#well they can tear them from his dead corpse

[yasashiiku]

Unstoppable force ( Shou getting ear piercings & being so immensely happy about something for once ) meets Immovable object ( the school system not allowing piercings )

[torchwood-99]

Can you please develop more on what in your opinion makes Éowyn originally doomed by the narrative? I agree with the idea, I'm just curious as to what traits or parts of her narrative makes her doomed according to you!

In her first scene, she comes across as almost spectral.

First time we see her, she's stood in the shadows behind a decaying old man and his creepy, snake like advisor. Her nickname, the White Lady, conjurs images of phantom "white ladies", which are staples of supernatural mythology, and are usually found in rural places, and are associated with tragic histories and unrequited/doomed love.

When she is dismissed, she leaves, she doesn't speak, but goes silently from the room, and she passes judgement on those she passes. She looks on Theoden with "cool pity", and recognises the power in Aragorn. A pale, voiceless, woman, dressed all in white, passing judgement on those before her, before silently gliding from the room, like a wraith or spirit.

To further reinforce the ghost like imager, she is cold; "thought her fair and cold, like a morning of pale spring that is not yet come into womanhood." She looks on Theoden after his recovery with neither joy or love but with "cool pity".

Whereas warmth usually holds connotations with life, the cold conjurs images of corpses and the grave. Even the use of "spring" in her description, a season associated with life, birth and new hope, is described as "pale". The combination of "spring" (life) and "pale" (death), conjures an image of something that is at once living and dead.

A lot of our view point characters look on her with unease. She is repeatedly described as "stern", and the only time that stern façade cracks is when she shows emotions that are discomforting for other characters.

Her hand shakes when she serves Aragorn the cup, and Aragorn senses her attraction and is deeply concerned about. The intensity of her desire, and Aragorn's unspoken unease, makes for an aura of discomfort and dread.

The only time Eowyn shows "life" is when she's trembling with passion for Aragorn, a passion unrequited, or when her eyes are sparkling with visions of war and death.

The first time her stern face truly cracks, and she lets the feelings show, is when she breaks down in tears, begging Aragorn to let her ride with him. She's either frozen or weeping.

Everyone who observes this is deeply distressed. They find it painful to watch a proud and stern woman break down in tears and beg, a sensation the reader shares with them.

Aragorn himself is deeply pained and troubled by his concern for Eowyn. 'Only those who knew him well and were near to him saw the pain that he bore.'

Aragorn later admits in the Houses of Healing that his concern for her haunted him after their parting, and that nothing caused him so much fear on the Paths of the Dead as his fear of what may come to her.

In the same chapter, Aragorn likens her to a lily. Lilies themselves have connotations of death, and also harken back to Elaine, the "lily maiden" who died of heartbreak after being forsaken by her love, Lancelot.

So Eowyn is a figure of death, despair and tragic love. She is white, cold, lily-like, and is looked on with grief by many who perceive her. And not just grief, but discomfort. They don't just notice her distress, but are distressed by her.

When Merry meets her, he notices she seems to have been weeping, an image that is uncomfortably at odds with her stern manner.

Even Theoden, who cannot be credited with being that tuned in to Eowyn's feelings, notices she is unhappy, asking her how she is, and commenting twice on her obvious distress.

When Merry meets her in her guise as Dernhelm, he shivers, because he feels he is looking at someone with neither hope nor will to live. Their journey to the Pelennor passes in silence. Eowyn is a solitary figure, cut off from all those around her, riding to her death.

This culminates in Eowyn laughing at the Witch King, who brings despair to all who face him, because at this point she has literally nothing to fear from him.

The scene in which she faces him is written as a death scene. She fights him valiantly, but his destruction seems to be her own, and the consequences of her apparent death (Eomer's reaction) are severe.

Her tragedy appears compounded when Theoden bids her farewell, unaware she was with him the entire time, which rather sums up his fond, yet blinkered attitude towards her. She gives her life defending the dignity of a man, who is only half-aware of her existence.

Eowyn is mourned. Eomer rages against the heavens at her passing, and the riders of Rohan speak of their regret that she followed them without knowing. She is carried alongside Theoden, and it is only Imrahil's sharp perception and respect for her beauty that causes him to notice she is still alive, taking them all, and us, by surprise. Up until this point, Eowyn has been doomed, and she seems to have met her doom, heroically so.

But there's still a spark of life in her, still a weak breath in her lungs, and that's enough for her to be saved, and taken to the Houses of Healing. It's just a faint sign of life, barely noticeable, but it's life, which means there's hope.

As we look into Eowyn's mindset, we begin to see why she is such a tragic figure.

The first time she is addressed by name, she is being sent from the room. Her orders to take charge of the people of Rohan, which should be something of an hour of triumph and honour for her, feels almost insulting, in how her uncle would rather throw his crown to the people to take for themselves, than name her as an heir after Eomer, and then forgets she is even a part of their house, until Hama reminds him.

Our final scene of Eowyn in Two Towers is of her as a solitary figure, left alone to guard an empty hall, watching as the men ride away beneath their sparkling spears, a striking contrast between the camaraderie and fellowship we witness between the men riding out together.

That Eowyn is loved and respected by many, as revealed by Hama and her ability to safely lead the people to Dunharrow, despite their reluctance, compounds the tragedy, because she is not entirely alone and overlooked, but the people she wishes to been seen by, the people she holds in esteem, Theoden and Aragorn, rejects. Theoden, unthinkingly, by forgetting her worth until it is spelled out for him, and Aragorn in being unable to accept her love, or her offer of service.

Eowyn's driving conflict, the one that seems central to her character, is not even with the villains who everyone else is banding together to fight. She is part of that fight against them, but her personal struggles stem just as much from her conflict with her own family, her own people and her own society, as they do with the threat of Mordor. Victory over the Mordor does not necessarily mean victory for her, we know for Eowyn to be spared her doom, she can't just be rescued from the enemy that everyone else is fighting. She is trapped, caged, and would rather ride out and die, than live to see herself fade.

“What do you fear, lady?" [Aragorn] asked. "A cage," [Éowyn] said. "To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.”

That whole exchange between Aragorn and Eowyn reveals that above all else, beneath her stern facade and dreams of valour, Eowyn is absolutely seething. She is burning up with rage and frustration, and it is not just her enemies she is raging at, but her allies.

Her narrative starts to turn in the Houses of Healing. Not only is Aragorn able to bring her back to life, but it's clear that despite her unhappiness, Eomer's love for her is still a comfort and a source of happiness. When she wakes up, her first words are joy of seeing her brother there. For a character who until this point has been a figure of sorrow and loneliness, for her to speak so instinctively of joy at the presence of another is momentous.

This joy seems well justified, as not only do we witness the extent of Eomer's love, we also see a change in Eomer, and his perception of his sister.

Her sufferings, and the causes of her sufferings, are finally acknowledged. But they aren't acknowledged as some ephemeral, intangible thing, caused by a broken heart and some vague sense that she's just "doomed", but as the result of a set of specific circumstances that naturally caused her great feelings of despair and hopelessness. Eowyn isn't tragic because "she's Eowyn and she's doomed", but because of Grima's manipulation, and the constraints inflicted on her because of her sex.

That Gandalf compares Eomer's lot to Eowyn's, and points out to Eomer the freedoms and opportunities he had which she did not, further emphasises that it was Eowyn's circumstances that made her so tragic.

Eowyn wasn't "just doomed" and Eomer wasn't "just not doomed". Had their roles been reversed, Eomer could have ended up in similar straits.

Eomer hears this explanation, and a change occurs. He looks on Eowyn differently, and starts rethinking their whole lives together.

In the causes of her suffering being recognised, there is now some hope for her recovery. Her "ailment" has been "diagnosed", and it's much easier to find a "treatment" and a "cure", when there is a "diagnosis". There's a practical solution to Eowyn's suffering, and the person closes to her is brought one step nearer to seeing it.

Eowyn remains in the Houses of Healing, something she sees as frustrating, unnecessary and pointless. She doesn't want to live, she doesn't expect to heal, she thinks herself fit enough to ride and die, and that's what she wants to do.

Eowyn still sees herself as doomed by the narrative, but the narrative and the cast no longer see her as such. She is kept in the Houses, she is encouraged to rest and to heal, she is encouraged by Faramir to have hope, and gradually she starts to thaw.

She also becomes more gentle and vulnerable. Her youth is dwelled on, and her former concerns about living forever in a cage for a moment lapse as she focusses on a more trivial worry that Faramir thinks she's childish. When she scales down her request from permission to ride to battle, to be allowed to walk the gardens and look east, she speaks as a "maiden, young and sad."

In becoming more vulnerable, she becomes more approachable. She is no longer the ice maiden, a spectre, but a living person, with worries large and small, and Faramir is able to smile at her and offer her consolation.

The requests she makes during her "thawing", to look east and not be confined to her bed, signals a slight, perhaps unnoticed by her, return to hope. East is, as Faramir remarks, where their hopes lie. In looking east, she is looking towards hope. Furthermore, her second request, to not be confined to her bed, is something that Faramir can provide a practical solution for. She can have a chamber facing east, and she can have freedom to walk the gardens.

He almost speaks to her like a conciliator, or a negotiator. He talks her down from asking for death, to having a chamber looking east, and freedom to walk the gardens and take in the sun, in return to her agreeing to 'stay in this house in our care, lady, and take your rest," . That he phrases it gives the sense she has agency, he isn't saying "you will stay, and you will have a chamber that looks east, and you will walk in the sun", but instead he says if she agrees to stay, this is what they can do for her.

Therefore, the choice to stay, the choice to walk in the sun, the choice to heal, is put back into her hands, and in accepting Faramir's offer, she accepts the chance to heal.

Both Faramir and Aragorn are struck by pity when they meet Eowyn, but Aragorn's pity makes him hold her at arm's length. He maintains a distance between them, he turns from her and rides away. When he does try to "reason" with her, he only makes things worse, twisting the nail into Eowyn's frustrating circumstances.

Faramir feels pity for Eowyn, but he also feels kinship. She isn't some strange, removed creature. He doesn't look at her and see someone who is doomed. Nor does his treatment of her isolate her, as the treatment of so many others have.

He speaks of the pair of them as a unit, right from the start. He notes that both of them are "prisoners" of the healers, he tells her that both of them will be able to fight the end, if it comes to them, if they rest, and that the hours of waiting are something both of them must endure, and that both of them have passed through a shadow, and in from kinship, he expresses a belief that he might find comfort in her presence.

Eowyn's isolation and lack of agency are key causes in her despair, so it is understandable how this man, who makes efforts to understand her, to get to know, to befriend her and to make a connection with her, is such a balm, and manages to cause such a turn around in her arc.

Through her friendship, and later romance, with Faramir, she opens up, and arguably becomes more emotionally resilient, neither freezing her emotions, "cold and proud", or breaking down, weeping or begging. She shows uncertainty and fear in more moderate, casual ways, instead of pushing them down until they burst out of her.

However, she is still Eowyn. She is still proud (Faramir describes her as looking queenly), she is still proud, strong willed and sharp tongued. Even in her happiness, when she agrees to marry Faramir, she teases him for his people's snobbery, and she refuses the Warden's attempts to "release" her into Faramir's care, by instead asking to stay at the Houses of Healing.

She doesn't go from Ice Maiden to Fragile Flower. Instead, in grasping her future by the hands, in choosing for herself what she will do and where she will go, in deciding her own fate, her own role (that of healer), she shows that she is as strong willed as ever, and Faramir, who re-iterates twice; when speaking of his plans to marry her and go to Ithilien with her, that they will only do so if she is willing.

Eowyn also makes it clear to Faramir that while she will return to him, she has other duties and priorities that will keep her. That is, the rebuilding of the Mark. She has to go, she will come back. A striking contrast to her first introduction, when Eowyn is told "go", then told "stay", as it pleases those around her. She now has freedom of movement, she now chooses when to go, when to stay and when to return.

That Eowyn speaks of how she must go back, must look on her country and help her brother, also indicates that Eowyn sees her own worth and importance. She values herself and feels valued.

At Theoden's funeral/Eomer's coronation, Eowyn plays an integral role in the ceremonies. She presents Eomer with a golden cup and gives the signal for the cups to be raised to drink to the new king. This in itself indicates the esteem in which Eomer holds Eowyn. However, she has arguably been a cupbearer before, and it hasn't been a role that has brought her much joy. While it is a position of prestige, and shows she is a valued member of the household, it's not enough. Luckily, here, she isn't just there to oversee the celebrations of others, but to be celebrated herself.

Eomer ends the ceremonies by announcing her betrothal to Faramir. His justification for doing so is because of Theoden's love for Eowyn, which he uses to argue that Theoden wouldn't begrudge Eowyn's announcement being made at his funeral. He also notes how great the gathering before him is, greater than has ever been seen before. That Eomer wants to announce his sister's happy news before such an assembly, speaks of how much he wants to honour her.

Eomer certainly appears to have taken Gandalf's words on board. When he makes the announcement of Eowyn's betrothal, he says that Faramir asked for her hand, and Eowyn granted it, full willing.

He doesn't say anything about whether or not he gives his permission, (as her king and head of family, he probably was asked, but considering Eowyn and Faramir made their plans to wed with total confidence, you get the impression this was a matter of form, they were going to marry, Eomer disagreeing would be a complication, not a defeat), but instead emphasises how Eowyn has agreed to marry Faramir, full willing.

The final image we have of Eowyn can be a foil of that image of we have of her at the end of her first chapter in Two Towers. Once more, she is bidding farewell to a loved one as they depart Edoras. However, this time, she is embracing Merry before he leaves. She gives him a gift, that speaks of the bond of friendship that is now between them, and a remembrance of the time they rode together to battle, comrades in arms.

Compared to her formal parting from Theoden in Two Towers, this parting is full of warmth and intimacy. She and Eomer both hug Merry farewell, and when Merry leaves, Eowyn is left with both Eomer and Faramir, the two people she loves best, Faramir himself putting off his own duties in Gondor, to be near to Eowyn as she does her duty in Rohan.

Even the parting of Eowyn, Eomer and Merry, which could be a sad thing, is softened with Tolkien concluding "and so they parted for that time".

Their parting isn't forever, it's just for the moment. They will see each other again. Compared to the jarring juxtaposition of the brotherly army riding out, to Eowyn left alone to guard an empty hall, which created a sense of dread and foreboding, the final lines here at this parting fill us with warmth, with them all embracing, and leaves us with a promise that this parting isn't forever, and that the friends will all be reunited soon.

So, to summarise, Eowyn at first appears "doomed by the narrative." She is cold, stern, ghost like, and carries an aura of tragedy and dread.

Her doom she seems to carry through to fruition, and she is mourned accordingly, but the smallest spark of life remains in her, and in the causes of her despair being acknowledged, in the people in her life reaching out to her, making an effort to understand her, and in her and those around her making practical changes, the characters actively defy the narrative that has apparently doomed her, and together, through their combined efforts, Eowyn escapes her fate

Eowyn feels hopeless and trapped, and the people around her struggle to relate, and in fact many of them contribute; some un-knowingly, some knowingly (fucking Grima), to her depression. It first looks like a force greater than herself (the narrative) is causing her despair, and it cannot be overcome, but will instead lead to her destruction.

But actually, there is hope, and there are practical measures that can be put into place, to help her overcome her despair. Medical treatment, a support network, and a greater understanding from herself and from others of what she is going through, enable her to defy the narrative and find happiness.

[yandere-sins]

Yandere!Aventurine who takes jewelry from corpses he stumbles over to give it to you.

Warnings: Yandere, Mentioning of Death/Blood/Bodies/Murder/Piercing his darling/Choking

Yandere!Aventurine who wraps his hands around the corpse's neck to measure whether the necklaces will fit you or not. He knows what size your throat is well enough, but he doesn't mind picking up necklaces that are a little too small. Just a little too tight so he can properly collar you. Bonus points if they have something dangling from them in the front with which he can play.

Yandere!Aventurine who doesn't mind the blood on the gold as he tears out earrings from the corpses he finds. It would be a waste to leave them, wouldn't it? You'd look so good with more gold dangling from your body. He chuckles to himself as he thinks about you in nothing but the gold he draped over you. And maybe his coat—if he's feeling frisky. Ratio might call him a peacock, but you'll be a piece of art if you'd let him decorate you as he pleased.

Yandere!Aventurine who checks every ring and brooch for inscriptions, clicking his tongue and trashing them when he finds any. It's wasted metal, but at least he can remove the gems from their settings. That should be just enough money to win you a new, prettier ring if he plays his cards right. One that he can slip on your finger and kiss reverently every time before he leaves.

Yandere!Aventurine who watches the dolled-up people swaggering around the casinos he visits, checking out their jewelry and searching for sets with real jewels that he can bring home. Not every corpse is dead, yet when he imagines what you'd look like in their necklace-earring combo sprawled out on his satin sheets. They die quickly enough, though, and he keeps a pile of jewelry cleaner at home, so you'll be none the wise where it comes from.

Yandere!Aventurine who sometimes doesn't bring food home, but at least he got a new piercing to put on your body (you'll learn to keep still after the first few he placed). He makes sure that one day, when you have learned to behave and cling to his arm no matter where he goes, everyone being so envy of what is his. He can't always win in a gamble, but how could he ever be a loser when he's got you, sparkling to the nines, all to himself?

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Halloween! Would love more of F is for Frankenstein! 🧟‍♂️

a continuation of 1

Twelve hours later JARVIS has brought him up to speed on what was clearly the weirdest week of his life, the fabrication units are working on a better container for his corpse than the damn suit, and they’ve identified nearly a hundred ways that this plan isn’t going to work.

JARVIS isn’t deterred.

One of the advantages of being a synthetic person is that he can’t feel exhaustion physically, although this whole experience has confirmed that he can feel it mentally. The downside to this is that he doesn’t have any sort of natural que to alert him to the passage of time.

Which means he doesn’t have any idea how long it’s been until it occurs him to check and he frowns. There’s something not quite right, besides the obvious. “Did you – shouldn’t I have gotten some calls or something by now? What did you tell them?”

It’s been almost twenty four hours since he died. Even with the clean up from a massive alien invasion to see too, he’s sort of expected someone to reach out to him. Agent Coulson is such a stickler for timely debriefs –

Ah. He was such a stickler for timely debriefs. Tony isn’t the only one that hadn’t gotten out of this mess alive.

“Sir has received eighty nine assorted calls and texts from Miss Potts, fifty three from Colonel Rhodes, one hundred and twelve from Mr. Hogan, and seventeen from various SHIELD personnel. Two of those are from Director Fury personally. There have been close to a thousand from various news and media companies, but those have been ignored and deleted per Sir’s standing orders.”

It’s amazing how well he’s able to synthesize and interpret emotion. He’d installed a rudimentary AI into – well, himself, he guesses, and that combined with the memory dump is really exceeding all of his expectations. He knows this because he’s appalled. “JARVIS! What the hell? If we’re going to convince the world I’m not dead, we have to talk to people!”

“Is that what we’re going to do?” JARVIS asks.

There’s steel in his voice, a warning buried in there. TONY’s heard that tone before but never, ever directed at him.

Except it’s not. Jarvis would never talk to Tony Stark like that, but he’s not Tony Stark. He’s just one more robot and AI for Jarvis to corral, although sophistication wise he’s several steps ahead of his helper bots. Except he might not be, because not even Butterfingers would be dumb enough to agree to something like this.

“It’s not going to work,” he says harshly, because it isn’t. “But yeah, I guess that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Calling Miss Potts,” JARVIS says promptly, and Jesus, that’s not what he meant at all.

“Don’t,” he hisses, but of course it’s too late and Pepper picks up immediately.

“Tony?” she asks, voice shaky and hoarse and faint. She’s been crying. She’s been crying hard enough that it’s stolen her voice and he knows Jarvis was focused on other things, but he could have at least sent her a text. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

He breathes and then leans over, elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He doesn’t even have an omelette to hide behind this time. He knows he’s dead and he’s seriously considering the idea that this is hell.

“Tony?” she repeats, voice going up several notches in the way he hates. She’s afraid. He hates when she’s afraid.

He forces him mouth to move, forces words pass his lips. “Hey, Pep.”

“Oh god, Tony,” she says and then there are tears again. He wishes he could hold her, could kiss her tears away and could fold his arms around her delicate shoulder and tuck her beneath his chin, keeping her safe and keeping her close. Except he can’t do any of that, because he’s not Tony Stark. “Tony, Tony – you left so quickly and we couldn’t find you and no one’s been able to get in contact with you and JARVIS is offline in the tower and – where are you? Are you okay? I watched you fly that bomb into the portal, and,” she has to cut herself off to try and keep from crying again.  

You watched me die, he thinks, although he obviously doesn’t say it. “Hey, breathe for me, okay? Deep calming breaths, I know you have a lot experience with those around me-”

“Don’t tell me to breathe!” she snaps. “Where are you, Tony? What’s going on?”

He hesitates. They haven’t discussed this, and they really should have before JARVIS put that call through. Unless this is a test, and wow, his AI are such assholes. That old curse about having kids that are just like you is making more sense by the second.

“Something happened to my memory,” he says, which is probably the only true thing he’ll be able to tell her and will hopefully cover the gaps of things that JARVIS couldn’t tell him. “I got here and passed out and I just woke up and I panicked and I don’t – I saw space, and the – the aliens, which is so weird to say Pepper, I need you to fully appreciate how weird that is, but my head is killing me and nothing makes sense. The last memory I have on Earth is us running final checks on the clean energy prototype.”

He's a terrible person. Or, well, a terrible android. Whatever.

“Where is here?” she presses, her voice softening and strengthening both. It’s always so much easier for her get her bearings when she’s the one taking care of him, which is probably why she’s always so steady. She’s always taking care of him. “Where are you, Tony?”

There’s no getting around this one. Jarvis probably won’t be happy about it, but TONY isn’t really happy with him right now either. “Malibu. I’m at the Malibu house. Sorry, I don’t know why I came here – I mean, I really don’t, I was blacked out for most of it. Give me a couple hours for everything to stop spinning and I’ll head back to New York. Wait, are you still in New York? You were going have to leave early for that thing after we tested the prototype-”

“I am in New York now,” she says, almost sounding calm. “Do not fly the suit if things are spinning Tony, I swear to god.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, just a little spinning, you’re so dramatic-”

“Tony!” she interrupts, but the hitch in her voice is laughter instead of tears. “God, Tony. I’m so glad you’re okay. I love you, so, so much.”

If there is a hell for androids, that’s where he’s going.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’m glad you’re okay too, Pep.” He can’t say it but he has to say it because Tony would say it, because Tony loves saying it, because he loves her so much that it sits heavier on his chest than the arc reactor ever could. “I love you too.”

He stares at his hands for a long time after the call ends. His fingerprints are Tony’s, of course, and his hair is Tony’s and his memories are Tony’s and this feeling that he wants to call love belongs to Tony too. None of it is his.

Well, except the guilt. That’s definitely his.

“Incoming call from Colonel Rhodes,” JARVIS announces.

“Answer it,” he says. Why is he so damn tired? He’ll have to run a diagnostic on his processors later.

There’s nothing but harsh breathing down the line, filling every corner of the workshop. TONY thinks, maybe a little hysterically, that it’s the only breathing happening here. He’s designed to mimic it, but it’s nothing besides that, mimicry. “Hi Papa Bear, how are things?”

The heavy breathing stops, for so long that TONY wonders if they got disconnected, then Rhodey bites out, “I’m going to kill you, Tony! I’m too damn old for this, you can’t keep giving me heart attacks every time I take my eyes off you!”

Too late. Tony’s already dead.

“You’re only two years older than me,” he says. “If it weren’t for me, you would have been the youngest freshman at MIT. Besides, a heart attack or two is character building, I’ve had like. Seven. Ish.”

“Reminding me how many times you’ve almost died is not your smartest move right now,” Rhodey says. “Tell me you’re okay.”

It’s a demand, an order, firm and unyielding like he’s one of Rhodey’s underlings. Except that Tony was giving orders way before Rhodey was, with the whole running his own multi-billion dollar business thing, and that tone of voice has never worked on him. Still, he says, “I’m okay.”

“Tony,” he says warningly, clearly not believing him, which is fair enough. He is lying.

TONY sighs, hanging his head like he can stretch the tension out of him, but that’s not how things work anymore. He’s vibranium and silicone and some other interesting materials and all his tension is mental. “Sour patch, I’m fine. Okay? Confused as all hell, but I’m okay. I’m sorry I worried you. I really didn’t mean to.”

“You never mean to,” Rhodey says, but his voice has softened and lowered. It sounds like he’s holding the phone even closer. “You almost never mean to.”

“It’s just difficult, is the thing, because you’re a little prone to worrying, a worrywart, as your mother might say-”

“My mother worries more about you than me and always has even though I used to be only one us getting blown up,” he says.

TONY pauses, considering. “Well, she is a smart lady.”

“Damn straight,” he agrees. “Pepper says you’re in Malibu. I can be there in two hours.”

“No!” he shouts, then winces. His eyes skitter over to the suit holding Tony’s body. They need a plan and that plan can’t involve Rhodey being here in two hours. “Don’t. Stay with Pepper. Please.”

“She’s fine,” Rhodey retorts. “You-”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts. “I’m fine, she’s fine, we’re both fine, except she’s in the city that was recently invaded by murderous aliens and I’m not and I have a suit of armor with repulsor technology and she doesn’t, so. Stay with her. Please.”

The silence drags on then Rhodey lets out an aggravated sigh. “Fine. But get your ass over here and if you miss another call from either of us I’m heading over, no matter what you say.”

“Sir yes sir,” he says.

He expects Rhodey to hang up on him then, but he lingers, nothing but his real, non synthetic breathing on the other end. “You really scared me this time. I saw the news reports and then we couldn’t find you-”

“Hey,” he says softly. A bomb and Tony disappearing and Rhodey unable to anything about it. Tony wasn’t the only one of them that had nightmares after Afghanistan. Neither of them had ever been particularly good at sleeping, but it was nearly impossible those months after, when he and Rhodey were fighting and Tony was hiding Iron Man and they still crawled into the same bed because Rhodey got frantic if he reached out in the middle of the night and found the bed empty. Which he often would, considering how much time Tony was spending in his workshop.

They shared a bed more after Afghanistan than before it. Rhodey had been willing to risk the paparazzi and exposure if his other option was staring up at his ceiling and having a panic attack about Tony being gone. Tony had been bitter about that, which certainly hadn’t helped their fight about weapons manufacturing any.

Pepper’s nightmares had been easier. She’d only been his assistant and friend at the time, after all. She would call him at two or three or four in the morning – or all three – and have some sort of urgent question or something for him to sign and he just went along with it because she just needed to hear his voice to fall back asleep and he’d learned after the first teary voicemail and alert from JARVIS that when he didn’t pick up, her vitals were out of acceptable range, per the prototype StarkWatch on her wrist.

It wasn’t until after they got together that she told him she actually drove to his house most nights and called him from her car rather than her bed. Just in case he didn’t answer, which wasn’t logical and didn’t make any sense at all but Pepper hadn’t pretended it had.

They’d all gone a little crazy, after Gulmira, but they’d settled.

But this is going to bring it all bubbling up and if TONY doesn’t figure out a way to reassure them then they’re going to want to stick close to him like they had before and he can’t let them do that. He can’t keep up pretending to be Tony forever and it’s going to be either Pepper or Rhodey who figures it out. He doesn’t need to help that process along at all.

Except that since they watched Tony fly a nuke into space and then hadn’t heard from him in two days, that’s basically impossible. The fact that it wasn’t three months and from their perspective he’s actually fine is going to help, but the level of damage control he’s capable of here is fairly minimal.

Still, he has to try.

“Honey,” he says, making his voice soft and warm like Tony only does when they’re alone. He doesn’t know where Rhodey is now, if he’s somewhere private, but he doesn’t hang up or stop him. All the stupid nicknames were fun and genuinely affectionate but they were also cover for the times that Tony slipped and called him something he shouldn’t, a little too genuine and not quite kitsch enough to pass muster. “Love, it’s okay. I got my head knocked around some, that’s all. And because I freaked out and ended up on the wrong side of the country, I need you in New York, doing what I can’t. That’s all. I’ll be there soon.”

If there’s a hell for androids, TONY is going there and the hellfire will be hot enough to melt his vibranium core, which, you know, is going to the be least of what he deserves.

“I love you,” Rhodey says. TONY closes his eyes. “You know that, right, baby? I do.”

It’s a bad, bad sign that Rhodey is the one using pet names, especially over the phone. “I know. Of course I know. I’ve always known.”

Over two decades of secrets and hiding and fooling around with women he didn’t give a shit about, before Pepper, and through every lonely, angry, desperately sad moment of it, Tony had known that Rhodey loved him. He wouldn’t have put up with that shit for anything less.

Tony died knowing that Rhodey loved him. TONY is sure of it. It’s the worst sort of cold comfort and he’s glad that he can’t offer it.

“I love you,” TONY echoes, because Tony’s been saying it for twenty six years and there’s no good reason for him to stop now.

Except that Tony is dead. He’ll never tell Rhodey that he loves him again.

One day Rhodey and Pepper will find out that the truth and know that while they heard Tony’s voice telling them what they needed to hear, while they let relief nudge out the fear, Tony was dead and cold and gone.

He hates this. This wasn’t what he was programmed for.

This isn’t what Tony would have wanted. But until he can convince JARVIS of that, they’re all stuck in this hell of the AI’s making.

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 || 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬

part one: the fallen fruit || part two: here

summary_after freeing Rome, you’ve lost Marcus Acacius, his baby and you are forced to marry Lucius Verus in order to freely rule as empress and visit Acacius’ grave

warnings_ CRINGE, age gap (legal) (I’m 20, sorry) historical inaccuracy, angst, sexism and misogyny, fluff but angst, a lot of canon divergence bc I said so. ANGST ANGST I CRIED WHILE WRITING THIS

note_ that’s it, it’s official, Paul Mescal my new bf, don’t you ever make me write a fic where I knowledge any Pedro character’s death (even if it’s canon) listen to 13 beaches pls

♪ ♫ Pedro playlist

♫ ♪ Paul playlist

✰ Index (+ fics here)

𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𓆇𓆸⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𓆇𓆸⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𓆇𓆸

Once your eyes opened, reality struck you in the harshest possible way. This time, no one was there to tend your wounds. Although they weren’t severe, they had dozed you off for days. You heard Lucilla’s scream and you closed your eyes, knowing your love was dead.

Numbness assaulted you, nausea struck you and you heard everyone gasping in horror as their beloved general’s body collapsed in the arena.

Hours after Marcus Acacius’ died, you lost his baby as well.

A day later, Rome was freed. Lucius Verus became the new emperor and you caught a fatal fever when the sun came down.

That night, death seemed like the most convenient alternative. You had lost everything you had fought for over the years. The man you loved and the prospective children were taken from you before you could’ve claimed them.

Something changed when you woke up. Like time has passed so rapidly that the pain from the loss of Acacius and your baby has healed. But as soon as you think about the would’ve, could’ve, should’ve… you start sobbing.

It’s a bright morning and the city sounds peaceful. Everyone has moved on. And you know you’ll have to. Only that, you don’t know how.

With your brother’s death, your lover and baby’s, everyone was gone.

Lucius is alive…

There’s a knock on the door and soon it opened.

A man should never intrude into a woman’s chamber he had no relationship with.

“Ah. Princess y/n you’re awake….” He says uncomfortably. You didn’t knew his name, but had been running as a politician for several years.

“I suppose I’m no longer a princess”

“Trials are happening right now, the senate is a disaster but we’re handling it okay. Lucius Verus Aurelius refuses to be crown emperor but he has argued in your favor and you have been found not guilty, but you face conspiracy charges. Consequently, you’re still a princess. And the only person we can rely on according to the law…”

You sigh, looking away from the old man to focus on the tapestry that hangs from a wall. It has a naked woman’s statue in the middle of a garden. A woman being the center of attention.

You were the maximum authority at the moment. But you still had barriers to break.

“What did you do with the corpses of my brothers?” perhaps your siblings weren’t the most lovable people, but you grew up with them. They were your last remaining family.

“Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla rest in the secluded area of the cemetery of Rome. Where the punished are buried…” you nod.

They deserved punishment, but still, an odd sensation in your stomach rested, feeling shame and pity for your brothers.

Where did the good one go? An imaginary little light sparkles upon your eyes.

“And General Acacius?”

“In his Death Will, General Acacius stated that he wanted to be buried alone in one of the islands belonging to Rome” Your eyes water and you have to bite your tongue and gulp to calm your tears.

Where he had wanted to build a home with you.

“His wife Lucilla was buried in the neighbor island upon petition” You nod, trying to sit down. You finally spot the cuts and sewed arm. Fighting Pretorials had been more difficult than participating in the war.

Alongside Marcus…

“I would like to visit his grave. Marcus Acacius’s grave” Your voice sounded broken and you could barely see the man, failing to hide your growing tears.

“There is one problem, princess y/n. Until you’re officially crown empress, you can’t leave Rome and command without being considered charged, despite being not guilty. You must marry first and I’m afraid the only suitor is Lucius Verus Aurelius”

The man that made you feel so much in no time. Who made you feel like you could be for once unconditionally loved. And that maybe Acacius was not your downfall. Maybe you had one more chance to nourish your wounded heart.

You suppress a smile. You want to see him and talk. See if he felt the same way about you and if he did, it would be a new beginning.

“Where is he?” You ask trying to hide your excitement.

“The prince is back in Numidia. He wanted to give a proper burial to his friends and his late wife especially”

The little smile on your face disappears and you look down. Unbeknownst to the man standing in front of you, you felt shame. For believing Lucius would be waiting for you.

“How so?”

“He was given permission to go back with an audience from the council” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“And why he was allowed to go to territory that is not declared Roman by the law yet…. But I can’t go to an island that is less than four hours away, claimed by the empire hundreds of years ago?”

The man gulps, seemingly uncomfortable by your sudden snapping. Your heart beats in anxiety and the anger increases. The first minutes after you awake you already feel the burden of your new present.

“Because he’s an heir…” to that, you can only sigh. Knowing the real answer.

“And I’m a heiress. I’m… a woman”

Rome was free. But as a woman, you probably never would.

“I suggest you rest and prepare for his arrival, princess. You’ll want to be ravishing to negotiate and assume the wedding”

“I haven’t decided if I’ll marry Lucius Verus Aurelius”

“It’s not like you have much of a choice, princess. I’ll send a doctor to check on you” The bitter tone of the man made you frown. You quietly curse him as he leaves the room.

Finally alone again. Like it seemed it would be for the rest of your life.

You should’ve run faster the first time you tried to escape Rome. You should’ve climbed that wall higher, maybe, just maybe none of your disgraces would’ve happened.

You had to go to Marcus’ grave. You had to say goodbye to him. Tell him all the things you couldn’t say the last time. Because he deserved it. To let him know that no matter where your baby and he were, you would always love them.

Lucius meant nothing, you try to lie to yourself.

I won’t be part of a deal, you remember as you look at the renewed Rome.

Suddenly you realize no matter whom you decide to love, you’re always the lover, not the wife.

Always the second option, never the one.

…

Four days later, you realized you had no other choice but to attend the hearing that would determine your future. Where you would face Lucius. If you had seen him once again before he left, many things could’ve been different, you liked to think.

But given the circumstances, you had no desire to see him again. You barely knew the man, of course, he would choose his wife first even when she was dead.

Your mind betrayed you with the idea of Lucius using you just all those nights to find a way to get out of the Colosseum. No matter what, he didn’t visit you, he didn’t bother to see if you were okay. Likely, he never knew you had fallen ill.

Everyone left you behind.

Happened once as a little girl who fell for her best friend, once as a teenager who fell for an older officer who turned General and once as a young woman who fell for a gladiator and turned out to be a missing prince.

With golden brackets that cover your arms and the heaviest earrings, you nervously walked through the long marble halls of the justice building. Near the temple of the god of war, there rested the place where justice was brought.

A guard opened the door for you and once you stepped in, the room was already full.

Every man inside stood up to greet you with a little reverence and you could feel a migraine already coming.

But when your eyes found a blue pair of aquamarine diamonds looking piercingly at you, the anger mixed with nervousness.

Immediately you look away from the prince. As you took a seat at the end of the long table, you could feel him everywhere. As if Lucius was silently begging for you to look at him.

“We reunite here to revoke any charges and penalties addressed to Prince and Princess; Lucius Verus Aurelius and y/n y/l/n”

You barely hear the man speaking, you were only waiting to hear the next part.

“From the power the senate gave us and by the guidance of the gods, said charges and penalties will be revoked by uniting the prince and princess in sacred marriage. Everyone who agrees says accipio…” everyone says the word, and you close your eyes trying to avoid huffing or ending up screaming in disagreement. Your father ascended to the throne rightfully. Every politician voted for him. When he died your brothers were young and naive and remained as so throughout their rule. Your only crime was to conspire against the empire along with Acacius when he was alive.

All a big nonsense.

“Hear hear, now… Do you Lucius Verus Aurelius agree to the terms of conditions of this agreement?” you look up to see the man. He looked different.

His wounds were healing, his hair looked trimmed, his beard styled. Without sweat, blood, and dirt covering his face, he looked gorgeous. Like an actual prince.

Lucius also looks at you. You can’t tell how he feels, but his eyes look hopeful. And his lips are slightly tilted. Was he trying to smile at you?.

“Accipio…” he says, looking away from you.

Your lips sealed shape a full face of anger.

“Do you y/n y/l/n agree to the terms of conditions of these agreements?”

“I would like to resign to my titles”

Gasps could be heard, and a mixture of shock and disapproval was all over the men at the table.

Lucius looks with curiosity at you. But you can see he’s also shocked.

“Princess y/n… you can’t resign” a man says and you roll your eyes.

“Exile me if needed. I can also recommend a handful of women who would be perfect suitors for Lucius Verus Aurelius” As much as you tried to sound calm, you sounded enraged.

“Then I won’t sign the agreement…” Lucius says looking at the same man who spoke first, then at you.

You eye him with confusion, he crosses his strong arms and he intimidates you with his strong gaze.

“I want you or nothing” he admits with tranquility. Which makes you even angrier. But also make your cheeks turn hot after feeling every man in the room exchange awkward looks.

How could he act so cooky and shameless?

Before you can say another thing, you are interrupted.

“If none of you agree, your charges and penalties will prevail. That would lead to several trials, where both of you could end up with death penalties despite being two rightful heirs”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh.

You’re so tired, drained from everything.

But you won’t give any man the satisfaction to see you crumbling.

Never again…

“You may constrain me all you want, Lucius Verus Aurelius. But you won’t hear what you want from me today”

The poison filling your voice intoxicated everyone, leaving the room flooding with awkwardness and uncertainty. Lucius and you share looks. There’s an odd warmth that makes you remember how good he was when you first met him. He is not a bad man. But you fell in love with him and overrated him so early.

With the silence reigning, the sound of your chair sliding as you stood up drew all the attention to you again. But you didn’t face anyone, you simply left.

The air hit you and you could already feel the tears threatening to spill.

It’s a shame because it seemed like it was a good day for Rome. You can hear kids playing nearby, and people selling goods while the clear sky warmed the afternoon.

“You really don’t know why I want you, y/n?” You hear behind your back, Lucius approaching with heavy steps, making you wipe your eyes before you turn around to see him.

“I would say to gain power. But I know you don’t want that so no… I’m clueless. All I know is I won’t be part of a deal when all my life I’ve lounged for love”

“I can’t believe you don’t remember…” he responds and you frown, disappointed that he has ignored your words. So rudely, you move away, farther from him.

“Who was there when you fell ill after breaking your bones?” your eyes almost pop out, you stop walking only to slowly turn around again and eye him in shock.

“Who was there when you used to escape the palace and needed someone to accompany you back?” Lucius pleads with every word he lets out, he walks towards you and tries to grab your hands but you slip away from his touch, defying him.

In your shock, you can only sigh as memories start reminiscing in your head. A childhood love that couldn’t be. Which involved some feelings you thought had no meaning. But sure they had. More than you wanted to admit as an adult.

Lucius Aurelius Verus was that little boy that you fell in love with as a child. That little boy disappeared without saying goodbye. A boy you thought you’d never see again.

“I left you and resented it all my life, y/n. Now I can be here for you again. Allow me to retrieve the memories we had…” This time you weren’t fast enough to prevent his touch.

He feels warm and at home. His fingers are calloused and his raspy fingertips slowly caress your knuckles. You want to hold him in your arms and cry from happiness. You want to curse him for making you believe he was dead.

But you are selfish after so much pain.

“Why you didn’t say anything when we met again?” You coldly ask, freezing the warmth he has built.

“I needed to know I could trust you first,” he says apologetically.

There’s so much to talk about. Never in your dreams, you thought you’d have the boy you loved once now turned into a man you must marry.

“Please, y/n. We’ll meet each other again, fill the empty promises we made years ago”

“You knew I was alive all this time. Why did you never come for me? We could have escaped. If I had known you were alive, a lot of my suffering could’ve been prevented” he looks away, he feels guilty.

“You married, Lucius. You were happy before Rome conquered Numidia. And I won’t diminish the death of her. But you moved on… like I never existed”

He grabs both of your hands but you move away.

“I thought you were safe. I had no chance of getting you back, that’s why I married. But when I saw you again at the celebration where I had my first fight…” even when he sounds convincingly remorseful, you still keep the distance.

“I don’t care, Lucius. The only thing I want now is to say goodbye to the only love that mattered while you were gone. I can’t visit his grave now for the charges, and when I marry you, I won’t be able to visit his grave because of it. Don’t act like you are not wanting me as your second choice”

If only you knew, Lucius thought as he watched you leave.

…

As a kid, your father would be delighted whenever you danced in the celebrations he hosted. Your brother Geta and Caracalla would sneak in and try to ruin your performance, they weren’t allowed to attend the parties because of their mother; a whore. Your father’s ginger hair had not spread across the twins’ heads and they certainly not looked anything like your mother. There was a snake hidden in the basket of flowers you carried while dancing. But a gentleman realized earlier and as soon as you dropped it because of the bite, he took you to the doctor. And that night you developed a little crush for the officer Marcus Acacius.

Soon you forgot about the older man when you took food and made your way out of the palace. Near the stables, you had found a safe place. Where you always met with who refused to tell you his name.

So you always called him amicus. You could only refer to him as a friend.

“Amicus…” you called him.

Soon he appeared, with burnt blonde hair, blue eyes, and his kind smile.

“What happened to your hand?” he asked pointing at your bandaged extremity.

“Geta and Caracalla placed a snake on my flower basket”

Your friend huffed, clearly annoyed that they tried to hurt you again.

“I wish I could be there, I would always protect you”

You smiled, caressing his face. You were no stranger to his proximity. At the rough age of nine years old, you two had grown a big friendship.

“But you’re always here for me, amicus”

“I won’t be always…” you frowned confused.

That was the last night you saw your friend; Lucius.

You shake your head, pushing aside the memories. Realizing you are once again in a party, but your father is gone. Nobody sits on the throne, your twin brothers are not around to try to banish you. There is no Acacius to help you and you are no longer a kid.

You wonder why Lucilla never told you his son was alive. That he was your best friend. You understand that probably she didn’t trust you enough, given that you looked like you were on your brother’s side most of the time. Although the reality was very different.

Lucius arrived at the celebration with many people trying to talk to him. His tone was kind, but he felt overwhelmed responding to the variety of questions thrown at his face.

Having all the attention resulted in frustration. He was no god and Rome started seeing him as such thing.

He was a humble man, despite growing up knowing he was a prince, he was accustomed to the peaceful farming life in Numidia. He married and thought he would die as a farmer. But even when he finished a rough day of tending his sprouts and counting seeds, mostly he would go to sleep thinking about you.

Lucius never forgot the little girl he found pacing through the secret passages under Rome. Surely he always knew you were a princess, you were alive and well within the walls of the city he grew to hate.

He thought he was correct in never telling you who he really was. He had no chance to say goodbye, he was forced to leave. For a lot of years, he thought he would never be able to fall in love again, but he found a new love.

As soon as he married, he tried to forget about you. And as much as he loved his wife, he always went back to you. Wondering if you were also married, if you remained as beautiful as you were as a kid, or if you missed him like he missed you.

His answers were given to him when he saw you eating figs and softly arguing with one of your red-haired brothers.

Lucius swore his heart stopped a few seconds before he had to fight under the demand of Macrinus. When he recited poetry, he understood you didn’t know who he was. He locked eyes with you for too long, which made you frown and exchange confused looks with Geta.

But he did a good job because you went to visit him later, realizing you knew only half of the truth.

Lucius never stopped loving you.

He watched you twirl around in a purple dress and he couldn’t help but smile. His need to know who you had transformed into was eating him. The curiosity over your love affair with Acacius and how you ended up on the battlefront of war killing him. And he wished nothing buy you to understand that destiny wanted you to be separated but now there was a chance to heal together and be together.

Although it seemed like you were beyond hurt. Only makes Lucius feel guilty for some reason.

A man from the senate reveals to the party you and Lucius are officially engaged and he knows you must be boiling in anger. Lucius tries to go and talk to you. Assure you that he wasn’t involved in the early announcement. He wanted your consent and forcing you would never fix your anger and resentment.

But when he tried to reach you, you were gone. And he knew to where.

To visit Acacius’ grave.

…

With white roses and a dirty cloak, you arrive at the island. Is smaller than you thought. It’s just a hill.

No gold, no ostentatious mausoleum, just a little mark in the middle of the hill that over the centuries would be swallowed by the Earth. There rests Marcus Acacius.

You swallow hard, hoping to get there before your legs betray you and you end up on the grass crying. After hearing the announcement of the engagement, you sprinted out of there making a mess of fury. Your desire to say goodbye to your love would never become a reality. So you took matters into your own hands and risked three hours of absence in Rome.

Each step adds a little more pain to your chest and you want to leave as fast as possible.

But you remain silent, looking at the little plaque.

Not even beloved General of Rome. Just his name.

“I don’t regret saying that I hated you the last time we talked…” you start, biting your cheek from the inside and frowning, competing against the tears that were already coming.

“I closed my eyes so hard to pretend I wasn’t witnessing your death” The chilly air makes you shriek, it also makes some scary sounds as you talk.

“We had a baby, Acacius. I suppose conceived in Athens. He left me hours after you did. I guess he sensed my bad luck…” you coldly say, attempting to joke with the silence.

“Not of importance anymore. I just came to say goodbye. To thank you for training me, and for making me a strong woman. Thank you for loving me the wrong way…”

“You can rest now, Marcus. Your death was worth it, Rome is free. But I’m not…” Finally, your voice breaks and you start sobbing, weeping, and crying so loudly that your lungs hurt.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be strong enough to come back again, Acacius. Your death will always be the loss of my life but our baby is my little hope. To always remind me that I was very close to having you…” with your legs trembling, you stand up and grab the basket. The flowers are gently placed and your tears fall over his name, washing the accumulated dirt.

“I’ll move on. Because I know that’s what you would’ve wanted. I’ll keep your memory alive. And I’ll never love the same way I did with you. You earned it, Marcus. In life and death…”

Dried from all the tears, suddenly you felt less weight on your shoulders. You feel light and in peace.

In that hill would rest the memories of your past, of the love you gave to that General and what could’ve been.

You leave in silence. And when you step foot in the boat again, you have the strength to smile and realize that you don’t care about anything anymore.

The sense of everything comes into question.

Nothing can hurt you anymore.

…

He’s there when you step a foot into the salty shores of Rome. Lucius looks worried. He gives confident steps until he’s facing you.

“You went to that island. Didn’t you?” He asks judging you, which makes you frown.

“I did…”

“Why are you risking yourself? I had to tell everyone you felt ill” You roll your eyes, not handling his words with patience.

“I have nothing to lose, Lucius. I don’t care anymore if I die right now…” he huffs and slides his fingers through his blonde hair, exasperated.

“Why can you understand you’re the one I want? I want you to be safe. But you can’t stop acting like there is no hope left. Why?”

You finally explode.

“BECAUSE I’M HURT!. You know my brothers never loved me, I thought I had you and you disappeared. I spent years in love with Acacius and when he finally looked down at me, he never chose me above your mother. But he wanted to give me a house, a family. I lost him and that night I lost our baby too, I didn’t even know I was with child. And now everyone’s gone, you’re back but I feel like you are just choosing me because you have no choice” Your lungs so tired of your crying make you ache as you end up sobbing once again.

Lucius immediately places his arms around you. And it’s the first hug someone gives you in a long time. So you sob harder and slide your arms to hold him closer.

“I didn’t know… I’m sorry” he whispers in your ear, one of his hands caressing the back of your head, fingers sliding through your hair.

“You’re not my second option. You were always the first. I choose you all or nothing because I couldn’t before. And now that I have you in my arms, I’m never letting you go”

Lucius feels like the home you never experienced but always dreamed of. His words start soothing you. His words feel bigger, like an oath this time. A healed promise of the one he made as a kid.

“When I looked at you again, I remembered that little girl I used to play with. With her dazzling hair and loving eyes” you look away, to the shore. You never liked receiving compliments.

“Look at me…” his fingers grab your chin and gently, he makes you look at him but you close your eyes after briefly meeting his eyes.

Just like the first time, you get lost in his blue irises. Blue like the sea you traveled, like the sea you once thought would be your way to freedom.

“Please look at me, y/n,” he says pleading, with his warm touch you know you won’t be able to oppose any longer.

Slowly you open your eyes and finally accept his gaze.

“You loved another man and I loved another woman. But we had already marked each other’s hearts before we met them”

Slowly, you nod. He smiles and wipes the tears from your eyes. He looks so gorgeous. You know he means every word. Only a man who did everything to save his mother and free a city would make such a big promise to a woman and beg.

You caress his strong jawline, ignoring the way his beard tickles at your fingers. You smile back at him.

“I love you”

Before he could finish, you kissed him.

…

You hadn’t thought back on your love Acacius in months, but that morning you dedicated the bright sky to him. You hope he’s happy for you.

You look at yourself in a mirror and smile at your reflection.

“Are you ready?” Lucius asked entering the room. Your smile grows at the sight of him dressed in gold and a crown in his head. He also eyes your dress and you blush at the way he is mentally undressing you.

Your husband is possessive, kind, brave, and an emperor.

“Stop staring like that…” he looks back at your eyes and it makes you chuckle.

“Come here…” he pleads and when you try to kiss him you both hear a tiny yelp.

“Oh Lucilla, I’m just trying to kiss your father…”

You had birthed a daughter two months ago in Egypt. And was named after Lucius’ mother. She had matted hair the same color as you and she had the blue eyes of his father.

“I’ll get her…” Lucius carried her and leaned to let you look at yourself tiny baby yawning, as she had woken up from a little nap. Her tiny hands flirt fists and her face scrunched in slumber.

She was a winter baby and every citizen of Rome was waiting to meet the daughter of the emperor and empress.

“So fussy like her father…” you claimed, making Lucius roll his eyes at you.

He had grown patient. A perfect partner and father. You felt lucky and blessed to have him. Thinking all the pain was worth it. Your head would now and then think back on what could’ve been if Acacius had survived, and his baby as well.

But you accepted that in this life, he wasn’t meant to be yours. So you prayed to meet him again in the next one. But for now, you were in the arms of your first love.

“I love you, Lucius…” he seemed lightly surprised, as he was the one that says it more often. But he knows he looks so clumsy and in love.

“Not more than me…” you kiss your daughter’s cheek and then your husband, making him softly gasp as you deepen the kiss.

“Don’t do this to me now, y/n…” you giggle, taking the baby from his arms and leading the way towards the door.

“Wait, satis… I know it’s nonsensical to ask at this point but…Do you think I’m being good at this?” Lucius asks pointing at little Lucilla, you sigh, walking back towards him.

“My love, there is no way of being good at this. But if she knows that we love her and that we’ll be here for her forever, is enough…”

He had his doubts a couple of months after the wedding when you got pregnant.

“You don’t know how proud and thankful I am of you. You decided to agree and give me a family after so much pain, satis” You form a smile grin, opting to avoid the memories of your old love. Because that was the past, sacred to you but still the past.

“We deserved it, Lucius.” He nods, taking your free hand.

“I have the feeling that this one will be a boy…” you say pointing at your still-flat stomach.

“Whatever it is… as long as you’re the mother, it’ll be okay”

You both exit the room hand in hand, hearing the excited crowd outside waiting.

_________________

PAUL X PEDRO X READER FIC IS COMING, COMMENT TO BE TAGGED :)

I won’t ever ever ever write a fanfic where a Pedro character dies again. NEVER AGAIN! I don’t care if you think this was cringe, I cried a lot while writing on different days. I love Lucius but in my head Acacius never died, so from now on if I write for him, he WON’T DIE.

[woundedoves]

yandere!bully x bottom gn reader (NSFW) part 1

a/n: kinda went crazy on this one um…. not proofread, wrote this while i was very horny if u couldnt tell

warnings: not proofread! blood. so much blood. blood used as lube, cum and blood swallowing, dead body..? he lays you on ur bff’s corpse while he fucks you basically so! you’ve been warned!!!!

word count: 1298

he shivers as that whore you call ‘best friend’ has finally stopped breathing; coating his knife with their filthy fuckin’ blood. his breathing slows as his smile softens a bit when he hears your soft, scared whimpers. he coos as he kneels down to where you're sitting; all tied up as your back is pressing against the walls of the filthy basement.

“look up. look at me.” you bring your shaking eyes filled with hot tears up to look up at him; too shocked to even speak. he laughs with a crazed look on his face as he basically pounces on you; fuck you look so cute all scared like that. he wordlessly licks the blood that got on your cheek, cleaning you up as his lips find yours; kissing you while shoving his tongue as deep as he can. his fingers slowly find their ways to your bottoms as he gets them off of you while not letting you breathe when you try to pull away from the kiss. letting go only when he can feel the ringing in his ears, licking his lips as your lungs practically swallow all the air they can.

“you look so fuckin’ pretty like that…” he sees the way your chest stutters as his fingers work your sex so good it hs your eyes rolling back as he moans; this sight of you all pathetic just for him is orgasmic. his hands are still bloody, staining your sex with your own best friend’s blood, said friend still bleeding out just 2 steps away from where you are.

“come on, cum for me. you can do that much right, slut?” your eyes widen as his fingers bring you to completion just then, you see him bite his lower lip through your euphoric state. your eyes open again when he snaps his fingers in front of you, “look at me, look at my hand.” he brings his fingers to your eyes level and you feel him grind on you as your body shivers at the sight of his bloodied fingers covered with your cum. “look closely, watch how i make that insufferable whore finally useful for once in their life.” you blink up at him in confusion when he gets up and drags their body right to you; finally getting a word from your mouth “wait, don’t!” he smirks at you.

“don’t worry babe, i’ve taken care of the rat. now no one can come between us.” he smiles as it reaches his eyes; his eyes matching the manic expression of his flushed face a little too well. you can’t help it but just ignore your friends… corpse as he forces more blood out of the stab wounds and look away as you hear the wet squealch of blood. you feel his bloodied fingers tug on your chin to make you look up, he’s still standing. “get on your knees and stick out your tongue. now.” you scramble to get up, its a lot harder than it looks with your arms being tied up but you manage; opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue as he takes out his cock with a hiss.

“fuck you look so good like that. stay.” you do as he says, his soft whimpers as he lubes up his cock with your friend’s blood while he looks down at you with that flushed face… he knows you can’t resist it, you’re his slut after all. he takes your head in one hand as he pumps his cock; slowly sliding it inside your mouth with a drawn out groan. fuck its so fucking wet and warm, fuck, fuck he’s gonna cum just from this. he grabs the either side of your head with slightly trembling hands, dirtying you with blood and cum as well while he starts fucking your mouth like its a fleshlight.

wet sounds of his hips working his cock in and out of your mouth, little choked noises you occasionally let out fills the filthy basement as he snaps his hips; your head flush against his pelvis, he lets out the most whorish moan of your name imaginable as he spills his cum down your throat. your eyes roll back as you moan, making his dick throb. “fuck…” he pants as he slowly takes his cock out, he hears you gulp as he pulls you up to look at him by your chin. you stick out your tongue to show him that you swallowed all of it, your mouth covered in his cum and your friend’s blood. “fuck… look at you.” he pets you as he lets out a breathless laugh, “good slut.”

you feel your face flush as he hoists you up from your armpits, his cock still out. he lays you down on your friend’s lifeless body as he watches the colour drain from your face; too mortified to say anything at this point. that and he probably fucked your throat ‘till its sore and raw so… you close your eyes and swallow thickly as he gives you a sultry look, his hands making quick work of your hole with his bloody and nimble fingers. “fuck, look at all that. this hole’s ruined for anyone but me now.” he groans as he takes his fingers out and watches the blood slide down to your inner thighs. you moan shamefully when he wraps his hand around your throat, making you look at him once again. he dips down to kiss you while his hand squeezes down on your throat as he lines his cock with your entrance; feeling the the stretch of his fat cock as it burns, making you moan breathlessly into his mouth. he lets go of your throat and pulls away from the kiss as he bottoms out with a drawn out ‘fuck’.

he starts thrusting without waiting for your comfort, his hand still around your neck as he fucks your hole like he’s trying to tear you apart, or more accurately; to become one with you. “fuck yes—! fuck! i knew you’d be fuckin’ tight slut, saved this tight hole only for me huh?” you cried out a ‘yes’ as he hit that sweet spot of yours, your poor sex weeping because of the burning sensation on your hole. there are no more words spoken between you two, only the sounds of his animalistic thrusting as he moans your name like a religious chant, as you feel the cold skin of your best friend, as you hear the sickening shlick of blood and cum as he works his cock in and out of your whole. you whine as your body writhes, hole tightening around him like you want to milk every fucking drop of cum out of his fat bloody cock as he doesn’t even stutter his thrusts until he’s cumming as well; loudly whining your name as he slams his hips over and over again, his cock filling you up so good your whole body shakes as he tries to steady his breath…

the blinding light of the sun burns his eyes as he slowly blinks awake, looking around him with sleepy confusion as to what the fuck just… happenned… he looks down to his boxers, now stained with cum as his erection stains against the fabric. groans as he drops down on the bed again, his arm on his forehead as he feels the sweat on his body. his laboured breathing becoming stable as he starts to stroke his cock, opening up a photo he took of you in your bed; sleeping naked. he fastens his pace and fists his cock ‘till he cums all over his screen with a hiss. “fuck…” he groans as he sits up again:

“you’re gonna be mine one way or another, slut.”

[yourfatherlucifer]

| 𝒮𝑒𝓁𝒻𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 | Chapter Two

Mafia!Ot8!Ateez x female!reader

Summary: After losing everything through gambling, your father's debts to the Ateez Mafia have resulted in you becoming their property. With no other family left, you are now at the mercy of these dangerous criminals due to your father's reckless actions.

Warnings: mxm relationship, death, murder, mentions of being burned at the stake, tragic backstory, violence.

WC: 2k

Amazing Help: @potatomountain

AU: Mafia/?

Nets: @othersideoutlawsnetwork

Tags: Tags: @xomakara @jedi-dreea @beabatiny @ateezaddict24 @spenceatiny18 @18fernanda @prodsh00ky @evercodeee @yizhou-time @smally97 @eshia-16 @daniela-f-uwu @peachyy-joonie @butterfliesinthenightsky @dassmyname @unlikelysublimekryptonite @dollinno @stay-tiny-things @joongscheese @misskarynie @monstacheol @yeosangcutie0615 @mariaa @pinuspot @amphiroxx @kitten4sannie tags to be continued.

A/N: This series isn’t what you thought it’d be huh? Hehehe

Taglist Link

500 years ago, Kim Hongjoong stumbled upon a dirty and old shrine. Bruised, bloody, and broken.

He begged the silent deity for help, tears cascading down his nearly broken jaw. A miracle he could still talk. His broken fingers dropped all of the coins he had to offer onto the shrine. He continued to beg for help and prayed to the God but he got no answer.

His body could no longer sustain his energy and he collapsed onto the wet ground. Hongjoong knew this was the end and he didn’t want to die like this.

Hongjoong let out one more scream before the light faded and he passed out from his injuries. No longer able to stay present.

To die for loving the wrong person. He would never change it, even if this was his death.

The deity appeared out of thin air and stared down at the almost corpse on his sacred ground. He couldn’t help but shake his head.

“Humans and their violence. Wake up, boy. I will not have you die on my holy shrine.” The deity pressed two fingers to Hongjoong’s head and he awoke with a gasp for air.

“You..Thank you.” Hongjoong tried to sit up but his ribs and other miscellaneous injuries screamed at him to stop. How he is still alive is baffling. The deity thought of him as a fighter for surviving this long with the extent of his injuries.

“Why have you come to my shrine, why do you seek my help, human?”

“Because I don’t want to die. I need to live for Seonghwa, but his family won’t let me see him anymore. They’re the reason I’m like this. They tried to kill me but I got away.” Hongjoong was able to sit up with the help of the deity, who only frowned at his words.

“Love? That’s a strong reason to fight for your life.” He admired that. A lot. He missed his love life.

“Do you want revenge, human?”

“What? I- I..yes. I do. I shouldn’t be tortured or killed for loving another man.” Hongjoong truly loves Park Seonghwa of the noble Park family. He hated Seonghwa’s face and screams when he was getting the shit beaten from him.

Hongjoong hated the Park family for trying to kill him in front of his lover. He wanted them dead. He wanted to steal away Hwa and live in the mountains away from the rest of this cruel humanity.

“Very well. I can feel your anger, human. I will grant you your revenge but it comes at a cost.” The deity crossed his arms before speaking once again, “You must take my powers and my status. You will be a God instead. Only then I’ll finally be free of this torture of living forever.”

Hongjoong was confused, “Wait, you’re willing just to give up everything? For me?”

“Believe it or not, I was once in love just like you. I was born a God, they were born a human. It was agony watching them die and I’m ready to be with them. But you must take it from me.” The deity held out his hand, a glow emitting from it. It was so inviting.

Hongjoong furrowed his eyebrows before quickly grasping the deity's hand. A scream emitted from their longs as the power was transferred to Hongjoong.

Nothing else was said as the deity faded into nothing but dust.

Hongjoong could feel the power coursing within him. Each wound and broken bone was immediately healed and he felt a strange sense of longing. He knew it was for his lover down in the village. He could only hope he was still alive and not locked up in a cell by his family. Or worse, being forced to marry someone very fast.

Hongjoong didn’t care. He was going to kill them alone and take Seonghwa away with him.

One quick flash and he was standing in front of the Park residence. The guards screamed at him and ran towards him to finish the job they tried to do earlier. They failed and were flung to opposite sides. Hongjoong made them disappear as if they never existed and marched his way in, blasting the doors open with just an open palm.

Screams were heard from inside. Good. They should be scared.

“You! How are you still alive!” It was Seonghwa’s father. No matter, he was swiped against a wall with a flick of a wrist.

“Peasant.” Hongjoong spat at the man’s now broken body.

Seonghwa’s mother screamed in absolute horror, “Geo-“ Dead. Hongjoong broke her spine with yet another gesture.

Seonghwa’s older brother ran out to be by his dead parents and to fight Hongjoong. It was pointless. Hongjoong killed him too. Nothing was going to stop him from finding his lover.

“Seonghwa?” Hongjoong called out as he stepped over multiple corpses. He ripped his bloodied hanbok and threw the pieces to the ground, they were pointless.

He couldn’t find Seonghwa anywhere. Fuck. They must’ve locked him up. That angered him much further. Hongjoong left the residence ablaze once he stepped out of the threshold. Villagers who saw the massacre stayed out of Hongjoong’s way. Now terrified of the man.

A good choice.

The new deity made his way to the village's cells. Once he gets his man, this whole town will be gone. He wasn’t going to leave anyone alive. Not after they all sat around and let Hongjoong and Seonghwa be separated.

With the cells in site, the guards were slaughtered and he burst open the gates, each criminal ran out of their cells in fear but Seonghwa remained. He knew his lover came back for him. He didn’t care how.

Seonghwa was just happy Hongjoong was alive.

“Hongjoong!” The noble ran out of his cell and into Hongjoong’s arms, “How are you alive?”

His lover only laughed, “I’ll tell you later, for now we must leave this place. We don’t belong here.” Hongjoong kissed Seonghwa with such fever that he refused to separate for several moments.

They left the village hand in hand. Hongjoong didn’t even bother to look back when he set everything ablaze, leaving nothing to save itself. He got his revenge and much more. Nothing was going to separate them ever again. Ever.

-

Kim Hongjoong and Park Seonghwa, both now immortals, faced the earth and its challenges together. They hid in the mountains away from the humans to maintain their happiness and peace. Hongjoong had gave Seonghwa powers to protect himself. Powers that matched their invisible tie to each other. He honed abilities from the planet. Elemental.

Seonghwa maintained a garden that he took care of with his new powers. The animals in the forest kept him company when Hongjoong had to leave to Deity Overworld, now that he’s a god.

One day, Seonghwa heard a blood curdling scream and chanting coming down the mountain. Hongjoong was gone so that couldn’t be him.

Seonghwa set down the white rabbit in his lap and marched down the hill, carefully treading.

Once he made it past the clearing, he found a big man strung up to a post, men and women surrounding it with torches. Seonghwa knew what it was immediately. A witch trial.

Humans are so cruel to anything different.

Just as they were about to light him aflame, Seonghwa cleared his throat, “I suggest you let him down or there will be consequences. I don’t take innocent bloodshed lightly.”

The people whipped their heads toward the newfound voice, “Excuse me? How dare you threaten us. Are you a witch too?” A man poked Seonghwa’s chest with a pitchfork.

He didn’t like that. Without moving, the ground swallows the man whole, “Anyone want to go next?”

The humans screamed in fear and ran away, not wanting to die.

The man on the post had been crying, thankful to be saved. Why did he have to be scorned for practicing a non harmful craft?

“It’s okay, I’ve got you now.” Seonghwa cut the ropes that held the man high, “Careful.” He caught him as he fell, “What’s your name? I’m Seonghwa.” A beautiful smile stretched his cheeks as he kept the man warm.

“Yunho. Jeong Yunho. Thank you for saving me. I’m forever in your debt.” Yunho’s large hands grasped Seonghwa’s in desperation, “I don’t know how to even begin to thank you.”

Seonghwa shook his head, “You don’t need to. What the humans are doing is harmful. You don’t deserve to die, Yunho. Come with me. I’ve got somewhere to keep you safe.”

-

“Um, Seonghwa, who is this?” Hongjoong appeared from a mist into the living room, confusion smeared on his features.

Yunho jumped, nearly screaming in his spot, still jumpy from earlier.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Seonghwa was quick to comfort the big man, “This is Yunho, he was about to be burned at the stake for witchcraft..I just couldn’t let that happen.”

Hongjoong melted at his words. One of the many reasons he fell for Seonghwa. His selflessness and care for others beside himself.

“I see, well, make sure he has somewhere to stay warm and rest. I’m sure it was stressful.” Hongjoong smiled and walked to his bedroom, exhausted from traveling between worlds.

Yunho smiled to himself and held the blanket close to his body, “You two are very kind. Thank you for the hospitality.”

“So, tell me, Yunho. Do you have anyone?” Seonghwa carefully sat beside Yunho, caution on his features.

“Ah, no. I don’t. It’s just me. I suppose that’s why it was so easy for me to be found by those villagers.” He could never return to his home. Not if he wanted to live.

“Well, I have a proposition for you then, Mr. Yunho, how would you like to live forever without having to worry about being burned alive?” Seonghwa offered with such nonchalance.

Yunho was in shock. What was he saying?

“Huh?”

“Look, Hongjoong and I are immortal. Hongjoong is a god and he gave me immortality to be with him forever. I want to give you that now. I know you could use it for the good in your heart.” The former noble was serious in every sense, “Of course, I’d have to talk to Hongjoong but I want to give you that offer.”

“I just thought you were also a witch honestly.” Yunho laughed.

“Well, no, but still.” Seonghwa stood back up, “I’ll let you think about it but I’m going to go speak to Hongjoong about this.”

-

“You’re an immortal now, how do you feel, Yunho?” Seonghwa grinned, Hongjoong’s arm around his waist.

The new immortal couldn’t help but cry as fire emitted from his palms, “I..I’m so happy.” Of course the fire was a bonus. Now he could make everyone pay that tried to burn him alive.

“Be careful with that ability, Yunho, I know what you’re thinking. I can hear everything. If you do not tread my warnings carefully, I can take it all from you without breaking a sweat. So don’t test me.” Hongjoong was stern but he knew Yunho wouldn’t break his trust. It was like he had a golden retriever that followed his every demand and order.

After all, this was just the beginning of a big tale to come.

“I will, thank you, Hongjoong.”

The three men would continue to live in harmony for decades. In peace and tranquillity. They never had to worry about another human trying to kill them and Hongjoong helped Yunho and Seonghwa hone their abilities. He was going to shape them into beasts. A small army if you will.

Nothing was going to stop him from being who he was meant to be.

They lived their lives on a pirate ship that sailed the ocean, that Hongjoong had stolen, becoming the new feared pirate crew for years to come.

He had to grow this team and he had to use the abilities he was given.

Yunho made them a fourth member. A living doll but with a human body. His name is Kang Yeosang and he’s another immortal. His abilities are unknown as he’s still getting accustomed to being a living doll. Made from dark magic.

Again, this was only the beginning for this forming team.

They’re only going to get stronger.

[felassan]

Dragon Age: "In #DragonAge: Vows and Vengeance, you'll get to meet all our companions before they joined the Veilguard - including a gentleman necromancer 💀 Subscribe and listen wherever you get your podcasts. Premieres August 29: [link]" [source]

This tweet mentions that the moments of the companions' lives depicted in the podcast are from times prior to them joining the Veilguard and therefore the events of the game.

Text in the notebook reads:

"Something's gone wrong. The dead stir more easily than they should."

Maybe we are looking at Emmrich's notebook here? ^^ it sounds like something isn't right in the Grand Necropolis and with the Veil/the dead in general. (I wonder if this is part of the reason why in the release date reveal trailer, there are giant undead skeletons causing a stir). In Nevarra/the Mortalitasi, they believe that when someone dies a spirit is pushed out of the Fade into the mortal world. In exchange, they invite those spirits to inhabit the empty bodies left behind. This is common orthodoxy for the Nevarran populace. when a spirit leaves the Fade, it crosses the Veil. when the Veil is thin (or weak or damaged..), demons and spirits can escape more easily into the waking world. once they do, they sometimes possess corpses. since we need to guard the Veil in this game and there's a Veil-tearing Lyrium dagger around (plus who knows what else Ghil and Elgar'nan and whatever else are doing to it..), it makes sense that if the Veil is damaged/at risk, more dead would stir and more easily than they should do. (in TN, Lord Penrick Karn's funeral procession was interrupted by his corpse's premature possession). you can see why a Mourn Watcher like Emmrich would be motivated to join a group dedicated to guarding the Veil.

The anatomical drawings here track, Nevarra has unrivalled knowledge of anatomy. <- DA:TV spoilers at link.

The notebook also reminds me of Grim Anatomy.

These numbers look to appear twice on the pages:

"7197 | 3.85715 7198 | 3.85721 7199 | 3.85727 | 6 7200 | 3.85733 | 6"

What do they mean? could it be a calculation, or a code?

And can anyone make out what the flowing script on the left hand page says? ^^ I wonder what language it's in? Whether it corresponds to a spell? it also reminds me of this exchange from the 'Meet The Companions' panel at SDCC, as it relates to Emmrich:

"Lucy: And I hear as well that Emmrich gets, I mean, you’re all gonna get some fantastic lines, but I hear that Emmrich has some quite spectacular ones. You, Nick, you and Ashley, I would love to hear about the process of, was it difficult to get like some of those tongue-twisters, and? Ashley: Yeah, Sylvia the lead writer basically was like, ‘Ash, you’re gonna need a dictionary for all of the sessions with Emmrich’, it’s like, 'Okay!’. And we get there, you just nailed them all, like 'shduhfejdkjjdhdjdhfjehfjkhehe into the Fade’. Nick: Well, I don’t know if I nailed them all, that’s very kind of you. But, there was some serious tongue-twisters there, and, but it’s great, it’s great to be in the booth, and to be given a challenge like that, and. Yeah, it’s fantastic, I mean that’s what I love to do, so it was great to be just gifted that."

[source]

[heaventohell3]

Maybe Ronin X cannibal reader? But the reader hides it and our fav boy discovers them in the middle of "grabbing dinner"?

Happy halloween!-Ronin x Cannibal reader!

TW: Blood, Gore, Cannibal (reader), Cannibal jokes, Mention of body parts etc

"Bon Appétit" — Ronin x Cannibal!Reader

Ronin always knew something was off about you. Not in a bad way—just different.

Maybe it was how you always turned down dinner invites with a lazy excuse, or how you avoided restaurants altogether like they were some kind of trap.

It was a quiet night. Too quiet for Ronin’s liking. Normally, by now, you'd be spamming his phone with some dumb memes or asking if he wanted to hang out. But you’d gone radio silent.

He moves silently, the familiarity of sneaking around fitting like a second skin. Crowbar tucked loosely in his hand, boots crunching against the dusty floor.

He rounds a corner, and there you are—squatted low, your back to him, hands deep inside a body that still twitches, like a machine winding down. Blood coats your hands, sleeves stained from wrist to elbow. And the sound—the wet, ripping tear of flesh and sinew—makes something stir in him.

You’re so focused that you don’t even hear him. It’s almost funny. Almost cute.

He leans against the doorway, a smirk slowly curling on his lips.

"Well, well, well… what do we have here?"

You freeze. Every muscle in your body locks up, heart slamming in your chest. For a brief, foolish second, you think about pretending. Saying it’s not what it looks like, that you tripped and—yeah, no, that won’t work. You’ve got chunks of someone’s kidney in your hands.

Slowly, you turn your head, blood splattered across your face, meeting Ronin’s amused, knowing gaze. And shit, the way he’s looking at you—it’s not disgust, not fear. It’s something far worse: entertainment.

"Grabbing dinner without me?" he teases, cocking his head. "Kinda rude, don’t you think?"

You blink, momentarily thrown off by the calmness in his voice. "This isn’t... It’s not—"

Ronin cuts you off with a sharp laugh, like the situation is the funniest thing he’s seen in weeks. "Relax, sweetheart. You’re not the only freak in the room."

He steps closer, the crowbar tapping lightly against his thigh. The corpse at your feet is still fresh—blood pooling across the floor, the metallic scent thick in the air. But Ronin? He doesn’t flinch.

"Didn’t think you had it in you," he muses, crouching next to the body. His dark eyes flick between the dead man and your stained hands with an expression that can only be described as impressed. "Guess I underestimated you, huh?"

You stare at him, mind scrambling for some kind of response—some way to salvage the situation. But Ronin’s grin only widens, like he’s already five steps ahead of you.

"So... you always eat 'em like this, or is tonight a special occasion?" His voice is playful, like he’s making small talk about the weather.

"Relax, sweetheart," he interrupted smoothly, crouching down beside the dismembered body, inspecting the work with genuine curiosity. "You didn't really think you could hide this from me forever, did you?"

You shot him a glare, though it felt more like a defense mechanism than anything. "It’s not what it looks like."

“Oh no, it’s exactly what it looks like." Ronin’s grin widened. He leaned closer, his voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper. "You’re a freak."

Your heart skipped, panic simmering beneath your skin. "Don’t tell anyone."

Ronin snorted, clearly amused by your fear. "Oh please. What am I, a snitch?" His plum-colored hair fell into his eyes as he tilted his head, studying your expression. "I’m not here to rat you out, babe. I'm here to see what makes you tick."

You didn’t know if that was more reassuring or terrifying.

Then he reached out, swiping his thumb across your cheek to wipe away a streak of blood. He held his thumb up, inspecting it like an artist admiring a brushstroke. “You’re messier than I thought you’d be. Kinda cute, actually.”

You slapped his hand away, scowling. "This isn't a joke, Ronin."

“Oh, it’s not?" His grin remained infuriatingly intact. "Could’ve fooled me. You're acting like this is some big shameful secret." He gave a mock gasp, eyes wide with exaggerated horror. "Oh no! Reader’s a cannibal!"

"Ronin—" You started, but he was already laughing.

"Relax, I’m not judging." He smirked, straightening up and brushing his hands off on his pants. “Not my place to tell you how to live your life. I mean…” His gaze flickered to the half-eaten remains. “At least you have good taste.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, exasperated. "You’re impossible."

“And you,” Ronin replied smugly, leaning in close enough that you could feel his breath against your neck, "are way too cute when you’re trying to look innocent."

Your stomach twisted—whether from embarrassment, guilt, or something much darker, you weren’t sure.

Ronin knew exactly what he was doing. Knew how to make your skin crawl and your heart race all at once. And the worst part? You liked it.

He clicked his tongue, patting your cheek with mock affection. "Don’t worry, sweetheart. Your little secret’s safe with me."

he turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder, tossing you one last grin.

"You know, if you were hungry... you could've just told me."

Your breath catches, caught between the weight of his words and the dangerous glint in his eye. He tilts his head, watching your reaction with interest, like you’re some puzzle he can’t wait to solve.

"Next time," Ronin says, dragging the crowbar lightly across the floor, "let me help."

Your heart stutters at the offer—half a threat, half a promise.

Then, as casually as if he’s offering to grab takeout, he adds, "I’d love to see how you do it up close."

You blinked, stunned into silence, as he sauntered off into the night—like walking in on a literal crime scene was just another Tuesday.

And somehow, you knew—without a doubt—that this wasn’t the last time Ronin would come snooping around about this.

The next time you saw Ronin, he came bearing… gifts.

The sun had barely set when you heard a knock—three soft taps against the flimsy metal door of the same old building you'd started using as your… dining room. You knew it was him before you even opened it. Only Ronin knocked like he owned the damn place.

And sure enough, there he stood on the other side, a mischievous grin stretching across his lips. But what made your stomach drop (or maybe growl) was what—or who—he had slung over his shoulder.

"Look what I found," Ronin said cheerfully, like he was showing off a stray dog. "Nice and fresh."

The man groaned—still alive, barely—but Ronin adjusted his grip on him like he was nothing more than luggage.

You stared. "Ronin, what the hell—?"

"Relax," he cooed, brushing past you like this was some kind of surprise party. He dumped the man onto the floor with a careless thud, crouching beside him to give the guy’s cheek a little pat. "This one won’t be missed. Scumbag. Thought I’d save you the trouble."

You crossed your arms, feeling a mix of dread and something uncomfortably close to excitement swirl in your gut. "You’re really okay with this?"

Ronin shot you a sly grin, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Let’s just say… I’ve got a flexible moral code." He stood, nudging the guy with the toe of his boot. "Besides, I figured—if you're going to do this, might as well have some company, right?"

The man groaned again, half-conscious, as Ronin turned to you. His gaze softened just a little—just enough to make your stomach flip. "You gotta eat, babe."

You swallowed thickly. "I don't think—"

Ronin stepped in close, tilting his head so his lips were almost brushing your ear. "C’mon, sweetheart. No use playing shy now. You’ve already got blood on your hands."

His voice was low, warm—like a devil tempting you to cross the line you were already standing on. And the worst part? You wanted to. You really wanted to.

He leaned back, hands in his pockets, watching you with that lazy grin. "Or do I need to feed you myself?"

You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder. "I can handle it, idiot."

"That's the spirit," he chuckled, stepping aside to give you room to work. "Now let’s see those culinary skills in action."

The hunger gnawed at you, sharp and insistent, and before you knew it, you were crouching beside the man, the world narrowing down to the sound of his shallow breaths and the promise of iron on your tongue.

Ronin crouched next to you, utterly unbothered as you began. His hand brushed lightly against your back—comforting, almost affectionate—as if this were some intimate little date instead of… well, this.

He stayed close, watching with fascination as you fed, his smirk never wavering. When you paused to catch your breath, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, he tilted his head and grinned.

"You look good like this, y’know."

"Shut up," you muttered, though the heat in your face betrayed you.

He rolled his sleeves up lazily, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "Alright, sweetheart. Open wide."

You shot him an incredulous look, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "I can feed myself, Ronin."

"Yeah, yeah. But where’s the fun in that?" he teased, plucking a choice piece from the victim’s bloodied arm like he was sampling charcuterie at some upscale event. "C’mon, let me spoil you a little. You earned it."

The way his voice dipped sent a chill down your spine—like this was a game to him, and you were the star of his twisted little fantasy. It was equal parts infuriating and… intoxicating. He was good at that, pulling you in just enough to leave you breathless, unsure whether you wanted to kiss him or hit him.

"Ronin—"

Before you could protest further, he pressed the piece of flesh against your lips, grinning wickedly. "Say ‘ahh.’"

You glared, but the hunger gnawed at you relentlessly, and damn it—he looked so pleased with himself, like this was the most romantic thing he could do. With a heavy sigh, you parted your lips. His smirk widened.

"There we go," he murmured, almost reverently, as he slipped the morsel into your mouth. "Tastes better when someone feeds you, right?"

The warmth of the meat, the metallic tang still lingering on your tongue—it sent shivers down your spine. But the worst part wasn’t the taste. It was him. The way he looked at you with a blend of admiration and possession, like you were his favorite meal.

"Good, yeah?" he whispered, as if he needed the confirmation.

You bit down slowly, savoring the taste and the strange thrill of it all. He watched every movement—eyes dark and full of satisfaction—like he'd just pulled off the most intimate act in the world. And maybe, in his twisted way, he had.

"See?" he whispered, wiping a stray drop of blood from your lip with his thumb. "Told you I’d take care of you."

You swallowed, the heat in your chest spreading, equal parts shame and satisfaction.

"You're enjoying this way too much," you muttered, voice low.

Ronin just chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. "And you love that about me."

And as much as you hated to admit it… he wasn’t wrong.

He fed you again, slow and deliberate, like this was some dark, sacred ritual between the two of you. Each bite came with a grin, each touch a silent promise—he would never judge you for what you were. Hell, he loved it. He thrived on it, the corruption, the intimacy, the shared depravity.

When the meal was over, you leaned back, exhaling a shaky breath. Ronin wiped your mouth again, his touch lingering.

"Feel better?" he asked, his voice low and warm.

"Yeah," you admitted reluctantly.

His grin widened, a spark of triumph flashing in his eyes. "Good." He leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear. "Next time, I’ll pick someone even better."

You knew you should feel horrified. You knew you should push him away. But instead, you smiled.

"Deal."

Now, you know Ronin wasn't the man of his words. He's a snitch. That just told your secret to Angel, You know both of them were close, You just felt happy Ronin could share some things from his chest.

But, he did snitch you.

Happily, Angel was your type so, same blood in the same habit?

Later in the server. In the channel where all past Ronin's past and present love interests reside (literally)

#ur-angel-or-yuor-devil-or writer darlin who's a maneater

[Angelic]- I can't believe you're actually a cannibal y/n...

[You]- Fucking Beaufort.

[Goreboy]- Darlin, you Have a Friend now. Angel will be very happy right now. she has gotten a new best friend.

[Angelic]- Don't bully them, Ronin.

[Goreboy]- I'm not, This just Made Y/n x 666 Interesting! I have a new Goal.

[You]- lemme guess, another 666 kills?

[Goreboy]- Ding Ding, Have you ever eaten a detective? Your deduction skills are ultimate. You're Right, But, It's for you. 666 kills for you darlin! Be prepared. As a good Boyfriend it's only Valid that I gift you something Like this. Mark NeXT's year V-day.

[You]- .......................

[Angelic]- Never thought, He will become seriously damned this much.

[Goreboy]- Tho, It's interesting how the past lover and the present lover is both Cannibal. My god this is a miracle.

[Angelic]- Hey, Y/n? Have wanna the devil for dinner? He's speaking too much isn't he?

[You]- Be my guest angel, Also yes.

[Goreboy]- Getting Eaten by Two Angels. No Thank You. This is such a Boring Way to Die.

[You]- then just shut the fuck up edgy-boi

[Goreboy]- You Have to Face my Bullshit Darlin, Be prepared from now On, Cause shit- you need to realize it's a Lifetime relationship.

[You]- Thank god, I took lessons from Miss Ai hua to deal with people like you. Apparently she used to use memes to shut up Mr. Vince,

[Goreboy]- Oh? You think A meme? can Stop me?

[You]- I believe it's the person in the meme is our god 'twink'

[Angelic]- I get it.

[You]- Ronin, I love you but God Christ, Please shut up for now.

If you speak tormenting me and angel, I will compare you to JD because of the twink reason. If you think the meme was unfunny. I wasn't talking about the meme Mr. Beaufort.

[Goreboy]- ........

I cease.

Congrats, you made the devil to shut up! HAPPY HALLOWEEN LOSER!

[valentine-cafe]

im drooling for some haoyu 9948v ANGST

maybe haoyu getting bored of reader and decides to just. (kill) get rid of them. he's like 'ok whatever not my problem' then sometime after it just SNAP! clicks.

he killed you and now hes not gonna find anyone like you again

˖⁺. ﹙ bloodthirsty phantom  x gn reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . dull eyes !! 🍒 :  phantom ˖ yandere ˖ vngeful spirit character﹙ verse 9948v hàoyǔ. ﹚

you always knew that someone like him would eventually be your demise. what happens when a being such as him gets bored of you ? | cw: reader death 

It had all been nice at first. Well, that’s how you remembered it.

The inafmous phantom of your world, hauntingly beautiful, yet dangerous, murderous. With all the intent to snap anyone’s neck that came in his way. Bathe in their blood.

You remember the first time his eyes landed upon you, the obssessive gazes and the suddeness of when he stole you away. Kept you in his abode for none to see or visit. His beautiful prize. Your soul most addictive to him.

He huffed you like you were a drug to get high on after every murdering spree.

It got to your head that he never once hurt you. No, he protected, kept you safe and sound. Sure, he was and is manipulative but. . . You could manage, you had him, right?

Why should you miss your old family and friends— You are his, and he is yours. He wouldn’t get bored of you.

Alas. As malicious and godlike as he is. His animalistic hunger convinced him otherwise. You weren’t much more than a toy. You weren’t his cerise, nor were you that interesting to begin with.

A past-time soul to take away the boredom.

And when you suddenly no longer took that boredom away — that’s when you noticed the signs, his nonchalance around you. The sudden threats to snap you in half, the agitation he suddenly displayed to you like it. The same he shows to everyone.

What was it you had done wrong? You never really figured it out. An impossible task to do so nontheless.

It was incomprehensible for your mortal brain to understand his.

You lay in bed now, sleeping soundly. Yet to know the fate coming for you.

Oh how the angels weep for it, whichever poor guardian that wards you, begs for you to awake. It is not possible to hear. Not with the barriers of the realms.

And your intuition has been shattered long ago.

The door creaks open. Heavy footsteps moving towards the side of the bed, alongside the strong smell of iron that reeks off of your beloved.

Blood covered fingers trail down your spine, while a freezing pair of lips press against the lobe of your ear. Breath sighed onto your warm skin.

“How unfortunate you cause me such boredom.” He whispers. Might as well take you out in your sleep. The screams may have been delightful. But why not let you dream instead. They say the dead can still hear a bit before their soul has gone away.

Doubtless he will have any use of that either way as well. Perhaps he should simply suffocate it when it floats aimlessly above you. Awaiting reaping.

No reaper comes into this household.

“Hàoyu.” You groggily call, as you rouse from your sleep. Eyes groggy and full of heavy sleep still.

Poor you, barely able to process the teeth that rip out your throat and the long talons that rip through your skin and bones like they are nothing.

What quick and painful death, the blood spraying everywhere. You don’t get to see it, as he so violently tears you apart. Like a feral animal. Laughing as though it is some funny joke to him.

And when it is all over, and he is holding your corpse in his arms. He strokes a thumb across your face and tuts. “Its nothing personal, hm?” A little chuckle rumbles through his chest as he drags you out to the yard, where the rest of his past loves lay beneath the earth.

Yet. As day by day pass by. And he returns from the long sprees with his cultists. He settles down in the lounge of his manor, and awaits your presence each and every time.

A strange feel arises in his chest. Is it sorrow?

No, surely not. . . He was bored, why would he suddenly begin missing? What had been that different about you in contrast to all of his other lovers?

And as a month, perhaps two? What does perception of time matter to him - passes by, it dawns upon him. He was missing you. He was grieving the loss of you of which he bore on his hands. The murder of you.

Waiting, you had been waiting for him to come join you that night. After all of the ruthless threats, ignoring and snapping he had been taking out on you.

Was it boredom? Or had it been the part of him that just thirsted for blood instead?

He no longer knew.

One thing was for sure, you weren’t coming back. Your soul left without a trace after your death. The violent and malicious magic that tore through you suffocated it completely. There is no afterlife for you. There is no you anymore—

And he can try as much as he wants to, to find you again. In every cultist, person he may randomly stumble into. Someone with your eyes, your smile, your laugh, your kindness. But he can’t. Because it isn’t you.

He wants you.

[hunnylagoon]

Right Where You Left Me

Pt 3: Being So Normal

Ellie Williams x Reader

Horror pushes tears from my eyes as I uncover the corpses of your past relationships. Each of them dead and lifeless as the next. Because that is what you do, you ruin what is good and it makes me miss you less and less as everyday goes by.

Premise: You and Ellie were childhood friends until you drifted apart. Funny thing about soulmates is that they tend to find their way back to each other. On this night some questionable choices lead you to a vulnerable state where you run out of options.

Warnings: Angst / reader has religious issues / drinking / smoking / drugs

Part one here!

Part two here!

Part three here!

ELLIE

It wasn't as fun as I thought to watch you fall apart.

The morning after Christmas you left before I even woke, your makeshift bed made. You gathered all of the boxes of shit I collected off your dad's lawn and took off, leaving behind nothing more than a letter thanking my dad for his hospitality. 

When I came back to Northridge a week later it was like I was looking at a new person. 

Everything that had happened was swept under the rug, you lied and told the girls that you had a great Christmas. You started picking up overtime shifts, you were out more than you were at home.

I watch you stumble through the doors at five AM, makeup smeared, hair a mess and the fakest smile I have ever borne witness to, plastered across your face. You worked the closing shift almost every night and would go partying afterwards with your shitty co-workers who enabled this type of ruination.

I saw your stories too, shot after shot, In every single picture you nurse a drink in your hand or a cigarette wedged between your fingers. When did you even start smoking?

Abby and Cat didn't know just had bad you were but Dina was catching on. I remember how she would go out with you at the beginning, in her mind it had just been harmless fun until it was a nightly occurrence she started to get concerned.

It's like you've euthanized the person you used to be.

You can't even stand to be in a quiet room so you will it with nonsense conversation, hardly even words and laugh at your own jokes.

You used to glow. Back in middle school, you glowed like a candle that smelled of pumpkins and lattes, your love felt like sinking into a warm bath, comfort and security. In high school you glowed like the moon, no one could pry their wondering eyes away from your nerve-wracking beauty, gentle and empathetic.

Though now you do not glow, you burn. You burn like the end of a cigarette, the bud fluttering to the ground just to be crushed by the heel of muddy Converse. The spark of a lighter to ignite your stale menthol cigarette, slipped from bony fingers like clumsy matchsticks to the wilderness, to set what once was beautiful aflame.

Fire is only beautiful while it burns, I knew that soon you would smother yourself out to ashes.

I've been nourishing my withering body with 50-cent packets of ramen noodles. 

I know that I'm not well, in fact, I think I've fallen off the rails.

When was the last time I got a full night of sleep? I'm not sure.

My days and nights bleed together and I can hardly differentiate the two. I hate everyone but I'm so starved for love I am searching everywhere for it, I look for it in dingy clubs and roadkill off the side of a highway, the bottom of a solo cup and the arms of one-night stands, I have even learned to lick it off silver knives. They have taken the rosery from my hand and replaced it with hard liquor.

I went out last night to forget like I do every single night. I look to the moon and pretend it is its being with thoughts and feelings, I act like I talk to it and it has said that it shines just for me.

Tonight, I will go out again. I smear glitter over my eyelids and slip into a silver sequin dress that doesn't even fall past my fingertips. I force my scabbed and bleeding feet into white stilettos that are sure to damage them even further. When I look in the mirror I feel a new sense of bitterness, like nicotine on the tip of my tongue, my face is thinning and my eyes are sunken in, dark bags hanging below the dull irisis. I cover it in concealer and bronze my face to help me look some sort of alive.

"Where are you going?" Dina asks me as I walk from my room and towards the front door, she has a tote bag packed up, her car keys in hand.

"The Monarch," I answer, it was a club on the main street, it tended to be the busiest also infamous for sketchy activity. My eyebrows furrow as I look at the tote bag in hand "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to Jesse's for the night, " She says, tonight her hair is loose and falling over her shoulders "Are you sure you wanna go out tonight?"

I nod, suddenly feeling vulnerable in my choice of clothing "Yeah," Sensing her judgement, I'm already getting defensive "I'm in college, all I do and go to work and school-

"Who's fault is that?" Dina cuts me off and my words fail me, I don't know what to say. She looks at me with disappointment glinting in her dark eyes.

My phone dings and I check the notification "My ride is here."

"Don't stay out too late."

"I won't," We both know that I am lying.

I have been many things over the years, a pirate, a cowboy, a warrior; over the past five months alone I have been a lonely girl and a saint, now I am a drunk who drowns out her worries in vodka and overly sweet cocktails.

"To being young, dumb, and broke!" Kayla raises her shot, and the rest of the group does the same. The small glasses clink together, and some of the vodka spills before we all swallow them back and slam them back onto the bar.

The central focal point was the expansive dance floor, alive with bodies moving in rhythmic unison. Multicoloured strobe lights cut through the haze, creating an otherworldly atmosphere.

The bar, a gleaming expanse of polished metal, beckoned with the promise of libations. Bartenders, clad in stylish attire, skillfully craft cocktails. The mirrored backdrop reflected the kaleidoscope of lights and the animated conversations that unfolded in this hub of social convergence.

Overhead, suspended fixtures resembling metallic sculptures add to the overstimulation.

"Welcome back," The bartender, Mitch, smiles at me, I know him by name now that I've been bouncing around from club to club almost every night. "Long Island ice tea?" He asks, to which I respond with a nod. He's memorized my drink too.

Kayla is beside me while the others have dispersed to dance or converse, she sips a dirty martini. Her beautiful copper hair is styled into loose curls, she is clad in all black, a tube top, a mini skirt and tall boots as well as a slightly oversized leather jacket thrown overtop. She looks like the definition of a cool girl.

Everyone liked her. 

"So how are things with the roommates?" She asks me, her green eyes piercing mine, she has a slight smile on her perfect lips.

"It's fine," I lied, again. I knew Dina was getting tired of taking care of me when I was too drunk to make my own way home, all of the girls that Ellie brought over hated me. I haven't been seeing much of Abby but Cat and I were actually good.

I can tell that Kayla doubts my words but she carries on to another topic "Are you ready to get fucked up tonight?"

"Yes, ma'am," I giggle. Around the curved bar, I see a woman, she's in a red top and black jeans, her hair in a mousy brown shag cut. Obviously, she caught my eye. "Do you think she's gay?"

Kayla discreetly turns to look at the woman, she turns back to me grinning "No shit."

The woman catches me staring at her and smiles at me, of course, she has perfectly straight white teeth and a pretty smile. I sheepishly smile back "Hey, Mitch?" I wait for the bartender to give me his attention "Two shots of Everclear?"

That's how the majority of my night plays out; I dance for a minute, swaying to- not really swaying, I was dancing in a way that became a hazard to those around me then return to the bar to down more drinks.

"Hey," I hear a voice beside me, it isn't one I recognize, and when I face it, I feel my heartbeat pick up. It was the woman I had been eyeing, now that she's this close I can see the freckles scattered on her face. "Do you wanna dance?"

I can't help when my face splits into a smile, "For sure," I slip off the barstool and follow her onto the dancefloor, the lights are orange and hazy or maybe the haziness is caused by my drunken state. The woman says something to me but it's drowned out by the overwhelmingly loud music "What?" 

"I'm Karris," She repeats, smiling down at me.

"Cool!" I say. I followed Karris' lead with the dancing, she had a certain confidence in her. 

I swayed with each ungraceful movement. Karris, the opposite of me is attuned to the music, moved with a confident fluidity that balanced out my careless stumbles. She laughs at my dancing "Here, I'll help you out." She shouts, trying to be heard over the Rhianna song blasting in my ears.

She comes up behind me, snaking her hands down my torso until they find a resting spot on my hips. With a firm grip, she slows me down, and now I'm moving with her, as one.

My sequin dress shimmered with every twist and move, like a mirrorball, I too might hang. As the light shifts I could've sworn I saw Ellie in the face of Karris. 

I felt the liquor hit me all at once and my body became loose, melting into Karris, I'm almost limp against her touch. She's in front of me now and my arms are hooked around her neck while her slim hands lay on her midriff. 

Her eyebrows furrow as she says something to me but once again it it lost in all of the noise, I just laugh, pretending like I heard what she was saying and hoping that it wasn't something about her dog dying.

The pop song changes into some song in French, I can't make out the words. Wait, I aced every French test in high school, I step away from Karris, squinting my eyes as I stand still in the middle of the dancefloor trying to process the lyrics.

 Je veux te voir- I need you, no, that doesn't sound right. I want to see you, that's it. 

 je veux t'avoir- I want to hold you.

I want to hold you? Is that it? When did my French get so rough? I can't even think straight.

I swear on every god I was so drunk that I forgot I was in the middle of a dancefloor, it had slipped from my mind that I was dancing with someone, and all I could think about was my French classes from high school.

Age fifteen - Grade 10

The French lesson seemed to be even more boring than usual that day. Monsieur Cargin was babbling on and on about how there could be a room full of women but if there was one male rat you would refer to them using ils instead of elles. It was the same lesson I had learned every single year in French.

It took Monsieur Cargin thirty minutes to announce the project. "Pour ce devoir, vous écrirez une lettre à un camarade de classe sur vous-même, vous pourrez inclure des informations sur votre famille, vos passe-temps, vos sujets préférés et peut-être un bon souvenir. Si vous êtes ami avec votre partenaire, vous pouvez écrire avec lui sur quelque chose que vous attendez avec impatience. La lettre fera au minimum un paragraphe, je viserais plus haut si vous voulez une bonne note." Easy enough, a letter to a classmate about your self. "Avant de demander, vous pouvez choisir vos propres partenaires."

I look right over to Ellie from across the room after he mentions choosing our own partners, she doesn't meet my gaze though, she looks as lost as ever, rifling through some papers in her binder and I'm not even sure she understood a word of what the teacher said.

Monsieur Cargin lets us begin our project, everyone gets up from their seat to search for a partner; Ellie, seeing that everyone is standing up, gets up as well. I wave her down to my desk, she crouches beside it and asks "What the fuck are we supposed to be doing?"

I explain the project to her while she hangs off my desk and nods at everything I'm saying, giving me her full attention "Do you get it now?"

"Yes." 

The next day we finished writing the letters and had to give them to each other before we turned it in, I gave Ellie my letter first.

Ellie,

Je suis heureux que nous soyons amis, non seulement parce que nos parents nous ont forcés à l'être, mais parce que tu es mon âme sœur dans chaque vie. J'aimerais te parler de moi, mais tu me connais déjà mieux que moi-même, alors je vais juste dire certaines choses que je sais sur toi. Vous avez lu chaque couverture de la bande dessinée Savage Starlight, plus d'une fois. Je sais que vous aimez faire du shopping dans la section hommes des magasins parce que vous pensez que c'est plus confortable même si vous finissez par ressembler à Adam Sandler. Vous détestez les mathématiques même si vous êtes vraiment bon dans ce domaine et vous aimez l'anglais même si vous détestez les études romanesques. Vous parlez à toute vitesse parce que vous avez tellement de choses à dire et pas assez de temps pour le dire, vous chantez comme une église avec une chorale et chaque fois que je vous vois entrer dans une pièce, je ne peux m'empêcher de sourire. J'ai hâte d'entrer à l'université, nous pouvons être colocataires et décorer la maison exactement comme nous le voulons, merci de toujours me supporter.

(Translation)

Ellie,

I'm glad that we're friends, not just because our parents forced us to be but because you are my soulmate in every single life. I would like to tell you about me, but you already know me better than I know myself so instead I will just say some things I know about you. You have read every Savage Starlight comic cover to cover, more than once. I know that you like to shop in the men's section at stores because you think it's more comfortable even if you end up looking like Adam Sandler. You hate math even though you are really good at it and you love English even though you hate novel studies. You talk at a mile a minute because you have so much to say and not enough time to say it, you sing like a church with a choir in it and every time I see you walk into a room I can't help but smile. I can't wait for college, we can be roommates and decorate the house exactly how we want it, thank you for always putting up with me.

I bent the rubric a little bit, talking about Ellie rather than myself but we were really getting graded on our French comprehension, not the subject matter of the letter. Ellie read it through, over and over, nodding her head along and pretending that it made perfect sense but I can tell by the way she squints her eyes and furrows her eyebrows that it doesn't make sense. She hand hers to me next, pride clear across her face.

Ton père est toujours en colère et je pense que c'est pour ça que nous sommes mariés. J'apprécie quand tu dors dans ma chambre et que nous nous battons avec des pistolets à eau. Mon film préféré à regarder est Star Wars, mais j'apprécie aussi Hunger Games parce que vous en êtes témoin. J'attends avec impatience une soirée cinéma ce vendredi avec vous. Tu es très cool, merci d'être mon ami.

(Translation)

Your dad is always mad and I think that is why we are married. I enjoy when you sleep at my room and we fight with guns of water. My favourite movie to watch is Star Wars but I also enjoy Hunger games because you witness it. I look forward to night movie this Friday because with you. You are very cool, thank for being my friend.

I can't help but giggle when I read it over, this causes panic in Ellie "Why are you laughing, what's wrong with it?"

"I love you but you are definitely failing."

I quickly helped her rewrite it before we turned it in, and she ended up getting a B with my revisions.

"Are you okay?" I hear Karris, she looks a little on edge, probably because I went nonverbal and froze for a solid minute or two.

"She's fine," Kayla puts her hands on either of my arms which are currently plastered to my side "I'm just gonna snag her for a minute if you don't mind." Kayla didn't wait for a response she was already dragging me away, guiding me through the sea of people and into the bathroom.

I always hated the bathroom here. The walls were black tile with white grout and there was graffiti all over the stalls and ceiling, apparently, it added to the effect, I just thought it was fugly; not to mention how dimly lit it was, there were red LED strips behind the mirrors but that was about the only light source. If you were trying to fix your eyeliner, you 

"What is going on with you?" Kayla leans against the counter with the sinks, I'm right in front of her with my arms crossed.

"Nothing-

"I just saw you glitch in real life," She raises her eyebrows "You literally froze, I thought you were having a stroke."

I wipe some sweat off my brow "My head hurts," I mutter, I've already had too much to drink and we really hadn't been there that long. My thoughts didn't seem to process. Now keep in mind that I was so insanely plastered that night that I don't remember everything verbatim, I had to take others' words for what happened.

"Do you want an aspirin?" Kayla asks to which I nod and she begins digging through her purse, she pulls out a little bottle and I hear the rattling of pills. It's so dark that I can only make out the vague shape of the bottle. She places a little pill into my hand and gives me a half-drunk bottle of Fiji water in my free hand.

I don't need the water though, I dry swallow it.

She tucks the bottle back into her purse and feels something, I see her eyes go wide and that alone begins to stress me out. "What?" I ask, with no answer. She dumps her purse onto the counter behind her and turns on her phone flash to look at each item, she snatches a bottle of Tylenol and takes the cap off just for her hand to fly over her mouth. "Is something wrong?"

"I didn't give you aspirin," She's fighting back laughter but her dainty features are etched with concern.

"So?" I say, "It's just Tylenol, it won't kill me," My speech is slurred from the alcohol in my system.

"Honey, it's not Tylenol," She lowers her hand from her mouth, pressing her lips together tight. "It's MDMA."

"What?"

"Ecstasy," She corrects herself, making it easier for me to understand.

"WHAT?" My eyes go wide and my jaw drops "WHAT?" I repeat, running over to one of the nasty graffiti-covered stalls and kneeling in front of it, sticking my fingers down my throat to try and throw up to get it out of my system before it sets in. "Say something gross to make me throw up!"

"Uhh," Kayla stood behind me "Think of your dad getting off with your grandma!"

"EW!" I shout, turning to look at her with disgust on my face. "Why would you say that?"

"You told me to say something gross!"

"Not that!" I cry, slouching against the stall. I wish I had a time machine, I wouldn't just go back four hours, I would go back four years and make sure I play everything right. Maybe then I wouldn't be drunk and high in the bathroom of a dingy nightclub and I would still have Ellie.

"It's okay, honey, It's clean," Kayla walks closer to me, the heels of her boots clacking on the tile "I promise," She offers me a little rub on the shoulder "I promise I'll take good care of you tonight and make sure you're safe."

She was lying through her teeth, and just an hour later I was face down on the bar, lulling in and out of consciousness. That is the exact moment I started to think it wasn't clean like Kayla had said. My high didn't feel like what I was told rolling was like.

At first, I felt fine and then everything started to feel off. You know when you spin around a bunch super fast and your world spins under your feet? It was like that. 

Before I retired to the bar, I tried to get back on the dancefloor just for my body to betray me and collapse onto the ground, people around me had stopped to watch me stagger back onto my feet and wordlessly stumble away.

After I lift my head off the spruce bartop and don't see Kayla anywhere in sight for the seventh time, I reach for my phone that I had stuffed into my bra and dial up Dina. 

I hear the hum of the tone before it clicks and I hear her static voice on the other end. "Hello?" Her voice crackles.

"Dina, I'm on drugs."

"What?" I hear some shuffling in the background then what sounds like the click of a door "What drugs? are you okay?"

"I don't know," My voice drags out "Kayla took it out of her purse, said it was MMA and I'm not-" I hiccup "I'm not doing well."

"What the hell is MMA? Isn't that mixed martial arts?"

"Dina, I'm not doing martial arts, I'm doing drugs."

She sighs and I can feel her disappointment through the phone "Are you still at Monarch?"

"Yes."

"Hang on," Something shifts in the background.

"I'm kind of scared."

"Please just stay where you are-

"I love you, Dina."

"I lo- CLICK

My phone dies, and the screen turns black. I click some buttons for a moment to ensure that it's dead before I tuck it back into my bra and let myself lull back onto the bar, I rest my head on my arms and look at the displays of liquor surrounding me.

I lose track of the time that passes, in my head I am just about the win the 72nd Hunger Games, it's down to me and another tribute. There's an intense fight, I wind up underneath her and she presses a blade to my throat, I get a good look at her face and see Ellie but her face doesn't stay the same. It morphs through every version of her I had ever known. When we were seven, her grunge phase, when she let me do her makeup. This is when I give up, I know I don't have it in me to kill her so I lay limp and await my fate-

"Hey," A man sits next to me, his presence stood out effortlessly. With a strong, chiselled jawline and well-defined features, his face carried an air of that old-money elegance. His hazel eyes were softened by something (alcohol, probably), drawing others into their captivating gaze. Dark, tousled hair framed his face, adding an intriguing touch of ruggedness. He is clad in a white button-up and dress pants, I can well he's a blue-collar man just from the way he sits.

"What?" I squint my eyes at him.

"You're really pretty, I thought I would introduce myself," He smiles "I'm Emmet."

"Okay," I answer turning my attention to look ahead at the liquor display, watching the way the lights shone through them. Right now I don't care to make conversation, even if he looks like Henry Cavell, I'm fighting to stay awake.

One of his bulky hands reaches for my necklace, four of his fingers are beneath the cross, pressed against it while his thumb rubs it "You're religious."

I look down where he cradles my cross and try to jerk away but my body feels too heavy "Not anymore," I mutter. I put one of my hands over his to move it off me, he takes this as an invitation to hold my hand.

Emmet brings his head next to mine to whisper in my ear "So does that mean you're a good girl or a bad girl-

"It means she's leaving, actually," Ellie pushes him away abruptly, he looks taken aback while she doesn't give a shit. She begins to gingerly help me off the stool "Do you have everything?"

"Why are you here?" I ask "I called Abby."

"You called Dina and she's on the other side of town with her boyfriend so she sent me." Ellie slings one arm around me and I sink into her immediately.

"I hate you so much," I murmur under my breath.

"Yeah, I bet you do," She is gentle with me, she's treating me like I'm made of porcelain and I'll shatter at the slightest bit of harm.

Emmet looks crazily offended, his hands up in defence "Hey, we were having a conversation-

"Borderline harassment doesn't constitute a conversation." Ellie looks like she rolled out of bed, she is in her grey sweatpants and field hockey hoodie, her hair in the low ponytail she always wore to sleep. "Are you okay?" She asks, her tone shifting from harsh to soft.

"Mhm," I ball my fist up and rub my eye, smearing my mascara when I do so, I look down at my hand and see the remnants of my telescopic mascara and silver glitter smudged on it. 

I am killing myself slowly and it is no crucifixion. 

As Ellie helps me into the back seat of her car I feel like mold is growing on my bones just to way me down to the concrete where I will surely rot. "I don't write enough," I mumble "And I'm so lonely I'm searching for god everywhere but I can't find him."

Ellie gives me a little hum of acknowledgment her eyes briefly shooting to me in the rearview mirror before looking back to the road. 

"Don't worry, I'm not in love with you anymore," I say nonchalantly as I'm sprawled out in her back seat, watching the light from neon signs pass us by.

"I didn't know you ever were." She says softly, hands on the steering wheel, she steals glances at me. The towering skyscrapers loomed like sentinels, their reflective glass surfaces capturing the myriad colours of neon signs that adorned the streets.

"I hate you," I add on. The mix of liquor and whatever drug Kayla gave me was doing me justice, I couldn't hold back any thought, they all fell from my lips in a jumbled mess. "I hope you die, I hope we both die." Ellie doesn't have anything to say to that. I think to myself that if I die in this moment, I would not be afraid, I would greet death like an old friend with a bright smile and warm hug. "I don't love anyone the way I love you," My head lulls against the window "And your girls, they all hate me."

"So which is it?" She asks, feeding into my tangent "Do you love me or do you hate me?"

"I-" I think about it for a brief moment "I hope if I killed myself everyone who was ever mean to me felt responsible." I look up slightly, using the car seats to help me steady myself "What are you doing?"

"I'm taking you home," She says, biting the inside of her cheek "What are you doing?"

"I'm waiting for god to call me back."

I ramble on and on, it's a miracle that she didn't stop at the side of the road and dump me onto a curb. The traffic lights painted the road in hues of red and green, and the city lights flickered like stars, helping us find our way home. 

"Ellie," I say, a building up ahead catches my eyes "Ellie, pull over!" She thinks I'm going to throw up so she pulls her gray sedan over, as swiftly as possible. I stumble out of the car, my stiletto heel catches the ground in a weird way, my ankle goes sideways and I fall with it.

"Shit," Ellie rushes from the driver's seat to help me sit up straight. I use her as support to pull myself off the concrete sidewalk completely and walk towards the church up ahead like a zombie "Where are you going?"

"To clean myself from sin," I approach the church and force the heavy doors open; I knew for a fact even in my state that this church had its chapel open twenty-four hours from all of the Google pins my mom sent me when I first moved here. 

The chapel's interior was bathed in a soft, ethereal moonlight that filtered through stained glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colours upon the polished wooden pews below. 

Smooth, cool stone formed the foundation of the chapel. The high, arched ceilings reached towards the heavens, adorned with wooden beams that seemed to cradle the sacred space below. The acoustics, shaped by the architecture, lent an echo to the moonlight whisper as if the very walls absorbed and magnified the prayers of the faithful.

Rows of meticulously arranged pews lined either side of a central aisle, leading towards the altar bathed in a soft glow. Carved with intricate detail, the altar served as the focal point, adorned with candles, floral arrangements, and sacred symbols. The air was scented with the subtle fragrance of incense, a sensory companion to the spiritual journey within.

Throughout the chapel, unlit candles are spread throughout. Above the altar, a crucifix hung solemnly, a symbol of sacrifice and redemption. Rays of moonlight seemed to converge upon it, imbuing the sacred symbol with a profound sense of grace. 

I try to compose myself the way you would a song or a speech and fall to my knees before the altar, clasping my hands together tightly. "My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Our Savior Jesus Christ suffered and died for us. I wake young but feel as though my bones have resided on this earth for centuries."

I am at his altar but I don't feel him around me, where is his steady hand which used to guide me?

My hands grasp together even tighter "I am filthy, I'm disgusting," I choke out "I'm all used up and I need you to help me get better," I break my hands away from their position to wipe my eyes free of any oncoming tears before putting them right back "Fill me with your purity, I will be waterboarded by your sacred hand until holy water leaks from my pores."

Ellie hangs around by the entrance, sketched out by not only the creepy church but also my off-putting behaviour. She flinches at every shadow she sees, believing it to be a homeless person who was residing there for the night. I'm kneeling over in my sequin dress, one of the straps slips down my shoulder and my dress rides up, this is the most sinful I have ever been, synthetic sunshine coursing through my system.

"Make me love myself so I have room to love you," I feel so repulsive and dirty, soap and water won't make me feel clean so I'll try bleach and matches instead "I ask for Your mercy and grace to cleanse me from all unrighteousness. Create in me a clean heart, God, and renew a right spirit within me, return my family to my side."

I search for some sort of sign that he is watching over me.

Nothing.

No sign that he is here.

The priest at my old church in my hometown had said that without doubt there was no room for faith. It wasn't doubt, it was absolution, he is not here and so I unclasped my golden cross necklace and discarded it on the ground before the altar, never again will I be haunted by a man who has failed to ever show me mercy.

Ellie washes the grime off me with the detachable shower head. My hair is clipped up and I am hugging my knees, facing away from her in the bathtub. I feel a profound sense of shame and embarrassment all over again despite everything within me that is helping to take the edge off. 

She holds the shower head but looks away to give me some false sense of dignity, I cried the whole way home from the church about being filthy but with how many times I had fallen over, she didn't want me to hit my head in the shower so we settled on this.

"I'm done," I mutter and right away Ellie turns the shower off and grabs my house robe from one of the hooks on the door, she holds it up and waits for me to stand, still averting her eyes. I stand slowly, gripping onto the rim of the tub for dear life. When I slip into it, Ellie helps me move out of the bathtub and into my bedroom.

She lifts me onto the bed and tucks me in beneath my satin duvet cover. Ellie leaves for a moment but when she returns she has a bowl in case I need to vomit, a class of water, a sleeve of saltines and a bottle of actual aspirin.

"Goodnight," She begins to shut the door but I stop her.

"Ellie?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you stay with me?" My voice breaks as I say it "Just for tonight, I don't want to be alone." Wordlessly, she shuts the door and comes around the right side of my bed; Ellie is careful keep her distance from me but unlike Christmas, we face each other. "I don't hate you." I tell her because that is all I could recall saying in the car ride.

"I know."

"Do you hate me?"

"Of course not."

I don’t think I’m a whole person anymore, I think I’m made up from a dozen different perceptions of me. This version of me, born that night was anything but pure.

I am unlovely, so please, hold me gently and do not wreck me any further.

A/N: The drinking age in Canada is nineteen! They go to school in the true north strong and free. Also one more part left to go 👀

Tag list!

@elliesaturnsoftdrink @elliesaesp @melanie-watermelon @yalaysbee @laundrybag29 @readbydayana @skylerwhitwyo @lmaoo-spiderman @joliettes @kittnii @taylorgracies @sameenatruther @mikellie @belles-hell

Sorry if I missed anyone!

[grims-sunshine]

🤍 Where I'm supposed to be 🤍

Summary: Tav (aka the reader) is taking care of Astarion after defeating Cazador.

Word count: 1.5k

Pairing: Astarion x Tav/Reader

Tags: Hurt / comfort; I think this is called reverse comfort? (When the reader comforts the character); lots of mentions of blood; Not 100% canon compliant but it's just minor details/ me not wanting to simply retell what happens in the game

A heavy silence falls over the crypt as Astarion sinks to his knees. You almost preferred it when he was still screaming. The current silence feels like a dark presence stretching over you, making it difficult to breathe.

You can sense that your other companions are just as uneasy as you are. Karlach uneasily fumbles with the handle of her weapon and Gale is biting his lip while staring at the gory scene in front of you with Astarion as its main actor.

They're clearly struggling to decide what to do now. So are you.

Your first instinct is to hug Astarion, to fuss over him and make sure he isn't injured, but you're not sure he wants to be touched right now. However, just standing there watching him doesn't feel right either.

"Astarion?" You finally ask, taking a small step towards him, carefully stretching out your hand like you're talking to a wild animal. He doesn't react. His eyes are fixated on the dead body of his former master in front of him, almost like he's waiting for Cazador to jump up and start mocking him again. Like the moment he looks away, Cazador will return back to life and continue to attack.

You follow his stare, seeing the multiple stab wounds and the puddle of blood he's lying in. No, that bastard is dead.

You kneel down next to Astarion, placing a hand on his shoulder. If he noticed you at all, he isn't showing it. You look at him, trying to make out any immediate signs of injuries. He doesn't appear to be hurt, but you do notice the slight tremble of his bottom lip and the way his eyes swell up with tears. You gently pull him towards you, wrapping your arms around him. Astarion doesn't resist, letting his head sink into your chest.

He's completely still for a few moments, then the previous silence is broken by a series of loud sobs. Astarion's hands grasp the back of your shirt, fists balling together like he's scared you'll disappear. He trembles in your arms and you pull him even closer. You run a hand through Astarion's hair in an attempt to soothe him, even if just a little bit. It's sticky with blood, but you hardly notice that.

"It's okay, love. He won't hurt you anymore," you whisper in his ear, your other hand gently stroking his back. He only sobs louder in response, but it seems to help him breathe a little more evenly.

You're interrupted by the other spawn approaching. They still appear in just as much shock as Astarion, eyeing the corpse of their former master like they, too, can't believe he's really gone yet.

"Well… What now?" One of them eventually asks, all of them turning to Astarion like they expect guidance from him now.

You look over to your companions, hoping one of them might step in to redirect the spawn. But before any of them can say something, Astarion loosens his grip of you, getting up with his back straightened.

He's still sniffling a little, but already looks far more composed than before. Or, at least he tries to look composed.

Perhaps he even manages to convince everyone else that he's really okay. However, you can't help but notice the slight tremble in his legs as he walks over to pick up Cazador's staff, and the way he's fighting to keep his voice steady while talking to the others.

You've spent enough time around him, observing his mannerisms, to know when he's putting on a show. As much as he tries to appear alright, in truth he's far from being okay.

As Astarion's siblings leave, his eyes trail after them, staring off into the distance even after they're long gone. You put a hand on his shoulder, hoping to break him out of his trance. "Astarion, are you alr-" He cuts you off.

“Let’s just go home. I've had enough of this place," he says without turning around, just loud enough for you to hear.

You only nod in response and Astarion starts walking, the rest of your party following close behind.

Nobody says a word on your way back to Elfsong Tavern. Yet, you grow increasingly worried for Astarion. He looks like he's barely holding himself together, while pushing his emotions as far down as possible. You can only hope he'll open up to you later, rather than trying to pretend the events of tonight never happened.

The moment you reach Elfsong Tavern, Astarion drags himself upstairs to the floor you rented, straight to his bed where he sits down, staring at the wall. You contemplate whether it would be best to leave him alone with his thoughts for the time being, or whether you should try talking to him.

Eventually you decide to just sit down next to him, quietly reaching for his hand. "Just so you know," you start, "you don't have to talk right now if you don't want to. But I'm here for you."

Astarion nods in response, ever so slightly squeezing your hand.

You don't know how much time passes like this, but Astarion eventually breaks the silence, almost startling you with how suddenly he starts speaking.

“Do you think I made the right decision back there?” His voice doesn't have its usual smoothness to it as he speaks. Instead, it sounds sore and raspy. He just sounds tired.

“Yes.” You say it wholeheartedly, not even having to think before you respond. Astarion made the right decision - Of that you’re sure. “You’ve proven you’re better than Cazador. You didn't cause others to suffer for your own benefit. You made sure he'll never hurt anyone again. I’m absolutely certain you made the right decision.”

Astarion hums, nodding slowly as if he's contemplating your words. “At least one of us is sure, then. I really hope you’re correct.” He sighs and runs a hand over his face. "I'm not so certain I did the right thing. But maybe I should trust your judgment while I can't think straight."

You squeeze his hand tightly, and he gives a weak squeeze back. “Give it a while for everything to settle down,” you suggest, gently. “Once you’ve had some time to work through all this, I’m sure you’ll see things have worked out for the better.” He just grunts in response, letting his head sink against your shoulder. You sit like that in silence for a while, and you can tell he’s on the brink of falling asleep.

“Hey, how about we get all this blood off you and go to sleep?” You suggest, running a hand through his hair. Astarion just nods, allowing you to pull him along and lead him towards the small bathtub in the bathroom.

You run some warm water and grab a sponge while Astarion sits in the tub. Under normal circumstances he probably wouldn't let you take care of him like this, but tonight he doesn’t protest as you run the sponge over his skin, making sure to wash off the blood still sticking to his skin. He even closes his eyes for a while, completely giving himself into the care of your gentle touch as you run the water over his head in an attempt to get the blood splatters out of his hair.

Once you're sure you've gotten rid of all the blood, you bring Astarion a towel, wrapping it around him.

He sits there and watches as you grab a second towel, using it to dry his hair.

As you're about to put the towel away, you suddenly find Astarion's arms finding their way around your waist, pulling you close enough for him to rest his head against your torso.

You freeze in place, only moving enough to drop the towel and run your hand through Astarion's still damp hair. Just by his expression you can tell he needs to be close to you right now, and you have no intention of denying him that comfort.

After a while of being together like this in silence, you gently nudge Astarion. "Let's get you to bed, alright? It'll be much more comfortable there."

Astarion seems reluctant to let go of you, finally agrees to it after you promise not to leave his side for the night (not that you would've done so either way).

As he climbs into bed, you lie down next to him, pulling him into your arms. Astarion seems happy to rest his head on your chest. He seems almost peaceful like this, listening to your heartbeat while you run a hand across his back with gentle strokes.

"Thank you. For taking care of me… And for stopping me from probably making a big mistake. It's good to have someone looking out for me for once," Astarion mumbles, sounding like he's on the edge of falling asleep.

You run a hand through his still damp hair. "Don't mention it. You would've done the same for me." You press a kiss to his forehead, catching a glimpse of the slightest smile curling Astarion's lips. "And I hope you know you can always rely on me."

Astarion nods, hugging you a little tighter. "Yes. And I'm grateful for that, too."

Soon after, the only thing you hear is Astarion's soft breaths as he drifts off to sleep. You can only hope the next day will be a little brighter for him. But if not, he still has you to rely on.

Thank you for reading 🤍

Title was inspired by this

[hatsukeii]

i caved in guys…i went and read the manga…and now i can’t get them out of my head…

call it fate, call it karma / gojo satoru x reader

genre(s): angst + hurt/comfort, sadness, gojo is a poor unfortunate soul :( conflicting intentions/feelings, tbh he js needs a hug and you can be the one to give it to him!! i do twist up the canon timeline a little bit so apologies for that but it's all for continuity's sake!! im debating over whether this should end well or not but i'll let time decide ;P

warning(s): um idk jjk spoilers for s2 and jjk 0? just sad tbh but no nsfw or anything so dw!!

wc: 1564

tldr; close the door, not all the way.

Fires of cursed energy burn at Gojo Satoru's body as he towers above the corpse of Geto Suguru. He reeks of blood, hands shaky despite barely exerting any power to finally end Suguru's maniac rampage, and his bloodshot eyes train onto the crater pushed into the cavity of his chest, mutilated by his hand.

"You were my one and only best friend, Suguru."

Palms move towards the hanging head as Satoru conjures up the inferno of cursed energy that plagues his body. His eyes sting beneath his blindfold, the energy can't seem to emanate from his fingers.

Enough.

He's already dead. Suguru is not going to get up, he isn't coming back, he can't do anything but slump against the fucking wall, blood pooling at the ground beneath him.

So Satoru shoves his hands back into his pockets, forcing the cursed energy back into his body like a rag soaking up fresh vomit, and runs.

The first time Gojo Satoru shows up at your doorstep unannounced, it is following the death of Geto Suguru, special grade curse user, Tokyo Jujutsu High alum, his best friend gone rogue. He knocks at the door in the rhythmic code that you have established long ago in the secrecy of your usual meeting spot- some alleyway of Shibuya. With two knocks, then a pause, then three, he invites himself in. You sit at the couch, eyes trained on the television as yet another report of mass destruction has graced regional news. You, his beautiful, yet fragile secret behind closed doors, the light at the end of a tunnel, something he swore to never come back to, not in times like these.

"Satoru?" No one has called him that name in years.

The house is silent, spare from the droning news report on the channel. The door shuts gently behind Satoru as he steps his shoes off, and slumps into your floor. You frown, a pang of something bitter plucking at your throat. Something has gone unequivocally wrong. Glances are taken at the faded streaks of dried blood on his hands, his blindfold sitting looser than usual on his nose, his fingers gripping at his hair until strands begin falling off. He rips off the fabric above his eyes, setting his vision free as he soaks in his surroundings; the shuffling of your feet on the hard ground, the city lights that seep into your living room in streaks of yellow and white, your gradually approaching figure.

"Turn it off, Satoru." He turned it off before even reaching for your door.

"It already is."

Your hands pry his own away from his hair, ignoring the stench of death that wafts from his body as you hold them together and bring them to your lips. His breathing finally finds its pace, slowing from frantic hiccups to normal exhalation. Gojo Satoru alone is the strongest, yet in your wake, he is the smallest man alive.

"He's gone. Suguru. He's not coming back."

Your heart drops at the revelation, and Satoru gets up from the ground, pulling you with him as he walks towards your room. Tears begin welling in your own eyes at the sight of his despair, before they ever begin to even form as a knot in his throat. The bags of his eyes suddenly seem this much darker, the twitching of his fingers by his side growing into erratic trembling. Gojo Satoru has killed many before, taken thousands of heads clean off bodies without a second thought, yet the mangled state of Suguru's corpse is everywhere; on your couch, at your desk, through the hallway too. It's all a little too much, a little too fast.

"Satoru..." His name spilling out of your mouth feels exactly as it should. Like home.

His lips quiver, and he collapses into your body, sending both of you into your bed. You toy with his hair, scratching his head the only way you know. Satoru is unmoving, eerily serene as he buries his face into your chest, warm heaves diminishing into small breaths as he passes out in your arms. You hold him in your crossed arms, carving out the perfect cradle for his head to fit into. Fingers continue to massage at his head, and for just a moment he is just Gojo Satoru, rid of the special grade title, stripped of the burden to be the honoured one, away from the despair of Jujutsu.

He leaves the next morning, careful not to wake you, and he swears he will never return. Not when you can live away from the grasp of curses that plague his every waking hour. Not when you can live the life he will never be able to give you.

The next time Gojo Satoru turns up at your doorstep unannounced, it is almost one year later. His arms are heavy, feet dragging along the ground to your apartment. He swore that he would never return, especially not in times like these. You have waited, God, you have waited so patiently. You replayed his head against your chest every night, heart heavy at every passing thought of Gojo Satoru, the man whom you understood from the inside out, but never managed to keep around for long. After one year, the knocks still resonate throughout your apartment; two, pause, then three. The door unlocks, and Satoru selfishly invites himself in at midnight, the same way he did a year ago.

"Satoru?" He has not heard this name in a year, nearly forgotten by most, even himself.

He stumbles towards you on the couch, legs giving out from beneath him as he falls into the plush fabric. He is frail, almost sickly pale, and you shoot up, rushing towards the kitchen to fix him something, anything to help.

"I can't stay." He wants to punch himself for confessing it.

You snap around, glaring at Satoru, who groggily props himself back up from your couch. Like hell he isn't staying, he can barely walk straight.

"Yes you are. You are staying right fucking here, Gojo Satoru."

He doesn't think you understand, rightfully so. You did not see him in that box, waiting day after day to break free. You could not find him beyond the world of the ordinary, uttering baseless prayers to a God that he doesn't believe exists, begging to see you once more before whatever awaits him. You don't know of the promises he has made to keep you safe, which meant keeping himself as far away from you as possible. He swore to never come back, no matter how badly he needed to relish in the mundane for just a fleeting moment.

"I have to go after him, now. I can't let him destroy this world."

You storm towards him on the couch, panadol and hot water in hand as you set them down on the coffee table. It's not much, but it's what you can do.

"Then why did you come back here?"

Satoru's words gather at the base of his throat, too many to release at once. No, he isn't sure why he came back here either, after swearing a million times to never return, for your sake. Yet his questions are answered as you lunge forwards into him, chest heaving and rising frantically as you weep into his shoulder, arms around his neck.

"You were gone for a year, Satoru!" He knows, and he would kill himself a hundred times over if it means you would forgive him.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"So, I'm telling you to stay this time! Don't leave again!"

He readjusts his position to prop himself upright, bringing an arm to the back of your neck as he holds you closer, closer than he ever has before. Pressing a soft kiss into your pulse, his lashes tickle your skin as he stays there. Just for a little longer, he pleads with the ticking clock that taunts him, begging to be the weakest man alive, to be nothing but Satoru, the name that rolls off your tongue in velvety syllables. He squeezes you against his body, and his mind tells him to let go, to release you from the torment that is his existence.

Yet he cannot bring himself to do it, even as the curses run amok across Japan, destroying everything in their wake. He is selfish, thoughtless for any other that is not you.

Until you pull away from him, nose running and dried tears staining your skin. His thumb presses into the streaks, rubbing them dry. He presses kisses into where the tears drew their lines, holding your face in his hands. You shake your head and get up from your position. You know that he means it when he says he has to go.

After all, he is Gojo Satoru, because he is the strongest.

"Go. They need you."

Satoru crawls off your couch, stepping towards you one last time. His hands find your face again, and he holds it tenderly, like it might shatter if he so much as moves. He takes in your eyes, and your hair, and your lips, and everything that is conceivable about you, who he swears he can never come back to, but knows he selfishly will anyways.

He betrays his promise one last time.

"Don't close the door all the way on me, please."

"It never is, Satoru."

author's notes:

YALL i really needed to write angsty gojo as a jjk debut to this account because i feel like all i see is smut and dad gojo or like super smitten gojo but like no i need his heart to fucking BREAK and i need your hearts to break with his too!! sorry not!! this is what true gojo is like and i will actually die on this hill alone if i have to!!

i genuinely hope you guys like it though i thought it up after a martini and two sake shots and literally just fleshed it out when i was fully sober again and i had this whole idea but then the pacing was hard to balance so i had to cut some stuff out because it would be too long and drone on and i was NOT ready to write another 7k fic today sooo

anyways tags!!!

@chuuya-brainrot @starlysama @fiannee @bailey-reeds @catsoupki @akaakeis @hiraethwa

ok i love u guys bye bye until the next one

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♱ ₮ⱧɆ ⱧɄ₦₲ɆⱤ: Ø₦Ɇ ♱

♱ Pairings: boyfriend!yungi x chubby!fem!zombie!reader

♱ Genre: horror/angst/fluff/a micro drop of smut

♱ Summary: On your way back home from a party you and your boyfriends get into a terrible accident. While they walk away nearly unscathed, you don't walk away at all. The next day while mourning their loss your reanimated corpse finds its way back home and sparks their journey down a very bloody road that pushes the limits of what exactly they're willing to do for love.

♱ Word Count: 3.5k-ish

♱ Warnings: you're dead, babes, sorry. Undead technically. Mentions of a car accident, some grieving, light descriptions of your undead body, technically necrophilia, blood play, blood drinking, a lil smidge of cannibalism if you squint, masochism, Yungi are like really obsessively dedicated to you, kissing, and a handjob to top off this totally normal list of warnings.

♱ A/N: If you're reading this I'm assuming you're also a fellow horror lover so, hello my love. I've been working on creating a lot of horror series lately and this is one of them. I'd consider this like the lightest appetizer, the bread before the meal so to speak. An intro before we head into a world of full blown erotic cannibalism, murder, dismemberment, ya know, fun wholesome things that await in further entries. So if this is too icky for you I beg of you stop here. It'll only get worse.

The rain hasn’t stopped since. It began the moment you died. Sheets of it pouring down from the weeping and endless night sky. Down to the minute, down to the very second that doctors pronounced you dead. And even now, as the morning sun pries itself through a thick fog of gray clouds, it cascades around the quiet little house you called home. One that's been filled with sorrow because you’re lost. The two men inside seated opposite each other at the kitchen table, picking over a thrown together breakfast, have lost you.

And the rain…it hasn’t stopped since. 

But Mingi doesn’t mind. Everyone who needs to know has been informed and his phone has been on silent since. The rain’s an armor of sorts. Knowing no one can make the drive out to bother them in this weather has bought him the time he needs to accept a reality that doesn’t feel quite real yet. 

“You should eat something” Yunho insists, fork tapping at the edge of his ceramic plate, his own food untouched. He knows it’s nothing special, nothing close to the delicious meals they woke to everyday from you, but he poured everything he had into it.

Mingi raises an eyebrow, swirling the fork an inch or so above his plate before shoving the gleaming silver into the space between the cast on his left arm and his inflamed skin. Every human has two bones in their forearm. The ulna and the radius. Mingi walked away from the car accident having fractured both of them. Yunho, the driver, had gotten lucky with only a few cuts and bruises. A flesh wound to the abdomen. And you, well…

“Can you stop that?” Yunho asks, the sound of the metal back of Mingi’s fork scraping against plaster grating his ears. It isn’t his fault, though his heart aches in a thousand places thinking that it is. Mingi doesn’t blame him. He couldn’t have predicted the oncoming truck would swerve the way it did. No, he blames the world but, isolated between these eerily quiet walls, Yunho is all there is to it.

Mingi scratches faster, deriving some relief from the sting that comes along with it. “I’m sorry, is this bothering you?” 

Yunho breathes in and back out. In and back out again. Deep, full breaths meant to calm his boiling rage at that incessant screeching. Mingi doesn’t mean to do this. He’s just hurting. They both are. “Just ignore it” Yunho tells himself “Ignore him. Ignore the burning in the pit of your stomach. Ignore the tears.”

“Stop it before you hurt yourself!” Yunho shouts, snatching the fork from Mingi’s hand.

Blinking, his eyes dart over to his empty chair and back to a shocked Mingi. Yunho isn’t sure how he got over here. He doesn’t even remember getting up. A tear runs down his cheek, the exhaust from an overheated engine, and he swiftly wipes it away.

Mingi hangs his head, ashamed of his immaturity pushing Yunho a little too far. “I’m sorry” he says, sniffing back tears of his own, “But it hurts so much. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair. I just want her back”.

Yunho tosses the fork onto the table, taking Mingi into his arms just as he breaks down into tears, “I know, I want her back too. I’d give anything to see her smile or hear her call my name again.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A rattling at the front door lighter than a toddler’s, light enough that it’s nearly lost to the rain. “Yunie! Mingi!” a voice calls sweetly, broken and the faintest bit horse but distinctly yours. The blood in their veins runs ice cold, the color draining from their faces. The men look to each other, desperate for confirmation that they haven’t lost their minds. 

“Did you—” Mingi starts, rising from his chair, careful not to make a sound. 

Yunho nods, moving towards the front door, with Mingi close behind. They tiptoe down the hall, floorboards creaking here and there as they pass framed photos of the three of you together. “Open. Please. Cold. So cold” your voice croaks once more, Yunho’s fingers inches from grasping the doorknob.

Mingi slips off to the side, peeking through one of the curtains, and his heart nearly stops from what he sees. “Open the door! It’s her!” he shouts, pushing Yunho aside to unlock the door. 

Yunho slams it shut, unable to wrap his mind around what’s happening, “What do you mean it’s her? It can’t be her!”

“It’s her! I swear! Open the door!” Mingi begs, gripping the doorknob tightly enough that his hand’s begun to redden, “Yunho, please.” 

There has to be an explanation for this. Some shared hallucination fueled by their grief. They’re only hearing things, they must be, but Mingi seems to need this and Yunho can’t bring himself to deny him of it. “Okay” he sighs, backing away from the door, “Do it.”

Mingi wastes no time tearing it open, rain pouring in as you limp across the threshold. The two towering men shrink at the sight of you, terror freezing one where he stands and making the other retreat into a corner.  

Barefoot and soaking wet, you wear the tattered, blood stained dress you were rushed to the hospital in. In death your skin has paled, broken blood vessels giving your lips a light blue hue. Behind you is a trail of muddy footprints, marking your journey up the front stairs to this place you call home.

It’s a blur. Your death and your return. It’s all a series of broken memories, fragmented pieces of film that make you dizzy each time you attempt to piece them together. You can only recall a party filled with dancing and laughter. Headlights brighter than the sun. Screaming. A dark place. A coldness eating at your bones. Then, like magic, you were here, dragging yourself up to the front door with blistered feet and an unnerving stillness in your chest.

Turning to meet the faces of the men you love, faces that haven’t once failed to light up in your presence, you’re puzzled by their fear. Noticing Mingi’s injured arm, you run your fingers down his cast. 

“Mingi hurt?” you grunt softly. 

His eyes blur with tears and he blinks them away, quickly conjuring up a lie to soothe your worries. “Only a little. I was working on something out back and, well, you know how clumsy I can be, but it’s nothing” he says, smiling through the tears.

You return the comforting gesture with a smile of your own, placing a frozen palm against the warm wetness of his cheek. “Liar. Mingi hurt. And…sad?” 

“No, baby, not sad. I’m just happy to see you. We’re happy to see you, aren’t we?” Mingi looks to Yunho, confident that he feels the same way, but finds instead that he’s alone in his joy. 

Backed so far into a corner that he might as well be a part of the wood paneling, this is nothing short of a nightmare for him. This is unnatural. Far beyond anything that should be possible. You, the real you, is lying on a slab in a morgue somewhere. Whatever’s standing before him is something he can’t bring himself to trust. 

“Yunie hurt too?” you ask, turning your attention to the bruising around his jaw. You hobble over to him, nearly touching his hand before he snatches it away. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

His rejection is so alien to you that you don’t even process it as such, reaching out for him again. “Yun—”

Your fingers skim his, making his skin crawl. “Don’t touch me!” he yells, slinking clear of your grasp. “I don’t know what you are but you’re not her. She is dead. You are dead.”

“Me? Dead?” The word sends more memories racing through your head. The taste of wine. Your favorite. Mingi’s arms around your waist. A high pitched ringing in your ear. The beeping of machines. The visions drown you in an overwhelming sense of sadness that makes you want to crumble into pieces. 

“No! Don’t listen to him!” Mingi says, filling the space between you and Yunho,“You’re not dead, baby. You’re here with us and it’s a gift.” Ignoring the nagging pain of his injury, Mingi lifts you up into his arms, cradling you like a baby as he carries you up the stairs. 

“Now how about we get you cleaned up?”

“Take bath? Bubbles?”

Mingi laughs, smitten with you even in your undead form, “If that’s what you want, of course.” 

Yunho slides down to the floor, growing catatonic as he zones out to the sounds that come from above. The running of bathwater, his best friend’s laughter, and the broken words of some kind of monster. This has to be a nightmare. All he needs to do is wait it out until he wakes up. 

“Wake up” he whispers like Dorothy clicking her heels together three times to escape the land of Oz, “Wake up. Wake up…”

Two showers, one long bath, and a few hours cuddled under the blankets with Mingi. That’s all it takes for you to begin to look more like yourself. You’re far from what you used to be, signs of your time as a lifeless corpse still showing through, but you’re coming back to yourself and, however long that takes, Mingi’s more than willing to wait it out.

While you’ve refused to eat, despite the grumbling of your empty stomach, he’s managed to keep you happy with movies and games which now litter the bed and the area around it. Much to Mingi’s dismay, beating him at everything is something you picked up on quickly. You’ve only been back to life for a few hours and already you’re kicking his ass again.

“Play again?” you ask, excitedly spreading your winning Uno hand out on the blanket. 

Mingi yawns, the sleep he lost last night beginning to catch up with him, but he shuffles the deck for a new game anyway. He knows he can’t keep this up much longer. His lids are growing heavy and his focus is waning but he can’t, for any reason, allow himself to drift off to sleep. While Yunho may be somewhere in this house terrified by the possibility that this isn’t just a dream, Mingi’s been haunted by the very real possibility that it might be. What if he closes his eyes and you’re gone again? That’d mean losing you twice and his heart can’t survive breaking for you a second time.

As Mingi deals the cards, you glance around your bedroom with fresh excitement. Every new color or scent brings your dulled senses back to you if only briefly. And every item has a memory attached to it. Some vague, some incredibly vivid, but all serve as a suitable feast for a brain hungry to recover what once was. Just as your focus hones in on a pair of fluffy puppy shaped slippers by the door, you catch a tall figure looming in the doorway. 

Halfway obscured by the wall, Yunho watches you the way a scientist would its test subject. Simply observing, waiting for you to do something that proves you’re an imposter. But you only smile at him the way you always have, making him feel strangely welcomed to enter the room.

Coming up here was far from his intention. The rain had let up almost immediately after your arrival and he’d picked up the car keys a half dozen times to leave. Once he got as far as the end of the driveway before he turned back, making it further up the steps each time until finally gaining the courage to face you.

And it is you. Despite the words he spat in fear and anger, he felt your energy all around him when he first heard your voice and that feeling’s grown in intensity every minute since. 

“Are you playing or are you just gonna watch like a pervert?” Mingi teases. 

Yunho steps from behind the wall, arms folded across his chest, “If I recall correctly you’re the one who likes to watch” he shoots back, cautiously entering the bedroom. 

“Ha” you snort, sorting through your hand, “Like with sex and stuff.” 

“Oh, I see you’ve been helping her get her language skills back. Starting with the important words first, huh?”

“Playing or watching? You pick. Quickly” you insist, patting Yunho on the arm, his prior reaction momentarily slipping your mind.

He winces a little, jogging your memory, and you go to pull away but he stops you, taking your hand into his. It’s like holding hands with a block of ice, making sense of the baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants you’re curled up in. What you said on the other side of the door had been true. Cold. So cold. 

Yunho’s thumb traces the blue collapsed veins down the back of your hand, brushing past your knuckles to an empty space on your ring finger. There used to be two gorgeous silver rings there, part of a set of six that he and Mingi had made for all of you. 

“Mingi says we’ll get back, won’t be a problem. Right, Mingi?” Your question’s met with the sound of snoring, a few seconds without stimulation being just what Mingi needed to drift off to sleep. You crawl up the bed to lay down beside him, poking at his cheek. “Mingiiii” you sing, softly flicking at his plush bottom lip. 

Yunho slips in on the other side of you, pulling your fingers away from Mingi’s face. “Maybe we don’t do that” he laughs, “We should let him rest. I think he’s tired.”

“Mingi’s tired and what about you?” you ask, rolling over to face him. The color of your eyes are marbled between the paleness of death and their natural shade. It’s bizarre but beautiful in a way that mesmerizes him. 

“Tell me, have you eat and sleep?” You pet his hair, watching it twirl around your fingertips in bouncy brown wisps. Being touched by you, it’s something he thought he’d never feel again, and the joy of it makes him want to cry almost as much as the fear did. 

“It’s ‘eaten and slept�� but no, I haven’t. I couldn’t” he says, “I’d ask you but…”

Your stomach grumbles, announcing its hunger. You hadn’t eaten before the accident. The party you were headed home from had been overflowing with alcohol but food, at least any you were interested in, was in short supply. 

“I can cook for you. We haven’t been shopping but I’m sure I can whip up something.” 

You shake your head, having already gone through this with Mingi, “Nothing really tastes good but the smells help.”

“The smells? What smells?”

“Mmm” you hum, sniffing the side of Yunho’s neck, “You and him. Your smell makes me warm inside.”

Nuzzling your nose against his neck, you inhale the scent beneath his cologne. The natural oils of his body are more fragrant than anything that comes in a bottle. You rest a hand on his heart, feeling it pound as your lips meet his heated skin like ice against fire.

Yunho can’t help but feel guilty about the way his body responds to you. He can’t manage to fight the instinct to bring you closer, massaging the fullness of your curves through the thick cotton of your clothing. You part your lips, dragging your tongue along veins that rush with hot, fresh blood. As they pulse below the surface of his skin, yours begin to pulse as well, matching the rhythm. 

“I…I’m not sure we should be doing this” Yunho stutters, his hands betraying his words to move under your sweatshirt and reacquaint themselves with the rise of your hips and the hills of your breasts. His lust for you only makes the blood pump through his body faster, worsening your hunger. 

“But I need you to keep me warm inside. Please don’t let me be cold again” you beg, sinking your teeth into his neck. Blood drips from his wounds, coating your tongue, pooling in the bottom of your mouth. It’s the taste of life, draining his to restore yours, and you’re ravenous for it.

Yunho screams out in pain, sacrificing a few shreds of flesh to tear himself free of you. “You bit me! Why would you do that?” he cries, stumbling to his feet, his sleeve pressed to his neck to control the bleeding.

On your hands and knees, you move to the edge of the bed like a lioness prowling for her next meal. Your eyes swell with tears at the pain you’ve inflicted but your mouth salivates at the delectable taste of his blood. The ecstacy of it sliding down your throat makes you feel more alive than you did when you actually were. 

“I’m sorry, Yunho. I didn’t mean to hurt you, really. I think I’m just, mmm, hungrier than I thought” you pout, speaking with perfect clarity for the first time.

“Hungrier? Are you…you’re trying to eat me?”

“Eat you? Of course not. I would never. I only needed a nibble to make me better.” You raise your shirt, stroking your exposed skin as it grows plumper and warmer to the touch. “Come feel me. Touch me.” 

Your voice is like a spell, drawing Yunho back in. Your body sings out to him, whispering how badly it longs for him. He wants you, though he shouldn’t. The searing pain in his neck dulls at the realization. It gets him off seeing that you need him this desperately. Not only for pleasure but to survive. 

Approaching the bed again, Yunho lowers his blood stained sleeve from his neck and caresses your body. The red liquid coating his fingers sticks to you like candy, leaving a trail of red along your belly. You lean into him, sliding a hand up his thigh to palm the growing bulge in his jeans. He lets out a satisfied moan, lightly tugging at your hair so that your head’s tilted back, sparkling eyes gazing up at him. 

“What are you?” he whispers with whatever speck of sanity he has remaining.

His bloody fingers find your mouth and you lazily lick them clean, savoring the taste. All the while your own hand’s undoing his zipper to stroke his length, your thumb circling the moist tip of his cock.

“What am I?” you giggle, “I’m yours, aren’t I?”

Releasing his middle finger from the suction of your soft lips, you push his sweater up to kiss your way across his lower stomach. Every kiss has his cock twitching in your grasp as his fingers tangle deeper into your hair, keeping you in place.

And then you find it. The perfect spot. You aren’t sure how you know but you just do. You suckle at his skin, letting your teeth gently pierce the surface until your tongue’s reintroduced to the taste of his blood. Yunho grits his teeth through pain that only makes the adrenaline rush that follows all the more pleasurable. 

“I’m still yours, aren’t I, Yunie?” you ask, his flesh still filling the space between your teeth.

Yunho pulls your head back and leans down to kiss you, the feeling of your lips against his worth the faint metallic taste that comes along with it.

“Of course you are, baby” he whispers, “You’ll always be mine and I’ll never let anything hurt you again. I promise.”

You lay back on the bed, pulling him on top of you, and wrap your legs around his waist. Yunho tears at your clothes, kissing you ravenously as if he’s the one with the undead hunger that must be fed. He’s ready to rip them off of you and take you right here with no regard at all for the best friend sleeping an inch away from you. But a loud banging at the downstairs door snaps him out of it, stirring Mingi from his sleep in the process. 

Mingi jolts upright in bed, on the verge of a heart attack, “Huh? What? What’s happening?” He glances over just in time to catch Yunho climbing off of you to zip his pants back up, the blood from your second bite already showing through his clothes.

You reach back to rub Mingi's leg, your view of him inverted, “Mingi, be calm.”

“Be calm?” he shouts, jumping to inspect the blood on your face, “Answer me now. What happened?”

The banging on the front door gets louder and Yunho throws a “Ssh” at Mingi, sneaking to the window to get a peek at the unexpected visitors. 

“Don’t shush me! Why’s there blood and why were you…” 

Yunho turns around slowly, eyes wide and hands trembling, “Mingi, shut up.”

“No, not until one of you tells me what’s going on and who the hell is that?” 

The banging continues, shaking the door so hard the hinges creak. Yunho sits back down on the bed, his brain firing off in a hundred directions at once. He wishes the knocking at the door were another minion of the undead—some corpse you accidentally drug back with you from the trenches of the morgue—but what awaits him this time, what awaits all of you, is something far worse. 

“It’s the fucking cops.”

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Everbody Loves a Clown | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ? )

Word Count: 5956

Warnings: Canon violence, canon gore, coping with parental death, clowns lol

A/N: Special treat since the first episode was kinda short! Happy reading, everyone!

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The only light in the middle of the clearing in the woods came from John’s wrapped, burning body. You stood wordlessly between Dean and Sam, watching as the pyre burned to ash. Dean stared silently while his brother fought tears.

It felt so odd to have spent so much time looking for John— a man you'd only met in passing during a hunt a little over a year ago— to now be standing in front of his burning corpse. It almost felt anticlimactic if you detached emotion completely from your situation.

On the very real and guttural side of things, though, you knew that having spent so little time with John after looking for him for almost a year was going to take a horrible toll on his boys, especially your Dean.

Sam spoke for the first time in hours. “Before he.. before... did he say anything to you? About anything?”

Dean refused to look at you or his brother, but said, “No. Nothing.”

An obvious lie.

***

Over a week after John’s funeral, you were watching Dean work on his car at Bobby’s. Bobby had been nice enough to let the three of you stay with him while Dean got the Impala back in working order.

Selfishly, every time you looked at Dean, you wanted to come right out with your feelings. Although, he was grieving, and you did not want to take advantage of his vulnerability. You wouldn't want your relationship to be born out of such a terrible tragedy.

However, you would continue to be there for him however he needed, even if that meant sitting next to him in the hot sun silently for hours and handing him a wrench every once in a while. You knew better than to ask if he was okay. You’d lost your father, too and knew he wouldn’t be okay for quite some time.

At first, he’d barely tolerated you sitting next to him. He fought you on everything you tried to do for him, but you got him to shut up after a few days. You knew he knew what you were playing at, and you could tell he appreciated it nonetheless.

Sam, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as well-fortified against his emotions. You could hear him crying in the next room almost nightly, and it broke your heart. But you would rather Sam cry than build himself up against negative feelings the way his brother did. He was more into the touchy-feely-hug-it-out therapy style, and you were more than happy to give that to him. These boys needed you to be strong for them, and you would happily do so for as long as they needed. 

“How's the car coming along?” Sam asked, approaching you and Dean, who was under his car. You sat next to where his boots stuck out with a tool box in your lap.

“Slow,” Dean responded.

“Yeah? Need any help?”

“What, you under a hood? I'll pass.”

“Need anything else, then?”

Dean rolled himself out from under the car and stood up above you. You looked between Dean’s face, set in hard lines, and his brother’s puppy-dog stare. “Stop it, Sam.”

“Stop what?” the younger brother asked innocently.

“Stop asking if I need anything, stop asking if I'm okay. I'm okay. Really. I promise,” Dean scoffed.

“Alright, Dean, it's just—” Sam took a deep breath. “We've been at Bobby's for over a week now, and you haven't brought up Dad once.”

“You know what? You're right. Come here. I'm gonna lay my head gently on your shoulder. Maybe we can cry, hug, and maybe even slow dance.” You knew the bite in Dean’s voice was all a mask.

“Don't patronize me, Dean,” Sam returned. “Dad is dead. The Colt is gone, and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind all of this, and you're acting like nothing happened.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Say something, all right? Hell, say anything! Aren't you angry? Don't you want revenge? But all you do is sit out here all day long buried underneath this damn car.”

“Sam, let it go—” you tried, but Dean continued to talk over you.

“Revenge, huh?” Dean chuckled humorlessly. “Sounds good. You got any leads on where the demon is? Making heads or tails of any of Dad's research? Because I sure ain't. But you know, if we do finally find it— oh. No, wait, like you said. The Colt's gone. But I'm sure you've figured out another way to kill it. We've got nothing, Sam. Nothing, okay? So you know the only thing I can do? Is I can work on the car.” He got back down under it.  

“Well, we've got something, alright?” Sam crouched down next to you and handed you a cell phone. “It’s what I came out here to tell you. This is one of dad's old phones. Took me a while, but I cracked his voicemail code. Listen to this.”

Dean pushed himself out from under the car again and sat up next to you as you played the voicemail. “John, it's Ellen. Again. Look, don't be stubborn, you know I can help you. Call me.”

“That message is four months old,” Sam explained.

“Dad saved that chick's message for four months?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam nodded.

“Who’s Ellen?” you asked. “Any mention of her in your dad’s journal?”

“No. But I ran a trace on her phone number, and I got an address.”

***

You and the boys ended up taking one of Bobby’s beat-up minivans to the Roadhouse Saloon; the address Ellen’s voicemail led to. 

“This is humiliating. I feel like a fuckin’ soccer mom!” Dean groaned as he parked the car.

“It’s the only one Bobby had running, dude,” you reminded him. You followed the boys into the purposefully dilapidated-looking building.  

“Hello? Anybody here?” Dean asked loudly. No response ever came. All you could hear was a fly buzzing and a light popping. You caught sight of a man passed out on the pool table facing away from you. 

“Hey, buddy?” Sam said. He turned back to you and Dean. “I'm guessing that isn't Ellen.” He headed into a back room to look around. You walked a little ahead of Dean, only turning around when you heard him say. “Oh god, please let that be a rifle.”

You whipped out your gun and turned to see a pretty petite blonde holding a cocked rifle to Dean’s back. “No, I'm just real happy to see you. Don't move.”

“Hey!” you said. She looked to you, but didn’t move her gun from Dean’s back. “You shoot him, and you’re dead,” you told her.

“Well, he moves, and he’s dead,” she replied.

“Ladies, Ladies, please,” Dean smirked. “You know, you should know something, miss. When you put a rifle on someone, you don't want to put it right against their back. Because it makes it real easy to do…” He turned around fluidly and grabbed the rifle. “That.”

The blonde punched him square in the nose and took back the rifle. You cocked your pistol, catching her attention. 

“Sam! A little help, please!” Dean said. 

“Sorry, Dean, I can't right now. I'm a... little tied up.” Sam walked out with his hands on his head and a shotgun pointed at the back of him. An older woman walked out holding it. “Sam? Dean? Winchester?” she said.

“Yeah…?” Dean said.

“Son of a bitch,” the woman muttered.

The blonde spoke up next. “Mom, you know these guys?”

“Yeah, I think these are John Winchester's boys,” she answered, lowering the gun and laughing. “Hey, I'm Ellen. This is my daughter Jo.”

Jo lowered her rifle as well. “Hey,” she smiled.

“Oh, we’re just supposed to be cool now?” you remarked, still pointing your gun at the blonde.

“(Y/N), cool it,” Dean warned. You did as told and slowly lowered your gun, still stand-offish. 

“You're not gonna hit me again, are you?” Dean asked Jo. 

Ellen handed him a small towel filled with ice. 

“Thanks. You called our dad, said you could help. Help with what?” he asked as he took it from her.

“Well, the demon, of course,” she stated as if it was obvious. “I heard he was closing in on it.”

“What, was there an article in the Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed?” Dean snarked. “I mean, who- who are you? How do you know about all this?”

The brunette scoffed. “Hey, I just run a saloon. But hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your dad a long time ago. John was like family once.”

“Oh yeah? How come he never mentioned you before?”

She looked down and softened her voice. “You'd have to ask him that.”

“So why exactly do we need your help?” Dean questioned.

Now you wanted Dean to cool it. “Relax, man,” you warned.

“Hey, don't do me any favors. Look, if you don't want my help, fine. Don't let the door smack your ass on the way out. But John wouldn't have sent you if—” Ellen stopped suddenly. “He didn't send you.” She looked frantically between Dean and Sam. “He's all right, isn't he?”

Dean refused to look at her, but Sam answered instead. “No. No, he isn't. It was the demon, we think. It, um, it just got him before he got it, I guess.”

Ellen looked sad. “I’m so sorry.”

“It's okay. We're all right,” Dean replied.

“Really? I know how close you and your dad were.”

“Really, lady, I'm fine,” he growled.

“Dean, relax,” you urged him quietly.

Sam continued the conversation with Ellen. “So look, if you can help, we could use all the help we can get.”

“Well, we can't. But Ash will,” she smirked.

“Who's Ash?” you asked.

“Ash!” she called.

You turned to the man on the pool table as he jerked up and flailed up. “What? It closin' time?”

Sam snorted. “That’s Ash?”

Jo hummed. “Mm-hmm. He's a genius.”

You looked at her, skeptical. 

“Sit, please,” Ellen said, and she and her daughter moved around the bar opposite you while you slapped a folder down in front of Ash. He sat across the bar from you.

“You've gotta be kidding me, this guy's no genius. He's a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie,” Dean remarked.

Ash grinned drunkenly. “I like you.”

“Thanks,” the older brother smiled, seeming slightly confused by the drunk.

“Just give him a chance,” Jo urged.

You opened the folder and pushed it toward Ash. “That’s about a year’s worth of John’s work. See if you can make heads or tails of it.”

Ash shook his head as he looked through the papers. “Come on. This crap ain't real. There ain't nobody can track a demon like this.”

“Our dad could,” said Sam.

“There are non-parametrics, statistical overviews, prospects and correlations, I mean, damn!” Ash’s cadence made you giggle. “They're signs. Omens. Uh, if you can track 'em, you can track this demon. You know, like crop failures, electrical storms— You ever been struck by lightning? It ain't fun.”

“Can you track it or not?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, with this, I think so. But it's gonna take time, uh, give me—” he thought for a moment— “fifty-one hours.” He got up to leave, but Dean stopped him. 

“I, uh, I dig the haircut.”

He waved his hair around dramatically. “All business up front, party in the back.”

Jo walked around Dean, flirting a little. You could’ve killed her. 

He offered Jo a polite smile, but you apparently were not doing a good job of hiding your jealousy.

“Easy, tiger,” Dean chuckled, shooting you a smirk. 

You could practically feel Jo checking Dean out. 

“She’s looking at you like a hunk of meat,” you replied, talking through your teeth. 

“What, you mean, like you do?” he replied, smirking.

“I do not!” You paused at his deadpan look. “I mean, sometimes, maybe, quite possibly, but not right now.”

He nodded. “And you know, I, uh, I appreciate that.”

“Do you really? Sounded like you had a gun to your head when you said that,” you giggled.

He looked back at you sincerely. “You know I do.”

"I do just have... one question, though," you said, unable to stop the words coming out of your mouth due to the sudden, subtle flirting coming from Dean.

He nodded for you to continue.

"I'm assuming you pieced together what I was gonna tell you back at the hospital," you trailed off.

Dean nodded again, the ends of his lips tugging upward.

"You're not... freaked out?"

He shook his head, still smiling. "Opposite of freaked out."

You could feel your cheeks heating, and you looked down at the bar in front of you. Dean's chuckle was music to your ears despite the way it spurred on your embarrassment.

Then, Sam approached you and Dean. “A few murders, not far from here, that Ellen caught wind of. Looks to me like there might be a hunt.”

“Yeah. So?” Dean asked.

“So, I told her we'd check it out.”

***

Dean continued to grumble about the “stupid minivan” the whole way to your next hunt. Sam did research as you scribbled in your journal. Helping the boys was a task you wouldn't give up for anything, but it was beginning to bring up some negative emotions and memories for you. Journaling was helping to calm the storm inside you.

“You've gotta be kidding me. A killer clown?” Dean scoffed.

“Yeah. He left the daughter unharmed and killed the parents. Ripped them to pieces, actually,” Sam responded.

“And this family was at some carnival that night?”

“Right, right. The, uh, Cooper Carnivals.”

“So, how do we know it’s not some psycho in a clown suit?” you piped up.

“Well, the cops have no viable leads, and all the employees were tearing down shop. Alibis all around. Plus this girl said she saw a clown vanish into thin air. Cops are saying trauma, of course,” Sam explained.

“Well, I know what you're thinking, Sam. Why did it have to be clowns?” Dean mocked.

“Oh, give me a break,” the brunet muttered.

You smiled but refused to make fun of him, because “everyone is afraid of something.” 

“You’re scared of clowns?” you asked.

“Yeah, he still busts out crying whenever he sees Ronald McDonald on the television,” Dean told you.

“Well, at least I'm not afraid of flying,” Sam deadpanned.

“Planes crash!”

“And apparently clowns kill!”

"Boys—!"

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean mumbled. “So these types of murders, they ever happen before?”

“Uh, according to the file, 1981, the Bunker Brothers Circus, same M.O. It happened three times, three different locales,” the younger Winchester explained.

“It’s weird, though, spirits are usually bound to specific locales, y’know,” you said. “So how's this one moving from city to city, carnival to carnival?”

“Cursed object, maybe,” Dean suggested. “Spirit attaches itself to something and the, uh, carnival carries it around with them.”

“Great. Paranormal scavenger hunt.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Well, blame Sam. It was his idea. By the way, why is that? You were awfully quick to jump on this job.” Dean threw a look to his brother.

“So?”

“It's just… not like you, that's all. I thought you were hell-bent for leather on the demon hunt.”

You eyed Sam strangely, too.

The younger Winchester softened. “I don't know, I just think, this job, it's what Dad would have wanted us to do.”

“What Dad would have wanted?” Dean turned his face to Sam.

“Yeah. So?” Sam challenged.

“Nothin'.”

***

You and the boys decided to join the carnival after the second family had been murdered to get a closer look at the happenings during the carnival. “Friends close, freak-shows closer,” Dean had said.

When you entered yet another tent in search of the show’s organizer. You found a man throwing knives at a target; all landing near but not quite on the bulls-eye. 

“Excuse me, we're looking for a Mr. Cooper; have you seen him around?” the older brother asked.

The man turned around and pulled off his sunglasses. “What is that, some kind of joke?” 

“Oh. God, I'm— I'm sorry,” Dean said.

“You think I wouldn't give my teeth to see Mr. Cooper? Or a sunset, or anything at all?”

Dean whispered to you, “Wanna give me a little help here?”

You shook your head. “Not really.”

“Hey man, is there a problem?” a voice interrogated from behind you. You turned to see a very short man in a red cape.

“Yeah, this guy hates blind people,” the knife-thrower said.

“No, I don't, I—” Dean’s gorgeous smile was doing nothing to help him in this situation.

“Hey, buddy, what's your problem?” the short man scowled.

“Nothing, it's just a little misunderstanding.”

“Little?! You son of a bitch!” The man went to charge Dean.

“No, no, no, no! I'm just— could somebody tell me where Mr. Cooper is?”

You and Sam snickered.

“Please?” you asked. 

The short man looked up at you, and his gaze softened. “Sure, sweetheart, follow me.”

“Thanks,” you smiled, looking back at the boys. 

Dean’s jaw was clenched for a reason you weren’t quite sure of. When you asked, he said, “Just don’t like anybody else callin’ you that.”

You smiled lopsidedly. He could be really sweet when he wanted to be.

Mr. Cooper met you at the door of his office and invited you in. “You three picked a hell of a time to join up. Take a seat.”

You looked at the available seating options, and Dean motioned for you to take the normal of the two chairs. You obliged, and Dean stood behind you, forcing Sam to sit in the obnoxious pink chair with a giant clown face on it. He sat on the chair hesitantly and refused to relax into it. 

“We've got all kinds of local trouble,” Mr. Cooper continued.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Oh, a couple of folks got themselves murdered. Cops always seem to start here first. So, you three ever worked the circuit before?”

“Yes, sir, last year through Texas and Arkansas,” Sam responded.

“Doing what? Ride jockeys? Butcher? ANS men?” 

“Yeah, it's, uh, little bit of everything, I guess.”

Mr. Cooper eyed your group strangely. “You three have never worked a show in your lives before, have you?”

“Nope,” Dean grinned. “But we really need the work. Oh, and uh, Sam here's got a thing for the bearded lady.”

“You see that picture? That's my daddy.” The showrunner pointed to a black and white picture on the wall of a man in a fedora in front of a ferris wheel.

“You guys could be twins,” you pointed out. 

Mr. Cooper smiled thoughtfully. “He was in the business. Ran a freakshow. Till they outlawed them, most places. Apparently displaying the deformed isn't dignified. So most of the performers went from honest work to rotting in hospitals and asylums. That's progress, I guess. You see, this place, it's a refuge for outcasts. Always has been. For folks that don't fit in nowhere else.

"But you three? You should go to school. Find a couple of girls. Marry this one, maybe.” The man gestured to you. “Have two point five kids. Live regular.”

Dean went to say something, but Sam leaned forward, his eyes serious. “Sir? We don't want to go to school. And we don't want regular. We want this.”

You turned to him skeptically, as did Dean. 

Mr. Cooper told the three of you to return in a few hours for training, which you were a little surprised by the suddenness of. 

“I guess they really are desperate,” you said as the three of you left the carnival holding your uniforms to go change into. 

“Were you serious?” Dean asked his brother.

“What?” Sam furrowed his brows at him.

“That whole, uh, I-don't-want-to-go-back-to-school thing. Were you just saying that to Cooper or were you, you know, saying it?” Dean pressed further at his younger brother’s hesitance. “Sam?” 

“I don't know,” he replied.

“You don't know? I thought that once the demon was dead, and the fat lady sings ,that you were gonna take off, head back to Wussy State,” Dean deadpanned.

“I'm having second thoughts,” was all the younger brother answered with.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I think. Dad would have wanted me to stick with the job.”

Dean stopped Sam. “Since when do you give a damn what Dad wanted? You spent half your life doing exactly what he didn't want, Sam.”

“Since he died, okay? Do you have a problem with that?”

Dean’s voice hardened but remained sarcastic. “Naw, I don't have a problem at all.”

***

Later that day, you returned with the boys wearing a bright red “Cooper Carnival” jacket to begin your “janitorial job.” You were waiting for Sam or Dean to call you to tell you when to meet up with them for further investigation.

Before you had gotten a call from either, you noticed a little girl tugging on her mother’s jacket. “Mommy, look at the clown!” She pointed at something off in the distance. 

You followed her line of sight only to see nothing.

“What clown?” the mother asked. “Come on, sweetie, come on.”

You called Sam immediately. “Hey, dude. I got something.”

***

The three of you then chose to stake out the family’s home that evening. Dean had just relayed to you how the blind man overheard him calling Sam about the case and had to tell him you three were writing a book about the supernatural.

“Dean, I cannot believe you told Papazian about the homicidal phantom clown,” Sam snorted.

“I told him an urban legend about a homicidal phantom clown. I never said it was real,” Dean argued. He pulled a gun and cocked it. You jumped over the seat and shoved his arm down. “What are you, nuts? You’re gonna get us busted.”

“Oh, and get this,” Dean continued. “I mentioned the Bunker Brother's Circus in '81 and their, uh, evil clown apocalypse? Guess what.”

“What?” you and Sam asked.

“Before Mr. Cooper owned Cooper Carnival, he worked for Bunker Brothers. He was their lot manager.”

“So you think whatever the spirit's attached to, Cooper just brought it with him?” Sam questioned.

“Something like that.” The older brother shook his head and sighed. “I can't believe we keep talking about clowns.”

***

You and the Winchesters had been stalking these poor people’s home for hours now. Well, you and Sam had, at least. Dean, on the other hand, was dozing in the front seat. You shook him awake when you saw a phantom clown appear at the front door.

“Dee, look,” you said. 

He hummed and sat up, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. He turned and looked at you when he saw the girl leading the clown inside. 

You jumped out of the car and went through the back entrance of the house. You hid around a corner down the hallway from where the little girl and the clown were.

“Wanna see Mommy and Daddy? They're upstairs,” you heard the girl say. At that moment, Sam leapt out and grabbed the young girl who screamed.

Simultaneously, you shot at the clown while Dean cocked his shotgun again. “Sam, watch out!” he yelled. 

The clown leapt out the window, turning invisible as it shattered the glass of the front door.

The parents ran downstairs and began shouting at you and the brothers. You and the brothers dropped the girl and sprinted away, hearing the girl whine, “ Mommy, Daddy, they shot my clown!” as you headed out.

***

A while later, you and the brothers pulled off the side of the road and ditched the crappy van Dean had been driving you around in. You pulled the license plate off the back of the van and stuffed it in your duffel bag.

“You really think they saw our plates?” Sam asked you.

“I’m not taking any chances,” you said.

“I hate this fuckin’ thing anyway,” Dean grumbled. He began to lead you and his brother off the side of the road. “Well, one thing's for sure.”

“What?” you asked.

“We're not dealing with a spirit. I mean, that rock salt hit something solid,” Dean responded.

“Yeah, a person? Or maybe a creature that can make itself invisible?” Sam suggested.

“I don’t know, man, I’ve never heard of a creature like that. And it’s definitely not a person. I have no idea what the hell it could be,” you huffed.

“Did it say anything in Dad's journal?” Dean asked.

Sam cleared his throat and said, “Nope,” pulling out his cell phone.

“Who are you calling?” you asked him.

“Maybe Ellen or that guy Ash'll know something. Hey, you think, uh, you think Dad and Ellen ever had a thing?” Sam smirked.

“No way,” snorted Dean.

“Then why didn't he tell us about her?” retorted Sam.

“I don't know, maybe they had some sort of falling out,” the older brother shrugged.

“Yeah. You ever notice Dad had a falling out with just about everybody?”

You chuckled, but Dean simply nodded and looked at the floor. 

Sam lowered his phone. “Well, don't get all maudlin on me, man.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean this ‘strong silent’ thing of yours, it's crap,” Sam answered.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, god.”

“I'm over it. This isn't just anyone we're talking about, this is Dad. I know how you felt about the man.”

Dean started walking a little faster. “You know what, back off, alright? Just because I'm not caring and sharing like you want me to.”

Sam caught up with his brother easily. “No, no, no, that's not what this is about, Dean. I don't care how you deal with this. But you have to deal with it, man. Listen, I'm your brother, all right? I just want to make sure you're okay.”

“Dude, I'm okay. I'm okay, okay? I swear, the next person who asks me if I'm okay, I'm gonna start throwing punches. These are your issues, quit dumping them on me!” the older Winchester said gruffly.

“What are you talking about?” Sam questioned.

“I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. It's like, oh, what would Dad want me to do? Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with that man. I mean, hell, you, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him. And now that he's dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry Sam, but you can't, it's too little, too late.”

“Why are you saying this to me?”

“Because I want you to be honest with yourself about this. I'm dealing with Dad's death! Are you?”

You looked between the boys and knew Dean was handing Sam a load of bullshit. However, you decided to stow that conversation until you could get him in private.

Sam swallowed harshly, looking upset. “I'm going to call Ellen.” Sam walked a little ahead of you and Dean on the phone.

While Sam spoke to Ellen, you walked beside Dean wordlessly.

“(Y/N), you don’t have to act like I’m a bomb about to go off,” Dean said.

You looked up at him. “I’m not. I just thought you’d appreciate a little silence instead of me asking you to ‘share and care,’ as you put it.”

He nodded. “Thanks.” He intertwined his fingers with yours, allowing you to support him in that simple way. He rubbed his thumb over yours and continued to walk next to you. 

When Sam got off the phone, he turned back to you and his brother. “Wha—” He looked down at yours and Dean’s entwined hands and shook his head. “Nevermind. Rakshasa.”

“What's that?” Dean asked.

“Ellen's best guess. It's a race of ancient Hindu creatures. They appear in human form, they feed on human flesh, they can make themselves invisible, and they cannot enter a home without first being invited,” Sam explained.

“So they dress up like clowns, and the children invite 'em in. Why don't they just munch on the kids?”

“No idea. Not enough meat on the bones, maybe?”

“Well, that’s grotesque,” you noted.

“What else'd you find out?” Dean questioned.

“Well, apparently, Rakshasas live in squalor. They sleep on a bed of dead insects.” The younger brother grimaced.

“Nice,” you deadpanned.

“Yeah, and they have to feed a few times every twenty or thirty years. Slow metabolism, I guess.”

“Well, that makes sense. I mean, the Carnival today, the Bunker Brothers in '81—”

Sam cut his brother off. “Right. Probably more before that.”

“Who do we know that worked both shows?” You raised a brow.

“Cooper?” Sam replied.

“Yup.” You thought for a moment. “That picture of his father looked just like him. Maybe it was him.”

“Well, who knows how old he is?” Sam added.

“Ellen say how to kill him?” Dean asked.

“Legend goes, a dagger made of pure brass,” the brunet explained.

“I think I know where to get one of those.”

“Whoa, whoa,” you said. “Before we go stabbing Cooper, I wanna make damn sure it’s him.”

“Oh, you're such a stickler for details, sweetheart,” the older Winchester teased you. “Alright, I'll round up the blade, you two go check if Cooper's got bed bugs.”

***

You and Sam followed instructions and went to Mr. Cooper’s trailer. Dean had left the two of you to go find the blind man. Inside the trailer, you didn’t find any bugs he was nesting on. Just a plain, old twin mattress. 

“What the hell are you doing in here?” a voice called from behind you.

You wheeled around to see Mr. Cooper. “Oh, hi! Just the guy I wanted to—”

“Save it,” Mr. Cooper told you. “Get the hell out of here. Oh, and uh, you’re fired.”

You nodded. “I figured.”

You and Sam dashed out of Mr. Cooper’s trailer and over to where Dean had told you he’d be. When you arrived at the blind man’s tent, Dean stumbled out of the door.

“Holy shit, hey,” you said after he’d scared you.

“Hey.”

“So, Cooper thinks we’re Peeping Toms, but it's not him,” Sam explained.

“Yeah, so I gathered. It's the blind guy. He's here somewhere.”

“Well, did you get the—”

“The brass blades? No. No, it's just been one of those days,” Dean sarcastically replied. 

“I got an idea. Come on,” Sam said. You and Dean followed him to the funhouse. As you began to go through, the door slammed behind you between you and the brothers.

“Great!” you groaned. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean yelled, banging on the door. 

“(Y/N)! (Y/N/N), find the maze, okay?” Sam called to you.

“Okay!” you called back. You somehow stumbled your way through the maze and found the brothers. “Oh, thank god,” you sighed.

Sam broke a pipe off the organ a bit ahead of you. 

“Where is it?” you asked.

“I don't know, I mean, shouldn't we see its clothes walking around?” Dean answered. A knife flew right past your head, clipping your ear. “Fuck!”

“(Y/N)!” Sam called. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know, Sam, the thing’s invisible!” You jumped up, reached above your head, and grabbed a lever. When you pulled it down, steam poured out of the vent. 

“Sam, behind you! Behind you!” you heard Dean say. You began to run in the direction of Dean’s voice through the steam. When you arrived at him, there was a bloodied lump of clothes on the ground with a pipe sticking out from its chest. You turned to Dean who was pinned to the wall by two knives on his arm and helped him free himself.

“You okay?” he asked you. 

You nodded as you pulled the last knife out of his jacket.

“I hate funhouses,” he grumbled.

***

You sat next to Dean at Ellen’s bar, and she laid a few beers in front of you. “You kids did a hell of a job.” Ellen nodded at the brothers. “Your dad 'd be proud.”

Sam half-smiled. “Thanks.” He got up to walk over to Ash, and Jo took his place.

“So,” she cleared her throat.

‘Damn, this girl is bold,’ you thought.

“So,” you said.

She ignored you and focused on Dean. “Am I gonna see you again?”

Dean turned to her, surprised. “Do you want to?”

“I wouldn't hate it.”

You rolled your eyes and got up from your chair, heading over to Sam and Ash. You could feel Dean’s eyes on you as you walked away. You knew you had no reason to treat Jo poorly; she was just a young girl with a crush. She had no idea that you and Dean were at all involved. You truly didn’t even know if you and Dean were legitimately involved to begin with.

You noted Ash’s bizarre-looking laptop with exposed wiring and his stack of papers. “Whatcha got there, Pinky?”

He snorted at you. “I’d say I’m a little more Brain than anything, but where ya been? Been waitin’ for ya.”

“What, Ellen didn’t tell you about the clowns?” you asked.

“Clowns? What the fuck—”

You snickered as Dean walked up behind you. “You got something for us, Ash?”

“You find the demon?” Sam questioned.

Ash shook his head. “It's nowhere around. At least, nowhere I can find. But if this fugly bastard raises his head, I'll know. I mean, I'm on it like Divine on dog dookie.”

You laughed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, any of those signs or omens appear, anywhere in the world, my rig'll go off. Like a fire alarm.”

Dean reached for his laptop. “Do you mind…?”

Ash gave him a look, and Dean pulled his hand back from the keyboard. 

You smirked a little at the sight. “Ash, where did you learn to do all this?”

“M.I.T. Before I got bounced for... fighting.”

“No way!” you exclaimed.

He smirked at you and took a sip of his beer. 

“Okay. Give us a call as soon as you know something?” Dean said, suggesting to you and Sam it was time to go.

“Si, si, compadre.” Ash took the beer Dean had placed down and chugged the rest of it. 

You followed the brothers to the door. Ellen stopped you before you could leave. “Hey, listen— if you kids need a place to stay I've got a couple beds out back.”

“Thanks, but no. There's something I gotta finish,” Dean said.

***

“So, you get Jo’s number?” you asked back at Bobby’s junkyard. You sat cross-legged on the hood of one of the cars next to the Impala Dean was working on drinking a beer.

“What?” he asked incredulously. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, she obviously likes you. Kid was shamelessly flirting with you, so I just assumed—”

“No, (Y/N).” He put down the wrench he was holding. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Well, okay, I just thought—”

He walked over to you and stood between your knees. He ran his hands up and down your thighs. “I’m telling you, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Dean, stop it. You don’t have to come over here and flirt with me just ‘cause I got jealous” you said. 

“I’m not,” he assured you. “Look, we haven’t had a chance to talk about everything—”

“And I don’t need us to. I know you need time after your dad—”

“Would you let me finish?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you muttered. 

“But I have no interest in Jo. She’s layin’ it on a little too thick for my taste,” he smirked.

"I don't know, Dean, your bar hookups always lay it on pretty thick," you reminded him.

"Yeah, guess you're right. But she's not you. So I'm not interested."

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go get some more beer. You want one?”

He nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

You headed back inside and passed Sam on the way. You found Bobby inside and began to update him on the situation with the brothers.

“I don’t know, Bobby, neither of them are doing well,” you said. “But it’s Dean I’m the most worried about.”

“Why’s that?” the older man asked.

“He’s just… bottling it up. He wouldn’t even let me sit next to him while he worked on his car for the first week we were here. He’s worrying me.”

“Sounds like Dean,” Bobby nodded. “But I think if anybody can get ‘im to open up, it’s gonna be you.”

You eyed him strangely. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s just… different with you. I think he puts up a bit of a front with Sam. But never with you.”

You nodded. “I’ll keep trying.” You grabbed two beers and again passed Sam as he came back into the house with tears in his eyes. As you approached Dean’s car, you heard slamming metal on metal and Dean grunting. You quickened your step to get to him, holding a beer in each hand. When you arrived, you saw him hitting the Impala’s trunk with a crowbar over and over again.

“Dean, what the f—”

He looked up at you and fought back tears. You put the beers on the car behind you and slowly approached him. You opened your arms to him and wrapped them around his torso, and he finally responded by burying his face in your hair. You could feel him still trying to stifle his tears, but it was clear he was unsuccessful. You let him hug you for as long as he needed to.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

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Wei Wuxian at His Best: Arrogant

The cultivation world liked to slander Wei Wuxian about his "arrogance," but is it really arrogance if one knows perfectly well of their own capabilities? Wei Wuxian, for one, can follow through on all his promises. Here are some of my favorite moments where Wei Wuxian is deservedly arrogant:

Wei Wuxian stepped inside the hall, and, one on the left and one on the right, lifted Lady Mo and Mo Ziyuan’s dead bodies. In a low voice, he urgently said, “Why aren’t you awake yet?” As soon as the words left his mouth, their souls returned. An instant later, Lady Mo and Mo Ziyuan’s eyes rolled into the back of their heads, their irises replaced with a blank white gaze. The characteristic piercing shrieks of newly revived vicious ghosts tore from their mouths. In the middle of the screeching, one high and one low, another corpse, trembling with fear, also crawled its way up, and in a voice which was as quiet as it could be, joined the chorus with a soft, soft cry. This was Lady Mo’s husband. The cries were loud enough. The resentment great enough. Wei Wuxian was extremely satisfied, and smiling lightly, said, “Do you recognize the hand outside?” Then he commanded, “Tear it apart.” The three Mo’s were like three black winds; they flew out in the blink of an eye.

—Chapt. 5: Feral IV, fanyiyi

Wei Wuxian stood in front of them, lowered his head slightly, and greeted them politely. The paper effigies returned his politeness and then some by bowing. Wei Wuxian pointed outside. “Bring the living person inside. Eliminate everything else.” ... In only a short period, the twin girls chopped the fifteen or sixteen walking corpses into so many pieces they were impossible to reassemble. The dead body parts tumbled all over the ground! Having secured an overwhelming victory, the paper maids followed their orders and carried inside the weakened man who had been running from the walking corpses.

—Chapt. 36: Flora IV, fanyiyi

Only vicious corpses could fight such a ferocious battle. If two living people fought the same way, they would have long lost an arm and a leg, or cracked their skulls open and splattered their brains everywhere! “Guess who’ll win?” Xue Yang asked. “Is there a need to? Wen Ning, of course,” Wei Wuxian said.

—Chapt. 37: Flora V, fanyiyi

Before he could finish speaking, Wei WuXian had quickly tied the ribbon over his eyes to cover his sight. He positioned his arrow, drew his bow, and released—it hit! The series of actions was both smooth and fast. The others didn’t even realize what he wanted to do. They couldn’t even see his movements clearly before the center of the target had been pierced through. After a moment of silence, overwhelming cheers rang throughout the watching towers, with even greater intensity than those for Jin ZiXuan. The corners of Wei WuXian’s lips curved slightly. Spinning the bow within his hands, he tossed it back.

—Chapt. 69: Departure, exr