a glorified prisoner, he was kept at the general’s side as his favorite weapon. Sneaking away was difficult, but definitely doable. The few times he was caught, he made enough of a disturbance that it was easier for everyone involved to let him do his thing.

They did not need to worry about him running away. If he was able, he’d have run the second he was given the chance. However, he was stuck. As long as he owed a debt, he could not leave.

The statue, at the very least, gave him something to do.

He was intrigued. He did not recognize the features at all, and his research confirmed that it was not a well known deity. It takes a long time of asking the right people and finding the right books to uncover the story of the forgotten god.

Having read everything — from loving poems about the being helping sickly children find comfort in their last moments to angry anecdotes about desperate townspeople sacrificing themselves in the hope that the god would show them mercy — he decides to give the god the benefit of the doubt.

He figures the world is shitty enough, why not find some good that had been tucked away? Ghost himself was seen more as a weapon than a person and couldn’t help but sympathize. He was never one for gods or worship, more likely to curse the heavens than ever sacrifice something of his, but he almost felt bad for the being. So, the next day, from one bloodthirsty monster to another, he gives the forgotten god more offerings.

It’s still not much, just an apple and a ring the general wouldn’t notice missing, but he sets them there anyways. He damn near jumps out of his fucking skin when the feeling of an accepted offering floods through him. He stares at what would have originally been the face of the statue, but nothing happens. The trees behind him continue to sing their song in the faint breeze, with the sounds of a lively woods never fading.

There is no outside sound, no out of place movement, no indication that he hadn’t just imagined the feeling. A leaf falling from one of the branches and landing on the pedestal, where the offerings were now gone, snapped him out of his staring contest. He muttered out a gruff thanks and sat down to eat, ignoring the feeling of being watched.

[cultkinkcoven]

Okay here’s the hard part.

I think a lot about that guy, so called Jesus, and his philosophy of radical forgiveness and empathy. For a long time I thought that was just a line abusers use to force their victims to forgive them (AND IT IS)

But! I also think about Lucifer and the things he taught me regarding the concept of hell. If I was the ruler of hell and I had to manage all these terrible people, what would I do? Torture them? Give them endless suffering so they feel guilty? Do to them what they did to others so they can understand how bad it feels?

Latinos who voted for Trump, oh you disappoint me, but no, I don’t want you to be deported. Women who voted for Trump, *sigh*, no, I don’t want to see you get an ectopic pregnancy or carry your dead baby. No I do not want all those conservative gays to lose their right to marriage. And no, I don’t even want all of those fucked up fascist nazi racists to die.

It would be SO satisfying to see them get what they deserve, right?

God, I’m so sick of being apart of a species that loves to conquer. We bleed, they win, they bleed, we win. I’m sick of patching wounds. All I see is hellfire.

My friend Taylor Mcnallie is facing fraudulent charges because of an altercation that happened while she was protesting in Calgary. The bitch of a cop who assaulted her not only received no punishment, she got a fucking promotion. I remember during one of Taylor’s speeches someone said something like “I hope she gets arrested and goes to jail,” and Taylor said, “I don’t hope she goes to jail. Jail shouldn’t exist. I just want her to get fired and apologize. That’s all I want.”

Pacifism, true pacifism, like the kind that guy preached about, doesn’t mean laying down and accepting every terrible thing assholes do to you with a smile. It means taking away their ability to harm without harming them yourself. Eliminating the evil without becoming evil. Punching nazis does not make you a nazi, but praying for the death and destruction of people, human beings, because you hate them as much as they hate you? *sigh*

The hardest part about this whole radical empathy thing, is the fact that I cannot even wish harm upon those who want me dead. Isn’t that funny? That literal neo nazi, yeah, I hope he has shelter. Fuck I hope that rapist still eats tonight. I hope he feels shame until the day he dies, but I don’t hope he gets raped in prison. I don’t even want him in prison to be honest, I want him to be cared for, and I want his ability to do harm stripped away.

“Even if he hurts a child?”

God damn it, yes. I can’t add more suffering into the world, even if it is inflicted upon the people I’d love to hate most. I want to take away his power to do evil, I want everyone to know what kind of person he is and the terrible things he does so they can keep themselves safe… and then I want him to be safe.

I want all those terfs to have clean drinking water. I know they hate my guts, ugh, it is what it is. But praying that they experience the pain they’ve caused me, hoping that they die or suffer only makes me more like them.

WHICH SUCKS. This way of thinking is NOT satisfying AT ALL!!! Being vindictive and petty is FUN and it FEELS GOOD!!! That’s why it’s so fucking easy, and that’s why we keep eating each other over and over again.

Having said all of this, we should definitely bring back the guillotine lmao. I’m not saying that we should be super nice to people who are trying to kill us, do fight back. If the people need to kill their oppressors to be free then, hey, I’m not going to tell them they’re wrong for that. This isn’t a “we should all hug and sing kumbaya together! Kindness is always the way!!!” take. If the only way to bring death to the empire is to bring death to its owners, then so be it. Do so in the way that produces the least amount of degradation to your soul.

But wishing natural disasters on Texas, hoping that that racist woman’s parents get deported, out of spite and hatred… what are they doing to you? What are you doing to yourself?

Humanity is disgusting, truly truly abhorrent. I want to be able to look at us and embrace us with acceptance of that. Every single fucking terrible person on this earth deserves liberty, life, and freedom. Even when you spit in my face and hurt the people I love, damn it, I won’t hurt you. I see you as a rabid animal that needs to be sedated and slowly acclimated to compassion. And I will keep trying, even if you never learn. I can’t give up on humanity.

This is the most important and the hardest part. I’m not telling you to forgive, forgiveness is for you. If it doesn’t serve you, don’t forgive. But don’t let people without humanity kill the humanity that exists within you. Don’t let hatred fester in your soul. You’re allowed to be mad, hell, you should be furious. Let that fury keep you warm, but do not become a monster too.

To all you stupid fucking fascist pieces of shit, I hope you get exactly what you deserve. And what you deserve is not death, pain or suffering. It’s self reflection and growth, guilt and humility. As much as I would enjoy seeing you hurt, I refuse to become like you. And damn it I love you, I love every human being on this planet. I love you so much that I cannot become you. I love you so fucking much that I will continue to fight for your rights even when you’re trying to take mine away. and I hate that I love you like this, but I can’t stop.

So I will stop you.

- James Baldwin

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

If I Fell For You: Worst Nightmare

Summary: Jensen's worst nightmare is about to come true...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Word Count: 1,600ish

Warnings: language, heavy mentions of injury/blood/car accident

A/N: The agnst is strong...

________

Shouting woke you up. Very loud, very upset shouting. You blinked, slowly turning your head and finding the world was upside down. There was something to your left, something bent and the smell of metal and blood in the air made your nose twinge.

Then you remembered you were in the car. Driving on the highway to the brewery to grab some pizza and a few beers to bring home for dinner. You turned and touched the metal panel, the front of the car or part of the roof was your guess, now smack dab in the center console and cutting you off from the other side.

“Jay,” you croaked out. The shouting stopped and you squeezed your eyes shut. “Jensen. I’m okay.”

“Y/N,” he said as you remembered him shoving a hand in front of your chest. 

“Please tell me you’re in one piece,” you whispered.

“Yeah, I-I think so. Y-You?”

“I think so too,” you said, putting a hand on the roof below you, the windshield caved in, passenger door looking like a crumbled piece of paper. “Jay, I’m stuck in here.”

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I think it’s just bumps and bruises,” you said. “Can you move?”

“No,” he said quietly, not saying another word.

“Are you hurt?” He didn’t respond and you hit the panel between you. “Hey! Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay.”

“Dammit, tell me the truth.”

“My arm is cut up some but I’m okay. I can’t…fuck I can’t get out either.” He slapped the metal piece between you and you shushed him. “Y/N-“

“Relax honey. Sh, relax. I’m right here. I’m gonna be okay and you’re gonna…be okay…it’s going to be just fine. Just…just do your breathing that Ray showed you when you get anxious okay? It’ll…be okay,” you said, pressing your hand against your bleeding leg. “Shit.”

“You sound hurt,” he breathed out. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m uh, bleeding from my thigh. It’s not gushing so it couldn’t have been anything too bad, right?” you tried to joke, Jensen slamming against the panel again. “It’s not that deep. Also I’m pretty sure I have pizza in my hair.”

“What?” 

“Yeah. I hope you like the smell of marinara cause that’s gonna take forever to wash out,” you said, trying to leverage yourself against the roof of the car. “Now’s as good a time as any to tell you this.”

“Tell me what?” he asked quietly. “Are you-”

“Led Zeppelin sucks and I cannot believe you have so many of their original records. Don’t even get me started on your infatuation with fucking country music. I hate country music and I think it’s time I put my foot down and ban it from the house. What do you say?” you said, squeezing your palm hard over your leg.

He let out a quiet huff of air that was akin to a dry laugh. 

“I say you’re trying to distract me which either means you’re seriously fucked up over there and not telling me or you’re trying to keep me from having a panic attack by falsely insulting my music. So-”

“Hey, I do not like country as much as you and those are facts.”

“I know you don’t yet you listen to it for me,” he said, realizing for the first time it was still playing on the radio. “Imagine if you had to die listening to music you hated.”

“I’d live out of pure spite,” you said, Jensen chuckling a little. “I promise it’s the later. Trust me. If it were bad, I’d be asking you all sorts of shit about Dee so we can shit talk your music choices in the afterlife.”

He laughed for a split second, grunting loudly and making your heart race. “Yeah, you’re okay. Or not actively dying at least.”

“Not doing that. On the negative, everything hurts but positive side, I smell like pizza and beer, two of your favorite things.”

“Always got those silver linings,” he said as you heard sirens in the distance. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“You know how I said my arm was cut up?” he said, swallowing thickly. The pit in your stomach dropped, eyes closing.

“How bad is it?” you whispered.

“Bad enough I wrapped my belt around my arm to stop the bleeding.”

“Be honest. Please,” you said, wishing you could do something, anything. The silence was deafening, his labored inhale the only indication that he was still awake. “How bad?”

“There’s a piece of metal sticking out of my forearm. Pretty sure it sliced through the veins in there judging by the amount of blood.” You fought back tears, taking a shaky breath. “I’m really cold and tired. But I’m gonna stay awake-”

“Write me a song. Write me a fucking country song right now,” you said, forcing your eyes open. “What’s the melody?”

“Uh, what?” he asked. “Y/N, I’m-”

“I know what you’re saying and you can stay up until dawn even when you’re exhausted when you’re working on music so you write me a damn song right now and stay the fuck awake,” you croaked out. 

“Well I need a banjo in there because I know that’s your favorite,” he teased, car doors slamming nearby. 

“You’re a dickhead,” you said, Jensen chuckling. “Alright, banjo. What else?”

“Violin and a cello somehow. You fucking love the sound of-” 

“Him first!” you shouted when you saw some boots in front of you, quickly watching them jog to his side of the car.

“Oh shit,” one of the responders said and with that, your heart truly sank, unsure if it would ever come back up.

They’d gotten Jensen out of the car first and carted off by the time you had a makeshift bandage around your thigh. Something felt off with your leg and several hours and a surgery later, your foot was in a cast. But when you woke up in post-op, Jensen wasn’t there, a nurse telling you he was still in the operation room.

So now all you could do was sit in a room in the ICU, staring out the glass door, praying you saw Jensen. It felt like the longest twenty three minutes of your life.

You shot straight up in bed when you saw a sleepy looking Jensen getting stopped in a bed outside your door.

“Whoa. I want to stay in the hot girl’s room,” he murmured, winking lazily at you. Yeah, he was definitely hopped up on something, his right arm wrapped and wrapped and wrapped in a thick mass of bandages. 

“Let’s leave her alone,” said the nurse behind the bed, pushing him forward again, making him shout. She froze, Jensen staring in your room, shaking his head out.

“That’s my wife. I want to be with her.” The nurse sighed, Jensen’s face falling. “Please,” he whispered, voice cracking.

“You can see her in a minute, I promise,” she said, pushing him along. You waited exactly four minutes before slamming the nurse button over and over, one entering your room, giving you an annoyed glare.

“You should be sleeping,” she said. “You need to rest.”

“My husband is on the other side of this wall and last time I saw him he was bleeding out so I think a five minute field trip is more than fair-”

“He’s asleep like you should be.” You stared her down, the nurse eventually relenting. “Just stay there.” She left and returned after three minutes, shoving an ipad in your hand. “We used these during the pandemic. You can facetime him for a few minutes but then you both need sleep.”

She tapped a number and a split second later, Jensen’s beat up face appeared on screen.

“Well if ain’t the hot girl calling me from her bed,” he teased, the nurse rolling her eyes and leaving. “Are you alone?”

“Yeah. How are you?” you asked. He held up his injured arm and sighed. “You’re alive and that’s what matters.”

“I’m going to need physical therapy again. Months to recover and rebuild the muscle in my forearm. I already know it. You too with that foot of yours.” He rested his head against his pillow. “What about that cut on your leg?”

“Just gotta lay off it for a bit. It’s the same leg as my broken foot so that’ll be easy.” You both just stared at each other for a moment, a mess of bruises and small cuts littering your skin. “We’ll get through this.”

“I know.” He glanced down, closing his eyes. “I didn’t realize I was bleeding so bad until you made me calm down by insulting one of the best bands in history. You saved my neck.”

“That only happened because you put your arm in front of me. It could have been so much worse and-”

“Silly girl,” he murmured, slowly forcing his eyelids open, a softness to them you weren’t expecting. “I’ll always protect you. If you get a little less hurt because I did then that’s a win for me.”

Your bottom lip wobbled, Jensen shushing you. “Don’t say things like that, Jay.”

“Says the girl who stopped me from having a full on panic attack during arguably my worst nightmare. We protect each other, that’s how it works.” You smiled, Jensen returning it. “I’m taking you to a country music festival when we’re up for it in honor of saving me.”

“I want a divorce.” 

He laughed so loud you heard it echo down the hall. He’d be okay again. You both would.

Eventually.

_________

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

Tiny Ford has a very intense fight with a stray cat and Stan takes him back to patch him up and accepts he cannot get rid of this guy

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

"In my defense, I won."

"Shove a cork in it," Stan grumbles, snipping the smallest strip of gauze with scissors, just enough to not fall apart but enough to wrap around his brother's arm. Ford's blotched with iodine— iodine, because he couldn't stand the overwhelming burn of being that small and having to be swabbed by alcohol, Stan shudders at the thought. His whole torsos covered, the bleeding cuts Stan had to wipe off after he found his brother riding a hissing cat like it was a demented bull-ride.

Almost like he was a way too cocky mouse in a goofy cartoon, Stan actually found it funny until the cat ran off with Ford giving it a good kick to its neck and left him bleeding and it suddenly wasn't funny anymore. Stan scooped up his brother, because holy shit, is blood loss worse like this? Does he have less blood now that he's smaller?

Whatever the hell it meant, he wasn't gonna let Ford die out from a god damn cat scratch. They're screwed if it has rabies. It would be funny though. Fucking, raised in New Jersey, 12 PhD having field researcher who travelled hundreds of dimensions for 30 years and survived being tortured through a god damn apocalypse, dying from rabies in a literal cat fight. It's funny, except Stan isn't laughing.

"Just stop leavin' my side, Ford. Mosses. If you've gotta look at somethin', just tell me."

His heart lurches a bit seeing Ford, with his eyes all bigger, grinning at Stan, like this is something to be happy about.

Little shit.

"It doesn't mean you're forgiven," Stan snaps while wrapping that gauze strip around the torso. Ford sighs, eyes casting down.

"I know. I'm sorry."

Count that to the mountain of apologies Ford's been giving since this dumb charade started. By the end of it, it'd probably be bigger than he is. That almost makes Stan feel bad...

Ah, whatever.

Ford can climb up that little hill all he wants, if he's gonna keep causing trouble for Stan like this. At least Stan knew he'd be there anyway, waiting for him.

"If it makes you feel better, I've fought worse feline-like creatures nearly even double the size of that stray cat in other dimensions."

"Yeah? Hope you got the rabies shots for 'em too, then."

[moonlight-and-mischief]

Concept: Ein Cannot Die (AKA Mischief is Yapping Again)

As children, Garroth and Katelyn got potions used on them that gave them extraordinary strength. Ein, however, was given a potion that made it so that he is incapable of dying. No matter how many times he dies, no matter how much he suffers, his soul will always be forcibly dragged back into his body.

Trigger warning for violence, mental and physical abuse, mental break, and suicidal ideations.

The first revival happens when he is young. Playing in the woods nearby his home, he falls from the tree he is climbing. He hits the ground and everything goes dark. He is swallowed by this cold inky suffocating darkness. And then suddenly he's back. It's night now and everything hurts. His shoulder is dislocated and he has a twisted ankle, but he is alive. By the time he is able to hobble his way home, his mother is hysterical with worry. But he can't answer her when she asks him what happened. He's confused. He died. He knows it. He doesn't know how he knows it, but he does. But he's not dead.

This sticks with him for years, haunts his thoughts and dreams. But eventually, with the loss of his mother and being bounced from group home to group home, the memory fades to a bad memory.

The second revival happens in juvie. After a particularly nasty fight with another resident, Ein is stabbed. He's rushed to the infirmary, but he bleeds out. It literally goes long enough for the detention facility staff to mark a time of death, pop him into a morgue, and have his stepfather show up to claim the body. 57 hours pass this time before Ein revives, but now the memory from childhood has come back full force. Something is going on and Ein wants answers.

His stepfather (who he hasn't even seen in years) claims to have them and directs him towards a strange human named Michael. Of course, Michael tells him nothing of the potion used on him as a child by Zack's own hand. Instead, he spins a story of curses and magic, magic Michael can remove...with some research. And so begins Ein's living Hell, dying over and over and over again in the name of Michael's "research".

And Ein remembers. Every time he dies, he remembers. He remembers the pain and the suffering that led to his death. He remembers feeling the life drain from his body. He remembers being slowly swallowed by darkness. He remembers the horrible creeping cold that curls around him as his soul slips from his body. He remembers the slow fade of pain and fall into numbness, drifting in darkness until his soul is seized once more by icy claws, ripped from the serene darkness and hurled back into an existence of pain.

It's never easy. It's never simple. The potion always heals his body just enough so that it can sustain life again, but any non-fatal injuries? Nope, they stay. Broken bones? Stay. Cuts and bruises? Stay. If it's non-fatal, it doesn't get healed by the potion. So Ein will go from cold numb darkness to agony. When he dies, he isn't afraid of death. He's afraid of coming back. Afraid of the pain. Afraid of the suffering. It's maddening. And bit by bit, every revival chips away at Ein's sanity.

He becomes desperate to die. Anything to escape this endless cycle. He hopes Aaron will kill him, that maybe the power of the Ultima will make it stick, but even when he begs Aaron to end his life, Aaron denies him. It fuels his hatred even further, hatred for the eternal Hell Aaron is unknowingly subjecting him to. He falls further into madness, clinging to Michael as his sole salvation. Michael can help him, right? He's supposed to be powerful. Of course by now Ein has completely forgotten that the entire reason he started working with Michael in the first place—went through all those deaths and revivals—was because Michael promised to help him. His mind is too jumbled to make sense of much these days.

But Michael needs more power. The Ultima's power. Power...he can do that...Ein can get him more power.

Anything to finally end this.

[groversimp]

each word we spoke, the wind blew away - part one

writers are crafted through pain, and only some (the lucky ones) find love through that. think of the greatest writers: how many of them never bled? zero. because without knowing how bad the suffering is, you cannot know how good the joy is. and, we often find that joy in that suffering (though it can often turn into deformed lust).

^^^ moros is not a writer, but this is a sentiment I think he would agree with when it comes to Reader.

OLETHROS IS MOROS’ MAIN EPITHET MEANING “DESTRUCTION” (though it typically carries a positive connotation, representing renewal and the natural cycle of ending & beginning. yes this is relevant to the plot).

warnings: angst, reader keeps dying. no beta, no editing, we die like men.

You’re the embodiment of love. You’re the definition of light. He’s always been the dark, perpetually sad and hurt. His heart has failed to beat his whole life, but it awakens when he’s with you.

Your hands could breathe life into anything. With a brush of your fingers on the porous limestone, you shaped creations and gave birth to new life.

The statue stared back at you, and you cupped his face with one hand. The other hand holds your chisel, and you lean in as you form his lips. Moros, doom incarnate, appreciate this offering.

When you place the sculpture in the temple, you grin up at it— dust covering you, sticking to your face.

He was beautiful, carved to perfection. The outline of his eyes, the shape of his body. The statue could bring a warrior to his knees in worship. This is who high-priests spoke to, mortals feared. This is your creation, and you bask in the pride that swells in your chest.

You come back a few days later, only to find a strange man staring up at your statue. You blink at him, taking in his form— his grey-tinted skin, his long hair.

The rich fabrics of his clothing that did little to actually cover him, his full abdomen exposed. This couldn’t be some random traveler, too beautiful and too divine.

In your thoughts, his gaze flickers to you. You don’t notice the unsureness in his look before speaking, nor the slight awkwardness in his form.

“Hello, Mortal.” He speaks. You would’ve expected the mans voice to be cruel, cold and unforgiving. But the steady flow of his warm tone brings a smile to your lips, and as you get a closer look at him, visuals of mythos and tales flash before your eyes.

“Olethros.” You greet him, your voice ringing out as you offer a graceful bow. When you rise, you come closer to him. “Do you like the sculpture, my lord?” The note of hopefulness in your throat makes him swallow, and the look in your eye is almost ethereal— pure beauty.

But Moros has never been one for beauty. All he brings is doom, and doom is something sinister. Beauty is a form of righteousness, you cannot be good nor strong without that beauty, which then brings grace. If he dooms everything he touches, why would he touch anything beautiful? Beauty, love, is not made for him to doom.

“It’s quite nice.” He replies, and you beam. The light you exhibit could rival the sun, and he’d become like Icarus. A madman tearing his hair out as he flies towards you.

He only nods in response, because he is not deserving of such things, no trace of you can be found on him because it would only make you bleed.

Moros stays with you for a little while that day, until he is called back up to his sisters, he has more people to doom.

As he excuses himself, you reach out a hand to stop him. Moros backs away, but you ignore that. “You know you’re welcome anytime, Lord Moros. My door is always open.”

Again, he only nods in response. But, an understanding fills his mind: he won’t ever come to visit to again.

Two weeks later he finds you slaving away on a new sculpture.

You turn with a curious glance, and look victorious when you see him. “It took you long enough, Olethros.”

Moros approaches you, eyes set on the new sculpture. “Who is it?” He asks. You turn and return to your work, a quiet giggle escapes your lips. “Adonis, my lord.” You answer softly, almost wistfully.

He stays with you till his sisters call him back, when he leaves you invite him over again, and you swear you see a small smile on his face. Once again he nods, disappearing to wherever he’s been called.

Months and months past, and your relationship shifts. From god and worshipper, to (slightly hesitant) friend and friend.

It was when you were adding finishing touches to a sculpture of Aphrodite that you first touched him. You stood on a nauseatingly tall platform, when it began to shake from beneath you. You thought nothing of it till the planks creaked and you decided to get off.

In your struggle, you gripped Moros’ shoulder and helped yourself down. At the feeling of your touch, he stepped away, his eyebrows furrowed.

”Y/n—“ Moros says your name, you smile at him. “What, Olethros? Afraid of a small touch.” You reach out again, hand on his bicep, he pushes your hand off of his arm.

“I do not fear you, Doom. And I will not shy away from you. Do you hear me?”

“I hear a fools words.”

You grin at him, and only take a step closer, your chest brushing his. Moros scoffs, “you create your own ruin, you doom yourself—“

“And I will happily do so. Gods know it’s what fate has in store for me.”

Moros thought of the Fates, his sisters. Ever-lovely and so far away, his fingers twitch. They would like you, that’s not a good sign.

Moros, beautiful and terrifying to any other mortal, only bows his head. Conflicted. He leaves with his head bowed as well, throwing you a glance with a glimmer of a small smile, one you’ve become accustomed to. You grin back at him, coughing at the dust that floats through the air.

He comes back two days later, only for his soft smile to fade. You aren’t in the foyer, your Aphrodite statue is long-abandoned. With his eyebrows creased, he searches the temple and your private living spaces. Your name is the only thing on his lips, having found its home there within the past few weeks. Finally, he proceeds to check the last room— your bedroom.

You are laid motionless and cold on your plush bed. And there’s a moment of hesitation before he’s at your side, his hands hovering over you.

“Y/n.” He says, voice echoing in the dark room. “Mortal.” He says again, louder. The notes of panic in his voice is something foreign. He was doom itself, he had nothing to fear.

Except the loss of you.

When he returns to his sisters, he asks how you died— what had happened.

“Pneumoconiosis.” Lachesis answers him. Dust in the lungs. That was your doom.

So, Moros continued on. Mortals were born, mortals died, and still he doomed them with his hands. The hands that aided in your death. What else could’ve killed you?

There’s always been a shadowy crook within Moros’ soul— made not to love or be loved, but rather he is made to be evil. Because he is tainted with blood, and blood is anything but pure— and is evil not the absence of purity? This crook has never been important or dark enough to be fully recognized. But still, it follows Moros everywhere. A cut that always bleeds, a bruise that is too stubborn to heal. That crook, that wound, consumed him at the moment of your loss.

[mad-hatter-memes]

Ice Nine Kills: Welcome to Horrorwood Starters

A collection of dialogue prompts from the songs of Ice Nine Kills "Welcome to Horrorwood" album. Feel free to edit quotes as necessary.

Starters from it's prequel "The Silver Scream" can be found here!

TW: Swearing, threats, violent and gory references, suggestive references

Welcome to Horrorwood

"Who cares if it bleeds beyond the screen?"

"Are you misunderstood?"

"Are you more bad than good?"

"Can't blame the savages this town attracts..."

"I guess we're all insane..."

"There goes the neighborhood..."

"But will you make the cut?"

"How's this for an establishing shot?"

A Rash Decision

"No medicine can stop the bleeding..."

"There's a fever in the air..."

"We're caught without a prayer!"

"Now our perfect plans are fading quickly..."

"I cannot deny, it's do or die."

"Is it a crime to kill, if we're only sinking deeper?"

"Is it real or am I dreaming?"

"I won't be forgiven..."

"The only peace is a place inside my mind..."

Assault and Batteries

"Hey [Name]! It's time to play motherfucker!"

"Oh, [Name], isn't he cute?"

"You won't ever grow up."

"You won't make it past six."

"He'll toy with you 'til you die."

"[Name]! [Name]! My doll is alive!"

The Shower Scene

"Come on in, the weather's dreadful."

"Don't mind mother, she is not well..."

"The doctor says she's not all there..."

"I'm sick of cleaning up her mess."

"I hope saying goodnight, doesn't mean saying goodbye..."

"Come on back, I'll fix you something."

"We all go a little mad sometimes..."

"Can I help you sir?"

"I'm looking for a young woman that's been missing for several days now."

"I have reason to believe she may have stopped off at this very motel..."

Funeral Derangements

"Sometimes, dead is better..."

"[Name], don't do it..."

"I'll see you on the other side"

"I'd kill to bring you back tonight"

"Nothing here is set in stone."

"I played with mommy, now I want to play with you..."

Rainy Day

"Are you listening? Through the whispering..."

"Is it sinking in?"

"Will you take the bait?"

"Something is creeping in the dark..."

"Resist the zombie they'll make of you."

Hip to Be Scared

"Well I guess I'm a pretty sick guy."

"To hell with good intentions"

"...I have to return some videotapes..."

"I'm aware it's a bit avant-garde."

"Not the fucking face, you piece of trash!"

"But wait! Let me give you my card!"

"Do you like Ice Nine Kills?"

"Their early work was a bit too "scene" for me..."

"You know I'm psychotic, but I've crossed the line..."

"I killed [Character], [Character], and [Character], stabbed [Character] with a knife..."

"I don't think I'm gonna get away with it this time..."

"This confession has meant...nothing."

Take Your Pick

"There's more than one way to lose your fucking heart!"

"You'll be mine"

"I've picked you, my bloody valentine!"

"They'll need your dental records to identify you!"

"Can't stop this gas-masked lunatic!"

The Box

"Is it pleasure or pain?"

"The puzzle's in pieces again..."

"Is it virtue or sin?"

F.L.Y

"I won't deny the way time flies...When we're so close to the end.

"I spent my life learning to fly."

"I was born to fly!"

"I'm not saying I'm not playing god."

Wurst Vacation

"Nothing's what it seems..."

"I paid to make you mine, you see?"

"At the right price, you're just a pretty piece of meat."

"You're not going home."

"I'm going old school, a gun is too American!"

"You fell for the bait and switch."

"What the fuck is this?! Where the fuck am I?!"

"Please, I'll pay you anything, please just let me go!"

"Stupid kid, it's not about the money..."

"You don't like our customs? Then stay in your country."

Ex-Mortis

"May god have fucking mercy!"

"The living will descend, and the dead will rise!"

Farewell II Flesh

"There's nothing sweet about me."

"I come to life in the most desolate places."

"A single taste will guarantee that you get hooked!"

"It might sting, but just surrender..."

Meat & Greet

"Don't get close to the glass."

"If he smells your fear, he'll eat you alive..."

"Don't test me."

"Don't let a good meal go to waste."

"I'd fuck me."