#the living holding hands around the dead they are all doomed to become | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thisonehere · 1 month

Note

Lin kuei trio x vampire reader?

Bleeding me dry

A/n: You got it. I hope you don't mind, I also added some dark elements. Tags: Mk1 AU, Vampires, NSFW(ish), Request C/w: Bloodsucking, suggestions and innuendos to sex, Consensual feeding, doomed romance

Bi-Han

You first meet when you creep into his room one night. You were so hungry, it has been so long since you had a decent feeding. And Bi-Han...he was just succulent. Surely he'd keep you fed for a good time. And there he was, all alone in his bed.

You can't help but pity him a little. He had no doubt been very lonely, especially after his betrayal and his brothers abandoning him. But your hunger matters more than his feeling right now.

He sleeps in very little clothing so access to his next is very easy. You lick your lips as you take a gander at his thick neck, practically pulsing with the blood inside.

You leaned down ready to sink your neck into him, but then an unexpected thing happened. His eyes snapped open and grabbed you by the throat. Bi-Han has always been a light sleeper, he trained himself to become even lighter after learning of your vampires.

You gasp in surprise as his wraps around your throat and you eye his hand holding a wooden stake in it.

Bi-Han's first instinct is to kill you. But he paused after seeing you. You were beautiful, surprisingly so. He couldn't bring himself to kill you no matter how hard his gut urges him to do so.

Bi-Han was quite disgusted by your people, but he could not deny that he found you alluring. You were enchanting to gaze upon and he couldn't help but want you.

You talk, Bi-Han demanding that you explain yourself. And you do. You tell him about your thirst, how starved you've been for so long. Bi-Han almost pitied. He stared at you for some time.

Finally, Bi-Han shows his neck to you. "Go on, you come all this way for it. Take it." He growls. You hesitate, giving him a surprised look. You slowly crawl up to him.

Your fangs pierce into his neck causing Bi-Han to moan much to your surprise. His hand travels around your waist as you begin to feed on him.

He gasps and moans as you go on. It is a strange feeling. It's painful but it feels...good, somehow.

You pull out, satisfied.

This becomes a thing between you two. He'd let you feed off of him, so long as you were an obedient little bloodsucker.

You intrigue him, a creature of the night, he'd stay up late just to be with you. Who needs sleep? The things you two get up to during these ungodly hours make the lack of sleep worth it.

If a single of his Lin Kuei said a single thing bad about, then they were as good as dead. You are his, and refuses to let a single soul disrespect what is his.

He wants to believe that you are his pet, but he is a whimpering mess without you. He could care less if you suck his blood, so long as he can feel your touch. So long as he knows he is your one and only.

Many Lin Kuei notice how pale and drained bi-Han appears. Unless someone does something, you could very well suck him dry. Bi-Han refuses to see this. He is strong, he will survive, he is the GRandmatse for a reason.

Other Lin Kuei argues that you're turning him into a creature just like you. To Bi-Han, this is an even better outcome. If he is turned then you and him can be together forever.

You make him feel loved, something he hasn't felt for a long time. He'd kill to keep this feeling you give him. He refuses to separate himself from you...even if it kills him.

Kuai Liang

Kuai doesn't trust you. That's the thing about him. Unlike his brothers, he has a good head on his shoulders that allows him to think rationally.

You met when you tried to feed on his clan. He caught you and was about to slay you, but you...there was something different about you. You looked so beautiful, so innocent, he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He let you live, incarcerated, yes, but that's better than being dead.

Kuai doesn't know what to do with you. The way you hypnotize people and feed on them until their shrivelled up and empty disturbs. You are a walking Venus flytrap. So deadly. So alluring.

Kuai tries to bond with you. You find yourself spending hours talking to each other, telling each other's stories. He marvels at how long you've lived, at how enrolled with the other. He pities the fact that you have no choice but to feed and thus tries to make an effort to help you.

He tries to take a more ethical approach to your blood-sucking. Why not animals? Or artificial blood? Anything that stopped you from feeding on humans.

He keeps his relationship with you a secret, he only lets close friends such as Tomas and Harumi. Though they don't truly approve of such a union. Studying you to make sure that you are not up to anything wicked.

He wants to tell Liu Kang about you, but he knows he'll take you away from him. And that is something he just can't let happen. He hides you. Something he knows deep down is wrong. He knows a lot of the things he's doing with you, and you're doing to doing to him, are wrong.

Tomas, Harumi and another member of the Shirai Ryu argue with Kuai, telling him how dangerous you are and how deadly such an entanglement will mean for him. They worry for him, scared that you're corrupting They worry for him, scared that you're corrupting him. His eyes are baggy from all the late nights he has spent with you. His temper has worsened, as a result of becoming so protective of you.

He just can't see what's wrong. He's helping you, he truly believes that he's making you better. He cares less and less about their words, they don't see what he sees.

By the Elder Gods, how did he get like this? He was such a calm and reasonable person, but now... he can't recognize himself. He has driven himself mad trying to help you, but he doesn't understand you. He smothers you with love yet he fails to see that what you two have is forbidden for a reason.

If you or Harumi or Tomas don't do anything soon...Kuai just might get himself killed.

Tomas

Shirai Ryu warriors argue that you've put a spell on him. If that is true, then Tomas couldn't care, he loved you and he'd want to stay with you even if he dies!

Okay, that those sound over dramatic but that's just how he feels. He has always been the weakest link of the brothers when it came to romance. He was desperate for love and looked for it in the wrong places. When it came to romance Tomas threw all caution and sense of reasoning out of the window.

You first met when you were on a rampage and sucking Dhirai Ryu dry. When you came to him, he was ready. He feigned sleeping and when you came to him, he was ready to fight you.

But the moment you laid eyes on each other, he knew he was yours and you are his. He was enchanted by you. How could he hurt you? You no doubt thought the same thing. You two lost yourselves in your feelings. You stare at each other, this feeling is so magical that you both forget why you are here.

You made love on his bed at that moment. And you feed on him the entire time.

Kuai? let's just say he wasn't approving of this union. Tomas was very defensive of you since he first laid eye on you. He'd often get into an argument with Kuai on your behalf.

Deep down he knows how wrong you and him were together. But you just make him feel so good inside, so fulfilled, how could he possibly turn you away? He loves spending time with you, from morning to midnight he was with you.

He was so head over heels in love that he was willing to let you feed off of him. His moaning, whimpering, and begging fills your ears with every suck. Elder Gods, he loves so much to the point it hurts. Literally.

Tomas still has a conscience, he still tries to make you see the error of your ways. And he tries to find ways to fix things.

He goes to Liu Kang, thinking maybe he knows what to do. Unfortunately, Liu Kang warns Tomas instead. He warns that his loving you could kill him. That is the last thing he wants to hear. He's so much in love that he wants to think that you'll be happy forever and ever and nothing bad will ever happen because you just love each other so much.

Kuai can see the pale skin and the dark circles around his eyes. You fear that you're killing him. But Tomas dismisses this, stating that he's just tired and needs more sleep, nothing to worry about. You and him are fine. Nothing bad is happening. Everything is fine.

But he's not fooling anyone. Kuai can see that Tomas's teeth have gotten...sharper. He complains that he's getting more and more hungry, and he seems to be less and less fond of daylight. He suspects what you've done to him, he might just kill you for it.

171 notes · View notes

cinemadaydream · 9 months

Note

can you do a story where conrad gets jealous because cam cameron is getting a little too touchy with y/n and she’s entertaining it. but little does he know it was all planned, y/n asked cam to do that to make conrad jealous. (they’re fwb and y/n got bored and planned this so she could see what conrad would do) well y/n ended up kissing cam and it got heated and conrad pushed them apart and took y/n upstairs to his room and made sure she wouldn’t do that again.

He's going to kill me

parings: Conrad Fisher x reader

warnings: unprotected rough smut

"If keep touching you like this, he's going to kill me." Cam glancing nervously towards Conrad before wrapping his arms around your waist.

You can't help the smirk on your face as you lean into Cam's touch, nuzzling your face against his neck before whispering in his ear. "He won't kill you, I promise. I guess that means my plan is working?"

Cam hums in response before he looks at Conrad once again from the corner of his eye, still not fully convinced. Conrad's hands were clenched tightly and the old saying "If looks could kill, you'd be dead" had never been more accurate as Conrad continues to send daggers in yours and Cams direction.

Despite Cam's fear that tonight may be his last, you can't help the way feeling of excitement that's oozing through you over Conrad's jealously. The two of you are friends with benefits, both of you agreeing to have no feelings involved, but there were moments when you wondered if there was more between you two than you both let on. Longing glances across the room, lingering touches after the two of you had finished having sex. He even asked you to stay the night on multiple occasions so he could hold you all night which was against the rules the two of you had made. Which is why once you were told Conrad was throwing a party that you'd use it to your advantage to see if your suspicions about Conrad liking you were true.

"Do you want to dance before you're impending doom?" You tease Cam playfully as you pull away from his neck to look up at him. Cam laughs at your joke before grabbing your hand and walking you both to the middle of the living room where everyone was dancing.

For the first time all night, you make eye contact with Conrad as you dance with Cam. He's still glaring at you both and now worse than ever as your ass is pressed against Cam, moving your hips against him as you both dance together. You've never seen Conrad this pissed before. It makes you breath hitch and your heart skip a beat, but you don't crack yet. Wanting to see if he would act upon what his face was showing. You can see how badly Conrad is fighting with himself. Wanting to grab you and show you who you're supposed to be with. But Conrad does the opposite. Instead of walking up to you and Cam, he starts to dance with another girl. Now you're the one pissed. The same glare Conrad had on his face is now on yours. You pull your eyes away from Conrad and the blonde you don't know the name of and look at Cam.

"Kiss me."

Cam's eyes widen a bit as you ask him to kiss you. He didn't expect you to want to go that far with this plan. He almost says no before he notices Conrad and the blonde. Cam nods and then he kisses you softly on the lips. The kiss doesn't stay soft though as you pull Cam closer to you, kissing him hard knowing Conrad is still watching. This kiss becomes heated. Although it isn't the same as all the kisses you've shared with Conrad, you're pleasantly surprised to find Cam is a quite the good kisser. You could get lost in the kiss, forgetting Conrad even if just for a short while, if it wasn't for a pair of hands pushing you and Cam apart.

"My room. Now." Conrad demands, frustration evident in the way he speaks. He doesn't even glance at Cam which is probably for the best because Cam's worries may not be so far from the truth with the amount of anger Conrad is feeling.

Your body reacts before your mind can process anything, you immediately head to the staircase and walk up the stairs into his room that you've been in so many times before. You can hear him shut the door before locking it and then you feel him, shoving you down on his bed before climbing on top of you.

"What the fuck was that bullshit?" Conrad asks, his breath hot and heavy against your neck as his fingers trail under your dress. You think he's about to touch you where you've been aching for him to touch all night, but he surprises you when he flips you over onto your stomach and slaps your ass roughly making you shriek in both pleasure and pain. "What makes you think you can bring someone into my house and dance with him like that?" Another harsh slap lands on your ass. "To kiss him with the same lips you use to suck my cock?"

Your eyes widen when he says that, but you don't say anything. You feel him slap your ass once more before he slides his hand under his dress and takes off your underwear in one quick, swift movement. Your breath is uneven as you hear him undo the zipper of his pants and then he slides himself into you. You moan loudly as he starts to move inside you.

"Did you wear this dress for him?" Conrad asks, his thrust quickening as he slaps your ass again before he yanks down one of the straps to your dress and squeezes your tit before flicking your nipple with his finger.

"N-no! I wore it.. I wore it for you." You moan out before burying your face against his pillow. He seems pleased with your response, but he doesn't let you bury your face in his pillow. Instead, he grabs you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he continues to thrust inside of you.

"And you're going to cum for me in it too, sweet girl. Gonna let this whole god damn party hear you, let them know who's fucking you this good" Conrad groans into your ear before kissing your neck, leaving a trail of love bites all over it. Needing to mark you up more than he's ever needed it before.

And just like he wants from you, you start to moan his name. You do it louder and louder with each thrust he gives you. His pace is so fast, so rough that the only thing keeping you up is his arms that are still wrapped firmly around you, wanting you to feel every inch of him.

"That's right, baby. I'm the one making you feel this good. Not fucking Cam Cameron." Conrad smirks against your neck as his free hand cups your face, pulling you into a passionate, needy kiss. His tongue exploring your mouth as you cum all over him. You cry out in pleasure as he keeps going, sensitive from the orgasm he just gave you before he finally cums deep inside you.

Conrad gently releases you, letting you rest against his pillow now before he pulls out of you and holds you in his arms. He kisses you again but this time it isn't rough. It's soft and sweet with a hint of desperation behind it. All he wants is you. Fuck the rules you two made.

"Are you okay? I wasn't too rough on you, was I?" Conrad asks, his voice much softer now as he strokes your hair with his fingers. You smile and shake your head before you kiss him once more.

"I liked how rough you were, Con." you say blushing. Your ass was sore and you could still feel yourself coming down from the orgasm he gave you and you absolutely loved it. Loved that it was him that did it.

"I don't want to ever see you with another guy that isn't me." Conrad admits staring so intently at you. Your heart flutters and you nod your head. You feel his arms pull you even closer as he waits, still nervous that you'll reject him. It's a fear he's had the moment you two started being friends with benefits. He had always liked you.

"And I don't want to be with any guy that isn't you." You smile at Conrad as you watch his worries fade away before he pulls you in for another kiss. He cups your face, holding you close to his body. You kiss him happy that your plan had worked and that he's finally yours.

"I'm going to kill Cam by the way." Conrad says as you two pull away. His lips are still against yours and you can't help but to laugh when he says this.

"It's okay, he's expecting it."

The way i wrote this in less than an hour lmao sorry if there's any errors, I haven't proofread it yet!

#the summer i turned pretty #conrad fisher x reader #tsitp #conrad fisher smut #tsitp imagine #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher #conrad fisher x y/n #team conrad

964 notes · View notes

fuctacles · 9 months

Text

Eddie, not panicking: Henderson's older brother is a little broken and now it's my fault, apparently? :/ [Part III]

[Part I] [Part II] [Part IV]

"I smell popcorn. Do you smell popcorn?" Dustin asked, sniffing the air.

Eddie stuck his nose up in the air, imitating a rabbit to his best abilities.

"Indeed I do."

Dustin was already opening his door and stomping down the stairs.

"They're watching the new Karate Kid!" he yelled from the living room.

They could have been watching a documentary about shrimps and Eddie would gladly join them anyway just to be an annoying menace to the older Henderson. Besides, his alternative was the algebra homework in front of him. So, like a properly feral trailer creature, he buried it deep beneath Dustin’s blankets and dumped a stuffed cat toy on top of the pile before leaving the room.

The living room curtains were already drawn to create an illusion of a cinema experience. The whole room smelled of popcorn and Dustin’s smugness because he managed to plant his ass comfortably into the only available armchair.

Eddie was doomed to share the couch with the older kids - Steve and his girlfriend Robin whom he’s seen in passing before. He waved at her, and she waved back, which was their usual routine. Steve patted the empty seat on his other side, grinning.

“So glad you are joining us.”

“I’d rather be studying, but my therapist advised human interactions,” Eddie sighed heavily, falling against the cushions. His hand was immediately buried in the huge bowl of popcorn Steve was holding. The boy put it in the air instantly.

“Wait for the movie to start!”

Eddie chewed on his stolen kernels, looking him dead in the eye before shifting his gaze and raising his eyebrows pointedly at something behind him. The realisation hit him immediately.

“Robin!” he swirled around to scold her. She was sitting up on her knees to reach the bowl.

“Just start the movie!” Dustin yelled, throwing at him ammunition from his own, smaller bowl.

“Unbelievable,” Steve murmured, reaching for the remote.

Eddie exchanged a glance over his back with Robin, snickering at each other. He liked their company, despite his initial reservations. The Hendersons' house was quickly becoming a second home to him, and he was slowly but surely accepting it. Maybe ‘86 was going to be his year in more than just academics; He already got a bunch of freshmen he was embarrassingly fond of, and while he did not actually have a therapist to tell him that, he knew expanding his social circle wouldn’t hurt. A good party of adventures needs variety. And it’s so hard to find a healer. Maybe Robin would be down? Steve was probably more of a tank, which was also an asset.

The movie has been on for maybe ten minutes when a Dustin-shaped blob tried to squeeze itself between him and Steve.

“Hey!” they both protested in unison. Steve shoved himself into Eddie, squeezing all the air out of him as he was now shoved between him and the armrest.

“You have your armchair!”

“Well, it’s at the wrong angle. It’s not optimal for watching,” the boy whined, trying again to squeeze himself between Robin and Steve this time. He did the same thing though, pancaking her between himself and the couch.

“Come on!” Dustin groaned.

They did some back and forth, shifting in front of each other like in Wayne’s stupid basketball matches, until Robin decided to be a dumbass and reached for the remote to pause the still ongoing movie. Dustin saw his opening and dipped to his right, sliding between her and the armrest. Suddenly, Steve’s elbow was in Eddie’s ribs.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry- Dustin!”

“What!? Just take Robin on your lap and don’t be a pussy!”

“Ew, fucking gross-!”

“We are not fucking dating-!” they protested simultaneously, their voices overlapping with a similar sense of exasperation and annoyance.

“How bout you sit on my lap, little brother?” Steve offered, saccharine coating his words.

“Ew, I’m not a baby, Steve!”

Eddie patted Steve’s arm, the one still wedged way too close to his very bruisable ribs.

“There, there, Stevie, don’t cry. I’ll sit on your lap,” he said, sending him his best pitying smile.

Steve’s eyes were on him again, the tree bark brown of the oak tree little Eddie hung his first birdhouse on. They weren’t rolling though. Why weren’t they rolling and annoyed in that heavenly entertaining way?

“Great,” Steve said, a small relieved breath escaping him. And then his arm was living his space.

Oh, of course. Eddie overdid it this time. The joke went too far, and he was going to get his teeth knocked out again, but this time no new ones are coming to replace them.

The arm landed behind him, circling his shoulders. The other landed on his legs and in the next second he was being lifted off the couch, expecting a close encounter with the floor, or being dumped onto the armchair in the best scenario.

But then he’s not, he opens his eyes, and he’s surrounded by warmth and softness and the movie is being rewound to the point before the sitting argument.

He is embarrassed and mortified, looking at the screen like it could somehow tether him back to his previous reality. The one when he was not sitting on Steve Henderson’s lap.

He took a cautious look at the others, who didn’t seem bothered by the fact that Eddie just got manhandled into another man’s lap. He was the only one freaking out. Maybe it was a normal occurrence for Steve, maybe he was exaggerating?

He was sitting a bit to the side not to obscure Steve’s vision. The man’s arm was brushing against his spine, thrown around the back of the couch behind him to make room. He could feel the rise and fall of Steve’s chest. He could feel Steve everywhere.

It was his idea, his stupid mouth said it, and so he couldn’t back down now, even if his skin was on fire.

Everyone but him seemed to be focused on the movie, so he decided he was not gonna be worse. Just imagine it’s still the couch. A very warm, breathing couch.

Steve moved under him without warning, and Eddie stiffened up. He pressed a hand against his mouth not to make a sound, the other one gripping the flesh of Steve’s thigh, hard. There was a hand against his waist, a futile attempt not to jostle his body.

Then the world was right again, Steve settled under him. With a peace offering in his hands. He had wrenched Dustin’s mini bowl of popcorn to give it to Eddie.

He accepted it but made the mistake of looking at Steve.

There was no tree brown in his eyes, it was all technicolour reflexes of the TV, reminding Eddie of neon signs in the dark.

“Thanks,” he whispered in the dim room. Steve smiled at him, a hint of teeth shining right next to him. He stuffed his face with popcorn and reminded himself Steve was Henderson’s brother and Eddie was comfortable sitting in his lap.

And he was, for the majority of the movie, until Steve forgot himself and his hand landed on Eddie’s knee, thumb rubbing against the denim. Eddie eyed the movement, then subtly glanced at the man’s face. He was watching the movie, relaxed like none of his limbs were moving against his will. Eddie scrunched his nose, looked away and jostled his leg. Steve squeezed him gently and let go.

“Sorry,” he whispers, too quiet, too close to Eddie’s ear.

He shakes his head.

“‘s okay,” he whispers back, even if it didn’t feel okay.

He survived to the end of the movie, but as soon as the credits started rolling, he jumped up and off Steve, eager to open the curtains, let some fresh air in, and sprint across the yard as far away as possible from Steve Henderson’s thighs. The flowers beneath the window would make for a great landing spot.

Before he could leap into freedom, a familiar heat, smell and shape of a human approached him, gently pressing against his side.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Steve said, his voice quiet below a whisper. Eddie turned away from freedom, putting distance between himself and the heat.

“You should be sorry,” he scoffed, giving him his best death glare and stepping away.

He had an algebra textbook to dig up from underneath blankets.

It’s not that he was uncomfortable with touching. He was a very tactile person himself. But this level of closeness was not something to share easily, not with someone he barely considered a friend. Steve was a weird person.

Said the freak.

He was wrangling the blankets when someone coughed behind him. He was so whirred up, this time he did scream.

“What!” he turned around to find Dustin, who was positively fuming.

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing!”

“No, he looks like a kicked puppy. So you must have said something.” Dustin’s frown deepened.

Eddie frowned back.

The boy sighed, closing the door and coming closer to lower his voice as much as his vocal cords could manage.

“Listen, we are still working with Steve to open up and be himself. Which, apparently, involves a lot of hugs and shit. So like, if you do anything to fuck this up, even unintentionally…” He scrunched his face like he was in physical pain saying it. His eyes were big and more childlike than ever. “I can’t have you coming over.”

There was a lot to process there, none of which Eddie expected. Being banned from the Henderson household? No fucking way.

“Shit.”

Dustin nodded solemnly.

“Shit. He’s in the kitchen right now if you want to have a word,” he looked at him pointedly. Eddie winced.

“Now?”

If eyes could kill, Eddie would be ten feet underground and rotting.

“Fine,” he scoffed. “I’ll go apologise to your brother.”

“Atta boy!”

Eddie threw him the middle finger and left the room. He stomped down the stairs to announce his presence and then knocked against the kitchen door frame for good measure. Two pairs of eyes turned towards him.

Of course, Steve’s not-girlfriend was with him.

“Can I have a moment with you?” he asked, searching Steve’s eyes and, oh shit he did look like a kicked puppy.

Steve nodded, but not at him. He nodded at Robin and walked towards Eddie to steer him back into the living room.

“Dustin told you to do this?” Steve guessed immediately.

“Yes,” Eddie admitted. “But he’s right. I overreacted. Just,” he bit his lip, because damn where was his script? What was Steve’s AC and where were the dice?

“Warn me next time?” What fucking next time, Eddie? No, there was going to be next time, because Steve needs hugs to heal, and you need Dustin to graduate. “Like, in the BDSM community, consent is the most important thing. You know?”

There was a soft sound somewhere from the house like someone facepalmed. Which, fair, Eddie would too if he didn’t have to actively participate in the disastrous conversation. So, thanks, anonymous eavesdropper for being unhelpful.

“BDSM?” Steve repeated, the corner of his lips twitching. Even the other participant in the conversation was laughing at his expense. Great.

“Yeah?”

“And you are… part of that community?” Steve cocked his head with curiosity and a curious cat was better than a kicked puppy, so Eddie was doing great.

“No,” Eddie scoffed. “I mean kinda? But not really. Hey, listen, how about we don’t talk about this,” he offered, laughing awkwardly.

Steve nodded, no traces of sadness on his face. Meaning if all else fails, Eddie could at least go around humiliating himself for laughs.

“Anyway, sorry for being a dick, ask next time. Okay?”

“Okay.” Steve smiled his warm smile, the one that always reminded Eddie of his delicious cookies.

“Can I touch your hair?”

“Really running with it, I see, but okay.” Eddie didn’t like his hair being touched but this one time he’d make an exception. Kind of like he was appeasing a toddler to stop whining.

He was expecting Steve to tug at his hair, he was kind of used to it. Maybe run a finger through them, rub at the split ends and complain about how he doesn’t take care of his curls. Eddie saw his hair products collection, and noticed the judgemental stares, alright? He knows.

Instead, Steve’s fingers brush somewhere near his ear and come back with a piece of popcorn.

“You should check if there’s more before you leave,” he said, before leaving Eddie to rejoin Robin in the kitchen.

Eddie ran.

He ran into Dustin’s room, ran from his incredulous question about using BDSM as an argument, then ran with his textbooks under his arm, towards his car and far away from the Hendersons' house.

User tags: @i-have-three-feelings @mblogs @awkwardgravity1 @imacowboy3 @just-a-tiny-void @clumsiluni @shotgunhallelujah @halfadoginatank

[Steddie masterpost] [Ao3] [ko-fi]

#steddie #eddie munson #stranger things #ff #mine #st #steve harrington #stranger things 4 #steddie fanfiction #Older brother steve #The hendersons #steve x eddie #platonic stobin #dustin henderson #steve/eddie #the hendersons

222 notes · View notes

storiesbyrhi · 4 months

Text

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: Looming doom. 2590 words.

1986

It was all about intention. When an individual is hexed, they are actively fighting the magic. The violence becomes part of the curse itself, making its results darker and stronger, and making it all the harder to break. However, if an individual invites the magic in… If their intention is to let the magic wash over them like a warm blanket in the dead of winter… Well, then wonderful things can happen.

White baneberry. Powdered tacca chantrieri. A little this. A little that. Spellwork and trust and love.

And there he was. Definitely more stoic than the bat you’d once known, his fur a shade or two lighter as well. But, your bat was back.

He looked at you from the floor before climbing out of the piles of clothing around him, clutching the ring you’d made Eddie wear during the ritual. The moss agate stone sparkled. The bat chittered, no doubt complaining that he should have been naked the whole time.

You held your hand out like you used to. The bat didn’t move.

“Please?” you asked, trying and failing to hold back your excitement. You didn’t want vampire Eddie to get a complex about you loving bat Eddie more.

The bat climbed into your palm. Bringing him up to face level, you smiled widely. He’d taken the same form of species - Eptesicus fuscus – but he was not the exact same bat. The lighter fur was the biggest indicator. The leather of his wings seemed a little thicker too. Eddie was a healthier bat, you figured.

“Hi… How did it feel? Are you you?”

Eddie chittered.

“Squeak once for yes, two for no. Are you you?”

One squeak.

“Did it hurt?”

Two.

“Good…” There were more questions you wanted to ask, but his overwhelming cuteness was making your brain go blank. “Eddie… You’re so adorable. It’s like… Like I need to squeeze you so hard you explode.”

With that, Eddie’s wings branched out and he flapped up and away from you, landing on top of the refrigerator.

You laughed. “I’m not gonna do it! I’m just… complimenting you.”

He stayed where he was.

Laughing again, you bent down to pick up Eddie’s clothes and carefully place the agate ring on your makeshift altar in the living room. As you turned back, you thought to yourself that he looked so innocent. So innocuous. So part of the natural world that-

“Fuck!” You crossed the space and leaned against the fridge, looking up at Eddie. “This is it. This is how you come with me when I go see the coven. Not one of them is going to see a bat in a tree and think ‘oh yeah, that’s probably a vampire…’ Right? This is it. It’s genius!”

He began to talk – to screech and chitter and flap his wings – and you couldn’t stop him. He had a lot to say and you understood none of it. When he took flight, you spoke the spell to undo the transformation.

If it happened slower, it would be horror on the grandest scale. Snapping bones and stretching skin and shedding cells. It was over in a second though, leaving a naked Eddie standing in the kitchen a little shaken.

“Sorry,” you said. “But I didn’t know what you were saying,”

“You need to tell me when you’re going to do that.”

The fear was barely detectable, but it was there nonetheless. “I’m sorry.” You reached out, pulling him into you. “You sure it doesn’t hurt?”

“It doesn’t hurt. But it felt like falling. A long way.”

Nuzzling into the crook of his neck, you nodded. “What were you saying?” you asked, voice lulled.

“I was saying that I do not like the idea of walking into a coven of witches defenseless.”

On paper, it was a valid point. Eddie had no control over the spell. Once you turned him into a bat, he had to wait for you to utter the words and reverse the magic. It was ultimate trust, but also ultimate vulnerability.

“Your defense is me.” Your lips were on him, the words mumbled, only just audible.

“And you have all my faith. It’s not you I worry about,” he whispered back, tilting his head so you had better access to his neck. You kissed him over and over. “You are my favourite witch. You are the witch that saved this town, this world. You are powerful and strong and predictably underestimated by your coven… But we cannot make the same mistake as them.”

You kissed Eddie’s sharp jawline, then cheek. “Say that again.”

Confused, Eddie went to repeat his last sentence.

“No. Not that. Who’s your favourite witch?”

“Oh. Oh.” The grin that split his face was a little evil and it made you weak at the knees. “You need me to tell you that you’re my favourite witch in the entire universe?”

“Mmmhmm,” you hummed, your cheeks burning with beautiful warmth.

“That every single thing you do is magic… That you are my sun and my stars. That I would bleed the world dry for you.”

You nodded, letting yourself go limp so Eddie had to hold you up.

“My favourite witch. My beautiful, little witch. Such a good witch.” Eddie hoisted you up, throwing you over his shoulder, and took you to the bedroom. He dropped you on the bed unceremoniously. “If you be a good witch for me now, I’ll let you do your little spell later and I’ll sleep in your pocket all night,”

“Promise?”

Eddie was on his knees, pulling you by the ankles towards him. He opened his mouth wide, sharp teeth a flash of white before he bit down on the softness of your inner thigh. A gasp melted into a moan, and when Eddie looked back up at you, his mouth was a blur of red.

“I promise. You be a good girl for me now. I’ll be a good bat for you later.”

…

Practice made perfect and after some fine-tuning, you and Eddie had the spell down to a couple of seconds. He wore the moss agate ring around his neck on a chain constantly. That meant the spell could be cast anywhere, at any time. It also made it easier when he turned for him to find it and fly it to you.

A week of testing showed that the potion that needed to be inside his body for the spell to work lasted twenty hours. Every morning when you woke, Eddie would drink a glass of it. Sometimes he’d down another at sunset if he wanted to remain small and cute overnight.

That was Eddie’s favourite part of it – the sleeping. Not only was he immune to the sun’s burn when in bat form, but he could sleep. Although he often stayed up to read and learn, he loved to fall into a soft nothingness with you.

When the ritual of it all became second nature, you decided it should play a role in the protection spell you were writing for when you traveled to the Catskills to reunite with your coven. Potion and agate locked and loaded, all you had to do was speak “sic fiat” and Eddie would be battified.

He could tell, though, that you weren’t satisfied with the process. He would catch you deep in thought, staring almost through him.

“Unburden yourself.” Eddie was suddenly in front of you, hands cupping your face. “Share your troubles,”

“You’re so dramatic,” you sighed, making no movement to push him away.

“But I’m right. Something is worrying you,”

“I’m not worried. I just… I think there’s something we have to figure out before we go see them,”

“Ah, I see. And presumably, I will not like this something.”

The way you were chewing your lip made Eddie sad. He wedged his thumb between your teeth to stop you.

“We need to know if you’re still… the same… when you’re a bat,”

“We know that. We know I’m still me,”

“No, I mean, if sunlight doesn’t hurt you, what does witchfire do? And if you’re hurt as the bat, does that injury stay when you turn back? And then, when you’re the bat again… Do you scar? And what about the-”

“Hey, hey, my love, calm down,” Eddie hushed. He pulled you into him, rocking you gently. “Fate did not disobey all her rules, only to lead us to doom.”

You looked at him through your tears. “But what if she did?” It had taken 150 years to find your way back to each other and the mere thought of losing Eddie again was enough to drive you mad.

“Come on now. Aren’t you meant to be telling me that this is all connected in some mystical and universal way? That all the pieces are falling into place?”

He pressed his lips to your forehead, the coolness of his skin a balm for your hot anxiety. You breathed out as he kissed down your nose, finding your mouth and kissing you deeply.

Eddie spoke softly. “We will do this again and again, until you have filled a book with knowledge. Then, when you are ready, we will face whatever comes next.”

…

The weather was almost as hot as it would get that year. Eddie didn’t sweat. His cheeks never bruised red with heat. He was your own personal cooling system. That is when he wasn’t swooping through Hawkins with one part grace and one part mania.

“I never truly felt the American sun,” he’d told you one night. You were lying on the bed, naked, lazy, in love. “And summer at night is different. Europe is different,”

“You can get sunstroke, so you have to be careful.”

Eddie laughed. As a bat, he could sleep and fly by day, and as your weeks of testing revealed, go unharmed by witchfire. He felt more alive and more unstoppable than ever before.

“Don’t laugh at me! Remember, when you hide your vampireness from magic, your mortality is suddenly seen by everything else.” He laughed again, so you hit him with a pillow and yelled, “Sic fiat!” before he could retaliate.

Eddie fluttered his wings against your hair, causing chaos and knots.

“Nawww. Is my precious little baby bat angry?”

He perched in the corner of the room, aiming for broody and landing on sulky.

“If you promise to be sun safe, I’ll turn you back.”

Eddie chirped with indignation, but came back to the bed. You broke the spell and kissed Eddie on his human and very pouty lips.

“I promise,” he whispered.

You giggled into him, letting him growl and pull you under the sheets.

…

What if it wasn’t enough? What if the magic, just the bastard daughter of the forest gate spell and other protection charms, couldn’t shield Eddie from your coven’s craft?

“We may not need it at all,” Eddie offered kindly.

Dramatically, you rolled your head to look at him, dead expression, moody as hell. He chuckled and reached out to boop your nose. You swatted him away and turned back to your altar.

“We haven’t talked about…” Eddie hesitated, ever mindful of how you felt. “…what exactly you want or… need from this… meeting.”

The black cat bone was ground to the finest powder possible, but you continued to aggressively smash the pestle against the mortar. Eddie waited for you to reply, but rather than speak, you began to rip sage leaves apart like a wolf with a rabbit.

It was risky, but Eddie asked, “Do you expect them to apologise?”

“I don’t need an apology,” you snapped.

“What else is there but that?”

The ignominy of the coven finding out what was done. Revenge or retribution. Surely you did not seek these things, for the Wiccan Rede demands peace and healing. An ye harm none, do what ye will.

Pushing yourself up off the floor, you walked too quickly to the kitchen and filled the kettle with water too violently for any of it to be normal. Eddie stayed where he was, giving you space to process.

It hurt so much. Your heart ached and body felt heavy with embarrassment. You wanted justice, although its form you didn’t know. You wanted harmony within the coven. You wanted to feel how you did before 1836, brimming with solidarity and in love with sisterhood. You wanted your mother and aunt to fix what they had done.

The scene was so vivid. A picture of a life with meaning. Eddie and your coven and magic with purpose. It could all happen. It could. But your imagination was writing stories in wet sand, the waves threatening to wipe it clean at any moment.

You felt like a silly, stupid little girl.

Eddie tried your name again, after the first few times fell on deaf ears. You turned around, kettle still in hand. He gently took it from you, placing it on the stove and igniting the flame. Tea would do you good.

“It is not impossible,” he comforted.

“I’m… scared… I don’t want to have to choose,”

“You won’t have to,”

“You don’t know that! We don’t know anything.” The mug you pulled from the cupboard was slammed down hard. You threw a teabag in it, which concerned Eddie. You always brewed a mix of loose leaf and herbs. “We don’t know if they’re going to try to kill you as soon as they see you. We don’t know if they’re going to try to kill me.” The water wasn’t boiled but you took it from the stove and poured it haphazardly into the mug. “We don’t know anything!” And it spilled. “FUCK!”

Eddie caught the falling kettle, placing it back on the stove, while hauling you away from the mess before more damage could be done. He took your hand and assessed the burn. It was red and angry, but not as much as you.

“So fucking stupid,” you seethed, tears running down your cheeks. You forced yourself out of Eddie’s embrace and ran the kitchen tap, placing your hand under it.

He wanted to tell you to heal it, but knew better. You didn’t want to be told what to do. You certainly didn’t want to be told what to do with your magic.

Eddie was easy to read. You sighed and looked down at your burnt hand. “Just… let me feel it for a minute. Before I fix it.”

He nodded, taking a tentative step towards you. “For a minute,” he repeated softly.

You let him press you into the bench, pining you to it. He rested his head on your shoulder and arms around your waist. Closing your eyes, you took a shaky breath in and out. In and out.

After two minutes (he timed it), Eddie reached out and turned the tap off. You complied with the unsaid instruction and healed yourself.

“I don’t know if I’m scared of having to choose, or if I’m scared that I know I’d choose you,” you confessed. What kind of witch doesn’t choose her coven? What kind of woman follows a man over her sisters?

“It won’t matter. I will not make you choose. I will take that burden from you.”

Turning around, you buried yourself in Eddie. He held you tightly, just a little too tightly, just how you liked it, then brought you to the couch. Another film on his list, A Nightmare on Elm Street, was pushed into the VHS player, and not another word was uttered until daybreak.

End Note: Thank you to @deathbecomesthem for help with this chapter (ages ago, so you might not even remember helping hehe).

I am beginning to map out how this story ends, so if you have any requests for things you want to see happen, now is the time to send them in! Ideas for dates you want them to go on? Movies you want them to watch? Any weird little thoughts you’ve got rattling around in that pretty brain of yours? I’d love to hear them.

Fic Taglist: @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16

#Mine #Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson/You

99 notes · View notes

xerith-42 · 3 months

Note

I humbly beg for more shadow knight angst for the thousands time my liege.

C'mon guys, this is getting ridiculous there's no way I can write even more angst around this small handful of characters I've already given an unholy amount of attention to...

WHICH IS WHY I'M GIVING IT TO OTHER CHARACTERS NOW

We talk about Shadow Knight angst as it pertains to the knights themselves, who live a horrific cursed existence where they are doomed by the plot before they're even in it, but what about those around them? Those who bare witness to the ugliest parts of being human that being inhuman can reveal. Those who have to lose their loved ones only to find that their loved one isn't truly dead, and that's somehow worse. Lords start becoming paranoid, borderline irrational every time a guard dies, not because they are grieving the death of someone they may have cared about, but because they know what comes next.

Obviously the general public didn't understand Shadow Knights when they first came about, but those who did? Imagine being Aph and trying to sleep at night knowing that one of your closest companions is one bad day away from potentially killing you in your sleep. She's constantly trying to protect Phoenix Drop from oncoming threats, but in the back of her mind she's always paranoid about Zenix. What if he just came back right now and tried to hurt her people again? What if he tried to take Levin again? Would she be able to hold herself in a fight against someone who's literally immortal? But if she fails... She can't entertain the thought. She has to shove down all these worried and put her faith in her guards.

Her guards. Who if they sacrificed themselves for her, like they're so fond of doing, could only create more problems for her. Her guards who would throw their lives away to protect her and her family, and yet could be dooming her in the process. It's a horrible contradiction of values. She values her life and her families lives most. Her and her kids and the small assortment of other caregivers for them are the most important things in the world, what she has to protect. But if any of her guards or worse, herself, were to fall in battle, it would only spell more death and destruction. She wasn't ever even meant to be a lord, never trained to be one like those who were heirs, and now there's an entirely new unpredictable and incredibly dangerous variable thrown in.

It makes her incredibly restless. The bags under her eyes are barely hidden by any markings on her face.

And if you're a guard? Especially one who's prone to self sacrifice like, oh I'm just throwing out ideas here, GARROTH! Hoo boy. Garroth is petrified at the thought that he could become a Shadow Knight. He isn't there for a lot of Laurance's descent, but he spoke to Laurance quite a bit when he came back from the Nether, and spent a lot of season 1 at his side after the fact. He doesn't know the full extent of how bad it is, but he knows how the calling torments Laurance, and he admires Laurance's ability to fight against it.

Because he isn't sure if he'd be able to. Garroth has known for basically his entire life that it is the job of a guard to be ready to throw their life away for their lord. It's a core part of his understanding of his purpose in the world. But now there's a wrench thrown into it. If he does as he has prepared himself to do since he was a teenager, he might do worse. Laurance can fight off the calling, but Garroth doesn't think he would be able to. He can't even dream of hurting his lord, and yet he deeply fears his inability to fight supernatural urges that he doesn't even have. Yet. It only takes one bad fight.

Hey guys, remember when Cadenza was almost killed by her mother figure?? In episode 26 we get this line

And if I'm not mistaken (I just went and watched the episode, I'm not) this woman tries to KILL CADENZA!! Glenda (as she's later named) attempts to drain the magic from Cadenza/use her as a sacrifice to open up a portal to the Nether in episode 86. Even though she once considered Cadenza to be her daughter.

And this is all while Cadenza at least initially thinks her father is dead. So her father is dead and her only remaining family are shadow knights that are prone to killing her. Awesome! So cool! Great and excellent! I hope this won't have any severe psychological impacts on her!! (it does but Jesson didn't ever give it to us so I guess I have to do it now)

Cadenza has had enough talks with Laurance and Vincent to know that the Shadow Knight's existence is a far greater struggle than anyone realizes. She empathizes with them, and yet she is utterly terrified of them. She knows that Laurance and Vincent are good people, but it doesn't matter how good of a person you are. Once the calling is put in your head you can become completely different. Whether you're in control or not. She loves her brother, and she loves her head guard, but she knows that Laurance is far from perfect. She knows that the Shadow Lord could do anything to push him one direction or the other. She knows he's interested in her magic. She fears that another family member will try to take it from her, or worse.

She'll never admit it, but she felt safer during some of those 15 years Laurance was gone. When he and everyone else first disappeared, grief, despair, and panic swirled in her head for nearly a year. She worried about where they had gone, what had happened, and worst of all, she worried when they would come back. What they would be like. She fears that they went to the Nether. That Laurance may have succumb to the calling. That he's just waiting for the right moment to strike. But then years pass. Nothing. Her father dies a peaceful death with a smile on his face. Still nothing.

After a certain point Cadenza knew that they weren't dead, but that whatever adventure they had gotten themselves dragged into was taking a lot longer than usual. Suddenly she's not as worried. She doesn't know where Laurance is, but he isn't here right now, and therefore is one less thing she has to worry about. It's... Nice. Also Cadenza and Laurance totally have that sibling "I would know if you died" esp, despite not being related. That's how you know you're real siblings. She always knew they weren't dead because she remembers how it felt the day Laurance died in the Nether. Even if she was a chicken.

Feels like a better place than any to leave off an angst post. Though I will probably be thinking of more of these, Shadow Knights and how they effect the world and characters is easily the most interesting thing Minecraft Diaries has, it's no wonder we all latched onto it.

33 notes · View notes

nightraiderwrites · 1 year

Text

Grief, and other ways of loving

Summary:

“Is that why you look at me like that?”

Cleo props herself up on her elbow and turns to him. “Like what?” Scott rolls over to face them. “Like you’re grieving. Or lost. Like you loved me.”

[The Coven, on the empty spaces in their chests]

Tws: Unreality, mentions of blood, passing out

Word count: 6018

Read on ao3

¤¤¤¤¤

Sometimes, Scott thinks, the Time Witch looks like she's grieving. Maybe grieving isn’t quite the right word, but he’s not sure there’s a better one in his language. They just look… lost. The Time Witch, he realizes, looks like she's waiting for something to happen. Waiting for a stray gust of wind to tip her house of cards.

He notices it first when they twist their hands around their staff, nervous, but not quite sure what to do about it. She looks dead, inside and out, and he can see the strings attached to her joints. Unlike the living, their strings are loose, not tied around her wrists, but unlike regular zombies, he can't tug on them. He can touch them, sure, but pulling on them is like trying to hold up the sky. Very difficult, and guaranteed to break his back. Whoever brought Cleo back was either a very powerful necromancer or at the very least, a deity. They look ready to run, or blast him into oblivion.

Scott is wary of them, at first. She looks like someone with no one to lose.

The grief becomes clear when the flowers come in. A few weeks after they meet, he spots sunflowers peeking from her hat, and black dahlias around her wrists. (He only knows what they are because- well, because he liked them.)

“Nice flowers,” he tells her when they meet up. And then- a split second facial expression, something that shouldn’t be able to be achieved with rotting facial muscles -and it’s gone. “Thanks,” she replies, somewhat choked.

Whatever it was, grief or loss, or longing for something fate destines for doom, he doesn’t know. The only thing he knows is that there is a person in front of him, and they’re hurting in so many ways, some of them the same as him. Milo… Milo would want him to help her. Even though this is a competition, and he really, really, needs to win, he’ll help her.

Cleo, he realizes, likes patterns. The castle she lives in is full of them. Interlocking gears decorate her walls, and her cups and utensils and- it’s everywhere. Its name, Cleo tells him, is Kairos. Greek, for the right moment. There are clocks all over the walls, as expected of the Time Witch, he guesses, but still- a little overkill. They tick in sync, and it’s so, so loud. And annoying. He supposes it’s a comfort, to be surrounded with such familiarity.

“Why are you competing?” Scott asks one day, while they’re standing around waiting for the potion to finish brewing. They exhale, and tap absent-mindedly on the abacus on her waist. The clocks tick in the background.

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Someone from your past?”

"Yeah. Something like that.”

“Why can’t you go back in time?”

“Doesn’t work like that. Time likes patterns and he’s just a thread in its tapestry.”

She says that phrase a lot. Time likes patterns. They use it to explain why they live in a castle, and why they keep an abacus on her hip, and why there’s a constant ticking sound when they hang out together. Time likes patterns. Cleo uses the term when she blinks across a field, blowing monsters up left and right. Time likes patterns. He learns it’s very difficult to change the timeline in such a large way, because it’s fighting against the laws of the universe, against reality itself.

Cleo is very powerful. It’s very apparent from the spells she’s bound to her staff, and her control over time. They blink across a cave they’re exploring, blowing monsters up with ease. She’s so smart and controlled, while he’s still struggling to keep his zombies summoned for more than five minutes. And it’s apparently still not enough to bring him back, whoever he is. If Cleo cannot bring her loved one back, then Scott most certainly cannot.

It's almost a dance, he realizes. Her measured breaths before a blink up the steps, the sway of their staff before an explosion, it’s all steps to a dance. He wonders how many times she’s had to go through these motions before it became thoughtless, how many practiced explosions before it became muscle memory. He wonders if they had a teacher, or if it was simply infinite time at their fingertips, that allows them to be so powerful.

They try to explain time to him, one night as they lay under the stars. There was no real reason for them to be hanging out; The Water Witch had retreated and The Fire Frost Witch had disappeared. There was no real reason for them to be hanging out, except loneliness. Cleo tries to explain to him the concept of time.

“It’s not linear.”

“Really? I thought it would be.”

“It’s really not. It’s more like- ok, so picture a tree.”

“Yep. Ok. Tree pictured.”

“Ha, ha. Right, so say the seed the tree originated from is the original timeline.”

“Original timeline?”

“Yeah. Pay attention. Anyway, when the seed grows, it spreads into shoots, right? Those are parallel timelines.”

“What? Parallel timelines?”

“Yeah. Like our timeline, but it could be either totally different, or only a singular detail changes, stuff like that. And Time Witches are born with the blessing -or curse- of experiencing some of those.”

“Like, all of them? How does that work?”

“We dream, Scott. And there are- there all these stupid voices in my head, from all the other Cleos across the multiverse.”

“So- wait, there are universes out there where we aren’t witches? We never met?”

“I’ve explained this bit before, Scott. Time likes patterns. It’s too unnatural for it to deviate from the pattern. We meet in almost every universe I’ve dreamed so far.”

“Is that why you look at me like that?”

Cleo props herself up on her elbow and turns to him. “Like what?” Scott rolls over to face them. “Like you’re grieving. Or lost. Like you loved me.”

They look stricken, and Scott feels like he made a mistake. Oh well. “Nevermind,” he says quickly. He moves to get up, but he feels a cold hand on his forearm.

“I did. I do. I will,” they say. “I can’t tell you much, but I can tell you that.” There’s still a look in her eyes, a secret she’s hiding.

“Is that why you don’t like Pris, then? She betrayed you in another life?” he asks. She bites her lip. “No. She- she’s an anomaly. Or a replacement, for someone who should be here. She doesn’t- it’s not the correct thread for this pattern.” He nods, then lays back down.

“What about El, then?”

“What about her?”

“Is she an anomaly too?”

“Nope. She’s, ah, she’s connected to your thread.”

“My thread?”

“Yes, Scott. I’ve explained this bit already.” “I’m not sure you have.”

“Fine. Fine! Everyone has threads. In the great big mess that is the multiverse, it’s easier for the universe to pull people together who already have threads connected. Sometimes, those threads are frayed, so the times you cross each other are less than others.”

“So- me and Eloise-”

“Yeah. But there’s this other guy, whose thread with you is gold. That means he’s a constant, by the way.”

“Ha, ha. I figured”

“He should be here, in this universe, and yet. He’s not.”

“Ah.”

“Maybe he died already. He normally does.”

“Can I- what’s his name?”

“I’m- I don’t know if it’s wise to tell you.”

“Sure. Fine.”

Scott and Eloise go to Kairos for a coven meeting, but when they turn up, they find a bespectacled man on Cleo’s couch. He is, for some reason, transparent and upside down. Rainbow checkmarks form a halo around his head, which Scott takes as a sign this man is not human, and a deity of some sort.

“Um. Hello,” Eloise says. His head is starting to ache, a dull throb in the base of his skull. Scott yells up the stairs. “Cleo! Why do you have a god in your living room?”

“Howdy!,” the god says. “I’m Joe Hills, live from- actually, I’m not in Nashville Tennessee, I’m in Kairos, Witchcraft smp, which is approximately four timelines away from where I’m meant to be.” Cleo chooses this moment to walk down her stairs.

“Joe! Stop giving the rest of my coven illegal information.”

The man- Joe -looks offended. He rights himself on her couch. “Howdy Cleo! It’s technically not illegal to give this information if they can’t comprehend it!”

Cleo just sighs and waves Scott and Eloise to the kitchen. “Nevermind him,” Cleo tells them. “He’s just upset that I missed Wednesday night crafts.” He glances over at Eloise, who looks like she’s going to pass out.

“You have a god. In your living room.”

“Yeah. I do. He’s here sometimes, although he’s technically not supposed to exist on this timeline.”

“I- what? He’s what?”

“Ah, hell. I wasn’t supposed to say that. Sometimes I forget how much you’re supposed to know.”

“Wh- ok. You know what? I don’t want to know.”

Cleo shrugs, and moves to put the kettle on. Scott takes his regular spot on the counter and Eloise all but collapses onto one of the dining table chairs.

“Anyway,” Scott starts. “I wanted to begin this meeting with talking about bringing in a potential new member to the coven.” Cleo hums as she pours water into the cups that've been laid out. “Lauren right? The Sand Witch?” Joe pipes up from the living room. “I’d like a sandwich.” Electricity crackles around Scott’s ears.

“No, Joe.”

Groaning from her spot face down on the dining table, Eloise wraps her hands around her mug. “I don’t mind. It’ll be like a me situation, right? You’ll take her in and teach her.” She lifts her head up to take a sip of tea before putting it back down. Her nose wrinkles. Scott takes a sip. English Breakfast. Nice.

“Technically, Scott will teach her,” Cleo muses, drinking their tea slowly. He watches the liquid slip into her stomach. “Because he’s sponsored her.” Scott thinks about his stolen tombs and failed spells, and wonders what it would have been like to have a proper teacher. Certainly, it would have been nice to have someone guide him.

A suspicious thud from the living room halts further conversation. Eloise groans again. “Joe?” Cleo calls. There’s pressure building in Scott’s eardrums. He wonders why Cleo isn’t affected.

Cleo places her cup down, and walks to the living room. Scott thinks maybe she might be using a time spell to move, because he feels sluggish, and his knees shake as he tries to stand up. He glances over at Eloise, whose head is tipped back and her hat is on the floor. A steady stream of blood draws a line from her nose.

“Joe?” Cleo calls again. “I remember,” Joe says, and oh, his voice is so terrible but so brilliant at the same time. It’s the words in his stolen spellbooks and it’s Milo braiding flowers in his hair, and it’s Maxwell gathering more for his hair and and it’s fresh bread with baby hand prints and it’s a first kiss in a field of lilies and it’s running from house to house and it’s hot coco in front of a fire and it’s family and it’s desperation and

it’s a hobbit hole in a mountain, and poppies in golden hair and the smell of war and fire and stolen kisses, then it’s a house that keeps being lit on fire and a partner blessed by the moon and a magic mountain, the terror of betrayal a fire and victory, and

it’s proposing in the ocean and it’s finding a missing twin after she left and it’s fighting a demon and it’s a brother and twin gods and it’s trading and laughter and tragedy, but it’s also an agreement, a collaboration, then it’s an explosion and golden deer antlers and ice, snow and a home in the mountains and a forgotten brother and a forgotten sister and it’s withering away in a friend’s arms and a shattered crystal and a missing wife and brother in law and-

it’s the world ending and it’s flying away on wings unused for half a year and running to a dimension so cold and unforgiving and it’s the weight of the egg in a pocket as the void reaches upwards and the feeling of being together, even in the end and a ship on a doomed mission and it’s two broken promises and it’s a swirling portal and it’s fear and terror and horror and it’s walking through hell and it’s sitting in the empty for four months and it’s drifting through space and it’s staying behind and it’s finding your way home and

the love that encompasses all of it.

Joe’s voice is a million stories at once, and Scott is brought to his knees by the weight of it.

“I remember,” Joe says again, and Eloise slumps to the floor with dull thud but neither Joe or Cleo pay her attention, because Joe is glowing neon green, his halo of check marks swirling violently around his head. There are majestic white wings on his back and the white at sign on his chest is blinding. “Joe,” Cleo starts. “Joe, what the hell are you talking about? I thought you couldn’t remember why you were in this timeline?”

It feels like there’s a mountain on top of Scott. This is Joe’s true voice, no longer held back by careful respect for mortals. “I came to warn you, Cleo. You and your friend Scott. The multiverse is upset at what you’re both trying to achieve.” And Scott might not be able to breathe, he might not be able to think straight (not that he does anything straight) but he’s pretty sure what Joe is trying to say is that the universe doesn’t want either of them to bring their respective people back.

Cleo clenches her jaw. “You know I can’t do that Joe. Every- every other version of me gets him back! Why can’t I?” Scott is inclined to agree, thinking back to their conversation under the stars. He tastes iron on his tongue, and reaches upward to his nose. His hand comes away red.

“Please,” Joe pleads. It’s a little silly, seeing a god plead with a mortal. The weight of his words brings Scott lower, until he’s kneeling on the floor. To his left, the blood from Eloise’s nose has slowly spread across the floor, and it’s starting to leak from her ears.

Neither of the figures before him notice. “It’s not fair, Joe. How come, in every universe, I get to come back? In every universe, I get to come back in a rotting, dead body, and he does in every universe except this one. It’s not fair!”

It might be Scott’s blurry vision, but he thinks Cleo is crying. They beat their fists into Joe’s chest, and he wraps her in his arms. “You’re my best friend, Cleo. In every universe. I can’t watch you hurl yourself into doom again without doing anything. I did that last time, when- I can’t do it again.”

Scott’s definitely going to pass out. He wonders faintly whether Eloise is already dead, or if he’s hallucinating the miniscule rise and fall of her chest. He wonders when he hit the floor.

“And,” Joe adds, stroking Cleo’s fiery mane. “You have other people to live for, other than him. You live in a castle built by his hands, and you have a coven who love and respect you very much. I don’t know much, Cleo” -he puts his hands on her shoulders- “but I know they’re worth keeping. There’s a story y’all are going to write together, and you need to let him go to see it.” Joe might be crying too, or Scott is imagining the rain glitter trailing down his cheeks.

Huh. Gods can weep. It feels surprisingly human.

“I can’t do that, Joe,” Cleo says. “I can’t leave him behind.” Scott’s eyelids are so heavy, so maybe he imagines the rush of air, and the sudden lift off pressure on his chest and being rolled gently on his back. Somewhere, in the distance, he thinks he hears Joe apologize, and maybe Cleo shouting his name, and maybe he gets lifted into kind arms. But it doesn’t really matter, because his head lolls sideways and he drifts off into unconsciousness.

The space beside him is cold. He knows Milo gets up early to bake bread, but it seems Maxwell got up with him. Scott tugs the covers around him, but he can’t get back to sleep, so he gets up.

It’s chilly this morning. Winter is on its way, but Autumn’s golden touch is still cradling the world outside. Scott wraps his robes around him as he makes his way down the hall to their kitchen. He can’t smell any coffee brewing, or bread baking, but it’s probably because his nose is a bit blocked. The cold weather tends to do that.

The floorboards creak under his steps. He should really get that fixed. Anyway. Anyway.

He enters the kitchen. Maxwell is coloring something on the island countertop, sitting on one of their stools. Milo has his back to him, kneading some bread. Scott sneaks behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his nose in his neck.

“Morning, Petal,” he murmurs. “Lily!” Milo laughs. “You’re going to make me mess up this batch!” He feels a tug on his arm. Maxwell is at his elbow, holding up a drawing of a lily of the valley. “Papa!” he signs. “Look what I drew!” Scott takes the drawing and leaves Milo to his bread. “Wow!” he signs back. “It looks so good!” And it does. Maxwell is only six, but already displays an amazing talent for art. There are art supplies all over the house, from paint in the living room to clay in the kitchen.

“Do you want pancakes for breakfast, Maxwell?” he signs. He giggles, and puts the paper on the countertop behind him. “Only if you let me pour syrup all over them.” Scott giggles too, and lifts him up to sit on the counter.

He reaches up to the cabinets to grab the sugar, and steals the flour off Milo. He bumps their hips together, and Milo sticks his tongue out. Maxwell already has a bowl in his lap, somehow. “Two cups of flour,” Scott signs. They take the cup and carefully fill and level it out. Maxwell takes a pinch and flicks it on his father, before giggling. Scott gasps, and takes a pinch to flick back, laughing hard.

“What are you two giggling about, hmm? Plotting a syrupy mess?” Milo turns around in time to catch Maxwell throwing some flour on Scott. They both freeze, eyes widening. Time pauses as Milo takes in the flour in both of their hairs, and all over the countertop. His lips part in a wide grin as he reaches into the bowl and throws flour on the both of them. Maxwell squeals and spreads a handful of white powder across his parents, then grabs a bowl to shield himself.

This is perfect. Scott could stay here forever.

He hears a clang, then the rim of the bowl spinning on the floor. Milo and Maxwell are frozen in place, grins slipping away. It’s suddenly so much colder. “Lily?” Scott says, reaching for his hand. It’s freezing. He can see his breath in front of him.

“Scott.” It’s terrible, how his voice breaks a dam in Scott’s chest. It’s terrible, how his words echo into the empty recesses of his mind. It’s terrible, how he wants it to never end. “Scott.” He reaches a hand to cup Scott’s cheek. Scott leans into the touch.

“I’m dead.”

“You are. I miss you.”

“I miss you too. I’m dead, though. Your heart still beats.”

“It does. I’m not sure it’s worth it without you. I’m struggling to find a different reason to keep living.”

“I love you. I love you so, so much.”

“I-” Scott feels like sobbing “-I love you too. My heart will keep beating. I’m working to get your one beating as well.”

“If you feel like you need to, go ahead. I can’t stop you. You just need to remember-” he presses a cold palm against Scott’s heart “-you have other people to live for. There are other people you can love.”

“Alright. I miss you.”

He sits up with a gasp, and immediately regrets it. There’s definitely something broken in his chest. Ouch. What the hell happened? He glances around the room. It appears to be one of the many rooms in Kairos’ infinite halls, decorated with gears and flowers. Scott staggers out of the very comfortable bed, and to the door that leads out to the corridor. He glances left and sees Cleo making their way down the hall. “Hey,” he says. They give him a tired grin, and hurry over to help him down the hall. “Hey,” they reply. Joe is nowhere to be seen.

“What happened?” he asks, as they make their way down stairs. Cleo helps him sit at a chair, because his legs are still jelly, and he valiantly ignores the way her grip trembles when he asks.

“I made a mistake,” she says. “I shouldn’t have let you and El come over when he was here.” He reaches across the table to place his hand of theirs. “You couldn’t have known.” She grits her teeth. “I could’ve! I have infinite wisdom across the multiverse, and these ridiculous Other-Cleos in my head, so I should have known. I should have known.” They clench their fist. “And now El is still passed out, your internal organs are terribly damaged, and my ribs have cracks which are going to take weeks to repair.”

Scott glances down at her exposed bones. Hairline fractures stem out from her sternum in a web-like shape. The most serious fractures appear to come from her heart. He reaches a hand towards it. “May I?” he asks. They nod, and he presses a hand on her chest and pushes the bones to heal, to bind together, like if he was raising a skeleton. Slowly, the fractures melt away, and Scott’s head feels like it’s going to explode. He brings his hand to his temple and tries to rub the pain away.

“Oh-” they say, getting up. “You probably shouldn’t do magic for a while. I’ll make you some tea to get your mana back.” They make their way to the kitchen and grab a tea bag from their cupboards. The box they grab it from says Green Tea. It is definitely not green. He notices them put a pinch of dried berries in a cup before she puts the kettle on.

“Who did you see?” they ask abruptly. Scott startles. “While you were passed out,” they clarify. He swallows. His throat is sore. “My husband,” he says. “And my son.” They nod. “I saw my good friend, the first time,” they say. “It never gets easier. Joe doesn’t really know the meaning of limits. He doesn’t get missing someone, because as far as he’s concerned, no one ever dies. If their story never dies, neither do they.” She smiles ruefully at him. It comes out a little more like a grimace.

They bring a cup over to him. “I think mortality is a foreign concept to a god,” Scott says, wrapping his hands around the mug. “Perhaps,” she says. Another one of her minute expressions flashes across her face. Scott tries to interpret what it means. He winces. His head hurts.

“Stay the night,” Cleo says. “Or maybe the next couple of days. Just so I can keep an eye on you.” They get up. “I’m going to check on Eloise. There’s fish in the furnace if you’re hungry.”

Scott is left in the dining room, a cup of tea cooling in his hands and a feeling that might be grief or something entirely new.

“-nobody?” Scott stops his hand before it touches the door. He was going to knock and ask what Eloise wanted for dinner, but Cleo’s voice had rung out instead. They’re probably talking about something private. He is kind of curious though, so he stands there awkwardly and prays no one catches him eavesdropping. Eloise coughs. “I’ve always been alone, you know? Just me, my magic and my cameras.”

”So that’s the deal with the floating cameras?” Cleo asks. “Ehm,” he hears Eloise reply. “I don’t actually know where they came from, erm, they just float around. I think it's a part of my illusion magic. The people enjoy them though.”

Interesting. Who are the people? There isn’t really anyone else in this area, or this world that Scott is aware of. “Who are the people?” Cleo asks. “You know,” Eloise replies. “The people.” A pause. “No,” Cleo says. “I don’t know the people.” Eloise coughs. And coughs again. Scott hears Cleo pass a cup to her, and El’s murmured thanks.

“We’re telling a story,” she explains, voice hoarse. “All of this is a story. And in order for a story to be told…” Scott’s hands still from where they’ve been fiddling with his robe. “...there needs to be an audience,” Cleo finishes inside.

Eloise coughs again. “You do know the people,” she remarks . “I have a friend,” Cleo murmurs. “El, what happens when the story is over? What happens when there’s no one left to watch?” He grips his robes so hard his knuckles turn white. “When it’s over, we’ll keep going. Tell another story.” She pauses. “As long as there is someone to tell it, as long as there is someone to listen, the story will never end.”

There’s no more sounds on the other side of the door, except coughing that eventually dies away. Scott places his hand on the door knob and turns it, opening to reveal Cleo pulling the sheets up on a sleeping Eloise. He spots a floating camera facing out the window.

“Hi,” he whispers. El’s face is so pale. There’s a handkerchief soaked with blood on the bedside table. “Hey,” Cleo whispers back. They sit down in the chair next to the bed and leans back, exhausted. “I don’t know she was so affected,” she tells Scott.

He thinks about her rotting skin, and he thinks about his still heart, and he doesn’t know, but he has a theory. He kneels beside her chair, and puts his hand on top of hers. “I think, maybe, she’s a little more alive than us,” he confesses.

They glance sharply up at him. Slowly, they reach a hand up to his temple, and brushes his hair to the side. He knows what she sees, because he sees it in the mirror every morning. The skin at his hairline is turning green, his eyes are slowly losing his color, and his face is becoming paler and paler everyday.

“Oh,” she says. “Yeah,” Scott agrees.

Eloise keeps smiling. Scott’s not against that; he’s a pretty cheerful guy himself. But she keeps glancing up from her soup and smiling, which is pretty weird. (He’s not sure he can judge. He lives in a goth version of his dead husband’s dream house, and survived a god using his true voice. This is pretty normal, all things considered.) Anyway. Anyway. She keeps smiling.

He frowns in her general direction. “What?” she grins. “You’re smiling,” Scott says. “It’s weird.” She scoffs. Cleo takes a quick sip of water. “It’s just smiling, Scott,” Eloise replies. He waves his hand around. “It’s weird.” She sticks her tongue out at him. He kicks her under the table. She kicks him back.

“Children,” Cleo says, brandishing her fork. “No fighting at the dining table, please.” Eloise goes bright red, and Scott can feel similar heat rising in his cheeks. “Sorry Cleo,” he says. “Sorry Cleo,” El echoes, burying her grin in a spoonful of soup.

Cleo smirks, bringing her bowl up to drink the rest of her soup. “I had a sudden sense of deja vu just then,” they say. “Must be a Time Witch thing,” Scott replies, lifting his bowl to do the same. “Maybe,” they say. “Maybe.”

“Thank you, by the way,” Eloise half-whispers. “For eating with me.” She smiles shyly down at her bowl. “It’s been a long time since I’ve shared a meal with anyone.” Scott stares down at his empty bowl, and his pale hands either side of it. He can’t remember the last time he had a warm meal with anyone either.

Cleo reaches over and places their hand over hers. “Of course. To be honest, I can’t remember the last time I ate something that wasn’t just toast.” A tear plops into Scott’s bowl. He scrubs his face. “Aw, Scott,” Cleo says. More tears flow out of his eyes. They come around the table and tenderly wrap their arms around him.

“Thank you,” he whispers, in a quiet, watery voice. “Thank you for sharing this meal with me.” Eloise comes around too, and Scott is buried under two powerful witches and feels very, very warm.

Scott is baking bread. It’s not something he does often, or well, but Cleo had run out within a week of feeding three times the normal amount of people in their castle, so really, he’s doing them all a favor.

Cleo and Eloise are outside, practicing hex casting on some poor rocks. The occasional explosions rattle the windows, but for the most part, he’s mostly left alone.

He’s got water warming up on the furnace behind him, and yeast and sugar carefully measured out in a bowl. Carefully, he tests the water with his finger, and pours it slowly on the sugar and yeast. Scott covers it with a tea plate, before turning to measure out the flour and salt in a separate bowl.

Five minutes for the yeast, he remembers Milo saying. It should be foamed up with a solid cover when it’s activated. Don’t heat the water too much! Otherwise it’ll kill the yeast. Scott lifts the plate off the bowl, and frowns. The liquid in the bowl is brown, and the only hint of foam are the miniscule bubbles around the edge. The water was too warm. He’s killed the yeast.

He tries again. Yeast, sugar. Water that is barely warmer than his hand. Cover it with a tea plate. Check it again. It’s still flat, with no foam forming on top. Scott stares at it. He’s killed it again. This time, he doesn’t think it’s the water. No, he thinks it’s-

The door slams open. “Hi Scott!” Eloise yells as she bursts through the door. He yelps, dropping the dead yeast mixture on the floor. “Watcha doin’?” Scott grabs a cloth and soaks the concoction on the floor. “Cleaning up the botched yeast mixture. I’m trying to make bread,” he grumbles.

“Oh,” El says, crouching down. “Can I help?” Scott blinks at her. “Sure,” he says at last. “Can you measure out the yeast and sugar? Two tablespoons of each.” Cleo walks in as he finishes mopping the last of the failed batch.

“Cleo!” he shouts. “Just in time. Come and warm up some water.” She starts protesting as he takes their hand and shoves a pot of cool water in it. “Scott! I’m holding my-” her broom drops to the floor with a clatter, and Scott just giggles cheekily.

They let it sit for five minutes (Scott suspects Cleo sped time up a little bit, if only to change her robes from the dusty ones they’re currently wearing) and when they take the lid off, Scott is delighted to see the soft shell of foam rising.

“What next, Scott?” El asks. “Yes, oh Great Baker Scott,” Cleo adds. “What next?” He flicks some flour onto their hat. They squawk indignantly, dusting it off. Cleo sniffs, and places it on the table behind him. “Now,” Scott says. “Pass that bowl of flour…”

(Later, Scott will win the title of Supreme. He’ll stand in a circle and sacrifice his power to bring back a man with a scratchy beard and baker’s hands. The crown will lie abandoned on the ground.

Later, Scott will bring Milo around to his house. He’ll pick Maxwell up from where he’s been living with Scott’s brother in the mountains far away. They’ll bake bread and cook pancakes and Maxwell will grow up to be the most amazing artist the world has ever seen.

Later, they’ll take in Lauren, and she’ll be part of the family. She’ll enjoy pranking Scott so much, and she’ll have a home. Her flowing peanut butter and jelly hair will be so popular with Maxwell, though he is no longer five, he loves the novelty nevertheless.

Later, they’ll own a house on a beach, close to a village, and far away from the eight towers around a scuffed center. Lauren will learn she likes to drink Jasmine tea and Maxwell will learn he likes to paint with Jasmine tea, and Milo will learn he likes to have a loaf of fresh Jasmine bread for their visitors. Their spare rooms upstairs are hardly ever empty.

Later, Cleo will stand in a circle of sigils and give up her time magic. They’ll drink the poison potion and eat the apple, and scream so, so loud. Their skin will turn from rotting green to a paler, alive shade, and their eyes will shine like emeralds with tears. She will cry, because her head is finally, finally, quiet.

Later, they’ll take a bouquet of flowers to a grave so old, the name carved into the stone has been weathered away. She’ll cry, apologize, and leave the flowers there. Cleo will open a flower shop, and make a living selling and repairing clocks.

Later, instead of painting sigils and carving hexes, they’ll spend their spare time painting sunsets and carving statues. Instead of spending time trying to pull the strings of the universe, they’ll pull the strings of a loom they are teaching their nephew-by-coven to use. Her apartment above the flower shop is always open to her family.

Later, Eloise will start her gameshow. It rockets in popularity, soaring to number one in the charts. She enjoys the enormous amounts of attention it gets her, viewer counts leaping to first, and the Witch Products sponsorships. Even at the Witch Awards, she was asked to present the prizes.

Later, there will be a place set for her at the table for dinner every night. She’ll try every food under the sun, and bring home her absolute favorites. Even though she’s not good at it, she loves trying to help Milo cook new dishes, whenever she comes home for supper.

Later, she will have a room that belongs to her, in a house that is always open to her, and a family that loves her. She won’t have an empty cavity in her chest where love should be, because she’s filled her life with enough people who care to fill the hole.

But all this happens later, in a future Scott cannot see. The branches of time never make themselves known to him, and he never sees what could have happened.

All this happens later, when the grief is not so fresh. All this happens later, when they know how to work as a group, to love like a family. All this happens later, in a future hidden from even the Witch of Time.

In this moment, on this spot in the branch, they stay in a castle where the air is thick with time and a god begged his friend to save herself. In this moment, on their spot in the branch, Scott bakes bread for breakfast with dying yeast, and Cleo teaches Eloise hexcasting and Eloise teaches them both how to care.)

(Somewhere, beyond the page, beyond the screen, beyond the fourth wall, a man with neon green glasses smiles.)

¤¤¤¤¤

Howdy! Thank y'all for reading!

This has been a monster project, the longest thing I've written as of today. Just over six thousand words!

Anyway, this is my notice that I will be participating in the Guess the Author event. Can you guess which one is mine?

As always, reblogs and comments are appreciated!

See you next time, folks.

#nightraider writes #witchcraft smp #wcsmp scott #wcsmp cleo #wcsmp eloise #zombie cleo #joe hills #scott smajor #soupforeloise

87 notes · View notes

greatideas-badwriter · 1 month

Text

SasuSaku: Sacrificed To The Banished Prince Ch. 21

For the first time, Sakura didn’t shy away when Akuma pulled her into his arms. Instead, she accepted the embrace because it was the first time she was entirely sure his intentions were pure. The reason he held her so close under the covers was because he yearned for comfort. Without speaking, he seemed to have finally realized he was doomed to be returned to Purgatory while she would soon be dead. A strange sense of comradery overshadowed Sakura’s usual bashfulness as she soothingly rubbed his back, under the odd, fleshy wings.

‘Sometime in the near future, both of us will cease to exist in this realm. The three of us will be separated until the end of time.’

Sakura was sad. It was bittersweet to admit she wished the prince had been successful in finding an alternative method of removing Akuma.

She’d experienced terrible things since becoming his fiancee, yes, but she’d also experienced kindness and comfort beyond her wildest dreams. It was as though the woman was a child before meeting Sasuke Uchiha. Now, her eyes were open to reality, no matter how brutal. And she preferred this life to the poor excuse for one she’d led back home with the Harunos, pain, trauma, and all.

Inwardly, the woman was in the process of comprehending her impending doom. Before, she agreed to be a sacrifice because she had no will to live. Now, her reasons had changed. No longer would she die for her family’s sake. Sakura would die as a show of loyalty and devotion to her fiance, to the man for whom she’d developed unwavering affection.

A tiny sound left her chest when Akuma suddenly pulled away. His red eyes weren’t nearly as fiery as usual. He looked over her, hands coming to hold her waist. When he spoke, his voice was almost the same as Sasuke’s since he’d given up trying to appear all-powerful, “That Haruno pig will be dead before us. I swear this to you.”

The Haruno woman shook her head. She didn’t want to think about Hihara now or ever again.

“If possible, I’ll lay him at your feet, my flower.”

Sakura’s face warmed at his new, surprisingly sweet nickname for her, “I don’t want that….”

He sighed, eyes drifting to her midsection, where his thumbs were gently brushing against her ribcage, “You may be able to heal from these scars, but I won’t allow that rodent to escape with his life. You’re much too passive.”

“Akuma,” she breathed, frowning when he met her gaze again, “Let’s spend our remaining days enjoying life rather than focusing on the negative.”

‘He’s spent his entire time on Earth scheming and planning, worrying if he’ll be a prisoner stuck in Sasuke’s body for eternity. Since I’m the one sending him to a place he obviously wishes to avoid, the least I can do is try to make the best of his last days.’

“What frivolities can I possibly enjoy while the moon is high when all the festivities will occur under the sun?”

“We can spend time together,” she murmured, searching his face.

Akuma’s mouth closed, as did his eyes before he took a calming breath and nodded once. His voice was less tense, “If it’ll please you….”

So, the duo stayed up late. They talked about all kinds of things, mostly what-if scenarios pertaining to the alternate reality where they’d both survive this tragic situation.

By the time Sakura fell asleep, she felt as though she’d finally gotten a glimpse of the demon’s true personality, and it wasn’t nearly as murderous and scary as one would expect. Akuma wanted to understand humans. He wanted to experience love and happiness because all he’d known until now was pain and loss. The demon wanted the only thing he couldn’t have, and Sakura’s heart ached for him.

Sakura was awoken by Konan the next morning. She blinked slowly, rubbing her eyes, “...Akuma?”

“You won’t see the prince until you meet at the altar this evening.”

The woman tried not to pout. It’d been reassuring to spend time alone with both Sasuke and Akuma. Now that they weren’t around, she was uneasy.

Ino arrived moments later. She did little to mask her distaste for the blue-haired maid and made an effort to ignore her presence as she assisted Sakura into the bathroom and began preparing a bath, “Today’s the big day! I’ll make sure you look flawless!”

As excited as Sakura was to marry such a kind and selfless man, she couldn’t focus on anything other than the fear that she’d make a mistake at some point during the wedding. Luckily, Ino and Konan filled the silence with light bickering while they bathed, dried, and began preparing her for the big event. The poor Haruno woman was silent all the while. She was in a panic-induced daze, allowing the people coming and going from the room to do as they pleased to her, whether it be applying makeup, styling her hair, delivering the dress, or any of the hundred other things that needed to be done.

Time passed in a whirlwind, and then she found herself in an extravagant waiting room with her father as they awaited the cue to walk down the aisle. Only when the baron spoke did Sakura finally snap out of her half-aware state, “Considering the circumstances, you make for a passable bride.”

“...”

She didn’t know what to say. It was obvious her father felt as uncomfortable as her. It’d been years since they’d been alone together, after all.

“Remember what I told you about performing marital duties. The prince seems taken by you, for whatever reason, so you’ll seduce him during the honeymoon and then you’ll convince him to announce the accusations against your brother were falsely made.”

A soft knock came at the door as the two stared at one another, the elder of the two with a firm glare and the younger with utter disbelief. A butler opened the door with a calm smile, “It is time.”

Kizashi Haruno cleared his throat as though it’d clear the tension between them, faced his daughter, and carefully pulled her veil over her face, “Let us go, child.” Sakura’s hands shook as he pulled one of them into the crook of his elbow and guided her out of the room to stand at the massive, closed double doors of the chapel.

Right then, she should’ve been focused on the wedding, but she wasn’t. No, she was appalled at having to be so close to her own father. The trembling didn’t stop, but she did have to bite back a gasp when she came to a realization, ‘After today, I’ll be Sasuke’s family. I’ll be an Uchiha, not a Haruno.’

Taking a deep breath, the woman closed her eyes tightly and whispered where only the baron could hear, “I’ll be your puppet no longer, Father. I’m free of the Harunos at last.”

Kizashi’s eyes widened angrily, and he opened his mouth to retort, only to clamp it closed when the doors slowly opened to reveal what could only be described as a wedding fit for gods and goddesses.

Elegant piano floated through the air as Sakura made her feet move on auto-pilot. Her eyes were wide, straight ahead, and not seeing much. The veil made everything blurry, not to mention the terrified tears welling in her eyes. Hundreds of people watched from either side of the wide aisle. She could feel their gazes burning into her skin. Her fingers tightened around her flawless bouquet of blue and white roses.

‘Don’t trip. Stand tall. Just keep walking. Please. Please. Please, don’t embarrass the royal family in front of all these people!’ The panicked thoughts in her head were as loud as bombs, only crescendoing with each step. It felt like they’d never reach the podium with how large the room was, how long the aisle was. Her entire body felt cold as ice, which didn’t help with her case of shivers.

Then, like the chaotic calm after a destructive storm, a white-gloved hand appeared before her. Her vision came into focus to see Sasuke’s familiar face, and it took her breath away. Kizashi bowed to the prince, then to the king and first prince who sat nearby before taking his seat in one of the frontward pews.

Sakura couldn’t tear her eyes from her fiance’s as he gently aided her up the steps to the podium, where an extremely old priest stood waiting in magnificent robes of white and silver. When they were stood in their designated place, the ceremony began.

The priest spoke loudly so that the entire chapel could hear, “Lords and Ladies, we’ve gathered here today to witness a royal marriage blessed by God. As the book says, we shall-” “Sakura.” The woman blinked, not realizing she still hadn’t looked away from her handsome fiance’s face. His whisper is what did it.

He squeezed her shaking hands in his much larger ones, speaking quietly without moving his mouth much so those watching wouldn’t suspect anything, “You’re safe.”

She nodded slowly, taking a calming breath and squeezing back, “I-I’m alright, now. I can do this.”

Warmth met her cheeks, breaking through the ice, when he gently rubbed his thumbs over the backs of her hands, the corner of his lips tugging as though he wanted to smirk or smile, but he held it back. As gentlemanly and reserved as he was, it’d become increasingly obvious to Sakura that he was amused by her bashfulness every so often. She blinked in surprise when Sasuke suddenly released her hands to slowly lift the veil, allowing it to fall like soft snow down her back to rest on the train of her wedding gown.

‘I didn’t realize how far we are into the ceremony already!’

Sasuke’s eyes were wide, surprise clear in their dark depths. For a long moment, neither dared to move. ‘He looks perfect, like a prince in a fairytale.’ Had he always been so handsome? Yes, he had, but it was still hard to look away from such beauty.

Murmurs began to fill the air from the wedding guests, making the Uchiha man clear his throat and blink. The priest repeated what she’d obviously missed, “Your vows, Your Highness.”

“Yes, my vows,” the prince confirmed. He cleared his throat again before turning his gaze back onto his bride, the tiniest hint of color meeting his cheeks. There was an unbearable moment of hesitation, obviously him being uncomfortable with such public displays, but he eventually sighed and began speaking, “Lady Sakura, I….”

She could only watch in awe as the man swallowed nervously before pulling her hands into his once more and closing his eyes, “I was a ghost. I’d hide away, content to be unseen and unheard if it were for the benefit of those around me.”

Tears welled once more in Sakura’s eyes as she watched the embarrassment fade from his features. Sasuke met her gaze warmly as though forgetting they weren’t alone, “Then, you arrived. You refused to allow me to remain a spectre. You… This quiet, unfamiliar woman made me into a human.”

If Sakura didn’t know better, she could’ve sworn his eyes were becoming watery, but the man didn’t cry. Instead, he finished his vows with his composure intact, “Of all the professions of affection I could make, I fear I can only manage to say thank you. The rest, I will offer without wordlessly and pray you’ll understand.”

Sasuke searched Sakura’s gaze, his hands squeezing hers as he repeated more quietly, “Thank you.”

The woman delicately wiped at a stray tear before reholding the prince’s hand and taking a deep breath. ‘They told me I’d have to write my own vows, and I did, but they seem far too professional compared to how I feel right now.’

She took the tiniest step closer to him, searching his face earnestly as the words came to her, and she, too, forgot they were being watched by hundreds of people, “You have given me comfort. You’ve given me care and compassion. You breathed a life into me that I didn’t know was possible.”

Sasuke’s hands tightened around hers, and she sniffled, feeling another tear overflow. She didn’t let it stop her and continued, “Never have I met a man with such a kind heart. I am proud of you.” She shook her head, leaning into his touch when he gently reached up to wipe at her tears, “Sasuke, I…I cannot wait to see the amazing things you’ll do in this life. If I am sure of two things, it is that I-I am in awe of you and that the world is a better place with you in it.”

The room became silent before the priest chuckled, “I believe their words are proof enough of their devotion,” he gestured to the couple, “Second Prince Sasuke Uchiha, you may now kiss your bride and welcome her into the royal family as First Princess Sakura Uchiha.”

‘The kiss! I forced myself not to think about it, but there’s no more time!’

Sakura couldn’t panic for more than a moment before warm lips were pressed to hers. Sasuke’s hand cupped her cheek, the other slipping behind her so he could pull her closer and hold her still. Her hands landed against his chest as she stared wide-eyed at his relaxed face. His eyes were closed. In that moment, the woman let herself be selfish. She closed her eyes and melted into her husband’s affection.

The crowd erupted with applause, but the new princess only broke out of her love-struck awe when Sasuke ended the kiss. He pulled away, his thumb brushing the corner of her lips as he searched her face. His voice was low and raspy with effort to remain composed, “We’re married.”

Sakura nodded, breathing heavier than normal with the overwhelming emotions and atmosphere, “I’m…. I’m your wife, Sasuke.”

This time, the prince didn’t hold back his smirk, “You are my wife.”

#naruto #naruto fanfiction #narutofanfic #narutofanfiction #sakura #naruto shippuden #sakura uchiha #haruno sakura #sakura haruno #konoha #sasusaku fic #sasusaku fanfiction #uchiha sasuke #sasuke #sasusaku

16 notes · View notes

prismatica-the-strange · 3 months

Text

Uh oh, new S/I intro already...

Meet: Freida Baltwin Priestess of Jein'ta

(Meiker)

Ship Tag: #death by anyone's hand but his would never taste as sweet

*Disclaimer* while I have been watching and rewatching the prequels I have never seen Clone Wars. So this ship will evolve as I do that... whenever I do that.

Star Wars Lore is not my strong suit.

Also, I don't want this to be actually doomed so I might have to rework some plot points. And I'm totally not stealing part of the story from Phantom Menace, nope... You can't prove anything.

Jein'ta is a planet in the farthest reaches the outer rim. It's lush with alien life and nearly untouched by the rest of civilization.

It's where Freida was born, and had it not been so far from everything she would have been brought to the Jedi temple as a baby. She's extremely force-sensitive and without the Jedi's teachings, she's found her own way to comnune with and interact with it.

It amplifies and displays her emotions in a way, as it affects the world around her.

Because of this deep connection to the force she is regarded as somewhat of a spiritual guide on her homeworld, a priestess.

It isn't until dark forces hiding within the galaxy learn of her does she also come to the attention of the Jedi.

These dark forces attempt to kidnap her and her father contacts the Jedi council to protect her and teach her to control and conceal her abilities better.

That's when she's trusted to the care of Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and his Padawan Anakin Skywalker.

She's normally quite a free and bright spirit but with having to leave all she's known with two strangers, she becomes timid and quiet

The trip back to Coruscant did not go according to plan when their ship was intercepted and forced to make an emergency landing.

While Obi-Wan is out bartering for parts, Anakin is left to do what repairs he can and keep her safe.

Of course, the people who all but shot them out of the sky find them and there's a scuffle. He tries to keep her behind him, but one of the kidnappers grabs her and presses a blaster into her back.

As Anakin tries to come up with a plan the man's eyes go wide before he falls down dead. She gave him a major aneurysm with her control of the force, but she didn't enjoy it.

Just as the others are about to move in the whole group is attacked by a creature that isn't native to this planet and looks as though it's been tortured.

It turns on her and Anakin, teeth bared, once it's ripped through their assailants, but before Anakin can even activate his lightsaber she's pushing in front of him, her hand out like a HTTYD character.

She's always been good at connecting with animals, and this one is no different, but the tone shifts when it steps closer and Anakin takes a defensive position. His aggressive energy throws off the balance she's created, making it look like the animal is going to attack, giving him no choice but to kill it.

She's immediately in tears over it. She'd connected with it, felt its pain, and tried to soothe it. Even then, having felt its life force be torn from her, she lets him take her in his arms and lead her inside where he holds her while letting her cry it out.

Let's just say, he had a lot of explaining to do to Obi-Wan when he came back to find various corpses outside the ship and Freida sat on his padawan's lap, sleeping peacefully against his chest.

She became instantly flustered when she woke up there though, and her face was bright red the rest of the trip back to the Jedi Temple.

From there, he's basically her personal bodyguard and they spend a lot of time together, so their relationship blossoms from there.

And I'm sad to say there are only two ways this will go. Either they live happily ever after like they deserve or... to put it bluntly?

He kills her.

Ship Playlist:

#anakin skywalker #prisma self ships #self ship intro #Anakin Skywalker x oc #self insert intro #s/i introduction #self shipping #Spotify #death by anyone's hand but his would never taste as sweet

7 notes · View notes

cloudjumpervalka · 2 months

Text

really surprised i haven't posted these?

the first is a lineup of my apprentice for the arcana game in their various outfits. they have since become a big inspiration for my new book project

the second is a lineup of all my ttrpg characters over the years. more info about them below (this is so long i apologize but i love my blorbos)

Dagny - half wood elf druid. he lives alone in a swamp after running away from home. he doesn't much care for people after growing up in a toxic environment. he dedicates himself to preserving the wildlife he's found solace in. Notably has a pet seagull named Gordon and a coral snake named Alton

Beryl Frozenfire (ft. Sapphire Frozenfire) - mountain dwarf barbarian. beryl and sapphire grew up as siblings born into a wealthy mining family (all of their family is named after blue gemstones) beryl grew up more interested in fighting to protect her home while sapphire grew up interested in becoming a powerful wizard. they grew up as the best of friends but long story short, beryl accidentally kills sapphire during a raid on her family's mine. beryl leaves her family home to atone for this, only to return years later with her new traveling party against her wishes. while saving her family's mine which had fell apart after the disappearance of their two children, she finds herself now magically attached to an ax holding the angry soul of her dead sister.

Morgana Thales - dusk elf death cleric. (yes i used Mor for a like month long side campaign i dont remember the exact details but bear with me) morgana loses her wife in a raid against their village. she then makes a deal with the followers of (i dont remember the deity oops but i think?? it was Shar?) to resurrect her wife in exchange of her service

Jullian - fey eladrin bard. he plays the hurdy gurdy. he's a traveling musician that relies on his constant traveling to refrain from forming any good relationships. (and honestly i've tried playing him in two different campaigns but i just can't rp as him lmao so me leaving those campaigns early is very in character actually)

Nanjo - human... doomed superhero... "vape ghost". she was born with powers that allow her to turn her body into vapor to "teleport" (similar to reaper/moira ovw) however every time that she uses her powers, she loses a part of her physical body. she currently does not have either of her arms intact, instead she moves her hands around with clouds of vapor she forms to create "smoky arms". she does not want people to know she is essentially disintegrating for multiple reasons. but the main reason is she is a retired jpop idol. it was too hard to keep her secret on stage so she left her other two group members to be a duo. while she cannot continue performing on stage, she uses her abilities in a modified cosplay of her favorite idol to fight crime

Olive Alberich - android on the run from being disassembled. she was built as a product of a corrupt company. she was purchased by a wealthy family that used her to act as a nanny for their child. she acted essentially as the kid's sole caretaker as well as her homeschool teacher as she had infinite knowledge in her head. one day the kid asks to do a science experiment as her homework for the day, but things go wrong and results in the kid dying from a explosion/fire that burns down that wing of the mansion. this event triggers an empathy chip in olive's brain that was not meant to be installed. olive distraught in that moment can recall her years raising this kid in new light while watching her body burn. her owners after seeing olive's new attitude, call for her recall as they believe she intentionally killed their child. she believes this is unjust and is now on the run. she has since acquired a new "cool girl" look by cutting her hair, changing her wardrobe, and replacing one of her eyes. if anyone asks, she's human

the last one is cheating because its beryl again but from when i tried bringing her back for a new campaign that was abandoned quickly lol

#witchart #the arcana game #jasper #dnd #ttrpg #oc #original character #dagny #beryl #morgana #jullian #nanjo #olive

6 notes · View notes

phlyaros · 7 months

Note

need more on that monster attracted to death benry au STAT. it's so good actually

Firefox fucking crashed while I was typing this the first time im going to kill god. Tysm but god typing all this out again WOOF.

Okay so it starts here with “I use au's and shipping to explore concepts/characterization that I feel is overlooked/unexplored in canon” and Benry already has a lot of associations with death to me (the skeletons, his explicit dying whereas everyone else has other explanations, his 'song of death', “there are no predetermined deaths”, him being a inscrutable and inevitable force that is only your enemy if you make him so)

this is a horror-aligned thing so uh body horror and other violence under the cut

I have other stories with benry that explore his relationship with death as well, this is just the one where Benry understands how fucking bad it is for Gordon in the first place and it's more of an interpersonal conflict than one of misunderstandings. They still do misunderstand each other but like.

Anyways most of the basic stuff also goes for how I generally interpret Benry; he's a simulacrum of human life basically. He's always been dead, he's never been dead, he's always been alive and he's currently living. I made a thing a while back out of cut up wiki pages to try and explain what I think of him better but never got around to prettying it up.

Anyways. He's something like that one interpretation of a changeling to me; something that's usurped the body and eaten it from the inside out, until all that's left is him. Partially this is a plural thing to me. Old host chipped away over time until it's something else entirely. Whoever he was before doesn't exist anymore. There is only Benry. (what is benry? well, he is.)

And so uh, Deathry specifically is the horse edition of this. He actually looks human most of the time but it's fun to draw him as silly little beasts. Deathry as established is drawn to death; he feeds from this somehow (the horror hunger enjoyer in me said so) but i'm not sure yet if it's a physical sort of eating or more of an energy-based one. Leaning to both, like a vampire.

I tried making him as compatible with canon as possible on the mechanical level at first. Something that's drawn to the doomed and the damned? Well, we all know what the rescas was like. I think he's just so desensitized to death that he does understand the gravity of it on a deeper level but nobody cared when HE died so why bother.

The story itself isn't compatible though because I was listening to my fucked up and evil music and thought to myself “well if two guys were out hiking alone in the woods and one tried to kill the other with an axe would that be fucked up or what” and now that's thoroughly lodged in my head. and uhhhh the personal drama of it all.

Listen. I am a gay man. I think about frenrey and think about them choking each other to death and I giggle and swing my feet. I love when they are violence and killing.

But also I am a gay man and thinking about a literal embodiment of the condition of death sitting in a tent as the guy he personally cut the arm off of (yes, him, personally!) is slowly succumbing to the cold; wrapping Gordon in his jacket, quietly laying on top of Gordon as the weather gets worse through the night, unsure of what else he can do... comparing Gordon's blackened frostbitten fingers interlaced with his own skeletal black hands, Gordon's slowly crawling pulse to his maybe one heartbeat a minute, Gordon's once loud and comprehensive speech slowly descending to confused muttering, becoming more like him. More like dead. The rituals are intricate okay.

And uh something that makes me crazy is that Benry in canon was explicitly the thing that was holding the rift between worlds open and he didn't even. Notice. With Deathry that sheer power manifests as freak weather events, flocks of birds dropping dead mid-flight, interrupting radio signals, making compasses go crazy. That sort of shit.

Deathry also takes pictures in places he ends up. Gordon is fucking flabbergasted at the underwater caves, dive bells from the outside, impossible angles on known landmarks, but it makes sense to him later. Gordon's probably more riled up by all the random shit Benry's collected over the years - what do you mean you don't want this coat covered in decomp?? aren't you cold??

Anyway. Au is also a fun excuse to think about frenrey shenanigans. Turns up in a hospital after being missing for 3 months raving about a guy who defies all physics with wounds that are only a few days old. Thinks about him for the next month until he randomly shows the fuck up with photos of Gordon bleeding in the snow with benry posed with the axe in front of him like they're having a fun girls night out

#phlyaros' nonsense #asks #deathry #merc's art #hlvrai #benry

18 notes · View notes

unearthlychild34 · 4 months

Text

I am sometimes smart enough to be able to outrun myself. What a gift.

I have had plenty of people ask me why I hold to my religion in an era when it is becoming passé. I can give lots of pretty reasons, ones that are true and that I even believe, ones I think are enough to satisfy them. I was raised in it, it provides a kind of structure I find valuable, society is better when we believe in principles like love, hope, and justice, even simply that I think it’s true.

Then we get deeper, the things I rarely admit out loud. I’ve seen too much to ever successfully shake it off. As Flannery O’Connor and Graham Greene wrote, I know any attempts to outrun it will only circle me back around. Because at its heart, Ive had too many moments when fate could, or perhaps even should have ended differently. Ended with me being dead. Over and over and over again.

As much as I wish it was selfless, at its heart, I am haunted by the idea that I shouldn’t be here, and I need to understand why. There has to be a why. Especially on the nights when my continuing to live feels like a mistake.

Ive spent my whole life being able to see too much, know too much, feel too much. Everywhere I go, I feel like a harbinger, an omen of doom. It is not doom I create, but I continually find myself situated in places right before chaos breaks out, as old things die and new ones must be born out of the still-screaming ashes. I talk to people who have loved people, places, and institutions which have supported them their entire lives, out of which they build families and identities and homes. I can’t understand what that must be like.

Ive been told before that I have a gift for prophecy, of a kind of intimacy with God in communication. It’s rarely felt like a gift.

I recently found a blog which pondered the relationship between God and his prophets. How they often wished for death, an end to the burden. They wondered if this is why God came down, to find out why these beloved ones wanted to die. If he too grows tired of himself sometimes. Im certainly tired, but I don’t know of what.

People ask me what I want from life. All I can do is scream “meaning” into the void and politely smile as I respond “Oh, you know, Im young, Im not really sure.” Because Im not sure I’ll find it. Im falling in love with a woman who suffocates under the mere idea of organized religion as I consider pursuing seminary. I want to go back to school but know my body can’t handle it, my heart can’t handle it. I might go anyway. Im working a job that lets me see beautiful sunrises, be active and work with my hands, but also meaningfully engage my mind and do something genuinely valuable for my community. Someone else would do it if I didn’t. Maybe I could accomplish more as a college professor. Maybe I could accomplish more as a stay-at-home parent. Maybe I could accomplish more if I devoted my life to research, or wrote inspiring books, or worked in a nonprofit setting. Maybe this is the most good I’ll ever do, right here and now.

Maybe I’ll die tomorrow. Maybe it doesn’t actually mean anything. Maybe my existence is both anomaly and unremarkable, and my continuing presence here is also unremarkable. Maybe everyone is better off without me anyway.

But Im not ready to accept that. So all I can do is keep telling myself that I believe in love, hope and justice for a reason. That it does have meaning. And if God does get sick of himself sometimes, that only means that he understands why I feel so nauseous tonight. And maybe I will someday find that meaning. Maybe not. But I won’t find it if I don’t look.

5 notes · View notes

rex101111 · 2 years

Text

wanna talk about Ender Lilies and how it gave me a world full of corpses and greed and blood and still made me want to save it but that’d be spoilery soooo

*spoilers*

Alright so I’m not the biggest fan of super edgy stuff, right? Like if you’re into that kinda stuff more power to you have fun but. I dunno you give me a story full of selfish assholes with no desire or ability to improve and ill check out straight away because I can see where this is all going. Everyone is going to be horrible to each other and/or die and I am...not about that life. That’s just exhausting.

If the world is already doomed and dead, and none of the characters in it are interested in either fixing what’s left or restoring it to what it used to be, why should I care?

Enter Ender Lilies, and the place you play in called Land’s End. Right after the first boss fight you are greeted by a blood red sky and black rain and everything and everyone you find is either a heavily disfigured corpse or a heavily disfigured thing trying to chew your baby face off.

The only people you talk to are ghosts. Literally. You are the only living person in this entire damn kingdom still capable of not acting like a starving animal. The world is suffering from a curse called Blight, that corrupts people’s bodies and souls into violent blood thirsty monsters of various shapes and sharp objects that can’t really and exist in constant agony. Your player character, Lily, has the ability to absorb the Blight and thus allow someone to peacefully pass on.

Every time you have a conversation with someone, they are already long dead, in body if not in spirit. Some are afraid and confused like a young boy two feet from the first boss that got turned into a slug, others are relieved to finally be free like an old priest, still more are ashamed of what they became and did like a soldier who turned crazy and killed his friends.

The one ghost you spend the most time with is the Umbral Knight, who accompanies you from start to finish. He has been dead even longer than most of the people in this kingdom, and death no longer holds any terror over him.

He’s the one who wakes you in the start of the game, and pushes you forward. Most video game helpers of his kind would be prodding you in the back to get you to Fulfill Your Destiny and all that, but instead he’s simply there to keep you safe, everything else is up to you, up to Lily.

He’s very empathetic to all the suffering and death you see across your journey, saying small prayers and hoping those you find and free can find some peace at last. He’s also, very importantly, empathetic to just how utterly shitty this situation is for Lily.

She’s a kid, a little kid, and it shows. She can barely run, her dodge has her falling over face in a panic, and her jump barely gets you anywhere. She doesn’t do any fighting at all. What she does is manifest the spirits of the bosses and mini-bosses you find and they do all the fighting while she scurries around trying to keep her head from getting chopped off.

She shouldn’t be doing this. The fate of this miserable kingdom and all its mistakes should not be foisted onto this little girl, and the game fully acknowledges this. Several points in the game has the Umbral Knight express that what he wants is for Lily to get the hell out of this damned place. Leave the death and pain behind and live for herself.

If the game kept going “but you MUST save this place!!! only YOU can end the suffering of these poor poor people!! suffer the pain for their sake!!” it would have been just this side of miserable. The more Blight she absorbs the more corrupt and pained Lily becomes, but I felt the urge to go on anyway because while nobody here asks are even expects my help, they so very clearly need it.

The choice between getting rid of the Blight and just letting it all rot is firmly in your hands, and the game doesn’t even judge you too harshly for it. Its a perfectly reasonable response for a kid like Lily to try and than...just get scared and leave, disappointed that she couldn’t help everyone.

The Umbral Knight hugs her goodbye, and tells her that she should live. This kingdom brought this fate on themselves. Its okay. You can leave. Be safe. Be happy...don’t give him that look...

And because I could leave, because the choice to leave was a choice, I felt all the more motivated to fix this damned mess of a kingdom and give all these folk some peace and closure.

Ender Lilies isn’t too edgy for me, despite the gory imagery and somber tone, because it shows that the world can be helped, that you could leave but you could help...and that Lily clearly wants to help. And she can help.

There’s a glimmer of hope no matter how sad and dire things get in Ender Lilies. Just dark enough that you understand the gravity of the situation, but not too much that you don’t see the point of trying to make anything better.

so yeah play Ender Lilies.

#Ender Lilies #random crap #baaaaah i platinumed this game i wanna ramble with someone about it but non of my mutuals have played it seemingly XD #i want everyone to play it c'mon #its like Hollow Knight but prettier and kinda like Drakengard and Bloodborne

93 notes · View notes

rake-rake · 3 months

Text

Headcanons. Yuta's outcome.

I've mentioned before that in the events currently happening in the manga Yuta is pretty much at his limit, both psychologically and physically. The main things that cause this are the secondary effects of his cursed technique and the current state of his friends.

To put it in simple terms, Yuta's body is unable to keep up with his technique. The human body is not designed to be able to digest raw human or curses' flesh, which has him facing the same health problems Geto did, but even worse. He already suffered of a eating disorder due to his abusive upbringing, but it now has developed to the point that pills and cigarettes to control his appetite are the norm. In bad days, ingesting normal meals cause him to throw up bile and blood. He's incredibly sick looking, scrawny and shrivelled, his skin sickly colored, his features sunk and his eyes always dark circles. He always smells of blood.

But the physical effects of his technique are only a part of everything. The psychological aspect of consuming human flesh only exacerbates all his symptoms, as well as a chronic depression that has worsened in a way too small frame of time. He's enormously traumatized and utterly disgusted on himself, but refuses to acknowledge it in any way as to not let it burden him. All of his self loathing in shoved in the back of his mind in order to act with surgical precision when he needs to. During his time at Kenya, he was able to find some semblance of comfort and spiritual balance in the midst of Miguel's community, but with having to leave so suddenly once Shibuya happens it's only left him in a bad spot, made worse by what he finds out once he's back.

His main objective was always to become strong enough as to protect his friends, reason he went away to train and left everything on Satoru's hands. However, we know how that goes. Kokichi and Mai are dead, Toge and Maki are hurt beyond help, Satoru is sealed, Megumi is suffering a fate worse than death. Coming to the conclusion Satoru was mistaken on letting Yuji live, he decides to forsake his request to protect Yuji and sets down to kill him instead, making a binding vow with the higher ups to prove his resolve.

Unfortunately, he finds Megumi before Yuji, and his soft spot for him becomes a burden. Yuta offers Megumi a deal, a binding vow. He will give Yuji one chance, and in exchange Megumi will give him a kilogram of his flesh. Eventually, he goes on to find Yuji, and by killing him only to then heal him a second afterwards, he effectively fulfills the vow with both Megumi and the higher ups.

However, even if it seemed like a good middle ground in that moment, this would turn up to be the worst mistake he ever made, dooming Megumi, Satoru, and multiple others. A responsibility he intends to fully take.

Unknown to everyone, Yuta was able to track down the last finger little after parting ways with Megumi, Yuji, and Choso. Yuta ate it, and although normally Mimicry requires of around two pounds of flesh to copy a technique, whether from humans or curses, given Sukuna's fingers are concentrated parts of his power it was enough to allow him to copy both Cleave and Dismantle.

He did this fully aware of what obtaining that triumph card would mean. Even if they were to use Jacob's Ladder on Megumi, Sukuna will still live as long as a single finger remains, and with nineteen gone his consciousness will drift to the single one left, the one in Yuta. Yuta intends to end his life after defeating Sukuna, and it's not something he can postpone. Unlike Yuji, he's fully human, and would not be able to hold him back.

Although this might seem like a bad ending, for Yuta, who's been fighting every moment of his life one way or another, it would very much be a final and well deserved rest. If he can at least kill Sukuna and save Megumi, he would feel he's been able to accomplish something of worth in his life, and would be able to go North hand on hand with Rika with a smile on his face. Megumi freed, he would slit his throat, and die smiling.

#○ ° ★ . * 𝑌𝑢𝑡𝑎.#○ ° ★ . * 𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠.#yuta vc 2016-2017 fuck it we ball.#2018: if still insane kill self. If normal start YouTube channel.#yeah #cw: suicide #cw: eating disorders #cw: depression #cw: throat gore #cw: cannibalism #cw: eating disorder

4 notes · View notes

lesbicosmos · 11 months

Text

day 6 of @chrisginnyweek !!

day 6 prompt: separate

my interpretation: separate planes of existence? a really niche book au that probably makes no sense

summary: ginny dies in an accident and is the last person to die on new years eve, so she becomes a grim reaper. chris deals with losing her. aka the afterlove au no one asked for

note: some context if u haven't read afterlove by tanya byrne -the last person to die on new years eve in a specific area becomes a grim reaper for that area -the grim reapers are the ones who take the recently dead to the place where they 'move on' so to speak -they do still exist in the world but their appearances are altered so much that any unique details like birthmarks and scars disappear so they seem almost like a blank canvas -if a living person recognises a reaper despite the appearance change, they're seemingly doomed to die within a few days

also on ao3!

no grave can hold my body down

No. No, this couldn’t be happening. It was impossible. She couldn’t be- no. Chris refused to believe it. Ginny Danburry wasn’t dead. She just couldn’t be. Yet here the police were, delivering the news not even hour into the New Year.

They’d decided to have a New Years party at Knox’s house given his parents were out on a business trip. The seven poets, Chris and Ginny had all been having fun together without a care in the world, playing stupid games and waiting for midnight to arrive. Chris had planned everything that was going to happen at the stroke of the new year: she was going to push the others out of the way, drag Ginny into the centre of the living room and kiss her senseless right there; Charlie would probably whistle like a child, but she wouldn’t care; there would be confetti falling around them: it would be the perfect way to start January 1st.

But then Ginny’s parents had come. Then they’d dragged her away from the party at ten minutes to midnight. They’d taken her home in the car, promised she could see them all tomorrow. But she never got home. There was an accident, and Ginny’s side of the car had been crushed. Her parents had survived, but Ginny was gone.

Chris sat on Knox’s sofa, staring into the fireplace, only one word repeating in her mind like a broken record: no. She couldn’t be gone. Chris couldn’t believe that she’d never see her face again, never run her hands through her impossibly soft hair again, never kiss her again. Everything was happening too quickly. She was angry – angry at her parents for taking her away from the party, angry at herself for not being able to convince them to let her stay, angry at whatever controlled the universe for choosing Ginny. It should have been someone else – it should have been her. Ginny had so much ahead of her, an inevitable shining acting career just a few years away, while Chris still didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life. Why could it not have been her in that car rather than her girlfriend?

Chris’s head fell into her hands and she broke down into uncontrollable sobs.

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

Crying. Arguing. Swerving. Crashing. Pain…so much pain. A body.

Ginny couldn’t stop reimagining the moment, dragging herself out of the wrecked car and standing up, relieved to be alive, only to look down see a body lying where she had been only moments before - her own body, wearing the same outfit she was at that very moment.

It had taken a while to get used to the knowledge that she was dead. Her life was over, yet she was still in the world, walking around it like anyone else, like the shadow of the girl she once was, going unnoticed by everyone. She’d been told she was the one, that she was a Reaper now, that being the last to die on New Years’ Eve meant it was now her job to escort those recently deceased to the next plane but couldn’t go herself. The thing that was the hardest to get used to, though, was the knowledge that she couldn’t see Chris anymore.

She missed her. Every day Ginny remembered another part of her girlfriend that she missed. She missed seeing her smile when Ginny arrived at her house; she missed the dimples that always came alongside that smile; she missed the sweet sound of her laugh, her voice; she missed the way her eyes twinkled in the summer sun; she missed the feeling of her lips, soft against her own. She missed everything about Chris Noel. She knew that technically she could go and see her if she wanted. She could talk to her, act like she was a stranger, like nothing ever happened and they’d never met before. She desperately wished to do so, but she wouldn’t. She knew the rules – if a living person recognises a reaper as their past self, they’re doomed to die within days. She wouldn’t risk Chris’s life just for her own selfish gain. If she did, and Chris died, then she would never be able to see her again. Chris would move on, and Ginny would be stuck there, in a cycle of taking others to their next life. At least this way, she could see her from a distance, know she was safe.

Ginny remembered the first time she saw her own reflection after the accident. She looked like herself, but not really. Some things were just wrong or missing. All of the makeup she was wearing for the New Years Party was gone. Her hair only lied flat and didn’t have the lively curl it used to have. Her freckles had disappeared, and so had the beauty mark from her cheek. The scar on her chin from falling on the playground as a child was nowhere to be seen. Ginny didn’t recognise herself. It was like she was wiped blank, just a default copy of a person. She hated it.

She knew why it happened, of course. It made people less likely to see her and the other reapers in the streets, they would pass by without giving even a glance in their direction. It was for everyone’s safety, but that didn’t make it any less horrible.

After completing her reapings for the day, Ginny had the overwhelming urge to find Chris. She shoved it down, knowing it would only end badly. Chris would recognise her, even without her unique details, Ginny knew it. If she wanted her to be safe, to be happy, they had to stay separate. Ginny would avoid her at all costs, give her the time and space to move on. Then, maybe one day, she wouldn’t remember her. She wouldn’t recognise her without her curls or her freckles or her scar. She would be able to go up to her in the street, say hello, pretend like Chris wasn’t her everything, both before and now. Maybe they’d be able to start again, maybe she’d make up a new name and be an entirely new person. She was good at acting. But maybe Chris would find someone else. Maybe.

Without even thinking about it, Ginny found herself walking around the local park, the park where she and Chris would always go after school. They’d walk all the paths, talk about anything and everything, and sometimes they wouldn’t talk at all, just walk through the trees happy with each other’s company. It was the place they’d confessed their feelings, the place they’d been on so many dates, the place that had become theirs. She took a deep breath and sat down on their favourite bench, closing her eyes and remembering all the moments they had shared together in the months they were girlfriends, in the years they were friends. She wanted to make sure she remembered all of it, even the smallest of things. Even if she couldn’t be with her any more, she would keep all of the memories close if her death depended on it.

Then, her thoughts were cut off by a voice, oddly familiar but sniffly.

“Ginny?”

Ginny thought she had imagined it. She had to have. But then she looked up and standing in front of her was Chris Noel. She looked as gorgeous as ever, the sunlight illuminating behind her, making it look as though she had a halo. Ginny almost smiled. Then she looked closer. Chris seemed so tired, and had dark circles under her eyes. She’d been crying.

No. Ginny thought. No, this can’t be happening. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But then the voice was speaking again.

“Gin…is that you?”

#only i would interpret a simple prompt in a way as complicated as this #apologies if this makes no sense </3 #hoping to have time to write tonight given i still havent written day 7 oops #dps #dead poets society #dps fandom #dps fanfic #chris noel #ginny danburry #chrisginny #chrisginnyweek

7 notes · View notes