#they were the most damaged characters in that station

[mayabishopgold]

100% sibling vibes Maya & Jack | Station 19 [Friendship series]

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Owned By The Demon Admiral (AFAB Reader Version)

Male Demon Yandere x AFAB Demon Reader CW: Noncon/dubcon, terms like pussy used for reader's genitals, yandere DILF, general yandere behavior, groping, biting, captive reader, reader is setup, an overly cute semi-aquatic demon cat named Mr. Sir Buttons Word Count: 2k (I am saying this fic is AFAB versus female because no gendered pronouns are ever used at all for the reader in anyway, rather their genitals are biologically female. Terms like pussy/cunt are used so if that is triggering for you please avoid this fic. This was a birthday gift for a friend normally I don't do AFAB reader so this may be a bit sloppy. I hope you enjoy it.)

The battleship you were on drifted through the calm blood red waters of one of Hell’s oceans. The light of the two suns scintillated beautifully off the serene waves. No evidence at all that your ship had just sunk an enemy vessel, condemning the unlucky demons manning it to death.

In the ensuing ebullience at having survived with no damage the leader of the ship, Admiral Oraan, put one hand behind on your ass and one behind your head and pulled you into a passionate kiss as his tail began to wrap around your leg.

You struggled to push off the larger demon but finally he released you. You steadied yourself and gasped for breath.

“I said no!”

Then you stormed off to your quarters.

This wasn’t the first time your commanding officer had done something like this. This was at least the fourth time you had rebuffed his advances. He just wouldn’t get it through his thick skull. You were focused strictly on your military career. The war against Pride, one of the Princes of Hell, was far too important for romance and sex to get in the way.

But you underestimated his desire for you. And his rage. You should have assumed that the highest ranking admiral in Wrath’s fleet would have some severe anger issues. But you naively thought that service to his prince would take priority over his feelings for you.

The first thing he had done was to sabotage your quarters during inspection. You didn’t know it was his doing and were angered and paranoid that someone would thrash your space in such a way, causing you to get written up.

In reality it was all Oraan. A rising action in the story of your downfall.

The next thing that was done to ruin your uniforms. He told you it was disrespectful to the prince you all served, to the branch you served, and to him to have your uniforms in such a state.

After that it was a more serious infraction. Reported for contraband that was then found in your locker.

The final, and most infuriating, nail in the coffin happened in the next skirmish. A small opponent, easy to sink and posing only a slight threat to the hellish dreadnought on which you served. But Oraan had forced multiple witnesses to claim you were a coward. That you had abandoned your station and hid in your quarters while the rest of the crew gallantly manned their posts.

This led to you having to be court-martialed. No time to dock and have more formal proceedings. You had to be court-martialed right on the ship. Despite the evidence against you, you thought that once you were given your chance to make your arguments and have your comrades vouch for your behavior and character then this would all disappear.

That isn’t quite how things played out for you. You started the court-martial optimistic but with each passing moment a sense of dread became stronger and stronger. Each witness, people you had respected and thought of as your friends, gave damning testimony. They painted you as a belligerent, lazy, neglectful oaf. Someone who cared nothing for duty, rules, or honor.

You had to hold back tears as your body shook with rage and sorrow. Why were they saying such things? Why were they lying about you and your actions and character?

It finally became obvious when the sentence was passed. Not death, as might befit someone who fled from combat. Not dishonorable discharge. No, you were being reassigned. As Oraan’s personal attendant. “A non-combat role where no one would be harmed by your cowardly behavior.”

It was all him. He had pressured or otherwise bribed everyone to turn against you. To lie about you. All to get you in his clutches and punish you for rejecting him. And there was nothing you could do about it. He was an older and stronger demon, you’d have no hope to beat him in a fight. And even if you somehow managed it, how would you escape on a ship? And if by some miracle you either made it to land or just waited until the ship was docked you would be chased for all eternity.

No, he had you in your clutches. Your only hope was that your contract with the navy was almost up. You were only to be enlisted for five years at a time before you had to renew. The only exception for that being prolonged was if a hot war was going on, but this one was nearing its end. Since all that happened was the court-martial was just technically a reassignment you were only bound by the terms of your enlistment.

All you had to do was endure for ten months.

It was humiliating. Oraan really wanted to keep you reminded of your new position. You had to be at his side constantly. Obeying all his orders and whims. You had to press his uniforms and get his meals. And in private the tasks got much worse.

Sucking his girthy cock was a common “request” of his. Almost daily. You also had to bathe with him most nights. This required you to wash his entire well-muscled form. If you were a willing participant you would have enjoyed it, he was very attractive, the tattoo of an anchor on his left shoulder and the three large scars on his ribs adding to his rugged allure.

But you weren’t a willing participant. And bathing him usually led to him giving you an “inspection.” That was where he touched, kissed, groped every inch of you before sliding his cock into your hot pussy, slowly fucking into you until he came hard. His tongue, of course, had to probe your mouth during these inspections, “just to be thorough.”

It was good that he had you eat meals with him in his private quarters, because you didn’t think you’d be able to look any of the other crew members in the eye ever again. The ones that hadn’t been involved in fucking over your entire life were the ones that believed the lies about you. On the entire ship you had not a single ally. The only one you could confide in was Mr. Sir Buttons, the semi-aquatic demonic cat that served as the mascot and unofficial morale officer on the ship.

You were on your way back from taking your food trays back to the galley when you felt something soft rub against your leg. Mr. Sir Buttons! You had a few minutes before you had to be back with Oraan so you stooped down and picked him up. He purred loudly.

“At least I never have to worry about you betraying me.”

He meowed as if in affirmation. You nuzzled his thick, red, waterproof fur before placing him back down to go about his very important demonic cat business.

When you got back to Oraan’s quarters he was naked on the bed. His large prick standing erect and ready for the attention you would surely have to give it, a bead of precum running down the length evidently in anticipation.

You sighed in resignation and began to strip your clothing. You had been doing this for over a month now. Only less than nine more to go. You could do it, just one moment at a time.

Too excited after leering at your naked form, he couldn’t wait for you to come to him anymore. Instead he got up and used his strong arms to pick you up and pin you to the bed. He stole your lips with his, kissing you in a greedy frenzy, his large cock swung below as he groped your chest.

“Mine! I can’t believe after all these years you’re finally all mine!”

He bit your neck, causing you to moan involuntarily. But maybe you should just give into the pleasure of the situation. It was going to happen either way and you’d be able to move on with your life once this was all over anyway. Besides, getting into it a bit might just help him finish faster so you’d have less time stuck in this position.

Oraan massaged the outside of your cunt before sliding a couple of fingers into you to get you wet and ready for his large prick.

When he lined his cock up with your drooling entrance, rough hands on your hips, you didn’t look away or flinch as you would normally. You wrapped your arms and legs around him instead, allowing him the perfect angle to slam deeply into your pussy. He grinned, ecstatic that you finally seemed to have not only learned your place but were actively embracing it. He slammed down with hard but slow thrusts. Each one making you gasp and each one punctuated with another kiss or nip up your neck.

Lewd squelching noises emanated from your sex as he increased the tempo of your lovemaking.

Had any of the crew passed the admiral’s quarters on their way through the halls all they would have heard was the rhythmic slap of Oraan’s nuts against your skin as he bred you along with the occasional grunt or swear from him or moan from you.

“Fuck! I love you so much!”

You only drooled a bit while looking up at him dumbly with lustful eyes, having been fucked nearly senseless. You scratched his shoulders with your sharp demonic nails as you pulled him closer to you in an attempt to somehow get him deeper. You were near your climax, desperate for it.

The pain from your nails spurred him on, causing him to fuck you at a new pace that straddle the line between pain and pleasure. You winced as he came hard, your tight clenching walls milking his cock and sending him over the edge soon after.

He gave a few final thrusts into you to empty his balls good and deep before pulling out and holding you tight, caging you in with his sweat-slicked body. You went limp from exhaustion, practically basking in the afterglow that always followed such intense, passionate sex. If you didn’t know any better you could have mistaken Oraan for a lust demon. Though you imagined saying such a thing to his face would have him prove instantly that he was, in fact, a being of wrath.

When the two of you had recovered he took you into the small shower with him. This time around, he cleaned you. Gently washing your body of cum and sweat before rinsing your hair. Far more tender behavior than you would have thought possible from the stern leader. Maybe there was more wisdom to just being more open to your predicament than you had initially thought.

It was a change in your behavior that hadn’t gone unnoticed by the man who had orchestrated the vast shift in your life circumstances.

“Finally decided to give in, huh?” Came his gruff voice from behind you.

You had no reason to be dishonest or hide your thoughts from him.

“Well, my contract is up in just a few months. I am not going to renew so this assignment is only temporary. I figured it’ll go by faster if I just accept it.”

He laughed and pulled you close to him, you could feel his stubble on your neck as he whispered words that made your fiery demon blood run cold.

“With my power, influence, and wealth I can assure you that your signature will keep renewing that contract for eternity, sweetheart. Whether you sign it yourself or not. Even if we aren’t deployed I will find a way to keep you with me.”

You went limp and would have fallen to the floor had he not had his arms wrapped tightly around you. The room felt like it was spinning. You barely took note of the water trailing down your skin or the chaste kiss he pressed to your cheek.

It was over for you, now that Oraan finally had you there was absolutely nothing that would make the older demon give you up.

[jezabelle9299]

Broken Lungs S.R x FEM!Reader

CWs- Spoilers for season 5, depictions of asthma and use of a nebulizer, mentions of gunshot wounds, and health insurance not covering necessary medication.

Quick Infodump- Oxygen saturation levels should be 95-100%, lower than 93% should seek immediate help from a healthcare professional, and lower than 85% can cause severe damage to the brain because of a lack of oxygen.

Overture: Spencer is recovering from the knee surgery he needed after being shot in the field, when he sees a familiar face in the hospital being treated for an asthma attack.

A/N- This is based on my own experience with asthma, but it's different for everyone, so the relatability may vary with this one. But I was stuck at home all day because of an air quality alert so I did this instead of getting ready for the semester that starts in two weeks.

After one of his worst days in the field, Spencer ended the day in a hospital bed unable to walk. Hotch had been stabbed, and he had been shot. Both would be ok, and they were in separate hospitals to recover. The team alternated who would come to visit, and when. It usually took until the nurses kicked them out at the end of visiting hours, for them to actually leave. 

It’d been 2 days since his surgery, and the nurses had given him permission to walk around with his brace, on crutches. He’d never used them before, so he walked around the floor to the nurses’ station to get some more jell-o, and then around the hall back to his room. He allowed his curiosity (or nosiness) to get the better of him, occasionally glancing in at the people with their doors open, giving them a small smile or wave. Until he saw a familiar face. 

You’d worked for the FBI for a few years, working on the same floor as the BAU, but you weren’t in the field. You were sitting up in a hospital bed, playing solitaire in one hand, holding what looked like an oxygen mask to your face with the other. You looked up when you felt his eyes on you, and there he was, trapped in the doorway. You’d think you were hallucinating if not for the brace on his knee, and the crutches he was propping himself up on. He didn’t move from the threshold until you gave him a small wave, jumpstarting his movement into your room. 

You’d heard about Hotch’s incident, but you weren’t in the office yesterday, and since Spencer’s injury happened later in the day, you had no idea why he was here. You pulled the mask spraying (terrible tasting) medicine into your lungs from your face. You could stop for 30 seconds to see what he was here for. 

“Hey Spencer, what–um, what brings you here?” He hesitated, because you’d know since the 5th floor of the FBI building was the most gossip-ridden place he’d seen since high school. Yet he had no idea you’d be here. It’s not even as if you never talked, whenever he was in the office he’d stop by your desk to talk to you. He figured that you hadn’t gotten tired of him yet because he was gone a lot, although in reality you’d never tire of hearing his voice.

“I got shot in the knee, I’ll be fine, the real question is why are you here?” You’re sure it’s on government record, something Garcia could find in two minutes if she looked, but you still didn’t like talking about it. You knew it was stupid to be embarrassed of it, but you couldn’t help it. Every time it got brought up, you felt like the dorky character in a movie carting around their inhaler all the time, the butt of some cosmic joke. 

You preferred to think of it as an inconvenience more than anything. It didn’t come up often because you weren’t in the field, and when you needed to use an inhaler, you measured your breathing long enough to get to an empty bathroom or supply closet. You’d just blame the jitters that came after on too much coffee, and no one would ask any questions. This time, the inhaler wasn’t working, the next step in medication, a small machine similar to what you were supposed to be hooked up to now, wasn’t working either. So you drove to the ER feeling like you’d just run 10 miles, and they were making you stay 36 hours to give you stronger medication in intervals. 

“No reason.” You didn’t know why you even bothered with that response. Neither did Spencer, tossing you an apathetic look. He knew how squeamish you got when attention was drawn to something that made you look vulnerable, which is why he let it slide every time you walked into a supply closet looking flushed and panicked, with a soundtrack accompanying every time you took a breath, only to come out 5 minutes later with no supplies. 

 “Ok, really? Why would you even try it, you’re hooked up to a nebulizer and your oxygen saturation is at 90. What happened?” He was using the tone he only ever broke out for interrogations and proving Morgan wrong, but you still wanted to minimize the attention drawn to this not so glamorous piece of your life. You wanted Spencer to see you as someone he could date, even someone he could love, so this was not ideal to the image you’d been trying to show at work. 

“I have gross broken lungs. It’s really no big deal.” He laughed, but there was minimal humor behind it. Like he couldn’t even fathom you thinking this was ‘no big deal’. 

“I would venture to say you being in the hospital because you were unable to breathe is a very big deal.” While you loved when Spencer got a little bit cocky, you decided it would be more fun to make the little vein in his forehead appear again. So you tossed a vague shrug.

“Well I’d say getting shot is a much bigger deal. So why don’t you sit down, eat your jello, and tell me what happened to you, while I finish this thing.” He couldn’t argue with that, because at the very least he wanted you to feel better and the medicine currently going to waste while you were talking was the only way to accomplish that, so he relented. 

He didn’t want to move your things to the floor, but they were occupying the only chair in the room, so he made himself comfortable at the foot of your bed. He always wanted to be closer to you anyway. Setting his crutches next to him and opening the small cup of jello he’d somehow been holding this whole time, he reiterated his answer from before. 

“I told you already, I got shot in the knee, went into surgery, and now other than having to use these crutches for a while, I’m fine. Just need to spend a little longer in recovery before I can go back home to minimize the risk of infection.” He took a bite of jell-o just as a show of finality, like there was nothing more to say. Like a gunshot wound was not a huge deal. 

The whirr of the machine started to slow down, the medicine sputtering instead of coming out in a steady steam, meaning you could finally be done. You set it on the table by the bed, right next to your abandoned game of solitaire, and as soon as you set it down Spencer’s attention was back on your wellbeing. 

“Ok your turn, what happened?” 

“I’ve had asthma since I was a kid, and I just got unlucky today. It’s always worse this time of year, and my inhaler wasn’t really doing anything for me. Our health insurance plan doesn’t cover the more expensive meds unless I’m in the hospital, so here I am, for the next 36 hours.” You made a point to turn your exasperated expression into a cheesy smile, hoping to convince him to stay for just a little while longer.  “But the bright side is that since you're here I don’t have to play solitaire anymore. That was getting old fast.” You grabbed the cards, giving them a quick shuffle.

“So what do you say Vegas, are you up for a round of poker?” You hoped that would distract him from fussing over you, and luckily it did. He was satisfied you were ok, and the last thing he wanted was to push you too far, and for you to ask him to leave. So he let the smile take over his face. 

“Always. But i'm not going to go easy on you just because of your- what did you call them- broken lungs?” That got a good laugh out of you. Admittedly wheezy, but still one of the most beautiful sounds in the world to him. 

“Gross, broken lungs. And I wouldn’t dream of it.” You dealt the cards, already knowing you’d lose. You didn’t even know how to play poker. But word around the office was that most of your coworkers wouldn’t play with him since he always won. But you didn’t mind, you mostly just wanted someone to hang out with, and you were overjoyed that person was Spencer. He won, of course. Only gloating a little bit at how badly he beat you, and while you were dealing the second round of cards, you couldn’t help but vocalize what had been in the back of your mind for a few minutes now. 

“Hey Spencer, could I ask you a favor?” He had a mix of worry and willingness to help all over his face. 

“Anything.”

“Could you–not tell anyone in the office? Just. You know how they are, they would make a fuss about the whole hospital thing and it’s just not necessary.” 

“Where do they think you’re going to be for the next day and a half?”

You looked down like a kid who just got caught in a lie. “I kind of told Hotch I had a cold.” Spencer just sighed in response. 

“I really do think you should let them fuss over you. You deserve it, and you know Penelope lives for that sort of thing.” That you couldn’t deny, no matter how much you disagreed with him saying you deserved to be cared for. 

“Please, Spencer?” 

“Alright, but they might walk past your room in the morning. Garcia said she was coming, and you know she’ll drag at least one person along with her.” 

“Noted. I’ll close the door in the morning. Thank you Spencer, seriously, it means a lot.” You put your hand over his and it felt like every thought he’d ever had was gone from his brain at your touch. He couldn’t believe his dumb luck at meeting someone like you. Just to be in your orbit, to see and know you, felt like it could only be accomplished by divine intervention. Selfishly, he wished that you’d be staying a little longer, so that you could both leave together. Even more selfishly, he wished that you would leave with him, and come to his apartment. There he could take care of you, make you feel special until he could finally convince you that you deserved it. Deserved everything. 

You moved your hand to start tapping it on your leg, and while Spencer knew the side effects of respiratory steroids, he couldn’t help the nagging feeling that something was wrong. That maybe he did something wrong. 

“Is there something on your mind?” 

“No, it’s just the jitters. I used to get them so bad when I was a kid, my parents would have to practically hold me down. It’s like I have the energy to run a mile, but I can’t actually do it. I’ll calm down in a bit, but I’m probably going to get really rambly first.” 

“I’d love to listen to you talk, and I love being on the other side of a ramble.” It was just then that a nurse came in to ask if you were feeling better, charting your vials,  reminding you that you need to take your next dose in 4 hours, and telling you that an orderly would be in to set it up then.

Just when she was getting ready to leave she turned her attention to Spencer. “I’m sorry, but I am going to need you to go back to your room Dr. Reid. You both need to get some rest.”

He reluctantly told her that he would and just as soon as he’d come in, he disappeared again. He gave you a wave when he was gathering his crutches, but no real goodbye. You of course waved back, but you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. You really liked him, and you thought maybe he really liked you too. And yet, he only gave you a wave. 

All of the adrenaline moving through you, getting you all worked up finally won out, and stupid as it may sound, tears started to prick the corners of your eyes. Just as you closed the door to your room to get some privacy while you cried, your phone started to ring, and you couldn’t help but think; What now? You answered it without looking, and on the other side of the line was the person you wanted to hear from the most. 

“So what did you want to talk about? I have all the time in the world.”

[sosomonimagines]

House's girl, part one — House x Daughter! Reader

Summary: House learns to love his daughter.

Warnings: diet talk and harassment, but nothing too in-depth

Author's note: English is not my native language. I have an idea for a saga about this, but I want to see if anyone likes it first 😭😭

Part two:

SUNDAY

You rarely saw your father. 

By the time you were born, your parents had already divorced, and he chose to remain largely uninvolved in your life. You knew your grandparents and received some Christmas and birthday presents, but nothing that made a lasting impact. Most of the time, he lived as though he weren’t a father at all.

Yet here you were, standing in front of his apartment, holding a suitcase with a few changes of clothes. Your mother had become involved with a man of questionable character — a manipulator with a minor criminal record that included harassment. You had reported him for making comments that made you uncomfortable, but your mother, who was deeply entangled with him, dismissed your concerns as lies. Consequently, the women's police station decided to send you to live with your father, as you had no other close relatives.

You knocked on door 221B and waited for about five minutes. “He must be trying to escape through the window, but luckily he’s limping,” you thought with a hint of irony.

“You actually came,” your father said as he opened the door.

“Sorry I didn’t choose to become a homeless person,” you replied.

He stepped aside to let you in. The apartment was surprisingly tidy, which took you aback; your mother had often complained about his disorganization. You couldn’t help but wonder if he had made an effort to clean up for your arrival.

“You’ll stay in the guest room; it’s the second door on the right.”

“Why do you have a guest room if you never have guests?”

“Sometimes, the prostitutes prefer not to sleep in the same room as me, especially when I hire many.”

“Did you know I’m only fourteen and that sexual jokes and exposure to excessive affection can damage my mind, like abuse?”

“Good thing it wasn’t a joke.”

You sighed deeply and walked to the guest room. It was a sparse space with just a bed and a dresser. As you quickly unpacked your clothes, you realized there was no suitable place to study— something you would need to address soon, especially with a math exam approaching.

“Where am I going to study?” you asked your father, who was sitting on the couch with a glass of whiskey. “You’re drinking at eight-thirty in the morning?” you added, somewhat perplexed.

“Are you studying at eight-thirty in the morning?” he retorted with irony. “Study in the kitchen; there’s a table there.”

“But there’s no door between the living room and the kitchen.”

“That’s really a shame.”

“If you watch TV, the noise will distract me. I have Sensory Processing Disorder and need a quiet environment.”

“I’ll buy a desk for your room tomorrow,” he said.

“But I need to study today.”

“One day won’t make a difference.”

“It does when you want to get into Harvard.”

“You’re in middle school; nobody studies in middle school.”

“Actually, I’m in high school. I’m three years ahead.”

“Oh my God, you’re so annoying,” he exclaimed, getting up and heading to his room. “Study in the kitchen in peace. I’ll stay in my room.”

“Don’t you have to go to the hospital?” you asked.

“Unfortunately, no,” he replied, slamming the door behind him. You didn’t mind the harsh tone; you had come for a place to stay, not for a father.

•••

MONDAY

You woke up at six-thirty, the same time as your father. With two bathrooms in the house, you both managed to get ready without crossing paths.

When you met in the kitchen for breakfast, a heavy silence lingered. He served himself without offering you anything, but you had learned the previous day that if you didn’t help yourself, you’d end up going hungry.

You helped yourself to Pop Tarts and a cup of black coffee.

“Aren’t you a bit young for coffee?” your father asked.

“It’s a legal drug, and there are no age restrictions,” you replied.

He didn’t respond, and silence settled between you again. The next sound was the doorbell, followed by the creak of the door opening.

“Hey, House,” a man said as he entered. Seeing you, he paused, visibly shocked. “Is this your daughter?”

“Touché,” your father replied, his tone a blend of sarcasm and resignation.

James Wilson knew that House had a daughter and understood that, despite his reluctance, he cared about her. However, seeing you there was still a surprise.

“My name is James Wilson. I’m a friend of your father’s,” James said, extending his hand for a handshake.

“My dad has friends?” you asked, surprised, making James laugh.

“Alright, alright, that was a really funny joke,” House interrupted. “Let’s head to the hospital; I don’t want to be late.”

“You’re always late, House,” James retorted. “We’ll drop your daughter off at school first.”

“Seriously? Thank you so much!” you said, thrilled, and dashed to grab your backpack.

As you left, James turned to House. “Don’t look at me like that. I know you care about her.”

•

You arrived home at four in the afternoon, utterly exhausted. After studying late into the night and barely catching glimpses of your father throughout the day, you felt the weight of the long hours. Whenever he did venture into the kitchen, it was in silence, leaving you to wonder whether he was avoiding conversation or simply giving you space.

Heading straight to the kitchen, you rummaged through the sparse offerings. With little more than cereal and Pop Tarts available, you poured yourself some cereal — without milk, as there was none. As you were eating, the doorbell rang.

“Yes?” you called out, opening the door to find a tall, burly man holding a clipboard.

“Gregory House?” he asked.

“This is his house. I’m his daughter.”

“He requested that a study desk be delivered here.”

You smiled to yourself as you let the man in. He proceeded to set up the desk in your room, a small but meaningful gesture from your father.

•••

TUESDAY

You hadn’t seen your father the day before. When he came home, you were already asleep. Besides setting up the study desk, he called later to let you order some food, a small sign that he was making an effort, however minimal.

The next morning, as you both sat down for breakfast, you decided to strike up a conversation, unsure of how receptive he would be.

“How was the hospital yesterday?” you asked.

“Hmm?” he responded, looking up, surprised by the question.

“Any interesting cases?” you pressed.

“A girl with cancer having hallucinations.”

“Was the tumor pressing on the brain?” you inquired.

“No, the tumor was in the heart.”

“…A clot?” you guessed.

“Exactly.” House paused, impressed by your accuracy. He knew you were intelligent, having skipped grades and attended a prestigious school on a scholarship. However, he hadn’t realized your aptitude for medicine. “Do you like medicine?”

“A lot,” you replied. “My dream has been to become a doctor since I was nine. I attend pre-med camps, study whenever I can, read extensively about it, and watch medical shows to guess the diagnoses.”

“I enjoy doing that too,” he said, taking a sip of coffee.

“I was wondering if I could read your medical books.”

“If you can.”

“My reading level is quite advanced. I might not understand everything right away, but I’ll research what I don’t get. And my dad’s a doctor, so I can ask him about it,” you said with a sideways smile, almost catching a glimpse of a smile on his lips.

Moments later, Wilson arrived to take them out. As he dropped you off at school, House mentioned to him that you were aspiring to a medical career and were very intelligent. It was the first time Wilson saw House display genuine pride.

•

When you arrived home that day, it was the first time in days you could truly relax, free from looming exams or relentless homework. You took a shower and settled into the living room, turning on a cartoon — your favorite way to unwind.

As you were engrossed in an episode of The Flintstones, your father came in.

“Aren’t you studying?” he asked, surprised. It was the first time he’d seen you doing anything other than studying since you arrived. To him, it seemed you were engaged in it constantly.

“My exams are over for now. When I finish a round of exams, I take a day off. And you, why are you home early?”

“There was nothing to do.”

“Did the patient die?”

“No, he recovered.”

“Congratulations.”

“Why?”

“For not having killed him.” House wasn’t sure if you were being serious or sarcastic, but he didn’t care.

He limped over to the refrigerator, grabbed a beer, and sat down next to you. This surprised you; you had expected him to retreat to his room.

“That cartoon isn’t from your era,” he remarked.

“Yes, but I prefer the old ones. Do you want to change the channel?”

“Don’t be overly nice; it’s annoying. You want to watch the cartoon and you got here first, so go ahead.”

You nodded and the room fell into a comfortable silence. Occasionally, you glanced at your father, noticing him getting caught up in the cartoon, even suppressing laughter at some scenes.

After a while, he asked, “Want to order a pizza?”

“I ate out yesterday.”

“So what?”

“My mom only lets me eat out once a week at most. She says it’s unhealthy and makes you fat.”

“Good to know your mother’s paranoias haven’t changed. I’m a doctor, and you know what’s worse than eating out? Not eating at all. Do you want pizza?”

“I guess so.”

“Then call and order it.”

You followed his instructions, ordering your favorite pizza. When it arrived, you ate it in the living room—another thing your mother would never allow. After the cartoon ended, your father switched to a medical drama. You watched in silence until, midway through an episode, he paused and looked at you.

“So, what do you think?” he asked.

“Pardon?” you replied, confused.

“Sudden and inexplicable nail disintegration, colorful and shiny mucous lesions in the mouth, temporary and recurrent inability to recognize faces, rapid and unpredictable changes in blood pressure, and intense heat sensation without fever. What is it?”

“Are you serious?"

“You said you’re good at this, right?”

You paused, considering.

“Stiff-Person Syndrome?”

“I need you to be sure.”

“Stiff-Person Syndrome. It’s a rare autoimmune condition that can lead to progressive muscle rigidity and pain, along with various neurological symptoms like motor difficulties and changes in sensory perception.”

“Great. You’re better than my team,” he said.

You watched two more episodes before falling asleep. In the middle of the night, you woke to find yourself covered and with your foot adjusted for comfort. You smiled, knowing that your father had made sure you were tucked in for a good night’s rest.

[banjjakz]

serial bereavement ; yuuta x gn/f!reader

Every first Thursday for the past six months, without fail, a single plot of ashes has been unlawfully exhumed from the cemetery behind Joenji Temple.

Or: As a rookie hire, you are partnered with Investigations Section 1 Officer Okkotsu Yuuta to investigate a law-defying, bone-chilling, uniquely disturbing case of obsessive love that threatens to shut down the entirety of Shinjuku.

part i. word count: 5.2k

warnings: rating & warnings WILL change; part i of iii; reader is referred to with she/her pronouns & has a vagina & breasts, but is never addressed with gendered titles [e.g.: "ms.," "lady," etc.]; eventual smut that is dubcon at best; horror-romance, in that order; themes of psychosexual horror; side satosugu [non-essential to plot]; i cannot overstate how abnormal this one is, even for me

the content of this fictional work is inspired by the video game "collar x malice" which belongs to the original rightful owners. i do not own or claim to own the rights to the collar x malice franchise. this written work does not represent the intentions, actions, or thoughts of any of the creators/owners of the "collar x malice" franchise.

‪♡‬ read on ao3 ���♡‬

likes♡ / reblogs ↻ appreciated!

Every first Thursday for the past six months, without fail, a single plot of ashes has been unlawfully exhumed from the cemetery behind Joenji Temple.

The first incident was thought to be a freak accident, one of those strange, wild card crimes that confound local police and commandeer national attention. Pictures of the desecrated grave ravaged internet forums for weeks thereafter, sending chills down the backs of even the most stoutly atheist Japanese youth. An already horrific occurrence worsened all the more with the repeated presence of a seemingly random signature: there, at the bottom of the grave, in the very deepest point of the aged, black soil, laid a folded handwritten note. Upon unfurling the crisp creases, the Shinjuku Police Force Special Crimes Unit discovered that these were actually letters.

Love letters, to be exact.

Presumably penned by the perp, the characters were neat and clean – almost feminine in nature. So strong was the desire imbued into these letters that it seemed as though each individual brush stroke contained one thousand sonnets of unceasing, burning ardor. Clearly, the perpetrator yearned for the attention of their beloved.

That they would go to great lengths – immoral lengths, even – for just a three-minute story on the evening news, all so that their beloved might idly overhear the report as they prepare their dinner, idly chopping radishes to the soundtrack of a violent confession woefully fallen upon their deaf ears…

Well. It makes you squirm. You suppose that’s the point.

As a fresh-faced rookie of the Special Regions Crime Prevention Office, this is your first time on the job in the midst of such a sensational case. At first, your department was unsure how to label these crimes: neither killings nor injuries were incurred, and yet, the spiritual damage effected by the robbing of a Buddhist shrine’s graveyard was somehow worse than any brutal homicide. Eventually, the commissioner labeled these incidents as “Serial Bereavements” out of respect to the families whose deceased loved ones had been wrongfully removed from their final resting place.

After the first offense, local news stations reported the anomalous crime with a sick sort of fascination. Lovesickness was no foreigner in Japan, and although many screwed their faces up at the morbid displays of affection, so too did just as many turn up the volume on their televisions and lean just a few centimeters closer, eyes glazed with blue light, horror, mortification, and arousal.

After the second and third offenses, it was obvious that a pattern was beginning to emerge. Both incidents occurred on the first Thursday of the month, and both incidents were signed with the same achingly forlorn pages of desperation. In fear of exacerbating the perpetrator, or inspiring copycats, news stations and publications were not permitted to release the contents of the letters.

After the fourth offense, protests began to congregate outside of the Shinjuku Police Station, demanding an immediate and swift correction of the police’s incompetency in addressing the issue. When the first set of ashes had been disturbed, cherry blossoms still clung to the trees. By this time it was July, and the harsh glare of the summer sun beat unrelentingly upon the earth, as though reprimanding its inhabitants.

After the fifth offense, a special curfew was instated for all residents of the Shinjuku ward. No persons for any reason were to be out past eleven o’clock at night. This was punishable by immediate apprehension for questioning. The law was martial, but the law was necessary. Or so the commissioner claimed.

After the sixth offense, the police began looking inwardly, suspecting members of its own ranks. There was no possible way that a civilian could have been able to penetrate the immense security measures installed to secure the Joenji cemetery. Ropes and ropes of caution tape, nearly 24/7 surveillance, and daily K-9 rounds were still not enough to halt the perpetrator in their tracks. This could only mean one thing:

An inside job.

“Scary,” shivers Ieiri, mockingly, lips curled in a sardonic smirk around the length of her unlit cigarette. “You hear they think it’s one of us?”

You regularly have lunch with Ieiri Shoko, director of the Forensics department. She is as caustic as she is jaded, having served in an underrecognized role for far too long, wasting her prolific talents in an obscure government position with little excitement – save for, of course, highly-charged periods of reoccurring atrocities, such as the current case of the Serial Bereavements.

“Don’t even joke. We should be taking this seriously…”

The cooling September breeze has you huddling into your knees a little further. Enjoying lunch on the rooftop was a treat while it was still summer. But now, September has just torn a new page in your calendar and has brought with it an uncharacteristically crisp cold snap. It is Tuesday, the second.

“I’m sooooo serious,” Ieiri says after taking a rather dramatically prolonged drag from the now-lit cig. “Couldn’t be any more serious. Brr.”

Usually, Ieiri’s dry humor is an effective, if transient, salve to your ever-festering anxiety. But today is an exception.

“Please, just think about it for a second... To think that any one of the people we work with every day could be committing such heinous crimes…and for a romantic obsession, no less…it doesn’t frighten you?”

Ieiri exhales smoke, puffing lazily like a sated dragon draped over its hoard. “Nah. I seriously doubt anyone in our ward has the balls.”

Her vulgarity makes you blush. You’ve always been easy to fluster. “Ieiri-san!”

“How many times have I told you to just call me by my first name… jeez.” She ruffles your hair without even an ounce of care for how it makes you groan in consternation. “Too polite for your own good. Someone is going to take advantage of that, one day. And then where will you be? Calling for Ieiri-san to come save you?”

Somewhere, she’s strayed from the path of lighthearted teasing. You still under the weight of her calloused palm, peering curiously up at her through your lashes. “Um…well…”

And as soon as her touch had manifested upon you, just as quickly is it yanked away. “Anyways, call me whatever you like. Not like it matters, anyway.”

“I guess not…”

The rest of your lunch is finished in an unstable silence. Her final, rhetorical question rolls around in your mind, impressing itself upon your malleable brain tissue: Calling for Ieiri-san to save you?

But when would you need saving?

You’re a police officer, after all. You can take care of yourself.

If you couldn’t, why would you serve as an officer in the first place?

;

On the following Monday – the third of September – the director of the Investigations Unit summons you to the fifth floor.

After a polite (terrified) bow, you enter Investigations HQ. “Hello.” Please do not fire me. Please do not transfer me. Please do not publicly reprimand me. Please do not—

“Ah, thank you for coming. Wow, what a deep bow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a perfectly geometrical ninety degrees.”

Face burning, you avert your gaze to the marble floor. “Ummm…”

You’ve heard that the chief of Investigations, Gojo Satoru was an eccentric fellow, passing in and out as he pleased through the station, hanging off of the director like a second skin. It should come as no surprise that he is here to greet you, today. And yet, still does your thin skin prickle with humiliation, with shame.

Geto Suguru, director of Investigations, cuts in before his partner can continue. “Leave her alone, Satoru. She’s shaking. Are you doing alright today, officer?”

Embarrassed, you nod. Great. It hasn’t even been a full sixty seconds and you’re already embarrassing yourself in front of your superiors.

“Alright, alright. I’ll lay off. Only ‘cuz you asked, though! Hehe.”

“I’ve summoned you today to invite you to join a special taskforce,” Geto continues, unperturbed by Gojo’s wily eyebrow wiggles. “This taskforce will use unique means to investigate the Joenji Serial Bereavements.”

Your blood is paralyzed in your veins, cowed by the enormity of this proposal. “Sir…?”

“In the short amount of time since you’ve joined the Shinjuku Police Department, your conduct has been nothing but outstanding. You’re capable and damn impressive. And frankly speaking, officer, we need a fresh set of eyes on this case.”

There’s nothing else you could possibly say other than: “I would be humbled to join. Thank you.”

“Great, knew we could count on you. We’re keeping the taskforce small for confidentiality’s sake. You’ll be working with one other partner: Officer Okkotsu Yuuta from Investigations Section 1.”

That name… why do you know that name?

Then it hits you: Okkotsu Yuuta is the name whispered through the halls of the police department with awe, envy, admiration, and – occasionally – fear. He is a legendary detective with prowess in both tactical as well as strategical measures. His presence is felt rather than seen, as he is scarcely spotted within the physical walls of the department. However, what does not tangibly appear is nonetheless ever-present in whispered rumors and glamorized notoriety.

“O-Okkotsu-san…” you stammer, taken aback. “But…I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to question your judgement, but why have I been chosen to pair with Okkotsu-san?”

“Oh! He specifically requested—”

Gojo’s cheerful sentence is curtailed by a swift elbow to the ribs. While he recovers, Geto finishes the thought, “Okkotsu has requested to be paired with a rookie for this assignment to personally train them. Something about ‘personally ensuring the longevity of the Shinjuku police force,’ or the like. What a do-gooder, am I right?”

“Okay,” you respond, uncertain.

“Your first matter of business will be a visitation to the Joenji graveyard to look for any new leads. You leave in one hour. Okkotsu will meet you downstairs, in front of the building. Good luck!”

In a daze, you bow deeply once more. “Thank you. I will be sure to work hard.”

;

Unsure of what to expect, you linger in front of the armed entrance to the building, trying your best not to shift your weight from foot to foot in an obviously apparent display of anxiety.

It’s not that you’re the type to be starstruck! You are a sensible, no-nonsense, down-to-earth person. Celebrities have never appealed to you much, and idol culture continues to confound you.

In light of this, it’s quite difficult to explain the visceral, full-body reaction you have when you meet Officer Okkotsu Yuuta for the first time.

He is not superbly handsome. Good-looking enough to get street-casted? Sure. With some minor work, he might even be the jewel visual for an up-and-coming boy group. Young and fit, he is the picture of an officer steadily approaching the peak of their hotshot years. Plain, dark hair falls on either side of his forehead in a lopsided part, and his uniform is buttoned and put together, if only a little wrinkled. All in all, he is an average, considerably attractive young man in the Shinjuku police force.

And yet.

Eyes like pools of obsidian tether you to the spot like a spell has been cast upon your bones. Enchanted, your lips part, but no sounds slips through. The intrusive, overstimulating soundtrack of Shinjuku rush hour traffic fades to little more than background noise as your senses are held hostage by the void of quiet, negative space in the shape of a young man that stands in front of you.

His bow is deep and overly formal. He’s technically your superior… and definitely a senior-ranking officer. “A pleasure to meet you,” he announces to the concrete ground “I’m Okkotsu Yuuta, Investigations Section 1.”

“N-nice to meet you, Okkotsu-senpai. My name is—”

The cringe marring his otherwise untroubled face stops your words before his interjection is even voiced. “Ah, um. Just ‘Okkotsu’ is fine. We look to be around the same age, too, so I don’t mind. May I address you casually as well?”

Face burning, brain scrambled, you somehow remember how to speak. You give him an affirmative before pausing, perplexed. How did he know your name already?

Okkotsu specifically requested to be paired with a rookie…

Geto’s words float to the forefront of your mind, soothing your hummingbird heart. Surely, the director and chief of Investigations must have briefed Okkotsu on your file before you were cleared to accompany him on this special taskforce.

Normally, you are woefully naïve, a bumbling but well-intentioned junior officer. The unsettling nature of the Serial Bereavements have pushed you towards an edge you didn’t even know you could reach.

The thought of the assignment weighs down your fresh-faced bashfulness. Suddenly, the afternoon sun is less bright, the heat on your face concentrating into the precursor to a migraine just behind your eyes.

Okkotsu blinks once, twice. “Thank you for working with me on this case. Would you believe me if I told you that I’m a bit of a scaredy cat?”

Your eyes bug out of your head in disbelief. “Um? But you…” His reputation specifically includes the highest number of skillful takedowns, arrest totals, and successful confessions across the entire prefecture. A scaredy cat?

“I know how it looks. It would be quite embarrassing if anyone else knew… but I’m a pretty anxious person.”

With a refocused perspective, your gaze hones in on the smattering of purple bruises underneath his tired eyes which birth a cool webbing of veins sprawling down and out across his pale, gaunt face. You realize that his uniform isn’t actually wrinkled – it just hangs off of his thin frame, tucked intentionally to give off the illusion of a much bigger silhouette.

In him, you see a reflection all too similar: young, ragged, hungry, scared.

It’s not enough to set you completely at ease, but your lungs relax their hold on your bated breath, letting it go as slowly and reluctantly as a child forced to part with their favorite plush toy. “Me too,” you hum. “Um, nonetheless, I will definitely try my best to be helpful. I hope I will not slow you down Okkotsu-se—er, Okkotsu.”

“It’s not about fast or slow.” The service car pulls up and loiters at the curb where the two of you are still lingering. He opens the back door for you. This is the first time a polite young man your age has done that. You try your best to remember that you are literally at work, on the clock, about to investigate an especially morbid case.

Once ensuring you’re comfortably inside, he shuts the door and rounds the rear of the vehicle to slide into the leather seat next to you.

“What matters is that we can rely on each other. Fast or slow, we’re partners now… as long as we finish together, it doesn’t matter the pace.”

He rattles off the address to the department driver after dropping what is possibly the most insightful reassurance you have ever received in your life.

Okay. You can kind of understand why the entire department is obsessed with him.

“R-right. Thank you.”

The rest of the ride is spent in a silence two shades off from comfortable. Nothing is wrong, per se – but the both of your negative energies linger and interact with each other like animals of the same species encountering for the first time.

How odd, you think, to find someone like you, and who is unashamed – eager, even – to admit it. To embrace it.

;

The cemetery is small and would otherwise go unnoticed if not for the dramatic influx in attention following the past few months. Plain and unadorned, neatly kept, with no ostentatious monuments or memorials, as is befitting for the burial grounds behind a Buddhist temple. All in all, the scenery would be somewhat peaceful if not for the six disturbed plots of land where remains were once laid to rest.

This is your first time at the scene of the crime. Your rank is too low to justify visiting this high-profile area without clearance from a supervisor. Now that you’ve been assigned to a taskforce specifically investigating this case, it was necessary that Yuuta took you to observe the scene yourself.

Although there is a total lack of gore or rot, still does the sight of six empty graves provoke within you an acute revulsion. Perhaps it is the absence of any overt suffering, and the oppressing knowledge of the extended waves of unearthed grief spanning across multiple kin networks who must now lose their loved one a second time – this is what inspires the damp, fragile sheen pooling at your waterline.

“Hey,” calls a soft, gentle voice. Yuuta’s timid wave brings you back from your wallowing. “Before we left, I grabbed the letters from forensics. Thought it might be helpful to have while we re-assess the scene.”

Something he’d done entirely for your benefit. Conscious of your lack of experience with the case, you incline your head, grateful. It’s almost as though your gratitude makes him uncomfortable. He averts his gaze and hands over a collection of six plastic-encased papers. Despite their origins within deep, aged earth, each one is pristine.

Steeling yourself, you read February’s letter, the origin of chaos:

My Dearly Beloved,

Did you know that not even the moon and all her stars, nor the sun and all his days, burn as brightly as my heart does for you? There is a certain privilege that I have been blessed with in this lifetime: the privilege to admire you from afar while passing through your stratosphere when it is convenient.

But, unlike you, I am a flawed and impure creature. I am greedy. Each morning, I wake up with a hunger to do more than watch. I want to draw you near to my side. I want to feel your flesh. I want to know what your innards taste like. I want to bathe in your desire. I want to carve myself into your being, forever and ever and ever, so that in the next life, you will be born missing me.

Please look at me. I love you so terribly it defies the laws of life and death. You’ve awoken something within me. I hope you’ll take responsibility.

Nauseous, you shift the letter to the bottom of the pile, hands shaking, head spinning.

“How disturbing…” you can’t stop the words from leaving you, unbidden. “How can someone desire another person in such a way that it permits violence?”

Okkotsu studies you closely. “Do you really feel that way?”

Alarm coils like a snake cornered in the pit of your gut. Sharply, you snap your gaze to his still, calm face. As pallid and pockmarked with depression as the moon herself. “Excuse me?”

“Are you truly disgusted by this kind of love?”

Fighting to ignore your fight-or-flight response, you answer: “I don’t consider this to be love.”

Peculiarly, his face breaks out into a smile, clearing away the lingering cloudy expression. “And that’s why I’m glad we’re partners. I knew you’d have the right idea about this.”

“Most people condemn this crime…”

“But too many sympathize with a false motive,” he volleys back, dark eyes glinting with a strange intensity. “This isn’t a crime of ‘love.’ The perp doesn’t act out of affection. They want to own, subdue, and take what is not theirs. How is that love?”

“Exactly,” you affirm. “To be honest, those connections have always kind of unsettled me…even in shows, or books, or games, I could never look at the obsessive type.”

“Scary, aren’t they?”

This isn’t just a work case for him, you belatedly realize. His tense posture, his imploring eyes, his specification of partner – this is personal. Something about these occurrences strikes a chord deep inside of him, resonating so profoundly that it would not be enough to watch another resolve these crimes; no, Okkotsu is compelled to eradicate the danger completely, uprooting it from the source, destroying the danger with his bare hands, watching it dissipate with his own eyes.

“Mm. I’m glad we’re working on this case together, Okkotsu.”

He offers a small, benign quirk of the lips. “Me too.”

Your partnership progresses steadily from this first encounter.

Most of your daily duties are now fulfilled off-site, accompanying Okkotsu to various locations of interest, following potential leads, and occasionally conducting interviews. It’s been merely two days since the taskforce has been formed, and yet, you’ve been so preoccupied with your new assignment that it completely slips your mind to alert Shoko as to why you’ve been absent from your regular rooftop lunch dates.

You are mortified to open an aggrieved SMS from her on Wednesday morning:

Ieiri-san 08:15Oi. Are you dead

Me 08:16 Ahhhh!! I’m so sorry!!!! A new assignment is taking up a lot of my time. I apologize for not communicating. And for missing lunch. We can eat together today? I can bring you something? Whatever you like! I can make it!

Ieiri-san 08:20 Nah, none of that You’re probably overworking yourself already. No need for extra labor Just meet me on rooftop @ usual time

Me 08:21 Absolutely!!

It is surprisingly difficult to tear yourself from Yuuta’s side, as the two of you have been practically glued together from sunrise to sundown ever since embarking on the special assignment. He is reluctant to let you slip away for lunch, and as a result, you linger past a reasonable time to reassure him that you will be back on time.

When you are finally able to break away from Investigations HQ, you check the time on your phone only to realize that noon has rounded the corner with unanticipated haste. Hurriedly, you make your way to the seventh level of the police station building, embarrassingly conscious of your damp forehead and rapid breath.

“Sorry I’m late!!” Bursting through the metal door, you explode onto the rooftop, cloth-wrapped bento in one hand, and your furiously beating heart in the other.

It’s almost comical, how serene Ieiri looks, unbothered as ever as she leans against the railing with her trademark cigarette weaving in between her restless fingers. “Took you long enough. Been waiting for two days, now.”

“Ahhhh…”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You look like you’re about to piss your pants. C’mere.”

Face in flames, you stride over to pop a squat next to her. “I really do apologize, Ieiri-san. These last couple of days have been really hectic…”

“How so? You mentioned a new assignment. When did that happen?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure if I can talk about it…Investigations personally assigned me…um, not to be impolite or brag or anything! Just, I think it’s a little sensitive in nature, so—”

“Investigations?” She cuts you off, her dull timbre unusually sharp. “You mean those two idiots asked you to handle a highly classified criminal case? During your first quarter? By yourself?”

“Ah!! Geto-senpai and Gojo-senpai are quite eccentric, but they are very nice--!”

“No, they are not—”

“—and I’m not by myself! I’m partnered with Okkotsu Yuuta!”

If you weren’t such an anxious person who is well-practiced in the art of overanalyzing the countenance of others, you would surely have missed the way Ieiri’s eyes widen imperceptibly, the way her breath stutters on the next exhalation. She does not look at you for a beat. Two beats. She stares straight ahead at the exterior of the building when asks,

“You’re investigating the Serial Bereavement cases.”

“Ieiri-san…” you whine, head in your hands. “I’m, like, ninety percent sure no one else is supposed to know…”

“What, don’t trust me? Not like I have any friends around here to tell.”

“That’s, well. That’s not the point. Okkotsu mentioned that this was a sensitive matter, so…”

“Just ‘Okkotsu,’ huh?” She peers sideways at you. “No ‘senpai’? Wow, you two sure got comfortable fast.”

“No, please don’t misunderstand! Because honorifics make him uncomfortable, he asked that we speak casually!”

“I asked you the same.”

Her blunt response stuns you silent. It takes you several seconds to produce a response. “Well, yes. But that’s different…Ieiri-san is older…”

“Not by much.” Finally, she lights the cig in her hand. “Hey, let me ask you something.”

“Okay, please go ahead.”

“It was Investigations who put you on the case? Nobody else was involved?”

Hesitation halts your tongue. Mentally, you are transported back to that fateful day, just a little less than forty-eight hours ago, when your new assignment had been unloaded upon you.

“…I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to question your judgement, but why have I been chosen to pair with Okkotsu-san?”

“Oh! He specifically requested—”

Gojo was never able to finish his sentence, cut off by Geto’s strategically timed blow. Almost as though the chief was about to reveal something better left unsaid.

You may be a rookie, but you aren’t stupid. There’s a reason why you got this job, after all.

And if you can deduce this much, surely the next conclusion you land on isn’t so far-fetched:

Okkotsu must have personally requested you as a partner.

But the question is…why? You hadn’t been personally acquainted before you’d met outside of the station before heading to your first investigation together. He’s been nothing but kind and respectful – if a little unsettlingly intense, at times, but you think that’s just kind of how he is.

There must be an element that you’re missing from the equation, a piece of the puzzle of which you are not yet aware. It is for this uncertainty that you choose to disclose the truth to Ieiri.

“Okkotsu requested me as his partner.”

Obviously, she asked you for this information because something was dependent upon how you answered. Studying Ieiri’s reaction might be the first step towards unraveling this strange situation.

And react, indeed she does; again, it is quite muted, eroded by years of police work and other unspoken traumas you’re sure lie dormant inside of her mysterious, impenetrable depths. But perhaps it is because of your friendship that Ieiri’s micro-expressions appear to you more as the dramatic admission of feeling that they truly are.

A twitch of the brow, a purse of the lips. Her next exhalation of smoke comes fast and hard, expelled from her mouth in one decisive whoosh of toxic air. Usually, she pays special attention to the wind pattern so that she does not blow smoke in your face. It seems she’s thoroughly perturbed today; the fumes whip you across the cheek and you hack violently in surprise.

Your adverse response snaps her out of the momentary brooding. “Shit, sorry,” she mumbles, quickly removing the cig from her lips and smothering it on the ground. “You alright?”

“J-just fine,” you murmur after one final bout of ear-splitting dry heaves. “Can I ask you a question, now?”

“Shoot.”

“Is it a bad thing that Okkotsu and I are partners?”

Visibly, Ieiri must chew and swallow her initial retort. This is quite unprecedented behavior from the woman with little to no filter on any given occasion. “How are you finding it so far?”

“Well…he’s really considerate. And accommodating. Um, he even revisited the crime scene with me since I’d never been, and he let me read all the letters, too.”

“That’s funny,” says Ieiri, stone-faced. “How did he show you the letters?”

“He said he picked them up from the station before we left. I was quite surprised that he went through all the trouble of doing that, since those kinds of sensitive evidence usually aren’t allowed to leave Forensics…”

“You’re absolutely right. They aren’t.”

“Ah…Okkotsu must have special clearance…?”

“He doesn’t,” Ieiri deadpans.

“…I see…”

Her hands twitch at her sides like she’s itching for another smoke, even though the carcass of her most recent stick still smolders underneath the dagger of her high heel. “Well. You can do whatever you want with Okkotsu. Sounds like you’re in capable, dedicated hands.”

“Huh? Ieiri-san, wh—wait, where are you going--?!”

But before you can finish your panicked inquiry, Ieiri has already blown through the metal door, stomping her way back downstairs to the sixth floor where the Forensics Department awaits her gloomy presence. It’s unlike her to storm off mid-conversation. You’ve never seen her emotions rise above slight annoyance – and that level of frustration is reserved exclusively for the Investigations chief and director. What had you done to provoke even worse of an ire?

Riddled with guilt and anxiety, you wade through the rest of the workday in a foggy, unfocused haze. Okkotsu gives up trying to ask you what is wrong after his third attempt. When you eventually, mercifully fall into bed that night, unshed tears overflow past your clenched, trembling lashes, staining your pillow with sorrows you cannot speak aloud.

Upon waking up, you are granted no reprieve. It is Thursday, the sixth of September. The first Thursday of the month.

You don’t bother with something as trivial as breakfast this morning – not when the thought of what awaits you in the day ahead fills you to the brim with unbearable dread.

Arriving at the police station and getting briefed on the day’s events only confirms your worst fears: there has been another Bereavement at the Joenji graveyard.

This month’s occurrence is twistedly unique.

Accompanying the usual handwritten letter is a fresh, human heart, so red and wet, glistening with fresh gore, that it almost appears to be beating through the still stock photos taken by Field Operations upon first discovery.

Due to your increased status, you are granted clearance to read this month’s note before any other department can get to it. Ieiri is absent from the Forensics office when you rush off the elevator to the sixth floor. One of the interns retrieves the file for you, and you are equal parts eager and terrified to scan its plastic-encased contents.

My Dearly Beloved,

Aimless admiration has thus far sated my yearning soul. Seeing you eat well every day fills my spirit with a sense of completion. I am at ease to watch over you and ensure your wellbeing. But there has been a disturbance. I can feel your increased awareness, like a child opening its eyes to the world for the first time. Coupled with this awareness is a newfound distance between us. Things were going so well. Why now? Why pull away? This can’t be because of me. It must be someone else.

I think I know who.

What must I do to regain your undivided attention? How can I reclaim your primary affections? To experience even an inch of separation, a millimeter of remove, is for my body to undergo countless agonizing deaths.

Will you pay attention to me?

Will you notice me?

Will you choose me?

Look at me.

Look at me.

Look at me.

I serve my beating heart up on a platter just so that your gaze might befall it for the barest of breaths.

Recent events have shown me that I cannot stand idly by any longer while others sneakily and deliberately encroach on our relationship. I’m getting restless. I’ve been waiting quite patiently. Are you as antsy as I am? Soon, you’ll know me as all that I am.

I miss you. I see you every day and I miss you. Come back to me.

Before it’s too late.

[yanderes-galore]

@montygatorshusband said: "My idea was Yandere Glamrock Freddy who gets really attached to a mechanic (reader). Since Freddy had his whole thing with Bonnie, and Bonnie got destroyed, he becomes obsessed with keeping the reader safe. So, Freddy stalks them through their Fazwatch (Which he disguised as an innocent gift). He gets really anxious whenever the reader takes off the watch or even the reader getting a small paper cut. So, Freddy decides to kidnap the reader so they can always be right next to him. In fact, whenever he has to leave, he puts the reader in his chest cavity so they can be *really*be together forever and ever."

A/N: Sure! I love writing Mechanic darlings when it comes to FNAF stories :)

Yandere! Glamrock Freddy with Mechanic! Darling

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Grief/Trauma, Fear of loss, Stalking, Paranoia, Overprotective, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Delusional behavior, Major character death, Forced companionship.

Honestly I've always thought Glamrock Freddy is naturally overprotective of you as a yandere.

However I've never considered the loss of Glamrock Bonnie being the reason behind it.

I really like the idea, actually.

After all, Freddy was very close with Bonnie based on his voicelines.

I personally see them as close friends but either way you can tell they were close.

The fact Freddy lost him would have definitely affected him to the point he's scared to share that same connection with anyone else.

It's unknown what truly happened to Bonnie and Freddy would be scared you'd get hurt.

The Pizzaplex has its own dangers and anything can happen.

Bonnie was an animatronic, you're a human mechanic.

You are even more in danger in Freddy's eyes.

Freddy is the naturally friendly type.

Every human, STAFF or child, is usually met with a friendly greeting.

Freddy would get attached to you rather fast, especially as a mechanic.

You help him get ready for shows and often check him over for damage or corrupted upgrades.

He feels you care for him... so he cares for you too.

Which brings up previous feelings about Bonnie.

Along with an overwhelming fear of losing you like the rabbit.

Freddy would definitely slip you a Fazwatch as a gift.

He's so kind to you and plays it off like a small gift for your bond.

Why are you refusing? This is on him!

Even if you say no he'll clip it to your wrist with a smile.

The Fazwatch allows him to communicate with you and allows him to find your position.

It's a gift, yes, but it also doubles as a way to calm his own worries.

For the most part you tolerate his little gift and keep it on during work hours.

Freddy would definitely panic a bit when you take off the watch.

Even when you work on other animatronics you can feel the watch vibrate as Freddy tries to contact you.

He watches your location like a hawk and is never too far from you.

Even if you take it off before you leave or to not get it messy, Freddy frantically rants about it to you.

You have no idea why he's so worried?

Freddy has shown he's capable to determine when a human isn't feeling well.

He would also be very attentive to when you were hurt.

Even if it's as small as a paper cut he asks what happened.

After that he's dragging you to a first-aid station to have you patched up.

The potential dangers of the Pizzaplex are something he thinks of a lot.

With mechanic work you could get shocked, lose a limb, be gutted...

Oh he hates thinking of that.

Reminds him too much of Bonnie.

His worry may indeed take over to the point he feels you shouldn't go home anymore.

It would take a long while but maybe Freddy feels he can keep you safe here.

He's delusional enough to think you'd be happy in his room, all safe and looked after by him.

In terms of the chest cavity thing I feel it would be a hard fit for an adult.

However, if he can manage it, he'd definitely use his chest cavity to carry you around with him at all times.

For the most part he keeps you in his room and out of sight.

Maybe even gags you to prevent you from screaming....

He hates the idea of restraints or gags but... anything to keep you safe.

Then when there's a performance needing to be done, you'll come along!

If he can fit you, that is.

Maybe he'll even find a way to make it soundproof!

He thinks he's making you happy and doesn't see how wrong his actions are.

Freddy just doesn't want to lose you like a certain bunny...

Could you really blame him for being so afraid?

"I'm keeping you safe, aren't I?"

[canonkiller]

The Eberron maincamp has unfortunately prematurely ended, so (with DM clearance) I'm going to share the stuff I'd had as spoilers so it can be known, for funsies.

Here's some bonus links -

Delta, Bravo, Lima (character playlist)

Renegade (bgm playlist)

writing treat 1

writing treat 2

writing treat 3

early test for characterization

crew assessments + reasonings

house lyrandar medical record, classified

- and here's some of the information about Valka Rotaeir, captain and pilot of the airship Revelation, and two more images because the read more breaks if I try to move them.

Dossier of House Lyrandar:

NAME: Valka Rotaeir AGE: 71 yrs. (b. 927yk) HEIGHT: 7 ft. 3 in. WEIGHT: 244 lbs. SPECIES: Dragonborn (Green) TITLE(S): Cpt., Ms.

EMPLOYMENT RECORD: Civilian recruited by Cpt. Adelaide Mallory in 948yk. Served well as navigator and representative until the Treaty of Thronehold ended the war in 996yk. Returned to service in 997yk as navigator aboard the Revelation after its post-war refitting. Survived the unforeseen accident that occured during the Revelation's test flights over the Endworld Mountains along with four others who retired from active duty after the incident. Following a recovery period, she was promoted to Cpt. of the Revelation as Cpt. Mallory was rendered incapable of command during the incident, for exemplary action and demonstration of skill beyond her station and duty.

Rotaeir has shown distaste for the House and the war throughout her employment, but has not publicly denounced either and remains dedicated and hardworking. Her experience is vital to the House; losing her is not an option. Cede whatever is needed to maintain her connection to the House. If this fails, take necessary measures.

Valka was formerly the ship's navigator and diplomatic representative as a knowledge domain cleric. The Revelation was in active duty during the war, and Valka was a late addition to the crew, recruited by her then-future husband, Roshan. The two of them had a strong relationship despite the war, and while both wanted to retire, Roshan's dragonmark bound him to piloting duty and Valka refused to leave him.

During the late years of the war, they had a child together. Valka entrusted her egg to a caretaker in secret, fearing it would be damaged or killed if she kept it with her on the ship. The settlement it was in was later targeted; though the two of them searched for years (and Valka never truly stopped) they were never able to find the egg or its remains in the ruins.

After the war, with Roshan kept in duty by the House, a mechanical failure in the experimental drive of the Revelation led to a catastrophic crash that killed most of her crew. Valka survived at the cost of her husband's life; Roshan, her Rose, made the choice to sacrifice himself to save her, grafting his arm and eye - and his dragonmark - to save her life in the hopes that she would be able to help whoever was left until they were rescued.

Awarded prestige and merits for her survival, and resenting all of them for praising that she had survived what her family had not, Valka suffered - and continues to suffer - lingering pain and migraines from the crash. Her grafted arm is unresponsive and is kept immobile, and her grafted eye has light sensitivities that dragonborn nervous systems are not equipped to handle, granting her night vision but requiring a cover in ordinary light. The dragonmark haunts her more than anything else; as something meant to die with its bearer, what does it mean that it transferred to her? Was Roshan able to rest in peace, or does she drag his spirit with her?

The house took advantage of her fragile state after the crash and convinced her of Roshan's continued presence as being bound to the airship, a belief that she still holds, while publicly covering up the truth of the crash and Valka's inherited dragonmark. She was bound back into service by the mark, as it allows her to pilot the ship and its experimental, secretive systems. The Revelation is her family, her love, and her airship, and she will defend it with her life - to do anything else would be to abandon Roshan.

And, in Sharn, a now-grown dragonborn named Zykr looks strangely familiar... (Hi, Andy!)

With the House bearing down on her lack of respect for their authority, she has gone rogue; drawn under the influence of the Lord of Blades and allied with warforged forces, she only seeks a way out - to take the Revelation and leave this stupid, angry war behind, at any cost.

Depending on how things went, there was a chance she would end up at Wanderstrand - that's for a post later today, because I had to keep that one REALLY secret, but it's half of the 3rd writing treat link.

Trivia:

Valka's tarot card is the three of swords.

Her character playlist title is in international maritime signal flags: Keep clear of me; I am maneuvering with difficulty / I am taking in or discharging or carrying dangerous goods. / Stop immediately.

Rotaeir is a simple combination of the valkyrie names Róta (sleet and storm) and Eir (peace, clemency, help, mercy). Valka just sounded right.

Though not on her paperwork, she took a translated version of the Revelation's name (Saksatkara) as her own surname after the crash

Receiving the dragonmark replaced her existing clerical abilities; narratively, she lost faith in the gods and her own experience that granted her a knowledge domain, and instead only had faith in the destruction and grief that the storm domain had brought her.

Roshan's dragonmark spans her whole grafted arm; it glows faintly when oh board the ship, and brightness increases with how much energy she has focused into using it. At full effort, it is bright enough to glow through the brace / sling.

Mechanically, she can strike anyone who damages her with an immediate lightning strike.

While neither of her eyes retain their original color, she had golden eyes like Zykr. They also share a heart-shaped chest marking.

Valka's physical difference from Zykr was a worldbuilding adjustment; half dragonborn would have had more humanoid body shapes, while full dragonborn more closely resembled dragons. It never came up.

After being briefly dead, Zykr began having visions of being on a boat with a person he didn't recognize; he was seeing though Valka's eyes, unknowingly looking at his own father, Roshan. Surprise, Andy! There would have been more hints about it in Sharn if we'd gotten to explore some more.

Original reference document text:

Valka is an elderly dragonborn woman, weathered by the past years of war. She is snakelike in appearance, wiry and lithe at 7'3", with a longer neck, body, and limbs. She stands slouched, leaning heavily on a polearm that doubles as a makeshift cane; often heavily bundled against the cold, her right leg is braced under her clothes and her right arm and hand are entirely covered by a black brace buckled in faded brass, kept immobile against her chest by a sling. Her scales are mottled dark greens and yellows, graying around her eyes, muzzle, and knuckles, and she has many visible scars from old battles on all visible skin. The right side of her face is badly burned, and her eye on that side is entirely covered by a large patch. Her other eye is milky white; it's uncertain whether she can see our of her visible eye or if the patch isn't opaque.

Boot on braced leg has a special hook on the heel that she can clip to the harness strap on her thigh to keep is raised / out of the way if mobility is more important than stability. Safety harness extends down the upper part of her tail; anchors to this instead of her braced leg when necessary.

Though not visible, the eye under the patch is unnervingly human-like (as it originally belonged to Roshan), and if her arm brace were removed, the arm underneath is also distinctly not her own; she is unable to move the replacement limb at all, and the dragonmark on it does not move to anywhere else on her body though she can utilize its power.

As a child, Valka was often drawn to the idea of traveling. She restrained her desire to leave for many years, bound by ties to her family and home, until a chance meeting with Roshan, an airship pilot, during the war. In an impulse, whirlwind romance, she joined him in his travels and quickly became an indespensible member of the crew and Roshan's partner. They were married during the war, but hesitated to start a family, fearing the kind of world they would be raising a child in while Roshan's mark kept him in duty. Over time, they found comfort in a future seemingly without children, though they pledged to do what they could to adopt or foster if the war ended with enough time for them to do so.

Valka was one of many overjoyed to see a time of peace, and hoped to start a proper life with her husband even with their age. Unfortunately, a series of malfunctions in their shared airship led to a crash that left both them and their crew grievously injured in a remote mountain range. Valka, having lost her right arm and with severe trauma to her entire right side, was barely conscious; she awoke hours later to her arm replaced and her injuries magically repaired, and to Roshan dead, having chosen to sacrifice himself to keep her alive. Most importantly to the House, his dragonmark was still present - a glowing brand on the arm grafted improperly to replace Valka's own.

Abruptly alone, dealing with the trauma of the crash and her own guilt in her survival being at Roshan's expense, she was taken to trial and found not guilty. Feeling cheated by this verdict and losing faith in both justice and the afterlife (after all, if a dragonmark was bound to a person's soul, what did it mean that she could now take power from it? Had she damned her lover to a kind of half-life, or worse, an eternal purgatory?) she threw herself into religion with a self-destructive determination, secretly hoping the gods would recognize her believed wrongdoing and judge her properly where mortal courts had failed.

When presented with an opportunity to sabotage the project that led to Roshan's death, she took it, taking control of the airship and going rogue with the intent to destroy it either by her own hand or by forcing any pursuers to take it down with her. At present, she is driving it as far from settlements as possible to achieve this goal with as little loss of life as possible, and does not know what she will do with herself when this act is complete.

For characterization purposes, her actions will be influenced by:

- Like The Back of Her Hand: even when the Revelation is being piloted by someone else, her long familiarity with it means she is incredibly difficult to catch off guard. In its current state, she would notice anything out of place on board; this will decrease as the ship is modified.

- Blindsided: her left eye, uncovered, is blind, while her right eye, covered by a patch, still functions. The patch dims light, but still allows her to see.

- Local Doctors Hate Her!: her right arm is entirely immobile on its own, but the brace can be locked into different positions (ex, she can lean on her elbow, but wouldn't be able to pick something up.). Her right leg is stiff, and she is able to strap it up so she's less likely to trip. She is used to moving around the Revelation on one or both legs, but prefers both on unfamiliar terrain.

- House, Not Home: Valka has little care for the interests of the dragonmarked Houses, and may be more likely to take actions that damage the resources or reputation of a House.

- A Ship That Loves You: Valka believes her husband's spirit is entwined with the ship's elemental, a belief that the House has intentionally used as leverage against her. If she cannot have the ship on her own terms, her alternative goal will be to destroy it and herself - but will put her life on the line to prevent others from damaging it.

- An Empty Nest: Valka has no contact with her extended family and has no reason to believe she has any living immediate relatives. She has formed few relationships since the Revelation's crash.

- The Soils of War: Valka does not want to fight, though she will if she must. Her anger is directed at herself, at the gods that failed her, and the Houses that force her into their service. She wants to escape it, to lick her wounds, and to rest; to discover what the world is becoming in a time of peace that she has not had the chance to know.

[famouscyclenerd]

"Stay out of it. She's not ready, and neither is he, no matter how many presents he brings." - ACOFAS

(Their book was not next)

"Let's focus on helping one sister before we start on the other."

"Shall I tend to my little garden forever?"

"He'd never once in the two years he'd known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court (the Night Court) ... it sucked the life from her."

"But Elain ... The Spring Court had been made for someone like her."

"With a new war possible and Briallyn up to her bullshit with Koschei, we need a strong ally. We need the Spring Court's forces."

"We need to tell him the news, and permanently station him (Lucien) at the Spring Court to contain any damage and to be our eyes and ears."

"Lucien can't be entirely trusted anymore."

"He should have asked someone before coming here how much time remained before Vassa would be forced to return to the continent - to the sorcerer-lord at a remote lake who held her leash, and had allowed her to leave only temporarily, as part of a bargain Feyre's father had struck."

"Lucien stared out the window - as if he could see the lake across a sea and a continent. As if he were setting his target."

"Find me when you wish to begin."

-- *contains minor HOFAS spoilers*--

There are so many more quotes I could include, but yeah. I just feel like elucien's book has been set up so perfectly in SF. And from what I've read, I just cannot comprehend how their book won't be next.

Vassa's time is extremely limited and the matters with Koschei seems rather urgent. Especially Tamlin and the Spring Court! We have Lucien back in Spring, who we appearently cannot entirely trust, and then we have Elain and how the Spring Court was made for someone like her. Who doesn't fit in the Night Court. Who finally wishes to spring into action.

Yes, Azriel had his own bc. But Elain was in that very bc as well as being mentioned in feysand's bc. She and Lucien were mentioned actually. Azriel was not.

Elain was also absent in HOFAS even though (as of SF) she no longer wishes to remain a passive character. It takes place months after the events of SF and (from what we've gathered) it doesn't seem like Azriel has it all figured out yet. Gwyn also returned to to library which, to me, seems like their story is put on hold... for now. Especially with Elain (finally) wanting to take action.

So my guess is that elucien's book is next and takes place before/during HOFAS, which would explain Elain's absence due to her not residing in the Night Court while Bryce was there.

While gwynriel's book happens during/after the events of HOFAS.

Having Azriel's book last is also a smart move from a marketing perspective since he is by far the most popular character. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[satoruxx]

NORTHERN LIGHTS.

✧ PAIRING: kaeya alberich x fem!reader | 4.5k words

✧ SUMMARY: smut, p -> v, praise, fingering, lots of pining, angst, angsty bc it’s kaeya tbh lol, kaeya lore but it’s vague, also military themes bc sometimes we forget kaeya is a captain and i love the knights of favonius, he’s highkey got commitment issues but i think he’s valid, man is whipped tho, he's just an overthinker and traumatized, also can you tell i’m a med student?

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: first i have to apologize bc this is SO late??? i got this request back for my 200 event, asking for kaeya with the song northern lights by kennie (which is such a good song). at first i was gonna make it a short little drabble, but the more i wrote, the more i wanted to make it a full fic, which is what ended up happening. kaeya's character has so much depth and i wanted to explore it hehe. northern lights is such a fitting song for him so i just had to go all in. but i'm so sorry that i got to your request so late, hopefully you still enjoy it lovely! (even tho it’s not the main focus in this fic, this is technically my first real smut fic so take it with a grain of salt; i don't think i write it that well LMAO)

it was rare to truly know your own weaknesses, but kaeya knew his a little too well. behind his carefree, unbothered exterior he cared a little too much. he cares a little too much when klee tugs on his fur cape and whines about a scolding she’s gotten from jean, and he ends up indulging her with whatever she’d like. he cares a little too much when rosaria spills just a tad more than usual during her drunken ramblings. he cares a little too much when he sees the discomfort in the face of certain fiery bartender as they speak, and he consistently lies awake and remembers days when that discomfort between them didn’t exist.

it’s a curse, he thinks, because he always ends up feeling too attached to people he knows he shouldn’t be attached to.

even now, his weakness is acting up as he barks orders to his soldiers. they scramble around him as they enter the city, carrying their wounded brethren to safety up at the cathedral. kaeya knows he shouldn’t blame himself but as their captain he feels like he should’ve seen this coming. new recruits wouldn’t be able to handle the hordes of monsters at daduapa gorge—he miscalculated.

“take them to the sisters at the cathedral. sister barbara and the others should be able to heal them,” kaeya commands, clasping one of the men’s shoulders and helping him up to the church. he’s ignoring the now dull throbbing in his side as blood stains his clothes—his soldiers were most important right now. like he said, he cared a little too much.

the nurses had set up a medical station at the cathedral, and in between all the commotion, kaeya’s finally able to hand over the groaning soldier to a nurse, who immediately gets to work.

he then takes a few steps back to assess the damage, grateful that all of his soldiers are getting the attention they needed. he’d hate himself if there were any losses today.

he doesn’t even realize that he’s now leaning against the wall, panting shallowly as blood continues to pour from his abdomen. oh well, he’d wait his turn—only after his soldiers were taken care of.

kaeya shuts his eyes, letting his body rest for a minute.

“you’re wounded.”

his eyes shoot open to see you standing in front of him. he assumes you’re not one of the nuns because your clothes are entirely different. you’re young, appearing to be around his age as you eye his torso critically.

“it appears so,” he answers.

“did someone take a look at you yet?”

“i’d prefer all my soldiers be taken care of first.”

your eyes flash with recognition. “so you’re captain kaeya?”

“indeed i am.” he lets his eyes roam over your concerned features.

you give him a small smile before continuing with a sigh. “i can safely tell you that all the wounded are being treated. i’m still an apprentice so i’m only here to deal with the non fatal injuries. like yours, captain.” you crouch down in front of him, fingers reaching towards his clothing with a silent question of permission. he lets his hand slacken as he gives you a nod and you attempt to peel back as many layers as you can to asses the damage before you’re motioning him towards a tent.

a few minutes later and kaeya is letting you strip his torso bare until you have a full view of his injury. your fingers brush over the wounded skin gently, and he wonders if you even touched him at all. “it’s long, but not too deep. a few stitches and you should be alright. if you’re okay with it, i’ll get started,” you tell him.

kaeya wants to tell you that he’s no stranger to the pain of injuries, but he finds something oddly refreshing about your comforting attitude, so he just says yes and lets you begin to work.

you thread through the skin with a delicate hand and despite the sting he honestly can’t even focus on it, choosing instead to analyze your features.

he realizes that you’re awfully pretty.

kaeya makes small talk with you as you work, partly to stay awake through the pain and mostly because he can’t stop his curiosity. he finds out your name, your hobbies, your goals. you may not have the most exciting life but kaeya thinks there’s something so alluring about you it makes him a little dizzy. he's not sure what it is, but he thinks about it the whole time you tend to his wound. realization hits when you finally finish, looking up at him with a smile, and kaeya realizes that your eyes hold the stars in them.

it’s hard to explain but when kaeya watches you work, nose scrunching in the dim lighting of the tent, he thinks you remind him of home.

(kaeya has chased the stars for as long as he can remember. he remembers shouting with diluc in the grass behind the winery, the two of them reaching for celestia because the stars up there were so undeniably pretty.

"we're never gonna get them!" diluc would laugh, trying hard to balance kaeya on his little shoulders. "they're too far…"

and kaeya only grins down at him toothily, raising his fists to the sky. "no way! i'll catch them one day!"

and yet his whole childhood went by without being able to capture the stars. as he grew older he started to learn that it was impossible to steal what the sky so selfishly held on to.

but even as an adult, kaeya knows to appreciate the stars when he gets the privilege to see them in the sky.

especially after he finally seems to find them in the dim glow of a medical tent.)

he hates to admit how often his eyes seek you out after that one encounter. sometimes he’ll see you at the cat's tail, giggling with your friends as you slam tcg cards down on the table triumphantly. other times he’ll catch a glimpse of you at good hunter, chewing on a quick meal as you browse through a book. almost every time he gets caught staring you only smile and offer him a little wave that sends his brain into a frenzy.

(maybe in another life kaeya would allow himself the luxury. he’d let himself go through the motions for you. let himself stress every time you threw a glance his way. work up the courage to ask you out on saturday afternoon. finally get the chance to press his lips to yours. trace your skin with nimble fingers and have the privilege to call you his.

in another life maybe.

but for now he’ll just keep you his own little secret—a guilty pleasure he’ll indulge in because it’s hard to rid an addiction, especially if you don’t have the will to rid it in the first place.)

kaeya’s messed up this summer. he knows it in his soul that he’s made the wrong decision as he watches you babble about something as you lean against his bare chest, still basking in your own afterglow.

he knows that he should have resisted the temptation. as soon as he and the troops got back and he saw you sitting in a secluded corner at angel’s share he knew that his feelings for you hadn’t dissolved.

they say absence makes the heart grow fonder and kaeya only now knows this to be true because just the sight of you sends his mind into a frenzy. you could probably feel his gaze on you because you look up from the book you’re reading and make straight eye contact with him. for a second, he wants to turn away but then you smile at kaeya like you’ve never once forgotten him, and he’s putty. before he knows it, he’s buying you a drink and walking over to your little corner to make himself comfortable.

it’s a slow descent for him because in his head he knows he shouldn’t get too attached. he’ll leave again soon with the troops, and who knows maybe he’ll leave them behind one day too. his future has always looked so clouded to him, and he knows you belong in the sun. he’d like to leave you there in the light—avoid dragging you into his darkness.

so he tries to keep it simple, occasionally meeting you for a drink or catching up around the city. but then you’re showing him your favorite place to study near starfell lake and he’s showing you his favorite stars while laying on his back on starsnatch cliff. and he knows he can’t avoid it.

soon enough he’s giving into everything he said he wouldn’t, finally finding out what you taste like. finally knowing how his name sounds when it falls from your lips.

it's more addicting than he could've predicted, the feeling of your breath against his skin as you pant out his name. kaeya can't even bring himself to pull away from you to stop and think for a second. if he did then maybe he could slap some sense into himself and draw some distance because archons above he was digging himself deeper into this hole. but he can't, not when you're gripping his shoulders as he presses you against the wall of his bedroom, whining into his lips for all that he can give you.

and kaeya is nothing if not generous.

so he indulges both you and himself—the perfect mix of selfless and selfish as he guides you to his bed, nimble fingers loosening the ties of your clothing until you're bare in front of him. he can see the bashfulness settling into your cheeks and he almost feels like goading for just a minute, but he decides he'll be nice.

you've always deserved a nice guy anyway.

he tries to push that thought away, instead distracting himself with the heat of your body, his fingers dancing along your skin eagerly. maybe, just this one night, he can let it be about you two. he can afford to forget about all the old promises he's made—all the responsibilities and duties he devoted himself to a lifetime ago.

kaeya ignores the flush of heat crawling up his neck as he hovers over you, caging your body underneath his as you squirm in anticipation. he understands—the tightness in his pants is enough for him to feel the same. but he's not worried about that, not when his fingers part your thighs eagerly, brushing over heated skin and finding slick wetness there as he dips into your cunt. he hears the sharp intake of breath, the quiet restrained moan, and he preens. kaeya revels in the sounds he pulls from your lips as his fingers curl against your slick heat, your head lolling back against his pillows.

there's a possessive streak of something that cuts through him then—something that tells him how he aches to be the only one who gets to hear those sounds.

it makes him slightly sick.

kaeya realizes then—he's been quite stupid when it comes to you. he's kept the maelstrom of feelings brewing in his soul trapped under all his bravado, arrogant and cowardly all at once. he needs to tell you, needs to be honest because this isn't something he can trick his way out of.

but all he wants to do is run. run so far away from you because he doesn't want you to to get caught up in his own ruin. you're far too good for him, too sweet and carefree to be tainted by his sin-laden hands. he needs to run.

but he does none of that, not when he's guiding his fingers to the apex of your thighs and exploring territory he knows he shouldn't claim. because then you look at him with an expression so blissful—so thankful, relieved that he's giving you a part of himself he never wanted to—and he can't even be angry about it.

kaeya presses his lips to the swell of your chest, feeling the rapid thumping of your heart under your skin, and he shuts his eyes as he breathes out your name. you answer with a resounding mewl, catching his eyes even through the dark strands of his hair.

he then chooses to focus on pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt because archons do you look heavenly when your eyes roll back like that.

but it scares him, the way you leave him open and exposed and aching even when he doesn't want to be.

in his head you're perfect, all bright and glowing under him as you chant his name like he's some kind of savior. but kaeya isn't a savior—if anything he's destruction in human form, sent by the heavens to wreak havoc on those around him. he'd destroyed enough already—he doesn't think he can do it to you too.

but archons the way you're looking at him now, from under fluttering lashes and dewy eyes that shine even brighter when they're trained on him—begging, pleading, and oh so trusting of him and every thing he wants to give you. he can't even help himself.

"i know, sweet girl," he sighs, voice strained as you buck your hips just perfect—a temptress, sent to lead him to his doom. and yet he can't stop his fingers from pushing back your hair from your sweaty skin, knowing that he should be careful because he doesn't want to destroy something as fragile as this.

"kaeya please," your breath comes out in short desperate pants, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders haphazardly.

"i know," he repeats, reaching down to heft your thigh over his waist as he slots his hips against your own, biting back a groan at the sensitive brush against his cock—throbbing, aching, needy.

"ah fuck," he's almost shy at the way his voice shakes as he lines his cock up, the heat and slickness of your cunt a teasing caress against his sensitive head. he drops his forehead against your shoulder, breathing heavily even before he's inside you because something about this makes him so incredibly nervous. a single desperate whine and the soft squeeze of your fingers into his biceps and he's stilling—breath catching, heart pounding.

for a moment, he doesn't even feel like himself. he's not anything, no one.

and then he slides in and kaeya knows that there will never be anything better—another experience that would feel this right in his life.

he pulls out a little, gaze lingering at the sweat beading at your forehead, and something in his chest stutters. "okay?" he traces your face for any hint of hesitation—of the nervousness that he feels in his gut, but all he finds is a stormy mix of desire and devotion.

"uh huh," reassurance, stability—everything he isn't. his brows pinch, eyes shutting because he doesn't want you to know.

he's pulled out of the whirlwind that is his thoughts when he feels your fingers on his cheek, brushing over his skin gently. his eyes snap open, and even through the haze he can feel himself relaxing under your touch, because the way you're looking at him is so undeniably loving and it makes his stomach flip.

"you okay?" you whisper, looking up at him carefully, and kaeya feels as though you've put him between the halves of a microscope slide to analyze him.

"i'm fine," he breathes out, not a lie but not the whole truth either. "don't worry."

his words do little to quell you, but one roll of his hips has your eyes fluttering, a choked moan escaping your throat, and the sound makes his pride sing.

there's an image then—hazy and yet so obvious as his brain registers it. the implications behind it makes his stomach churn.

quiet smiles, hazy kisses, soft goodbyes—and then the inevitable distance as he crosses over the border separating your world from his. a lone figure standing in the streets of mondstadt, always waiting for him to come back. always disappointed.

you buck your hips upward, blissfully unaware of the torrent of conflicting emotions in his head. kaeya's brain short-circuits, and then he's pushing back, a steady rhythm against your gummy walls that takes the breath out of your lungs. you savor every thrust, punctuated by the sharp grunts he lets out against your throat.

your fingers rake over his back, desperate and needy and focused on one thing only—kaeya, kaeya, kaeya.

"that's it sweetheart," he doesn't have any more control—not on his mind, his body, his mouth. they've all escaped his grasp, too spurred on by you and everything you're willing to offer him.

"'s okay…ah fuck…it's okay," kaeya groans into the column of your throat, not sure whether he's telling you or himself. the clench of your walls sends him spiraling, hips picking up the pace as he pistons his cock in and out—trying to find out just how far he can go.

then he hits one spot, and his vigilant gaze catches the way your jaw slackens, eyes glazing over even as they roll back and a shaky moan escapes your throat—surprised, unexpecting. his ego jumps.

an experimental roll of his hips against the same spot and you make a sound so unhinged that he finds himself already addicted to it. and to tease is in his nature.

"yeah? right there?" he drawls, masking his anxiousness with his bravado once again.

"right there," you whimper, nodding meekly as you grip his shoulders. he huffs out a soft laugh, pressing a gentle kiss to your eyelids like he's trying to kiss away the tears that have gathered there. you preen under his ministrations—it feels a little too domestic.

he understands. it scares him, but he understands. he wonders what the point of worrying is—wonders why he's letting his paranoid brain taint this moment that he'd been waiting for. the only solution left is to ignore it. because you're here, writhing underneath him in the throes of pleasure, vulnerable and trusting and just for him. he should give you what you deserve after all.

so kaeya pushes every other thought out of his head, only focused on you and making you feel good because that's what someone like you deserves—everything you desire laid at your feet.

he presses a chaste kiss to your mouth, paired with a languid roll of his hips as he quietly groans. "okay…." his voice comes out an octave lower, pushed down by the barely concealed need for you. "okay sweet girl. i've got you."

another searing kiss as he breathes through his nose, picking up the pace again as he slams his cock into the spot that makes you see stars. your moans get louder even as they remain muffled against his lips, and kaeya can't help but dig his fingers into the meat of your thigh, leaving behind finger shaped dents in the plushy skin.

a claim—possessive, desperate, selfish.

your kisses become sloppier as kaeya leads you closer to the edge, walls clenching around the length of him, tighter with every thrust he delivers. the chants of his name have become almost reverent, and kaeya thinks his name couldn't possibly sound more beautiful than in that moment. he wonders if he could be blessed to hear it for the remainder of his life, and the thought sends pure unadulterated need through him.

his hips stutter, red hot fire coursing through his chilled veins—building, climbing, overwhelming as every sense goes fuzzy with heat. his grunts become more irregular, in time with the reckless thrusts of his cock as your cunt tightens around him greedily.

his cock twitches as you suck him in eagerly, feeling every ridge and vein as he grunts and groans and tightens his hold on you—unyielding, unrelenting, selfish.

your eyes stay locked on his even as your orgasm rips through you, and kaeya sees celestia in them—brighter than ever before. your muscles spasm, clenching almost painfully as you tremble and writhe underneath him, and he follows you to the doorstep of nirvana with a throaty groan. his hips stutter, twitching and throbbing as he pants out a broken chorus of your name and every praise that doesn't do you justice.

then he drops his forehead against yours, watching your eyelids flutter—celestial stars dim. a soft brush of your lips against his.

your muscles go lax, every guard dropped just for him—trust he realizes, trust he doesn't deserve. he doesn't know how to tell you that.

because even after everything—when you're curled up against his chest, skin warm and dewy against his own, he does not think about how he adores the feeling of your hair brushing against his arm, nor does he focus on the soft tickle of your breathing washing over him. instead he thinks about how he's ruined it all, how he's dragged you into him, and how he needs to let you go before he destroys you completely.

at the end of the summer, kaeya tells you he can’t.

“what are you talking about?” you ask him, a light chuckle escaping your lips as you barely focus on his words. your nose is buried in some medical text, and kaeya thinks that the universe is punishing him now by making him repeat himself.

“us. we shouldn’t have…” he sighs, shoulders dropping. “i mean, we should stop…seeing each other.”

he can practically feel the way his words pull your attention and when he looks up he sees the way your grip on the book has slackened. there’s panic settling in your eyes, mixed with a bit of confusion. a conflicted emotion runs across your face and kaeya’s fingers itch to touch you. “w-why?”

it’s a simple question and he should have no problem answering it, but he struggles to get the words out, his throat constricting uncomfortably. “it was fine in the summer, when i was back here with the troops. but now i’ll have to leave and-“

“so what?” you question, turning in your seat to face him completely. his eyes drop to the shirt you’re wearing, his shirt, and he feels his heart squeezing.

“so-“ he gulps, head spinning as he tries to explain himself. he doesn’t even have a proper answer—he just knows that this is his only option. because there’s no way in hell he deserves this kind of comfort, this kind of happiness. “so i cant-“

“can’t what, kaeya?” you stress, voice going slightly higher and he only then sees the real fear in your expression.

he pauses, mulling over his words and the bitter taste they’re leaving in his mouth. he can feel the sting of your pleading stare, and he swallows hard. “can’t stay,” he finally answers, and he’s shocked at how miserable he sounds.

you look at him like he’s insane, and honestly he feels like he might be. you’re confused and rightfully so, because there are so many remnants of him left in your space, so clearly evident the impact he’s left on you.

“can’t or won’t?”

kaeya’s eyes snap up to yours, because the tremor in your voice sends a jolt of fear down to his stomach, churning and roiling until it makes him sick.

he regrets looking, because he can feel himself breaking then and there.

you’re looking at him with these shining eyes and he swears that he’s glimpses them again—the brightest stars he’s ever had the privilege of seeing. for a second he thinks the light of those stars might disappear because that’s what always happens. but they remain, glowing against the backdrop of your irises and he’s captivated all over again.

his plans to leave you in tears fly out the window then and there.

he’s reaching for your cheeks in less than a second, holding them delicately as he lets his thumbs brush over your teary lashes. there’s a reasonable bit of confusion in your face at his sudden change, but when he leans down to kiss you, you don’t protest, melting into him even though he’s so undeniably cold. kaeya doesn’t even realize he’s saying he loves you, choosing to murmur it against your lips because it’s not meant for anyone else to hear—just the two of you.

he remains there, in the quiet darkness of your room for the rest of the night, because he doesn’t want to leave your side even after he told himself he would.

and yes, he dreads tomorrow. he dreads tomorrow because he knows that he will have to choose between the comfortable home he’s found in you or the dark abyss that has swallowed his past.

he’s scared that the more he allows himself to fall into you, and the more he finds that your eyes are the ones that hold the stars of celestia, then the easier his choice will become.

he’s been chasing the stars for so long after all. now that he finally has them, why in teyvat would he let them go?

[another-goblin]

I've been thinking. Are Aventurine and Dr. Ratio supposed to be fighters in-universe? I mean, most other characters (with the exception of some Harmony characters, who are not expected to deal dmg) are either professional warriors, or they have weapons, or some object they realistically use as a weapon, or there are some mystical powers they possess. I can imagine most of them fighting in a serious cutscene the same way they fight in-game.

And then there are these two, throwing casino chips and chalk. Realistically, you can't do any damage by throwing these (even the tiles Qingque throws look quite heavy, I wouldn't want to get hit by one of these). So in an actual in-game fight one of them thinks really hard about geometry and imagines dropping some ancient architecture on the enemies, and the other just daydreams about gambling so vividly that it hurts the enemies. Is it, like, the Imaginary thing? Is it what other characters see? Some formulas and graphs appear and hurt the monsters? Does a giant roulette wheel appear under a monster?

My theory is no. They are adequate fighters because they are playable characters in a gacha game, it's just a convention. Outside of fights, they are just normal people (as far as I currently understand them). Because other Imaginary characters deal dmg in ways that I can actually imagine happening in-universe, in a cutscene, for example (Welt yealding the power of a black hole with his cane, IL with his magic, Yukong with her bow and arrows, Loucha with his rapier and his freaky abundance magic). I mean, if Aventurine gets confronted by a robber in a dark alley, he isn't going to throw chips at them or turn the floor into a giant roulette wheel. He'll probably apply his street smarts.

So without his stone, Aventurine is just a guy, that's why he had to be saved by Argenti. Ratio is just a teacher, that's why he didn't help us fight the giant bug on the Herta station (I saw somebody complain about him not helping us), and that's why he needed our help dealing with that phase flame.

upd. People were very kind to remind me that Aventurine is actually a competent fighter and very proficient with a gun. It would be funny if one of his fighting animations was him going "fuck it" and pulling a gun at the enemies.  Still not beating the "normal guy" allegations, though.

[mangokabuto]

Proof of Usopp and Nami being Luffy’s vice/co captains? I would (genuinely!) love to see your thoughts and evidence, bc big agree

(Context:)

Hello anonymous tumblr-using friend!

As someone with a lot of knowledge of & a great passion for real-life historical piracy, I have VERY STRONG OPINIONS about how the Strawhat crew would fit into an actual golden age crew structure. When I said "I have proof" I was jokingly referring to my knowledge of historical piracy and how the characters slot into those trends, not any sort of "in-anime/manga proof" of Usopp and Nami being ""co-captains"" with Luffy, so if that's what you're here for then sorry lol.

BUT if you want to learn a little about golden age western-world piracy, (and my "au" of sorts for how each crewmate would be recognized in that context,) stick around! :)

(extremely long explanation under cut LMFAO)

First off, as i said in my heated/j tags, "captain" did not usually mean what Oda makes it mean in OP's world. I am ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN Oda is just as passionate about & did plenty of research about historical piracy, and is clearly pulling a little from wakō history, but mostly from golden-age western piracy (specifically mostly the post-spanish succession period, to my estimation).

That being said. Why he puts so much emphases on Captains and First Mates is BEYOND me, because irl they were not as important.

The captain WAS important, don't get me wrong, but they weren't the sole reigning commander of a ship. They were more like a figurehead, most of the time. This is a sortof flimsy metaphor, but think of Captains like the modern-day king or queen of England; They're hyped up as the #1 leader, they're an important charismatic face for the group, and they technically have last-say on important matters, but they are beholden to two other groups (like the cabinet and the prime minister).

During the golden age of piracy, most crews were commanded by a group of three people. These three people were usually the Captain, the Quartermaster, and the Bosun. Each filled a different role on the ship, and all three were democratically elected by the crew. In all important matters, the three would discuss together how to proceed/solve the current problem, and though the Captain COULD overrule the other two at any time, that typically got him handily shoved overboard via mutiny. By technicality there was a heirarchy of power between the three stations, (with Captain usually being the top dog, then the Quartermaster, then the Bosun just above the rest of the crew,) but in practice they held equal sway in decisions that would effect the entire crew.

HOWEVER, outside of "big crew-wide decision-making moments" where you needed to assemble the three leaders, they didn't always have to coordinate. Depending on what situation the crew was currently in, one of them would be de-facto in charge of the crew, and the other two would step back unless the one currently in charge did something that needed to be challenged, like they made a bad decision or (in a more extreme case) broke the articles.

The Captain was in charge during times of battle. The captain's primary role was as a fighter, performer, and military commander! If the crew was attacked or about to attack someone else, the Captain would immediately take charge. (Now, real pirates weren't actually violent in practice as frequently as pop culture would have you believe, but that's a whole other topic. The reason "performer" is listed in the Captain's "jobs" is that part of their responsibility as a captain worth their salt was to scare enemies into surrendering without a fight through theatrics and reputation.)

The Bosun was in charge when the Boat was damaged or needed upkeep. The Bosun was not always the greatest carpenter or shipwright in their own right (in fact, in larger crews, they usually weren't either of those things), but they would be the one to get together with the shipwright and worksmen and assess damage, organize repair teams, and keep the boat running as well as possible. The crew followed their lead during repairs, and they were the go-to authority on any matters concerning the physical boat.

The Quartermaster was in charge the rest of the time. The way the Bosun is in charge of the physical boat, the Quartermaster was in charge of the crew. They were responsible for enforcing the articles, dealing out discipline, and the crew's general well-being outside of battle. In that same way that a bosun didn't have to be a shipwright, a quartermaster wasn't usually a doctor or cook, but they worked closely with them. Being in charge outside times of battle meant that the Quartermaster was also in charge of headings and navigation, and more often than not they were the ship's navigator, or head navigation/deck officer if their crew was large enough to have more than one nav. They also usually handled the crew's finances/pay and cargo. Is this starting to sound familiar yet.

So. After establishing the roles. I don't think I have to persuade you that while Luffy is most definitely the Strawhat Captain, Nami is our Quartermaster and Usopp is our Bosun. At the VERY LEAST this is true on the Merry Go.

You could possibly persuade me that Franky takes Usopp's place as Bosun once they get the Thousand Sunny, but I would be hard to convince. (I could be persuaded that Usopp loses his position as bosun on the Sunny, but Franky does not behave like a bosun as much as a head carpenter, and Usopp functions like his carpenter's mate. It's almost like, post-timeskip, they don't have a bosun anymore, and Zoro fills the newly empty position on the leadership trio?)

Now, these roles are not concrete, and they didn't always make up the "management trio" on a pirate ship. Some very small crews just didn't have enough people that they needed to single out their three favorite guys; they could just all vote on important decisions together. Sometimes the management trio included the surgeon or the first mate instead of the bosun. There were many crews where the Quartermaster was considered the top-dog highest authority instead of the Captain at all times. Even during the golden age pirate crews varied greatly, but the Captain/Quartermaster/Bosun trio was most common.

As for the ship hierarchy, there was a trend you could rely on no matter who the "three leaders" were. Everyone was generally considered of equal importance on a crew, (hence the elected offices and avenue for mutiny,) but there was a chain of command of sorts? Or at least people who would be shown greater respect and responsibility based on what they provided for the crew:

Captain and/or Quartermaster

Bosun and/or Surgeon/Doctor, and sometimes the First Mate

Everybody else, including captain's other mates.

Speaking of Captain's Mates... On larger crews, every important role on the ship had a "mate," or an apprentice chosen by the person in question to replace them if they should die, or otherwise be out-of-commission. Quartermaster's Mate. Bosun's Mate. Doctor/Surgeon's Mate. Carpenter's Mate. Etc. However, the Captain had MULTIPLE MATES, because his job was front-line combat focused. Ergo, he could easily die and need a replacement. Quickly. And his replacement could need a sudden replacement! So, depending on the size of the crew, the captain could have anywhere from two to eight mates, who were ranked by number. That's why the captain's highest-ranking mate is called the First Mate. Because there was usually a Second Mate. And then some more of em.

The First Mate's job is to be a good ass fighter, and back the Captain up on whatever they're currently doing. They hype the Captain up and enforce the Captain's decisions, no matter what that decision is. This is why they were usually not put in the management trio on most crews, cause you could imagine. The conflict of interest. (There's supposed to be three of them so that no one member has too much sway. Which could be sabotaged if two of the three are captain and captain's favorite soldier LMFAO)

I have no idea why, in the world of One Piece, all of the emphasis seems to be on Captains as the end-all-be-all leaders of their ship and the First Mate as the second in command. Especially when Oda clearly KNOWS about the other roles, since he's written characters that fall into them like perfect puzzle pieces!

...Well, okay, I have some idea. This is a shonen series for teens and being the captain/king/etc is wish fulfillment, and wouldn't be as cool for the projecting readers if you were part of a leading council with two other mooks. But. I can still be salty about it LMFAO <3

[tempvstas]

Hello's I was wondering if I could request something. I was curious if you could do an overblot reader based on this song. (https://youtu.be/zEGbIpD6wNo), with the housewardens If you can I would be so grateful. If not that is okay, I understand. Just thought it would be cool. Thank you

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Content Warning(s): angst hehe, not really spoilers, but I mention every single overblot from in the game(in JP, not EN)

Character(s): GN!Reader, most of the TWST cast(too lazy to type out everyone's name)

Authors Notes: this song is so angsty i love it HAHAHHA, apologies for the long wait. Characters may be ooc because it's been a while. Also some parts may not make sense. Interactions can be seen as platonic or romantic.

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The Nowhere King

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It's dark.

You can feel a coldness against your skin, seeping into your bones.

The voices are muffled, where are you? You're sinking, deeper and deeper into a seemingly bottomless lake, the darkness surrounding you. A voice urges you to close your eyes, whispering for you to close your eyes and to give into the endless void closing in around you. And somehow you don't feel like resisting. You succumb, curling into yourself, feeling the tender embrace of your murky surroundings.

Unbeknownst to you, a battle rages outside of the safe haven of the cocoon you wrapped yourself in.

.....

"Dammit...no one told me they would be this strong," Leona grits his teeth as he stares up at your imposing form. Behind your current overblotted form looms a large imposing inky figure. An entity stitched together, its face covered with the distinct head of glass with leaking ink seen in all overblot forms, complemented with two large, round ears atop its head. Its white ink-stained gloves slam into the floor sending dust and pieces of the ground flying into the air. Everyone stands before you, worn out from how long the fight has dragged out.

Azul staggers to his feet, wincing slightly as he pushes up his glasses, his eyes narrowing as he stares at your form. "They've lost all sense of rationality. It appears as though our words at this point will be futile." Kalim's eyes go wide at Azul's words, panic settling into his gaze. "What do we do? We're never going to get them back." He whimpered.

From where he's stationed, Riddle peeks out from behind the fallen rubble he used as a shelter, he quickly shoots off a blast of fire in your direction. The blast does little to damage you but merely aggravates you more as the entity behind you swings its hands with reckless abandon scattering more debris everywhere. "Then we just need to blast some sense into them! Just like they did for us..." he stares around at his fellow housewardens. Behind the 7 housewardens, it's chaos. Ace, Deuce, and Grim can be seen running in your general vicinity distracting you as the housewardens formulate a plan to bring you back to your senses. Jack in wolf form charges at you with Epel atop his back, screaming obscenities that would send Vil into a coma, but he can't seem to bring himself to care at the moment

Amidst the screaming and yelling behind them, Idia shakily clears his throat catching everyone's attention. He shrinks away as 6 pairs of eyes focus in on him. "..H-how did none of us realize that they would end up like this? After all, we've all undergone this...a-and did no one notice that the Prefect was a bit off in the past few days?" Vil scoffs, shaking his head, "If you noticed, why didn't you say anything?" Idia moves to rebuke Vil but Malleus cuts in before he can say anything.

"That's enough Shroud, Schoenheit. Do you really think the Child of Man would like to see us bickering over them like this? As we all know, they are not the best at expressing themself." With his words, everyone falls silent. "So the best thing that we can do is to be for them, as they were there for us in our most dire time of need. All in favor?"

Leona huffs, pushing Malleus aside, his shoulder bumping against Malleus's as he gets up from where he was standing. "No need to tell me what to do lizard," he sneers, holding up his staff, watching you swipe repeatedly at the first and second years waging battle against you. "And it looks like to me that the herbivores out there are starting to get worn out, while we sit here all nice and pretty," he pauses, his gaze becoming unreadable, "As much as I hate the idea of working alongside Malleus, I can't help but agree with the fact that they were there for all of us, and I don't like someone being able to hold something against me...so what say you that we go out there and bring them back to their senses?" he grins, leaping down from atop the rubble and running out.

Vil sighs, before dusting himself off and standing tall, a smirk on his face, "I can't let Leona take all of the glory so it looks like I'll have to join myself." As he follows suit, the other housewardens also get to their feet, charging at you to assist their underclassmen.

.....

Hush now, hide, all you little ones Rush now, into the middle of nowhere Singing and laughter will die

You find yourself drowning, struggling to make sense of your surroundings. You feel an overwhelming sense of grief, coupled with anger. Anger at Crowley for being useless and deflecting as always when questioned about a way for you to get back home. Anger at being forced into situations that you had no control over. And most of all, anger at yourself for not being able to do anything and always feeling helpless. Never being able to fend for yourself and always having to depend on others to be able to take care of you.

It's happened time and time again, with Riddle's temper tantrum in the Heartslabyul rose maze. Leona's rampage in the Spelldrive stadium. Azul's meltdown over his contracts in the Octavinelle dorm. Jamil's outburst over winter break. Vil's spiral during the VDC competition. Idia's change of heart on the Island of Woe. Malleus forcing everyone into a slumber. It was all too much for you to bear.

Give in. The voice in your head whispers. Rest now, and let me take over.

Dreamless sleep, follows the Nowhere King When his kingdom comes, darkness is nigh

That's right, you're nobody. Insignificant. Useless. No place to truly call home, and no one to go home to. The darkness seeps in coaxing you to give in.

...

Give in.

.......

...........

Give in.

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

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

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

GIVE IN.

For a brief moment, you open your eyes and visions flash before your eyes. Your friends in danger, everyone screaming and running. Is that...your doing?

You raise your hand to your head to alleviate the pounding headache racking your brain, but your horrified to see that your hands have morphed into ink stained ones, covered and dripping with black liquid. You feel nauseous and sick to your stomach, covering your mouth to resist the urge to hurl out your guts right then and there. You stumble as you shield your face from the blinding blasts of magic flung your way.

Quiet, crawl to the in-between Silent, secretive feeling Of fearsome hatred that reaches the skies

You've always kept your emotions to yourself haven't you?

As much as you hate to admit it, there's resentment that has always bubbled beneath the surface. You don't show it but you've always been envious of your friends who have somewhere or someone to go to whilst you're stuck with nothing, no one to rely on.

.....

Isn't that right?

Why was it you of all people?

It's not fair, isn't it....?

The mask you've so carefully crafted starts to slip and crumble to pieces. You fall to your knees, gasping for air. Inky tears stain your face as the ground bites into the palms of your hands.

You will bring joy to the Nowhere King When he sees the light leaving your eyes

.....

With one final combined magical blast, the entity behind you lets out a roar of pain before collapsing. It's delicate glass face cracks and shatters, more ink spilling out. As it falls, so to do you, your body crumpling lifelessly. Thankfully before you can hit the ground, Malleus swoops in beneath you, cushioning your fall with his arms. Gently, he cradles your face checking you for injuries before setting you down, his arms supporting your body.

"We...did it?" Azul murmurs in disbelief, his breathing ragged. Everyone else doesn't seem to be faring better than he is. It seems everyone has worn out themselves in the battle.

Everyone crowds around you, concern in their gazes. Before long, your eyes flutter open, and you let out a groan of pain, trying to sit up. "WAAHHHHHHHH Y/N!!" Grim sprints up to you, leaping into your lap, his face tearing up. Still out of it, you grunt, feeling his paws make impact with your stomach and you let out a sharp exhale of pain. It's funny. You think to yourself. Grim never uses your actual name. "You had me so worried don't ever do that again okay?" Grim sniffled rubbing his face into your shirt. "Ew Grim, you're getting snot all over me," you scold him lightly but your voice is soft as you press a hand to the top of his head.

"Take it easy, you're hurt." Vil murmurs, kneeling next to you and wiping your ink-stained face gently. His tone although laced with worry is uncharacteristically soft, his slender fingers feel cool. You inadvertently find yourself leaning into his touch, shutting your eyes.

"W-what happened?" you croak out, wincing a bit. Everything aches and hurts whenever you move.

"You...overblotted..." Jamil murmurs quietly. "You weren't acting like yourself and before long...." he gestured at you, indicating the state you were in.

You inhale a shaky breath, pushing yourself up so that you can face everyone better. You feel tears pricking at your eyes, threatening to spill out. "I'm sorry everyone...I didn't mean to cause so much trouble. I lost my cool...and it ended up with you all forced to use your magic against me and wear yourselves out. All because I couldn't control my emotions..."

No one speaks a word, letting you convey your thoughts. There's a brief moment before Grim walks up to you, gently pressing a paw to your leg to get your attention. You stare down at him, surprised by the serious look on his face.

"Henchman, no one is going to blame you for feeling emotions," he pauses. "You've already done so much for everyone, there's only so much stress you can take." Grim shrugs looking at everyone around you two. "I keep telling them that they're working too hard, but they always insist on seeing things through to the end." Everyone laughs a little at Grim's wording and you can't help but crack a slight smile at his words.

"Classic prefect shishishi," Ruggie smirks, his hands resting behind his neck. You shake your head, setting Grim down on the floor as you attempt to get up. Riddle takes notice of this, leaning down and offering you his shoulder for support. Gratefully, you take it, leaning heavily against him.

"Prefect," your name hangs in the air as you stare at Riddle curiously. "I can't promise that I can offer the best support to you, but I hope you know that if you ever need someone to talk to, I will be here to listen to you...even if I can't offer the best advice." Deuce comes up besides you, supporting your other shoulder, "Ace and I will be here too, you're not alone in this," he grins, allowing you to shift your weight against him.

You feel yourself start to tear up again, your head falling over, your shoulders shaking. "Thank you..everyone. Thank you for bringing me back."

"You were there when we were at our lowest. It's only fair that we return the favor."

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[hana-no-seiiki]

This is 💗 anon, your anon is turned off. Please let me stay anonymous. Anywho, I, uh, need Jing Yuan to just use me any way he wants. He needs to spit in my mouth? My tongue is out waiting for it. He tells me jump, I ask how high. He wants to ruin me in front of his officers who aren't allowed to look at me? I'll do it

That or I power bottom Sampo. Make that submissive little shit worship me

ON A PLATTER

YANDERE! JING YUAN x AMAB! SOLDIER! READER

plus a little Sampo addition (not smut tho) to the end.

hope everyone that pulled for him succeeded!!

©️ art and story belongs to me, character goes to hoyoverse. please do not redistribute, repost, or share my art without credit or permission.

warnings: noncon. spoilers for the jarilo iv storyline. anal seggs.

status: unedited

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. I BEG OF YOU.

Many exalted the drowsy general’s prowess and leadership across the Xianzhou Alliance. Under his rule, the Luofu Flagship developed into a powerhouse that petrified those who heard its name. An infamous red line that warned against those that sought immortality. A blade that stuck right next your jugular in case you dare so moved in a direction they do not want you to.

This general was hundreds of years your junior but had already accomplished far more than you have. That fact was the second biggest slap to the face.

The actual, most damaging slap was his patronizing attitude towards you.

How were you supposed to rise above your station and prove your worth as a knight when he assigned you as his measly bodyguard? It wasn’t as if it was a quiet career really, the man faced dozens of attempts at his life on a daily. It was moreso the fact that he never let you do your job in the first place.

You spent decades just standing around while he swung his massive sword at intruders before you could even blink. Somehow, the lousy man moved faster when defending you rather than with his own duties. It was as if he was the body guard not you.

Not to mention the perverse stares. You weren’t dense. You could feel his bedroom eyes from miles away, taking off the heavy armor you wore to work and leaving you bare. You felt like a lamb, or a tender piece of steak on a platter — and he, the most insatiable man alive.

Hundreds of years training — wasted, spent on being a trophy for him.

If remaining close to the master that misused you for several decades was bad enough, having to interact with him was like hell on earth. He was a vice, a poison molded into the shape of a man. One that could kill you in a instant, but looked oh so tempting. Only the heavens knew how you were resisted his charms for so long.

“Yes, my general? How may I be of assistance?” Your voice and words held a cordial, cold tone to it. If your employer could not bring a semblance of professionalism into the table, then you would tenfold. If he always closed in the distance between you two, you in turn would step further away in your relationship or whatever one might call this thing between the two of you was.

Despite your frigid temperament, Jing Yuan does not flinch nor back down. His eyes trained on a star-chess piece as he twirled it around. “I think it is about time we quell any sort of . . . resentment you have towards me is all.”

You had to give it to him. Jing Yuan was one of the most attractive people you’ve ever bared witness to. At nights like these where his mane of a hair was let down, giving him a relaxed and playful look, it was hard not to stare. “Pardon, my general?”

“You have no need to give me false face, [Y/N]. I know of your doubts and qualms. You see me unfit to continue being General. That I am incompetent, lazy. That I do not let you do a job you feel you are overqualified to even be in.” He listed off before carefully placing the star-chess piece down. His eyes then abruptly flicked to you, creating eye-contact and in turn, chills.

You are rendered speechless. How had he known? You had been so terribly careful. Never spouting about what you thought. Never even writing down such things. You knew better than to show your treacherous feelings outside of the seat of divine foresight, much less within.

So how, how did this wretched man know?

The General smirked as your hands tightened around your spear. “Why so shy all of a sudden, little warrior? Do not worry. I have a feeling you’ll quite enjoy what I have in store for you.”

“Come here.” He patted his lap.

And you quickly realized what was happening here.

Your whole career was a waiting game really. Each day you could only pray that the General had enough self-control not to take you. It seemed that today was the day all restraints were taken off.

Now, you could only pray for things to be swiftly over, or heavens forbid for him to not enjoy it so that it won’t happen again in the future.

Jing Yuan had long planned for this moment. What order he’d take off each piece of armor, how he’d do it, and every step following that. He was more meticulous in the way he’d have his time with you than anything else in his life.

Never did he put this much effort into anything. Not his studies nor training. He had to give it to you. You were right. He didn’t fully devote himself into playing General. How could he when he was already fully devoting himself to you?

“Perhaps little warrior was a wrong title for me to give you. With how drenched these are, wouldn’t little whore be better, hm?” Your skin, no matter what imperfections it may have, looked immaculate to his eyes. It was something Jing Yuan daydreamed about for hours on end and you did not disappoint. He should have done this sooner, he thought. Too bad it had to take a certain trigger for all his control to diminish.

His wasted no time when grabbing your cock. It was semi soft, though you didn’t want him this way your hormones said otherwise. He doesn’t falter for one second even after knowing so, predicting that its state would change once he began stimulating it. “My General, please — ngh — cease this at one.”

You legs kept moving around, either in pleasure or in a last ditch attempt at resisting, you didn’t know. Your body was moving on sheer instinct. Flight or fight mixing with euphoria. Fear and relief clashing against one another. It had been months since you last touched yourself. As a being close to a thousand years of age, your libido had long fizzled out. Or so you thought.

“You really are in need of a wake up call.”

Jing Yuan remained silent for the couple of minutes it took you to finally ejaculate. As the thick white liquid left your member, so did the remaining will to resist.

“I am your ruler.”

Jing Yuan suddenly stood up, causing you to fall forward unto his desk. Your chrysanthemum presented itself for him.

“My word is law.”

His left hands slid from your lower back to your shoulder as his right aligned his cock. You dare not look back to witness his size.

You hear the sound of a bottle being opened and of squelching while Jing Yuan covered himself in lubricant. He almost spends an entire minute just touching himself to your naked back. A sight he thought would only remain a mirage, a phantasm he will never see come to light.

“My desire will be met.”

But alas, you are here. Though he could easily reach climax just masturbating to this magnificent view, a taste was what this entire endeavor’s reason for occurring.

“And long have I waited for this moment to have you in my hands, Senior.”

He enters. Not gentle in the slightest. And to both your surprise he cums right there, not even lasting a second within you. Regardless of the surprise and sudden intrusion, you do not miss the way he addressed you.

A flood of memories fills your mind. “Xiao Yuan . . ?”

You do not get to think too much about it however, as Jing Yuan quickly regained his erection and began fucking your hole. Groaning loudly at your tightness which came as a result of your surprise. He picks you up by your arms and pressed your back to his chest.

“You finally remembered me, have you? But alas, catching up will have to wait. We have an audience waiting for the real show to begin.” He tilted his head away and looked beyond your form.

The guards — those who thought were your friends — that were stationed there weren’t dismissed. They were watching the whole time you were being jerked off and reached climax. Their eyes were glued to how Jing Yuan’s cock would disappear into your little hole, ears peeled to the lewd sounds of squelching, slapping and mewling, you bet that behind those helmets they were drooling over your misery.

But you didn’t feel an inch of anger at them at all, only at the man that forced you into this wicked situation in the first place.

“You lunatic—“ You yelled, but you do not move away, thrash or form any attempts at escape.

“Lunatic? No no, just authoritarian. A leader needs to assert himself in the face of . . . those who daringly gaze at my belonging. All while they’re stripped bare for me to partake in. If anything those lowly soldiers are the perverts are they not?” He paused from his thrusts, and you are ashamed to know that you made a small whine of disappointment at his lack of movement. He chuckled at your response before his face turned cold.

Golden eyes dripped in apathy as he commanded to everyone else in the room. “Helmets off.”

“Yes, general!” They all nodded in unison. No hesitation whatsoever.

“Look straight into their eyes, little warrior.” But who were you to judge when all you do to his commands were to follow blindly as well? You faced your comrades, you’re almost thankful for your arousal clouding your brain and stopping it from feeling too much shame and disgust. They stare right back. Eyes burning with lust and excitement.

Once he is assured of your eye-contact, Jing Yuan began pounding your ass again, this time he was somehow much more harsh than he was at the beginning. “Ngh — !”

“See all of them? These people would kill to be in my place right now. They’d beg for just a drop of your essence. And here you are, taking my cock like the good little warrior you are. Milking me for all I’m worth. Aren’t you greedy for me? Hahaha!” It doesn’t take Jing Yuan long to get jealous. Just several seconds later he shoves you forward and back unto his desk, forcing you to face somewhere else and your attention back to only the way his cock rearranged your insides and hiding the way your hole took him. His hand running itself through your hair, tugging once or twice every minute.

He leaned forward, thus allowing his voice to reach your ears and your ears alone, and his member to reach even further inside you. “Want more of my cum, [Y/N]? Tell me. Order me.”

“Give me - ah - more of your cum, you - ah - bastard!” You screamed, grabbing ahold of one of his scrolls and unintentionally breaking via the strength of your grip.

Your wish is his command.

Jing Yuan doesn’t slow down or stop as his cum filled you up. He wanted to make sure every corner of your hole was covered with him, that every spurt of his seed would decorate your rectum and make it its home.

“Satisfied with your general now, soldier?” He asked, his hips now slowly stuttered to a stop.

You do not reply, only panting in exhaustion. He does not part with you for a moment when he gave his command.

“Qingzu. Send this recording to Tingyun, then execute the rest.”

Your shock and terror overshadowed the doom of all your friends.

“Yes, my General.”

You only realized the weight of it all when he turned you around for an embrace. His genital already ‘recovering’ and almost ready for another round.

“How would you like their eyes served to you, hm? In preserve jars . . .

Or on a platter?”

Inside the void of space. Of the stars, the planets. The cradle of creation and dreams. You hear the sly voice of a man you once knew.

“What a pervert you are, reading a smutty story of that General from Xianzhou.”

What was his name again? Sam . . . Samuel . . . ?

“Sooo ~ did you enjoy it? Did you have fun?”

Sampo. Sampo Koski.

“ . . . What ?”

Yes, Sampo, your fellow actor. How could you forget? The support to your lead. The guy who always had your back.

“Oh my, you seem a little disoriented.“

In the cold embrace of the void, Sampo’s hands almost felt hot when he placed it upon your cheeks.

“Not to worry, dear friend! I’ll fix you right back up again. Can’t have our main actor ill-prepared for their next show, do we?”

And the curtain opens, revealing a sea of white.

[ TRANSLATION ]

chrysanthemum - lit. it’s a pretty flower ya’ll. slang wise it means anus.

xiao - lit. little. it’s a chinese diminutive, basically added to the name to make it sound cute. like little yun or little [y/n].

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2023

[hallowxiu]

Gentle Monster

part 1

i will be posting this as a chaptered series on my a03 linked here.

characters: zombie!Beel, gn!mc

word count: 4.8k

Summary: You're living in a zombie apocalypse where your current struggles have brought you to a small town where you meet a strange zombie.

"The zombie, which hasn’t immediately attacked you, strikes you as odd. It doesn’t seem violent, but you know that can’t be true. If anything, it seems startled by your presence."

Autumn leaves rustle on the ground, the wind blowing them down the streets as you walk hurriedly. You’d left your house, your very own sanctuary that you built with your own hands, to run into town to look for supplies. You were stocked on most things, but you found yourself running low on medical supplies (you had a bit of a nasty run-in with a handful of zombies a few nights ago) and ammunition (for the same reason you ran low on medical supplies). 

For the last year, you were nearly sure you were one of the last remaining humans in your town. You hadn’t seen or as much as heard a peep from people, which was somewhat uncommon. If there were groups of armed people holed up somewhere, you would have eventually run into them when out on supply runs. 

The echo of your steps is the only source of sound in the otherwise quiet town. You can hear the faint grunts and groans of zombies in the distance, but the sounds aren’t close enough to draw any sense of alarm. Still, you had your hammer ready in case you were surprised. 

You weren’t feeling hopeful today with the potential outcome of your supply run. Medical supplies and ammunition generally were rare to find, but in a town where most humans were wiped out? Yeah, fat chance. You felt a growing pit of anxiety forming in your stomach. Never run low: that’s what you drilled into yourself whenever it came to medical supplies and ammunition. How could you let yourself get so careless? You should have never put yourself in this situation to start with.

Your eyes scanned over the abandoned and ruined buildings, moss and vines covering the exteriors and forcing their way inside through broken windows. Damaged bricks lay discarded and forgotten on the ground. Most places had already been ransacked by both you and other survivors. You knew markets had little to provide, and long-forgotten homes had been stripped of anything valuable they once had. There was, however, one place in town that most people avoided. The feeling of anxiety grows larger within you, threatening to break out. You didn’t want to go to that section of town, but you were low on options. You needed medical supplies and ammunition desperately; if you wanted to survive, you’d have to take calculated risks. Running a dirty hand through your hair, a shaky exhale forces itself past your lips as you head toward the town’s police station. 

The police station was a place to avoid for several reasons. However, the most pressing one was that it was located right on the outskirts of town. You tried to avoid the outskirts of town as much as possible. Zombies always seemed to linger in groups that could easily overpower someone traveling alone. The police station also had a small jail toward the back of the building, which became an issue once people started dropping dead and turning. Many of the prisoners were still in their cells, turned years ago. It was just a place you didn’t like to be around, but you also knew many survivors shared that sentiment. If you wanted to get the supplies you were so desperately in need of, you knew the police station would more than likely have it. However, there was a risk that you may end up using all the supplies just trying to get back out of the station. 

You stop short in front of the station. The building looks the same as the rest of the infrastructure in town. Something, likely a herd of zombies, had pushed in the front doors that were now barely attached to the hinges. Bloody handprints had been smeared on the remaining glass, and from what you could tell from where you stood, the inside didn’t look much better. You could see the center of the reception room, papers discarded and dumped on the tiled floor. Inhaling and giving yourself a false sense of confidence, you step inside the station. 

The first thing you noticed was how quiet it was. No grunts, no moans, no shaky breaths. Your dominant hand grips the hammer tighter. It was rare for the police station to be empty; there were almost always zombies roaming around the building. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, pounding away as you scan the room for any threats. The air held a musty and metallic smell, and you could see thick layers of dust on the plastic chairs that sat haphazardly in the room. Slowly, carefully, you walk behind the receptionist's desk, looking for anything useful. Nothing, but that didn’t shock you. Survivors brave enough to break into the station usually only made it to the receptionist area. Not many were brave, or for lack of a better word, stupid enough to push further. Luckily (or unluckily), you were stupid enough to do such a thing. 

Moving through the reception area and toward the back of the station, you knew the likelihood of finding supplies increased. You swallow nervously, glancing around as you push through the building. Somehow, it became more nerve-wracking the longer you went without running into anything. The lights are out, thanks to the power outage from the outbreak. Still, you weren’t anticipating just how dark the building grew the further you pushed. You knew you had to be getting close to the jail based on the lack of windows. 

You blink several times, trying to get your eyes to adjust to the darkness. You hated being in the dark, something you didn’t initially have a fear of until you found yourself living in a world full of blood-thirsty monsters. Your mind would play tricks on you, conjuring up distorted images of things lurking in the shadows, hiding behind every corner. Whenever you found yourself in the dark, it became incredibly difficult for you to stay focused, to separate reality and hallucinations. You close your eyes, forcing yourself to stay grounded in the moment. Losing yourself to panic would only cause more trouble. Opening your eyes again, you grab a flashlight in your bag. Once on, the flashlight illuminates the room with a narrow tunnel of light, giving you an idea of where you’re at in the building. You had been right; you were in the jail portion of the police station. Lifting your flashlight, you freeze when seeing the outline of something right in front of you. 

Disorientated from the darkness, it takes your brain a moment to process that you are staring directly at someone or something’s chest. Before a scream can erupt from your lungs and you lose yourself completely to panic, you throw yourself back, trying to put as much distance as possible between whatever’s in the room with you. You aim your flashlight, the light revealing a zombie in the corner of the room, visibly startled by your sudden movement. You glance from the zombie to your hammer, noting that it’s of significant size for an ordinary zombie. It didn’t seem like a Griever, the deadliest zombie from the outbreak. That relieved you; you didn’t think you could take on a Griever of that size without a gun. It was the risk you carried when traveling into town; the sound of a gun firing could attract all types of zombies from all over. You were exposed enough as it was in town; you didn’t need to make it worse for yourself. 

You didn’t want to fight the zombie with your hammer. It was large and could easily overpower you. Your pistol is in your bag as a last option, but you couldn’t risk alerting more zombies to your location. The palm of your hand is sweating as your grip around the hammer tightens, your knuckles turning white. Cautiously, you take a slow step back, desiring to add more space between you. The zombie, which hasn’t immediately attacked you, strikes you as odd. It doesn’t seem violent, but you know that can’t be true. 

Without warning, the zombie lunges for you, its hands outstretched as it runs toward you. You force a scream down as you stumble back, unthinkingly swinging the hammer out in front of you, striking at the air. You back into something, feeling cool metal pressing against your back. It’s bars to a jail cell. 

Making a rash and sudden decision, you yank the door to the cell open, darting inside and slamming the door shut behind you. You stumble back against the wall as you watch the large zombie trying to squeeze its arms through the gaps of the cell door. Your chest rises and falls, eyes dilated and wide as you try to make out your dark surroundings. You must’ve dropped your flashlight in the struggle because you were again thrown into darkness. You place a shaky hand on your chest, trying to calm your nerves. You were away from the zombie, but now, admittedly, you were trapped in a pitch-black jail cell. The full gravity of your decision begins to settle over you. You have no medical supplies, you’re low on ammunition, you’re without a light source, and you’re trapped in a jail cell with limited food and water on your person. Feeling panic welling inside you, you struggle to keep it at bay. Throwing yourself into a jail cell has to be the most impulsive decision you’ve made, and it may just cost you your life. You’re only lucky that you managed to pick a cell that wasn’t already holding a zombie.

“Fuck.” You mutter under your breath, watching wearily as the zombie continues its assault on your cell. You had no idea how long it would take before the bars would give out under the zombie. Sure, it was a heavy metal door, but this was also a larger-than-average zombie. You had no idea the strength it held. You watch as the zombie begins to slowly lose interest, another thing that strikes you as odd. Typically, even if a zombie couldn’t reach you, it’d try to get to you as long as it could see you. Hunger was not something that ever went away with zombies. It was what drove them to survive, what drove them to keep going. You were a free ticket to a hot meal as far as this zombie was concerned, and yet… 

You observe how it still lingers by the door, its hands wrapping around the cool metal of the cell bars. It’s watching you closely, its eyes following your every move, no matter how small—the zombie’s groaning, something that sends a shiver up your spine. Regardless of how long you’ve been stuck in this hell, the sounds of zombies never stopped creeping you out. The zombie pulls weakly at the bars; odd. Why would it pull so weakly when you both knew it could easily apply more strength? You were at the mercy of this zombie, and surely you both knew that. Your eyes narrow suspiciously as you feel backed into the wall behind you, your back pressed flat against the cool, bricked surface. 

You needed to plan your escape, but escaping while this monster hovered around your cell wouldn’t do you any good. You lost your flashlight, and while your eyes have been slowly adjusting, you were still at a steep disadvantage. You still have your hammer, but you ultimately knew it wouldn’t do much in a fight against this guy. You could lodge it in its eye and run for it, but then you’re without a weapon. As morbid as it was, your only hope would be if another poor soul wound up here and took its attention off you. You never prayed on the downfall of another human, but if it was the only thing standing between you and getting back home, then you just might. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you see movement in front of you, watching in curiosity as the zombie slowly sits down in front of the cell door. It wasn’t like zombies to sit and wait for their prey; they usually just continued to groan and pound away at whatever was blocking them. This zombie was nothing like one you’ve encountered, and its odd behavior was only stacking up in front of you. “What are you?” You find yourself asking, knowing you won’t get anything in response. And true enough, you don’t, except for a grunt. If you weren’t so hung up on how to get out of this situation, you’d probably be taking notes on this zombie, trying to learn about its behavior and unnatural size and classify its type. 

It’s still quiet in the jail, something that hasn’t gone unnoticed by you. You wonder if the zombie in front of you is the reason for the lack of other zombies in the building. That thought sends another shiver up your spine; if this zombie could keep other zombies out of this building, how strong was this beast? Your grip on the hammer tightens as you try to keep as much distance as possible despite the cell door acting as a barricade. You chew on your bottom lip anxiously, your stomach already growling. Pushing the thought of food aside, you look down at your left ankle. It was swollen, ballooning in your shoe. Your ankle was the main reason you were out for medical supplies. During your last run-in with zombies, you sprained it when fleeing. However, with the current state of your ankle, you’re starting to suspect that you might be suffering from a sort of fracture, and you’re even more sure that trying to escape this zombie earlier only made it worse. You should have waited until your ankle healed more; patience in a zombie apocalypse was vital, but it seems it was something you lacked. 

Your ankle was throbbing as you sat, and you started to wonder just how fucked of a situation you landed yourself in. You glance back up to see the zombie still staring at you. It’s strange, but what’s even stranger, you think, is how you aren’t unnerved by its stare. You don’t feel anything. You shake your head, trying to steady yourself. If you get lost in your thoughts now, if you let your panic consume you, you are dead. There was no other way about it. So, instead of letting yourself get wrapped up in your head, you needed to focus on-

“H…el…p.” 

Your head snaps up, and your eyes widen as you scan the area as best you can while stuck in the dark cell. Was someone else in here with you? Was someone also stuck in a cell? A prisoner, maybe? Or someone in a very similar situation to yours? “Hello? Who’s there?” You didn’t bother hiding your voice, you were nearly positive that there was only one zombie back here with you, despite you not fully understanding what kind of zombie this was. “Are you injured?”

You were met with silence, and you felt your eyes narrowing in the darkness as you tried to pinpoint the direction the voice was coming from. “Hello?” You try again, waiting on bated breath. After what feels like an eternity, you finally hear a response. 

“Not… injured.” You’re confused by this. They’re not injured, but why are they replying as if they are? “You… injured?” 

“What?” You’re straining to hear the person, and the more you strain, the more you’re uncertain that you might be going insane and hallucinating the entire conversation. You’re so absorbed in this conversation that you inch yourself closer to the cell bars, your fingers wrapping around the rusty metal, the zombie the last thing on your mind. 

Suddenly, the zombie’s face is blocking your view, pressed against the cold metal bars. You let out a surprised yelp, throwing yourself away from the bars and zombie and back against the brick wall. The overly large zombie is pressing itself into the bars with its hands outstretched towards you. You notice it’s not moving aggressively but slowly and curiously. “In…jured.” Okay, now you know you’re going crazy because there’s no way you just saw and heard a zombie attempting to communicate with you. There’s just no way. The zombie points at your swollen ankle with its outstretched hand as if to prove a point. 

“Yeah… injured.” You repeat slowly, not quite believing that this thing is speaking to you. Or that you’re responding to it. There’s a beat of silence as the zombie stares at you, its head tilting. You’re unsure if it's trying to speak or thinking of eating you. 

“Why?” The zombie’s voice is rough and raw. You assume this is because its vocal cords are damaged, and possibly because it hasn’t spoken in who knows how long. You look down at your ankle, bruises blooming across your skin. 

“Because I sprained it. Maybe fractured it. I don’t know.” You offer lamely. Why are you talking with a zombie? Are you really that desperate for some kind of human interaction, even if it comes in the form of a bloodthirsty monster? You look up when hearing the zombie grunt. You’re unsure if that was a response, or just the zombie grunting for the sake of grunting. It’s still pitch black, but your eyes have somewhat adjusted. You can see the outline of muscles and the torn fabric on its dirty and bloodied clothes. It looks like a type of uniform, but you couldn’t figure out what. The zombie has shaggy hair and strands of grown-out bangs covering its eyes. Its hand is still out stretched toward you, the other clutching onto a bar of the cell. There’s dirt packed under its broken and chipped nails. You spot what looks like a nametag on the monster’s chest. “What’s your name?” You don’t know why you’re asking. Maybe to give the zombie some human element, to make it less scary. Or maybe you’re trying to prove to yourself that this whole situation isn’t made up. 

The silence stretches out, lasting so long that you almost forget the zombie is there. You begin to wonder if you did imagine the scenario. “B…Beelze…bub.” Huh. Odd name. You rub your hands against your face, crouching over as you try to comprehend everything. Odd name aside, the zombie answered your question. You asked for a name and it gave you a name. Which meant the zombie understood your question and has been asking you questions and responding in kind. 

“How is this possible?” You ask out loud as you lean your head against the brick wall behind you. You’ve never heard of this happening; you never imagined this happening. A talking zombie that isn’t immediately trying to kill and eat you? It’s as if you fell into a completely different world. Were there others like it? Was it possible for a community of zombies to exist? The zombie, or Beelzebub, only stared in response. Perhaps it was letting you think things over, or maybe its vocal cords were on the verge of giving out. You could also be crazy.

You lean back against the wall again, your swollen and throbbing ankle nearly forgotten. “Will you eat me if I get out of here?” It was a question you did but didn’t want to be answered. You were stuck in this situation because of it, and it did try to attack you earlier. You also figured you’d ask this before asking if it would help free you from your cell. 

“Y…es…” 

Solid. You managed to find the only talking zombie in town, maybe even the world, and it still wants to eat you. You’re not sure how to feel about that. You needed to think of a way out of this. “What if you let me out, you know, find a key or something, and then you don’t eat me?” Beelzebub stares at you with an expressionless face. You’re fairly sure you see it blink one eye at a time. However, a lightbulb goes off in your head; bargaining with it might work. “Uh, if you get me a key and get me out of here, without eating me,” you find yourself emphasizing, “I’ll help you find animals to eat or something.” You haven’t seen humans in town for a long time, so you don’t know the last time Beelzebub ate. Could zombies last for periods without eating? “So? What do you think? Pretty sweet deal, right?” You fully intended on ditching this zombie as soon as it lets you out. Hopefully, it can’t tell. 

Still, you don’t receive anything in response. It’s still staring. “Key? You know, the shiny metal thing that unlocks doors? Cells?” You make a gesture with your hand in the air, mimicking unlocking a door with a key. “You know? Key?” You’re starting to sound desperate; you’re also stuck in a cell with a talking zombie for company. Is desperation really that bad of a look? 

The zombie grunts before pushing itself away from the cell bars and standing up. It turns its back to you, shuffling away quietly. Either it’s looking for a key, or it got bored of you. You’ll gladly take either option at this point. 

You sit for several minutes, trying to brainstorm ways of escape with your near-useless ankle, while also being located in the back of the police station, possibly the most dangerous place to be in town. You were also without a weapon other than your hammer, and missing your flashlight. Maybe you could brute force your way out of here? Bang on the bars enough until they give way? No, that’s ridiculous. You could try lockpicking your way out; you’ve seen it done in movies before. Maybe if you found something like a paperclip or even your fingernail-

Clank.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel something hard and cold bounce off your forehead. You look to the ground to see a shiny metal key by your hand. Looking up, you see Beelzebub staring at you from the other side of the cell bars. “Really? You threw it at my head?” But most importantly, this zombie fetched you a key. You asked for a key and it retrieved a key for you. Whether it’s the proper key or not is yet to be seen, but still, you find this astonishing. 

“Key.” It grunts out and leans against the bars again, its expression unreadable. 

“Key.” You repeat and slowly lean forward to pick up the small object. “And you’ll let me unlock the door? Without trying to eat me?” You cast a suspicious look the zombie’s way. It only grunts in response, and you struggle to decide how to take that as an answer. Regardless, your options are limited, and you don’t have much in the way of supplies when it comes to food and water. Inhaling deep, you push yourself off the ground and force your way to the door. If it tries to attack you, you can always try to outrun it. Doing so might prove slightly challenging with your ankle, but adrenaline can do wonderful things for the human body. “Can you take a step back?” You ask as you approach the cell’s bars. Unlocking the cell with your hand outstretched, a feeling of unease washes over you. The thought of it potentially seizing your hand at any moment kept you on guard, emphasizing the need for caution. It could grab your hand at any moment and bite down, why wouldn’t you be hesitant? 

You watch in slight relief as Beelzebub takes a step back, and you quickly reach your hand between the bars to unlock the door with the key. With a loud click the lock opens. You swiftly slide the door open and run for it. You don’t bother looking for your flashlight or even checking for other zombies. You just run. Your feet feel heavy as they hit the ground and a searing pain swiftly travels up your ankle with each step. How long you could keep going remained unknown as you raced away from Beelzebub. It was a relief to know that Beelzebub wasn't a Griever, but its true nature remained a mystery. Could it match the speed of a Griever? Possess greater strength? These were questions to which you had no desire to find answers.

Running down the hall, you suddenly hear loud footsteps approaching from behind. The light from the reception area is just starting to become visible. You refuse to look back and instead pick up your pace. Your ankle is screaming in agony, but you couldn’t afford to stop now. This entire thing was a bust, and you knew you’d be getting out of this situation more fucked up than you were before. 

The light is an overwhelming assault on your eyes the moment you step foot into the reception. Your vision is white as you stumble blindly, your hands outstretched as you try to grab onto a nearby item for support. You had to get your shit together and fast. The police station was always a hot spot for zombie activity and you were completely exposed. You were blinded, your ankle was an absolute mess, and you only had a hammer to defend yourself with. As your vision slowly returns, a rough hand lands on your shoulder from behind, and you struggle to suppress a blood-curdling scream. You spin around, your ankle nearly going out in the process, only to be met with Beelzebub’s fogged-over eyes. 

“Human… lied.” You swallow the growing lump in your throat as you stare up at the monster before you. Now in the light, you can see just what you’re dealing with. The zombie’s tall, but not taller than a Greiver. It’s muscular too, which oddly enough, brings some comfort. Grievers were not known for being muscular, but that didn’t mean this zombie couldn’t seriously mess you up either. 

You noticed the uniform it had on was that of a police officer, and the nametag did in fact display the name Beelzebub. So, your zombie friend was once a cop and this is likely where it died and became a zombie. Interesting. “Human prom…ised… food.” You can feel a thin layer of sweat forming on your skin as its eyes bore down into you. Hopefully, it doesn’t consider you to be the food. “Human ran. Human left. I let… human out.” It seemed angry, that much was clear. Your throat was running dry, and any and all words in your head died as soon as they reached your tongue. 

“I, uh…” Could you seriously not think up any excuse? “Forgot?” On second thought, maybe it would’ve been better to stay quiet. The look on Beelzebub’s face tells you it doesn’t quite believe your words either. “Alright, look. I was nervous. Can you blame me? You’re a talking zombie and I’m your five-course meal. How am I supposed to believe that you won’t try to eat me the second my guard is down?  What if you call your zombie buddies to tell them you found the hottest meal ticket in town?” 

“Zombie… budd…ies?” There’s a look of confusion on Beelzebub’s face as it stares down at you. 

“You’re missing the point entirely.” 

“B…Beelze…bub hun...gry.” A sigh leaves you as the insistent zombie stands before you. You briefly check your surroundings. It was a risk standing in an area as open as reception. You were no stranger to the types of zombies that lingered by the police station, and you didn’t want to draw a crowd. You needed to hurry this up. 

“Look, if I feed you an animal or something, will you leave me alone?” You don’t know why you’re even trying to bargain with this thing; possibly because you want to get out of here and can’t outrun it. The zombie nods its head, or at least the best it can. “Fine, fine. Follow me and I’ll lead you back to my home. I have food there. Meat.” The word meat seems to do the trick, as the zombie’s eyes widen and it seems overall more aware. “Attack me though and I’ll kill you.” It doesn’t look very intimidated by your hammer or you. 

Once you two agree (if you can call it that), you look around the reception area. You don’t see any zombies lingering outside. It was just as clear as when you first came in. That was weird. Normally there are at least a dozen, and the fact that there were none when you first arrived or even now leaves a sour taste in your mouth. Uneasiness aside, you didn’t want to wait around for more to show up. “Alright, follow me. Stay close behind,” you turn around to narrow your eyes suspiciously at the zombie, “but not too close, and don’t get lost because I won’t come looking for you.” You couldn’t believe you were actually considering bringing a zombie home with you. 

You couldn’t see this ending well. 

[lovesodeepandwideandwell]

I'd love for you to tell me why Station Eleven wasn't an overhyped waste of my reading time, please?

Ha! I put it on my "best" list because the second time I read it was one of my best reading experiences of the year, largely because it was so pleasant and peaceful compared to my first read when I was lowkey having a panic attack the whole time.* I also charted out some themes and tracked them through the book and, while I don't think I understand it completely, I did reach some conclusions about what it's trying to Say.

The big theme I pieced together is about attending to and finding meaning in good, truth, beauty, and in art, rather than in suffering and death. Health, for the characters, seems to be about forgetting evil you've done and that's been done to you, and learning to dwell on all the good you can find; and unhealth, specifically in Tyler/the Prophet, is in obsessing over your own suffering and the suffering of others, trying to turn that into a rule of life. You can't avoid suffering, but letting it happen to you and still moving forward to build a life of joy is the only way to keep its damage from perpetuating. (Batman resonances? Denial of Batman? Dick Grayson mindset?)

The obsession with light was fun and part of a major point about technology as miracle. I tend to be so aware of the negatives of technology on all sides, so it was nice to be in a space that just appreciated the gifts of air travel, cell phones, electric lights, modern medicine, etc. rather than only seeing the evil consequences. There was also so much going on with home, transit, travel, that resonated with me; after the collapse it's harder to escape embodied reality, and most of the characters find a home in a transit space (either an airport, or the travelling symphony). I like putting myself in that headspace of how would I turn this strange travel setting into a home? What would I do if I could only have the stuff I could carry, in a society where that's true for everyone? (There's a great post I saw a while ago about post-apocalyptic narrative as a reckoning with the underlying fear of homelessness that pervades our society, I think about that a lot.)

I didn't find the whole thing about art/music/celebrity particularly interesting, but it did all feel cozy. I spend so much time mentally in the medieval world, where things worked a lot more like they do in Year Twenty of Station Eleven than like they do now. I guess I really liked seeing characters from our world thrown into that kind of a one, and how they figured it out! Humanity is still humanity, and humans make art. And how much the book wasn't dramatic, life-or-death, adrenaline-high situations, but just the everyday reality of making a life in unfamiliar circumstances (maybe why the creeping dread of it all got me so hard on my first read, cause it feels so much more how ''danger'' does in real life). I guess I often feel kind of alone in reckoning with how different our lives now are from most of our forebears', and while I don't think we can or should go back in most ways, I felt like the characters, and hence other readers, were being made to join me in that! Not being alone in a thought, how lovely.

And there was a lot about the connection between vocation and death, which again felt like a thought I often have that no one else will admit to. Death is so present in the post-collapse world, in a healthier way than ours! And vocation then seems harder but also realer.

*panic attack was not about fear of getting sick or of societal collapse, I think I could have a wonderful post-apocalyptic commune in this town if I survived, but I can't get over the hurdle of my family being just over one tank of gas away from me and how would I communicate with them or reach them in an apocalypse scenario

@dimsilver I also told you I'd convey my thoughts on this, so here, have at it!

[topguncortez]

Bad Medicine | Chapter 14

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: The wedding between the Seresin mafia and the Santiago mafia has finally arrived. But what's a wedding without a little drama?

word count: 6.2k

warnings: PTSD, trauma, mentions of scars, mentions of murder, mentions of torture, torture, graphic character death, shootings, guns, blood, revenge plot, illusion of suicide, death.

“Rise and shine, cupcake!” 

The dark room was infiltrated with light as the middle Santiago brother ripped the curtains open. Y/N let out a groan as the morning sun hit her directly in the face. Narciso didn’t seem to pay any mind to his sister as he opened the large bay window, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. Y/N turned her face away from the window, finding the spot next to her empty. She frowned and pushed herself up on her elbow finding a note addressed to her and a singular red rose on the bedside. 

“Y/N!” Narciso clapped his hands, getting his sister’s attention. 

“Sorry,” She said and looked over at him, “Actually, I’m not. What the hell are you doing?” 

“I’m your maid of honor, for lack of a better word.” He smiled brightly. 

“Who said that?” 

“Me,” Narciso said, and walked over to her, and flung the rest of the blankets off of her, “I know you would much rather it be Mom and Sophie helping you, but I guess I’m third best. Besides, have you seen the way the other two dress. . . they need more help than us today, sis.” 

“Thank you,” Y/N smiled and hugged her older brother. 

“Any time,” Narcisosaid, wrapping an arm around her and squeezing gently, “Please have this be the last wedding though. I’m not sure if Dad’s pockets can afford another one.” 

“I thought it was known that we marry for money in this family?” Y/N joked. 

Narciso rolled his eyes, and helped her up from her bed. He led her down the hall towards Bob’s room, which was now turned into a makeshift glam room. Narciso had various stylists walking around the room setting up their makeup and hair stations. Y/N beamed brightly at her brother, as a woman came up and grabbed her hand, softly pulling her over to get working on her hair. Narciso smiled to himself and leaned against the door, watching his sister smile. It had been a long time since he had seen a genuine smile on her face. 

 — — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — — 

Jake stood in the middle of the backyard as wedding planners were finishing their final touches on the altar and the rows of white chairs. At first, Jake thought that 200 chairs that were in a curved half circle was a bit extreme, but then he saw the final guest list, and suddenly worried if they had enough chairs. Everyone was coming to see the wedding of one of the most notorious mobsters in California. It was hard to believe that Jake Seresin, the ‘Hangman’, was getting married to the Don of Italy’s daughter. 

And not just any Don of Italy’s daughter, Rafael Santiago’s daughter. The wild card. The damaged rose. Everyone thought after what had happened with Francisco, that the Don would’ve hid his daughter away. ‘Sent her to Rome to be a nun’ was the rumor that had floated around for several months until someone spotted her in that strip club back in New York. But now the rumor was that the Santiago girl had settled down, and was ready to be a wife. 

“Care to tell me why I just found a book full of naughty pictures of my sister?” Gianni asked, shoving something against Jake’s chest. The blonde grunted and looked down at the scrapbook in his hands, “She told me to give this to you, didn’t say what it was, and now, I feel like I need to go stab my own eyes out.” 

Jake chuckled and tucked the book under his arm, “Don’t you know not to open things that don’t belong to you?” 

“Shut up, Seresin,” Gianni shoved him as he walked into the house, still grumbling about the photo album in Jake’s hands. 

Jake looked around the backyard, taking in the smiles on everyone’s faces. There was a buzz in the air, the scent of excitement. The wedding wasn’t supposed to start for another four hours, but Jake felt ready to jump out of his skin. He had been woken up early this morning by Emile, and ushered down to his room at the opposite end of the house. Jake looked over his shoulder at the balcony, white curtains covered the french doors so he couldn’t see his bride inside. 

Despite everyone's smiles, there was only one person who didn’t seem to have a joyous expression on their face. Jake had noticed that Bradley had an uneasy look on his face and had avoided looking him in the eye all morning. The mustached man was now wandering around from place to place, trying to find something to keep him busy. Bradley hated not having something to do, he was never the type to just and wait.  

“Emile,” Jake called over to his maid, “Can you take this to my room? And tell the future missus thank you for the gift.” Emile nodded and took the book from him. Jake stuffed his hands into his pocket and walked over to Bradley, who was fiddling with a white bow on the back of one of the chairs, “Do you even know what you are doing?” 

Bradley didn’t look up, but stopped his messing with the bow, “I think-” 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” 

“I have not-” 

“Bradley,” Jake said sincerely. 

Bradley sighed and looked up at the man he considered to be a brother, “I’m sorry.” 

“Why?” Jake asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Bradley stood up from his crouching position and scratched the back of his neck. It is hard to describe Bradley as being small, but as he stood in front of Jake, avoiding his green eyes, Bradley did in fact look “small”.  Jake could see a little boy who looked like he had just gotten caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. 

“I. . . I thought maybe if I stay away from this one, I won’t mess it up.” Bradley mumbled, “I seem to be the angel of death,” Jake sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry for what I-” 

“What happened with Natasha was not your fault,” Jake said, “You can’t help who you love.” Bradley looked up at his friend, “One of the things I will regret until my dying breath, was letting you believe that you are a monster, a killer.” 

It had been one of the darkest times in Bradley’s life after betraying not only Jake, but the family that gave him so much when he had lost his own. Bradley hated that he had been so naive and had fallen in line right where Natasha wanted him. He knew that Jake could’ve killed him right then and there, laying his body out in cold blood like Natasha’s. However, Jake decided to show Bradley mercy. And every day Bradley felt like he had to figure out how to repay him somehow. 

“I was already a monster,” Bradley looked at his hands. His hands were rough and calloused from years of working with his hands, “I don’t think I’ll ever get my happily ever after. No one can love the fucked up monster. I had that and-and I lost it.”  

“Someone out there will,” Jake answered. He put his hand under Bradley’s chin and lifted it up, “I never blamed you for what happened. I just want you to forgive me, Bradley.” 

“I forgave you years ago,” Bradley admitted, “I’m glad you found Y/N. . . or she found us, I guess. It’s been nice to have someone to take care of us. She. . . she reminds me of my mom, in a way.” 

Jake smiled and hugged Bradley. Bradley sighed and melted into the hug, not realizing how much he needed the physical reassurance from the mafia leader. He had spent years watching his every move, careful of what Jake was doing. He always felt like there was a target on his back for a mistake he had made when he was young and stupid. But to have Jake tell him that he forgave him, felt like cinder blocks lifted off his shoulders. 

Rooster pulled back from the hug, “I gotta get going. I want to stop by the hospital before this thing kicks off.”

“Hospital?” Jake asked. 

“Yeah. . . check on Sophie,” A blush filled Bradley’s cheeks and Jake gave a singular nod. 

“Check on her, huh?” A small smirk graced Jake’s lips and Bradley playfully shoved the man, “Alright, alright, give an update to Y/N please. I know she’s worried about Sophie.” 

“I will,” Rooster nodded, and turned to walk in the house. 

“Oh! And send my brother to me.” Rooster gave Jake a thumbs up before disappearing into the labyrinth that is the Seresin Mansion. 

Jake took one last glance around the backyard before looking up at the balcony. He smiled seeing his wife standing in the doorway, looking out at the rose garden. She was wearing a white silk robe and her hair had been pinned back into an updo. She held a glass of champagne in her hands, her face was still makeup free. Jake loved when her face was bare, not hiding her scars from him. He looked at her face, memorizing every single line that adorned it. 

Feeling his stare, Y/N looked from the sparkling white roses to her fiance. She gave him a soft smile and a small wave. He mouthed to her ‘I Love You’, and held his hand on his heart. Y/N nodded and whispered back the same three words. She then sent him a wink, as she turned around, untying her robe, and letting it cascade to the ground. Jake bit back a smirk, as he watched her naked body disappear into their room and the doors to the balcony shut. 

“Some things will never change,” He mumbled to himself, fixing his dress pants. Jake looked over the backyard, looking at the altar, that in just a few moments he’d be standing under, holding hands with his wife. Jake smiled to himself, as he shook his head and looked down at his shoes. He couldn’t wait until he heard the words, ‘You may now kiss your wife’. 

 — — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — — 

Y/N’s hands were shaking as she sat at her vanity, looking at herself in the mirror. She had been here before. It was giving her deja vu, sitting looking at herself in nothing but a strapless white lace bra, matching panties, her hair done and pinned back, and makeup done to the nines. Her scars had been covered, as if the past trauma had never happened to her. She could almost believe that her face was without any scarring, but she could still see some remnants of the angry skin left behind. 

A knock at the door and a voice called out to her, snapping her from her warring thoughts, “Can I come in?” 

“Yeah, Gio,” Y/N said, clearing her throat and reaching for her robe. She slipped it on her shoulders as Gianni walked through the door, a smile on his face. 

“How are you doing?” He asked, sitting down on the edge of her bed. 

“Want me to be honest?” She asked and he nodded, “I’m terrified,” Y/N looked up at her brother, tears threatening to spill from her eyes, “I just. . . I keep pinching myself, seeing if this is real. If I really am about to marry a man that I love, or if this is some sick joke.” 

Gianni stood up from the bed and walked to her. He gently lifted her chin with his finger, “This is real. Nothing, and I mean, nothing, is going to hurt you.” Y/N nodded and Gianni’s face softened, “I will never forgive myself for not killing Francisco when I had a chance. I never-” 

“It was on me,” Y/N said and dabbed under her eye, “I begged you to show him mercy. I thought that he would get the hint after what you did to him, but he’s a sick man.” 

“And he’s a dead man, when we find him,” Gianni pulled her into a tight hug, “He will never, ever, hurt you again. You have my word.” 

“Thank you, Gianni,” Y/N said, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Another knock on the door separated the siblings. Y/N froze for a moment, hoping it wasn’t her soon to be husband trying to steal another look, “Who is it?” 

“Bob,” A smile graced her face and Gianni nodded, turning and heading out the door. He patted Bob on the back, going down the hall to try and find Jake, and hopefully smoke a cigar with him before the wedding kicked off. 

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest and nodded for Bob to come into her room. The blue eyed man quietly shut her bedroom door and walked right to her, not hesitating to give her a tight hug. Y/N let out a small sound, as he squeezed her. Out of all of the boys, Bob had been the only one who hadn’t touched her yet. She let out a sigh and settled into the hug, running her hand up and down his back. 

“Thank you,” Bob mumbled. 

“For what?” Y/N asked. 

Bob pulled away, and she noticed he wasn’t wearing his glasses. She gently touched his cheek, running her thumb over the apple of his skin. He looked strikingly handsome with his ocean blue eyes. Y/N swore that she could even see what looked like waves in his eyes. The more that she looked at him, the more that she could see the similarities between him and Jake. They had the same blonde hair, and striking colored eyes. They also had the same half smile whenever they were trying to hide their blush. 

“For giving me my brother back,” Bob said, “We used to be really close, when we were younger but. . . we grew apart after everything happened. And I am sorry he was so horrible to you when you first got here. I make no excuses for him, and I know he will spend the rest of his life apologizing to you for what he did. . . but he’s just been through so much. The both of you had. I think that’s what makes you two so perfect for each other.” 

Y/N grabbed his hand, and squeezed it, “Thank you, Bob,” her voice cracked as she felt hot tears well up in her eyes. 

“No! Don’t cry, Narciso will kill me,” Bob said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out kleenex, “I’m sorry for making you cry.” 

“You didn’t,” Y/N said, “I always wanted to feel love like this. To be in a family who truly loves each other. You all might not have the perfect relationship, there might be buried skeletons and ghosts, but at the end of the day, you all love each other. And now, I finally get to experience that too.” 

“You’ve always had that, Y/N. Might not have been displayed for the whole world to see, but it’s always been there,” Bob assured her. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Floyd,” Emile said, knocking on the door, holding the white dress in her hand, “We need to get her dressed.” Bob smiled brightly, looking at Y/N. He kissed her cheek, whispering ‘good luck’ before walking out the door. 

— — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — — 

Jake was finishing up the final touches on his tux, when he heard a soft knock on the door, followed by his younger brother stepping into the room. He smiled at his brother and took a step back from the mirror and embraced him in a hug. 

“She looks beautiful,” Bob said. 

Jake pulled away from the hug. His smile was so bright he bet that he could power a whole dark city, “You saw her?” 

Bob nodded, and put his hands into his pockets, “Yeah, stopped by her room on the way here. What did you want to see me for?” 

Jake sucked in a breath and fiddled with his hands, “I want to apologize to you, for what I did, taking you away from MIT and forcing you into this family.” 

“Oh, I forgave you for that a long while ago. I knew it was inevitable,” Bob shrugged. 

“I still had no right to do that to you,” Jake said, “You were the one that had a chance at living a normal life, and I ruined that for you.”

Bob smiled shyly, looking down at his black dress shoes. Bob had constant dreams about living that kind of life, except they all ended the same way, with Jake showing up and tearing him away. Jake read his face and put the final touches on his tie, before stepping behind him, so Bob was standing directly in front of the full-length mirror. Jake’s hands went to his shirt and smoothed out the wrinkles and adjusted the tie. 

“You know, out of the four of us, I always thought it was gonna be your wedding we go to first. You were the one who was gonna live that white picket fence life. Kids running around the front yard, and an apple pie on the kitchen table. Dad kinda set you up for all that,” Jake smiled. 

“You know I won’t ever have that. . .” Bob sighed. Jake watched as his brother’s face fell, knowing exactly what he was talking about. It took Jake, his parents, and even Rooster to get Bob to stop searching for his lover. Bob had taken an unhealthy obsession with trying to find a ghost. He took a step away from Jake and walked towards the door, “She’s just gone, Jake, like she never even existed.” 

“If there is anyone on this earth who can find her, it’s you, Bob,” Jake said truthfully. 

“I’ve never stopped looking for her. But she’s just. . . gone, like a ghost.” 

Jake chuckled and shoved his hands into his pockets, “No one just disappears Bobby, have you ever thought that you're over focussing, broaden your mind, you'll find her. Or maybe she'll find you.” 

Bob nodded to himself and walked out of the bedroom door, leaving Jake alone with his thoughts. Jake sighed and sat down on his bed, looking around the room. It was pretty much bare now, all his belongings having been moved into the master bedroom with Y/N. He leaned over towards his bedside table, seeing an envelope addressed to him. He smiled as he picked it up and opened it.  

“To my true soul,” 

 — — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — — 

Her breath was in her throat. Everyone was waiting for her, the isles were lined with flowers, the bows on the backs of the chairs had been tied to perfection. The boys had already taken their spots at the altar, each of them wearing black tuxes with white button ups. Jake was the only one wearing an all black suit, as he bounced on the balls of his feet, trying to settle the nerves in his body. Javy couldn’t help but grab his friend's shoulders, shaking them, as a goofy smile spread on his face. 

Y/N looked at herself in the mirror one last time, fixing up some flyaways in her hair. Her dress fit her perfectly, the lace laying on her smooth skin. Her hands were shaky as Emile handed her her flower bouquet. Emile quickly moved around her, fixing some things with her dress and veil. Y/N glanced at the doors in front of her, which were shut and a curtain drawn over them so no one could see her on the other side. Her heart pounded, knowing that right on the other side was her soon to be husband. 

“You look perfect,” She said, fixing the veil on her shoulders, “He’s a lucky man.” 

“I think I am the lucky one,” Y/N answered, as she took in a deep breath. 

Emile smiled, “I always knew that you two would fall in love. Mr. Jacob is rough around the edges when you first meet, but he melts your heart. He melted mine, that’s for sure. Been taking care of all four of them since they were in trainers.” 

“Thank you, Emile,” Y/N said genuinely. Emile nodded and kissed her forehead, as the door opened and her father walked in. Emile excused herself as the Don stepped over to his daughter, “Papa,” 

“Y/N,” The Don responded. He held his hand out to her and she gently placed her hand in his. His hands were rough from years of working with his hands, but they were always warm and gave Y/N a sense of security, just like when she held his hand as a child, “You look perfect. A spitting image of your mother.” 

“I wish she could be here,” Y/N spoke, tears filling her eyes. 

“Oh, tesoro,” Rafael said, wiping her tears softly, “Don’t cry. She’s here, in your heart. She always has been.” Y/N nodded, and gripped her father’s arm tightly, “You ready?” 

“Yeah,” She smiled, “Just don’t. . . don’t let me fall.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” The Don spoke. He nodded to the guards in front of him to open the doors that led to the garden. 

Everyone’s eyes turned and looked at her. Everyone stood up as the pianist started playing the notes to ‘Turning Page’, the song Bob had picked out for them. Her steps faltered for a second, taking in the sight of all the eyes on her, and she squeezed Rafael’s arm. He patted her hand gently, reassuring her that he wasn’t going to fail her, not this time. She looked up at her dad, and Rafael felt a moment of deja vu. She was suddenly the five year old girl going to her first day of school, scared to go run with the other children, and searching for the okay to go. 

“I’ve got you,” Rafael whispered to her, and Y/N nodded, the anxiety melting away. Y/N took a deep breath and looked back down the aisle at her Jake, who’s eyes were blurry with tears.

Jake’s eyes found hers in an instant, looking at her. No one else mattered but her, she was the only person Jake could see. Jake couldn’t help the tears that formed in his eyes as Y/N walked down the aisle towards him. Any anxiety he had about this moment melted away when she smiled at him. Javy gently nudged Jake and smiled at him. Bob had only seen this look in Jake’s eyes once before, and he was worried he’d never see that again. Bob was thanking the stars above that Jake had found his forever. The aisle seemed endlessly long as Y/N had finally made her way to Jake. Jake took a step down off the altar to take her from her father. 

“Jacob,” Rafael whispered, “Take good care of my daughter.” 

“I will protect her with my life,” Jake whispered back. The Don smiled and placed a kiss on Jake’s cheek. He turned to his daughter and placed a kiss on her cheek, before going to join his boys in the front row. Jake moved the veil from Y/N’s face and smiled at her. 

“Hi,” She said softly. 

“Hey,” He whispered back. He took her hand, and gently led her up the steps to stand in front of the priest. She passed her bouquet back to Narciso, and then grabbed both of Jake’s hands. He squeezed them gently, before turning his head towards the Priest. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, you may be seated,” The Priest said, “We are gathered here today to witness the holy union between Y/N Santiago and Jacob Seresin. The love that has been granted upon them is obvious, as it surrounds not only them but all of us as well. If there is anyone who objects to these two being joined in the face of the Lord and become one within one another, please speak now, or forever hold your peace.” 

Jake looked at Y/N and smiled, as they heard silence from the crowd. He grabbed her hand in his, running his thumb over the back of her hand. He opened his mouth to whisper something to her, when someone from the back of the crowd stood up and yelled: 

“I object!” 

Jake’s head snapped towards the sound, his jaw dropping slightly, “Natasha?”

Y/N’s heart was beating erratically as she looked at the woman that had haunted her husband’s dreams. Y/N went to take a step forward when a loud gun shot rang out. Jake quickly grabbed her hand to pull her back to him as screams filled the crowd, but Y/N was frozen in place as she looked down at the growing red spot seeping through her white dress. 

“Y/N. . .” Jake whimpered out, as he helped her down to the ground before she could collapse. 

The single shot was followed by rapid gunfire, as screams and cries filled the air, people immediately running for the quickest cover they could find. Jake looked up to where Natasha was standing, watching her make her way towards him. He felt sick as he looked down at his wife, his hands going to her midsection, standing them with crimson. When he looked back up, Natasha was gone. 

Rafael tried to push through the guards, but they pushed the mafia leader away, trying to get him to safety. He tried his best to fight against them, but he was no match against Paulo and Narciso’s strength as they pushed him towards the house. Rooster and Gianni grabbed the guns from their waist bands and took off, looking for the source of the gunfire. 

“Jake,” Her small voice drew Jake’s attention back to her. He sucked in a breath as the color was gone from her face. Jake looked back up briefly, seeing Natasha standing in front of him, a sick smirk on her face. He blinked a couple times, and again, she was gone. The sound of coughing made Jake look back down at his bride, watching as pink froth left her lips. He adjusted her in his arms, helping her sit up a bit. He knew that gunshot wounds to the stomach were an awful way to die. Slowly, your body positioned itself as the toxins from your intestines leaked into your blood. 

What the fuck, Jacob, he thought, shaking his head again, “Help me!” Jake yelled out to anyone who was near. 

“J-Jake,” Y/N stuttered out, her hands going on top of his as a way to add more pressure to the growing wound. Her body felt searing hot, as she tried to push herself up. Her mind was clouded over with the pain, that nothing made sense. Who could have done this? Why would someone want to hurt us like this?

“I don’t want to die, Jake.” 

Bob and Javy ran in towards the house, both their guns drawn as they frantically looked around. Bob spotted him first, pointing out the man dressed in all black, running towards the front gate. Both the men went running after him, firing their weapons, trying to hit him. Bob was fast, his long legs carrying him towards the perpetrator quickly. He tackled them to the ground, both of them falling with a grunt. Bob took the blunt end of his gun and struck him in the face, making the man grunt. 

“Cease fire!” Bob yelled, “I got him! I got him!” 

The gunfire ceased as Rooster and Gianni both ran in the house towards Bob, to help him gather whoever was the cause of this. Rooster helped Bob stand the perpetrator to his feet, taking his belt and using it as makeshift handcuffs until they could get him into the chamber. Gianni saw nothing but red, as soon as he laid eyes on the perpetrator’s face. Gianni took his fist and struck him in the jaw, making the perp sag a bit in Rooster and Bob’s hold. 

“Fuck!” He grunted, “Nice to see you too, Gianni.” 

“You’re going to fucking burn, Francisco,” 

“Promise?” Francisco smirked. 

“Get him to the fucking chamber,” Javy demanded.

The backyard was silent as the smoke and dust cleared, leaving behind debris in its wake of tipped over chairs, articles of clothing, broken flower vases and bullet shells. Jake slowly rocked Y/N back and forth, holding her close. His hands did the best they could to stop the blood from escaping from her body. Usually the sight of blood didn’t bother him, but there was something about seeing the dark red stain, the perfect white of her dress, that made him sick. 

“J-Jake. . .” Y/N called out to him. Jake laced their fingers together, the blood making their fingers stick together, “I-I don’t want-“

“Shh baby, shh,” Jake cried, wiping the tears from her face, “Help me! Somebody! Help!” She groaned in pain as Jake jolted her slightly. Jake quit moving and kissed her forehead, “It’ll be okay. I promise.” Y/N nodded weakly as Jake held her, “Help!” 

“I-it h-hurts.”

Jake looked down at her, taking in the sight of her. He knew there was nothing anyone could do, and he knew that she knew it too. He held her close and rocked her gently. Her usual tan skin was now pale. The midsection of her dress was almost completely red. Jake hated it. 

“I’m right here, okay. I’m not gonna go anywhere.” 

Her mind was in a limbo of wanting to accept death, accept what was going to happen to her or to fight against it to live. This couldn’t be her ending. Not now, not that she had made amends with those who hurt her. Not when she just found her true love, her true happiness. She had faced death before, and welcomed it before. But now, seeping into that black abyss was terrifying. Going into an undiscovered place, alone, was worse than bleeding out in her lover’s arms. 

“I’m scared, Jake. . . I don’t want to die yet,” She sobbed out, her eyes locked on the sky above her. Jake had made a promise to her to never let her be scared again, not while his heart was still beating in his chest. 

“Don’t be, it’ll be okay, baby, it’ll all be okay,” Jake said softly, “You go, okay. Don’t be scared,  I’ll be right there.” 

Y/N nodded, her body growing weaker and weaker. It was like the pull of a tide, pulling her further and further into a deep abyss. Jake watched her features, watched as her chest rose and fell, and froze. Her eyes, the usual honey brown, grew cold and her face froze in a forever look of fear. Jake looked up at the sky, letting his tears fall, and soft sobs left his pink lips. He looked down at the girl in his arms, and brought a shaky hand to her face to close her eyes. 

“I love you. . . I love you,” Jake said and kissed her cheek. He looked around the whole backyard before bringing her body into his and letting out a loud scream of agony. Javy, Bob and Rooster watched from inside the house as Jake let out his emotions. Bob couldn’t help but shed tears at the anguishing sounds leaving Jake’s lips. They had never seen him like this, not even after Natasha. 

Paulo and Narciso had to physically hold their father up from crashing to the ground. Rafael let out a loud sob, as he watched his only daughter’s life leave her body. Gianni clenched his jaw, looking from the scene, down to his shoes. Gianni was known as The Santiago with no emotion, but he couldn’t help the tears that fell from his eyes. He had devoted much of his adult life to protecting his baby sister, and now he watched as he had failed her yet again. He wiped his tears quickly and turned on his heel walking towards the chamber that had taken Francisco. 

“Stop him,” Rafael said, fearing for what his son was going to do. 

Paulo shook his head, “He’ll be fine. He needs this.” 

Jake gently laid Y/N’s body on the ground and placed her hands on her belly, trying to cover the bullet wound the best he could. He grabbed the discarded bouquet from earlier, placed it in her hands and kissed her before standing up and marching into the house. The three other boys moved out of his way as he walked straight into the chamber. The other boys shared a look before following Jake down to the chamber. 

Gianni was already beating up Francisco when Jake got down there, the man was chained up by his wrists, as Gianni delivered blow after blow to his face. Francisco looked up at Gianni, as he held him by the back of his head, his brass knuckles shining with blood already. 

“I didn’t know you were capable of emotions,” Francisco smiled, as Gianni reeled his fist back and delivered another punch. 

“Enough,” Jake said as he walked in. Gianni nodded, dropping Francisco’s head and stepping away from the battered man. 

“Got what you wanted? A good wedding?” Francisco asked with a smirk. Jake didn’t say anything as he growled, walked over to Francisco, grabbing him by the throat. Jake could feel the crush of his hyoid bone under his hand. Francisco’s neck and face turned red as his air supply was slowly being cut off. 

“You’re fucking sick. Thinking you can get away with shit you’ve done. Killing my wife.” Jake said through a clenched jaw. 

“If I'm sick, what does that make you? You’re not some fucking saint. You hurt her too. Difference is I taught her a lesson. I’m a sinner with a reason.” 

Jake pressed down harder on his neck again, “We’re both going to hell. But I’m going to fucking kill you, and it’s going to be so fucking euphoric to watch you die slowly.” 

“Give it to me. Kill me! SHOW ME WHO THE FUCK HANGMAN REALLY IS!!” Francisco yelled. 

Jake stepped back, and raised his gun and pointed it in between Francisco’s eyes. He cocked it, and then closed his eyes. Images of the early morning he had shared with Y/N filled his mind. Jake closed his eyes, soaking in the vision of her. Her smile as he got down on one knee and finally proposed to her. Her soft voice as she sang to him. And her heartbeat, pumping in her chest, letting the blood flow throughout her body. Now she laid on the concrete, her blood shed and her body cold. 

Jake opened his eyes, letting the tears run down his face. He lowered his gun and handed it to Bob, who stood behind him. Bob looked at him confused as Jake took a step towards Francisco. 

“The reaper had mercy,” Jake whispered, placing a kiss on Francisco’s cheek. 

The men all looked at Jake, unsure of what the mafia leader was doing. Not once had they ever seen Jake back down from killing someone, especially someone who had hurt him like this. Jake walked over to his brothers, and hugged them each starting with Bob. 

“You’ll find her, I know you will,” Jake said to him. He then hugged Javy, “Take care of them when they hear, you’ve always liked you more than me.” He spoke in his best friend's ear. 

When Jake got to Rooster, he held him tightly in his arms. Jake whispered in his ear, and Rooster’s eyes widened. He went to pull back from the hug, but Jake placed his hand on his head, keeping him still until he was done talking. Rooster bit his lip, trying to suppress the sob building in his throat. Jake placed a kiss on his cheek as he pulled away from the hug. 

Jake didn’t say anything else to them but just nodded, before ascending up the stairs. 

“What a fucking puss-” 

The shot that rang out caused Francisco’s head to knock back and then forward, showering brain matter and blood along the walls. Rooster lowered his gun and handed it to Javy, feeling disgusted by what he just did. Rooster instructed the guards to clean the mess up and place Francisco in a shallow grave. 

“Wait,” Gianni said, holding his hand up. He drew the knife from his pocket and walked over to Francisco’s dead body. He leaned his head back, and flicked open the pocket knife. Gianni clenched his jaw as he carved a jagged scar down the dead man’s face, “I hope you rot in hell,” Gianni released Francisco’s head, watching the blood drip from the cut. He took a step back and spit on his corpse. They watched as Gianni walked up the stairs, exiting the chamber to go be with his family. 

The three Seresin family members stood in silence, listening to the blood drop from the dead body. Javy looked around at Bob, who’s eyes were trained on the stairs Jake had just walked up. 

“What do we do now?” Javy asked. Bob opened his mouth to speak when another gunshot went off. He jumped and let out a soft gasp, as he licked his lips and bowed his head. The realization washed over him that he was now head of the family. 

“We drink.” 

Fin.

taglist: @cherrycola27 @seresinsbabe @violyn20 @materialgirl01 @bradleybeachbabe @a-reader-and-a-writer @lt-spork @topnerd03 @3in1shampooconditionerbodywash @bioodforbiood @topguncultleader @ma-fraise @abaker74 @double-j @cm27078 @thedroneranger @khaylin27 @mak-32 @unhinged-btch @wittywhispers @theliterarybeldam @bloosomjoon @chxcxlate-cxxkies @luckyladycreator2 @wellshit6 @harper1666 @phoenix1388 @footprintsinthesxnd @dempy @emma8895eb @bonitanightmxres @love2write2626 @bobbyonboard @some-lovely-day @thenewdaysalreadyhere @cassiemitchellslibrary @ilymoonie @morgensternsblog @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @rintheemolion @tallrock35 @adoringsebstan @xoxabs88xox

note: does it make you feel better if I say that there will be an epilogue AND a sequel??? no??? okay. . .