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#character death

I haven’t finished listening to the song so I’m just going to say what the first like minute or so makes me think of.

This is in a quirkless universe, lets say dystopian or a crime related AU. 


TW // death

Bakugou gets hurt. Stabbed or shot, but he doesn’t say anything to anyone, just waves them all off and the second they leave he throws himself down onto the chair in front of the fireplace. He grabs a glass and fills it with his favourite whiskey and lights his favourite cigarette. 

He stares into the fire and waits to bleed out.

11 notes

Black Balloon

Enjoy the pain my dudes, this fic is also up on my Ao3

WARNING: Character Death


At first everything was quiet. 

Too quiet.

The lack of sound felt like suffocation, and then there was a soft sound. Something that couldn’t be made out at first, it was so gentle, seeming to run off every time he tried to focus on it. Then it grew a bit louder, and louder, and louder, until it was directly in his ear. A steady beeping. 


Then it faded again, and suddenly there was pain.

He hadn’t been aware that pain could have a sound, but this pain was audible. It rang viciously in his ears, popping off like static from an overused television. As he managed to pull his eyes open to see unfamiliar fluorescent lights and off-white ceilings that left him feeling lost, he just barely managed to turn his head to try and figure out where he was; eventually concluding it must be a hospital. He was plugged into what felt like dozens of machines, and he couldn’t really feel anything below his neck. 

It was like he was a head floating without a body, just resting in this hospital bed without a hope to become something more than a pile of wreckage. 

There wasn’t much time to focus on surroundings though, as the static in his ears piercing through his skull and felt like it shattered his jaw. His eyes snapped shut as quickly as they opened, and he let out a howling cry. It felt like there were sharp blades slowly penetrating through his skull, ripping his brain clean in half. It was torture, and despite no feeling in his body, he could tell he was thrashing. He thrashed until there was force keeping him down against the bed. 

“………….doctor! ………….the tranquilizer………..his arms………..he’ll end up worse if we don’t hurry up!” 

Hot, fresh tears bubbled at the corners of his eyes as he screamed through the searing pain that sent spikes of agony through his mangled body. It felt like this was going to be endless. Like this would be what he experienced for the rest of his life, and he would just have to suffer through it.

 For a moment, he even begged for death. 

This couldn’t be what his life amounted to. All the work he had put in, he couldn’t let this be it. Despite the torture his body was putting him through, he could single out a small prick of pain in his arm against the pressure of the nurses and doctor’s bodies that kept him to the bed, and though it felt like years to him, within about 30 seconds, things began to subside. The pain was still quite unbearable, but he was able to think a little clearer. The static in his ears hushed slightly, and gradually he could put things together. 

The war. 


All for One.


Tears fell steady down his hospital sanitized cheeks now, and he at the same time he was able to deduce that the onslaught of pain was probably caused by Danger Sense, and there was so much happening that he couldn’t do anything about. Helpless. Powerless. Useless. 

Despite the tranquilizer he was given, the pain evened out, but didn’t go away. It was more like an aggressive nagging in the back of his head now. Like he had a terrible itch he would never be able to scratch, and it burned in the back of his skull and made his eyes roll for a second like he was attempting to get to it, but it was all in vain. Until the danger was handled, he just assumed this was something he’d have to deal with. There wasn’t information given to him about Danger Sense for him to know the ins and outs about it, he just knew the 4th stayed far away from other people, and as he lay there incapacitated and unmoving, he understood why. 

No one should suffer through such horrendous pain, even in the name of saving others. 

The weight around his body eventually subsided as the nurses and doctors checked their machines to make sure he was stable, before leaving him alone once again. When he opened his eyes for the second time, he was by himself. The emptiness felt huge. It felt like, even though the room was no bigger than his bedroom at home, like he was all alone in the middle of a gigantic space with nothing around him. The feeling of suffocation was pressing against his throat again, and the tears were relentless. 

He hiccupped and whined like a child, wishing for anyone to come be with him so he wasn’t smothered by this immense loneliness inside of his chest. 


A sob ripped through his throat as he thought of him again and remembered what happened before everything went black. The last thing he remembered was facing Shigaraki and then there were sharp spike like objects hurdling toward him, and then…Kacchan. Then there was Kacchan and then he was falling, and then everything went black. 

The rattle of the hospital door snapped him from his misery for a second and as he looked to the door, his eyes widened to the size of saucers. In a hospital gown like his own, bandages evident beneath the cloth, a disheveled mess of blonde hair and scorching crimson eyes, the only person he actually wanted to see was slipping into his hospital room like he had heard the wish from down the hall, despite Deku never saying a word. 

“..Ka..” His throat felt like a thousand needles that had been coated in flame stabbed into it simultaneously, and he winced. Talking didn’t seem like an option, and it left him feeling even more lost. How could he not even be able to speak to the other? There was so much he had to say! But as Bakugou approached the bed, and he looked into the other’s eyes, he didn’t feel the need to talk anymore. Something in his expression made him feel like words wouldn’t matter, anyway. It left such a thick, weighted feeling inside of his heart. The blonde boy didn’t say a word as he moved to the bed and then shifted to climb on top of it, and then rest himself next to the smaller teen; their bodies pressed against one another. 

Bakugou shifted an arm around Deku’s mid-section and rest with the side of his face on the pillow so he was looking at the freckled teen, who could just barely turn his head enough to make eye contact with his friend. Unlike the doctors, there wasn’t weight with this body. It felt warm, but there was no presence to it. Like there was just a comforting pocket of air enveloping his body and easing the pain inside of him. 

The tears that had been endless till now, settled. The pain spreading throughout his broken body, settled. It was like he was in a bubble where nothing could affect him, and he couldn’t look away from the smoldering red of Bakugou’s eyes. 

His eyes eventually shifted to Bakugou’s mouth as it moved, but he couldn’t hear anything. At first, he wondered if it was from the pain or if something was wrong with his hearing, but the incessant beeping from the machines alerted him that it wasn’t anything like that at all; Bakugou wasn’t speaking, but he knew what he was saying even without hearing anything. The way his lips moved mimicked the sound of his voice, and Deku could play the sound in his head from memory. 

“You aren’t alone, you stupid nerd. Stop trying to do everything by yourself, and let the others help you. As for me, don’t even waste your damn time worrying about it when you have bigger things to focus on. We’ll meet again, eventually, and I’ll apologize to you for real.”

As the words settled inside of him and he connected the dots, another sob racked his frame and he let out a wail of desperation unlike any other. Like a child whose entire world had been ripped from their hands, like he lost his entire world. 

“Deku, don’t fucking let me down, I’ll be watching you, nerd.” 

Another sob, and soon warm arms were holding him, the voice of his mother filling his ears as she rushed into the room and took him into her grasp. All he could do was wail like an infant. Speech was unrecognizable to him, as was movement, and he was reverted to a helpless child, whose entire world was crumbling down around him. 

Meanwhile, 2 rooms down in the same corridor sat Mitsuki and Masaru, holding each other and mimicking those wails that tore through their son’s childhood friend. 

This hospital room didn’t echo with repeated beeping, instead, there was one steady, harrowing beep that signified the loss of a life. On the hospital bed just a foot or two away from his parents lay Bakugou, bandaged and irreparable from the damage done to his body. His expression was calm, almost serene, and his eyes rest closed, never to open again. 

Even in death, he wouldn’t have lost the opportunity to give one last smartass remark to the one person he should have given all of himself to when he had the chance. 

31 notes


Edit: :(

shellyshelby: I think this is Branded by MyLookOfDenial. It had this scene at the end. It is a non-con captured slave fic. It was completed around 2011 but the author took it down from ffn a few years later.

5 notes

Gore warning 

What Alex witness that day… cursed him to this day. 

Even if his affliction were to be cured…. this curse would still terrify him. 

The curse of knowing. What it looks like to lose someone and slip ever closer to death hurting alone for an eternity. 

Made for 100 followers <3 

2 notes

If you were gonna leave this word, how could it have been without me?

✧ in which death tears two souls apart.
    ✦pairing: lee minho x gn!reader
    ✦genre: angst, vampire!au, 
    ✦warnings: character death, mentions of blood, mention of self harm.
    ✦content: one-shot (3k words) | based on this


“It’s time to take you home,” Minho said under a bright smile.

He felt dumb after the words left his mouth. Of all the things he could have said. But the date had been good, so good he didn’t want to part ways just yet.

“It feels so early,” the witch by his side muttered over hushed, tipsy laughs.

It was still early in the morning (or maybe late at night) and the sun was still so far away that it was a shame to waste the time alone. But he promised that they would walk home together and bide goodbyes properly, that was the way Minho did things and God could take his soul if he ever broke a promise.

That’s why now, in front of an apartment building, he had a warm hand wrapped around his freezing one and a foolish smile unwilling to go. He felt intoxicated by euphoria (or maybe it was the wine).

A raspy voice made him turn his head: “We’re here,” and he wished they weren’t “I’d invite you in, but the sun’s a few hours away.”

They laughed again, maybe at the slurred words, maybe at the idea of inviting him in, but then and there it was just perfect. Then he left a giggle when he remembered.

“Have the rest,” he said, offering the bottle that was on his other hand. He hoped the chill air and the coolness of his hand had at least kept the liquid from warming.

But the soft growl after the witch accepted the drink just proved him wrong.

“It’s warm, disgusting,” they both laughed at the tone, and without realising their lips collided.

They giggled at the abruptness, lips brushing and smiles ghosting against each other. It was soft, it was calm and yet they couldn’t get enough of it. It felt like summer on a winter night, they felt warm.

“You should go inside, you’re gonna catch a cold,” Minho said once they broke the kiss.

He left after the witch crossed the building door.

Minho always felt a strong dislike for alcohol, and yet he couldn’t help but drown another shot. It was warm, the liquid having sat on the desk for hours after he took it from its usual place, and he never bothered to look for some ice, it was only a waste of time.

He had a hard time trying to forget, he had a hard time trying to survive and this was now just too much.

“You need to stop this,” there it was, the cause of his constant headache, being sober was awful; he got to listen to Jisung’s voice.

In all honesty, he thought about it a couple of times — of letting go, of starting again and come through from the horrible place he found himself in. But then his lover’s face came back to his mind on those few lucid moments and all his efforts seemed stupid, how could he ever think of letting go?

“If Chris sent you, tell him I don’t care and that he should do whatever he wants.”

This scene had been played so many times already, he could easily recall the same memories playing over and over again. It was like a broken record, and it meant that the near past was as awful as the present. The distant past wasn’t that different, but at least it had someone he loved still alive.

God, he needed to get drunk.

“I hope you like this, it’s not exactly what you wanted but—”

Before he could even finish, his lips were attacked mercilessly.

“I love it.”

He knew that even if the content was still hidden by the small drawstring bag, the words were always true. And Minho could already tell that the burning warm resting on his palm was worth all the trouble he had gone to get it.

“It’s stardust, not quite a star but almost,” he said, holding the other’s body close to his in a tight embrace, excitement bubbling inside him. “Open it.”

He missed the warmth surrounding his body when the hug broke, but a wave of relief washed over him when the hot pouch was removed from his hand.

And oh God, if the expression on his lover’s face could be like that forever he’ll die like the happiest man on Earth.

In front of them a million twinkles lights illuminated their faces like fireflies. It felt magical, it felt special and Minho hoped that the moment would never end.

But even then, the smile plastered on the person he loves would never compare to the warmth and brightness of the silver dust in the room, because for him the mere sight of them was enough to brighten his life.

“Chris never sent me, I’m here because I’m worried,” Jisung said, loud and clear like always. Neither his clothes nor attitude suited him, always so formal and uptight about everything; war changes people. “We’re all worried.”

Minho downed another shot. Then gestured to the younger man to take a seat in front of him.

The small studio was a mess by the time Minho arrived at the apartment; the blinds were shut, a few bowls full of stuff were carelessly placed around and a few jars were tossed all over the kitchen.

At first, he thought about the possibilities, the chances of violent acts and whether someone came to the place before him. But it was all forgotten when a familiar shadow passed the door frame.

“You came!” his darling chirped excitedly, running fast and jumping high enough for him to catch the body and spin a few times. “I need you to help me with something.”

Minho wondered what ‘helping’ meant; there was only so much he could do in witchcraft when he was still a vampire, but whatever it was, he would be happy to.

But then his lover disappeared only to come back a few minutes after with a tiny vial and a syringe.

“What is that for?” he asked, a tiny drop of fear made its way to him.

“I’m making a star.”

“I know,” Minho said after refilling his glass and getting one for Jisung. “And I wish you weren’t.”

He slid the alcohol-filled glass across the desk and as the other reached for the drink, Minho couldn’t help but notice the silver bands wrapped around the blue-haired man’s fingers.


“We’re brothers,” he said, and Minho had to let the grin taint his expression.


“It’s a blood pact, for life,” Minho spat. “We’re not brothers.”

A loud raindrop made its way to the window and the sound startled both men.

The storm made it difficult for him to see ahead. The wind had broken his umbrella and now the rain felt like shattered pieces of glass against his skin, however his concern was finding the witch and forcing the both of them to come back to the apartment. Maybe watch one of those sappy movies his lover liked so much and cuddle under the blankets.

Minho, however, had expected everything. Everything but the sight he had once he reached the main road.

There, under the unforgiving rain, almost passed out and bathed in carmine, lay down a body he could recognise anywhere. It took everything inside him not to cry out loud and panic, he just had to take them home and treat the wound on the other’s body — and he prayed to all deities he knew for it to be slight.

“Hey, baby, I’m here,” he said once his knees met the floor and the other body was secured on his arms. “Stay with me, love.”

The rain had only made everything harder; his own clothes stick uncomfortably like a second skin, and Minho could easily tell the same was happening with his lover — yet the expression on their face let him know that the wound was aching even more. 

“I love you.”

Minho saw the way the drops of blood melted into the pool by his feet, it looked like the watercolors work he had around his room. It reminded him of the afternoons at the witch’s apartment learning how to paint.

“I’ll take you home, don’t worry.”

He never thought much about his status, about the whole vampire thing and the amount of ‘powers’ that came with that, but then and there, he was thankful. The way home was short.

Minho felt relief filling his body once the door opened, rushing inside and laying the injured body on his bed. The white sheets were instantly tinted with a crimson red.

The bleeding never stopped, and by now he knew that the blood loss was fatal. So Minho began striping the witch of his own hoodie, mortified by the sigh in front of him once the piece of clothing came off; a deep gash cut from the heart to the farthest right side of their abdomen, he could see the way the skin fell apart and how heavy blobs of blood gushed out of it and yet a tiny bit of hope still sparked on him.

He called for Jisung.

And both together tried to fix the disaster, he held the witch down when the younger disinfected and stitched the wound, he swallowed the screams and kissed away the tears. He did his best to comfort his lover and yet it felt like a nightmare.

“You’ve both bonded before,” Jisung said as he passed the older a silver knife. “Try healing with your blood, it’s more than anything I could do.”

Jisung didn’t say anything, he looked outside, at the falling drops hitting the windows and the bright star inside the crystal box. He was mad, of course he was; if the glistening red eyes, tense body and clenched fists were anything to by, but Minho never cared about pushing boundaries and spitting hurtful comments.

“You’re not the only one hurting.”

The blue-haired man spoke in a low voice, and if Minho were just a bit more drunk, he’ll confuse it with a growl. Jisung’s eyes were no longer focused behind him, they were locked with his own tired ones and he could clearly see the rage burning inside the other’s orbs. Minho knew that Hell was coming.

“Shut up,” he said, voice barely above a whisper and yet the warning tone made Jisung flinch. But that was hardly enough to hold him back.

“No, I won’t shut up because you have to stop this!” he yelled, not caring much about the older’s status. “Do you think you’re the only one who lost someone dear? News flash, you’re not! You’re not the only one who had to mourn, you’re not the only one who cried a loss and you’re not the only one who had to suffer.”

“You don’t know sh—”

 Jisung’s hand slapped hard on the wooden desk, the fast and abrupt movement made the chair impact loudly on the floor. Minho followed the second.

“But I do! I lost people too, we all lost people we loved and yet we were all trying to make you feel better because that was ‘the right thing to do’!” Jisung’s tone got higher and higher with each word as he no longer held his anger back and instead paced around the room like a caged lion. “Yes, you lost your lover, but for God’s sake — Hyunjin lost his fucking wife! Chris watched his sister die on his goddamn arms, I had to kill my soulmate with my own two hands… do you think the rest had it any better? Don’t you dare say that we don’t know how it feels.”

Minho’s heart started racing, the argument had gotten the worst of him and the flood of emotions was only making him feel worse. Jisung was right in every word, the undying war had made them all taste the sadness of loss and death, yet he had been the only one choking on his misery alone. He felt the need to apologise and run to comfort the others.

The silver knife sliced his wrist in a single motion.

“Here, baby. Drink,” he said as the cut started to let out crimson beads. The witch refused, lips tightly closed as the drops fell over them. This wasn’t right. “Angel, please.”

Once again, the slight shake of the other head made his heart sink. He was getting desperate every passing day, as the condition of his lover deteriorated by the second and the wound refused to heal, it was only a matter of time for Death to come knocking at the door.

So he just bandaged himself, and then helped Jisung with the extensive care of the wound across his darling chest. He could see it, the skin that started to rot on the sides and the brownish red discharge that came out every time they let air hit it - it was only getting worse.

Jisung gave him one last look before closing the door behind him.

“When will this end?” came from pale lips in a tiny voice. “I want to go.”

Minho let a tear fall down his cheek to his hands.

“I never… I never meant to,” he said, this wasn’t right. No, he was so selfish, so selfish. God, no. “I’m so sorry.”

Jisung’s eyes softened, the red glow slowly dissipating as the latter made himself vulnerable for the first time in decades. “Hyung, it’s okay, come here.”

Minho hesitated. He had been a burden for so long, so long, and now he was just letting himself fall apart after his best friend had told him how much he hurted in silence. Was he being selfish again? He wanted to go back to the strong, indifferent persona he made.

“I’m so sorry Sung,” he repeated, going to the man’s open arms even with his mind telling him that no, he deserved nothing but rejection, nothing but a glare and abandonment. “I was so stupid, I’m sorry.”

They stood like that, embracing the other and exchanging a fake warmth.

“I missed you, hyung,” Jisung whispered against his neck, and that was all it took for Minho to let out the first sob.

Weeks passed before Minho had another response from his lover: he had been on the side of his bed all the time, never left, never moved more than a few steps from them and yet the slight shuffle made his heart skip a beat. Maybe his prayers were answered.

He smiled, showing his best façade to the pained person in front of him. Maybe if he pretended long enough, everything would be fine again, and they’ll watch stupid shows and the would play tag in empty parking lots and laugh until their cheeks hurted.

It was all crushed when pained words reached his ears; “I’ll miss you, love.”

He didn’t know how they ended on the couch, he didn’t know why Jisung was holding him so tight, he didn’t know why his own arms were wrapped around the man as if his life depended on it and didn’t know why the only thing heard were his pained screams.

He only knew that it had been so long since he let any emotion out, so long since he cried his lover. And this was just what he dreaded.

He couldn’t help it.

So he did what his heart had been asking him since he saw the cold body lying on his bed.

He trashed around, he let himself fall apart, let his throat hurt from the screams and tears fall as they pleased. There, in the confines of his office and the presence of Jisung, no one would judge him for breaking. 

He couldn’t help it. And Jisung waited there until the tight drip and screams became blubbering, then sobs, weepings, muffled cries, tears and finally just soft whimpers while holding him gently. This was necessary.

“Are you with me?”

Minho stared at the dark gravestone, reading over and over again the contents as if this was just another nightmare.

It was a cold day. It had rained three nights before, just after he had found the lifeless body and cried out for his best friend to help; he had yelled at everyone in the house, broken cups and punched walls, but nothing could ease the pain he felt from everything. This was his fault and God was punishing him.

The silver rings made him focus on the physical pain, but the burn sensation could do only so much to distract him from the emotional turmoil he felt. Not only had his lover passed away (in the painfullest agony, he later found out) but the blood bond had broken so abruptly he barely had time to even try to hold himself together. Yet still, everything was either too much or too numb.

He took a step towards the grave. Minho held back a sob and, instead, mindlessly traced the letters once, then twice and then he had lost count of how many times his fingers followed along the written words. He always thought darling was a prettier name.

“If you were gonna leave this word, how could it have been without me?” he whispered. After a few hours he had given up all hopes of seeing the body rise and run back to his arms, but the pain on his chest never left.

Jisung’s cold hands had never stopped caressing his back in soft, delicate motions. And he was grateful for that; if anything, the repetitive motions made it easier to come back from dark places and slowly get used to reality waiting for him.

They never made an attempt to let go, and Minho assumed that maybe the younger needed that hug too. After all, even if he himself had broken down after holding everything in for decades, the pain and frustration building inside the blue-haired man must have been even stronger.

“I’m here for you, Sungie,” he had whispered with a rough voice from the screaming, and yet it made Jisung’s heart fill with a warmth he had missed so much. “Always.”

And while the other only nodded, it was enough.

“You should go back,” Jisung said once they broke the hug, “and talk with everyone.”

It was late now, well past midnight and he was sure the rest were still awake; after all, the sunrise was hours away.

“It’s time to go home,” Minho said under a tired smile.

4 notes

Guizhong and Zhongli become enemies and have to fight. In the end, Zhongli defeats Guizhong, but instead of killing her, he decides to die in her stead, so she as another chance and make things right. (Guizhong can only cry over her dead loves body and regret what had happened.)

5 notes

Let’s go hand in hand, not one before another. - Katianajazz - T, WIP - Hermione finds out she’s adopted. Harry finds diaries of his mother documenting a very different war than he knows about. Between them they discover the truth and the power he knows not.

5 notes

Diluc knew what he was getting into when he fell in love with you. He just didn’t expect the end to come so soon. 

He didn’t know why he hurt himself in this way. He should have run the moment the two of you met. What good would it do, he should have thought, to fall in love with someone as frail and sick as you. The fact you met at all was a twist of fate. The one night you found the strength to go to Angel’s Share just because you never had before. Diluc wasn’t even supposed to be there that night, but Charles had needed a sudden vacation and nobody else could cover for him. 

At first, he was going to write you off as one of Kaeya’s companions. You did seem invested in everything he was saying and laughed at many of his stupid jokes. But Diluc noticed how you turned down all of Kaeya’s offer for alcohol, preferring the juice options instead. And the more Kaeya got drunk, the less thrilled you seemed to be there. Eventually, Diluc could tell you were just being polite, and he was the one to come to your rescue. 

“It’s time for you to go home, Kaeya.”

“But we’re just getting started.”


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198 notes

you can’t wake up, this is not a dream

(au part 1/3)

characters: Stiles Stilinski, Kira Yukimura, Theo Raeken (he appears on the next part)

word count: 2k+

warning/s: see tags (who even reads tags? but this is a mess, to summarize)

or read on AO3

It is on a night of a snowstorm when Stiles’s life turns upside down.

They have just been voted out of Beacon Kingdom after days of utter chaos following Stiles’s coming-of-age, revealing his power in a ceremony performed in front of the entire Kingdom. It is supposed to be an evening of festivity, for, after three hundred years, Queen Noshiko finally has a successor - another powerful fox to keep all the Kingdom in its glory. But out of thirteen possible spirits to manifest in him, Stiles has to be the poisoned one. Great, yes, that’s a given, but terrible all the same, the most terrible.

An uproar instead of fireworks break the solemnity of the ritual. Stiles and his younger sister are immediately escorted to their chambers, the best of their soldiers stationed inside and outside to protect them, in likely chance that the spiraling panic gives way to violence.

Five days of being exiled into their chambers while the Queen tries to quell the havoc, the siblings receive news of a decision unanimously voted by the council. The Queen has lost the throne, and she, along with her children, is banished from the Kingdom. They are to live with the Druids in the village on the outskirt of the Kingdom. It can be worse; the Druids are not the friendliest, but they are far from ruthless.

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24 notes

Far From Home Chapter 18

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, implied abuse, implied PTSD, Referenced forced relationship

Characters: Overlord, Sunder, Froid

Other Tags: Unrequited love, Canon Divergent, Alternate Universe, Reader Insert, Gender Neutral Pronouns, Xeno, Kidnapping, Minor Character Death, Threats of Violence, Violence, Gore, Blood, Stockholm Syndrome, Mentioned PTSD, Implied Voyeurism, Character Death, Forced Relationship, Pining, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Words: 2,431

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You bolt into the room and immediately head up the makeshift stairs, climbing your way up to the table and sitting down beside Sunder’s helm and placing the scissors beside you.

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Lan Wangji becomes sect leader and immediately makes eleven new rules putting limitations on the clans more severe punishments and over fourty rules that greatly reduce the power and influence the sect elders had. He firmly suggests to a majority of the sect elders that they should go into secluded cultivation to reflect on their actions. Lan Qiren is the first of them to enter seclusion.

103 notes

Spencer Reid x Reader- Hurt Pt 5

Words- 641

Warnings- Cursing, not eating

A/N- The long awaited return to a series, I’ve finally gotten to courage to contine and do in fact have some tricks up my sleeve for reviving this little series, hopefully y’all like it, and as always, love you lovelies!


Originally posted by toyboxboy

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25 notes

Death ain’t got no sympathy for the failed royal chair. Sir Fat Fat Fiddy Fat is now taking open applications for another royal chair.

(Landlord, that ain’t my cat! I swear! Please don’t evict me!)

3 notes