#these walls are alive and they know i’m haunted but they don’t care. they remain. and there is no feeling quite like this

[flowercrowngods]

oh the inherent healing of rearranging your home. love is stored here.

[moonlitstoriess]

Oaths and Ashes-Lorcan x fem!reader (oneshot)

Summary: Bound by oaths to Maeve and haunted by the bond he fears, Lorcan clings to loyalty as a shield against his own heart. But when a mission goes awry, forcing him to choose between duty and his mate, the cracks in his resolve begin to show. In the shadows of betrayal and pain, will love rise from the ashes?

Warnings: Mentions of trauma, manipulation, physical injury, toxic loyalty, and themes of betrayal. Angst with no fluff and an uncertain end.

A/n: Got this random idea for a Lorcan fanfic and thought why not? Anyway you have been warned, enjoy 😘

See masterlist

The outpost was eerily quiet, save for the distant howl of the wind outside. The cold stone walls did little to keep the chill at bay, and the fire in the hearth burned low, its feeble warmth barely reaching the center of the room. She stood by the window, arms wrapped tightly around herself, watching the snow swirl and dance in the night.

Lorcan sat across the room, sharpening one of his blades with slow, deliberate movements. The metallic scrape echoed in the silence, grating and purposeful, as if he was daring her to speak first. He didn’t look at her.

“Another mission done,” she said, her voice low, breaking the stillness.

“Hm.” The sound was dismissive, his focus never wavering from the blade in his hands.

She turned, leaning against the windowsill, her arms dropping to her sides. “Is that all you have to say?”

His dark eyes flicked up briefly before returning to his task. “What else is there to say? We survived. That’s enough.”

The coldness in his tone cut deeper than she’d expected, and her jaw tightened. “You don’t think it’s worth talking about? The fact that it was another trap? That Maeve sent us into another gods-damned death mission?”

“You’re alive,” he said flatly. “That’s what matters.”

“Barely,” she snapped, taking a step toward him. “But I guess that doesn’t matter to you, does it? As long as we’re breathing, it’s fine. Just another day serving Maeve like the obedient dogs we are.”

His hand stilled, the blade catching the light as he set it down. When he looked up at her, his gaze was cold, calculating. “If you’re not cut out for this, maybe you shouldn’t have sworn the oath.”

The words landed like a blow, and she staggered back a step, her chest tightening. “You think I want this? You think I wanted to swear myself to her?”

“Did someone force you?” he asked, his voice sharp, mocking. “No? Then don’t complain about the choices you made.”

Her breath hitched, and she turned away, unable to look at him. The sting of his words mixed with the weight of her anger and exhaustion, threatening to choke her.

“I should’ve known,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

He stood abruptly, the scrape of the chair against the floor loud in the silence. “Don’t presume to know what I care about,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“Then tell me,” she said, whirling to face him, her eyes blazing. “Tell me why you’re so gods-damned loyal to her. Why you follow her orders without question, even when you know it’s killing us. What is it, Lorcan? What keeps you chained to her like a dog?”

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” she shot back, stepping closer, her voice shaking with anger and something rawer. “Because I’m standing here, breaking myself for this—for you—and you won’t even look at me.”

He flinched at the accusation, but the mask of indifference remained firmly in place. “Don’t make this about me,” he said coldly. “You’re not here for me. You’re here because you swore the same oath I did.”

“And that’s all I am to you? Another oath? Another pawn in Maeve’s games?”

His silence was answer enough.

The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with unspoken words and frayed emotions. She took a shaky breath, forcing herself to speak even as her heart ached. “You can’t keep doing this, Lorcan. Pushing me away, shutting me out. It’s not going to make the bond disappear.”

His expression darkened, his lips pulling into a tight line. “The bond doesn’t matter,” he said harshly. “It doesn’t mean anything. Not to me.”

The words were a dagger to her chest, and she staggered back as if he’d physically struck her.

He saw the hurt flash across her face and immediately hated himself for it, but he didn’t take the words back. He couldn’t. Not when the truth was so much harder to face.

“Fine,” she said, her voice breaking. “If it doesn’t mean anything, then neither do I.”

Before he could respond, she turned and stormed out, the door slamming shut behind her.

Lorcan stood there, staring at the empty space she’d left behind, the weight of his words crashing down on him. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms, but the pain was nothing compared to the ache spreading through his chest.

For the first time in centuries, he felt something dangerously close to regret.

But Lorcan was too stubborn to let go of his pride. She would understand at some point. That he is not meant to have a mate.

The bond, while recently discovered by the both of them, lay unacknowledged by either. Though he could see how much the female whom he has known for so long is trying to create something out of this.

But it would be useless. Lorcan knew it. He was not meant to have a mate. How could one ever have a mate after walking a lonely road for so long? Too much blood, too many sins on his hands.

Besides, he was too much of a monster to even know anything outside of pain, bloodshed, loss and anger. His shadows, his demons constantly consumed him and that was enough to draw him away from everyone. Including her.

—————

Y/n had loved him for as long as she could remember. Well, maybe not from the very start because the way they met wasn’t quite under the best conditions.

She was a rebel, part of a secret organization that went against those in power. She still remembers how one hundred and fifty years ago, she was captured by The Cadre and brought to Doranelle.

There, under Maeve’s orders she was questioned. Fenrys and Gavriel constantly tried going the diplomatic way and ease her into talking while Lorcan and Rowan would just vote to have her tortured.

Y/n smiled at the memory.

Though they all started at the wrong foot, eventually she grew closer with the males, even going as far as to prove her usefulness to Maeve and swearing a blood oath, a choice she has come to very much regret.

The boys see her as a part of them now. A younger sister and a very capable fighter with a unique power.

But Lorcan…..he has always been this way and not just towards her but to the others too. It just hurt a little more because she unfortunately grew to deeply care for him.

That is why, on one random day when both her and Lorcan found out about their bond was also the moment all her dreams with him came crashing down.

He said very hurtful things that day, how he would never accept it. How he will never even acknowledge it and neither should she.

Y/n tried, she really tried to get through to him but alas, everyone has a breaking point. And yesterday was the final straw for her.

How much longer is that prick going to choose Maeve over his mate? His fucking mate!!

How much longer is he going to follow every order of that poisonous queen and defend her in every argument?

It hurt….and she was tired. Tired of trying to get through to him. She has been doing that from the moment they met and now it was time to stop.

Y/n sighed as she cleared her mind, put on her stoic mask, straightened her shoulders and entered the sitting room of Doranelle’s Grand Stone Palace, designed specifically to fit the taste of her bitchy majesty, Queen Maeve.

Upon entrance however, she noticed that the queen is yet to arrive. Rowan, Fenrys and Gavriel were all scattered around the room, with the silver haired warrior standing next to the gigantic windows and watching the view over Doranelle and the latter two sitting on opposite armchairs.

Lorcan was nowhere to be seen but, she would not concern herself with the thoughts of him.

"Y/n! Finally you are here." Gavriel's voice brought her back as she looked to see all three of them looked straight at her.

Y/n offered a tight smile to Gavriel as she moved further into the room. Fenrys shot her a grin, his golden eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence. Let me guess, Lorcan was brooding too much, and you needed a break?”

Y/n snorted, pulling off her gloves and tossing them onto a side table. “More like I was brooding, and he needed a break.”

Rowan turned from the window, his piercing gaze scanning her face. His sharp instincts probably caught the flicker of tension in her shoulders, but he said nothing. Instead, he inclined his head. “How was the mission?”

She shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “Standard Maeve nonsense. Get in, retrieve the target, fight off a few surprises along the way. Nothing we haven’t done a hundred times before.”

“Yet you look like you’ve been through hell,” Fenrys said, leaning forward in his chair. “What happened out there?”

Y/n hesitated, feeling their eyes on her. She knew they cared, but she couldn’t bring herself to explain the emotional storm that had brewed between her and Lorcan. “The usual,” she said finally. “Maeve’s intelligence wasn’t exactly accurate. There was an ambush.”

Gavriel frowned. “An ambush? Were you injured?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she said quickly. “We managed.”

“You managed?” Fenrys repeated, a skeptical brow arching. “Sounds like there’s more to that story.”

“There isn’t,” Y/n said firmly, brushing past him and sinking into one of the chairs. “It’s over now. That’s all that matters.”

The males exchanged glances, their concern evident, but they didn’t press further. Instead, Fenrys leaned back with a dramatic sigh. “Well, next time, try not to steal all the excitement. We’ve been stuck here dealing with Maeve’s mood swings. Honestly, I’d take an ambush over her any day.”

Y/n allowed herself a small chuckle. “Careful, Fenrys. She might hear you.”

“Let her,” Fenrys said with a smirk. “I live to irritate her.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “You live to irritate everyone.”

“True,” Fenrys admitted, grinning. “But I do it so well.”

The light banter was a welcome distraction, and Y/n felt some of the tension in her chest ease. For a moment, it was almost enough to forget the weight of the bond, the mission, and Lorcan’s cold words. Almost.

The grand double doors swung open with a creak, and the room fell silent as Maeve swept in, her dark hair gleaming and her presence commanding as ever. Her sharp eyes scanned the room, lingering briefly on Y/n before flicking to the others.

“Good,” Maeve said, her voice like silk wrapped around steel. “You’re all here.”

Y/n straightened in her seat, instinctively falling into the poised composure Maeve demanded. But then her heart sank as another figure stepped into the room behind the queen.

Lorcan.

His towering presence was as dark and imposing as ever, but it was the way he stood at Maeve’s side, slightly behind her like a shadow, that made Y/n’s stomach churn. He looked as though he belonged there, loyal and unyielding, his gaze sweeping over the room without a flicker of acknowledgment in her direction.

Fenrys stiffened, his usual easygoing demeanor vanishing in an instant. Rowan’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable. Gavriel was the only one who spoke, his voice calm but tense. “Maeve. Lorcan. What’s the occasion?”

Maeve’s smile was sharp, predatory. “A new directive,” she said, her gaze landing on Y/n. “But first, I’d like to hear about your little adventure.”

Y/n clenched her fists, forcing herself to meet Maeve’s piercing gaze. “The mission was completed successfully,” she said evenly. “We retrieved the artifact and neutralized the threats.”

Maeve’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes glittered with something that made Y/n’s skin crawl. “Good. I expected no less.”

Lorcan said nothing, his face carved from stone, but his silence was louder than any words. It echoed in the room, in her chest, as Maeve began to speak of their next orders, her voice a cold melody weaving a new web of commands. Y/n barely heard her, her focus splintered by the man standing silently by the queen’s side, the mate who had once again chosen duty over her.

“And you,” Maeve said, her voice honeyed and venomous all at once. “I have a special task for you.”

Y/n’s spine straightened, her expression unreadable, her mask firmly in place. “Of course, my queen.”

Maeve tilted her head, a mockery of affection flickering in her eyes. “I’ve decided to send you on a mission of utmost importance. Alone.”

The room tensed. Fenrys shifted in his seat, his golden eyes flicking to Y/n with concern. Gavriel’s brows furrowed, his mouth opening as if to protest, but one glance from Maeve silenced him. Even Rowan, stoic as ever, allowed his jaw to tighten, his fingers flexing where they rested at his side.

She was never sent on a mission alone. It was always with one of the members because 1. Maeve, no matter how much she pretended, never trusted y/n and 2. The males would always manage to protest against her going alone, though it is not something she hasn't done before.

Y/n didn’t flinch. She didn’t allow even the faintest crack in her calm facade. “What would you have me do?”

Maeve’s smile widened, pleased with her composure. “There is a rebel camp in the northern cliffs. They’ve been meddling in my affairs, intercepting important supplies. I want you to dismantle them—destroy their operation entirely.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Rowan finally broke it, his voice carefully measured. “The northern cliffs are treacherous, especially this time of year.”

“Which is precisely why I’m entrusting this to her,” Maeve said smoothly, her gaze never leaving y/n. “She has proven herself capable time and time again. Haven’t you?”

Y/n inclined her head. “I’ll see it done.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed Lorcan’s face, but he stayed silent, his broad shoulders stiff. Fenrys leaned forward, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. “With all due respect, this is suicide. Send at least one of us with her.”

Maeve’s expression hardened, her voice cutting like a blade. “Did I ask for your opinion, Fenrys?”

He clenched his jaw, leaning back in his chair but shooting y/n a glance filled with unspoken worry. Gavriel tried next, his tone more diplomatic. “She is capable, yes, but even the most skilled warriors can be overwhelmed. Perhaps a small team would ensure success.”

Maeve’s gaze snapped to him, her smile razor-sharp. “Are you questioning my decision, lion?”

“No, my queen,” Gavriel said softly, bowing his head.

Maeve turned back to y/n, her tone almost sweet again. “I trust you will not fail me.”

“I won’t,” y/n said evenly, ignoring the tension radiating from every male in the room.

“Good,” Maeve said, stepping closer, her presence suffocating. “You leave at dawn.”

Without another word, Maeve swept out of the room, her dark gown trailing behind her like the shadow of death itself. And Lorcan behind her.

As the door closed, the room erupted.

But even through all the worries, all the scoldings, all the words said by the three males, her brothers, y/n's mind was only filled with the sense of betrayal.

He didn't even protest. Didn't even stand against Maeve. Didn't even offer to join y/n. His mate.

This has to be some cruel joke fate is playing on her.

----------

Y/n was alone, methodically packing her gear. Her hands worked quickly, though her mind was a maelstrom. She refused to dwell on the danger of the mission, on the implications of Maeve sending her alone. This was just another test, another way to prove she could survive whatever hell was thrown her way.

A knock sounded at her door. She didn’t bother turning, knowing who it was. “What do you want, Lorcan?”

The door opened without her invitation, and he stepped inside, shutting it firmly behind him. He didn’t speak at first, his dark eyes scanning her as if trying to decipher her thoughts. Finally, he said, “You shouldn’t go.”

She didn’t stop packing. “Not your decision to make.”

“It’s reckless,” he snapped, his voice low and sharp. “Maeve’s playing games, and you’re letting her.”

Y/n spun to face him, her eyes blazing. “Letting her? Did you not hear me back there? She gave me an order, Lorcan. What would you have me do, defy her?”

His silence was damning.

“Exactly,” she said bitterly, turning back to her pack. “You’d rather I die proving myself than risk questioning her.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, his voice softening, but she rounded on him.

“Fair?” she hissed, her voice shaking with anger. “What part of this is fair, Lorcan? The bond? This gods-damned oath? Maeve holding our lives in her hands? I don’t see you fighting for anything better.”

“I’m not the one running into death for her approval,” he shot back, his tone colder now, defensive.

“No,” she said quietly, the words cutting deeper because they were true. “You’re just the one standing by while she destroys us.”

He flinched as if struck, but she didn’t stop. “You chose her again, Lorcan. You always choose her.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. “She is my queen.”

“And I’m your mate!” she yelled, the words tumbling out before she could stop them, raw and exposed. “Or does that mean nothing to you?”

For a moment, he didn’t speak. His dark eyes burned with emotion, but when he finally spoke, his voice was icy. “It doesn’t change anything. And we are not mates."

She swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over her like a physical blow. “You really are a coward, Lorcan.”

Before he could respond, she shoved past him, her pack slung over her shoulder, and walked out the door. She didn’t look back, even when she thought she heard him whisper her name.

When she reached the stables, she mounted her horse and rode into the night, the frigid wind biting at her skin. But the cold was nothing compared to the ache in her chest, the one that reminded her she was truly, irrevocably alone.

The northern cliffs were as treacherous as y/n had anticipated. The jagged terrain, biting winds, and freezing temperatures made every step a trial. Her days were spent navigating narrow paths carved into the mountainside, her sharp eyes scanning for signs of movement. At night, she set up meager camps, always alert for threats, her weapons and magic ready for use. Sleep came in fleeting moments, her instincts honed to the dangers lurking in the shadows.

It had been five days since she left the fortress. Five days of cold, isolation, and silence. She told herself that she didn’t mind the solitude—it was better than the suffocating weight of Lorcan’s words or the betrayal she’d felt when Maeve’s command echoed through the room.

Still, the mission felt… off. She’d found no sign of the rebel camp Maeve had described. The cliffside paths, though rugged, showed no indication of regular travel, and the forests below were eerily still. It was as if the cliffs themselves were abandoned, yet Maeve had insisted that rebels were causing disruption in the area.

“She sent me here for a reason,” y/n thought bitterly, though she wasn’t sure if it was to succeed or fail.

On the sixth day, y/n stumbled upon a narrow gorge that seemed to fit the description of a potential rebel hideout. The entrance was obscured by thick overgrowth, and the cliffs loomed high above, casting long shadows over the path. She hesitated, her instincts prickling. This was the first sign of anything remotely suspicious since she’d arrived.

Cautiously, she advanced, her sword unsheathed as her senses sharpened instinctively. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and something metallic. Blood.

She moved swiftly, keeping to the edges of the path. It led to a clearing—a small encampment, or what was left of one. The ground was littered with debris, tents torn apart, supplies scattered as if a storm had swept through. But it wasn’t a storm. The claw marks gouged into the rock told her that something—or someone—had done this.

Kneeling, she examined a broken weapon—a sword, its blade snapped in half. Blood stained the hilt, fresh enough that it hadn’t dried entirely. Her pulse quickened. She was being watched.

The sound of a snapping twig behind her made her whirl, sword raised, ready to strike—but nothing was there.

Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes boring into her from the shadows. She forced herself to stay calm, to think. If this was a rebel camp, they wouldn’t leave it undefended. If they were gone, where had they gone? And why did the destruction look staged?

Her heart sank as realization dawned. This wasn’t a rebel camp. This was a trap.

The first arrow whistled past her ear, embedding itself into the rock behind her. She ducked instinctively, rolling into a crouch as more arrows followed, peppering the ground where she’d stood. Her claws gleamed in the dim light as she shot forward, seeking cover behind a crumbled tent.

Voices echoed through the gorge—low, guttural commands that sent chills down her spine. She couldn’t see them yet, but they were closing in.

Y/n moved quickly, her breaths steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She darted from cover to cover, her sword slicing through any obstacle in her way. The first attacker emerged—a tall man clad in dark leathers, his face obscured by a hood. He lunged at her with a blade, but she sidestepped, her dark magic aimed right at his chest. He fell with a gurgled cry.

Another came from the right, and she barely dodged the strike aimed at her side. She spun, driving her small but sharp knife into his arm and kicking him backward. But for every one she took down, two more appeared.

Soon, she was surrounded.

Y/n fought like the rebel she was, every movement precise and lethal. She used the terrain to her advantage, leaping onto rocks and darting through narrow paths. 

But there were too many.

An arrow grazed her leg, the sharp pain momentarily throwing her off balance. A sword nicked her arm, blood staining her sleeve. Her breaths came heavier now, her strength waning.

One of the attackers—a burly man with a scar down his face—stepped forward, a cruel grin spreading across his features. “The Queen sends her regards,” he sneered, raising his blade.

Y/n’s heart sank. Maeve had sent her here to die.

The realization stole the last of her resolve. She faltered, just for a second, but it was enough.

The scarred man’s fist connected with her stomach, and she doubled over, the air knocked from her lungs. Before she could recover, another blow landed against her temple, sending her sprawling to the ground.

Her vision blurred, and the world tilted as she tried to push herself up. Hands grabbed her, wrenching her arms behind her back. She struggled, but she was too weak, too drained.

A final strike—a boot slamming into her ribs—left her gasping for air. The edges of her vision darkened, her body refusing to obey her commands.

As she was dragged to her knees, she heard the scarred man chuckle. “Tie her up. The Queen wants her alive—at least for now.”

Y/n’s head lolled to the side, her strength gone. The world around her faded into darkness, the sounds of her captors’ laughter echoing in her ears.

Her last thought before unconsciousness claimed her was bitter and raw.

She sent me here to die, and I have no one left to fight for.

---------

The first week of her absence, Lorcan told himself he was being irrational. She was skilled, ruthless even, and capable of handling herself. Maeve had sent her on this mission for a reason, and despite his misgivings, he trusted y/n to see it through. He buried his worry beneath grueling training sessions and the cold edge of duty, convincing himself that she would return victorious, her sharp wit ready to cut him down the moment he dared to question her ability.

By the second week, unease began to fester. There had been no word from her—no missives sent, no whispers of success or failure. Maeve brushed off his inquiries with a dismissive wave, her cold smile tightening when he pressed. “She’s completing her task, Lorcan. You wouldn’t dare doubt her, would you?”

The third week unraveled him. He had spent every waking moment pacing the grounds, his chest constricting with an unbearable weight. Nightmares plagued him when he did manage to sleep, visions of her broken body haunting his mind. He snapped at everyone—Gavriel, Fenrys, even Rowan—driving wedges into bonds already frayed by his aloofness.

Now, a full month had passed, and there was no room left for denial.

“She’s dead,” Fenrys growled, pacing the chamber like a caged wolf. “Or worse.” His golden eyes were wild, his usually jovial demeanor replaced with simmering fury. “We all know Maeve doesn’t send anyone on a mission like this without an ulterior motive.”

Gavriel sat at the table, his head bowed, his fists clenched. “We don’t know that,” he muttered, though his tone betrayed the hope he was struggling to hold onto.

Rowan leaned against the far wall, his sharp features carved with tension. “Have you noticed Maeve hasn’t mentioned her once since she left? Not a word about the mission or her progress. That’s deliberate.”

Lorcan stood apart from them, his back to the room, staring out the window at the moonlit forest. His jaw was clenched so tightly it ached, and his nails had bitten into his palms, drawing blood.

“She’s alive,” he said at last, his voice low and trembling with suppressed rage.

Fenrys stopped pacing, glaring at him. “You don’t know that. You have no idea what she’s endured out there—alone—while you stood by and let her go.”

The accusation struck like a blade, and Lorcan whirled around, his black eyes blazing. “You think I don’t know that?” he snarled. “You think I don’t feel it every second of every gods-damned day?”

The room fell silent, the air heavy with tension.

“What are you saying?” Gavriel asked, his voice cautious.

Lorcan’s hands trembled as he raked them through his hair, his composure shattering. “She’s my mate,” he admitted, the words spilling out like poison. “She’s my mate, and I let her go. I chose Maeve over her because I was too much of a coward to—�� His voice broke, and he turned away, his shoulders heaving.

The silence that followed was deafening.

“You’re telling us this now?” Rowan’s voice was cold, laced with anger. “After she’s been missing for a month?”

“I thought she’d come back,” Lorcan said hoarsely. “I thought she’d be fine. She’s strong. She’s—” His voice cracked, and he slammed a fist against the wall. “I failed her. I failed her because I didn’t want to admit what she meant to me.”

Fenrys sneered, his rage barely contained. “And now she’s out there, suffering gods know what, because of you.”

Despite their anger, the Cadre couldn’t abandon her. She was one of their own—or at least, she had been before Maeve’s manipulations twisted their loyalties.

Rowan took charge, his strategic mind cutting through the chaos. “We’ll have to do this without Maeve finding out. If she even suspects we’re undermining her, she’ll punish us all.”

“And y/n,” Gavriel added grimly.

Lorcan barely heard them, his mind consumed with images of her—alone, wounded, dying. He couldn’t let himself think she might already be dead. If she was gone, the bond would have snapped, wouldn’t it? But it hadn’t. It was still there, faint but unbroken, like a fragile thread connecting him to her.

“We’ll start at the cliffs,” Rowan continued. “That’s where she was sent. If Maeve wanted her gone, she wouldn’t make it easy to find her body—or what’s left of it.”

Fenrys shot Lorcan a glare. “You’d better hope she’s alive, or I’ll make you wish you’d died with her.”

The journey to the cliffs was brutal, the terrain unforgiving. They traveled under the cover of night, avoiding Maeve’s spies and using every ounce of their combined skill to remain undetected.

They did not rest. Not even once. And even if they did, Lorcan knew that he would leave his brothers behind to find her. He would not rest until he found her. Hopefully, alive because if not....

Lorcan did not want to think about that and the hell he would raise if that were the case.

When they reached the cliffs, the sight that greeted them confirmed their worst fears. Blood stained the ground, long since dried, and the remnants of a camp lay scattered, eerily quiet.

“She was here,” Gavriel said, his voice tight with anguish.

Lorcan knelt, his fingers brushing the bloodied earth. It felt wrong—cold and empty, as if the life had been drained from the place. His chest tightened, and the bond tugged at him, faint but insistent.

“She’s close,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “She’s still alive.”

The Cadre exchanged wary glances, but they followed him deeper into the gorge, their weapons drawn.

They found her at dawn.

She was chained to a rock in a dark cavern, her body battered and broken. Her clothes were torn, her skin marred with bruises and cuts, and her breathing was shallow. Her once-bright eyes were closed, her face pale and gaunt.

Lorcan froze, his heart shattering at the sight.

“She’s alive,” Fenrys said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lorcan didn’t wait. He rushed to her side, his hands trembling as he broke the chains binding her. “y/n,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Please, wildling, wake up.”

Her eyelids fluttered, and for a moment, her gaze met his. There was no recognition in her eyes, only pain and exhaustion.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

As he cradled her broken body in his arms, the weight of his guilt crashed down on him. He had failed her in every way possible, but he wouldn’t fail her again.

“Let’s get her out of here,” Rowan said, his voice tight. “Before Maeve realizes what we’ve done.”

Lorcan nodded, his jaw set with determination. He would burn the world for her, tear it apart piece by piece if he had to.

And when Maeve found out, he would be ready.

Lorcan cradled y/n against his chest as they made their way out of the cavern, her body limp and fragile in his arms. Her shallow breathing was the only reassurance he had that she was still alive. His every instinct screamed at him to run, to put as much distance as possible between them and this gods-forsaken place, but he knew better. They weren’t safe yet.

The bond tugged at him, a faint but insistent reminder of her fragility. It was his lifeline now, urging him forward through the oppressive darkness of the cliffs.

Rowan took point, his sharp gaze scanning the shadows ahead. Gavriel brought up the rear, his sword drawn and his senses on high alert. Fenrys prowled beside Lorcan, his golden eyes flashing with barely-contained fury.

“She’s too quiet,” Fenrys muttered, his voice low and tense. “We need to move faster.”

“She’s breathing,” Lorcan snapped, though his voice wavered. “That’s all that matters right now.”

The moment they stepped out of the cavern into the pale light of dawn, the attack came.

A hail of arrows rained down from the cliffs above, forcing them to scatter. Lorcan twisted his body, shielding y/n with his own as he dove behind a jagged boulder.

“Move!” Rowan barked, his wind magic deflecting the arrows with a gust that sent them clattering harmlessly to the ground.

The enemy poured down the rocky slopes—Maeve’s minions, cloaked in shadow and armed to the teeth. Their feral grins gleamed in the dim light, their eyes alight with cruel intent.

“They know we have her!” Fenrys shouted, drawing his twin blades.

Gavriel let out a low growl, his lion-like strength cutting through the first wave of attackers. “We’ll have to fight our way out!”

Lorcan’s grip on y/n tightened as he pressed his back against the boulder, his mind racing. He couldn’t fight—not with her in his arms—but he also couldn’t let her go.

Rowan appeared at his side, his ice-blue eyes blazing. “Can you hold them off while I take her?”

“No,” Lorcan snapped. The thought of letting her out of his grasp was unbearable. “You clear the path. I’ll carry her.”

Rowan hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Stay close.”

Chaos erupted as the cadre launched themselves into the fray. Rowan’s wind and ice magic tore through the ranks of their attackers, sending bodies flying into the jagged rocks. Fenrys moved like a shadow, his blades flashing as he cut down anyone who got too close. Gavriel fought with brutal precision, his strikes swift and lethal.

But their enemies kept coming, waves of them spilling out of the cliffs like a swarm.

Lorcan’s every step was a battle. He ducked and weaved through the melee, his muscles burning from the effort of carrying y/n’s dead weight while avoiding strikes. His sword remained sheathed—his focus was entirely on her.

“Lorcan, behind you!” Fenrys shouted.

Lorcan twisted just in time to see a dagger aimed at his back. He snarled, releasing a pulse of his power that sent the attacker sprawling. The effort cost him, though—his legs trembled as he stumbled forward, the weight of y/n and his exhaustion dragging him down.

A group of Maeve’s soldiers broke through Rowan’s defenses, their eyes locked on Lorcan and y/n.

“Over my dead body,” Lorcan growled, shifting her weight slightly as he braced himself for the charge.

But before they could reach him, a silver blur streaked past—Fenrys. He leapt into the fray, his movements a deadly dance as he tore through the soldiers with savage efficiency.

“You’re slowing us down,” Fenrys barked as he dispatched the last of them.

“Shut up and fight,” Lorcan snarled back.

Rowan’s sharp whistle cut through the chaos. “Now! Move!”

The cadre regrouped, their enemies momentarily scattered. Rowan’s magic formed a protective barrier of ice and wind, giving them a few precious seconds to retreat.

“We’re not going to hold them off forever,” Gavriel warned as they sprinted toward the treeline.

“We just need to make it far enough to lose them,” Rowan said, though his tone was grim.

Lorcan’s chest burned with every breath, but he didn’t stop. Y/n’s head lolled against his shoulder, her face pale and bloodied. Hold on, he willed her silently. Just hold on.

As they reached the forest, Rowan dropped the barrier, and the group plunged into the shadows of the trees. The dense undergrowth slowed their pursuers, giving the cadre a chance to put some distance between them.

“We need to split up,” Rowan said. “Fenrys, take Gavriel and lead them away. Lorcan and I will take y/n and head for the rendezvous point.”

Fenrys opened his mouth to argue, but a single look from Rowan silenced him.

“Go,” Rowan ordered.

With a growl, Fenrys and Gavriel peeled off, drawing the enemy’s attention.

The silence that followed was deafening. Only the sound of Lorcan’s ragged breathing and the faint rustle of leaves broke the stillness as he and Rowan made their way deeper into the forest.

When they finally stopped, Lorcan sank to his knees, cradling y/n as though she might disappear if he let go.

“She’s alive,” Rowan said, though his voice was heavy with doubt. “But barely.”

Lorcan couldn’t respond. His hands trembled as he brushed a strand of blood-matted hair from her face. Guilt and rage warred within him, threatening to consume him whole.

“We’ll get her back,” Rowan said, his voice firm. “But you need to keep it together.”

Lorcan’s jaw tightened as he looked up at Rowan. “If she dies…” His voice broke, and he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“She won’t,” Rowan said, his eyes fierce. “Not if we have anything to say about it.”

Lorcan nodded, swallowing hard as he forced himself to his feet. He wouldn’t let her die. Not like this. Not when he had failed her so utterly.

And Maeve… Maeve would pay for this.

------

The first thing Y/N registered was the scent of wood smoke and herbs, mingling with the faint, earthy aroma of rain-soaked soil. The air was warm, almost stifling, and it felt heavier than it should have. Her body ached with a dull, persistent throb, as though she had been wrung out and left to dry.

She blinked against the dim light filtering through a small, cracked window, her vision swimming before settling on the modest, cramped interior of a hut. The walls were made of rough-hewn logs, the roof thatched, and a single table sat in the corner, cluttered with vials and bandages.

Where am I?

The thought was fleeting, overridden by a sudden awareness of weight—solid, grounding, and entirely foreign—pressing against her. She shifted slightly, hissing at the pull of her tender muscles, and turned her head to look down.

Her breath caught.

Lorcan.

His head was resting on her stomach, his dark hair falling in unruly strands over his face. His massive frame was hunched over, as though even in sleep, he couldn’t quite relax. One arm was draped over her waist, the other gripping the edge of the makeshift bed she lay on. His hold was tight, almost desperate, as if he feared she would vanish if he let go.

For a moment—a fleeting, fragile moment—something in her chest softened. He looked so unlike himself, so vulnerable and human, and it was a stark contrast to the cold, stoic warrior she knew.

But then it all came rushing back.

The mission. The ambush. The betrayal. His cruel words.

Her face hardened, and a sharp burst of anger surged through her. How dare he?

Without thinking, she raised her hand and swatted the back of his head.

Lorcan jolted awake instantly, his head snapping up as his body went rigid, his instincts kicking in. His hand reached for a weapon that wasn’t there, his eyes wild and dark, scanning for danger.

Then his gaze landed on her, and he froze.

“Y/N?” His voice was a hoarse whisper, raw with disbelief.

Her eyes, dull and tired, met his. “Surprised to see me alive?” she asked, her tone cutting but drained of its usual bite.

Relief flooded his features, followed quickly by a maelstrom of emotions she couldn’t decipher—shock, guilt, anger at himself, and something she wasn’t ready to name.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, as though saying it aloud would make it real.

“No thanks to you,” she muttered, shifting uncomfortably as she tried to sit up.

“Don’t,” he said quickly, his hands moving to steady her. “You’re not ready—”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, shrugging him off.

She wasn’t fine. Her body screamed in protest, and her head swam, but she forced herself upright, ignoring the way his hands hovered near her, ready to catch her if she faltered.

“Where are we?” she asked, her voice clipped.

Lorcan cleared his throat, straightening as he rubbed the back of his neck. “A healer’s hut. A friend of Fenrys’—a trusted one. It’s safe here, for now.”

“For now,” she repeated bitterly. Her gaze swept the room, noting its sparse furnishings and the faint smell of damp wood.

“You’ve been unconscious for two weeks,” Lorcan continued cautiously, as if afraid of her reaction. “We’ve been... waiting for you to wake up.”

“Two weeks,” she echoed, her tone flat. “And where are the others?”

“Rowan and Gavriel went back to ensure Maeve hasn’t caught on to our escape, or atleast somehow keep the situation stable.” he explained. “Fenrys stayed with us.”

“Of course, Fenrys did.” She exhaled sharply, leaning back against the headboard.

Lorcan flinched at her tone but didn’t argue. “I—”

“You what?” she interrupted, her eyes narrowing. “What could you possibly have to say, Lorcan?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might retreat behind his usual walls. But then he surprised her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low and rough. “For everything.”

She didn’t respond immediately. She didn’t have the energy to yell or argue, not anymore. She just looked at him, her expression unreadable.

“You said Maeve was your queen,” she said quietly, her voice devoid of emotion. “You said you’d always choose her over me. So why are you here, Lorcan?”

He flinched as if she’d struck him. “I was wrong,” he said, his voice breaking. “I was so gods-damned wrong. And I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness—hells, I don’t even deserve to be here. But I—” He hesitated, his hands curling into fists. “I couldn’t lose you. Not like that.”

Her laugh was hollow, devoid of humor. “Congratulations, Lorcan. You didn’t lose me. But what’s left of me isn’t much, so I hope you’re satisfied.”

Her words hit him like a blow, and the guilt in his eyes deepened. “Don’t say that,” he whispered.

“Why not?” she asked, her voice rising slightly. “It’s true. I’m tired, Lorcan. I’m tired of fighting, tired of trying, tired of—” She broke off, her hands trembling as she clenched the blanket.

Lorcan dropped to his knees beside the bed, his hands hovering near hers but not quite touching. “I know I hurt you,” he said, his voice trembling. “I know I failed you. And I’ll never forgive myself for that. But please, y/n... please don’t give up. Not now. Not when you’re here, alive.”

She looked away, her jaw tight, her expression unreadable.

“I’ll fix this,” he said desperately. “I don’t know how, but I’ll fix it. I’ll keep you safe. I swear it on my life.”

“Words,” she muttered, her tone laced with exhaustion. “They’re just words, Lorcan.”

He bowed his head, his shoulders sagging under the weight of her dismissal. But he didn’t leave. He stayed there, on his knees, as though the very act of being near her was penance.

And for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was heavy, oppressive, and filled with everything they couldn’t bring themselves to say.

Eventually, she lay back down, turning her face away from him. “I wish to be alone.”

He nodded, his throat working as he forced himself to his feet. “I’ll be right here,” he said softly, retreating to his chair.

She didn’t respond, and as her breathing evened out, Lorcan watched her, his heart breaking anew. He had been a fool, and now the woman who held his soul was a shadow of herself. Someone who just went through so much trauma while he sat aside and watched it happen.

His y/n was gone, the female in front of him was an empty shell.

And it was all his fault.

———————————————————————

[greenparker]

Between Nightmares.| Tasm!Peter Parker x Gn!Reader.

Pairing: Tasm!Peter Parker x reader. Summary: After unsettling dreams, you seek comfort in someone close. In that quiet moment, a deeper bond forms, stirring feelings that hint at a change in your relationship. Warnings: Angst, fluff, nightmares. A/n: I have sm fun writing these, gives me something to look forward to. I honestly feel like I can make this one into something more lol.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

The dim light of the streetlamp flickered outside, casting a soft glow that danced across the walls of your room, creating shifting shadows that felt almost alive. As you lay beneath the covers, restless shadows invaded your mind, dragging you into a series of haunting nightmares. Each time you closed your eyes, a new horror gripped you—echoes of past fears, the suffocating weight of loneliness, and the relentless sensation of being pursued by something unseen, lurking just beyond the reach of your consciousness.

Suddenly, you jolted awake, your heart pounding against your ribcage, skin slick with sweat as if you had just emerged from a cold pool. The remnants of the nightmares clung to you like a heavy fog, wrapping around your chest and making it hard to breathe. You squinted at the clock on your bedside table—it was just past three in the morning, the digital numbers glaring at you like a judgment.

“Not again,” you whispered, your voice barely piercing the stillness of the room. Rubbing your eyes, you desperately tried to shake off the dread that settled in your stomach like a stone. As you sat up, the chill of the night air sent shivers racing across your damp skin, and the familiar grip of anxiety tightened around you, a vice that squeezed with each passing second.

Just then, a soft knock broke the heavy silence, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. Before you could respond, Peter peeked his head through the door, his expression tinged with concern. His tousled brown hair fell charmingly over his forehead, and the relaxed way he carried himself offered a sense of warmth in the gloom of your room.

“Hey,” he said, stepping inside with careful grace, as if he were entering a fragile world. “I heard you moving around. Is everything okay?” His voice was low, soothing, a balm to your frayed nerves.

You hesitated, still reeling from the remnants of the chaos in your mind. Meeting his gaze, you nodded, forcing a small smile, though the tightness in your chest remained. “Oh, you know… the usual.” Your voice was soft, fatigue threading through your words like a faint echo. “Nightmares.” You shrugged, trying to downplay the weight of it all, but the vulnerability lingered in your eyes.

“They keep coming back, don’t they?” he asked, concern deepening in his eyes as he stepped closer, the space between you filled with an unspoken connection.

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice dropping to a whisper, as if saying it aloud would summon the terrors once more. “It’s like they have a mind of their own.” You buried your face in your hands for a moment, feeling the frustration rise like bile in your throat.

“I get it. It’s tough to shake them off,” he said softly, moving closer to the edge of your bed. His gaze held a mixture of empathy and determination, as if he wished he could battle your nightmares for you.

“You’re already helping just by being here,” you replied, meeting his gaze with sincerity. “But sometimes, I just feel so lost.” The words spilled from your lips, raw and unguarded.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said softly, his voice steady, a lifeline pulling you through the storm of your thoughts. “I’m always just a room away if you need me.” His presence was like a lighthouse cutting through the chaos, guiding you back to something steady and safe.

But his words stirred something deep inside you—something you couldn’t shake. You wished he wasn’t just a room away. You wished he was closer, much closer. But that truth, the one you could never bring yourself to say, stayed locked inside. After all, he was your best friend. And maybe that’s why it was so hard to admit.

A silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words and shared feelings. The streetlamp’s soft glow filtered through the window, illuminating his features in a way that made him look almost ethereal. In that quiet moment, the chaos of your mind faded, allowing you to bask in the safety of his presence, a comforting anchor in your tumultuous world.

Then, a thought flickered through your mind, causing your throat to tighten with a mix of hope and anxiety. Maybe you would sleep better if he were right beside you—just the comfort of his presence would be enough to chase away the shadows.

“Peter?” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with the weight of your request. He turned to you, curiosity etched on his brow, as if he sensed the importance of your words before you even spoke.

“Yeah?” His tone was soft, inviting you to share whatever was on your mind, and you could see the earnestness in his expression.

“Would you… stay with me tonight?” The request tumbled out, woven with vulnerability and urgency. “Just until I fall back asleep. You don’t have to touch me or anything, but I think it might help.” You felt a flutter of anxiety in your stomach, but the sincerity in your voice held firm.

You watched as his cheeks flushed, his eyes widening slightly with surprise. He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous habit you had grown to recognize. “You mean… in the bed?” There was a hint of hesitation in his voice, careful consideration of the boundaries you both navigated.

“Yeah, exactly,” you replied, feeling a blush creep across your cheeks, a warmth rising from the pit of your stomach. “I just… I don’t want to be alone with these thoughts right now.”

“I totally understand,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Sometimes it helps to have someone there, you know?”

“Exactly! Just knowing you’re here makes it feel less… overwhelming.” You took a deep breath, hope threading through your veins.

Peter studied you for a moment, his expression shifting as he absorbed your vulnerability. After what felt like an eternity, he nodded slowly, a soft smile breaking through the uncertainty in his eyes. “Of course, I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

His heart raced at the thought, a mix of excitement and nervousness flooding his veins. “Just to clarify, you’re okay with me being in your space, right?”

“Definitely,” you reassured him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest, dispelling the remnants of fear. “You being here is exactly what I need.”

Your shoulders relaxed at his agreement, and you offered him a grateful smile, knowing he had to be exhausted too. You’d find a way to thank him later.

Scooting over in your bed, you patted the space beside you, inviting him in with an eager gesture. “Get comfy, bub,” you mumbled shyly, lying down and turning to face him, your heart thudding in your chest. “It’s a little cramped, but we’ll make it work.”

“I’m not worried about that,” he said, a hint of laughter dancing in his voice, his own excitement shining through. “Just glad I can be here.”

As he settled beside you, the small gesture felt monumental, a shared moment of intimacy that sent a flutter of anticipation coursing through you. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, an invisible barrier against the night.

“Thanks, Pete,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but the gratitude in your tone spoke volumes.

“Anytime,” he replied softly, his gaze steady and reassuring. “I’m just a call away, you know that.”

In that cocoon of warmth and safety, you closed your eyes, comforted by the presence of the boy who had become your anchor in the storm. You slept for about two hours before it happened again. This time, the nightmare enveloped you like a suffocating fog, the terror coursing through your veins as you gasped for air, your heart racing. Your breath came in quick, shallow bursts, and a sense of overwhelming dread washed over you, pushing you to the brink of tears.

Peter woke up immediately, instinctively sensing your distress. He turned to face you, concern etched across his features as the dim light from the streetlamp filtered into the room, casting soft shadows on his worried expression. “Hey, hey… it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm in the chaos of your mind.

He reached out, instinctively placing a hand on your back, a gentle touch that sent warmth spreading through you. His fingers were cool against your heated skin, grounding you in the moment. “You’re safe. I’m right here,” he reassured, his voice steady yet soft.

You felt a mix of embarrassment and relief washed over you as you turned to face him, tears brimming in your eyes. “I— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you stammered, your voice trembling as you fought to compose yourself. “It’s like I can’t escape it.”

Peter's gaze softened as he shifted closer, allowing the space between you to disappear. “It’s not your fault,” he insisted gently, his hand moving to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing away an escaped tear. “These things happen, and it doesn’t make you weak.”

You leaned into his touch, seeking comfort in his warmth. “But it feels so real… so heavy,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The connection between you felt electric, and for a moment, the weight of the nightmares lifted just a fraction.

“Then let me help you,” Peter offered, his eyes unwavering as he searched yours for understanding. “I’ll be right here. We can face it together.”

With a mix of gratitude and longing, you nodded, feeling the tension in your chest begin to ease. Slowly, Peter shifted closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against him. You melted into his embrace, your head resting on his chest as his warmth enveloped you like a protective cocoon.

“Thank you, Peter,” you breathed, the sincerity in your words hanging in the air between you. The simple act of being held felt like a lifeline, a tether that anchored you against the storm of your mind.

“You’re not alone,” he murmured, his voice gentle yet firm, as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. The reassuring gesture made your heart flutter, and you found comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

“I just… I don’t want to feel this way anymore,” you confessed, your voice muffled against his shirt. The fear and vulnerability poured out of you, but nestled in his embrace, it felt manageable.

“I know,” Peter replied softly, his fingers threading through your hair as he held you close. “But I’m here, and we’ll figure it out together. Just focus on my voice.”

As you listened to his words, the warmth of his body and the strength of his presence began to chase away the shadows lurking in your mind. With every inhale, you felt the anxiety start to fade, replaced by a sense of safety you had longed for.

“Just breathe,” he whispered, his breath warm against your hair. With his arm securely around you, you could finally let go, surrendering to the comfort of the moment. The nightmares may have returned, but now, you had someone to face them with, and that made all the difference.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

[themuffin2649]

Muffin! Muffin!

For the Haunted AU!

Let's say one of the LIs kill MC (either by accident or on purpose), and he comes back to haunt them.

Ranging from trying to make them feel guilty, making their lofe a living heck, to just pissing them off.

"Please stop hiding my stuff!"

*Ghost!MC knocks down a cup filled with water*

Here are some Scenarios:

1: Doll (Leon killed the MC in his Bad end 2)

After school and basketball practice, Leon returns to hang out with his best friend. They chat… well… only Leon talks. This is because his friend isnt really… alive. In fact, he and a classmate named Reme worked together to Taxidermy what remains of his body.

Creepy: Yes, but Leon didn’t mind, because his best friend was perfect.

Leon: “I love you dear.” He says, and he kisses the cheek of his Taxidermied friend.

They start watching a movie about haunted dolls (Annabelle or Chucky), but Leon’s not really entertained by it. He looked back at the doll and leaned on it like a pillow. As Leon was starting to fall asleep, he felt something hugging him.

Leon: “huh?”

When he rubs his eyes, he can see that MC’s Taxidermied doll is hugging him back, and Leon makes a scream loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood up.

Ghost!MC: “What’s wrong Leon? I thought you loved hugs 😈”

Leon: “not like this.” cries

…

2: Take care of him 🔫 (Vincent kills MC)

After learning that MC was dead, Vincent’s Uncle cuts off all finantial aid, leaving poor Newt without a family and in poverty. In pure rage, MC haunts Vincent.

Uncle: “Vincent! I just got your essay back, and the teacher told me you wrote something very innapropreate on the paper.”

Vincent: “What?!”

Vincent’s Uncle shows his paper, with vandalism that says “[Teacher] is a poopy head!” With a poop emoji drawn onto it.

Vincent: “That’s NOT my handwriting, or my drawing style! I’ll talk to my teacher tomorrow to see what happened.

Vincent thinks that Leon did it out of anger, but that wasn’t right, Leon’s form of revenge would have been a bone-breaking beating. Looking again, the handwriting was… familiar… It almost looked like.

Vincent: “Honey?!”

Ghost!MC: “Ahh, so you figured it out.”

Vincent: “Honey, y-you’re back!” He said, tears forming on his eyes in both relief and fear.

Ghost!MC: “Shut up, you wanna know what happened after I died. Your Uncle cut off all financial aid to my brother. He had no choice but to live with Jon!”

Vincent opens his mouth, but before he says another word, MC throws a glass vase on the wall out anger.

Ghost!MC: “Listen to me! You are going to take care of my brother in whatever means you can. If you don’t, then I’ll do everything in my power to make your life a living hell!”

Vincent didn’t even realize he was shaking, but seeing the fury behind his honeybee’s eyes, he could tell he was dead serious (pun intended).

The following days, Vincent used his parents money to financially support Newt behind his uncle’s back. Newt was suspicious and confused about the random financial support after “mom” and “dad” cut him off, but money was money.

Sometimes, as a reward for helping his brother, MC gifts him chocolates, roses, or good grades.

…

3: Love Letter (this can apply to anybody)

So whichever LI kills MC does not only feel a tremendous amount of guilt, but over time, their rival keeps receiving love letters from the dead MC. The rival thinks that Newt is giving these letters written from when MC was still alive.

Meanwhile, MC makes sure that the murderer sees that he is the one writing the letters after his death to spite him off. Even lets him see what he wrote before sending it off to the rival.

Leon’s love letter: “Leon, when I’m by your side, I always feel safe and protected. You have protected me for 8 years, and I have never regretted meeting you. Not only are you a great basketball player, strong and dependent, but you’re also very soft and sweet like a teddy bear. You’ve also care for an protected my brother like you did for me. Thank you for everything. 🩷”

Vincent’s love letter: “Vincent, you are so much more than your family’s money. Although we have only recently met, your determination to get the things you want has inspired me, yet, you still care deeply about me. Not once did you care about our financial differences, you’ve always cared for and cherished me. I love you. ❤️”

What better way to show your anger than Emotional Damage.

[danaduchy]

Kivan trudged through the biting winds, his heart as cold as the frozen wilderness around him. His journey to this distant, unforgiving land had been long and perilous, but he would not be deterred. The faces of his family and friends, murdered in cold blood by the vampires he now hunted, haunted his every step. Revenge had fueled him, driven him across borders, and now he found himself in Skyrim, hoping to find clues that would lead him to his quarry.

His arrival in Skyrim had been chaotic. Helgen—where he had barely escaped the chaos of a dragon's sudden attack—had given him no leads. Only fire, death, and uncertainty. But Kivan’s purpose remained unchanged. He had heard rumors of an ancient order of vampire hunters operating somewhere in the region, the Dawnguard. If anyone could help him in his quest for vengeance, it would be them. His first lead pointed him towards Riften, a shadowy city rife with corruption, where Kivan hoped to uncover information about the vampire menace.

Yet, after days of searching, speaking to the wrong sorts of people, and asking questions that led him down dark alleys, Kivan’s efforts in Riften yielded nothing. No one seemed to know—or care—about the Dawnguard. Disappointed, Kivan decided his next move would be to the College of Winterhold. The famed library there might contain ancient texts or forgotten lore on the vampires and the order that hunted them. But the road to Winterhold was treacherous, and Kivan knew better than to travel alone in such dangerous times.

It was in the city’s inn, The Bee and Barb, that Kivan encountered Marcurio. The roguish Imperial mage had been loitering in Riften, his sharp tongue and sharper wit earning him little more than a few bruises from unsavory characters. Marcurio had come to Skyrim with dreams of gold and glory, but Riften had proved a poor place for mercenary work. He was growing desperate for coin when he noticed the grim, armored ranger at the bar—a man who looked as if he needed protection, but whose eyes spoke of deep wounds.

“Need some firepower for the road?” Marcurio asked, his voice both cocky and tired. “I’m the best mage you’ll find in Riften, and I don’t come cheap… but I’m willing to offer a discount if you’re heading somewhere interesting.”

Kivan, having sold nearly all his remaining belongings to fund his journey, had little choice. He saw the desperation in Marcurio’s eyes, but also the raw skill beneath the bravado. So, he agreed. Kivan gave Marcurio what coin he had, and together, they set off for the College of Winterhold.

He had stocked up on provisions back in Whiterun, hoping to find a caravan heading north. But with the civil war brewing between the Stormcloaks and the Empire, most merchants stuck to safer routes. It had left Kivan with little choice but to buy a horse, spending more gold than he could afford. It still pained him to think of the cost, but he couldn’t very well make the trek on foot—not with the snowstorms that could blow in without warning and bury a man alive. The journey north was dangerous, as expected. Wolves, bandits, and the cold conspired against them, but they managed to survive by relying on each other’s strengths. Marcurio’s magic proved invaluable, his bolts of lightning and walls of flame scattering enemies before they could get too close. Kivan, with his skill in archery and his keen senses, navigated the wilds and kept them both alive with his resourcefulness.

Once in Winterhold, Kivan scoured the College's library for days. He found ancient texts, crumbling tomes filled with cryptic passages, and stories of dark forces and vampire lords, but nothing specific about the Dawnguard. His frustration grew, but he was unwilling to give up.

Marcurio, on the other hand, had expected to part ways here. He wasn’t particularly interested in Kivan’s vendetta, only in getting paid. But the cold, dreary isolation of Winterhold presented even fewer opportunities than Riften had. With no other options and little coin to his name, Marcurio decided to accompany Kivan further. Solitude, Kivan had said, might offer more answers, and so they journeyed west.

In Solitude, Kivan learned nothing new about the Dawnguard, and the two men parted ways—Kivan to continue his hunt, and Marcurio to seek fortune elsewhere. It was a quiet, unceremonious end to their partnership, each man going his own way.

But fate had a strange way of bringing them back together.

Weeks later, at the Winking Skeever inn, their paths crossed once more. Kivan had joined the Bard’s College and was preparing to leave on a mission to retrieve King Olaf’s Verse, a lost piece of Nordic history. He hadn’t asked Marcurio to join him. After all, the Imperial mage had made it clear before that he was only in it for the coin.

Yet, when Marcurio saw Kivan sitting alone at the bar, a mixture of determination and weariness on his face, something stirred within him. Kivan had risked everything—his life, his fortune—for a cause that seemed impossible. Perhaps it was the memory of their shared struggles on the road, or perhaps it was something deeper, but Marcurio realized he couldn’t simply walk away. Not this time.

Without being asked, Marcurio joined Kivan on his journey to recover the Verse. The dangerous crypts and treacherous foes they faced during that mission only cemented their partnership. It wasn’t about coin anymore. It wasn’t about survival. Somewhere along the way, the mage and the hunter had become bound by a strange camaraderie, born from shared danger and a mutual respect neither had expected.

From that point onward, Marcurio never left Kivan’s side. Together, they scoured the wilds of Skyrim, seeking the vampires that had destroyed Kivan’s life. And though the road was long and fraught with peril, Kivan no longer walked it alone. He had found an unlikely ally in the sharp-tongued, cynical mage, and though they both knew the end of their journey was uncertain, they would face it together.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Hoarding Behavior #6

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: death mentions

Curt felt awful about the whole affair. It was gross. Taking an innocent young man and letting him be devoured for the sake of what? Some building materials?

Was it really worth a life just to have a larger village?

It troubled him. Guilt sat in the back of his mind like a rotting corpse, tainting more and more of his thoughts over the weeks. The image of the slave pleading for them to let him go, that he didn’t want to die to the jaws of the dragon, haunted his dreams until he could no longer bear it.

He went to the priest, but there was nothing the church could offer him. It wasn’t a sin, they said, it was for the greater good. One man’s life in exchange for security.

It still didn’t settle him. 

The ghost of the man (he didn’t even ask his name before he died) still lingered in his soul. 

Curt thought of the bones at the cave’s entrance. 

He couldn’t undo his death, but maybe he could lay the young man to rest. Find some remains, bury him in the churchyard, with flowers and thanks and a proper funeral. 

Curt waited until the dragon flew west and disappeared past the horizon. He picked his way through the woods.

But as he examined the ground, there were no fresh bones. All the shards and skeletons were sun-bleached and weathered. 

He’d have to venture into the cave to look for him, or the man would never be at peace.

Curt grabbed the torch he brought and lit it with the flint and steel in his pocket. He crept into the cavern. 

It seemed… small. It only took a few minutes to reach the back wall, and the size of the tunnel just didn’t make sense. He turned and looked towards the exit. The cave was funnel shaped, not nearly the size it boasted from the outside.

Huh.

And still, no sign of the dead man. 

An eerie scrap of iron on stone echoed around him.

“Hello?” he called.

Silence.

Then he heard it again, from behind. Curt turned, and only saw the smooth wall of the cave. He reached out to touch the back wall, and it fluttered and bent under his touch.

What?

He pushed, and the- the fabric- gave way to reveal the true dragon’s den.

And in it sat the slave. Alive.

The man was sitting in a nest of pillows and furs. He hadn’t turned and seen Curt yet. He was dressed in skimpy purple clothes that showed off his shoulders and back, and gold sat on his arms and wrists.

Curt’s eyes followed the length of chain around the room, and it led out and into the nest. The dragon was keeping him like a dog on a rope.

He took a step towards the man, and he turned, startled. 

“Hey,” said Curt. 

“Um, h- hello.” The man looked scared of him, and Curt couldn’t understand why. Surely another human would be a welcome sight.

“Do you remember me? From before? I’m Curt. What’s your name?”

“I remember. I’m called River.”

Curt chewed the inside of his cheek. He eyed the lock of the shackle. It didn’t look complicated.

“I could get you out of here,” he offered. 

“What?”

“I could pick the lock, and we could sneak away.” River looked down at his hands.

“I- I dunno.”

“C’mon,” said Curt, “Do you really want to be stuck in here with a dragon?”

River shrank away. “It’s better here,” he protested.

“What- how? You’re a prisoner!” He glanced over his shoulder. No dragon.

“It’s better than slavery,” argued River, “Master doesn’t hurt me like humans do. He takes care of me. And where would I go?” He wrapped his arms around himself. “I can’t read or write. I’ve never trained in anything. I don’t want to be whipped and sold again.”

Curt opened his mouth to argue, but what could he say? River was a slave. The mark on the back of his neck was obvious.

Curt didn’t know what exactly River went through before, but he could guess. 

“But he still hurts you,” he said, still dubious.

“I’m safe here,” said River, shaking his head. “Just go away and forget about me.”

“You could be safe and free in the village. I’d protect you,” he offered. It would be difficult, but Curt could swing it.

“You don’t get it. He loves me,” insisted River, desperation in his voice. 

“That- that’s,” he stammered. “He’s a dragon.” 

A massive thud sounded in the tunnel. Shit.

River didn’t seem alarmed, instead shifting to sit up straight. Dread pooled in Curt’s gut.

He turned to the small entrance, and wondered how the dragon would fit through the doorway. He didn’t have to wait long. 

A… man with ruby horns and a shimmering tail walked into the cave. He saw Curt immediately and snarled, smoke pouring from his mouth. Fuck.

“I- I’m sorry-”

“You are trespassing,” he hissed, stalking towards him.

“I was just-” the dragon grabbed him by the front of his shirt, lifting him up off the ground.

“What?” he growled, “What were you ‘just’ doing? Stealing?”

“No!” he squirmed, “I was looking for his body!” The dragon put him down. 

“Explain.”

“I-” he glanced between the dragon and River. “I thought you killed him,” he whimpered. “I wanted to bury his body.”

The dragon stepped back, tilting his head and looking him up and down. He strolled around to River, a clear dismissal.

“My treasure,” he cooed, petting River’s hair with his clawed hand. “Did he hurt you?”

“No Master,” said River, leaning into the touch like a cat. The dragon hummed, pleased. He turned to Curt and bared his teeth.

“Get out.” 

Curt sprinted to the door, running out into the tunnel, chest heaving as he stumbled through the woods. He ran until he couldn’t anymore, slumping against a tree. He panted as he struggled to catch his breath.

River was right, he should just forget and go home. He never wanted to get that close to death again.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1

[devil-doll13]

(Don’t Fear) The Reaper

Ciarán x Gn!Reader.

Tw: Gender neutral reader, also reader gets kidnapped by Ciarán so yeah, somewhat Dark Romance, Stockholm Syndrome as the reader is imprisoned/isolated, Angst, reader is very autistic coded idk it just happened the fic was doing whatever it wanted, also you die at the end… Sorry. This is a bit of new territory for me so please tell me if anything else needs to be tagged!

I’m out of the writing block gulag and I present to you, this… Fic. It sort of ended up being almost fairytale-like in nature because that just made sense for this character. Hope you enjoy.

Dividers by firefly-graphics

Spring

One day, you must run away. Far away, into the wilderness of your country, and leave behind you the pains of the day.

The first sprouts of the year have perked up above the soil, but they do not bloom yet. The grip of winter still holds life captive, a thick white mist blanketing the ground in an eerie shroud. The stone walls of your haunting ground jut out of the land like the teeth of felled giants, grey and silent. Then down yonder, the slabs of the stone circle stand guard like sentinels, murky in the fog. What they protect, who can say; or perhaps it is something you are protected from, as the elders in your village have told you.

You wander over the moorlands and clamber over streams and bogs, well loved and well travelled. From time to time you sit and rest upon a rock protrusion, humming some innsong, feeling some tension leave you, watching the day go by and the birds fly free, unbothered by your quiet presence. Later you think you had better make for home again - though it may be unwelcoming to you - lest you find yourself wandering the countryside ‘till the wee hours of the morning, led astray by visions in the mist.

And strange visions you indeed have.

The air is thick with some unknown energy. Alive, it seems, with the buzz of a hundred thousand watchers. All peering at you, the foolish little mortal, who has long frequented their mushroom doors and ancient tree carvings and hidden glades glittering in the sunlight. You, so unaware, so painfully human. You have known them for almost as long, though you remain but a trifling amusement in their eyes. Only one - one as alone and bereft as you - sees you truly and wishes to know you truly, more than any fellow villager would care to know you.

Then, he appears before you; or reveals himself.

His shadow falls onto you in the fading light of the setting sun, and you can do little but stumble into the bogwater and scream before this dusky knight and his dark mare are upon you. He reaches out and captures you in his arms, deathly cold like you imagine the inside of a coffin. You struggle in vain, but his grip is a vice, cutting and metal, hard. All goes dark as you imagine you have been killed; been taken by the reaper, perhaps God has come to destroy you for your wickedness, your sins and abnormalities.

It remains dark when you awake. But no longer are you held so tightly; you lay on soft, blanketing bedsheets. Adrenaline jolts you upright and you cry out in panic at the ghastly sight of your kidnapper, the icy fire hissing and flaring at the base of his neck, the only dim source of light to illuminate the room you’re in. He towers over you, imposing, stealing your breath from your chest.

“Please, please don’t hurt me…” You choke out.

The flames hiss louder, sharper, which only makes you more frightened, but he makes no moves to harm you. He gazes over your trembling form, seeming almost nervous in the way his gauntlets fumble. Still, you grimace away when he steps closer and reveals a small handkerchief, glowing. But it is not the fabric, you realise, but what is held inside.

Golden apples, their scent so sweet and intoxicating, and water from the clearest spring. He nudges you, though not forcefully, to eat and drink; still you have no choice, you think. As you bite into the fruit, you feel it numb your senses, and soon you give in to tiredness and fear and go to sleep, hoping and praying you had been dreaming; imagination wild and disturbed.

But no Springtime dream is this; you awake there, but mercifully warm. The soft bedsheets are still draped over you, lovingly arranged. A single source of light sits atop a podium, carved in a strange, circular fashion unlike any mortal design you have known. You sit up and see it is a glass bauble full of fireflies.

Your captor is nowhere to be seen. For a while you languish in your foreign bed and feel no desire to leave it, but fear of his return spurs you to leap from it, still dressed in your travel clothes. There must be some way out of this shadowy place, you reason, and with a feverish sweat and pounding heart you seize the flickering glass ball and try to navigate your way out of your room.

You cannot tell how much time has passed since you were taken here, for you are surrounded by grim, rocky walls overtaken by black ivy. It smells of damp moss and ancient dust, and the dark, cavernous space echoes your unsure footsteps back at you. Soon, you begin to suspect you must be trapped in the bowels of some dungeon, imprisoned here. Your heart, so heavy in your ribcage, sinks ever further into the abyss as you realise there seems to be no clear path back to your home. It is a labyrinth, your route only discernible by the uncanny murals etched across the stone.

You then feel a sudden itch urging you to turn back, to seek out the safety of your new cage, and the foreboding metallic steps sounding from the end of the gloomy hallway hastens your flight away from here. You hide underneath your sheets, as if a child again, and cry bitterly. You are not brave enough to face your kidnapper, nor are you willing to endure whatever tortures he will subject you to. You, so young, so full of life before, can see no way out of this all-consuming darkness.

Summer

After some further attempts, your hope fades into apathy, and you give yourself to grim resignation. You sleep as much as you are able, and dream of better things, of your village. Burrowing into your sheets like a worm into soil, feeling twice as wretched. You wonder if you are missed - or at least if your work is missed - or if your absence is noticed at all. For years you longed to disappear off to somewhere quiet and peaceful, but not like this.

Now you regret those wishes; your most desperate plea to God is that he spirit you back home.

Your captor visits to give you food and drink, though you have lost all appetite and eye the apples warily, remembering your sleepy daze when you ate them last. More unnervingly, he lingers in your room and watches you, sitting or standing. He does nothing to you, so eventually you start to feel a little safer in his presence, but no less anxious. Sometimes you try to speak to him, to reason with him:

“Who are you?”

“What do you want from me?”

“Why won’t you let me go?”

All met with silence. He has no head; you suppose he cannot speak. You are certain now that he is not human, and though his appearance is that of a knight, you see no heraldry to mark his allegiance to any kingdom. You begin to wonder if he is some vengeful or sorrowful spirit, accompanying you in death; or if he is the Devil, subjecting you to your own personal tormenting Hell. Your nervous thoughts quickly spiral out of control, and you toss and turn without rest.

Soon you tire of laying in bed, of the neverending sleep, and with your little light source venture out again into the labyrinth. This time you take a thread from your clothing - as worn and frayed as they now are - and use it to remember your way. You still fear what may happen should your captor meet you outside of your room; though he has been docile and calm for all the time you have known him, you know the nature of such otherworldly beings can be fickle.

Perhaps now the overworld has been cast in balmy Summer, the April showers past and gentle breezes blowing fresh, warm air into the fields, crops swaying. For an unknown amount of time, you have been stuck here, and seen no face but your own, reflected back at you in the Spring water. As far as you can tell, the only other being in this place that is not your captor is his beautiful black mare. She resides sometimes in a sort of rock stable, which you come across during one of your tentative trips outside your room.

In life, you felt an affinity for animals, preferred over other people, demanding and loud. She is rarely without her rider, but in those odd moments you creep into her living space and offer her your gilded apple. You braid her black mane and comb your fingers through it, all the while wishing you were back home and with the steady workhorses. She is like none other that you have seen in your memory, strong and dark and with wise, inquisitive eyes.

One of these times, you happen upon your captor doing the same. It is far too startling to see him dote on the mare as you do, with gentleness you have never seen him display before; or never cared to notice. You leave quickly and try to dispel the memory of it, so little does it fit your fearful perception of him.

Now you begin to study the mysterious murals by light of the bauble full of fireflies; simply for lack of things to do. They tell strange tales, but they all seem interconnected somehow, and though they resemble no Christian creation, you can still recognise their unearthly beauty. Over many trips outside to decipher them, you piece together the story of a knight who, seemingly having committed a great sin, is banished from the fair courts and made an exile, cast into the dark realm you now live in…

Only too late do you recognise the knight as your captor. It hits you unpleasantly, for you spent some time filled with pity and empathising with his plight. Both of you, prisoners of this place, and now he sees fit to chain you here in fetters alongside him.

Of course. No one, human or not, would wish to live in this awful place. Not willingly. An eternity of being alone, surrounded by this gloom and reminders of your own failures, would be unbearable. You understand this so keenly, for weren’t you alone before? Loneliness, A frighteningly human sentiment to associate with that terrifying figure. How could you sympathise with him, your jailer? You remember again the gentleness with which he tended to his horse, and feel disgusted, confused.

Your stomach ties itself into knots as you stand there, thinking and feeling too much. But then, you hear again the sound of footsteps approaching, and in panic you almost drop the bauble filled with fireflies. It is too close. You sprint back along your path of string, and there you see him towering over you, and flee fearfully back to your room to drag the great door shut and prevent his entry. Far too soon, you hear a great weight thrown against it that reverberates in your very bones. You recall that sword that lies by his hip, lethal-

“I’m not letting you in!” You cry, shivering.

He stops. There is quiet from behind the door.

For a moment, you feel an icy wave of terror wash over you. Have you overstepped? Will he force his way in now, and kill you for your insolence?

“I-I’m not letting you in until you agree to let me go.”

You swallow thickly, holding fast to your momentary courage; if you have dug your own grave by now, you may as well lie in it.

Silence. Then, you flinch as you hear the metallic step of his sharp sabatons, scraping against the floor. They become more distant and faint, until you are certain that he is walking away, away into the labyrinth to do God knows what, only you hope he does not come back to punish you.

You cannot sleep after that. Fear and hunger gnaw at your senses; you fed your apple to your captor’s mare. Miserable, you try distracting yourself by humming that innsong, but you find you have forgotten the tune. Little by little, your past life is slipping away from you.

When he opens the great door, you cannot stop him. But this time, he does not pass the threshold. You watch as this massive armoured being does the most unexpected thing: he kneels before you. His flames burn brightly, as deep a blue as Summer’s night sky. In his sharp, unsure gauntlets he offers up a bundle of fabric you quickly recognise as a collection of your old clothes, and between his fingers he clutches a beautiful red poppy.

This… You stare at him, unable to think or speak.

He does not move, only remains bended at the knee, awaiting your response. Your mouth is dry. Even you recognise this as a romantic gesture. Your captor is trying to court you, his own prisoner. You want to laugh at him for his absurdity; laugh madly.

“…I’m not taking it unless you let me out.” You say.

But he does not agree; or he cannot communicate without action. Still you know that your attempt to escape is futile, and that refusing the gift would ultimately be pointless. Slowly, hands shaking, you receive the gift. The fire on his neck hisses, flaring so suddenly it would’ve made you jump in the past. Now, you expect it. As a show of defiance, you still shut the great door on him, and he makes no effort to stop you. Soon, you hear his footsteps again, fading into the dark unknown.

You look down at your hands full of items. The poppy almost appears as if it will wilt in your fingers; in this place without life or light. You know now that it is Summer, and some sense of peace and calm washes over you. Now, with your old clothing, with a reminder of the overworld, you feel at strange ease.

Autumn

By now, you have adapted well to your new routine.

There is no sun, and the only way you can measure days or weeks is by the frequency of his visits. Each time he returns, he kneels upon his knee to meet you, offering a poppy. Each time you reject him, only you ask if he will let you go, or let you see your home again. He refuses, then leaves to resume his duty. Thus begins and ends the cycle of day and night.

Your suitor is not forceful, but he is persistent. He brings you other things, too, to make your cage more homely. It is the most comfortable and warm place you know in this underneath, catered to your fragile human body. You feel betrayed by your own emotions, as you find yourself touched by his consideration. You know you are a prisoner here, but somehow you see him in new light; with no others to talk to, you have started to confide in him despite your risky position here. He stays close and endures your occasional insults, and now you suspect he delights in your better mood, or at least in the idea that you have accepted your fate.

You speak, he listens, and watches you. Before, no one would ever do this, and dismiss you. All your flights of fancy, no matter how strange, are humoured in a way you never expected. When you express a desire to see something that will grow still in this barren place, your idea for a mushroom farm is fulfilled. It gives you something to do and look at; you adopt hobbies and pastimes you never considered before, too burdened with your work.

Still, you refuse his love. But as time passes, you feel less discomforted by his presence. His aura is calm and steady, reassuring like something ancient that has been in existence forever, like the stone circle you remember from your home. Then, as you feel more secure in your standing here, you leave your room again to explore the labyrinth.

Now when you meet him here, you greet him. You are no longer afraid, for you have learned with time that he detests to harm you. He starts, as if he is just as surprised as you yourself are. Together you sit in the dark, two prisoners at peace. When you feel tired, he extends a hand to you, offering to pull you up. You hesitate for a moment, remembering how he snatched you before. Still, you take it, and though it is cold it is not discomforting like you expect, but solid and cool. Without thinking, you hook your arm into his, though he is tall and dwarfs you. He leads you happily back to your room so you may sleep, and when you watch him leave you find yourself wondering what his hand, underneath the gauntlet, truly feels like.

After that, the connection between the two of you begins to strengthen. The barrier that kept you from touching now has seemingly been broken, and when you walk to and from your chamber it is together, arms linked as if you were both on a leisurely stroll. When you pretend that it is, it makes things simpler, so that you can forget the gloom that surrounds you. Better shackled as one than divided and alone, left to rot in this desolate place.

So your affection for him is not only of the heart, but rational. You make the most of your shared imprisonment. Perhaps you forget that it was he that dragged you down here, but as he caresses your face so lovingly, it no longer seems to matter. You learn then that his embrace is strong and enveloping, and see ashen skin beneath the armour which you kiss, falling further into the abyss, losing sight of all that you had sworn to fight against. He is, to you, as devoted and passionate a lover as any human man could be, and far greater still. You no longer have the willpower to deny your heart’s desires.

Perhaps now the outside world had begun to wither and die, as the seasons change and the leaves begin to fall, rotting into the dirt. You, a trifling mortal, should see fit to be buried with them; but your fate has been altered, changed now. Loving so utterly has transformed your heart and mind, your soul, and you still eat of the sweetest fruits and drink from the clearest spring, boons earned by your lover’s exploits. You now wish to become like him, without end. To become deathless, and forget, forget it all…

Winter

Still, you recall the sweetness of spring, the fruits of summer, the colours fading in the harvest, giving way to cold and deathlike winter.

This time, when you ask him once again to bring you back to your mortal world, it is not to leave him, but to experience these joys once more before you must let them go forever. To be his forever. He agrees, though reluctantly, as if you are terribly fragile and sick; though you feel so feverishly cheerful, as if you have gained new life and new being now. Only he bids you to hold on tightly to him, gripping your hands firmly in his as he holds the reins. You obey and bury your face into his travel cloak, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. The atmosphere shifts, the air is fresh, and you breathe in deeply, crisp and serene.

Your eyes, accustomed to darkness now, sting painfully in the light. Even though the skies are grey, sombre clouds brooding over the land, you see life once again for the first time in an aeon. Dying now - or already dead - to be reborn in the next life.

“I want to see my-my old home...” Your teeth chatter. He squeezes your hands that tremble against his chestplate. It is cold; not like he is cold, but from the bitter chill of winter. Under your shared shroud of fog, the grass is frozen, you see all around you the pale glaze of white. All is still, and the howling gale quiets in your lover’s commanding presence, pacified.

Together you ride across the moor, concealed by shimmering mist. Though you still recognise your country, you soon realise it has been changed. Then, with horror, that your old house has long been gone. All is replace now with new, alien structures and colours and brightness, a future so grotesque you are repulsed by it. You regret coming here now.

How many years have passed? The familiarity, the comfort you expected to find here, is gone. All that is left now is urgency and confusion and noise. Time has abandoned you as readily as anyone you have ever known; except for him, your lover. You no longer belong here, but to him, to his world.

You look at your hands. What is your essence, now not human, but also not like him? Now you feel that you wish to turn back, return to the dark and quiet of the underneath. But your folly leaves you untethered to your lover’s cloak, and in that moment his mare draws up and you slip off her back.

Then, you fall from the horse. You hit the ground.

As your body touches bitter soil and earth, you revert entirely; for you always have belonged to the overworld, a mortal fool. Your hands soon appear gnarled and withered, your hair overgrown and grey, as you age into a feeble elder, returning once again to the dying land. The last thing you see is that black gauntlet reaching out for you, as longingly as it did on that Spring day. But Death takes you first and steals you away, a cruel twist of fate that ends your story, as pitiful and as unfortunate as it had began.

(Taglist: @rottent33th, @slaasherslut, @the-pinstriped-hood, @goldrose-star, @soupbabe, @bluecoolr, @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @flower-crowned-lady, @solmints-messyocdiary, @probably-a-plant-thing, @myers-meadow)

[thekrows-nest]

Huge wall of speculation incoming.

I have no idea if the OG! - Vamp! connection hinting at the mantra relates to stuff I’ve guessed at but hasn’t been publicly confirmed, or if it’s stuff that even I haven’t touched on.

Let’s see… let’s first go over what I do know.

The hunger is obvious. 

OG Krow is notoriously food insecure and that’s where his organ harvesting side hustle comes in. His thirst for fluids… if you know you know. He’s also metaphorically ‘empty’ because he’s been so emotionally neglected and lonely. Also his job and the dog eat dog survival growing up may have desensitised him to a lot of emotions like guilt, empathy (for those who give a reason) or fear.

As well as being a really striking visual it makes sense with all of this for Vampire Krow to have a gaping void at his core, a ravening hunger and thirst, an empty belly and no heart. Traditional vetala also prefer to feed on intestines so there’s that too.

OG Krow is an artist, and creativity is his entire drive outside Dove. (It could be argued that as a muse who broke his art block, Dove is even an extension of that.) Maybe there is some of that remaining.

OG Krow loves music and has sensitive hearing.

OG Krow is clever and sneaky, easily underestimated.

OG Krow loves birds. Perhaps that can be used in some way.

OG Krow was/is homeless, hypervigilant, stealthy, has wonky sleep schedule but great physical stamina. 

Vampire Krow may be tethered to one place or haunting abandoned places, but if he may have travelled to America he may have been cursed to wander. Or just have free will like most vamps. Or is being forced to move around to avoid being killed, or endlessly chase more prey. I don’t know.

I do know he doesn’t have an opulent mansion and probably doesn’t have a safe secure resting place. Vampire Krow doesn’t tire because he has nowhere safe to rest with other monsters hunting him and is always seeking the next meal. He can possibly be active night or day but might use stealth/night for easy meals if he still has enough sanity to not just charge in.

OG Krow is Bengali/Indian. 

In the subcontinent it would reallllly suck for him if he was weak to the sun. Or garlic. Or superstition. Too easy.

You know what? Both Krows have freckles and OG Krow curls up in bed to stay warm (maybe that’s just his substandard accommodation). I headcanon that if Vampire Krow  ever gets a moment of peace or if prey is unavailable he's sitting in the sun to get nice and dark or just not caring about it, he can barely feel the warmth but imagines it’s still a source of energy (prana) and maybe it warms his cold dead body. He tries to remember it from when he was alive. 

Maybe he even uproots and crushes cloves of garlic into his mouth because the strong acrid flavour is the only thing that still registers, or eats it like a starving human eats grass. 

Whoaaa… In some religious contexts Hindus may consider the strong odor of onions and garlic ‘impure’ and avoid them during sacred occasions or religious rituals. It is veg food though.

However like OG Krow he may not have been allowed to learn about Hindu beliefs. Despite having memories of life, having Hindu roots and being traumatized by colonization, I still don’t know what garlic means for Vampire Krow either way. If it’s good or bad. I’m going to say it’s not effective because it’s so well known against European vampires.

I don’t think Vampire Krow gives a single crap about crosses, or (if OG Krow had the religious upbringing I have brought up as a Krack theory) they may just make him angrier. This is a fairly traditional weakness anyway. 

Krack theory… OG Krow as orphan or in foster care?

Part of living Vampire Krow’s trauma under occupation may have been being orphaned or taken from his parents for colonisers to raise. 

I don’t think this is it as OG Krow is Bengali/Indian but there were also cases of British men siring children and returning overseas, abandoning mother and child to fend for themselves. Not a great position to be in in poverty, war, and famine… may have led to the loss of his mother or their separation.

This doesn’t square with him being turned as an adult unless there’s some device like slowly aging or he was just reaching age. But abuse of children of colour in ‘children’s homes’ was rife, mortality was high and covered up, and children were the favourite prey of traditional vetala. I actually have no idea how or why he was turned.

So. This is all I have so far.

Blind unreasoning hunger (greed), (bloodlust?) or rage may lead Vampire Krow into traps or destruction/capture by another monster. (Either Vishnu or Krishna said downfall comes through greed, lust or rage.)

Appeals to any remaining humanity may be somewhat helpful.

He may be bribed with… liquids. Or mangoes?

Water from the Ganges seems to be the equivalent of holy water.

Offers to braid his hair did seemed to give him pause. And marriage proposals? In Indian culture it can be inauspicious to have open (untied) hair and the attention and sensation of braiding might remind him of life. Or lust.

Perhaps Vampire Krow may be mesmerized by art or beauty. Perhaps he can be distracted by looking at or making mehndi.

Maybe he can be enthralled by music or given pause by loud sounds.

Maybe you have to be wary of him pretending to be trapped or enthralled, only to suddenly lunge.

He may pause to look at released birds, or stop to collect strewn feathers.

You cannot sneak up on him or outrun him as you will be taken unaware or tire before he does. I believe the term is persistence predator.

Krow mayyyy be weak to intense cold? Or at least not really like it.

Turmeric is an auspicious spice and to be avoided during mourning so maybe he’s weak to that? He may still be given momentary pause by Hindu taboos from when he was alive? Assuming he was allowed to learn about it.

He may have trauma from life around young ones being taken or hurt, and might be persuaded to spare babies or children.

As to the specific mantra relevant to OG Krow, I still don’t know. There may have to be some more lore drops before I even have the faintest hunch.

But I did look for mantras for abandoned babies and came up with another chant to Narasimha - then randomly stumbled on something interesting.

There was once a deva named Hiranyakashipu who sought the boon of invulnerability against most weapons and causes of death, and to become so strong that only Lord Vishnu could kill him. Beast, deva and man could not kill him, he could be killed neither at night or in the day, not inside nor outside, on the earth or in the sky, by weapons either living nor nonliving… 

Then one day Hiranyakasipu had a grievance and sought to kill Narasimha (the fourth avatar of Vishnu). Hiranyakasipu was then attacked by Narasimha under the perfect conditions to circumvent it all.

Narasimha took a form that was part human and part animal, attacked Hiranyakasipu at twilight, and did it at the threshold to his house. Narasimha laid the deva on his own thighs (off the ground but not in the sky) and killed him by disembowelment with his claws.

Probably not why Vampire Krow is gutted but an interesting coincidence all the same. 

So I’m guessing that Krow has a number of conditions under which he can’t be killed or at least things that won’t work, and so there may have to be some creative thinking, riddling and loophole abuse.

Vishnu/Narasimha also does seem to be the one to pray to for defense from demons or evil spirits.

Took a bit to get to this because my god what a novel that is this ask. /pos

I appreciate that you make me much more of a genius in character design than I really am Krowspiracy. /silly I guess it's one of those things that even if the creator didn't consciously go into a design with certain thoughts, it still subconsciously bleeds (ha) through. Maybe I still am a genius?

...New canon for Vampire Krow. He absolutely lounges in the sun whenever he does have a moment's peace. He probably doesn't really warm up any more, or really feel it, but, it's a moment to try and reflect back on when he was alive. To try and desperately still cling to what humanity he has left.

And no garlic isn't really effective one way or the other to Vampire Krow. The main thing for him is I wanted to get away from "traditional" (western) vampire weaknesses for him. He's not western, so why would those weaknesses apply to him? So someone trying to eat garlic or something as a means to ward him off are in for a nasty shock.

Crosses might not be a magical weakness to him, but they could still infuriate him as a possible reminder of British colonization. So in one sense, is a weakness, but not like how you'd think for a vampire.

I do like the idea that enthralling him with things of beauty is a means to at least give him pause (or even confuse him with unexpected kindness). There's so many stories of terrible beasts being tamed or thwarted or whatever when showing compassion to them instead of aggression. And that is a neat idea to have with Vampire Krow.

As for the specific mantra... I'll give a slight hint. It is to a specific deity but likely not who most would think of. And it does have to do with OG Krow lore. However, that lore hasn't been publicly revealed yet. (For you though, Krowspiracy, as a treat, I'll say you did pretty much nail what the lore was, more or less, in one of your theories.)

Pretty much for a mortal to kill him would require specific conditions I think (or well... basically nuke him sdfnmbdlf). A fellow supernatural would have an easier time killing him, albeit that doesn't necessarily mean they can accomplish the task.

[audioaujom]

4: Pushed Down Stairs [wrong end 3 ★5]

Corpse Party Hub, < prev, next >

This is wrong end 3 ★5 from Chapter 1!

Pairing: Ranboo and Tommy

Word Count: 1253

Chapter TWs: Mind Manipulation ("Darkening"), Graphic Depictions of Violence, Character Death

--

“Somebody died here… I can hear their voice.” Ranboo commented quietly, one of his eyes twitching as his head started to hurt. The sudden pain blossomed quickly, spreading out of his head and forming a tight, circular ring around his throat. He felt his eyes glazing over as he suddenly was floating away from his body, harmlessly lost in a dreamlike ocean as he began screaming with a voice he didn’t recognize as his own. “No… No… Please, don’t do this!”

“What’s wrong?!” Tommy watched as Ranboo keeled over, clutching desperately at his head, instantly placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder and trying to get his attention.

In his distant haze, the only thing Ranboo was certain of was the overwhelming need to breathe, the pain in his throat becoming stronger. His gaze was bleary and out of focus, his legs carrying him out of the bathroom before he could even fully register where he was. “NO!!”

“Ranboo!” Tommy instantly ran after him, worriedly throwing glances around as he tried to catch up. It took him a moment, but he finally found Ranboo standing in a corner and facing the wall, mumbling to himself. Approaching carefully, Tommy noticed the far-away look in his eyes as he got closer, unease starting to eat away at his stomach. “Dammit! What the hell is going on here?!” Tommy hesitated as he started to reach out to his friend again, dropping his arm as he remembered what just happened in the bathroom. “Ranboo, are you alright?”

“Bring me more… I’ll do whatever you ask of me…” All of the words coming out of Ranboo’s mouth were strange, his voice pitching up and down unnaturally as he continued to stare blankly at the wall. He occasionally would twitch just a little, but his haunted gaze never left the wall in front of him. “I don’t care if you’re innocent, you’re listed as ‘buried alive’, right?!” Every new sentence was concerning to Tommy, who could only watch helplessly as Ranboo continued to talk to himself as if Tommy weren’t there. “They’re mine! I’m sure as hell not sharing with the likes of you! Cleanup is a real pain in the ass, too, you know! Have some pity!”

“Ranboo, fight it!” Tommy suddenly yelled, his hands tightening into fists at his sides as Ranboo still wouldn’t look over at him. "Whatever ‘it’ is.” He mumbled distastefully, before noticing that Ranboo was slowly turning to face him. He instantly brightened up, reaching forward for his friend before being shoved roughly back and landing hard on his ass on the wooden floor. “Hey, the fuck?! That hurt!”

“I believed in you!” Ranboo was screaming, but his face continued to stay passive and his eyes empty as Tommy frantically got back onto his feet and backed away from him. “Why doesn’t anybody listen to me?!”

“What the hell are you talking about?! You’re not making any sense, man!” Tommy tried again, only to earn a deeply disturbing laugh as Ranboo didn’t move his spot, his lifeless eyes now focused on a spot on the wall behind Tommy. “This is some wild shit! What is even going on…?” Tommy didn’t like the way Ranboo seemed to be staring straight through him, backing away before walking off quickly into another room. “I can’t leave him like this.” He paused, but in turning and seeing what remained of his friend still mumbling and staring blankly ahead he excused himself into the small top landing of the steps that went down to the floor below. “But I’m honestly so scared of him right now… What did this to him?”

Tommy sat down with a small huff, looking around as he pondered over what to do. He blinked as he thought he heard Ranboo’s voice from outside in the hallway, tensing and not turning to look until—

“Why the hell are you doing this?!” Ranboo’s voice was suddenly nearby and rapidly growing louder, Tommy fully perking up and starting to stand as he was then right behind him in the stairwell. “Answer me!”

“Ran—” Tommy’s voice died in his throat as Ranboo ran straight into him, the already questionable balance from his half standing position giving out as he then toppled backwards. 

His head collided last, stabbing lines of pain from each individual step running up his back in quick but steady intervals until he was only half-conscious as his legs folded over his stomach and he continued to roll backwards. The next several steps hit new places along his back and side, before one jutted painfully into his neck and he cried out before hitting the landing full force.

Hazy eyes at the top of the steps began to clear as Tommy bled out rather quickly, a good portion of blood already lost before he was all the way down the stairs. He twitched a little and let out an inhuman groan of agony, but he was already slipping away.

“Tom— Tommy?” Ranboo’s voice had returned to normal, the dark fog and strange sensation that came with the lack of control of his body lifting, the blurry memory of watching himself shove his friend drifting to and from the front of his mind. “Oh god… Tommy!”

One of Tommy’s legs was bent back unnaturally far on one side, a sharp shard of bone protruding out of his shin as the rest of him was splayed out like a ragdoll. Jogging down the steps to try and help despite the vomit rising in his throat along with the concern he was already too late, Ranboo nearly slipped in a particularly large puddle of blood on the landing, dropping to his knees beside Tommy’s body. A long tear in the side of his shirt revealed slowly growing red splotches, which would soon turn into dark bruises, a sickly shade of yellow already starting to tint his stomach and the available skin on his arms and neck—which was twisted awkwardly through the film of blood that ran down his chin from his open mouth.

“Tommy, can you hear me?!” Ranboo panicked, his hands flitting around in the air above his friend, whose eyes were slowly glossing over and didn’t seem to register the presence beside him. “Tommy, please! It wasn’t me, I didn’t mean to!”

Truthfully he wasn’t sure how he got here, crouching over a body that was slowly losing its warmth as the last bits of life flickered out in Tommy’s eyes. Something strange and fuzzy had taken over him in the hallway, his vision blurry and head full of cotton that muddled his thoughts and hearing. By the time he’d wrestled himself back to consciousness he saw Tommy falling, easily enough putting together the pieces of how he’d ended up dead at the bottom of the stairs.

“It wasn’t me…” He mumbled again, but this time no one was able to hear him except himself. His composure was already a mess, but he cracked even further and slumped forward to hug Tommy’s body, despite the blood that began to soak into his hoodie and smear across his face and hands. “I’m so sorry…”

The guilt was overwhelming for only a moment before it started to suddenly diminish, an odd fog slowly starting to overtake his mind. His panic and despair gave way to an odd hollowness, dropping Tommy’s body to the floor as the tears that had at some point started streaming down his face slowly stopped and he was left alone, feeling nothing but emptiness.

[mxyacho]

“Sorry,” she muttered gently as she noticed how he winced once the washcloth touched his face. She wasn’t a doctor or a miracle worker and she felt pretty useless as she saw the injuries on his face. Maya wanted to make them go away. Remove any marks or mars from the traumatizing experience he had unfortunately witnessed. Remove any reminders and take away the memories that she could see were haunting his eyes. But she would settle for providing comfort and relief and being there for him. Because no matter what, she would always be there for him, just like she knew he would be there for her.

That was why she had given him the option to not talk about what it was that haunted his gaze. The two of them knew better than most how terrifying it was to be vulnerable and respected that. It was one of the things that had really brought them closer. They both had let someone in close and got their hearts broken in return. They both had put up strong walls around them to prevent them from ever getting hurt like that again and they both knew the boundaries they could and could not cross. So if he didn’t want to talk about what happened, she wouldn’t pry. She would sit there and talk about whatever it was he wanted to talk about and then help him get settled to get some rest.

But he spoke. He told her what happened and all she could do was sit and listen to it. Not that she had anything to say because she wasn't there. And honestly, she was amazed and comforted that he felt like he could open up to her and tell her this. It made her feel…. special. But this wasn't about her. This was about Alex. She felt a large lump in her throat form and she force-swallowed it down when he mentioned what they wanted to do to Cass. He didn’t have to say it - being a woman, she knew what it was they wanted of her. There had been a few times she had used that to her own advantage when she was cornered herself but she never felt good about it. Maya could only imagine what was going through his sister’s head…what was going through his head when they took her away. And then to find her like that….there were just no words. Nothing to accurately quantify what it was that he had gone through.

And it just seemed like even when they got back that the blows didn’t stop coming. But to have his other brother back and alive had to be a good thing, right? Well, sorta, it seemed. Maya could understand his frustration. The anger he felt. And yes, it did sound bad because it’s not like anyone meant to be anywhere when the shit had hit the fan. But family was family and to not have them when the worst came - grief just had a funny way of working. But his family seemed to open the floodgates and everything just came out. She remained silent, her eyes watching his face and the flurry of emotions that covered every feature. She focused on every word, taking it in and feeling what he conveyed in his words.

Once he finished she pulled the washcloth away. “It’s okay,” she muttered, putting her hand on his shoulder and giving him the gentlest of smiles. “It seemed like you needed to get it all out. I’m just glad you felt like you could open up to me.” She probably didn’t need to say that, but she wanted him to know that it meant a lot to her that he was able to be open with her. And she to him. “I don’t have anyone, so I don’t know what you mean about feeling like you need to be other people’s reason, but I think that it’s not fair. You deserve your own happiness too. You should have your own reason, if that makes sense. I would like to think that your family would want you to find something that makes you happy and have a reason too. I know I want you to be happy.”

Maybe that was taking it a step too far, but she meant it. She cared about Alex a lot and to see him hurting so much hurt her too. It wasn’t fair that he was making everyone else around him happy while suffering himself. “If you want to stay here until you feel better, you’re more than welcome to. Get you a break from everything and everyone while you recover. I might not be a nurse or a doctor, but I don’t think you should be moving around too much, especially if you got a good kick to the ribs.”

He waited for her patiently on the couch. Once she was back with a cold washcloth, he winced a bit as the cold cloth hit his skin, but recovered quickly. He nodded in agreement, not feeling up to arguing with her even though the gentleman part of him felt he needed to insist on letting her take the bed. That had been his own fault for not thinking about her trying to get him to take the bed. Perhaps he could fall asleep on the couch and make it a moot point.

The compress felt good against his warm skin. He hadn’t realized how hot he was until then, even after his quick shower. His mind hadn’t had any room to attune to his body and comfort with everything that had happened in such quick succession. It was unfortunate he couldn’t take off his shirt with Maya right there, but he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Her presence and comfort was much preferred to any small change in temperature. A part of him felt selfish by letting her take care of him, but he wasn’t going to stop her. They both knew how difficult it was to let yourself be vulnerable. It was difficult to do in their world before the outbreak, much less after when it felt like vulnerability meant death. Yet he knew he was safe. In Redwood and in her home. He wanted Maya to know that he trusted her.

The idea to not talk about anything that had happened was tempting, but she was the only one he could really talk to about everything. It wasn’t as if he could complain to Cass or Renee about Cass or Renee, not that he had anything to complain about with his sister-in-law. The idea of talking to Andy about anything at the moment felt unfathomable. As he had thought before, though, he wanted her to know that he trusted her.

Alex let out a short, bitter laugh. He wasn’t sure where to even begin. Breaking their gaze for a moment, he attempted to gather his thoughts before looking back up to her. “There were some guys at the ranch. Reavers or whatever Ike calls ‘em. He knew the guys, a group was with for a while. They didn’t find any of the bags Nate had hid around, thankfully, but... they wanted to take Cass instead. For... you know.” Alex didn’t know if he would ever be able to say it out loud. The back of his throat began to feel that odd sort of pressure one feels as they attempt to hold it together. “I’m still not sure how I didn’t lose it right then and there or straight up pass out. But Ike was able to hatch his little plan and we played along where he was on their side. Kicked me good in the ribs with those damn steel-toed boots.The main guy took Cass into one of the other rooms before Ike gave me the signal. We took out the three guys left with us. Well, Ike took out two and I took out one. Stabbed him in the chest.” Cass had gone back into the ranch to bring their bodies outside so they wouldn’t rot in the building they had called home. He wondered what she thought about the damage she had done to the man he had killed, though it was nothing compared to what Ike had done to the other two guys with his bat. “Cass had taken out the leader when we got to her already. I’m so fucking scared to even ask what happened to her in that room. Only his shirt was on when we got there.” Alex knew he would ask, eventually. Or give her the opportunity to tell him, to be more specific. It was more important that she had someone to talk to about it than his feelings and the fact that he had no desire to know what he had done to her in that room.

It was impossible for him to keep a few tears from falling now. More energy was being spent trying to not cry than energy he had. “And Renee told us that my brother was back when we finally got back from the ranch. I don’t know how. The shit he had to go through to get here... I can’t even begin to imagine. And I know I should be happy, and I am, but there’s still this part of me that’s angry with him that he wasn’t there in the first place. But it’s not like I can ever say that, it sounds so fucking horrible. I know it’s horrible. And even with the little talk we had before the trip, I still feel like Cass and I are a million miles apart. I leave my life behind in Iris to come find her while she acts like I’m going to break so she doesn’t even try to talk to me and just goes to shack up with Sol instead. Except that thought only makes me feel worse, because she did try, at least a couple of times, but it doesn’t change the fact that sometimes it doesn’t fucking feel good enough. That I’m the one that has to make every fucking sacrifice, that maybe I should’ve just stayed in Iris because it doesn’t feel like she thought about me even once. I hate that she feels guilty because it was my damn choice to come here, so she feels like it’s her fault that I don’t like it here, but maybe she has a point because I can’t tell if my feelings are completely unreasonable or not.” He paused, shaking his head ever so slightly without messing up Maya holding the compress to his face. “Because she’s the youngest and she can’t do any wrong, of course. I’m the one who’s supposed to sacrifice everything so she’s happy. So I should be happy that she’s happy and just... I don’t know. I had been telling myself this whole time that her happiness - my family’s happiness - is the only thing that I should care about. They’re supposed to be my reason.” His everything. The reason he breathes and gets up in the morning and does the blacksmithing stuff he does even though, quite frankly, it’s not his favorite thing in the world by any means. He clenched his fist and released the anger that had made its sudden appearance. “How the hell can I stay mad at her after the ranch?”Alex’s eyes fell to his lap. It wasn’t even everything that was on his mind, but it was a lot of it. He had barely brushed upon his feelings about Andy. Then there was Renee and the boys. The man that he had killed. His mixed feelings on getting over Rosalie and potentially going back to Iris and whether or not he was allowed to want. Poor Maya had been stuck playing nurse while he let out every pent up feeling he’d had for the past couple of months. He sighed. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you like that, all you did was ask what happened. You don’t have to say anything. I appreciate everything more than you know, really,” he said, silently praying that he hadn't scared her off completely. He wasn’t supposed to take, and he had taken far more than he had ever planned from her at that point.

[after-witch]

27 horror movie and book quote prompts 

“Congratulations. You are still alive. Most people are so ungrateful to be alive. But not you. Not anymore.” (Saw)

“I’m scared to close my eyes; I’m scared to open them." (The Blair Witch Project)

"Even if you were to die your connection to your boyfriend would still remain. Even if you were to die your link to the world would remain. So why are you living?" (Suicide Circle)

“What an excellent day for an exorcism.” (The Exorcist)

“I believe death should be repulsive, so we don’t grow too fond of it.” (FearDotCom)

“Never look back. The past is a wilderness of horrors.” (The Wolfman)

"We've traced the call...it's coming from inside the house." (When a Stranger Calls)

"It was the Boogeyman." (Halloween)

"I told you, I feed erratically, and often enormously." (Shadow of the Vampire)

"The things we do for love like this are ugly, mad, full of sweat and regret. This love burns you and maims you and twists you inside out." (Crimson Peak)

"There's evil in the wood."  (The Witch)

“Am I walking toward something I should be running away from?” (The Haunting of Hill House)

"Because you were home." (The Strangers)

"We eat the year away. We eat the spring and the summer and the fall. We wait for something to grow and then we eat it." (We Have Always Lived in the Castle)

"Wouldst thou like the taste of butter? A pretty dress? Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?" (The Witch)

"You weren't supposed to help her." (The Ring)

"In the sudden, brief silence, she heard something within her turn over. Perhaps only her soul." (Carrie)

"I hear it playing while one of you is screaming. Screaming down in the dark somewhere. Screaming the last scream you'll ever--" (Jeepers Creepers)

"The walls speak to me. They tell me secrets. Don’t listen to them, press your hands against your ears..." (Mexican Gothic)

"The flesh is weak... Only the soul is immortal and yours belongs to me." (Angel Heart)

"I take back every bit of energy I gave you. You're nothing. You're shit." (A Nightmare on Elm Street)

"You know, there are rules, you should be more careful. You might upset someone." (Trick 'r Treat)

"Home is the place where when you go there, you have to finally face the thing in the dark." (IT)

"Careful. This is the moment when the supposedly dead killer comes back to life, for one last scare." (Scream)

"The blood is the life... and it shall be mine." (Bram Stoker's Dracula)

"There was a cold, musty smell coming through the open doorway: it smelled like something very old and very slow." (Coraline)

"We're only as sick as our secrets." (Doctor Sleep)

[genshinboys]

Thigh job with Genshin Boys - Xiao

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Fem reader x Xiao

When you enter your flat, a handsome but grumpy Yaksha is sitting cross-legged on your bed resting his chin in the palm of his small hand. He grimaces and shoots something that can be referred to as a death stare in your direction. 

Here we go again. You think to yourself as you close the door behind you.

„You are late.” He basically growls at you fixing you with another menacing glare.

„It’s nice to see you too, Baby.” You approach the sulking adeptus and lean in to kiss his forehead but, alas, he backs away and frowns in turn.

„Oh, no kisses then?” A smile on your face but a sneer in your voice makes his blood boil.

It is like a match in a powder barrel.

„Don’t play dumb with me, Y/N!” He warns. „I know all of your cheap tricks.”

You let out an annoyed huff. Arms crossed on your chest.

„Why would you even ask when I saw you following me all the damn time, hmm?” You accuse your boyfriend, gazing right into Xiao's averting eyes.

„I wasn’t follow-,” and then he goes silent knowing fully well that lying isn’t an option with you.

„So?” You nag, hoping for any kind of response. „No need to be this jealous, Xiao.”

„Don’t get weird ideas in your head.” The boy deadpans. „I’m not jealous!” He defends himself but it doesn’t sound convincing enough even for his own ears. He blushes and turns his head away.

You let out a sigh and smile warmly at your boyfriend’s pettiness.

Does he even realise how cute he is? You briefly wonder and then you reach for his silky hair and ruffle it affectionately.

It’s been a taxing, full of ups and downs journey since you met the haunted by karmic debt Yaksha. At first, he didn’t even acknowledge your presence. You were just another bothersome individual and he could not care less about your existence. It was unnerving. He was snarky, seething with rage for no reason, hiding his feelings for so long that it seemed to you that they were going to explode inside of him one day leading to his utter despair and demise. You got to know about his past and the weight of his karmic debt from Zhongli. You took pity. Somehow you felt compelled to help the boy, regardless of his repulsive demeanour. The golden-eyed Yaksha was of a different opinion, though. 

Xiao didn’t want you to get close to him. He couldn’t make any sense of your stubbornness. Why would you even want to have anything to do with him? Him? 

A barbaric monster, eaten up alive by remorse and regret. 

A blood-thirsty fiend whose sole purpose of breathing is to slaughter and spread fear wherever he shows his face. 

These were the thoughts so deeply engraved in his unfortunate soul that he couldn’t allow anyone to come near him.

He perceived himself as a hollow, barren of any human emotions vessel. The only feelings he was familiar with were pain and the burden of his legacy that he is forced to carry up to this day.

Bizarrely, as time had passed he was taken aback by some unfamiliar sensation of tightness in his chest. It wasn’t painful. Nothing that would come close to the distress caused by the divine will. It wasn’t permanent, either. It only happened in your presence, as Yaksha would hesitantly observe. Sometimes it got even worse. It would be accompanied by this fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

„Why are you this close? Huh? Do you have a death wish?”

„Move, I don’t have time to sit around and be idle like you do.”

„You have no respect for the adepti. Stop fooling around.” 

The more he pushed you away the more you were determined to lure him in. You couldn’t stop laughing when one day Zhongli informed you that the troubled Yaksha came to him to seek advice regarding this weird tightness in his chest and an upset stomach when you were around. 

And so, you smile fondly at your boyfriend as he yanks your hand away not liking the way you tousle the emerald green strands.

„I’m sorry XIao. I didn’t mean to be late. Just wanted to buy some jewellery.” You point to your thigh to get the adeptus’ attention back where it should be, which is you, not the wall.

Xiao glances at your thigh doing his best to remain impassive and uninterested. Unfortunately, his eyes widen a little and his mouth is somehow stuck hanging open as if he were to say something but the words never come out.

„You saw me bargaining with the shopkeeper, nothing wrong about that, right?” You explain to the adeptus currently captivated by the glimmering golden chain adorning your thigh.

Xiao has a lot to learn when it comes to dealing with his own emotions. You are acutely aware of that. He doesn’t know how to react, how to show that he cares or process what he feels. He doesn’t also entirely understand the purpose of half of the things that you insist on doing to him. Playful bites, tickling, holding his hand in public. He doesn’t question these actions even though it’s all a novelty. He does know for sure that it makes him feel flustered and all hot inside. 

Does he despise it? No. 

Would he like for you to continue? The answer to that question is definitely affirmative but Xiao is not going to admit it out loud. 

He also has no clue how to initiate all of these things. Is he supposed to bite you back as well? What if he hurts you? Everything is so overwhelming as he’s endured years of solitude and sadness. You have to patiently teach him everything from square one. Nevertheless, it’s incredibly rewarding and you find yourself falling for him a bit more with each clumsy kiss, a shy but warm hug and an awkward attempt at complimenting you.

However, despite being not well-versed in sexual encounters, Xiao does pleasantly surprise you by catching up with everything real quick. 

So, as his eyes are fixated on the trinket, you once again run your hand through his lush and long hair.

„Why would you even buy it? Pointless.” The boy retorts grumpily this time showing no signs of objection to your tender gesture. He moves his head up a little, losing himself to the tingling sensation going down his scalp.

„So that you can stare at me like that with those needy eyes?” You answer truthfully, barring the real intent behind your actions.

He snorts and his face turns into that lovely shade of pink and then deep red within seconds.

He would absolutely turn his gaze away if not for the fact that you take his chin in your hand and thrust his face upwards forcing him to look you straight in the eyes.

„If you don’t like it you can take it off.”

„No need.” 

You chuckle softly.

„Let me make amends for my delay.” 

You take a step forward and place your knee on the verge of the bed. Xiao drinks in the view of your thigh-highs squeezing into the meat of your legs. The chain shimmering lightly right above the lacy material.

„You can touch it, Baby.” You encourage the nervous Yaksha.

Visibly tensed, he reaches for the exposed skin and lightly traces the chain with his unsure fingers. It almost tickles but you let him do as he pleases and soon Xiao attempts to fully envelop your thigh with his greedy hand. He does cover half of it at best, but he seems satisfied and proceeds to squeeze it. It feels soft to the touch and he shivers at how warm and inviting your legs are in contrast to his icy-cold and sweaty palms. Bewitched, Xiao aches for more and he selfishly pulls you in so that you are now kneeling in front of him on the bed.

He stops breathing when you swiftly unbutton your shorts and undress for him. You let his eyes roam over your half-naked body for some time enthralled by the way Xiao’s pupils dilate in awe.

You lean into him as Xiao pulls you towards him for a messy kiss. It isn’t gentle as usual but full of passion and urgency. He whines when you bite on his lower lip but then you gently stroke him with your tongue to ease the discomfort.

Slowly, very very slowly, your hands go down his torso only to finally stop at the bulge in Xiao’s loose pants. You tug at the waistband and Xiao lifts his ass a bit to help you strip him naked. His penis, hard and heavy, resting now on his lower belly. He hisses when you palm his hard erection and that simple touch sends jolts of electricity down his spine. It leaves him intoxicated once you start gliding with the heel of your palm up and down the underside of his member. You repeat the movement and Xiao’s body jerks in response.

„Don’t tease.” The adeptus pleads through gritted teeth.

„I’m so sorry, Baby. Gonna make you feel real good.”

Xiao can feel himself growing impossibly harder when you place your feet on either side of his hips. When he looks down he can see your wet folds and the pinkish colour of your tight hole. Lying on your back, you prop yourself on your elbows so that you can look at Xiao’s face in the process. You scoot a bit closer to the confused boy, your bum is right in front of his erected shaft. You take his cock in your hand and guide him in between your thighs. In the beginning, you try to be delicate. You gently rub the tip of his cock, circle his shaft with your fingers and with a fisted hand spread his pre-cum all the way down to his pubic hair so that he is thoroughly lubricated. You wouldn’t like to hurt the boy during the whole ordeal. 

His breath is shallow. Excitedly, you clasp your thighs together and start playing with his dick. You rotate your hips and massage his cock. It slides in and out and Xiao growls feeling ecstatic. You exchange between rubbing him with your thighs or gliding your hand along his cock, starting at the very top and working your way down to the bottom until Xiao can’t stifle his cries anymore. A few more strokes and he is definitely going to beg. 

Xiao is on fire. It feels too good to be true and he wants this moment to last forever. He licks his dry lips and moans wantonly thrusting his hips forward. He meets you mid-way and the friction it creates every time he pushes his dick in between your legs leaves him gasping.

„You’re making me cum, Y/N.” He cries out for the last time before it is too late to warn you.

„Then cum for me, Baby.” 

Obediently, Xiao shoots his thick and heavy load all over your lower body. For a moment the world around him seems out of focus and it makes him dizzy. He pants heavily and can’t catch his breath. He feels as if he was drowning. But then, your loving arms envelop him and he is safe again. You gently stroke his chest hugging him from behind. He melts in your embrace letting his head rest on your shoulder. His erratic heartbeat slowly going back to its usual rhythm.

„I think it looks pretty on you.”

„Hmm?” You want the boy to clarify what he meant.

„The chain... Looks pretty.”

„Oh.” 

Shakily, he reaches out to put your hand into his and he squeezes them together. 

„I’ll never let you lose yourself again, XIao. I love you and I will protect you forever.”

Xiao recognizes the familiar feeling of tightness in his chest. A single tear rolls down his cheek but he hurriedly wipes it before you can notice.

„Shut up.” The boy responds angrily and kisses you breathless. 

Other boys:

Albedo

Diluc

Kaeya

Childe

Zhongli

Kazuha

[bye-bye-sunbird]

Bloodlust | Yan!Tartaglia x Reader

Hi everyone! So here's the Tartaglia fic I teased about a few days ago. I got a LOT of requests on him, and many of them shared a similar theme, so I hope this satisfies some of them. But one thing led to another and... well, here is where we ended up hahaha.

Please read the tags and the warnings before you continue reading.

Warnings: NOT SFW, dub-con, manipulation, mentions of blood, blood-kink (I... think?), victim-blaming, mentions of past abuse, mentions of murder, this is NOT a healthy relationship, this one got a bit dark, so be aware of it.

Reader is female.

We are drawn to what we lack.

You would often ponder over how Childe seemed to love the idea of you more than he loved you. No matter what he did, how charming his smile was, everything about him screamed danger.

He could make you feel safe, but never at ease.

Could anyone really blame you for having moments of weakness such as this one? If he insisted on being a weapon, then you would use him as such.

You knew it was a mistake to tell him about your last relationship. No weight was lifted from your shoulders, but another type of guilt cemented in your thoughts, like venom poisoning your mind.

A part of you hoped they would end up killing each other, maybe then you could finally start over. You could lead a peaceful, quiet life in Qingce Village, devoting yourself to the care of your beloved grandmother. Your heart clutched at the uncertainty on whether she was still alive or not. After you managed to escape your ex-boyfriend you had cut ties with everyone, for their own safety.

And then... Childe came into your life. Almost as if he sensed your longing for protection, your fear. And he exploited every aspect of it to his advantage.

When you were with him, no one dared to look your way. After what felt like a lifetime of being reduced to nothing, he made you feel almost powerful. After being denied everything, he offered you the chance to have it all. You knew he was dangerous, but nevertheless, you fell for it.

After all, we really are drawn to what we lack.

You knew what you were doing asking him to free you from your past. You knew the implications it would have. No matter the result, you would end up with blood in your hands.

"It won't take me long, I think," he says with a boyish smile that, considering everything that was going to happen, was just plain sinister, "I'll be back in no time."

You don't tell him to be safe. You stay still as he tenderly places a kiss on your lips. He then grabs your jaw, forcing you to look directly at him, "So be a good girl and stay put."

And you do, you wait for what feels like an eternity.

You pace around your house, an uneasy feeling numbing you. Every so often you look up at the clock. You lay on your bed, placing a hand over your chest in an attempt to calm yourself. You stay there, forcing yourself to block every intrusive thought and, hours upon hours later, you fall asleep in sheer exhaustion.

That is until you feel a weight sinking the bed around your frame.

A metallic scent starts to flood your sense of smell. A single drop of... something falls on your cheek, and with that, you open your eyes.

Even in the dead of night, the sight of Childe's face almost completely covered in blood will haunt you forever.

"Angel, I'm home," he whispers as he lowers himself down to kiss your neck.

You remain speechless as he licks and nibbles, savoring every inch from your neck up to your ear lobe and down your clavicles. His gloved hand leaves a trace of blood in your clothes as he unbuttons your dress.

"It is done"

You let a hitched breath escape you when you feel the tip of his tongue hover over one of your breasts. He ministers shallow licks before gently biting your nipple.

"I thought about you the whole time" he confesses, a boyish grin emerging in his face as he leaves your breast to look at you. The way his eyes are clouded by a mix of feral desire and bloodlust sends shivers down your spine. "You were right to be afraid of him, he was strong" he adds, the words spilling over your skin, warm and breathless, as he slowly raises your skirt over your hips, "Just not enough".

You tense like a bowstring in his hands, in a mix of fear and arousal. You hate yourself for this.

"Oh?" you feel the curve of his smile forming on top of your skin, "Do you want to know how I did it?", you shake your head, and mutter a simple "No". He hums mockingly, "Afraid that is going to ruin the mood, huh?".

He presses his body an inch closer enough for you to feel the bulge in his pants rubbing against you. "I waited so long for this", he lowers his hand below your skirt. "I have quite the imagination, y'know?" he grabs your underwear, the cold, wet feel of the blood in his hand making you tremble. "You are so quiet most of the time", he tugs at the fabric, slowly pulling it down. He trails small kisses up your jaw. "I wonder how you'll sound when I fill you up."

He pulls away from your face, bitting his glove out of his hand and tossing it aside, a small stain of blood left on his smile as he easily sinks two of his fingers inside of you. The obscene, wet sound making him chuckle. You drop your head back onto the pillow, a whimpering and trembling mess. Your hands dig into his jacket as you let out a breathless moan.

A few seconds pass before he slowly starts to work his fingers inside you. He sets a pace that is meant for you to be overly conscious about everything that's happening between your legs. It's almost torture, and you can't fight the urge to start moving your hips, seeking a release. Guilt, fear, and pleasure become one as a single tear runs down your cheek.

He laughs hauntingly as he speeds up the pace. You bite your lip in an attempt to stay quiet, but a moan manages to escape as you grind desperately against his hand. But just before you come undone, he pulls his fingers out. You open your eyes to witness how he lasciviously licks his fingertips, a lovesick gaze clouding his blue eyes before he pins you against the mattress in a hungry, almost feral kiss. You hear the sound of his belt being sloppily unbuckled, after which one of his hands pushes your knee to the side.

He pulls away from the kiss, looking down to position himself. You feel the tip of his length rubbing your entrance, his hot breath starting to tremble against your skin in excited expectation.

"He wanted to see you again," he says suddenly, but you are too far gone to pay any attention to his words. "Maybe I should have brought him here, to witness how I fuck you."

A loud gasp rings in his ear as you feel your walls stretch. He enters slowly, allowing you to accommodate all of him. Your mind goes blank as he pushes himself up until he's completely sheathed inside of you.

"You are such a good girl, taking it all in" he grunts, gritting his teeth against the urge to thrust now, hard and fast. Because you are so tight, and the way you shiver beneath him puts him on the verge of insanity. Instead, he moves slowly, his breath coming in shallow, shaky sighs.

But once you catch your breath, all previous considerations are thrown out the window. His pace quickens, and soon he is thrusting into you hard enough to make the bedframe hit the wall, leaving shallow scuffs on the cement. You let out wordless cries, completely lost in nothing but the obscene sound of skin against skin, as you come close to your climax.

It doesn't take long before you let go, twitching, jerking, and grinding against him as you come, almost passing out. By the time you regain a sense of self, you look down as Childe is still pounding into you, seeking his own release in a mix of sweat and blood, a crazed expression drawn in his face.

His grip on the sheets strengthens as he begins fucking you with increased, almost animalistic intensity. And in no time, he comes inside of you with a final thrust, a strangled-sounding moan escaping him, filling you with his seed as he refuses to move as if making sure you receive all of him. That's when you notice the cuts all over his clothes that leak small streaks of blood.

He collapses on top of you, and then you feel the weight of everything that just went down upon your conscious. You feel disgusting, you are not better than him. Your lips tremble as you cry quietly.

You feel like mourning. Not over your past lover, but you, who will never be free.

You didn't just change the monster, you became one.

[gentrychild]

I wish you would write a fic where... Fuyumi dyes her hair pink

Fuyumi left the Himura house so furious that she couldn’t think straight. Dry ice followed her every step and she hoped that her uncle, so devoted to their grandparents, would step on it and break a leg.

“Fuyumi, what’s wrong?”

“She is a beauty, just like her mother.”

She kept walking, too enraged to dare to look back at him because something was going to happen. Something that could land her into Tartarus if she made eye contact, because right now, she hated him. She hated her grandparents. And she hated herself.

How could she not have seen that coming?

Her grandmother, telling her to please visit, because her health wasn’t so good and seeing her granddaughter would surely make her feel better.

Only to find both her grandparents, her uncle, looking in perfectly good health while they were sitting next to her suitor, a man that was looking for a bride with the right quirk.

“She has a very strong ice quirk. Almost too strong, if that can exist.”

“If it upset you so much, why didn’t you say so?”

Because she had been too stupid to make a scene She hadn’t dared to react, to show their dirty laundry to a stranger, and now, she was running because the anger had been rising and rising and she was afraid it was either going to eat her alive or explode.

“She is such a good cook and she loves children. She is a teacher, after all.”

“You know how grandparents are! They just want you to be happy. And he is a very nice man…”

Her uncle finally caught her – her short legs be damned – and he grabbed her arm.

“She has two brothers and she took such good care of them.”

Fuyumi raised her hand to bat away her uncle’s hand and the next thing she knew, her palm was colliding with her uncle’s cheek. The noise was akin to a lightning strike, her palm started to burn but her uncle’s expression was worth it.

He looked at her like she has gone mad, like he was afraid of her. Like he was just realizing that her quirk was far stronger than his and that the Himura name is half forgotten while the Todoroki name is known through the whole country and abroad.

“Tell your parents that they don’t have a granddaughter anymore. I am done chasing a mirage. Do not call me. Do not try to contact me. And help me, if you ever tried to use contact Shouto or even Natsuo, I will burn everything you hold dear, consequences be damned.”

Whatever was on her face or in her voice, he seemed to believe her.

After that, she went straight home, just holding the rest of her anger, repressing it like she had done all her life. She could do this. Now that she had cut away all ties with her grandparents (really, she was the last one, her brothers hadn’t seen them in ten years), maybe, just maybe things would get better?

She reached her room and took a deep breath, imagining a red cloud leaving with the air she was exhaling. As she did, she felt the anger leaving.

Until her phone rang.

Grandmother was the caller ID.

From that point, things became really simple but slightly chaotic. And loud. Loud enough for someone (she wasn’t sure who) to knock on her door, then knock some more. For said door to be opened then closed in silence.

Her phone met an unfortunate end as it crashed into the wall hard enough to be thoroughly shattered. Other things followed, most of them trinkets offered by her grandmother. Then came the clothes, that needed to be ripped until nothing remained. And finally, various things needed to be frozen solid.

By the time she was done, she felt better. She tied her hair into a ponytail, cleaned her room, and when she walked out of her room, she realized that her father and her brothers probably were in the house.

Maybe they didn’t notice?

She put one foot one foot on the living room and saw the three of them avoiding eye contact. Her father was reading the newspaper, something she had never seen him do. Shouto was also reading but his manga was upside down. And Natsuo was in the kitchen, making tea.

The tea was disgusting infused for too long, but they all drank it. She mentioned that she needed a new phone and her father immediately gave her one, registered to his agency but it would do in the meantime. And Shouto talked about his life in the dorms.

No one mentioned anything about Fuyumi’s outburst.

All in all, the day ended pretty well.

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

“She is a beauty, just like her mother.”

Even with her immediate family being extremely considerate (or scared of her but she was fine with both) and her grandparents’ phone numbers blocked, her grandmother’s words kept following her. Enough for her to start avoiding mirrors again, something she hadn’t done since her teenage years.

Her first impulse was to cut her hair. She had never worn it short and that seemed like enough of a drastic change.

Until she remembered what her mother looked like when she had gotten married.

Hair dye it was, then.

She went to the salon thinking black. It was proper, neutral, and a hair color she could handle.

And yet, somehow, when she came out, her hair was pink.

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

“It suits you.”

Those words quickly replaced her grandmother’s words. She heard it from her family, her coworkers, and her friends. She had more of the latter those days, as she spent less time at home and learned to be more her and less the eldest Todoroki daughter that was supposed to take care of everyone.

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

“You look happier.”

She didn’t feel like she was happier. She felt angrier than before. She felt more melancholic. And less patient.

But she did feel more. And smiled more.

So maybe it meant something.

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

“You’re not taking that call?”

“No, I guess I’m not.”

“Good for you.”

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

“Thank you. For everything you’ve done for this family. Back then, I didn’t realize it but you’re the reason we managed to fare so well.”

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

“You’re incredible. I hope you know that.”

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

Slowly, more words were added to the ones that were haunting her. It didn’t replace them. She doubted that they would ever disappear.

But they took more place, until it was the first thing she thought about.

[izzabeean]

Double Bind | Chapter 2

pairing : fushiguro toji x f!reader / gojo satoru x f!reader

warnings/tags : 18+, manga spoilers (up to chapter 79), alternate universe, unrequited love, love/hate, obsession, explicit language, graphic description of corpses, blood and injury.

genre : angst + smut

word count : 3,596

a/n :  hi! please be kind with my interpretation, I'm aware some things might not connect with the manga timeline. also, I'm unsure how I feel about the fighting sequence and mentions of cursed energy. but other than that, I'm very happy to share with you this next chapter. it's about to get a little more angsty now. I hope y'all like it!!TW: mentions of a corpse, mentions of blood

masterlist

<< prev | ch. 2 | next >>

Total and complete irremediable sorrow trembles through you when you’re met with Toji’s remains-- his entire left side of his torso obliterated and his arm severed. A gloom of disappointment clouds you as the realization that his invincibility is only backed up by his pride. He is not eternal, nor free from harm, something so sickening to come to terms with that it makes your stomach swirl.

“You meant the world to me,” you whimper, feeling layers of unsettling emotion. It feels surreal. Like everything has just been ripped away from you in this tragedy. 

“I should have protected you.” But is protection something you could even offer him? For he couldn't even save himself at the time of his destruction. 

Gazing upon his corpse, you wonder if perhaps he is finally at peace, able to shove down his vengeance on the world. Yet you couldn't even fathom the heaviness of your heart as you know he could not eternally rest when the animal that killed him is still alive. 

A rumble of irrefutable heat sparks in you, your pulse starts racing as your hands start to sweat. The feeling of heavy anguish in your chest seethes and consumes you, building up a wall of treachery and wrath. How could he leave you? How could he go as far as to fuck you then just die like that? It’s unthinkable. Unreasonable. Unlike Toji, to just die.

Then like a switch, the rational side of your brain turns off. Instead, you are encompassed with a fury that's far more vast than the deepest ocean. A hostility wakes up in you as you look up to the man that brought you here. 

“Who did this to him?” You manage to grit between your teeth. 

The man pauses taking one conniving look at you before replying. You don't know if you can trust him but he's the only one that has the definite answer. You're about to repeat yourself, as your patience begins to falter, but he cuts you off with a breath, looking at you dead in the eyes. 

“Gojo Satoru.”

Him? You think, tracking back to the moments Toji has spoken to you about the Six Eyes. Your skin crawled and the hairs on your neck stood up, it was so haunting. Never has a name engrossed you with so much hate and anger. The fuming flames of emotion grasped at your heart, squeezing it to the point of discomfort.

Your greatest strength as an assassin is always thinking through and planning before taking action. You’d get to know your target, get a feel for their mannerisms, to a point that you could read their next move upon attack. 

Yet upon hearing that name… Like tunnel vision, your hunger for vengeance outweighs your principles. And yes, you know the risk of what you are up against. But you don’t care because you only have one goal:

To take down Gojo Satoru.

“Where can I find him?” Your voice is stern and cold. The task will be a bit more of a challenge than expected, but you weren’t one to back down from someone so sinister. It makes your head hurt. The pain was so searing you couldn’t even think what you were supposed to do. 

The man smirks, noticing the change in your demeanor, then passes a note. You take it from him and unfold it to reveal the location of your target. You couldn’t wait, you had to see what these Six Eyes are all about. 

Without hesitation your body takes off from the rush of adrenaline, knowing exactly where he is. Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. It was almost too easy to track him down. In fact, you were almost certain that you could potentially fall into a trap, but avenging Toji drives you forward. 

Hiding from plain sight, the towering white-haired man stands adjacent to a slim, tall man with black hair tied up in a bun. 

That’s him, you think, eyeing him up and down noticing he’s wearing a pair of dark sunglasses protecting his bright blue eyes. You can’t hear their conversation, but you hear a startling laugh from Gojo, making your entire body tremble with disgust. And as if he could hear your thoughts, he turns to look in your direction just before you duck for cover holding your breath.

You wait a moment counting to ten, before looking out to see where he’s heading to. Though when you peek out, you notice the black-haired man walking away and Gojo starring right at you. Your eyes widen, as you dash away instantly, out of his sight. Your heart starts to pound, it feels like it could break out of your chest as you run away as fast as you can.

“Have we met before?” A voice sounds while you are in mid-sprint and beside you, you see Gojo flashing a cheeky smile. “I feel like I would have remembered such a pretty face though.”

His teasing is torturous, it makes you want to vomit. You jump away changing directions, but he continues to tail you.

“Maybe at the sweets shop?” he asks as if you’d both known each other for years and he was trying to catch up with a casual conversation. “Or maybe on a job?”

Your eyes widen, fully knowing he’s probably just playing coy and knows exactly why you’re here. There's uncertainty whether you can flee from this encounter, so with all your frustration, you lunge towards the target. And seemingly your strength almost doubles as you attack, but your strike is not fast enough to even touch Gojo. 

Fully aware that you're not totally in control of yourself, you put your running to a pause and stand facing Gojo to catch your breath regaining your balance and composure. You've come totally unprepared, giving Gojo full control of the encounter. 

"Aw, c'mon. You don't have to be shy," he coos standing with his hands on his hips. "I know my good looks can make a lot of people nervous."

You can't believe that he just said that. It's almost as if he's mocking you in the way he grins like he's warning you to not be too careless.

"Believe me," you rage. "You're not my type."

"Then why did I catch you spying on me?' 

“It was a test,” you lie. It's true that you were caught but you couldn't give him the satisfaction that he is right. 

“Hm?” he hums. “Who do you work for?”

“Work for? You hiss. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but you do,” he purrs. “A lot of people are out to get me.”

He has this crazy look in his eyes as if he could so effortlessly end you and you know he could. But you couldn’t let this be the end, not when Toji went and died without your consent.

"They thought they could distract me with such a pretty girl,” he flirts and it just fuels your anger more. 

Springing forward you draw out a knife strapped onto your calf then constrict your cursed energy into it. With a loud grunt, you aim for your target's legs hoping you can stun his movements. But Gojo just dodges it, instantly appearing behind you. He’s fast. Almost too fast to take note of where he is. You swing the knife at him again, but he remains vigilant only showing you how mundane it is for him-- it's too easy for him. It makes your blood boil.

You push yourself further and further, putting all your techniques into gear, as you're constantly reminding yourself with each attach that it's for Toji. Your moves get slopier as your frustration bubbles within you causing an eruption of negative emotions. And the fight isn’t even close.

"I think that's enough," Gojo utters, grabbing your wrist seeing you carelessly tire yourself out.

You don't listen as you try to gather up as much energy as you can for the final blow seeing as this is your only opportunity to get this close. With a final distressing scream, you thrust the knife towards his throat, but it stops before even touching him, not even causing a scratch. Sheer shock courses through your spine, as you fall to your knees gutted and destroyed. If this was trying your best, you didn't know what you could do to beat this nuisance. You can't avenge Toji, not when you're this weak. You feel like a disappointment. How can you say you'll kill this monster when you can't even touch him with your attacks? 

You try to keep your eyes open, but everything around you blurs and the last thing you see is Gojo's blue eyes, then everything goes black as you collapse.

All your will to fight diminishes and the heaviness of your body outweighs the heaviness you feel upon defeat. If you were going to beat Gojo, you were going to have to go through some severe training, at least you will have to if you get out of this alive. Being alive feels so much more difficult than it did before, of course, you barely had anything to live for in the first place, but Toji was a reason to continue going. Even if you didn't see him often, you still looked forward to the days you would encounter each other. There was always something about the way he looked at you. No one else in the world gave you such an honest look, even if he almost looked repulsed by you. Yet, when you think back to that last day you saw him, you could see his eyes filled with a longing to see you. Perhaps you were a bit naive to think so, but you'd like to believe he did somewhat care for you. It's something that you feel so deep in your bones, no words need to confirm it. The thought gives your strength, the strength to open your eyes and keep fighting.

But when you open your eyes, you can't see anything. Only absolute darkness. And the sound of water dripping like:

Drip... Drip... Drip...

It’s terrifying, but it feels like it’s calling you so you walk forward further into the nothingness following the sound. All your senses heighten, and an icy breeze prickles against you decorating your skin in goosebumps. The dripping still fills the silence, but as you grow closer to the sound, a voice whispers in your ears. The words aren’t loud enough to understand, but you swore it was someone calling your name. Then a speckle of a dim warm glow looms in the distance. You wish to call out to it, but you can't seem to find your voice so you start walking towards the strange phenomenon. But the light only grows further and further as you walk and a deep sense of anxiety pushes you forward. You sprint towards it, hands reaching out in hopes that somehow you can grab it. 

The light starts to grow brighter and brighter. But as you get closer to it, it isn't just an illumination. You see a figure. It's hard to make out what it is but it looks inhumane. You slowly encounter the thing half scared, half intrigued. The pressure starts to build in your chest and breathing becomes almost unmanageable. And once your eyes adjust, you can see everything. 

Toji's mutilated body stands in front of you.

You fixate on his injury noticing that the dripping sound is coming from the absence of the left side of his torso. Blood drips his open wounds as it pools below him. He gazes at you with regret and says, "I told you not to come looking for me."

A sob rises in your throat as you release a mournful cry reaching out to grab him. But your body falls into the blood and keeps descending below him to the point you are closed back into the darkness. You cry in exasperation trying to bite back tears and then you wake. 

You rise up from the ground clasping your chest trying to digest the events that just unfolded. 

It was just a dream. 

You look around to see where you are and don't recognize the room. You are surrounded by walls covered in thick opaque paper painted with a landscape of the mountains and trees. The floors are covered in thick tatami mats as the ceiling is raised coffered with warm wood. A translucent sliding door made up of wooden lattices covered in translucent paper dresses the room in a cool glow of moonlight. 

You wonder how long you've been out and attempt to move but your body screams at you to stop as pain engulfs you. The last thing you remember is falling on your knees before your nightmare. You let out an agonizing yelp unable to fully process this throbbing. It's hard to tell what's worse, the physical pain from your body or the emotional pain of Toji's death. 

The sliding door shoots open and a white-haired man saunter's in covering your mouth with his hand. 

"Shh, you have to be quiet," he whispers. "No one knows you're here."

Looking up you see Gojo, his eyes twinkle as he gazes down on you. Your body begins to lurch forward trying to get away from him but he just pins you down harder. 

"Stop," he utters. "You're only going to get yourself hurt."

You're squirming comes to an abrupt stop seeing as the severe pain in your body shoots through you once again. And you're calm but in agony.

"Don't scream, ok? I'm going to remove my hand now," he says calmly, then waits for your reassurance before slowly moving his hand. 

"What am I doing here?" You snap almost instantly after he pulls away and takes a seat beside you. "Why didn't you kill me?"

"A pretty girl like you?" He smirks. "Can't let that go to waste, plus you're not as strong as you think you are."

"And now what do you plan on doing to me?" You hiss, riled up by his presence in the room. You had only hoped to exchange very few words whilst in combat, but now you're stuck with him as punishment for not planning your attack. "Is locking me up some form of torture?"

"If you haven't noticed you're not under any restraints," he says gesturing to your body.

You wriggle your limbs to check how limited your movements are, but alas your only constraint is a blanket.

"You're a menace," you blurt out, feeling your face grow flush.

"A menace that lets you live?" 

"Why am I here then?" You fire back.

"Why did you try to kill me?" He asks, drawing in closer to you closing the gap between the two of you. "And I’m quite nice to even say you tried."

You don't respond, keeping your lips shut tight sending him a heavy glare. 

"Fine, I'll just have to use another kind of technique on you," Gojo adds, leaning in seductively. You're sure that dying right now could ruin everything that you've worked for, but a part of you would be at peace cuz you hoped that maybe you'd be able to find Toji. 

Gojo keeps his hand behind his back as if she is hiding his attack from you and you close your eyes in an attempt to shield yourself from the disturbance that is about to unfold. When the attack doesn't come, you open your eyes and see a bag of sweets in Gojo's hands.

"I'll feed them to you," he says in an almost threatening way.

"It's not necessary--"

"Say ahh," he sings, popping a chewy delicious red bean flavored treat in your mouth.

At first, you're taken aback by his weird form of torture, but as the flavors coat the inside of your mouth you settle into the bed feeling a bit better. But dropping your guard down just makes you more uneasy at the fact he is feeding you sweets and a big pit in your stomach forms.

"Are these poisoned?" You exclaim furious at yourself for giving in to this killer's tactics. 

"You seriously think I have--" he stops himself mid-sentence. "No, they're my favorite. I got a fresh batch this morning. How could you think I would soil such pristine sweets?"

Your face is in awe at his exclamation and you're not sure whether or not you're dreaming or just in hell. 

"Enjoy!" He says getting up to leave the box beside you before opening the door to leave. "Oh, and make sure not to be too loud. I wouldn't want my colleagues to find out about you."

With that, he shuts the door rendering you speechless. The situation you were in is far from sane in itself, you couldn't quite understand the ethics behind Gojo's decision to not kill you. Honestly, you thought him to be quite foolish for letting you live, this only gives you more opportunity to find his weaknesses so you could destroy him. But until then you were stuck in this room. 

A day and a bit go by, and the pain overwhelming your body begins to settle down. You hadn't found much intel seeing as you've been constricted to this room, but you were quite pleased Gojo came to visit giving you more food-- none of which had nutritional value, just more sweets. 

There was no added worth of being here, just time wasted where you weren't able to plan your attack. Gojo had been gone for a while and you suspected him not to be back until the morning, so this evening, you hoped would be the opportunity to sneak out. 

Getting up from bed your bones crack settling into your stance, the pain is still present, but you couldn't stand being here for another moment. As you pull open the sliding door you are met with Gojo face to face, causing you to jump out of your skin. 

"Want to go on a stroll?" He asks, choosing to ignore your attempt to escape. You're hesitant, to say the least, full of distrust. This man hasn't done anything to harm you but you can't give in to his ways. With a grin on his face, he adds, "I'll let you hold my hand."

"Gross," you mumble, walking past him outside to the elegant garden only lit by the moon. 

"Breathtaking," he whispers, taking the words right out of your mouth.

"Are you always this articulate?” You say before looking over to Gojo who is staring at you. 

"Are you always this stuck up?" He pokes back in hopes to get a reaction out of you. And he does because he can see the rage in you as you scowl at him with annoyance. "C'mon. Lighten up a little."

He walks in front of you down a gravel path and you follow behind. Evergreen foliage surrounds you, as small dim lanterns light the way to a small pond shimmering in the moonglow. The sight is tranquil and calming, bringing you a sense of peace. You wish you could have shared this moment with Toji, even if it was doubtful it would happen in the first place. A strange sense of urgency alarms your brain as you recall the dream you had the other day. Obviously, it could have been a sign to turn back and try to not kill Gojo, but it only made you even more determined to do so. 

"Why couldn't I kill you?" You whisper.

"Same reason Fugishiro couldn't… that's why you're here isn't it?"

You snapped to look over at Gojo, "Wh-- what. How do you know?"

"It's not the hardest thing to track," he teases. "Especially when a woman's in love."

"You're a fucking asshole," you utter. "You knew all along?"

"Cussing is a bit unattractive," he retorts. 

"Like I haven't heard that one before," you snort.

"That's not to say I don't like it," Gojo purrs, stepping in closer to you.

"When will you let me go?" you ask, pushing him at his chest with your fingertips.

"I don't know if I ever will, maybe you'll just be my prisoner forever," he flirts, to which you roll your eyes and cross your arm against your chest. "What no witty banter, your boyfriend seemed to be more up for it."

"He wasn't my boyfriend," you snarl.

Gojo looks at you intently as if to try to read your mind, then leans in closer.

"Then this makes this even easier." 

He closes the gap between the two of you. His lips look soft to the touch and seeing him closer you can honestly see why he has such a big ego. He's actually quite attractive and you wouldn't be surprised if he enjoyed handfuls of women chasing after him. Though this didn't really interest you and you turned away quickly before he could press his lips to yours. 

"Nice try. I'm leaving," you rasp walking away towards the wall of the garden to leave. You expected to have him stop you from escaping, but you find yourself continuing to walk away and get further and further from the room you were resting in. But now your deed is done and you can work to expel the disease that was once Gojo Satoru. 

Gojo watches you from behind, taking in your figure memorizing it. He knows that letting you go won't be the last time that he sees you. He knows that deep in his heart you will for sure be back.

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (March 9/2021) - Roses and Blood Vines

One day remains before Ponk’s attack. Ponk gives Foolish another warning, another chance to join the Egg. Foolish still says no.

Hannah returns from a five-day journey feeling sickened by something. The Blood Vines have crept onto her house... 

Something has to be done.

---

VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Tubbo

Foolish

Ranboo

Hannah

Karl

Eret

Captain Puffy

---

- Ponk makes his way through the Nether to the Temple of Undying. He surveys the place, wondering what to blow up first.

- He scouts through the chests, taking some diamonds here and there.

- Ponk places a few pieces of TNT in Foolish’s snake statue as a warning and heads back.

- Foolish joins the call, Ponk now at the Oogway Shrine.

Ponk: “Foolish...you know that time is ticking, right?”

Ponk: “Are you familiar with the hourglass parable?”

Foolish: “No, I am not.”

Ponk: “Me neither, but an hourglass has lots of sand in it, right?”

- Ponk starts talking through the Egg

“Hello, Foolish...the time is ticking...blood, fire and explosions will happen. You’re going to die, Foolish, if you don’t join me. DEATH.”

Foolish: “You speak of my summer home?”

“Your summer home will be no more.”

Foolish: “We’ll see about that.”

“Tick-tock goes the clock.”

- Ponk abruptly switches back to his normal voice and starts talking to Foolish about that scene in Kung Fu Panda where Oogway paralyzes the leopard guy  by poking him, and the leopard guy broke out of prison to defeat the five people

- Foolish asks if there’s a meaning to this. Ponk tells him he stole all of his music discs and put TNT in their place.

- Ponk says to be careful about the tripwires he put. Foolish says that with his emerald eyes, he will see through them.

- They go back and forth about preparations and Ponk’s plan. Ponk tries to convince Foolish that actually, he already blew it up (he didn’t)

Ponk: “Look, Foolish...I’m here to offer you another chance, okay? You can join the Egg, be a happy family, y’know? You can be a god, but you have to serve the Egg...”

Foolish: “You see, Ponk, I think the Egg will lead to heartbreak. Misery. Regret. And then death.”

Ponk: “Remember, Foolish, remember...you can never save a life. You can always prolong it.”

Foolish: “I might disagree with that...but that’s for another time.”

- They get distracted by Skeppy’s prank on the mansion

- Ponk goes to an Ender Chest and shows Foolish its contents. Foolish is outraged that Ponk actually took all his discs -- even Pigstep!

- Ponk shows Foolish the Wall of Pog Women

- The subject goes back to the Egg. Ponk asks again if he wants to join the Egg. Foolish says no.

Foolish: “I don’t think the Egg is good for anyone, and you know? The Egg may not even need you guys! The moment the Egg has enough power, it’ll toss you all aside like the little ants you are.”

- They start talking about cats

- Ponk meets Foolish down at the spider spawner and attempts his Technoblade-killing tactic on him.

- Ponk continues to prepare

- Foolish is still working on Tubbo and Ranboo’s mansion

- He goes to see Michelle in Snowchester. He ponders how strange their family is. A sheep pirate, a totem-part-shark and his totem son, an undead zombie piglin baby, the other brother -- a green blob?

“Nice meeting you, Michelle...um, yeah. Hopefully you never meet Dream.”

“...Just your average Minecraft family...”

(More “Schrödinger’s canon” family dynamics for now, but this is the moment the Wiki is referencing if you were wondering)

- Foolish continues work on the mansion

- Hannah heads back to the main Dream SMP area

- She’s been trying to make the server more beautiful, adding trees, flowers, natural things. But she was off picking flowers for the main pathway when she woke up with extreme nausea. She could barely walk.

- It’s finally time. Something is pulling her back.

Hannah: “It’s definitely time to bring spring to the server. This server is so, so messed up. There’s not enough trees, there’s not enough flowers, there’s not enough anything, especially in the main area."

- The only thing keeping her strong -- alive -- are the rose flowers. It took her two days to find the strength to walk back.

- Hannah starts planting flowers everywhere. The pathway is deteriorated, there are no trees, no flowers, not enough natural fauna that weren’t planted by the people. Her flowers have been picked and turned to dye by people. She needs more flowers to stay strong.

- She sees her house has been covered in Blood Vines. She suspects the Blood Vines have been eating up some of her rose flowers. All of it has to go. She doesn’t know who or what this is, but she believes it’s trying to kill her.

- Sam (and Tubbo disguised as Ranboo) arrive, and Hannah speaks with Sam about her house. Sam was coming to clean up the bank site.

- Sam helps Hannah start to clear off the Vines.

- A cow gets in the way. Hannah says it must be contaminated and kills it.

- All of a sudden, Sam shouts to not break anymore. Hannah looks and Bad and Antfrost have arrived.

- Bad says he thought Hannah was a supporter of plants. They don’t see why Hannah needs to clear the Vines away. Hannah and Sam insist they’re just trimming, doing some landscaping because Hannah is allergic.

- Bad and Ant suggest testing? They can take Hannah to a place with a large concentration of Vines and see if they have any effect. 

- Hannah says she’s willing to try. Sam tells Hannah he can’t go down there again. They tell Bad and Ant -- Hannah will try it while Sam takes a trip to the Nether. Sam whispers to Hannah that while they’re gone, Sam is going to clear the rest of the Vines in secret.

- Bad and Antfrost admire the Vines in Hannah’s house. Even the dogs seem to like it. Hannah promptly kills the dogs to put them out of their misery.

- Bad and Antfrost take Hannah down to the Egg Room. Hannah puts down a rose to help, but they destroy it. They tell her that the Egg likes her.

- They make her a “seat” (box) of black concrete and say she should stay there for “exposure therapy.”  They convince her to put her items in an Ender Chest even as she’s having doubts, and leave her alone there. 

- Hannah thought she had no enemies on this server, but she may have made a mistake.

- Karl wakes up in his library. He hangs up the poster for “The Haunted Mansion” and writes the Tale down.

- He writes his next diary entry. He feels confused. He doesn’t know who to trust anymore. At least the Inbetween seems like a genuinely peaceful place, but there were those books warning him about it.

- He decides he needs to get into that portal the next time he visits the Inbetween.

- His memory is getting worse. He needs to tell his friends the stories, but worries he won’t have any at this rate.

- Bad and Sapnap arrive to Kinoko. Karl wants to get new members.

- Sapnap kills Bad, sending him back.

Bad: “What have I told you about playing with fire there, son?”

- Karl plans to spread out advertisements about Kinoko.

- Foolish and HBomb arrive.

- They go to the Holy Land to put up posters.

- George arrives and they all decide to put up a massive poster in front of the prison, where the mining fatigue will make the blocks harder to get rid of. Bad protests this as a prison guard.

- They do it anyway

---

Upcoming events remain the same.