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hana-no-seiiki · 4 months

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☁️ . . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ FIVE STAGES OF YANDERE ࿐: HERO

“𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒, 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐈 𝐃𝐈𝐃.”

⟣┄─ ˑ 𝐈. ✧ yandere/tsundere! modern hero x villain! reader

✧ status: unedited

✧ tw/cw: yandere themes, violence, morally dubious reader, horny hero, tsundere hero.

✧ a/n: both character’s genders are up to your imagination. also i’m making this my permanent theme now for general yans fics (consistency/recognizabilty’s sake)

[series masterlist]

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE ONE. ✧ DENIAL

“You’re getting a bit sloppy aren’t you, lil hero?”

“Shut up, wretched being! C-Come back here!”

You and Yandere! Hero have been nemeses for what felt like lifetimes. Ever since you became a sidekick as a kid, up until the present time as adults.

You saw them as a sibling. You’d fight once in a while but neither truly hurt each other. In fact, you never once attempted to kill them, and they in turn never attempted to put you behind bars. The cycle always repeated.

You were relatively close in terms of power. More times than not, things would end up being a tie where the two of you would be too tired to continue. But recently your cutie patootie hero has been getting sluggish. Their attacks lacked any sort of vigour, and their reflexes dulled.

You would offer to talk and assist them, but another one of your hidden rules in this relationship of sorts was that you two would never interfere with life outside of crime and fighting thereof.

Unbeknownst to you, Yandere! Hero fought another villain (cheater!) whose powers were related to nightmares and fears.

Their greatest nightmare . . . was losing their status as a hero — losing you.

You have been such a huge part of their formative years and beyond that the thought of even retiring and losing contact scared the hell out of them. The idea of never being able to banter as you sparred, the concept of losing sight of that smug grin of yours on the times you won, and the very notion of you being dealt with by someone else — their chest would tighten to the point of being unable to breathe.

But they always shook their head, drowned themself in tasks as to avoid the anxiety that threatened their focus. After all, you were a villain. A monstrous creature that have hurt and killed people. The only reason they haven’t taken you down yet was because they were instructed by their predecessor not to.

Yeah, the fear of losing you? Probably just an extension of their desperate and zealous view on their position as a hero

They prayed it was.

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE TWO. ✧ ANGER

“I told you that they were mine to take care of! You gave me this duty!”

“You and I both know you’ve been losing your fights more often than not. Look at how many people they’ve started to hurt again! I can’t leave you with a responsibility you, can’t, handle.”

Yandere! Hero couldn’t believe their ears. Everything they feared was starting to come true and it was only getting worse.

They started disobeying their mentor/predecessor’s commands. Commands that they used to referees — worship even. They knew they were making things go from trash to absolute shit, but they couldn’t care less anymore.

So what if you hurt those people? From what they understood, those people were a bunch of assholes at best; Crime-lords, all types of traffickers, and violent thugs. In fact, the very reason you aren’t in cuffs was because you often took justice into your own hands. You were just quite cruel and brutal when it came down to it.

One of their more unforgettable moments of you together was the time you saved them from another villain. You in your blood-soaked glory as you grinned, an attempt to comfort them while they neck-deep in voices that screamed failure. They were barely hurt while you could barely stand, yet you were the one hushing them as you rubbed circles on the small of their back. Shared whispers they’ll die before they talk of it to anyone else.

Yandere! Hero keeps meeting you again and again. Doing duties they were already forbidden from completing and abusing the favor of being a sidekick for so long.

Things get from worse to oblivion when they get news of being replaced.

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE THREE. ✧ BARGAINING

“At least let me accompany them on patrols! What if they get hurt?”

“You worked alone just fine.”

“That is an entirely different story!”

This newbie didn’t know you for several years. This newbie never experienced fighting you much less alongside you. You would eat them alive.

Granted, it would be the newbie’s fault for being so incompetent but they digress.

While on patrol with the newbie, they do their best to sabotage them in every way they can. Giving them the wrong intel, alerting the enemy of their arrival if they do figure out the proper location, and above all making sure you two never cross paths at all. A peer of theirs hurting you would kill them.

Of course, with their frantic and frankly stressed out mind, it wasn’t long before you and the newbie encounter one another.

And, the two of you got along quite well. Your moves like a beautifully choreographed routine in the battlefield. More importantly, it looked as if you were having so much fun.

They really couldn’t help themself

When they stepped in and interrupted the two of you

A glaze in their eyes as they walked ever so slowly to the newbie and strangled them.

That horrified look on your face. They didn’t know if they liked it or hated it.

But what they did know is that from that moment forward, they can never call themself a proper hero again. Their mentor’s words echoed in their head.

“You are staying at the base and that is final. If I see you again out on the field, I’ll be the one to put you behind bars.”

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE FOUR. ✧ DEPRESSION

“Breaking News: A new vigilante has been spotted! Has our favorite hero been replaced? Well our sources say yes!”

“And would you look at that, they’re even worse at hiding their interest in their nemesis! Is this the love story we’ve all been waiting for?”

Yandere! Hero doesn’t remember when they last saw the sun anymore.

Their days were spent deep within the basement of the hero HQ, scrolling through any information they could find of you.

Their head constantly replaying the memories you shared, written in a systematic obsessed manner on a journal. From the very second you two first met, to the time you looked at them with eyes full of horror.

Your image had been scribbled, drawn, painted, carved, broken down, and built back up again hundreds of times.

But it just wasn’t enough.

Yandere! Hero used to wish that there would be a day you two would stop fighting. Whether it’d be them finally ending your streak of misdeeds, or you quitting. Anything would have satisfied them.

But now, now they just couldn’t see the appeal of it all.

All they could see was eternity with you.

And they’ll have that one way or another.

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE FIVE. ✧ ACCEPTANCE

“I never could have imagine this to happen.”

“Really? You must have thought that I’d put you behind bars one day.”

“My fantasies were always, well — the other way around.”

You wore a calm expression.

Yandere! Hero, ever the fragile ego they had, would have seen this as an insult. A slight to their prowess.

But right now they couldn’t help but sigh in relief. Of course you wouldn’t be mad if they did this. You were you after all. You’ve been through much worse than being tied up and forced into a small cage more fit for an animal than a human.

And you being you, knew the many other ways to unnerve your poor rival.

“Wouldn’t it be ironic? If your replacement were to save me that is.”

You fought the anticipation from appearing on your face as you continued.

“Then they would truly become my hero.”

But your hopes were dashed, your giddiness dimmed as they simply replied.

“Then I’ll just kill them, and the next replacement after that. Until I go through every single capable human this planet has to offer and then more.”

Perhaps there was a reason why Heroes wore a mask aside from hiding their identities. That would certainly explain the chill you felt crawl up your limbs and spine as they lovingly stared at you.

“Because now I know that I love you. I’ll save you from everyone else but myself.”

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2023

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daniswoso · 3 months

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“Would that be so bad?”

Leah Williamson x Reader

Warnings: SELF HARM, mentioned and no one physically does it in the fic but it’s alluded to. Suicidal thoughts, HEAVY on the angst. Please don’t read if you are struggling, and read at your own risk and pace. Thank you.

Summary: What if you want something bad to happen?

*********

You were in bed. Asleep. Your back to the woman you love.

Meanwhile Leah was wide awake, adjusting herself every 3 seconds, but never being able to take her eyes off the back of your head.

The thing was, you had just faced a life altering (maybe even career changing, but Leah didn’t want to think about that right now) injury.

Your 2 ACL tear in 2 seasons. You recovered from your last one quicker than most, spending 289 days on the sidelines recovering as opposed to the typical 300 odd. Then you tore it again not even 3 weeks later in a match against Tottenham.

Ashleigh Neville went in for an ,admittedly awful, tackle which caused you to go down. You heard the pop, felt the same throb, felt the lump in your throat and the tears stream down your cheeks.

You knew you’d done it.

And Leah knew too, it seemed. Because she came storming down to Tottenham’s half with a look that rivalled the aggression of Roy Keane in his prime, fully prepared to rip both the ref and Neville a new one.

But when she saw you, crumpled on the floor looking utterly defeated she stopped short.

All she could think about was how much this was going to affect you mentally again, just like last time.

Because last time you isolated yourself. You stayed locked in your’s and Leah’s room, only going out for physio or doctor’s appointments, to have a quick wash, a single slice of toast; then the cycle repeated.

Lock yourself away.

Shower and go to physio.

Come back.

Eat one tiny thing.

Lock yourself away.

Repeat.

It was a dangerous cycle, Leah knew that as she was the one looking after you. But some days she felt like she’d failed, some days she’d find both new and faded cuts on your wrist and thighs that knocked her sick.

And this time was no different.

Leah had come to bed. You had been there all day. Leah had done her nightly routine, you had not. You’d been in bed all fucking day.

And Leah felt useless.

So at 3:29 AM, she shook you awake, sick of not knowing what was going on in your head.

“Babe..” You murmured, shaking her hands off you.

“Y/N please, just wake the fuck up.” The urgency in Leah’s voice and the crack in her tone caused you to shoot up.

“Love? Are you okay? What’s happening?” Questions came spewing out of your mouth at a million miles per hour, fearing for the worst.

Leah put a hand on your forearm to relax you and you try to ignore the slight sting of the fabric pressing against the lines on your arm, “I’m worried about you.” She admits.

And your heart stops, slowing down. Your eyes feel like they’re about to pop out of your skull.

“Please, please just talk to me, what’s going on?” Her voice was urgent.

“Nothing.” Your reply was calm, short.

“Y/N…” Leah sighs, switching on the lights. “If you don’t talk to me, something bad’s going to happen! I’m scared! Okay? I’m fucking scared what you’ll do to yourself!” She shouts, desperate to not cry.

“What if I want something bad to happen?!” You snap, your voice dry and your words loud.

Leah stops. You stop.

“Y/N… Are- Do you… Are you going to kill yourself?” Leah murmurs the words as if the mere thought of them makes you sick.

“I… No. I’m not going to, and- and I don’t want to kill myself… I just wouldn’t be sad if I did die soon.” You admit shakily, tears streaming and your breath coming in short shaky gasps.

“Oh… Oh baby.” Leah sobs, bringing you into a hug. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She mumbles into your hair as your tears wet her shoulder.

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

She tries to hold back a sob, kissing the top of your head, “You worry me more by locking yourself away.” She mumbles.

“Please just promise me you’ll talk to me. We can get better together.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

You were tired of feeling like you had the world on your shoulders, tired of feeling like you were deadlifting 600lbs by yourself. But you were so grateful Leah was there now.

***********

A/N: lowk hate the ending, but enjoy anyway!

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heartshyuck · 1 year

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Die for me

pairing: haechan x reader

genre: ANGST, thriller/horror, some fluff ig, established relationship, magic au.

synopsis: Grief leads to desperation and fear. Haechan can no longer handle the grief that eats away at him. He’ll do anything to bring you back to his side, even if it means to defy death.

word count: 7k

warnings: death, smut but it’s … not?, manic episodes (funeral mania), delusion, hypo mania, blood, violence, rituals to bring back the dead, distorted bodies, suicide, self harm and profanities.

a/n: this is my first fic after a while! Of course it’s a hyuck fic but because it’s been so long I apologise if it’s a little rusty. This fic actually made me sob lol, like full on ugly cry. Now what I mean by smut but not smut is that it happening but like bro wtf is happening yk. If you don’t get it then you’ll see, minors please dni. It has a lot of dark themes, don’t read if you’re not fully comfortable reading about all the warnings.

Grief is an ugly emotion. All consuming and rooted into the depths of your bones, muscles deteriorating and flesh being eaten away - it rots you whole but it does not change you. Grief only reveals what is the worst of you, stripped down to your core. Desperate. It feels like fear.

Stage one: denial

Haechan sits in your shared apartment, or what used to be. His hands twisting and turning the silver band that weighs heavy on his finger. His eyes, red and drooping but still tears manage to fall slowly despite the sting. He stares at your ring that now lies on the table, its once matching silver band now coated in a crust of dried blood. The images of your lifeless body lying on the road resurface and a new fresh wave of tears break the dam once more. His breath becomes heavy, fast and uncontrollable, he lets out a sob - lips quivering. His face is contoured by pain that lies heavy in his chest, a pain that forms a numbness, emptiness. He cries until he tires, eyes drooping and red, they finally close - the cycle continues.

The doorbell rings again. Haechan is still in his suite from the funeral when he rubs his eyes awake. His head pounding and ears ringing, he looks around to see where he is and he’s still lying on the couch. “______” he calls out, getting up to find the bedroom empty, “_____” he calls again as he heads to the door, the doorbell still ringing. “_____?” he questions as he swings the door open, only to find Mark with a deep frown on his face.

“Hey” Haechan says, yawning, rubbing his eyes that are still sore. “Come in” he says, opening the door wider for Mark to step in. “_____ isn’t home right now, must have gone out to go get something.” and Marks frown only deepens, his eyes watery and he stares at Haechan as if he’s hurt. “What’s wrong?”

“Hyuck” Mark’s voice cracks, his lips quivering

“What’s wrong?” Haechan panics “Mark what is it?” but the older doesn't answer, tears streaming down his face “What is it?” Haechan’s jaw is tight and the words struggle through as he grows impatient, fear settling in the pit of his stomach. “Mark!”

“_____’s gone” he says crashing into him, arms engulfing Haechan

“What do you mean gone?” He says in a small unsure chuckle

“She’s gone, Hyuck. She died two days ago” he sobs and Haechan’s legs give way below him, dropping to his knees, he shakes as the tears come back once again and Mark’s still holding on to him.

“This is a sick joke Mark” Haechan tries to even his breathing, “seriously not funny” he sniffles and Mark only pulls him in closer, holds him tighter. “Where’s ______?” Mark doesn’t answer, shivering with sobs that echo throughout his body, “Mark?!” Haechan’s voice is desperate and broken. “Please” he begs.

Mark can only shake his head, gripping onto Haechan’s suit jacket, “She’s gone.” He repeats again and again until the words swirl around in the air, Haechan’s mind going dizzy and his vision blurring with tears, his breathing shallows and his heart aches.

Haechan wakes up in his bed this time, shoes kicked off , jacket and tie thrown onto the floor - there’s no sight of you or Mark who he remembers being here. His head is pounding but he doesn't remember drinking, he presses the base of his palms into his eyes trying to get rid of the soreness. He grabs for his phone that’s on the bedside table and displays it’s eleven pm, and he turns to his side to see your side of the bed is still empty. “______?” he calls out but there’s no response, you must be wearing your headphones he thinks. Sighing, his body heavy, he swings his legs out of bed to search for you.

“_____” He calls out again as he enters into the living room where he expects to find you on the floor, papers sprawled out in front of you, laptop on the coffee table and you furiously typing away and he’d probably have to drag you away from your work and into bed. You’ll insist that you’ll be finished in five more minutes but you both know that’s a lie. He’ll ask if you have eaten anything and you’d guiltily shake your head, so Haechan would head into the kitchen and make the bargain that you could work until he came back with food, then after you’d have to eat and join him in bed. But you’re not there.

Maybe you’re coming late from work, he thinks and makes his way back into the bedroom to call you. It rings once, twice, three times, four times, five times and then finally “Hello” Haechan smiles, “Hey Hyuck! Nah i’m just kidding, this is my voicemail loser! Leave me a message if it’s important, love you” You voice says back to him and no matter how annoying it is, Haechan can’t help but smile when he hears it. “I love you too” is all he leaves in his message.

There’s one more person to call when you go awol like this, head buried in work forgetting that there’s a life outside of that office of yours. “Hey Jaemin” Haechan says as the rings finally stop

“Hey hyuck” Jaemin’s words are careful, his voice solemn.

“Is ______ at the office still? It’s pretty late and I’m guessing you’re still there too because you’re just as bad as her” Haechan laughs but Jaemin stays quiet.

“No she’s not here.” Jaemin says softly after some time.

“That’s strange” Hyuck replies, a little worried.

“How about I come by?” Jaemin offers

“Sure?”

It’s close to midnight by the time the door rings and Haechan jumps up hoping you forgot your keys but once he swings the door open, his smile drops upon seeing Jaemin standing there instead.

“Come on, I’m not that bad” Jaemin offers a small smile. “How are you doing?” he asks, carefully

“I’m okay” Haechan says as he lets him, leading him into the living room, “worried where _____ is though, I called her parents but they just said I shouldn’t be alone right now and told me to drive down.” He shrugs confused.

“Maybe you should take that offer?” Jaemin lifts an eyebrow “or go to your parents, I know your mum wants you back”

“Maybe but they’re acting weird, I’m not sure what it is really” Haechan says as he drops onto the couch “I’ll talk about it with _____ and see if she wants to go this weekend” he yawns and at his words Jaemin grimaces.

“You want to spend the night at mine? Come on I insist” Jaemin pushes

“I’d love to but ______ isn’t home yet.”

“Hyuck” Jaemin sighs

“What?”

“_______ is dead.”

“I don’t know why you and Mark think this is funny but seriously this needs to stop” Haechan sighs

“Get up. Now!” Jaemin pull Haechan off the couch, “put your shoes and jacket on”

“Jaemin seriously I’m not going anywhere until ______ comes back”

“I’m taking you to her”

The drive was silent, Jaemin didn’t say where you were but Haechan got into the car without hesitation, it felt like years he’d spent away from you. The only sound that filled the silence was the splashing of rain against the surface of the car. The windshield wipers are relentless in their work, continuously wiping again and again but to no avail as the rain too is relentless.

Jaemin stops the car outside a graveyard and fear rises in Haechan “What are we doing here?” he asks in a panic but Jaemin doesn’t answer, instead turning to open the door he walks out and waits for Haechan to follow him. “Jaemin?” he calls out after him as he follows him through the rows of graves “Jaemin! Answer me!”

“No you listen to me!” He turns as he screams; rain drenching him, his hair sticks to his forehead. He grabs Haechan’s shirt, pulling him closer and turning him towards the headstone that reads __________, beloved daughter and wife. “She’s gone and she’s not coming back” Jaemin cries as he shakes him. Haechan stares at your name etched onto the stone and his mind swirls, his eyes blur and reality finally falls into place. He pushes Jaemin off of him, falls to his knees, and an ugly sob ripples through him.

“She’s gone hyuck but she wouldn’t want you to live like this. It’s time you accept it, to remember the amazing person she was and why you fell in love with her and then learn to live without her. You have to accept this so you can heal. Jaemin says as he falls beside Haechan, rubbing up and down his back - trying to comfort him.

“I can’t heal.” Haechan chokes out “I don’t want to”

"Grief is all that untold love that you have for her and you told her you loved her everyday. It's love being preserved" Jaemin whispers

And Haechan feels the cold settle in his bones, the rain washed off his face by the steady stream of tears. His throat closes up, his mind fills with fog and he goes dizzy. His heart stops beating

Denial is protection from the pain that follows after. When you finally come to terms with what has happened, finally comprehend the loss in your life; guilt rises up and eats your consciousness away. Your mind goes from delusion to fixation, constantly thinking about that day. What could have been different? How could you have stopped this? Who’s fault was this?

Stage two: pain and guilt

Haechan’s at Jaemin’s place tonight, the doctors advised it’s best not to be alone during difficult times. He doesn’t want to be constantly doted on by his mother, constantly asking if he was okay when she knew he wasn’t - impatient to see him heal. He couldn’t take up your parent’s offer, everything about that house reminds him of you, it was you; where you grew up, where he first kissed you, where he asked you to prom and where he asked you to marry him.

Under the apple tree at the far end of the garden, the swing your dad put up one summer still hanging onto the branches and it was after dinner with your parents. You sat on the swing as Haechan pushed you, he didn’t plan it and you hadn’t spoken about it but he knew in that moment with the moon breaking through your hair, the most beautiful smile on your face as you laughed at something stupid he had said, he knew this was it. You were the one. The question fell from his lips clumsily. “Will you marry me?” he sounded uncertain, as if he was asking himself and your laughter halted, you turned with eyes wide and glossy but when you asked “are you serious?” He didn't need time to think and he didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” he replied in an instant “will you marry me?” this time more confidently and you pressed your lips to him muttering a yes against him.

The memory burns him, the pit in his chest fills with fire and spreads throughout his body with an ache that leaves him paralysed. Jaemin is no better than his mother really, taking days off of work to look after Haechan, cooking his favourite food - constantly doting - but at least he doesn’t ask if Haechan is okay, if he’s feeling better or telling him that time heals all and that things will get better. Haechan doesn’t believe they will and Jaemin knows that.

“The doctors prescribed these for when you have” Jaemin pauses “ an episode” he places the capsule into the draw of the bedside table

“A manic episode” Haechan corrects him but Jaemin brushes it off

“It’s Sunday.” Jaemin says as he pulls the curtains back “You want to go to the florist and deliver ______ her flowers?” He smiles as the sun rays flood the room. Jaemin introduced Haechan to you, all the way back in middle school when Haechan was still a rambling mess when it came to talking to a pretty girl but Jaemin thought you two were made for each other - even back then. It was a Sunday morning and Jaemin had stayed over at Haechan’s convincing him to go out and pick a sunflower out of his mother’s garden, which he later got told off for but it was worth it when he delivered it to your door and you had taken it after placing a kiss on Haechan’s cheek. Every sunday after that Haechan would pick a sunflower to give to you, when you moved in together a vase of them was waiting for you on the kitchen counter. Every sunday.

Haechan only nods in response, no matter if the promise was death do us part, his love for you was alive and it was the only thing he was sure of.

Haechan has visited this florist countless times but this time he can’t seem to step foot inside, to see the people he’d see and speak to about you. The woman at the back who’d cut and arranged every bouquet he’d bought, who’d ask how you were? Her husband who assisted her, who had given Haechan advice for every time you would get into an argument and he’d come here to buy an apology flower, and their daughter at the till, who had given many bunches for free, saying she couldn’t capitalise on love.

“I can’t do it” Haechan turned to Jaemin

“Slow steps” He replied with a smile before stepping in, the small bell announcing his entrance and the daughter at the till suddenly straightened, her head looking towards the customer who had just entered and she greets Jaemin with a familiar smile and it pains Haechan, just how much of his life were you ingrained in? When Jaemin has been invited into the back to pick out the flowers he wants, she spots Haechan and she waves, a small smile painted across her face and he waves back. She picks a small bouquet of white chrysanthemums - symbol of death- and places them around a single sunflower.

And the bell announces her arrival, “I’m sorry for your loss” she says with a soft voice, her arm extended for Haechan to take the flowers. His vision blurs with tears but he focuses it enough for him to take them from her.

“Thank you” he says, choking on the lump that forms in his throat.

“You’re welcome” She mumbles but the sob escapes regardless and she wraps her arms around Haechan and he hugs her back, a small fraction of his pain reflected

“Tell her I said hi” she says before she heads back in, Jaemin waiting for her by the till.

“She refused to let me pay” Jaemin says as he steps out

“Of course she did,” Haechan smiles, wiping his cheeks and waving one last time through the window.

“Let’s go” Jaemin urges, leading the way.

“Hey ______” Jaemin says as he sits in front of your grave, pulling Haechan with him. “I brought Hyuck with me like I promised you last week and he bought you flowers like he promised he would.” he says, placing down his separate bouquet of flowers. “I miss you at work, everyone does but especially me. I miss talking shit about everyone with you, Renjun isn’t as fun. I miss driving you home and I miss seeing you smiling stupidly at my best friend” he laughs “I miss you” he mumbles. Haechan hasn’t seen Jaemin cry for you but he supposes it’s because of him he doesn’t but Jaemin can’t help the tears that drop, which he is quick to wipe away. “I’ll let the idiot speak to you now, I’m sure he has a lot to say” Jaemin stands and walks away to leave Haechan alone with you.

“I suppose I owe you an apology” Haechan says as he places the flowers down “I’m not taking this well but I suppose you know that. You always did say I’d be hopeless without you.” Haechan’s eyes begin to well with tears once more “I just can’t help wondering what if I had picked you up from work instead or what if your boss hadn’t kept you back an hour later.” His voice breaks “I just play that day out in my head and wonder what I could have done to stop it from happening or to at least stop it from happening to you.” he lets out a deep sigh and sniffles “I miss you so much ______. I love you so much. I don’t know how I’m supposed to just live on, when my life was supposed to be spent with you. I can’t. I can’t do this without you.”

Haechan joins Jaemin a while after and a silence fills in as guilt rises in Haechan, towards you and Jaemin. “You know” he starts off as Jaemin begins to walk ahead and he hums in encouragement for Hyuck to carry on, “you don’t need to hide your emotions because of me.” he says quietly, guilty “This must be hard for you too, you were her best friend too … you loved her too” Haechan says looking at the park across the road and there’s a long silence as if Jaemin is contemplating what to say next.

“I’m not hiding my emotions” he finally breaks the silence, “I’m not that considerate of you” he laughs and pauses. “Don’t feel guilty. You’re my best friend too and I love you too. I’m going to be here for you as long as you need” he smiles and it warms Haechan, the slightest glimmer of happiness but it’s almost instantly stopped out by guilt - that he could be happy without you.

“We should get everyone together” Jaemin says, “Just the guys. They’ve been dy-” he clears his throat “begging to see you” he corrects himself. “I didn’t let them because I thought you needed some time to yourself before you were suffocated in hugs” Jaemin let out a small laugh, looking to Haechan to read his expression.

“Thanks, I appreciate it” And Haechan really does, without Jaemin he probably would be sprawled out on his apartment floor, still looking for you. “And yeah, we should have them round”

When enough guilt builds up and you feel guilty for even hurting, for even feeling any pain because you’re alive. Your life wasn’t stolen from you. Because you’ve laughed and you haven’t lived every moment in dread and sorrow. When enough guilt has built up that you wish you were dead and then you feel guilty about that. That’s when the anger settles in.

Stage three: Anger

Haechan thought he was doing well. He thought he was getting better. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he could do this. Yet seeing all these faces, so familiar and so comforting just made it more clear that something was missing. Someone. He looks around the room to see Jisung and Chenle fighting over what movie to watch tonight and he could just imagine you ruffling their hair and telling them we could watch them both. He watches Jaemin cook with Jeno trying to assist and you’d tease him saying that he’s only by Jaemin’s side so he could eat whilst they cook. Renjun and Mark would be setting the table and you’d be helping, dragging Haechan up to go wash glasses to bring to the table. This was Haechan’s family.

But now sitting around the table with the empty seat beside him, where you would have sat. He doesn’t think he can do this anymore. Everyone laughs and talks as if nothing has changed and he’s sure they’re just trying to be normal but they do it so effortlessly. The only thing giving them away is their careful eyes, hovering over him and he hates them. Hates being watched like he’s in a cage in the zoo, just waiting for him to do something. He hates that they’re careful with what they say, not mentioning you but he would hate it if they did because the pain would burn brighter in his chest. He feels guilty that he doesn’t want them to have a good time, he feels guilty that he doesn’t want them to talk about you and celebrate you, he feels guilty that he feels at home when you’re not here and he feels guilty that he wishes he had died instead and it was you who had to live with this pain.

The noise is too much, the laughs are too much and they were all too much. “I can’t do this” Haechan whispers and no one seems to hear or notice. “I just can't,” he says a little louder and only Jaemin turns his head, a little concerned look on his face as if to ask if Haechan is okay and Haechan looks back hopeless and lost. “I can’t do this” He sobs and now all heads turn to him. The laughter stops, the noise falls into silence. The silence is too much.

Haechan grips onto his fork, knuckles turning white and he holds his lip in his teeth to bite back a sob and he draws blood, his teeth sinking in. He’s shaking and tears are already falling and they all look at him, stunned - wide eyed and shocked. As if he was something else. Haechan bangs his fists on the table, again and again as he chants “I can’t do this” and he gets louder and louder until he’s standing on his feet. “I CAN’T DO THIS!” he shouts, shaking.

Jaemin slowly makes his way to him, placing a hand around his shoulder. “It’s okay, slow steps” he whispers and it irks Haechan, sending his skin shivering as it crawls up his neck and into his ears. Slow steps is all he’s been hearing but he can’t even take those. He pushes Jaemin off him, hard enough to have him staggering back a little and then he punches him. Once, then twice and Jaemin doesn’t fight back and it pisses Haechan off more, so he tries to punch him again but someone’s caught his arm, pulling him off and pinning him down. He struggles against the arms pushing him down, kicking his legs and pulling away at the intense grip - he manages to break free. There's shouting and screaming, ringing in his ears and his eyes blur into white as the noise begins to fade. Silence; that is too much.

Haechan waves his arms around trying to find something. Anything. His fingers brush against something smooth, cold and he grabs it, water spilt down his arm. He smashes it against the floor again and again, beating it. The glass cuts through his skin, wedges itself in, water mixing with blood. More restraints pull at him, he punches blindly until one hits. Haechan screams as the noise finally floods back in, as his hands throb and his heart aches. A pill thrown in the back of his throat, water invading his mouth and he’s forced to swallow.

“No!” he pulls free once more, shoving two fingers down the back of his throat, retching to try and get the pill back out but his body goes lax, mind clears and eyes droop down.

There’s a bright white light burning into the back of Haechan’s eyelids, strong enough to wake him from his slumber. He has the urge to rub his eyes open but he can’t seem to move. His body is sore, tired and he can’t fight the restraints holding him down as his wrists are tied to the bed. Haechan’s in a hospital, he knows he is because he knows that smell - overly clean. He spent days in here, holding on to your hand, praying you’d wake up. He spent every night here, sleeping by your side because he couldn’t sleep without you at home.

“You’re awake!” An unfamiliar voice says “He’s awake!” their voice gets further and Haechan tries to move to sit up but his body won’t respond.

“Stop struggling” now that’s a voice Haechan recognises but not one he expected to hear anytime soon. The bed moves up with the click of the button and Haechan now sits up and can finally see Jaemin’s face. Bruised and slightly swollen, he has a few cuts - one by his lip and another by his eyebrow.

“I got you good” Haechan says in an awkward laugh, not knowing where their relationship stands now. Jaemin laughs too, deep and loud and it’s comforting to know that even after all this, Jaemin is still here beside him.

“I let you win, I didn’t fight back.” and Haechan knows that but he still says

“Didn’t or couldn’t” Haechan lifts a brow, smiling.

“Whatever. I look hotter like this, even got a nurse's number” he smiles back and Hyuck snorts as Jaemin waves around the small piece of paper.

An uncomfortable silence fills the room after the conversation dies and Haechan supposes he owes Jaemin an apology but he isn’t sure it’s enough. There’s still that anger that sits at the bottom of his stomach, embers coming to light and will burn his whole body again. Is there any point in asking for forgiveness when you know it’s going to happen again? And just as Haechan was about to open his mouth, Jaemin spoke first.

“Don’t apologise” he says calmly “we both know why it happened and it doesn’t excuse you being an asshole but I am going to be more understanding. I also told you that I’ll be here until you need me, so don’t think I’m going anywhere.” and Haechan smiles at his words, nodding slightly.

There’s a knock at the door interrupting the conversation, the doctor entering. “Hello, Mr. Lee. It’s nice to see you in better conditions.” “How long was I out for?”

“Three days” and Haechan’s eyes widen “Manic episodes tend to last for five day, sometimes more and sometimes less. We thought it was best to keep you under strong sedatives.” The doctor explains “we recommend you see a therapist to help with your grieving, we understand this is a difficult time for you but we hope to see you better and this seems like a good option. Consider it.” The doctor says before he leaves.

“You should” Jaemin says as the doctor walks out the room “just try it” he says when Haechan gives him a sceptical look “also your mum flew into the city” Jaemin warns as he gets up “She’s waiting outside. I didn’t let her in because I didn’t want you to get overwhelmed and we all know how she is but you know she loves me so she took to reasoning” Jaemin says in a smile “I’ll go get her”

And once you’re too tired to be angry anymore, you begin to bargain. Trying to find a way to make life a little more bearable, to subside the guilt and anger, to contain it. You look to cope.

Stage four: Bargaining and depression

Haechan has moved back home, even after it was clear that Jaemin held no hard feelings; it just felt wrong to burden him with that again. Haechan was scared of himself, scared he’d lash out again and hurt Jaemin and just how many times is Jaemin going to take it. He’s scared of losing him too. Scared that Jaemin would fear him.

Also his mum had come into the city, Jaemin couldn’t house the both of them, though he insisted he’d sleep on the floor. The apartment still smelled like you and in a way it comforted him, you were home. Though Haechan’s mum immediately replaced that with the smell of her cooking and that was home too.

“Donghyuck” she called as he stared down at his phone, swiping through old pictures of the two of you, the therapist that Haechan had been seeing had suggested looking through them whenever he missed you, to live in those memories, a temporary solution to try and contain the manic episodes. Problem is, he missed you every waking second, he missed you in his dreams. “Hyuck!” she called again

“I’m coming!” he groans, feeling as if he was seventeen all over again.

Dinner was great, Haechan hadn't seen his mum in a few months and he felt as if he was in highschool, scolded and adored all at once. His mum was careful not to mention you but she loves reminiscing and you're in every story.

"Okay last story" she giggles and Haechan smiles as they sit with their plates empty in front of them.

"You said that two stories ago" he laughs "and I don't know who you're telling, I lived through them all"

"I know" she hums, moving around a few cold vegetables with her fork "but I love telling them and there isn't a whole lot of people to tell them too. And this one isn't even a proper story!"

"Last one." Haechan smiles

"Okay." She claps her hands "Remember when you were first dating _____" and she says it carefully but her excitement overrides it. Haechan loves watching her speak about you, the way his mother's eyes bright up and her lips just lift into a smile. She did always adore you.

"Of course" he smiles

"She gave you that nickname", Haechan, "and you refused to be called by anything else" she laughs "and back then I thought that it was childish love and you were being a young kid drunk on infatuation but then I met her and when she would say your name," Haechan's heart inflated at the memory, the way you would say haechan or hyuck was as if you gave it a whole new meaning. When you said his name it meant love, adoration and warmth.

"It was the way she spoke to you and the way you gave her all your attention. I knew from that moment that she'd shape who you were." And Haechan’s mum takes a deep breath trying to calm herself . "I must have sent you to go get something but it was just me and ______. All we spoke about was you. It was all she ever wanted to speak about with me" she snickers "she made me so proud of the man you were growing up to be, I just want to remind you that that amazing man was there before you met her." She smiles. "Anyway, it's getting late" she stands and takes both their plates, heading to the kitchen.

"You know mum," Haechan follows her with two glasses in hand "I'm pretty sure ______ fell in love with me because I was amazing" he grins

"You owe it all to me" she giggles

"I was gonna say, dad" and she hits the back of his head causing him to yelp "I'm kidding" he says as he braces for another hit.

"You better be" she scoffs and Haechan laughs, a true laugh and one he doesn't feel so guilty about. He kisses his mum on the cheek "Goodnight" he wishes her before they both separate into their rooms.

Haechan's phone rings as soon as he closes the door behind him, as if on cue. "Hey" Haechan says as he presses the phone against his ear.

"Hey" Jaemin, sounds too enthusiastic for eleven pm "how are you doing?" He asks carefully and this is how it is. Straight after breakfast, Mark will call to check how Haechan is feeling - if he isn't feeling too well then Jisung will call in less than ten minutes for him to hop online and play with him, that would keep him busy until late afternoon. Jeno would then call quickly, followed by Renjun, who's phone calls always seem to last longer than necessary. Then Chenle would either show up with dinner or ask to go out, if he's busy he'll just drop in a few texts. Then finally once the day is done, Jaemin calls to make sure everything is okay. Haechan appreciates it he really does, having such a supportive and caring friend group but he feels like he's on a twenty four hour watch. Everyone waiting for another episode. Everyone, trying to catch the signs to make sure they can stop it.

"I'm good. Played basketball with Chenle and kicked Jisung's ass in overwatch again." And Jaemin laughs

"Go easy on the kid, let him win sometimes"

And Haechan blows air out of his lips and scoffs "As if. It's not a win, if I let him"

"Is this coming from the same person who claims they beat the shit outta me when i wasn't even fighting back" and Haechan goes quiet "I thought so" Jaemin snickers. "Anyways I was just checking in. How's your mum by the way?"

"She's good. Loves being with me obviously"

"Obviously" Haechan can practically hear Jaemin roll his eyes. "You thought about going back to work?"

"Maybe?" He says uncertain "I'm not so sure though"

"Slow steps" Jaemin says in a yawn

"We should head to bed" Haechan whispers remembering the time

"We should. I'll call again tomorrow, night"

"Night" Haechan says before hanging up. Sighing, he falls on the bed and closes his eyes. He sees you.

Figure laying beside him, hair messy and intertwined between his fingers. He pulls at it and you moan, leaning closer towards him and hungrily capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. Your eyes are hooded as you climb on top of him - sheltering his body with your own. Everything fades as you bring your lips back to his once more, warmth engulfing him, every cell in his body shivering with fuzzy pleasure. Your hands roam lower, down his chest and abdomen, he bites his bottom lip holding on to his last bit of sanity. But he’s going over the edge as the euphoria has his eyes rolling back as you wrap your lips and make their way down his body. He’s shivering and begging for more. It’s too much and not enough. Your touch is ice but his body reacts like fire, a fever burning its way down his body. He is stickenly in love with you. His eyes roll back as your mouth makes your way around him. His breathing shallows, his mind scrambles as he holds onto the back of your head. Thrusting up, faster, harder as he meets you in the middle. He watches you worshipping him between his legs, tongue swirling and pulling him to the edge and his mind is reeling to hold on. Just a little bit longer. Only to stay with you for a few more minutes.

So he pulls you up, lips meeting once more with your tongues fighting against each other, teeth clashing. He presses himself into you as if to hope he can find home in your skin, bruising your lips and taking all the air from your lungs. You position yourself on top of him, fast and rapid movements bringing you both to a euphoric trance and Haechan’s eyes are closed. He can hear you, soft moans finding their way out of you. He can feel you, tight and warm wrapped around him. Smell you, the addictive smell of your body he presses his face into the side of your neck as he meets you halfway. “open your eyes” you say softly in his ears and he shakes his head. “Open them Hyuck, look at me” you moan louder.

And when Haechan finally pries his eyes open, the room is empty and the white sticks to his abdomen and palm.

Haechan flinches at the sight coating him, he withers in the after lasting pleasure and shivers with slight disgust at himself but he can’t help that his body yearns for yours. His body itches with desire, aggravated within its own skin and seeking only your soothing touch or your melodic voice.

He needs just a part of you.

He holds the phone to his ear. One ring. He knows it won’t go through but for a moment he’ll let himself pretend. Two rings. That you’ll pick up, all excited and happy; ready to tell him about your day or how much you miss him. Three rings. Even if you don’t pick up he’ll hear your voicemail anyways.

Four rings.

Five.

Six.

Sev-

“Hyuck?”

and Haechan can’t breathe. His lungs have ceased their ability to pull in air, and no matter how hard he tries to inhale they’re already full. Yet his mind spins, his eyes spot with black.

“Hyuck” you call out again “breathe”

But he doesn’t. He can’t.

“Haechan” your voice comes out strangled, broken and scratchy. “We’re running out of time” you warn, impatient. “Answer me!” The voice comes out deep, a ringing in the back and goosebumps make the way to the surface of Haechan’s skin.

“Yes” he gulps past the lump in his throat, getting air in his lungs finally.

“Save me” your voice returns, slow and loving. “You can save me”

“How?” Haechan doesn’t hesitate, “I need you ______” he begs, tears already dropping down his face. “I can’t live on in this suffering” sobs breaking through, he’s hunched over and saliva drips onto his hand as he holds it over his mouth. He shudders and sniffles, face contorted in pain.

“Death is the release of all suffering” you say, voice slightly distorted. “but we were never suffering. You can bring me back.”

Haechan stills.

Reality is shocking. After so long being stuck within your pain, your feelings and in your head, it feels like being splashed with cold water. The reality is, death will always have a presence in life. It is the only thing in life that is promised.

Stage five:

“I feel great!” Haechan is sitting opposite Mark and Jaemin at a coffee shop downtown. It’s been a while since he went out and he almost missed his favourite time of the year. Spring. The time for new beginnings and life. Haechan was ready. “I’m going back to work soon, I’ve been thinking about it”

“That’s great dude” Mark smiles

“And I think I’m gonna go through ________’s stuff too”

“You sure?” Jaemin asks

“Yeah I think it’s time”

“You can take more time you know hyuck” Mark says

“I know but I feel like I’ve already taken up so much time and it’s time to finally move forward” Haechan sighs and the conversation stills, Jaemin and Mark clearly have something to say but fidget and side eye each other uncomfortably. “I’m gonna head back home” Haechan announces, this conversation coming to a statement, and him not having the energy to hash out problems.

“Sure” Mark says awkwardly “bye”

“I’ll walk with you” Jaemin gets up

The walk is silent. Haechan can feel Jaemin staring at him, eyes heavy on his figure. He doesn’t say anything because everything feels like a test, if he’s going to break or not. Haechan is sick of failing but not too confident in his words. He also doesn’t want to lash out at Jaemin.

“Are you okay?” Jaemin breaks the silence

“Great” Haechan says through closed teeth

“Yeah seems so” Jaemin says but an underlying tone confuses Haechan.

“What does that mean?” It’s comes out more aggressive than Haechan intended

“You seem happy”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

Jaemin takes time to respond, silent until they finally reach Haechan’s apartment complex. “Sorry.” He apologises first “it is a good thing, I’m just being over cautious” he laughs awkwardly rubbing the back of his head.

“Don’t worry about me anymore”

“I’ll always worry. Especially now that your mums gone back home”

“Worry about me less” Haechan pats his shoulder “thanks for everything over these past few months, I’m sorry and I love you” Haechan doesn’t specify what he’s apologising for but Jaemin can take a guess.

“It’s what friends are for” Jaemin shrugs “love you too” he says taking him into a hug and Haechan melts into his embrace, eyes watering up but he blinks them away.

“Bye” Haechan breathes out and Jaemin waves walking away.

The house is empty. The blinds are drawn. There’s a faint lining of ash along the floor and along the windowsill candles burn low. Haechan takes off his shirt and slumps down onto the floor. He breathes in deep before taking the knife and slashing it against his palms. Digging his fingers into the wound, he dips them in blood and drags his finger along the floor to paint a pentagram. He places a candle on each point, and lights them.

Haechan begins slashing more skin, blood dripping and merging with his painting until the neat drawn out lines are slighting blurring together. He walks back towards the kitchen, grabbing at coal by the stove. The black rock is coated in his blood. He places it on the fire. He turns back towards the pentagram.

He sits and waits. His head spinning and throbbing. He sees you emerging from the fire, screaming and crying as you reach out a hand for him to reach and he does. Heat kicking away at his skin, he smells his skin melting away. He hears you calling him, your sweet voice taking his mind off the pain. His stomach lurches, his chest tightens as he comes closer. His legs smear at the blood as he sits within the pentagram, both hands I’ve the fire of two candles, the other knocked over and holding their flames against him.

He begins to wretch and gag, bile rising up and saliva flooding his mouth. He spills the contents of his stomach out onto himself. He heaves and retches again and again, falling to his side, spreading along the floor turning pink as it mixes with the blood. His eyes are heavy, he no longer knows where he is, he sees you smiling. He sees a younger you in middle school, still shy and still only talking to Jaemin. He sees you in highschool, more confident and still radiant as you giggle at whatever stupid thing he said, he sees you ok that swing looking up at him the moon beaming on your face. His mind goes blank, his body goes lax.

Death is the release of all suffering.

a/n: thank you for reading until the end! It been a long long time since I have put something out (I feel like I've come back from the dead) I do hope to write and put out a lot more this year and do have a lot planned but I won’t say much else bc I'm bad at sticking to my word. Sorry this one is disturbingly depressing but happy hyuck soon! Thank you once again for reading my writing <3

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anteroom-of-death · 6 days

Text

Yayo, part 1 of 2

Synopsis: Gideon Shepherd wastes a life or two over a girl.

A/N: thanks to @lex144 for inspiring me to not give up. Will be a 2 parter. Dark fic time. Sorry for no publishing of all .... burn out. Listen to the unreleased version of Lana del Rey while reading.

How many times must he repeat the same life, the same lie, over and over again? How many times could he go through the exact same suffering and the exact same thwarting of evils in this world?

Gideon, in his sixties, again, having a cup of tea in an inconspicuous tea shop, mused. He’d just stopped a plane crash he had stopped dozens, if not hundreds of times. He was losing count. Losing control.

He knew it was only a matter of time before he was locked back up, dressed in red with those detectives again. Bargaining with the girl, Lucy. Trying to make her understand her son and him. Each time it seemed a tad more futile.

He tied the bag’s string around his finger like he’d done with that red one in that room. Repetitive and simple as always. Perhaps even a nervous tic.

He’d always die, just before total lucidity. It was annoying. And it just added more into his already over-crammed skull. He felt bursting at the seams. Almost like he had multiple brains.

Preposterous!

He admitted that in this particular cycle he’d been a little more neglectful of his needs. More rash. Less calculated…It was getting worse each time. More world-saving. Less keeping himself intact to save it.

He had to change all of this. Maybe take a breather. He’d still stick to his schedule from thousand lives past. This time, it would be difficult, just infinitesimal.

He even had been to this little tea shop every single time. Exactly the same day, the same time. He had observed people casually. Not much to do with anything…

Everyone was safe by his calculations.

The slouched-over nervous girl was going to accidentally water board herself with her drink in a few seconds.

On cue, her little iced coffee spilled. She sighed, seemingly looked up, as if beckoning a favor from God. She grabbed a napkin and went to wipe herself and the ground up.

In an echo of so many times previously, “Nothing comes easy, does it?” She muttered and slouched into her knees. She started to scrub a particular big stain in the making on her floral skirt with her spit.

It was probably incoherent to anyone who didn’t hear it or know to hear it time and time again.

She eventually pulled herself off the ground, her hip cracked. The slit in the side rode up, accidentally flashing the grey panties she wore…

Suddenly he felt like focusing in on her.

Maybe next cycle he’d offer to help her.

For now he got up and offered her his napkin. A small smile spread on his face.

“I have a spare coat in my boot…you can cover it up, keep it.” He offered another shiny object.

He didn’t know what exactly started coming over him. It was carnal, primal. Effervescent even. She obviously suffered from some self-confidence issues. Despite her bold outfit choices. Her large earrings clanked against her necklaces. Skittish. Unsure.

It made him incredibly hard.

He hadn’t allowed himself any pleasure, just the continuous pursuit of justice. In his own way. The only way that was dramaturgically correct he felt. He had to be the one to make it happen. The cops were as much as complicit as sometimes perpetrators.

“Go to the toilets and freshen up, yeah?” He instructed her plainly. The pit of the toll of all his dark deeds starting fray him like the trim of her denim jacket that seemed slightly too small.

He forced himself out to the car and popped the boot. He grabbed the aforementioned coat.

He walked back into the shop just she exited the loo.

She sniffled and saw the coat. It was black, utilitarian. Nothing special.

“Thanks.” The smile was weak, she still was obviously reeling from her previous remark of nothing coming easy. However, it was genuine. She was thankful and seemed placated by the action.

“I’ll…get another coffee.” She remarked as she tied the thing around her waist.

He couldn’t help but notice it hung sensually around her hips. Accented the torso and her tits in a weird way. How would it be to bite them? Mar them with his teeth?

“Why don’t you join me?” He offered.

“I can’t.” She frowned, a line developing in her still somewhat-young forehead that didn’t go away when her face relaxed moments earlier. It was fully etched in.

How lovely was it that such a nervous wreck had somehow made it this far in life? To see such a line. Pity it was there in the first place.

Such a contradiction…

She got her new coffee.

He still felt incredibly urged to take her and hide her away. Stop her from herself and her own nervous nature.

The proverbial butterfly was stepped on, who knew what was in store now…

Next cycle, he remarked to himself as he got into his car and drove off. He had to complete this. Make the Lucy woman understand. Die, come back. Same shot, different day…

His cock still remained at attention. The depraved thoughts still rung in his thoughts.

×××××

Here he was, back at the tea shop. She was walking in. Here was his chance!

He’d fantasized about this chance for decades now. Ever since the first rush of teenage hormones rushed into his body. Again.

She walked in, her tote bag swinging.

Only one chance. He could blow it, hypothetically. But this opportunity was literally once in a lifetime. No matter how many he’d been allowed. (Or cursed with depending on current emotions and outlook…)

He knew the pitfalls of approaching a woman and making oneself known. It came off predatory. Not that he wasn’t predating her, in more than one sense of rationale, or definition. Was there any good, wholesome way to approach her and her grey panties? He’d killed enough rapists to merit knowing what they liked.

And yet, here he was entering his era of perversion.

He firmly believed he had to liberate her from herself. Somehow.

Never one for true romance, even in the first time he seemingly entered the cycle, he lingered unsure.

He got up and made a show of asking for extra napkins.

One word, one small line would disrupt this. She’d not spill her drink, and he’d garner an actual chance with her.

“Those are some lovely necklaces.” He tried for a bit off a soft entrance.

She touched the tangled mass of gold on her neck, “Oh! Thanks!” Her left hand went to fiddle with some of the pendants on a few of them. The free thumb rested on one of those comically-large hoops.

She placed her order and went down to fight for her life to find her pocketbook.

“No worries,” Gideon assured, “I’ve got it.” The fiver, easily produced from his jacket pocket.

“Oh?” She flashed a befuddled, nervous half-grin at him. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing.”

She shook her head. “Thanks so much!”

He felt moved to go back to his seat. He didn’t know exactly what to do to go from here.

Something told him to just toss her in the boot and drive off. Or perhaps, to lure in promising safe travels to wherever she was headed.

The darkness rubbed off so easily.

The toll of a billion lifetimes.

He remembered some parable of a little bird and a rock. Something about a boy saying something about it being ‘One hell of a bird…’

He sucked on the options. They all weighed heavy on his heart and his conscience.

He ultimately chose the less devious of them all.

Just asking.

He saw her go to pick up her drink. Would she spill it? He half-wished to see. See of the actions interrupted the truth of time. Such a small gesture maybe would provide her a sense of calm? Could it? Would it?

He started to rise yet again from his seat, and she spilled it anyways.

A flash of grey panties, a mutter again about nothing being easy for her, her spine twisting into a serpentine knot. Her lovely skirt and top stained.

He offered her a clutch of napkins. Then repeated last life’s offers.

“Are you my guardian angel? Or something?” She asked. “First paying for my latte, now this?”

Fate must have been sick to give her him if she thought he was an angel. Even in a semi-facetious manner. Sure, he was on the side of angels, in a sense. However he was far from celestial. Mortal, frequently.

He went out, produce the jacket. Came back. She tied it.

He offered to pay for her replacement- “On caveat you join me, an old man for a bit of a chat on a slow day.” He went for the genteel route.

She involuntarily shook herself, her eyes blinking rapidly.

She looked at her phone’s clock.

“Sure. Why not? Only five minutes, yeah?”

She sat at his table and they chatted. Her name was (y/n), she was (insert your age, reader) and she was between jobs. The drink went much easier down now that she was sat. Gravity and natural klutziness weren’t fighting her here.

The way she placed her elbows on the table further accentuated her heaving chest. Despite her current state, she seemed to breathe a little harder than Gideon suspected someone should.

Maybe her baseline anxiety messed around with her rhythms.

Gideon gave her the most basic and innocent of responses. Just enough information to tantalize. Keep it light, keep it friendly, he chided himself over and over again…

She glanced over at her phone and saw the time…she excused herself and left. Thanking him for everything.

She even brushed both of his cheeks with a small, friendly, definitely foreign kiss on each.

The door bashed her on her way out and she tripped on her way over the bus stop across the street. She put in her headphones and leaned against the pole marking it.

He felt them burn in response. His cock stayed as hard as rosewood.

He regretted not getting her number.

Or he could follow her discreetly. Put in what he learned from men worse than him by a thousand-fold into practice. Keep her somewhere safe, where she couldn’t be harmed by anyone, let alone herself.

Yes, that would be fine. He would just be looking after her best interests? Correct?

Correct.

He waited a moment and trailed his way to his car.

The bus pulled up, she went in. He turned his car on. A simple game of cat and mouse. If the cat were ever so interested in the mouse’s uninterrupted survival…

Or perhaps, did he not want her to meet a darker end at anyone else’s hand but his? His thoughts kept delving deeper. Were these dark, frankly barbarous images his fantasies regarding this (Y/N)? Or just fears?

He did notice from their brief conversation that she did have some scar tissue around her wrists. So even if he did very into these mental images, it would probably be for her betterment. They were obviously self-inflicted.

He felt himself grow more and more irrational. There was something burning in his chest. An itch that maybe he’d scratch just this life. Then the next, go about, offer her the basic kindness of the jacket and go.

If he was doomed to repeat every sinful day of every sinful life, what was one slip up? He’d done so well before.

He was trying so hard.

Yes, why not?

#personal #the devil's hour #gideon shepherd #peter capaldi #self insert #gideon Shepherd x reader #you x gideon shepherd #yall better be ready #or not #song fic

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from-the-clouds · 11 months

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you know what kendall deserves his version of willa (with a happier ending) he can do his lewis and clark of sex manic episode thing with her, it starts as filling the void with sex and pushing shit away, she wanted some fun and the money wasn't a bad thing and doesn't find him to be as awful as she thought he could be.

she becomes super protective of him once she realizes what he's actually going through, doesn't let his family speak over him. None of that your kids aren't your real kids bullshit, all 'that's it we're doing something about it' attitude. she convinces him to go back to rehab and stay in therapy treatment (and she waits for him)

it goes from sex buddies to actual friendship to love.

she becomes his number 1 fan, she gets him into collecting records and investing into things he actually cares about. maybe he starts a label? or he funds one. he wants to patch up his relationship with his kids guess who's there ready to be there for him?? when kens guilt returns about the waiter, about the election, about his kids, about everything shes is there. if the jess publishing a book thing is an in universe thing and he gets to see himself from the outside, she is there.

she also comes from this hard background and has done tons of work to heal, so she's ready to be there for him. nobody has ever actually cared about him, and wasn't counting on that being the direction of the relationship so it takes him a while to realize this isn't just sex and money anymore.

he probably keeps thinking the only reason she stays is because well she likes his money, the more he likes her the more he pushes her away because he thinks it's for the best. nobody really needs to put up with him, she figures it out though.

she knows the cycle, she has lived the cycle. they don't have to be together anymore but she will not leave him, he breaks, it's love, it's real. it might not be forever but close enough, and it's real love.

Anyway I'm not a writer I'm just tired of the nihilism of people with kendall my man is happy and content in the future, he finds happiness again. He still has stewy who will be definitely investing on the label thing even if he says he won't work with ken ever again. ken funds stewys lube line (the wetter the better) in repayment.

sorry that i sent this to you but i needed it to be out there somewhere. love your Professor!Ken headcanons! hope you're having a great time on your vacations 💜

i totally could see ken ending up with a willa! or someone like him. there are some really good ken x reader fics that have this sort of dynamic, too, even if doesn't go exactly how you type it out here!

i think kendall could literally do anything with his money, a record label would be a great idea since he's so into music/art and pop culture stuff! also him dating someone younger would keep him 'hip' to everything so he would see that as a perk of seeing her.

and yes! i could see their relationship being sort of cyclic like the show. maybe he pushes her away when he gets too emotionally involved, but she sort of keeps coming back because she likes him too.

i understand why kendall's ending has to be seen as grim for the sake of the show, but i don't know that it's as grim as 'he's going to die' if that's how jesse wanted to end the show that's how he would've ended it, you know? like i think it's intentional kendall was kept alive, but he will probably find something else to be obsessive about eventually. and the cycle will keep repeating!! but its not all bad in my opinion.

#asks #writing #kendall roy x reader

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ludcake · 8 months

Text

been talking to some people feel like i should post some initial thoughts on my cringe oc au for asoiaf...... i was thinking the other day about how like. so many of the characters we have are emblematic of the generational rot and how they're in a position to stop it and end the cycle and stop looking back and make a better world and this is something that almost never happens!! there's a real chance for a better world thanks to these characters. and i was also thinking about how like... well, a big part of why they're in these situations, why they can do all that, why these changes would even happen, are pretty bad on a personal level.

and i think it's fascinating to think about how many fics and aus are like, wish fulfilment for happy endings (which i think is great! being comforted is good sometimes, just not always my thing) and how some of the natural consequences of these things could straight up just be. the rot continues. the house doesn't fall under its own weight it just keeps rotting and new beams keep being erected to keep it up and nobody ever leaves and they're all trapped. and how interesting that is! to me.

so i started thinking, well, what if the characters did get happy endings expected of their initial positions at the start of AGOT? and the key to it all is Jon Arryn surviving. Jon doesn't die, Ned doesn't become Hand, Dany isn't sold off, and then... it just keeps going. the rot continues. robert rules as robert and the baratheons stay in power and the feudal power structures get even more entrenched and when Young Griff comes back there's no mummer's dragon for him to fight and then it's two hundred years later and Westeros is stuck. They're all stuck, slavery still prevails in Astapor, Meereen, Yunkai and New Ghis, the Iron Throne is jockeyed between dynasties and houses based on thin claims, magic is thinner and thinner and all this rot is getting exported and entangled further and further and further. I have a whole thing about Westeros and Essos going through a 17th century style chain of craziness later but the core is.

for want of these people, of these children, of these characters we love. for theon to be lord of the iron islands, and robb lord of winterfell, and jon live free with the wildlings and brienne be forever remembered as a great knight and Shireen live a long and happy life and they're all trapped in the same system they started out because the only way out is through. you need to break the walls to get out of this house. there's no door.

you can send me asks about this but it's just like. such a fascinating thing about it. how would these characters we love fare if the walls never broke down. if the house wasn't burning. if they stayed trapped and tried to find happiness in this ideal feudal configuration that has been repeated over and over and over again.

and then there's my cringe ocs afterwards because i love jacobean styles and i wanted to write something in westeros that ran more along the lines of three musketeers than henry vi

#provisory au tag #asoiaf #au #.txt

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spoops-screams · 2 years

Text

| Temporary

Character(s): Malleus Draconia

TW: Death mention, panic and slight allusions to obsessive behaviours

Genre: Angst-ish with a happy ending

Notes: Gender neutral MC || Cursed reincarnator!MC (makes more sense when you read the fic tbh) || Wrote this at 4 in the morning and then woke up to find out that this whole thing wasn't a fever dream and then cleaned it up a little so it doesn't read like I was as delirious as I was last night <3

Malleus always missed you whenever he had to wait for you to come back to him. It was a cycle that he was accustomed to - and hated all the same, never wanting to be used to having to see you go - but he couldn't help the ache in his chest or the way that your name would leave him feeling hollow for a time as he waited for your return. No matter the time, it always felt too long whenever he was forced to part with you.

He should have been used to it by now but it was always difficult whenever you would die. Again and again you would, as if the presence of death felt the need to cling to you like a parasite that no one had the power to dispose of. No matter how he gripped at your form, desperate despite this same scene playing out hundreds of times before, or how he begged you to stay alive, having your soul, precious as it was, with him for a short time before he felt it flicker, weakening so distinctly within you that it thrummed like a slowing heartbeat, until if faded completely. A candle light put out once again before it relit in a different location.

And then he would have to wait again.

He should be grateful. At least he thinks he should, that death could only part you from him temporarily. That you would reincarnate into another form and then have your memories of all of your past lives returned to you once you were able to handle them. He was immortal. At least that was the general agreement. Time meant nothing to him but it always dragged on whenever he had to wait.

You promised him that you would return to him. You always did. As soon as you got your memories, you would seek him out no matter how far he was. He was always waiting for you in the same place anyway and he always knew when it was you.

Your fate was a peculiar one really. Cruel and slow, one that would forever play in a painful loop for as long as there were beings that existed within this world but curious nonetheless.

Cursed to die young, no matter the species that you would find yourself born into - human, fae, siren, and too many more over the centuries - and then find yourself returning with no escape from the endless loop that would force its way back into your memories once your mind deemed itself stable enough to retain all of the information to a new form.

You were cursed to loneliness or at least you thought that you were in the first few decades of your accursed life. To never being able to feel the warmth of another being or find joy in love because of your state. Because you would never be able to stay long enough to truly indulge in love.

You couldn't tell anyone. You couldn't run the risk of the secret of the curse getting out. You could name multiple who would be more than overjoyed at the idea of an even partially immortal consciousness.

And yet you had managed. You had found love in Malleus. You had found warmth with him. You had found comfort with another being who too was to live for as long as your consciousness was to.

And you were happy.

Even if you were destined to die young and to repeat the cycle. You were happy because you had promised. Promised to reunite with him as was always the first thing you did whenever you regained your memories.

Your cycle was infinite. It would never end. There was no way to break the curse and Malleus knew that. He could always feel the faint glow of your soul in the world, being reborn once more into the cycle whenever your previous body had been unable to host you. How long had it been that he was now so attuned to your presence? That he could feel it without difficulty?

So why?

Why could he not feel it this time?

When the weeks that he waited to be able to feel your presence turned into months and from then on years, he became frantic.

He would escape from the castle more often, find any excuse to go to any other nation, his habit spiraling out of control though it would not seem that way to the outside eye.

Lilia new better. So did his grandmother.

Were you too far away? Had his senses become weaker? Had your soul's presence become weaker?

Why? Why could he not sense you? Where were you that he could not find?

...

Did you leave him?

No. No. You wouldn't! You couldn't! You had promised. You had promised that you would only ever part temporarily! That you would return to him as soon as you could...

You had said that he would be able to watch over your soul. He had always been able to, so what was different? What had changed? Where had you gone without him? Where? Why? Why did you leave?

He didn't give up as the years that he searched became over decade. If anything, the time only made him more panicked. It was almost time. It was always around this time that you would find him. There was only a few years left. He knew it. He always did. So where were you?

Even his admission into Night Raven College did little to sooth him. He can only hope that by being around so many people that he could find you.

His scrutinising gaze did little to make people feel more comfortable around him.

But when he senses you. The moment that he feels your soul.

He doesn't think he's ever moved so quickly in his life. Not when you were in danger and would smile at him and remind him that you would meet him again in your next life, not when you would run up to him and hug him in your new body, an "I missed you Malleus" on your lips and he would return with him "Not as much as I missed you, my love". Not when he was being attacked, not when Lilia cooked, not when his grandmother would call for him.

Never.

But he need to see you. Whether your memories have returned or not, he need to. He has to.

No one has ever seen Malleus Draconia so ruffled. No one but you. But he doesn't care.

Not when he teleports into the hall during the sorting, not when his eyes immediately find the pleasant him of your soul in your new form, not when you catch his appearance in the corner of your eyes and you turn, a smile of both relief and joy on your lips as you call out his name and run up to him and hug him in your new body, an "I missed you Malleus" on your lips and he returns with him "Not as much as I missed you, my love". Not when everyone stares in shameless wide eyed shock at the two of you and certainly not when he ignores Crowley's calling of both of your names and the two of you disappear into a few pretty, green fireflies and teleport to his room.

He truly can't care to worry about anything but you as he almost cries in relief as he hold you to his chest and looks down at you with a smile.

"You're finally here."

"I am."

Your explanation of where you were can wait. He just needs to indulge in your presence, just for a time. It's only temporary when you leave him but he can't help but long to see you whenever you're gone.

Do not repost or claim. Only reblog 💕

#twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst malleus #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus x reader #twst fanfic #twst fanfiction #twisted wonderland fanfic #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twst x reader #twst #twst fluff #twisted wonderland fluff #malleus fluff

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sixty-silver-wishes · 10 months

Text

so @lisystrata asked me to write a caligari timeloop au fic so I threw together a quick scene

“You!” Francis shouted, flinging open the door to the director’s office.

“Ah, you’re right on time,” Caligari muttered, without looking up from the book in his hands. “This has happened exactly six times now, and you still haven’t learned to knock.”

“I know exactly what you are,” Francis seethed.

“By this point, I’d be concerned if you didn’t. Now that we’ve been through this plenty of times over, and you don’t have anything particularly revelatory to say that neither of us don’t know, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re interrupting a very compelling read.” He grinned, showing Francis the book, which had completely blank pages.

“Why are you doing this?” Francis asked.

“Doing what? Reading a blank book? Well, I find it particularly amusing to tell you I’m busy when in actuality, I’m-“

“The time loop,” Francis said.

“Ahh, the time loop. That’s not my doing, but I’d gladly take the credit; aren’t you enjoying it?”

“Absolutely not! Day after day, I’ve done everything I can to try to convince my best friend not to go to your goddamned exhibition, only to find him dead the next morning! And then I have to keep my other friend from being kidnapped, but it seems I can’t do that either! And whose fault is that?!”

“Yours,” Caligari said, pushing up his glasses. “And by the way, I don’t recall you signing up for a therapy session with me, but maybe you can find a spot on the waitlist- not that it’ll ever go down, of course.” He laughed to himself, leaving Francis fuming.

“How can you live like this? A repeated cycle of murdering people and making us miserable; what’s the point? I have to see Alan die every single day!”

“Oh, it’s not so bad for him, I suppose. After all, he comes back just fine when the loop resets, and he doesn’t even remember any of the pain, does he? To me, this sounds like a you problem.”

“Then how does it feel for you, hm? To be apprehended by your own staff and locked up over and over again? It’ll happen again, you know. It’ll always happen, because as long as you’re committed to your vile deeds, I’ll always be here to stop you.”

“Not an issue,” Caligari answered, waving a gloved hand as if swatting a fly. “I’ll wake up in my villa the next morning, you’ll wake up in your shabby, caving-in house, and Cesare…” he wheezed with laughter, pounding the desk with his fist. “Cesare will wake up in his box at the carnival, and it starts all over again. Honestly, with all this talk of justice, I can’t believe you’ve gone on and on without sparing so much as a thought for my poor Cesare. Just think of how it must be for him!” He dissolved into another fit of laughter, until tears formed at the corners of his eyes. “But you won’t think of Cesare,” he said, regaining his composure. “Nobody does, except for me.” He stood up from his desk. “Now get out; you said you wanted to apprehend me, didn’t you? The staff is on their way, and now’s your chance.”

“I won’t let this keep happening!”

“Doesn’t it bore you to keep spewing cliches like that?” Caligari shook his head, and headed for the door. “I’ll give you one of my own, then. We’ve had a lovely talk, Francis, but it now appears our time is up.”

#the cabinet of dr. caligari #silent films #cesare the somnambulist #conrad veidt #fanfiction #fanfic #au

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virgo-dream · 1 year

Text

Freely Given

Dreamling /whump fic/ 4k words. Read here or on AO3.

TW: brief mentions of hospitals and amputation. nightmare dream sequence.

Immortals can't die, right? That's the whole premise of the condition. Immortals can't die.

"But you can be hurt, or captured." Hob remembered Dream saying in their meeting way back in 1789. He'd been captured before, sometime around 1640, drowned as a witch. He'd been hurt plenty, now that he thought about it. Apart from that, Hob had been more or less lucky and tried his best to remain out of harm's way. One thing Dream had failed to mention was that human mortals could very much get sick.

The first time Hob caught a really bad flu since having become immortal, he was panicked for the whole duration of it. While his body did heal fast, he did remember how bodies dropped during the Bubonic plague; It wasn't a nice sight at all, and seeing people drop dead around him when the Great Plague of London swept the city in between 1665 and 1666 was awfully reminiscent of how he watched his entire village fall. When the Spanish Flu came around in 1918, Hob had spent enough time feverish and miserable that he vowed to do anything he could to never get sick again. Things did change with time, and medicine took big, long strides that made things significantly easier, but still, Robert Gadling had no intention of ever dying (and also no intention of being confined to his bed for inordinate amounts of time).

The thing is, you can't exactly predict just how and when you'll get sick. You take precautions, you try to stay protected (all the Zoom classes he'd taught between 2020 and 2022 sure made him wish he'd never have to look at a flat screen again), but when it happens, it happens. He was lucky enough to know he'd never die from it, but it still made him uneasy and anxious. It still brought him back to seeing his family die. Trauma was a sticky thing to get rid of.

Autumn in October was usually very lovely. London was mostly grey, but Hob had learned to find colour and vibrancy in unexpected places, and he liked seeing how time affected each and every little thing, even himself. Still, the newfound chilliness in the air did not agree with the rising temperature of his body or the soreness of his throat, nor with the amount of time it would take him to actually walk to the kitchen to grab something to eat and back to the comfort of his warm, soft blankets. He'd just rather stay holed up in bed and wait it out, however long it took. Hob would sleep, wake up, get up to blow his nose and throw the crumpled pieces of toilet paper out of sight, then repeat the cycle indefinitely.

He had no idea what it would invite.

"Hob?"

Hearing Dream's voice out of nowhere startled him. Hob thought he might be hallucinating, but he'd learned to know that even when he questioned what was real or not, when Dream wanted to be present, be it in the Waking or the Dreaming, he was. Hob popped his head and a hand from under the mass of blankets he'd cocooned himself into, waving at Dream. "...oh, hey there, duck. Wasn't… wasn't expecting you here."

"You have spent an unusual amount of time in my realm as of late, Hob." Dream approached the bed, brows furrowed in what Hob now knew to read as worry. He placed an ice cold hand on Hob's forehead, and the sad look on his face seemed to twist into a thousand little different forms of worry and anxiety. Still, his voice was steady and low as ever, only softer than usual. "I became worried for your well being. I apologise for not being able to come to your aid sooner."

Dramatic as ever, wasn't he? Hob chuckled, lips curling into a smile as he made the effort to tilt his head up to lean into Dream's touch. "Ah, don't worry. I'm sure the Dreaming is way over capacity at the moment. Bunch of kids at the uni called in sick this week, it was only a matter of time before I–"

A coughing fit interrupted Hob's spiel, the worry in Dream's face spilling over to the rest of his body as he quickly reached for Hob's back, rubbing circles gently as his overheating body spasmed. While the coldness of Dream's hands (and other parts of him) never bothered Hob, his touch almost felt alien in his current state. "Save your strenght, Hob. I shall tend to your needs for now."

Hob couldn't help but feel smitten. He had no idea how Dream intended to help him, but for someone that had access to every piece of information ever thought by every brain ever (whew!) he trusted Dream to have some insight. "..trust your… capable hands."

"Sleep for now, my love."

Hob felt Dream's lips on his forehead, and was tempted to try and bring him closer. He fell asleep with the blink of an eye.

˜˜˜

Dream had no idea how he intended to help Hob.

It was the right thing to do. He had stumbled into enough of Hob Gadling's nightmares to know for a fact that disease wasn't something he took lightly. And Dream knew every piece of information ever thought by every brain ever (whew!) Still, it didn't mean he knew the order of which the information ought to be applied. It also didn't mean Dream wasn't going to at least try to give his lover a bit of the gentle care he was so often on the receiving end of.

Dream paced around the room for a bit, unsure of just where to begin. Did Hob have a physician he could consult? Hob had mentioned his avoidance in having his information be kept in any sort of database, which Dream understood to be paramount to ensure his safety. Taking him back to the Dreaming might also not be a good idea; he had no idea how Hob's body would take to the journey, or even if the needs of a human body (albeit immortal) could be met there. The more he thought about it, the more he felt helpless, and that was a feeling he did not welcome.

Hob had taught him to ask for help when needed. Which was why Dream now waited by the small window at the kitchen, waiting for Matthew. He hoped, for all of their sakes, that he wouldn't regret it.

"Hey there boss! Whatcha need?" Matthew landed on the windowsill, bowing down his head to greet his master.

"I require your assistance." Was all Dream managed to say. He was still unsure of whether that was the best thing to do or not. He felt… embarrassed to need to ask. "Hob Gadling has fallen ill."

"Aw man, that sucks. Definitely don't miss that feat of being human. That's why he kept showing up at the Dreaming all the time, right?"

"...I need insight on how to better tend to his health."

Matthew seemed to perk up, which Dream interpreted as surprise. Was it really that odd that he would want to take care of Hob? "Did he tell ya what he's got? Flu, a bug, somethin' else?"

"...no. He is asleep."

"...did you ask?"

"He is weakened, I sent his mind to the Dreaming for the time being."

Matthew tilted his head to the side for a moment, and let out a sound Dream could only describe as a sigh, but uttered by a bird. "...so you were worried he kept showing up at the Dreaming. You came here to help and… sent him back there?"

(…well, when you put it like that—)

"A well rested mind gives way to a well healed body."

Dream was beginning to see that he was going about things wrong, and he didn't like the feeling. "Look, boss… I think he might need some medication, if it's that bad. Just wake him up and ask him. If you don't wanna wake him, you can just get into his little sleepy brain and ask."

"I should not have to ask."

"Well, we can't all know how to–"

"–Hob never asks. He always knows."

There it was. The discomfort, the anxiety of not knowing, of feeling less than. In the Dreaming, it manifested as rain and thunder, as violent crashing waves in the shores of creation, reshaping his newest creatures in all sorts of twisted forms. The flowers withered, the night was starless. In the Waking World, where he was confined to a physical appearance, it was a tightness on his chest, a constant insecurity, fear of not being quite enough. It brought out the worst in him: the rudeness, a short temper and a disregard for the feelings of others. He should be better than that. Luckily, Matthew already knew him well enough to see right through it. "...boss, I'm sure he does. He asks you stuff all the time, that's how he knows."

"He doesn't contain the entirety of the human intellect and beyond within himself, Matthew."

"And you still come to him for insight, dontcha? You don't gotta know everything. Just have to ask the right questions." Matthew shifts between his tiny feet, before taking flight to land on Morpheus' shoulder. "Go on. I won't tell."

It was admirable how patient his subjects were with him. In all truth, the most admirable patience he was offered was Hob's own, freely given and seemingly never-ending. Lucienne and Matthew came in at a close second. Morpheus allowed himself to show his loyal raven a slight smile, enough to leave Matthew feeling very proud about himself. He certainly would not shut up about it in the days to come, Morpheus was sure of it. "...very well. I thank you for your help, Matthew. You may return to the Dreaming. Tell Lucienne to watch over the realm in my absence."

"You sure you don't need my help with anything else? How long will you be gone?"

"Go on, Matthew. You will know when you’re needed.”

“Jeez, fine. I’m leaving. Tell Hob I said hi!”

A slightly worried, slightly proud Matthew bowed down his tiny head to his master once more, before flying out and disappearing into the night. He'd done the right thing in asking for help, and he was sure Hob would be proud too when he told him of it. Still, Dream didn't have much time to congratulate himself; when finally returned to the bedroom, he found Hob thrashing on the bed.

˜˜˜

Hob walked down a long, darkened hallway. He wasn't sure where he was, or how long he'd been there for. He paced slowly, carefully, fluorescent lights flickering against the washed out aquamarine walls and linoleum floor. Elevator doors at the end of the hallway opened, and he walked in.

The doors opened again. Same place, different year. He saw nurses rushing by, heard people crying in the distance, paramedics pushing gurneys with collapsing patients. A hospital, it seemed. Someone approached him and checked his temperature. His head was pressed against a pillow, and his body was littered by wires, surrounded by machines beeping out of sync.

He blinked and the machines disappeared. Same place, different year. The staff wore cloth masks, he could hear someone cry out for their mother in the distance. Someone walks past holding a severed limb. His arms are tied to a bed, feet too. Another hand checks for his temperature.

Different place, different year. His mother looked over him as he laid down in bed. Everything was burning, so so hot. He was so tired, so scared. It got him. And it will get us all.

He's pulled out of it, and the next thing he knows, it's his bed he's laying in, and Dream's arms are around him, holding him close.

˜˜˜

Dream had sent Hob straight into the hands of his nightmares. How he could have not predicted it was beyond him, another failure to add to the long list of things that made him unworthy of Hob's affection. He held onto him tightly, with a hand on the back of his head, propping him up to sit on the bed. Untangling Hob's mind from the dream should've been easy, but when the body needs rest so desperately, sometimes it can push back. When he felt Hob's arms curl around him, ever so weak, he let out a sigh of relief.

"I am sorry, Hob– I thought you would be safer in the Dreaming, it was foolish of me to assume no nightmares would find you without me there. I am sorry, I am–"

"Dream. I'm okay. I'm okay."

Dream had no idea how Hob found it in him to be so forgiving. He knew he didn't have it in himself, which made him feel all the more undeserving. He reached for one of Hob's many pillows, quickly placing it behind his back. He had no need to reach for anything. He could just make the pillow's appear in whatever way he pleased. He could do anything he wanted if he could just.

"...duck?"

"I–"

"Are you okay?"

"...yes." Dream didn't need to breathe. He could use a deep breath at that moment, though. "Are you?"

Hob shrugged, smiling gently before pressing a chaste kiss to Dream's lips. "...been better, am better. In your arms and all."

There he was, his Hob. Smiling at him even though Dream did nothing to earn it. Showing kindness even in distress. Dream buried his face in Hob's unusually warm neck, taking in his scent. He wished he had the power to just… make him healthy. "Hob."

"Yeah?"

Hob held onto Dream with what little strength he had at that moment, pressing a kiss to his temple. His love almost hurt to receive at times. It was so bright, so… full. "...how can I… better help you? I am unused to illness. It is not a matter of concern to my kind. I wish to aid you, my love. But I find myself resourceless."

"Oh, duck…" Hob had the kindest eyes Dream had ever seen. He'd existed since time was time and night was night. Nothing bore resemblance to those eyes. "I… I'm just… glad you're here with me.."

Dream was getting impatient, but for Hob’s sake, he would endure his own uneasiness. "There must be something I can do, Hob.”

Hob was always quick to notice the changes in Dream’s moods. In the beginning, it was terrifying to have someone that could see right through him so clearly. It made him feel vulnerable and exposed. Now, he knew it to be a blessing. “…It wouldn’t have got this bad if I’d just…” Hob sniffed, stopping for a moment to cough a few times. “…been more careful.”

“Tell me what you need, my love.” Dream spoke gently, as gently as he moved to finally place the pillows behind Hob, then reaching for the almost finished roll of toilet paper so that his lover could grab another handful to blow his nose. “I am but your servant for as long as you’ll require my care.”

Hob raised his brows, unable to hold back a chuckle. “Don’t talk like that when I’m like this. It’s a big waste.” He took a moment to get adjusted to leaning on the pillows behind him. Even sick, he looked so, so beautiful. “I think I… could do with a shower. Maybe some food?”

“That can be arranged. Anything else, lover mine?”

“I think there’s aspirin somewhere in the cabinet over the sink in the bathroom.”

As quickly as Hob had told Dream of the location, he was able to conjure it to appear on the bedside table, along with a glass of water, room temperature. He was getting less anxious, and it made things much clearer to act on.“Oh, that’s fancy. Thank you, duck.”

Hob reached for the box, but Dream was quick to take it from his hands, grabbing the aluminium blister inside and tearing it with a long, black nail (a claw, really), then handing the pill over to Hob. Before the other could think of wasting his strength on anything else, Dream grabbed the glass of water for him, holding it up to his lips for Hob to drink. Once again, he smiled that beautiful, gentle smile. “If you keep treating me like that, I’m gonna get spoiled.”

Dream felt like he was doing much less than the bare minimum, but Hob had told him, more than once, that he had the terrible habit of being hard on himself. “I shall do it more often, if you so desire. Now, your bath.”

~~~

It felt like a dream (ha!) really. Seeing his friend, his lover, his Dream fussing over him like that. The King of Dreams and Nightmares, Lord of the Dreaming, Prince of Stories… Hob Gadling’s personal caretaker now had been added to his long list of titles. He didn’t mean to be surprised, really, but Dream always managed to show him some new, unexpected part of himself. This time, it was in the form of the gentle kisses to his temple whenever he helped Hob shift on the bed, in the strength of his arms when he insisted to carry Hob to the bathroom, the water that seemed to be perfect temperature for the whole duration of the bath Dream had prepared for him. The water smelled softly of lavender and lemongrass, and Hob had a feeling he’d be very, very sleepy by the end of it. The way Dream massaged the shampoo into his scalp, how gently he combed through his damp hair with his fingers… Hob would beg to catch a cold every single day if this is what it got him.

But then again, Hob shouldn’t have been surprised at all; Dream had warned him extensively about how brightly the flame of love burned within him. Of how he still carried the fire of his previous lovers, of how every feeling of longing and want was the material of his sweetest dreams, while heartbreak and jealousy could foster the worst nightmares. He’d warned Hob that being loved by endlessness was the same as trading his soul away; he’d never be alone, even in the deepest of deserts. He’d never be only for himself, but partly Dream’s, for all eternity. Hob couldn’t think of a fate better than that.

After being pampered like a king (Dream would know how to), he was blessed with another one of Dream’s otherworldly talents: he could find food from his memories. Fish them out of time, bring them to the present. With his permission, Dream scoured his brain for the most nutritional meals he’d ever had, and the ones with the most sentimental value, too. He was able to taste a soup his mother used to make him when he was little, the tea his dear Eleanor would brew whenever he was feeling indisposed. He wondered what food made by Dream’s own hands in the Waking World would taste like, and like the master eavesdropper his lover was, Dream hurried to the stove, borrowing the culinary talents of Hob’s neighbour, who happened to be a professional chef, that slept on the flat next to his. Now, his list of favourite dishes had just been updated: Dreamstuff Spaghetti had quickly risen to the top.

Dream insisted on carrying him around, and Hob was not complaining. He’d hold Hob while he was sleeping, always waking him up to take his meds on time, and he was almost sure he caught Dream grading essays for him at one point. It was funny, seeing a creature that knew all and had full domain over every language ever spoken be confused when students were not able to form fully comprehensible sentences. Those were the moments Hob would remember and cherish most, he was certain of it. He caught the hang of it pretty quickly, and soon was discussing the multiple interpretations an answer could have with Hob, who was too amused to tell his menace of a lover that multiple choice questions were called that because you could pick one answer out of many, and not all of them.

By the time Hob was feeling like himself again, a week had gone by with Dream by his side. Still, his dedication to Hob’s well-being was unwavering, and a part of Hob, deep deep down, didn’t want for it to be over. He wished, more than ever, that they could just… be together. All the time.

Hob woke up to Dream’s cold palm to his forehead, smiling at him when his eyes blinked open, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips. They were curled up together, protected by the sheets Dream had changed himself the night before. A gift from the Dreaming, woven from the softest fabric Hob had ever touched. Almost as soft as Dream’s own skin.

“Good morning, Hob. I take it you had pleasant dreams?”

Smug bastard. As if he hadn’t crafted those dreams himself. “…none as nice as this, no offence. Morning, duck.”

Dream smiled. He’d seen so many of these in the past week Hob was begging to think he had in fact died and this was heaven. “Then I shall work harder to keep their quality to your liking.”

Another kiss, now gently placed on Hob’s forehead. He didn’t want Dream to go. He knew Dream had to, knew he was keeping the anthropomorphic personification of the entire collective unconsciousness of this universe (and he suspected all others) stuck in his untidy flat cooking him pasta for over a week. He was quite sure there would be a cosmic scale paycheck waiting for him at some point. So he let out a sigh, taking the gentleness of those blue eyes, to remind himself just why he couldn’t be selfish about this. “You’ve already done so much. Really. I… I’m starting to feel a little guilty, duck.”

Dream seemed surprised, and maybe even a little offended, which just added to how adorable he looked as he tilted his head in confusion, “Whatever for? I am only repaying your unwavering kindness with my own.”

“Well… I’d love to keep you here forever, but… you know, balance of the entire universe and all that. And you don’t have to repay me for anything. Freely given, as you like to say.”

“So is mine.”

Dream was silent for a moment, seeming to contemplate an impossible puzzle. How odd it was, to be able to surprise an all-knowing entity. He sat up on the bed cross legged, looking jovial and restless all at once. Hob sat up too, feeling healthier than he had in years. “I have not ignored my duties while caring for you, Hob Gadling. If anything, I had more time to tend to the ones more dear to me.”

He really had a way with words that made Hob want to ignore responsibility altogether. “…isn’t it easier for you to do that from the Dreaming? I’m not saying I don’t want you here… is just…”

“Robert.” Dream placed a hand on Hob’s cheek, running his thumb over Hob’s lower lip. “I have visited the Dreaming every night while I was here with you. Lucienne has been overseeing the realm during the day, I have full confidence in her capability to maintain order in my absence. For that reason, I have allowed myself to take time away from my duties to be here with you. You must not feel as if my time was ill spent. I don’t regret a moment of it.”

Hob blinked, letting the full weight of Dream’s words wash over him like a tidal wave during a storm. He let it drown him for a moment, re-emerging shaken, almost teary eyed. “…you sap. Come here.”

Yes, he was going to get at least one cold every two weeks from now on. Give Dream a week with him and one at the Dreaming. Hob pulled Dream into his arms, showering his face with kisses. How precious the King of Dreams was, with his hair even more of a bed head than usual, from sleeping on Hob’s pillows, on Hob’s bed. Dream held onto Hob tightly, letting out a content hum.

Now that he thought about it, Dream could use a break from work every once in a while.

#dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #virgo-dream writes #dream x hob #dreamling fic #Morpheus x Hob #sandman fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #beta’d by google doc lol #here is the result of my self ingulgence

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cartoonus-maximus · 6 months

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How about kiss or die?

"Kiss or die" is an untitled spideytorch sex pollen fic.

It's a pretty basic, standard kind of fic plot. An alien ship crashes to Earth, and the Fantastic Four are sent to investigate it, and Spidey goes with them. The ship turns out to be a moving lab/greenhouse and is full of alien plant samples. Peter and Johnny get doused by the pollen/nectar/something from one of the plants, and it makes them extremely horny. Obviously, they might as well ride the horny train with each other, right?

Featuring such snippets as:

“Your aunt does feed you, right?” Johnny sneered when Peter stole a whole pancake off his plate when he wasn't looking. The vigilante made a face at him before folding the pancake up and shoving the whole thing into his mouth. “My body had to heal up bruises from the Sandman last night!” Peter answered, not bothering to swallow before speaking. “I need nourishment!” Johnny stuck his tongue out at the other hero.

and

There was a strange, ongoing whining sound. Like an incessant buzzing that wouldn't stop. It started up, reached a sort of peak, then died down briefly, only to start back up again, the cycle repeating at regular intervals. It took Johnny a few moments to realize that the whining sound was coming from him. That that uniquely annoying, godawful sound was his own voice, pitched in such a way that he couldn't recognize it himself.

#it's more vague concept and short snippets than actual story #idk if I'll finish it or not #my responses

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vvanessaives · 2 years

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because i feel like i need to put few more words on some things going on in that fic (=i just wanna scream)

the whole situation makes it extremely easy for vesper to recall her parents relationship: her father was a wrestler (then fell out of fame) and very often would come back home badly beaten, vesper is a boxer which makes it way more easier to come back home with a bruised face (especially bc she doesn't do very legal matches). she remembers her mother frowning over the beaten up state her father came back home especially bc at this time he wasn't famous anymore and started boxing (very badly) and that's also when he starts drinking a lot, the kind of a lot that he couldn't stand on his feet. the association is very easy at this point: vesper sees herself as the same fuck up as her father. fenix is clearly her own mother in a way, she just thinks that at some point he will leave and never come back, just like her mom did when ves was just 6 years old. good fucking lord woman. it's a never ending cycle, it's the fear of repeating the same scheme your parents went through because that's all you know. from here comes the fear of abandonment too, of being alone, since that's all she went through since she was born (reminder that she stayed with her father until he died when she was 14. just let me say that she's basically been on her own from this age to 23 like wtf.) even the little scar part, she feels like she's going through the same road of her parents, its an old wounds reopening type of thing but she doesn't even notice + searching a way to inflict physical pain will dull everything else for her, another reason why now she goes picking up unnecessary fights

fenix doesn't make it easier because, from his side of the story, feeling too close to someone only brings pain. i mean his parents abandoned him as a baby and his brother is a bastard backstabber. he doesn't know what family is or how any kind of normal relationship works so mostly he tries to get away from every situation that makes him too exposed. basically vesper and fenix are the two faces of the same coin but with different reactions to the trauma: vesper literally just doesn't want to he alone (god bless the day she finds her brother) and fenix runs from...everyone because he wants the same thing as ves so intensely he doesn't know how to handle the feeling. they are both SO scared to be alone but fenix has a more of...whatever i know this will happen and it's my own fault too and i still cant avoid it so i'm just gonna fuck up my life even more

and yea they both are TERRIBLE at expressing any kind of feeling. vesper out of pride and fenix because, yea talking about his feelings is too much. even the little dreams lines: vesper is worried she will never see him again (he could die and she will never know because she literally never knows where he goes), fenix is worried he's in love with her (u are, dumbass) and his solution to that is: the harder the flame burns the harder i'll try to get away from it. LIKE. hm. HELLO???

also something very important here is that you can finally see the repercussions of vesper's mother leaving her. ves usually says she doesn't care about her mom and then she finds herself dwelling on her worth to be loved because not ever her mother wanted to stay with her, this is smth she would NEVER ADMIT like if someone asked her 'hey did that fuck up your sense of worth?' she would say no and thats it. and yea i'm just...holding both of them gently but shaking fenix a bit more bc he deserves it

also who allows me to make my ocs never have good parents or healthy relationships with them. no. this is not my trauma shut up

#rena.txt #also little curiosity: the tattoo vittoria isnt only there for the meaning but bc her first gf name was vittoria and yea she got it tattoed #anyways sorry i said i would shut up but like...theres so much going on there my mind is full #/delete later maybe?? probably?? who knows #the ocs thoughts imprisoning me photo is the best thing i ever created btw

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mischief-lies-and-stories · 9 months

Text

Fanfiction Author Q&A

This questionnaire is from wing-ed-thing.

Why do you write fanfic? I write fic because the authors are WrongTM. Lol, no, but actually. I write because I want to continue the story, or there’s a part of the story I think could be expanded upon or reimagined and I have an idea for it.

What is your most overrated fanfic? I don’t think I really have an overrated fic per say, but if I had to choose it would probably be (non-Loki) Te Veo or (Loki) These, Our Bodies, Possessed By Light, just because it’s the first fic I wrote since coming back to AO3 so I don’t think it really deserves the hype given how much I’ve grown and improved since writing it.

What is your most underrated fanfic? Underrated is either Like the Dawn or Phantom Limb. Like the Dawn is one of my personal favorites, and Phantom Limb more explicitly links Where Mischief Lies with the MCU in a way that was personally satisfying to me.

What is your most overrated headcanon? I don’t know what this means? Something I consider to be overrated? I’m gonna go with a headcanon many people in the fandom seem to agree with maybe. Definitely that Loki didn’t die on the Ark when Thanos supposedly killed him. It’s overrated because we’ve never seen him die and the members of the Asgardian royal family we’ve seen die have vanished to Valhalla in golden sparks, which Loki didn’t do. So it seems pretty textbook that he wouldn’t be dead, whatever a stupid power-hungry titan said about it.

What is your most underrated set of headcanons? As much as I hate it, it’s definitely the headcanon that Mobius is a Loki. (See my post about this for more details.)

What detail did you put in a work that you wanted people to notice? It’s the entirety of Bring You Safely Home to Me honestly, but it’s my lowest-performing Frostiron fic in the series so I’m counting it. It’s a retelling of a Norse myth of where Loki is just before the events of Ragnarok in the Norse mythological cycle.

What thing(s) in canon do you have VERY STRONG OPINIONS ON? In the MCU, definitely how they’ve chosen to represent Loki’s genderfluidity (poorly). In the comics, how well subsequent authors have honored the character development Al Ewing has afforded Loki (not well for most runs since 2013).

What thing(s) in canon do you prefer glossing over in your work? We don’t talk about that Kiss, unless it was a distraction, and comics-wise we really don’t talk about Vote Loki. Loki is a thinly-veiled stand-in for an American presidential candidate who very unfortunately won an election seven years ago, and acts like him, and I hate it. I hate it with every fiber of my being. I hate that he showed up in the tv show, even as a bad guy cameo that got his hand bit off. I hate that I have to see merch for him all over the fucking place. If we never acknowledged his existence again it would be too soon.

What controversial fandom takes do you have, if any? Probably the most controversial are that I ship Thorki and I don’t ship Loki with who he kisses in episode six. Like I ship incest but not selfcest? I don’t know, just how it goes I guess.

What is your writing schedule like? I don’t have a schedule. I get an idea, I think about it, and then go on a day or two or three day writing binge until it’s done, edit it as soon as I’m done, and post it. And then wait for inspiration to strike again. Rinse and repeat.

What fanfic took the most research? Honestly probably Nothing Matters at the End of the World. I spent an obnoxiously long time reading quotes from the series, trying to find relevant phrases to serve as chapter titles. I read a lot of MCU wiki pages, and spent an uncomfortable amount of time reading about dinosaurs and their extinction event.

What fanfic of yours is your favorite? Like the Dawn. (Non-Loki favorite is The Courage of Stars, my most recent Good Omens fic.)

Do you read your own fanfic? Yes, more often than is probably reasonable.

What character deserved more screen time? Like canonically? In Loki-featured comics, Cloud and Verity. In the show, Croki.

What secondary character would you make the main character of the series? I’m gonna answer this in terms of my frostiron series, actually (Nights on the Roof). I like Idunn and Clint’s characters in the series, maybe not as the main characters, but maybe a part from their perspective could be fun.

What character have you written the most for? Loki. That’s why I’m doing this on my Loki blog. After Loki, Tony.

What character(s) would you never write for? Why? President Loki. Fuck that bitch. I’ve already explained why I hate him. He’s a terrible person and he makes no sense for any characterization of the character whatsoever.

What is your favorite fanfic trope? Least favorite? Favorite is enemies to lovers and hurt/comfort. Least favorites are hurt/no comfort, major character death, and Harry Potter AUs. Even when I was a fan, I wasn’t up for those.

Where did you start reading fanfic? Where did you start writing? The N. My childhood best friend was writing a Harry Potter fanfic when we were 13 and posting it on there. I started writing it (online) on Cartoon Doll Emporium (I think) a year later. If not, then I started posting it on AO3 in college, but I’ve been handwriting it since middle school.

Favorite fanfic platform? AO3 hands down. I don’t use anything else.

How old is your blog? This one? Like a week and a half. How long have I been on tumblr (no, I’m not telling you my other account)? Like 13 or 14 years.

When did you write your first fanfic? What was it about? Do you look back and still like it? First fanfic in general was an unfinished Chronicles of Narnia fic I started when I was 13 that I didn’t post anywhere because The N didn’t allow you to post anything until you were 14, and I was a goody-two-shoes who refused to lie about my age. I don’t remember it and I don’t think I still have it, but I probably wouldn’t still like it. First Loki fic specifically was History Books Forgot About Us in 2017. It’s the first version of These, Our Bodies, but it’s from Thor’s point of view. I still like it, and there are some good parts I had to leave out for the rewrite that got published since it changed perspectives, but ultimately the best version of the story is the one that got posted on AO3.

What is your favorite fandom to write for? Marvel, definitely. Within that, probably the Avengers, because I think Tony and Loki have a really interesting dynamic that lends itself to a lot of possible storylines with many options for side characters.

What niche character/fandom/trope is your guilty pleasure? I don’t really believe in guilty pleasures, but probably the most “problematic” pairing I write about is thorki. I have written (unpublished) fanfic of fanfic for this pairing. If you like thorki and genderfluid Loki, the To Know You Anywhere series by triedunture is heart wrenching and perfect.

For reader insert writers, who do you imagine when you write your reader inserts (OC, yourself, canon character, etc.)? I neither write these nor read these.

What compelled you to your go-to characters? Really? Loki is genderfluid, bi/pan, a fascinating anti-hero, and between Tom Hiddleston in the MCU and Al Ewing’s writing in the comics I’ve come to really latch onto Loki. He’s interesting and I like exploring him in different contexts, with different people.

OC writers, when did you first come up with the concept for your OC? I don’t write these either.

What character(s) do you think you most resemble? Probably Verity. She kind of just goes through her life with this strange best friend who she cares about but is kind of doing his own thing that he occasionally brings to her doorstep. She doesn’t put up with any of his shit but is loyal and kind to him. She’s ace (I don’t make the rules, Al Ewing absolutely made her ace), so she wants nothing to do with Loki romantically. She’s about the only woman Loki isn’t related to who treats him decently, but she’s ace so she’s never gonna be in a romantic relationship with him.

AO3: irishavalon

#loki #fanfic #about the author #irishavalon #thorki #frostiron #lokius

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aziraphales-library · 2 years

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Hello, I’m looking for a really good reincarnation fic I can’t find.

The premise is that instead of having their set corporations, Aziraphale and Crowley just get reincarnated over and over again in human bodies. But they don’t have their memories since they are born, they gain them back later in life. And for some reason they keep reincarnating near each other and their human versions keep falling in love with each other and getting romantically involved before they get their memories back, so sometimes they get their memories back and the two of them are already married with children while still being mortal enemies.

I would also like recommendations for other good reincarnation fics. Thanks

Hi. Not sure on your specific lost fic, but here are some possibilities and a bunch of great reincarnation fics for you!...

You're Human (Re)incarnate by Cryptand_Bismol (M-E) (Series)

Reincarnation series, where Aziraphale and Crowley have been cursed to live and die as humans. Unbeknown to Heaven and Hell, the curse only partially works, causing the pair to be reincarnated over and over. Their memories may start wiped with each iteration, but they always remember each other, and their past, eventually.

Good Omens Soulmates AU by SlyKing (NR, G) (Series)

In this Alternative Universe, Aziraphale and Crowley are soulmates; they reincarnate at different times and always find each other.

From the Top (Say Your Lines Once More) by CoffeeStars (T)

Crowley lives and dies and wakes up to repeat the cycle. And every single time Aziraphale is there, a different face and new memories.

Doubt Thou The Stars Are Fire by Princip1914 (E)

“Oh God,” Aziraphale said to the empty bookshop, pouring himself another drink, “Oh, Lord, tell me, if we had been humans together, with short lifespans and squishy bits and all that.” Aziraphale interrupted himself by hiccupping. “Would we have fallen in love? Are you listening lord? If you hear me, give me a sign, please, I beg you.”

Unfortunately, or fortunately--one can never really say in such ineffable circumstances--the almighty was, indeed, listening.

Single-Use Lives by hanap (E)

Things go horribly wrong when it turns out Agnes Nutter's prophecy isn't what Crowley and Aziraphale thought it would be. They were expecting to be destroyed. Instead, Heaven and Hell strip them of their immortality and their memories of each other - but Heaven and Hell don't know that they've switched bodies.

Now human, Crowley and Aziraphale run into each other on Earth for the first time - again - and again - and again. It doesn't take them long to figure out that there is something very strange going on.

over and over and over again by NaroMoreau (T)

Crowley finds his soulmate and he should have been ecstatic. Except the mark is on the picture of a noble dead at least two hundred years ago.

The Book of Prometheus by lyricwritesprose (T)

As far as Ezra Fell knows, he's an ordinary bookseller who has no reason to be so strongly attracted to the strange man in dark glasses who comes in looking for an old book. And he certainly has no reason to pursue that connection after the man goes away. He's doing it anyway.

As far as Crowley is concerned, Aziraphale was completely destroyed in 1656. But then he came back again. And again . . .

They meet in late 2007. They don't know how close they are to running out of time. They're about to find out.

Pray For Us, Icarus by Atalan (G-T) (Series)

For three centuries, Crowley has been reincarnated over and over as a human with no memory of his past. Aziraphale has tried to find a way to restore him to his true self, but all he seems to do is hurt them both. This time, he only means to steal a brief moment when he walks into Crowley's flower shop. But Crowley can't let it go...

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #reincarnation #memory loss #human au #mod d

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etherealeeknow · 3 years

Text

vocal lesson

• rated m for mature, slight angst

• pairing: vocal coach!seungmin x fem!reader

• wc: 2.3k (confession: writing long fics isn’t my forte)

• tw: underlying toxic relationship, masturbation (m), grinding, groping, unprotected vaginal sex, explicit language, creampie- i think that’s all, please do tell me if you find more c:

• note: i have a love hate relationship with this fic. i have a few goals i’d like to achieve from this fic and whether or not i’ll succeed is based on your feedbacks 🥺 so please don’t hesitate to drop them! also, enjoy!

• tag list: @es-kay-zee @formidxble @bobateastay @vogueinnie @sailorhyunjinz // leave a comment, dm, or an ask to be tagged! thank you ♡

—

seungmin despises the way his heart dropped when he sees your name flashing on his phone screen instead of you flashing upon his eyes. by this time, he’s fully aware that a chatty girl like you isn’t the type to text. in fact, you only do it on one occasion, which is when you’d like to cancel the class. just like what he has expected, the text says you won’t be able to make it that day and that you’re sorry; but he knows you’re not sorry. he knows you’re doing this on purpose—to torture him—and it’s working perfectly.

honestly, the suffocating pain in his chest isn’t because he has been losing sleep, tossing and turning in his king size bed for hours over the thought of you being all dolled up in the baby blue dress he has gifted you; neither is it because he missed his favorite orchestra playback this morning just so he could find the most perfect white shirt out of his collection of other white shirts just so he can appear pleasant for you, but because you’ve been cancelling the lesson for three times in a row. if your mother ever finds out about this, she would definitely fire him. to prevent that from happening, seungmin has been silencing your maids with credits, but he knows too well they’d soon go for more if you keep this up.

fiddling with the handkerchief that you had purposely left for him a few weeks back, seungmin gloomily shoves it into his pocket before dragging himself to the grand piano to warm his throat up. the first few notes started off slow and stable according to the piano keys, but with constant fear running on his mind, his fingers slipped and pressed the wrong one. the awry sound makes him cringe and shuts his eyes in annoyance. he hates it, mistakes, he hates it to the fullest, yet he has managed to keep up with it all this time just because he adores you more than anything, even when your cracked voice sometimes haunts him at night. see, seungmin’s giving his all to you,

but why are you doing this to me? where are you? i miss you.

“heh, pathetic,” he mutters to himself as he slowly lies down onto the piano bench, facing the chandelier which lights would usually illuminate you when sitting on the same bench while waiting for him to get to the music room, running your delicate fingers along the black and white wood. your side profile’s exactly like a goddess—breathtaking.

sighing over the imagery of you, he begins unbuckling his belt; eyes closing momentarily when he slips a hand into his unbuttoned pants and starts palming his clothed member. three weeks. it’s been three weeks since he last got off, since he last felt your touch, and he’s been trying his best to hold back because he believes you’ll eventually come around. he believes you won’t leave him just like that, yet you aren’t here again today, and he’s dying to release his pent-out frustration.

a heavy sigh escapes his lips when he takes out his dick, the tip leaking from precum and it makes him let out another sigh when he begins pumping it; another one follows, then another one, and it carries on as seungmin’s hand goes faster by each second. even in the peak of his pleasure, all he can think of is you. oh, how heavenly it would’ve been to have both your soft hand and pretty lips around him instead. his free hand is quick to slip into his pocket, snatching your handkerchief. despite only briefly smothering himself with it, your lingering scent alone is enough to make his head spin. with the sateen now wrapping around his throbbing cock, it feels as if you’re there, skin to skin with him.

“fuck!” he hisses, but eyes widening right away over his own volume as he quickly raises his head to check on the slightly opened door.

he’s so close and pausing in the middle just to lock the damned door would ruin everything. should he just bet on his luck today? it’s not like any of his well trained maids would rudely barge into his music room, right? but who knows?

screw it.

his back automatically arches when he feels the increasing tension in his pelvis, and it pushes him to fasten his hand move—pumping his dick rapidly to release. with eyes rolling to the back of his head, seungmin begins chanting your name desperately and that’s your last straw. the moment seungmin ejaculates is the moment you slam the door open and run towards him. the poor guy who’s barely riding out his high jumps on the bench as he sits up.

“y/n—”

“shut up,” you cut him off and crash both of your lips and body together, causing him to fall back down onto the bench, and creating a somewhat deafening screech on the floor, but it’s nothing compared to his loud moan in between the kiss.

the feeling of you straddling his lap instantly makes him hard again; the feeling of his warm hands running wild all over you and the stickiness on your inner thigh coming from your ruined handkerchief has you wetting your already damped panties—the effect of rubbing yourself when peeping on his little show. as the kiss deepens, so does your hunger for each other. of course, there’s no way you’ve gotten over what he did, and he’s surely still upset for being ghosted too, but for now, lust is winning. one squeeze on your thigh is all it needs for you to throw your baby blue dress across the room.

“you’re always so hot when you do that,” says the now naked seungmin who gets back onto the same position, looking at you with his half lidded eyes as his arms stretch out to fondle your breasts, his favorite part.

“the only time you’d compliment me is when we have sex,” you scoff before going back down on him, slowly yet easily pushing his cock inside of you, and both of you grunt in unison.

“y/n, ah— shit! i told you it’s because i know you can do better.”

snorting, you call him a liar before grinding mindlessly, movement starting off slow just like how your breathy moans starting off low. as much as seungmin enjoys being taken care of, patience doesn’t exist in his dictionary today. his hands leave your chest for your hips, guiding you to slip in and out of him at a faster pace. but that’s still not enough—he needs more. in a blink of an eye, you go from being on top of him to under him. seungmin bangs you down loudly on the grand piano, your buttcheeks and hands hitting the keys and filling the entire room with jumbled notes while you yourself are filled by him to the fullest, right at your g-spot.

“seung— fuck!”

“louder,” he commands while thrusting into you, hips moving in a rhythm, and strong hands bringing your legs up to rest on his shoulders before holding onto your ass, supporting you from slipping down—multitasking is indeed his second best talent besides singing.

“what’s the p— point?” you breathe out, trying your best to sound coherent while maintaining eye contact, “so you’ll compliment karina instead again? pat her on the head and caress her cheek again?”

“you know i only did that to motivate you.”

“bullshit.”

if seungmin has to name anything you can do best, it’ll definitely be your ability to drive him crazy—disobeying him. again, he believes he has been going all in, keeping up with your lack of talent and bullshit for the past half a year; the way you’d fight, then fuck him, and fight again only to fuck him again, and the cycle continues. whenever he tries to talk things out, be it about your vocal lesson or your tangled relationship, you wouldn’t give a damn. today, that has to change.

“and i’m the one to blame? karina always listens to me,” he replies, slowing his thrust as he can feel your walls clenching around him even more and more.

“faste—“

“i said louder, y/n. tear your mouth wide open,” he grunts, thrusting into you so strongly that you jump and land back on the piano, creating such messy harmonies.

“seungmin, faster!” you yelp, voice raspy yet a little louder this time with your hands finding their way on his shoulders, and it makes him sneer as he leans in to kiss you, biting your lower lip before he lets go, and stop dead on track.

“hoarse voice, dry lips. don’t i always tell you to stay hydrated?”

you find it unfair. seungmin’s energy doesn’t make sense. the fact that he still has the power to put up with fucking while carrying you even after his solo session is unfair. and the way he has the audacity to give you a vocal lesson in the middle of everything, then stopping just because you aren’t complying is way too cruel, but perhaps, this is what you deserve.

“i’ll never cancel our lessons again. i’ll— i’m sorry. i will really listen to you,” you beg desperately, almost sobbing as you grind on him, refusing to let the tingling sensation on your core die down.

seungmin shakes his head. he knows you too well. normally, seeing you surrender like this softens him and makes him think that perhaps, he’s being way too demanding, or maybe, he should be even more understanding.

“that’s not what i asked for, love.” is what he says before resuming, putting all the remaining pressure he has left to snap his dick deeper into you.

that’s when his name falls out of your lips ever so gracefully, followed by endless ah’s, jaw hanging open. this is the loudest and clearest you’ve ever been—no holding back, no hitching breaths, no cracking—pure perfection.

seungmin doesn’t even need to ask for more because you’re already repeating it on your own.

“fuck yes. just like that. such a good girl,” he grunts right beside your ear, picking up his pace.

it only takes a few moments till you feel the familiar knot in your abdomen coming back along with him twitching inside of you, and this time, you make sure to hold onto him so tight, afraid he’d pull the same stunt again.

“shit— please let me cum. please cum with me, come inside me, please, please, please,” you blabber, voice turns husky once more, but seungmin couldn’t care less, there’s always another chance for another vocal lesson. right now, all he wants is to,

“cum.”

the two of you reach together. name chanting, legs shaking, fingers digging, and body fluids mixing into each other—drenching not only your lower bodies, but also the extravagant bösendorfer piano seungmin shipped all the way from austria. but that’s another thing to worry about. right now, he can barely keep his eyes open while you can barely feel your stiff spread legs across his shoulders. once he’s made sure you’re over your high, seungmin gently pulls out and lets you down. he sits himself first on the bench before pulling you by the waist to seat you on his lap, and the two of you let silence take over for a little while.

“i know you’ve been bribing my maids,” you start off, “they have a big pay, but it’s impossible for their designer bags to double up in just a week, you know,” you continue while pushing his damp hair aside, revealing the remaining half of his sweaty forehead.

“they were gonna snitch on you to your mom,” he replies, pausing in the middle to mirror your action, pushing strands of hair to the back of your ear before averting his gaze back on your eyes.

even with your smudged eye makeup and cracked lipstick, you’re still as shining, dilating his pupil.

“and?”

“and she’s gonna fire me.”

“isn’t that what i should worry about? you’re a world winning award soprano. there are hundreds of talented people waiting in line to be your students. money isn’t the problem. plus, i know you hate my voice. i also never listen to you, never call you sir, and am ninety nine percent horny throughout our lessons. in short, i’m a bratty and disrespectful pain in the ass.”

your punchline makes him snort and he can’t help but to pull you into a hug, closing the already small space in between so he can indulge in your body heat and feel your chest beating calmly alongside his.

but what happened to changing things? don’t you wanna be in charge? you can’t just let her have everything she wants.

despite hearing the faint voices in his head, mocking him for having the weakest heart for you, seungmin doesn’t care. for all he knows, he was a train wreck earlier this day; he surely didn’t expect he would go from reminiscing the memory of you under the chandelier to it actually coming true.

“this is real, you’re here.”

“it is. i am.”

“and you’re gonna—“ pausing, he breaks the hug to cup your cheeks, “you have to stay.”

“what for? for you? for the vocal lessons? for… what?” you question, unconsciously tilting your head as you place a hand over his, slightly squeezing it, hoping he wouldn’t let go.

silence.

“i might be a bitch, but i’m not dumb. it isn’t about money and it isn’t about sex either. so what is it, seungmin?” you ask, eyes searching for an answer before adding, “i bring no good to you.”

you’re right. his best friends have said the same thing. they can’t seem to wrap their heads around how a collected person like him can break so easily over a random, spoiled, daddy’s little princess. it doesn’t make sense, he knows—i know. he’s been trying to figure it out, only to meet the same dead end.

“i’m a mistake.”

yes—yes you are, and seungmin hates it, mistakes, he hates it to the fullest, yet he has managed to keep up with it all this time just because,

“you’re the only mistake in my life that i can take, y/n.”

—

gen’s masterlist

#gen writes #seungmin #stray kids #skz #seungmin smut #stray kids smut #seungmin angst #stray kids angst #stray kids fics #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids blurbs #stray kids drabbles #stray kids masterlist

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lavenderwhore444 · 3 years

Note

WAIT DO U WRITE FOR SUB SHIGARAKI??

YES YES I DO I LOVE HIM SM

I would die for him 😐

Every kink ever has started out with “only for Shiggy though, ” and then “only for him and Dabi, ” and lastly “god damn it why do I like this shit, ”

Like I would never eat ass....however if he (or dabi 😳) asked....how could I say no? (spoiler I wouldn't say no)

I fully support #pegshiggy2021

First of all I've had more than one person try to fight me on Shiggy’s mommy kink so it's time to put an end to the argument once and for all.....

but first

If you want to use interactive fics, it's easy and makes reading fics SO much better. First, you download the Google Chrome extension. You'll see it in the top right corner of your screen. Next, you enter your name in the first box. If you want to change something other than y/n, please click on the text that says “want to change something other than y/n?” here, you can change any word you want to a different word. When I talk about your quirk I will use y/q

InteractiveFics

Master List

here's the song guys :)

youtube

TOMURA SHIGARAKI HAS A MOMMY KINK OK WHEN HE NUTS HES WHINING FOR MOMMY TO CUM WITH HIM AND ILL DIE ON THIS HILL

But let's dive into this a little. In the manga, Tomura obviously has a good relationship with his mom, hugging her, allowing her to care for his skin condition, etc. when AFO came into his life (This is an AFO hate club. He's a mfing bitch and a groomer), he took place as Tomura’s father figure. You could argue that Kurogiri is a mother figure, but he's not really the caring “come here baby, it's ok to cry.” type.

Incel Shigaraki thinks his gf is obligated to take care of him, and normal Shig wants someone tender to take care of him, but he feels like he's not good enough and lashes out but feels really bad. Please love him. Incel shiggy just calls you mommy on the regular no shame, don't talk back to him. He expects you to cook and clean for him and doesn't want to lift a finger during sex.

Normal Tomura treasures you. You're precious (even if he doesn’t show it. or acts like he feels the opposite way abt you). You take care of him willingly, so when the first sleepy “thank you mommy” comes out, it just gets lewder from there. Shigaraki isn't an angel (morally. Other than that, he is an angel). He knows it's one of the weirder kinks, but he doesn't care. Not when you're into it too. THIS IS NOT AN INCEST KINK SHIGGY DOESNT THINK OF HIS ACTUAL MOM DURING SEX EEEWWWWW. It just feels right; it's more of a title like sir or ma’am but loving, caring, not the harsh dominance that's usually associated with those titles. And he loves being your baby mommy’s baby. He's so used to being big and scary. But he's sooooo happy that when he comes home, mommy will be there waiting with some snacks, willing to listen to him vent, cuddle, etc.,

And then he yells it while he's filling you to the brim 😌 now, you're mommy all the time, even in bed.

Ok, enough of that, let's have some smut.

“Shhh, honey, just lay down on the bed for me, ”

Body worshipping wasn't something Tomura was accustomed to. He was stiff and visibly nervous. You warmed up the lotion in your hand and began to rub his back. He had picked out the lotion himself, choosing it because “it reminded me of you, mommy.” God, he's fucking precious.

After the lotion was mostly rubbed in, you began to massage his tense shoulders, watching them relax.

“That's my good boy, ” you cooed, “my pretty boy, ”

His cheeks were bright pink, and he pressed his head into the pillow to hide it.

“Ah ah ah, ” you chided, “let me see your pretty face, ”

He shook his head as best he could while still hiding in the pillow.

You sighed, “let mommy see your face, honey. Show me how pretty my sweet boy is, ”

He looked up at you from where he was lying, a timid smile playing on his face. Despite constantly putting himself down, he did love when you complimented him. When mommy complimented him.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead, rubbing his back again. He was still lying on his stomach, naked except for the boxers he was wearing, but those would come off. If he was good for you.

He had a habit of lashing out, especially when he was vulnerable like this, and you worked to correct him. He knows that you'll only make him feel good if he's a good boy. Mommy’s good boy

You added more lotion, straddling his lower back and applying the lotion down the backs of his arms.

“You look so pretty, sweetie. Such a good boy, you're behaving so well today, Tomu. Tell mommy what's making you so happy, ” you praised.

“I'm happy because you agreed to try the...y’know...thing. I didn't think you'd want to, ” Shigaraki admitted, “but you do! And I'm a little nervous; I've never played this level before, ”

“We’ll go nice and slow. Don't worry, ” you said.

You let your hands trail down to his lower back, rubbing right above the band of his underwear.

“I'm gonna take these off, m’kay sweetie?” you said.

His voice was a little shaky, “ok mommy, ”

You got off and knelt down next to where his head was lying on the pillow.

“We don't have to do this, baby. You can always say no or change your mind, ” you said.

“N-no, I want to. It's just...” he trailed off.

“You can tell me, honey, ” you urged.

“I want to be closer to you. I want to be in your lap, ” he whispered.

“Why were you so nervous to tell me that, sweetie? Of course, you can be in my lap, ” you cooed, “sit up for me, Shiggy, ”

He obliged. You handed him the strap on.

“Get a feel for it and let me know if it's too big. I got a smaller one just in case, ” you said.

He nodded and stroked it experimentally. His cock twitched the more he rubbed the toy.

“Is someone excited, baby?” you whispered in his ear.

He nodded, looking up at you. He was just so pretty. When you google ‘pretty,’ your screen should be filled with him. You loved him. You loved him so much. You loved him when he was soft and quiet for you and when he was stressed and loud. You loved him unconditionally.

You took the toy from his hands and placed it aside.

“Can you lay on your back and spread your legs, honey?” you asked.

He nodded, doing so. You kneeled in front of him on the bed and pulled his boxers down with minimal wiggling. Then you began to place kisses up and down his thighs. You had made the room nice and cozy with candles and pillows. You wanted him to be as comfortable as possible.

You left little kisses up and down his shaft, causing him to whine quietly. You slowly got lower and lower before pressing a kiss to his hole. He tensed immediately. You rubbed his thighs again and gave an experimental lick, causing him to gasp softly. You kept licking, and he began to moan and squirm.

“That feels really good, mommy. Th-thank you, ” he said.

You smiled to yourself, beginning to try and press into him. He tensed again, so you swirled your tongue and rubbed his thighs, causing him to moan and relax. You could prep him pretty well with just your mouth but pretty well wasn't good enough.

You put a generous amount of lube on your fingers and rubbed around him for a minute before slowly beginning to press a finger into him. This took a while. A constant cycle of push in, he tenses, you stop and wiggle your finger, he relaxes, you push in, repeat.

You were still kneeling between his legs but closer to his face, pressing small kisses to his neck and cheeks occasionally.

“How's that feel, sweetie?” you asked.

“Feels funny, ” he said, moving his hips a little, “but good, ”

You kissed his cheek before starting to ease in another one. This really got Tomura going as he graduated from slow thrusts to you curling your fingers. He was panting and whimpering now, mouth slightly open and eyes closed.

You made scissoring motions to stretch him a little more before pulling out your fingers.

“N-no, ” he whined.

“Shh baby, ” you soothed, fastening the toy to your hips, “I'm gonna sit against the headboard, and you can come over here whenever you're ready, ”

He nodded and crawled across the bed to where you were sitting almost immediately. You had used nearly half a bottle of lube by now, but it didn't matter (you hadn't paid for it anyway). You wanted this to be nice and easy for him.

He straddled your lap and kissed you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and took control of the kiss, even though it wasn't hard to. He had made a lot of decisions tonight. You felt bad. You were supposed to take charge, let him relax.

Your nails raked over his scalp, pulling away and lining him up.

“Relax for me, baby. It's gonna feel so good, Shiggy. I promise just relax for mommy, ” you said, rubbing his back.

He sunk down slowly onto the toy. His face scrunched up. You kept rubbing his back until it was all the way in.

“You did such a good job, ” your praise, “so pretty when you're all filled up, ”

He was panting with his head in the crook of your neck. You sat there for maybe five minutes, rubbing his back and kissing his hair. You told him how brave he was for trying something new. How he was such a good boy.

He raised his hips experimentally before lowering himself down. He grunted a little and repeated the action. He started to get into a slow, shallow rhythm.

‘This isn't right. He's doing too much work,’ you thought.

You flipped him under you.

“Let mommy take care of you, baby boy, ” you whispered in his ear, “mommy's gonna fuck you real good, ”

He nodded. You kept the same slow, shallow rhythm but gradually sped up. Your thrust became deeper, and his back began to arch as his sweet noises got louder and louder. He raked his nails down your back.

“Mommy go harder, please!” he cried.

You snapped your hips faster. Tears of pleasure rolled down his face as he moaned for you. He got louder and louder as you sped up, pounding into him relentlessly.

“Look at you, sweetie. You're taking me so well, sweetie. My good boy, ” you said.

You left butterfly kisses all over his face. Tomura had the biggest smile as he buried his face in your neck. You changed your angle only slightly, but he began to jerk around and gasp. His moans became more desperate, closer to screams of pleasure.

“Mommy, ” he sobbed, “mommy right there. Please, please don't stop, mommy!”

“I won't stop, baby, don't worry, ” you cooed, “I'm gonna make you cum so hard, baby boy,”

You kept hitting that spot. That spot. The spot that was making him scream, making pre-cum dribble out of his cock and onto his stomach. The spot that was making his cock twitch and throb every time you hit it. He was blabbering nonsense, writhing and scratching your back to the point that it would probably bleed as he was gasping for air.

“Mommy 'm gonna, mommy I-im gonna, fuck, ” he whimpered, “i-im gonna, ”

He threw his head back, trying to meet your thrusts.

“I-im gonna, I'm gonna, ” he scrunched his eyes up, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I'm gonna, ” he mumbled.

Tomura gripped your hips, trying to make you thrust harder. His face scrunched up, and his mouth opened in a silent scream.

“cum!” he cried.

Hot cum shot out of his cock, coating his stomach as his body twitched. He was shaking while his eyes rolled back in his head. Drool dripped down the side of his mouth.

“Mommy, ” he whimpered as he came down.

You made quick work of pulling out of Tomura, causing him to groan.

“Aw, baby, look at the mess you made, ” you gestured to the cum coating his stomach.

You gathered some of it on your finger and brought it to his mouth. He sucked it clean eagerly. You coated two more of your fingers. They were pristine in a matter of seconds. He looked up at you for more.

You tutted quietly, “good boys share with mommy, Tomu, ”

You brought your face down to his stomach and dragged your tongue through the mess, showing him your cum-coated tongue before swallowing the creamy white liquid. After he was all cleaned up, you pulled him into your chest. You rubbed his back, soothing him.

“B-but mommy, I need to make you feel good too, ” he whispered.

“No, no, honey. Just relax, ” you said, pulling him closer, “you did so well for me today, ”

“Thank you, mommy, ” he whispered.

You tucked his head under your chin and tangled your legs together, pulling the blanket up.

“There we go, sweetie. Did you feel good?” you asked.

He nodded, “you made me feel good, mommy, ”

You hummed softly, kissing the top of his head. You rubbed his back until he fell asleep, admiring the way he slept so peacefully. Your heartbeat lulled him to sleep almost immediately. You loved the way he snuggled into your chest. You heard him whisper out a sleepy, “thank you, mommy, ” that made your heart melt.

#shigaraki fluff #shigaraki smut #tomura smut #tenko smut #mha shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tenko #tomura shiragaki #shigaraki tomura #tomura fluff #tomura x reader #mha tomura

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fuckit-hero-of-trains · 3 years

Note

Write about Tongs you coward

Some Tongs content for the many people that requested her!!!! I'm so glad people seem to like Tongs because oh boy do I have plans for a fic.

Four would like to say that the sound of shattering glass at dark o’clock at night is an unusual occurrence. He’d like to say that the sound is unexpected. Suspicious. Odd. He’d like to say that the sound sends him bolting upright in bed. That it sends him stumbling down the stairs to check on his shop.

Four would like to say those things. He really would.

They might have even been true at one point.

Now?

Now the sound of shattering glass disturbing him in the middle of his sleep cycle at bullshit o’clock merely sends him rolling over so he can muffle a groan into his pillow.

One night.

One peaceful night.

Was that really too much to ask for?

The sound of continued, muffled scrabbling from downstairs answers that question with a resounding yes, yes apparently that is too much to ask for What a couple of assholes Hey We happen to like those assholes Speak for yourself!

Four waits for the sound to die down before rolling back over and staring at the ceiling.

All is quiet for a blessed moment.

...Maybe they’re done?

…

The sound of something long and metallic hitting the floor with a resonant CRACK says No they aren’t God damn it That’s our queue!

Four rolls back over and mashes his face more fully into his pillow and groans a little louder for a second before slowly dragging himself into a sitting position. He blindly fumbles with a candle and matchbox on the nightstand– usually used for late night reading but which have gained this new almost nightly use– eventually managing to get the thing lit.

It's not a particularly strong candle. Not nearly as efficient at lighting up a room as their lantern but it does its job well enough, creating a five foot bubble of light around Four so he can see the stairs.

Based on the way the footsteps and clattering and muffled cursing comes to an abrupt halt, it also does its job in telling the other tenants of the house that they’ve been caught. Four takes the last couple of stairs at a stomp, just to drive home just how not happy he is about having to do this again.

Once at the bottom of the steps, the smithy takes a quick survey of the storefront. Nothing broken or out of place. Not that he had really expected otherwise. The last time these two got into one of their “late night disagreements” as Red called them in either the shop or the forge, Four had split, giving them not just a piece of his mind, but every piece of his mind. They weren't done lecturing and yelling and guilt tripping and sneering until the sun had peeked over the horizon. No doubt the deviants wanted to avoid a repeat performance.

Which just leaves the kitchen.

Four shoves open the door with probably more force than is necessary while pushing the candle forward so he can survey the damage.

Though the candle barely lights up the room, it shows Four exactly what he needs to see: the bright gleam of several pieces of silverware on the floor, glinting amongst the shards and dirt of a now destroyed potted plant.

It also shows him the culprits: two pairs of eyes, one at the height of the counter top, wide and round and flickering between green and orange in the candle light, and another pair floating up by the ceiling, glowing a deep crimson.

“She started it,” says the crimson eyes.

“I didn't ask,” Four replies blandly, setting the candle on the floor beside the mess. He grimaces at the sight. The casualty was his mini cactus. One from the Desert of Doubt that Zelda had given to him, stating that even he couldn't kill it.

How long did this one last Three weeks New record It might not be dead One of its ‘arms’ are off But the roots look to be in alright shape We’ll repot it tomorrow With what pot Well–

“She broke that too,” Sounds above Four’s head.

A hiss crackles from the counter top.

“Hey, no!” spits back the first voice, “That doesn't matter! You touched it last which means you broke it!”

A responding hiss followed by a grumbling meow.

There is a scandalized gasp from overhead followed by a spat out, “Why don't you come over here and say that to my face, you overgrown throw pillow!”

“Shadow,” Four cuts in, voice as tired and exasperated as he can make it,“You’re arguing with a cat.”

Four doesn’t need the candle to know that a scowl accompanies Shadow’s annoyed tisk.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Shadow grumbles, finally lowering himself from the air and stepping into Four’s bubble of light so the hero can see his glower. “You talk to her all the time. How you managed to find such a smartass of a cat is beyond me. I swear, she says the worst shit when you can't understand her.”

There is a soft thump from behind him and then a large, warm body presses itself into Four’s side, purring already.

“Kissass,” Shadow mutters, crossing his arms.

Tongs merely cuddles closer, sweeping herself across Four’s side until she can push her head beneath Four’s chin, trilling happily.

Four rolls his eyes at the both of them, gives Tongs a quick scratch behind her ears, and straightens up, taking his candle with him.

“Oh, I’m sure she’s downright vulgar,” Four says, not even trying to sound sympathetic as he walks over to the fireplace to grab the broom, Tongs threading between his legs with every step. “Just like I’m sure she’s the one who suggested… hmm, what was it again?”

Four takes hold of the broom and turns back to face Shadow. He folds one hand over the top of the wooden handle and rests his chin there, letting a faux thoughtful expression cross over his face.

Below him, Tongs sits, her posture tall and perfect, her tail curled around her paws smugly.

Shadow sticks his tongue out at her.

Four clears his throat and Shadow's attention snaps back toward him. This time, Four simply raises an eyebrow which sends Shadow’s eyes all around the room, like he's looking for any other words than the ones Four is thinking of.

Eventually, he admits defeat, throwing his head back petulantly with an exaggerated sigh.

“...Night forging…” the shade mutters.

“Night forging!” Four repeats brightly, sarcastically, striding past his shadow back towards the mess. “That's what it was.”

“She did actually suggest that though!” Shadow insists, exasperated. “She thought if we did some of your work in the night, you would have more free time during the day. It’s not my fault I didn't know how to run your forge!”

Four pulls up short at that, turning to glance at Tongs, who had leap back up onto the counter to supervise their cleaning effort.

“Did you actually suggest night forging?”

Green-orange flickering eyes blink at him slowly as she tilts her head with a purr, the picture of innocence.

Four sighs with a crooked smile, holding out the broom for Shadow to take, which he other does after only a moment's hesitation.

Tongs is much too big to be picked up anymore. Has been for most of the time she's been with him. But if there's one thing his adventures and occupation are good for, it's maintaining strength.

Though she would stand only a head shorter than him if she were to be on her hind legs, Four hefts the massive cat into his arms. And boy, is she an armful. He can barely contain her length and mountain of long, grey fur in his arms, but even with the second it takes to adjust his hold on her, Tongs simply relaxes into his hold belly up, staring at him.

“You’re supposed to be making sure he doesnt get into trouble,” Four tells her with fake solemnity, ignoring the Hey, I resent that! that sounds from behind them.

Tongs stares at him for a moment, as though considering his light scolding.

And then reaches up and gives Four’s nose a lightning quick bop.

Four laughs.

“You're a brat,” he tells her, turning and beginning to walk back out of the kitchen .

Tongs responds by shifting her shoulders slightly, snuggling more firmly into him even as she smacks him in the mouth with her feathery tail.

“Uh, hello?!”

Four pauses in shouldering open the door and turns to see Shadow, broom in hand, other hand on hip, eyebrows high, and eyes wide.

“Aren’t you going to make her help clean up?”

Four glances down at Tongs in his arms.

She stares back up at him.

Against his side, he can feel her tail flicking mischievously. He sends her an answering smile.

“She's a cat, Shadow. I’m not sure how much help you expect her to be without opposable thumbs,” Four reminds with a shrug and a grin that only gets smugger as Shadow’s face goes from expectant to disbelieving. “I’m sure you’ve got this. See you in the morning.”

The door swings shut behind Four, muffling any response Shadow may have thrown at his back, leaving the boy and his cat to head upwards, laughing as they head back to bed.

#lu four #lu shadow link #lu Shadow #tongs the benevolent #finally some tongs #after this next chapter of AT I think ill start working on the official Tongs fic #but for now here's a quick preview of her personality #summary: she loves four and is a little shit to everyone else #train writes

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