#not a romance

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

*NSFW* The Wishing Hole (Yandere x GN!Reader)

Warning!! This is not a romance, read at your own risk CW: LONG, Dead Dove, abuse, murder, trauma, manipulation, masturbation, mutilation, unhealthy relationships, obsession

"Have you heard about the hole?"

Part I

"It's right over here!" Miranda theater-whispered to her friends as she led them through the black woods. Their flashlights bobbed in the darkness, the only light visible to the trio of twelve year olds as they trekked through the thicket. (Reader) gripped onto their envelope tightly, fearful of leaving sweat marks on it.

They had been staying the night at Brian's house when Miranda brought up the hole. A local urban legend by that point, the story of a hole that granted wishes. Brian had chastised Miranda for believing a story so stupid, but still followed her and (Reader) when they snuck out to grant their wishes.

"How do you know where it is?" He nervously hissed.

"Abby's sister Rebecca has a friend who found it. Over here." Miranda spoke as though it should have been obvious why she knew where it was.

(Reader) could do nothing but hope. They hoped hard, over and over again, wrinkling the papers in their fist as the yellow light led them to their future. All they could do was beg the universe to grant their wish. For the hole to be real.

The trees thinned and opened, revealing a small clearing with a very deep hole dug out of the earth. It was a normal looking hole, but in the dark of a moonless night to a group of children, it was ominous.

Their muddy boots all stopped a good foot away from the edge. The ground didn't look stable.

After taking a shaky breath, Miranda threw her envelope into the hole, squeezing her eyes shut as she focused all her energy on the wish written inside the letter she tossed. Brian thought about arguing, calling out his friends for littering, but instead copied Miranda, throwing his wish in as well. (Reader) felt adrenaline shoot to their finger tips as the anxiety tried to rip through their veins and escape their skin. Their packet was thicker than either of their friends', and fell harder as they chucked it in with all their strength.

The only future (Reader) wanted was nearly impossible. It would take divine intervention to get that happiness. "What did you wish for?" Miranda asked Brian behind (Reader).

"I want to know what I want to do."

"That's it?"

"What'd you wish for?"

"A hot boyfriend, who's gonna love me, and marry me."

"Well, when you're trapped in a marriage with three kids, I'll be doing what I love every day."

Miranda groaned loudly, refusing to get into another argument with her best friend. She instead looked at (Reader) who was still focusing on the hole. "What did you wish for, (Reader)?"

Their eyes seemed to be seeing something the other two couldn't see. Large pupils fixated on nothing, still filled with enough anxiety to cripple an adult.

"Someone who loves me.."

"Ugh, not you too.." Brian's voice melted into the background, almost unintelligible in the dense air. The contents of the wish filled (Reader's) head to the point that nothing else could be heard.

• 15 years later •

Another failed date.

Dark rings permanently decorated the underneath of (Reader's) tired eyes. The perpetually single adult slid down against the wall, too exhausted to continue standing. There was nothing particularly wrong with the guy, but he just wasn't "the one" for (Reader). He was boring and awkward, rambling about his job and future plans, bragging about his hypothetical future fortune. Nothing he did was bad enough for (Reader) to guiltlessly label him a douche, but nothing about him was their type.

They pulled out their phone, looking at the dark haired man on their wallpaper for a second too long before opening up their messages with their date. (Reader) typed up a quick message to thank Rich for the date, but that they didn't see it going any further.

The phone was tossed to the side as (Reader) struggled to stand, grabbing a beer from their fridge as the phone began chiming from the linoleum. Texts rapidly coming in were ignored by (Reader) as they cracked open their first drink for the night.

His unread messages echoed through (Reader's) shoebox apartment.

The weary adult wondered how their therapist would react next week at their appointment. It wasn't realistic for an adult to fixate on a wish they had made as a child, but just like all those years ago, (Reader) knew deep in their bones that there was no happiness for them if they couldn't have that wish come true. Rich was attractive, in an average sort of way, with straight brown hair cut a little too short for the shape of his brow. He had nice lips, (Reader) thought, but couldn't imagine kissing them.

The beer tasted like lightly bitter water. Not a promising sign; it tasted like they would need something stronger. On the way to the living room (Reader) noticed their bedroom door had some dirt on the white paint, like someone had pushed it open with filthy hands.

(Reader) felt an anxious jolt to their system. A familiar pain they hadn't felt in a long time. They pushed open the door, timidly entering their own room like a stranger nervous to be caught. But the room was empty.

"So, how'd your date with Rich go?" Adam asked hopefully. The same trio of friends since primary school sat in their local diner. It was a monthly ritual, gathering for brunch to force themselves to keep in touch. They tried to hold the meeting every week, but with work scheduling it was impossible. Adam sat with his husband, Jon, across from Brian and (Reader). Everyone had changed so much as they got older, but that was to be expected. No one can stay a child forever.

(Reader) sighed before sipping on their milkshake. Adam knew exactly what that meant, and groaned, just as dramatically as when he was a child. His hair may be shorter, but some things stayed consistent.

"What was wrong with this guy?"

"Nothing!" (Reader) replied defensively. "He just... wasn't my type."

Brian pushed up his glasses. "Maybe you should lower your standards."

"Brian!"

"-I mean, it's good to have standards, obviously, but people are real people, not characters in a book. No one is going to match your description of a perfect partner, because people aren't perfect, ya know?"

(Reader) stole a glance at their phone, admiring the black haired man behind the time. "You can say that, because your wish already came true. Both of yours."

Both Brian and Adam looked ashamed and a little uncomfortable, avoiding eye contact and fixating on their meals. Jon almost went cross-eyed trying to understand what (Reader) was implying.

(Reader) stood, tossing a couple bills onto the table. "I have to go, I'll talk to you guys later."

"Okay, have a good day! Text me when you get home." Adam said warmly, hugging his dear friend tightly while trying to shape his face into a happier expression.

"I will. Bye."

Brian gave up a small side hug, grimacing.

Jon waited until (Reader) was out of sight before asking "Were they talking about that wish you guys made as kids?"

The bespectacled young man rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yes."

"I know what Adam wished for, but what did you and (Reader) wish for?" When he mentioned Adam's wish, Adam rolled his eyes playfully and they nudged each other lightly. Their whole relationship was practically diabetic for Brian, who still after all these years didn't get the appeal in romance.

Brian adjusted his glasses again, clearing his throat. "I wanted to know what to do with my life." And he had found that calling. The summer before high school he discovered a YouTube channel centered around ornithology and sent him on a strange spiral of bird mania. His friends and family thought it was a temporary fixation that he would lose interest in after a year or so, but his newfound fascination guided him all the way through college, landing him in an animal husbandry profession taking care of cranes at (what Brian considered to be) a humane zoo. "(Reader) wished for someone to love them."

"Well, I believe there's someone for everyone. It takes some people longer to find 'the one' than it does for others, and (Reader) seems like a great person, so I'm sure they'll meet someone that fits their childhood ideal."

Although Jon meant well with his words he could see the discomfort on his husband's and Brian's faces, their eyes either focused on their drink or plate.

They never read (Reader's) wish.

But over the years the two friends had begun to piece together a picture of the kind of man (Reader) wanted.

It was a complete breach of trust, looking into a friend's past, going full internet stalker mode to investigate into the secrets (Reader) wouldn't divulge. And what they found...

Was a lot.

They didn't know how to open the conversation with their third musketeer, since the facts and speculations were all obtained without (Reader's) knowledge or permission, but if Brian and Adam were correct in their understanding of what (Reader's) wish was, they genuinely wanted to help (Reader).

They also knew where (Reader) was going. But even that was impossible to confess.

Because at that moment, (Reader) was in their car for their monthly four hour visit with the greatest man (Reader) had ever known. It was unfortunate scheduling, but (Reader) couldn't compromise the day for either party. Keeping in contact with their friends was important for their mental health (according to their therapist) but this meeting was more important to (Reader) than practically anything else in their life.

Metal fencing and high beige walls appeared through the trees like a fairy tale castle. Instead of an evil dragon guarding the entrance, however, there were armed guards. Still every bit of evil in (Reader's) eyes.

"Welcome back, Mx. (Reader)." The usual security officer greeted grimly. Before he could ask for identification, (Reader) already had it out. Although they had met many times throughout the past decade, it was still a formality required by law. The two filled out the necessary paperwork while only offering tight smiles. He opened the gate for (Reader) to drive in and park in the visitor's lot. (Reader) always felt the cameras on them whenever they entered this "castle".

Officers emptied (Reader's) pockets and scanned their body for metal. There would be no physical connection at all, but they still needed to take precautions.

(Reader) was led through the lifeless grey halls towards visitation. Each step made their heart race and fostered the smile on their lips. Approaching the room with squeaky broken stools and bulletproof glass relaxed their faux grin for a genuine tranquility. There were no other visitors at the time.

The stool creaked under (Reader) as they gently eased into the old thing, staring at the window. Shortly after they sat down, the man from their phone's wallpaper, now with more silver hair than black, shuffled in on the other side, smiling softly as he sat across from (Reader). They both grabbed the phones.

"Hi Dad."

His dark eyes with pupils so large that without direct light made them look black had deeply etched wrinkles decorating them that folded deeper as he smiled. When Donavon McElroy was arrested, the news outlets focused on his eyes like some kind of Kubrick film, fixating on how you could just see the evil in some people. It felt as though the only person in the entire country who could see how loving Donavon's eyes were was (Reader).

"Hey kiddo. I've missed you."

"I missed you too." There were only four hours of visitation allowed per month. "Have you been getting my letters?"

Greasy ringlets of hair tumbled to the side as he cocked his head. "They're still the highlight of each week." Donavon didn't blink often. Even though the lights always hurt his eyes, no matter how dim they were, he seemed like a mannequin, refusing to blink and miss a second of his precious child's face. "How have you been since our last visit? I know you said in your letters that you're still going to therapy, which is good, very good.. how's that going for you?"

(Reader) felt their smile dip a little. "Well, it's going. I don't really like my therapist, but I know it's just because I don't like what she has to say. Even if I change doctors, they'll still say the same things."

Donavon nodded understandingly. It was like that at first for him as well, receiving psychiatric treatment while in prison. "I didn't like being told that my line of thinking was.. wrong. I knew that logically my thinking was, of course, obviously wrong, but it didn't feel wrong, so having a.. professional tell me that was upsetting."

"But it's important that you continue with it. And I'm very proud of you for continuing with it."

(Reader) laughed. It was a sharp scoff of a laugh, but not spiteful. It filled their chest with hot lava to hear someone praise them for doing what they've been doing since they were ten years old. Because it was difficult. Even if (Reader) continuously told themselves that this was the bare minimum. It was still difficult.

"She has me out in the dating world." (Reader) slumped a little, only slightly enough that no one but Donavon could tell the change in their posture. "Which is.. not fun."

"It can be fun. Does that carnival still come? There used to be a traveling carnival, a pop up fair, that would set up in a parking lot of a small store in our home town, really cheap. That could be a fun first date. Tiny ferris wheel and gravitron. Elephant ears." The two adults smiled widely thinking about it, but neither of them were picturing it as a date. His smile melted when he realized this. "I wish I could have taken you there."

(Reader) imagined a different life, one where they were in his care instead of their mother's, eating pastries the size of their head and getting sick on possibly dangerous attractions in a small parking lot. Their mother never took them, but they knew which pop up fair he was talking about, riding past it on the bus many times in their life. "That sounds like it would have been fun.."

".. but like I said, dating can be fun. As long as your being safe." (Reader's) dad's smile bounced back. "What have you done so far that hasn't been fun?"

"Well, I went out for dinner. Guy named Rich. He was, uh, decent. Talked a lot. Mostly about his job, and goals."

"Sounds career focused, that's good."

"Eh.." They shrugged, eyes drifting.

"What was wrong with him?"

(Reader) sighed. "Nothing. He was.. competent. Seemed like a regular guy. He just.. wasn't my type."

Guilt began to crawl through the folds of Donavon's brain like bugs infesting his conscious. He knew it was all his fault. Everything. But if he said that out loud, (Reader) would deny it, argue and fight it. "Well, there are plenty of fish in the sea."

"There's also plenty of trash."

Donavon pointed a finger at his kid warningly. "There's also sunken treasure. Don't give up hope."

"I don't need someone to be happy.."

"That's true.. but something tells me that when you weren't actively dating around, you weren't being content with the single life, and that's why your therapist is having you go out there. That.. maybe you were still waiting around for something that you shouldn't have, instead of living life to the fullest while alone."

The two became uncomfortably silent. This happened nearly every month. "I just want someone who loves me."

Donavon swore he could cry at that moment. "I'm sorry for-"

"Don't apologize." (Reader) cut him off. "Don't apologize for being a great dad."

"I wasn't. I wasn't a great dad. I'm-"

"-don't-"

"-a monster, (Reader). Kiddo, please, just listen to me. I'm sorry for the things I've done. The way I went about.. I wasn't in my right mind.. what I put you through was not okay. It was not, and will never be okay." He leaned forward, wishing to break through the glass dividing them and hug his kid. "I'm so sorry."

(Reader) softly responded "You're the only person who ever loved me."

"And you deserve better than that."

'No', (Reader) thought, 'there is no better than that.'

"Let's change the subject, please." (Reader) closed their eyes, forcing away the tears. "We never have enough time, and I don't want to spend the entire day focusing on sad shit."

Donavon took a shaky breath. "Okay, kiddo.." he mulled over for a second what to talk about before cracking a smile, one wide enough to show off his missing canine. "Remember Eddy?"

"Your old bunk mate?"

"Yep."

"What about him?"

"He got stabbed."

The sentence was so short and sudden that it shocked (Reader) into snorting, bringing back their genuine smile. "What? When? What happened?"

From the door an older guard smiled sadly, away from view. Donavon was liked by nearly everyone, both by the guards and the other prisoners. It was always a shame, getting to know someone who was supposed to be an evil bastard, and learning that they were just a great man who needed help. Plenty of the older guards understood that (Reader) would forever look at them with disgust and mildly veiled hatred. Because Donavon was (Reader's) hero, and the guards were just wardens unjustly holding him captive.

Their conversation continued without pause, filling the empty room with sounds of parental love and warmth. The guard at the door loved being there whenever it was time for (Reader's) visit with their dad, because it really was an incredibly beautiful and emotional scene every time he was present, but he also hated being the one on duty whenever (Reader) came, because he had to be the villain to say "Time's up" when their four hours were over.

"Mx. (Reader). Donavon."

(Reader's) eyes drooped, darkening under the shadow of their eyelashes. "Already?"

"Unfortunately."

The guard had been there so long, he remembered when (Reader) was a child, and would cry and scream whenever it was time to leave, begging him to let their daddy out.

Donavon smiled comfortingly. "Thank you for visiting me, kiddo."

"Of course."

"Maybe in another decade they'll let me have physical contact visitation." Donavon chuckled, only half serious with his hopeful statement. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Dad. I love you."

"I love you too. Don't forget to write."

"I never do."

They both stood up, hanging up their phones painfully. It was the worst time of the day. His chains shook around his wrists as he waved goodbye. He never hurt a single guard in his time incarcerated, but it was a formality, a requirement, due to the nature of his crime. It didn't seem to matter how good his behavior was. Even though the guards trusted him, according to the law Donovan was still to be treated as a monster.

After being guided back out of the room, through the halls, and out to the parking lot, (Reader) finally felt like they could breathe. The air that was stolen when the guard ended their visit with their dad was greedily sucked up outside the stifling building. They finally looked at their silent phone, seeing a dozen messages from Rich. Or, who's number (Reader) assumed was Rich, since they had deleted his contact as soon as they woke up that morning.

Most of the texts were pleas for a second date, or an explanation for what he did wrong. Some of them were insults.

(Reader) sighed, deleting the conversation and blocking his number before getting into their car, allowing tears to silently fall down their warm cheeks. All that they wished for was for someone to love them, and no one would ever love them like their dad did.

The drive back was just as miserable as it was every month.

And just like every month, the tears didn't stop until (Reader) pulled up to their apartment. It was a long day, where the good moments weren't long enough, and (Reader) was ready for another beer. It wasn't Sunday, but it was their Sunday, which meant that they couldn't stay up drinking all night.

But it felt as though they had just popped open their can when someone started pounding on their door, angrily and frantically. (Reader) cursed not being able to afford to live in an apartment that had a controlled door to the building, living in a cheap one that had the stairs on the outside of the building. Which meant that there were no security measures to prevent just anyone from coming straight to (Reader's) unit.

They set the alcohol to the side and made their way to the door. The banging only stopped when the person on the other side heard (Reader) unlocking the deadbolt. A slightly sweaty man with brown hair too short to be messy stood impatiently.

"Rich?"

The slightly younger man shrugged sharply, jutting his head to the side with an attitude as if to say 'No shit, who else?'

"Are you going to let me in?" He asked impatiently.

"Uh, no?" (Reader) furrowed their brow. "How'd you find where I live?" They were too confused to even be mad or scared.

"It wasn't difficult; literally everything is online." Rich responded as though (Reader) was a fucking idiot for even asking. The disrespect was shocking, a severe shift from how he acted during their date. He shifted abruptly as though he was going to charge (Reader), so they tightened their muscles, holding the door closer to their side, which earned an aggravated huff.

"What are you doing here, Rich?"

"Well, you owe me an explanation after you ghosted me after our date the other day." His tone made it sound so obvious.

(Reader) scoffed, almost amused. "No I fucking don't."

"I was the perfect gentleman on our date considering the circumstances, you and I had a good time, but then you ghosted me? And I just want to know why." The emphasis on the 'considering the circumstances' included a wave, motioning to (Reader's) body. (Reader) didn't know if he was insinuating that their body was a problem, or if it was their gender expression, or if he just had high fashion expectations that (Reader) didn't live up to, but the little hand movement finally ticked them off.

"Okay, you're done." (Reader) tried to close the door, but Rich was stronger than he looked, and effortlessly pushed them back into their apartment and entered. (Reader) didn't fall, only stumbled, wobbling to regain balance as Rich casually closed the door behind him, pacing his hands on his hips.

"So, what did I do wrong?"

"You mean before you broke into my home?"

"I did- don't be fucking dramatic, I did not break in. I just want to know, I just want to know what I did wrong."

(Reader) slowly backed up, mentally picturing the apartment behind them to figure out where their closest form of defense was. "Nothing. It just didn't work out-"

"BULL SHIT."

"-you weren't my type."

Rich stuck out his jaw, clicking his tongue. "That isn't a reason."

"Yes, it is-"

"That isn't a reason to be a fucking dick."

'How far behind me is my knife block?'

Before (Reader) could make a move their front door violently flew open again, slamming loudly into the wall. Both Rich and (Reader) whipped around at the jarring noise.

A man stood in the doorway.

His skin was so caked in dirt and muck that his yellowish skin was almost completely painted over. Long, black hair curled due to the oil, hanging down and sticking to his gaunt face. Between the shaggy locks black eyes glared unblinkingly.

"Who the fuck is that?!" Rich nearly hollered, retreating closer to (Reader) out of fear, unable to tear his eyes away from the modified weapon in the intruder's hand.

Warmth spread throughout (Reader's) entire body; the god of love releasing a cage of butterflies into their body.

"He's here to kill me."

Part 0

Eight year old (Reader) tugged on their oversized long sleeve shirt. It was rubbing against the bruises uncomfortably. Everything about their body felt uncomfortable lately.

Their mother was late again.

Mr. Haley sighed loudly for the umpteenth time, looking at his watch as though it was (Reader's) fault their mother hadn't picked them up yet. It was warm and humid, and the sleeves of (Reader's) shirt were sticking to their arms. Despite the heat, Mr. Haley wouldn't allow (Reader) to wait inside, instead standing at the entrance of the school under a tree. (Reader) was the last child at pickup, aside from the children outside on the field for after school sports.

"Is your mom working late again?"

(Reader) didn't answer, instead watching the man walking into the nearly empty parking lot who seemed to be staring at (Reader) and their teacher. They couldn't tell exactly from how far away he was, but he didn't get any closer, keeping to the entrance, partially hidden behind a sign.

"Do you have anyone else I can call? Grandparents?" His kind voice was strained, exhaustion melting his patience.

The man suddenly ducked away from view, and shortly after (Reader's) frazzled mother sped walked into the lot, storming closer to the building. (Reader) left to meet her half way in an attempt to calm her down, but their teacher followed.

"Good afternoon, Ms. (Name)-"

"(Reader), c'mon." As soon as (Reader's) mother was close enough she immediately spun on her heel to leave again, ignoring the teacher.

"Ms. (Name), this is the third time-"

"I know!" The woman snapped, stopping abruptly, causing (Reader) to bump into her side. "I'm sorry."

"-the third time this month."

"I said I know!" She whined, throwing up her hands. "I couldn't get out of work, it wasn't that long!"

"After school activities are almost over. It's been almost an hour-"

"Don't be a dick, okay, I'm twenty minutes late."

"School ended forty minutes ago."

She crossed her arms. "So not an hour."

"Almost an hour-"

"So not an hour."

Mr. Haley sighed in defeat. He tried again, however, he was interrupted by the woman grabbing (Reader) by the arm and dragging them out of the parking lot. Her nails dug into the scabs on (Reader's) arm.

She spat out curses towards the teacher as she dragged her kid down the road towards the bus stop.

"Fucking asshole- and I told you that I was working late!" She turned her frustrations on (Reader), squeezing their arm painfully before releasing them, making (Reader) lose their balance.

"I'm sorry, Mom.." (Reader) quietly apologized, already shrinking in on themselves, head hunching into their tiny shoulders.

"Jesus, stop flinching like that. You look like I beat you or something.."

It was true, she never hit (Reader).

She just grabbed them.

Grabbed them by the back of the shirt, the front of their collar, the arms, wrists, and all parents smack their kids on the back of their heads, that's not hitting. It wasn't her fault that (Reader) bruised so easily. She didn't even hit them.

The city bus pulled up to the stop.

"Kevin's coming over for date night, so when we get home, make sure to do all your homework in your room. I'll bring you dinner and some snacks, but the adults need some alone time, okay?"

"Okay?"

"Okay!" (Reader) loudly responded, wringing their shirt in frustration.

(Reader) liked their mom when they had popcorn nights, when they made a bowl of popcorn and sat down to watch a rented movie together. But most of the time? (Reader) hated their mother.

They hated the way she dismissed them. (Reader) never seemed to be a priority in the woman's life. It didn't even feel like she hated (Reader). (Reader) was just nothing. They didn't receive hugs when they were scared, didn't get kisses when they were sick. And it wasn't one of those cases where you can't remember a single good memory because you're mad; (Reader) couldn't recall a single time their mother ever said the words 'I love you' to them.

She said it to Kevin though.

When they arrived home, (Reader) immediately went to their room, closing the door and flopping onto their mattress on the floor. They didn't feel like doing their homework, and decided instead on a quick nap. It wasn't like their mother was going to check in on them and see how they were doing anyway.

Maybe their dreams would bring a nice family for them.

CRASH!

A loud smash of glass and something heavy falling onto the thin apartment floor woke (Reader) up. They didn't know how long they were out for, but the sun was still up. (Reader) nervously bolted off the mattress and onto their feet, teetering in the middle of the room.

There was a quiet choking sound that liquefied into a gurgle before silencing.

(Reader's) handle slowly turned and their door was softly opened. A terrified looking man drenched in blood stood in front of (Reader), gazing down at them with inhuman eyes. His eyes were wide, panicked, but glassy, red, and with pupils so enlarged that he reminded (Reader) of the ghost woman from a scary movie their mother had been watching. He tried to brush his black hair out of his eyes, never looking away from (Reader's). It was the most intense staring contest (Reader) had ever been in.

He was timid in his approach, crouching down to his knees as he got closer to (Reader).

"..Hi." His voice was shaky and breathy. The man seemed to be overcome with an emotion that (Reader) didn't recognize. Tears were forming at the corners of his eyes, yet he still didn't blink. He swallowed hard before continuing. "My name is Donavon."

(Reader) was in an odd trance, halfway between petrified and numb. "My name is (Reader)." They didn't know why they answered.

"I know." For the first time since entering, Donavon glanced away from (Reader), searching the room for something. There were no toys in (Reader's) room. "Are you a-" His face broke trying to find the words he needed for his question. "Are you a b-?" A- a-.."

"I'm a kid." (Reader) tugged on their uncomfortable long sleeve shirt.

Donavon smiled so wide that his face looked like it completely split in half. Tears ran down his face shamelessly. The pure joy startled (Reader). "You're a kid." He sniffed back his snot and wiped away some tears, still smiling so hard that his face was turning red and he looked like he was going to laugh. "You're my kid."

He pulled (Reader) into a hug.

It wasn't like the quick hug the school nurse gave them, or the hugs their friends at school gave them; it was desperate.

He squeezed them almost too tightly, his fingers digging painfully into their ribs as he breathed in their hair. But (Reader) didn't cry out or ask him to stop. Tears had begun to fall from their eyes as well.

"I'm so sorry, kiddo. I should have been here. I should have been here." He started rocking (Reader) as he apologized into their scalp. "I didn't know about you, but I do now, and I'm here now."

(Reader) felt him kiss the side of their head quickly before he went back to whispering.

"I didn't know. But I do now. I'm so sorry."

It was too much, and it made (Reader) cry. They sobbed loudly, wailing into his chest as they returned the hug.

"I love you, (Reader). I love you so much. I don't know you yet, but I still love you. I should have been here for you, but I am now. And I am never letting you go. Okay? No one is ever taking you away from me."

Police sirens approached, screaming outside the building. (Reader) felt Donavon quickly reach into his back pocket, but he never let go from their right embrace.

"I never knew your mom. When I saw you with her last year, I - I tried to get into contact, but, but.. No one would listen to me, I had no proof.. I.. got a DNA test.. I -I'm your dad! I'm a father!" He started rambling, trying to explain things to (Reader), but they couldn't understand anything he was saying. And it didn't matter to them. He said he loved them.

(Reader) heard heavy boot steps and an officer loudly announce his presence.

"No one is ever taking you away from me again."

He was still only hugging (Reader) with one arm.

Someone entered the room, and a really loud sound hurt (Reader's) ears.

An officer shot Donovan in the shoulder, causing the knife he was holding to clatter onto the floor. He fell, releasing (Reader). They saw the knife and quickly put two and two together. But something happened in (Reader's) underdeveloped brain. It didn't matter that they had just met him. That man the police just shot was their dad. And he loved them.

"No!" (Reader) tried to launch themselves at Donovan to protect him, but their tiny body was caught by an officer.

"Don't worry, I've got ya!" The man tried to console (Reader), easily subduing their thrashing limbs, but his soothing voice didn't ease the pain in their heart, nor did it dampen the volume of their shrieks.

"DADDY!!"

The cop carried (Reader) out past the bodies of their mother and Kevin. Both were mutilated, lying naked near the couch in a pool of blood and spilt vodka.

Donavon was sentenced to life without parole.

He testified in court that the only thing he regretted was almost hurting his child. (Reader's) mother had taken advantage of him at a party years ago. Donavon had passed out drunk in the master's bedroom and woken up with his pants and underwear around his ankles. He told the court he didn't remember anything that happened, so although he suspected that someone had assaulted him, he had no proof and records showed that the police refused to help him when he went to report it.

It was a one in a million chance that Donavon saw (Reader) and their mother grocery shopping over a year ago, and nearly had a heart attack seeing a little kid who had his father's ears. Ears are just as unique as fingerprints, and to see a little kid with badly cut hair looking like a mixture of his father's baby photos and the woman walking beside them gave Donavon a sense of confidence that was borderline disturbing. He told the jury that he approached the woman with the intent of making polite conversation about how much alike her kiddo looked like his late father, but knew immediately that (Reader) was his, because when their mother looked Donavon in the eyes she recognized him.

"Before I could even say 'Hi', she grabbed (Reader's) arm and said 'Stay away from my child, Donavon.' I didn't even remember her face."

On the witness stand, Donavon admitted to breaking into their home so he could get access to (Reader's) DNA, stealing their hair brush. He also admitted to stalking the family, watching them as (Reader) openly showed signs of abuse. He called CPS multiple times, but nothing ever came of it.

Donavon repeated how time and time again law enforcement failed to help him get custody of his 'alleged' child, and that he had "snapped".

"I told (Reader) that no one would take them away from me again. Please, please I know I was wrong." Donavon pleaded the jury, looking past the lawyers and staring with his horrifying, never ending gaze. "Please don't put me away forever. I can get better, with help! I needed help! But my baby, my kiddo, they deserve better, please don't separate us again!"

Despite going to a decent foster family and receiving regular therapy sessions with child services, (Reader) had learned what true love was. The smiles their foster family gave them felt fake. No one could hug (Reader) tight enough to press their way into (Reader's) heart. Love was tears streaming down from the black coal eyes of a desperate father who just killed his kiddo's abusers. That was heroic. That was good. Just.

(Reader's) foster parents smiled at each other all the time, and said I love you multiple times a day. Then they divorced. Love was (Reader's) daddy, ready to kill (Reader) so they never had to be apart again.

The therapist with child services watched with a broken heart as (Reader) refused her homemade cookies. "Have you made any friends at school?"

(Reader) shrugged. They didn't see much of a point in friends. "There are these two kids I eat lunch with." Two kids who wouldn't leave them alone, no matter how much (Reader) ignored them.

"That's good! What are their names?"

"Miranda and Brian."

"Are they good kids?"

"They're weird. Brian wears glasses that make his eyes look super big, and Miranda wears a fedora."

"Well, I'll let you in on a secret. The weird kids are usually more fun to hang out with than the normal kids!" She winked while smiling, but it didn't phase (Reader).

"When can I see my dad?"

The therapist leaned back, looking up at the ceiling to control her inner turmoil before shutting her eyes. "I'm working on that, but it's very difficult. Mr. McElroy is in a lot of trouble for what he did."

(Reader) looked down at the drawing they had been making of them playing outside with Donavon. "I wish he killed me."

Part II

Warren had run away from home, again.

His left eye was swollen shut, and blood speckled the front of his t-shirt. The ten year old hadn't even done anything yet, but his father had had a bad day at work, and been drinking for a couple of hours by the time Warren was dropped off by the Saturday babysitter.

He ran into the woods, blinded by his tears and the swelling.

Because of the crying and injury to his eye, Warren couldn't see very well, and kept running even when he emerged from the trees into a clearing; running into a very deep hole.

There was a pain as his ankle popped, crashing at the bottom into the mud. Everything hurt, so he allowed himself to scream and cry as loudly as he needed. No one was going to come for him anyway.

And so he stayed in the hole and watched as the sun went down and the world went black. Even though he knew his father wouldn't come looking for him, he still wished he would. He wished someone needed him as badly as he needed them.

There was no moon that night, leaving Warren completely blind after the purple sunset left the sky. With his unusually dilated pupils Warren typically preferred the dark over the sun, but without the moon there wasn't enough light for him to see.

'Maybe, I should just spend the night in here.' The sad thought made him sniffle, threatening to release the floodgates again.

"It's right over here!" A loud whisper followed by feet tripping over branches echoed through the trees. Warren held his breath, suddenly afraid of being discovered. It wasn't logical to be frightened, but he was. There were strangers in the woods, and he was in pain and blind and alone. His heart beat in his chest like a war drum as people drew near.

"How do you know where it is?"

The voices belonged to children, probably around Warren's age, but he didn't recognize any of them. Most of what they said was too quiet to hear, until they arrived at the clearing.

"Over here."

The strangers stopped near the hole, but too far away to see Warren covered in mud at the bottom. Lights were illuminating the air, and Warren figured that they must have had flashlights with them. His eyes finally had enough light to adjust to the pitch black, and he watched a letter flutter into the hole, followed shortly by another letter, gracefully drifting in.

Then a thick envelope was chucked in, hitting Warren in the head, who had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from accidentally making a startled sound.

"What did you wish for?" Someone asked.

With that question, Warren realized where he was.

He grabbed the letter that had hit him, quietly opening it up as two of the strangers above him bickered. In the faint light he saw a lot of words, too many to read before they left, so he quickly scanned the page out of curiosity. His breath hitched when he saw a drawing of himself.

Black eyes and shaggy black hair.

Warren put the papers back in the envelope and stuck it in his pants. Someone approached the edge, and Warren caught a glimpse of hair and eyes. They didn't see him, but he certainly saw them.

"What did you wish for, (Reader)?"

"Someone who loves me.."

And at that moment, Warren believed in the hole that grants wishes.

He had no proof that the child looking down at him was the same child who threw the wish practically into his lap, but he knew that it was. Like fate, or magic.

After the trio left, Warren pulled his sore little body out of the muck, repeating (Reader's) name to himself over and over again as to not forget it. He didn't know how, but he knew that (Reader) was the one who's wish he had stolen. Warren limped home, easily sneaking in past his father passed out on the couch and up the stairs to the bathroom, where he locked the door.

He quickly pulled out the letter, opening it up in the light to read the wish in full.

"I wish someone would love me." Warren read quietly out loud, sounding out each word as his finger followed the sentence.

"He has to be just like my dad. Be - cause my dad is the only person who loves me."

"He has to have black hair and black eyes.."

Warren looked at his dirty face in the mirror, ignoring the purple around his left eye and focusing on his natural features. A proud smile crept onto his lips.

He went back to reading. "And his eyes should be deep.." Warren's own eyes were also deep set, making it look like he had bags under his eyes even after a full night's sleep. His ears started to turn pink. The picture was of the kid he saw at the hole with a tall man with black hair and eyes and a little guy who looked the same. He pointed at each person. "That's (Reader).. that's (Reader's) daddy... And that's.." he looked at himself in the mirror, tearing up with how hard he was smiling.

Someone needed him.

He turned the page over and his smile instantly fell, his blood freezing.

Pictures of bloody bodies covered the pages.

Page after page of dead people with the most intense things Warren had ever read followed the seemingly innocent wish. He hadn't been exposed to video games yet, his father didn't let him watch TV, and Warren ignored the other kids at his school, so he had never known violence outside of the terrible things his father did to him. And the words he read in that envelope were violent.

"True love is keeping me."

"If he loves me, he'll kill me."

"Don't let them take me away again."

"Together forever."

(Reader) was worried about the limitations of the wishing hole, so they felt they had to be very specific about their ideal boy. Which meant that they had to explain what love was. And to explain what love was, meant that they had to explain to the hole what their dad had done to their mother and Kevin.

It scared Warren.

But only for a moment.

He thought about the joy (Reader) would feel when they saw him for the first time, how their eyes would light up with love and adoration. In his mind, they would recognize him instantly, like their drawing come to life. Warren was their wish come true. And, in a way, (Reader) was his.

He slowly went back to his bedroom and hid the letter in his underwear drawer. The wish was like his most prized possession. Knowing that there was someone out there who needed Warren made him, for the first time in a very long time, feel hopeful for the future.

The next few years of Warren's life, however, were not pleasant in the slightest.

An anatomy book flew at Warren's face, connecting with his thin nose. He was now in highschool, and the abuse had only worsened.

"What the fuck is this?!" His father threw another medical book, terrified. In the past he used to throw and break things even though Warren's only crime was existing, but now even Warren could understand his father's disgust.

A rat laid on Warren's table, split open.

"I'm practicing.." Warren smiled, blood dripping from his nostrils.

"I should kick you out of the goddamn house!" The drunk man kicked a wall, leaving a dent in the drywall.

"If you do that, I'll go to the police."

His father's eyes widened. "The fuck you just say, you little psychopath?!"

The man was very nimble for someone so swollen from years of alcohol consumption, closing the distance between himself and his son before Warren had a chance to put up his hands in defense. Large, yellowed fingers grabbed a fistful of Warren's greasy hair and lifted his dangerously underweight body off the ground; high enough where Warren couldn't touch the floor with his toes.

"Think about it. You have no proof for the cops that I killed this rat, but I have all the proof that you hit me." To emphasize his point, Warren didn't wipe away the blood that was now dripping onto the rat carcass.

Black eyes that held no light stared wide and unblinking at the disgusting excuse of a man before Warren. His father looked about the room, which was now covered in articles about some murderer from years ago and medical texts printed off at the local library.

Warren was dropped onto his ass. "Fucking freak." His father mumbled before stumbling out of the room.

It wasn't until Warren heard the drunkard smash though the hall towards the staircase that he finally grabbed some tissue to shove up his nose. It had taken him years and years of hard thinking, but Warren had finally found a way to be (Reader's) perfect husband. It was difficult, but the solution was finally discovered, a way to make (Reader's) wish come true without killing them.

He thought he would probably drop out of school, but that didn't really matter to Warren. The young man already had a part time job, and his future career as a manager for a small corner store was practically set.

Candid shots of (Reader) laid under the box of tissues. While (Reader) had continued growing into an attractive young adult, Warren was stunted. A lack of nutrition gave his unnaturally pale skin a yellow tint, and he was so thin that some of his teeth were becoming loose. But it felt as though he couldn't waste even a second thought on anything that wasn't (Reader).

"I'm sorry, Mr. Whiskers.." Warren apologized quietly to the dead rat. "I didn't mean to kill you. I'll do better next time."

Every time Warren saw (Reader) out and about, he wanted to drag them behind a dumpster and fuck them till they bled. It took incredible restraint to stick to his plan and keep to the shadows.

Their wish, laminated, hung above his bed like a prayer, one that he read and worshipped every night before bed.

Warren's father didn't notice when he stopped going to his classes.

He also didn't notice the muffled screaming from the basement, when Warren evolved his experiments from rats to people.

It wasn't until the smell became unbearable that he finally sobered up enough to go down and investigate.

As he searched the house for the cause of the smell, the aging, dying man briefly wondered when the last time he had been down in basement was. Or, when he last saw his good for nothing son.

The stairs to the lowest level creaked under his shoes, and an anxiety he had never before known trickled up through his bones.

At the bottom of the stairs, a door held back the stench like a leaking flood gate. Opening the squealing door wafted a wave of nausea inducing gas right into the man's face.

"Hey, ew what the- hey freak! You down here?! What's that smell..?" His eyes didn't have time to adjust to the dusty basement light before Warren swung a wooden baseball bat with spikes towards his father's face. One spike went through his skull near his nose and another popped open one of his eyes. But his death was due to the blunt force, cracking his head open as easily as smashing a watermelon. The junkie strapped and gagged to the table silently screamed as their one hope for salvation died in front of them.

"I'm sorry about the interruption." Warren smiled, his eyes still and unwavering. The man who had destroyed his childhood and stolen his happiness laid bleeding out on the floor, and Warren didn't feel a single thing. It was strange, part of him thought that he would feel satisfaction watching his abuser die, but he felt nothing at all. Warren only killed his father because he had interrupted his experiment with the homeless person who looked amazingly like (Reader). The young man held up a belt. "Let's continue."

Warren didn't consider himself to be a murderer. What he was doing to the people he abducted was for love. There was no evil or hatred, and if he looked at it in a certain light, he wasn't really trying to kill them at all.

Moving to the night shift gave Warren more time to stalk (Reader) during the day. Just as he had predicted, Warren became a higher member of management, and even 'owned his own home' now that his father had tragically passed. Everything was progressing perfectly, because his entire existence was a wish come true.

It hurt, hiding in the booth behind (Reader) and their friends, hearing about how they had started dating at the suggestion of their bitch therapist, but Warren decided that it was good for their relationship. It proved to him that even after all this time, (Reader) still loved him and needed him. Every time a date failed to live up to (Reader's) expectations it further fueled Warren's fantasy of how (Reader) would react when he finally revealed himself to them.

The dates also provided Warren ample opportunity to look around their apartment. Like when they went on a date with some whiny loser his age. He wasn't even (Reader's) type. Their home was small and quaint, and taking pictures of it in extreme detail helped Warren learn how to decorate the room (Reader) would be staying in once they finally started dating.

Dating.

The idea of merely "dating" caused a painful strain in Warren's chest, but he knew that it was only logical to date before he proposed. At least for a month or so. Maybe a week.

Well, whenever he did propose, Warren knew (Reader) would accept, because Warren was their wish come true. There was nothing he could do wrong, because his entire existence was due to (Reader's) will.

He didn't even bother cleaning off the dirt when he scuffed up the bedroom door. There was no point, because (Reader) wouldn't ever fear or hate anything he did, even if they didn't know he was the one responsible. Because that was fate.

(Reader's) undergarments rested on top of the dirty clothes basket.

Even that was fate.

Because why would they leave their worn underwear in plain view, if not for him? His hands with dirt crusted nails stroked the garment, imaging that he could still feel the heat of (Reader's) body on them. Warren imagined how happy (Reader) would be to learn what he did with their underwear, in their bed. He imagined their eyes glowing like an angel's as their smile graced his filthy presence.

Because this was (Reader's) wish.

And soon, Warren would finally give them their happily ever after.

Warren had put in for a week of vacation at his work; their shared bedroom was decorated; and his supplies were hidden in a backpack in the dirt behind (Reader's) complex. It was like a fairytale, when the knight came to save the dragon from the prince.

Rich approached (Reader's) front door as Warren dug up his hidden tools. Mud covered his face and gloves, but he didn't mind. In fact, it was like a mask, where only his true love would recognize him. Warren knew that his dream would come true that day, but it was even better than he had hoped for. Prince Rich was there to harass his dragon.

He had hoped it would be this easy, and the universe provided. Fate was always on Warren's side when it came to making (Reader's) wish come true. All those lives lost to Warren's experiments were not wasted.

The annoying voice of Rich was audible from outside the building, but it was difficult to feel anything negative towards to poor bastard. In Warren's mind, it wasn't Rich's fault that he was born to be such a loser; it was fate's design for the man to be sacrificed.

Warren threw open the front door, scaring the shit out of the stronger looking man. "Who the fuck is that?!"

Then, the sands of time were fused into glass by the electricity between Warren and (Reader). Their expression looked relieved, just as Warren had always hoped it would. A smile stretched across the beautiful lips Warren often fantasized about kissing. Their cheeks pulled up in the most honest grin Warren had ever seen.

Tears of joy decorated their bottom lashes like glitter.

"He's here to kill me."

Rich put up his arm as though to protect (Reader) from Warren. Again, Warren felt no anger towards the man and his silly reaction.

The bat used to kill Warren's father restarted time as it aimed for Rich's skull.

(Reader) looked up endearingly at Warren, now sitting on their knees in a pool of Rich's blood. The man before them was everything they had ever dreamt of. His black eyes never left (Reader's), even as he bludgeoned their date to death.

It took all of (Reader's) will power to not shake in their seat. Excitement flowed through their veins so quickly that it sent involuntary quivers through their muscles. Everything that they had ever wanted was finally coming true.

"I've been waiting for you." (Reader) felt their chest tighten as Warren approached.

But then he dropped his bat.

Their smile twitched a little, but (Reader) tried to not let anxiety ruin their happiest moment. The dirty man slid a backpack off and started rifling through it.

"I've been waiting for you too.." A voice that sounded oddly chipper finally responded, echoing from a wide grin that showed off yellowing teeth with a few missing on the bottom row.

(Reader) smiled harder. "You're going to kill me?" It was phrased like a question, but it was more of a plea.

"No."

"What?"

(Reader's) smile cracked in half. The adrenaline in their system turned deadly.

Warren's smile didn't fade.

"But, you have to." (Reader) began to panic. This had to be the man they wished to life. He had to be there to kill them. It was fate. He had to! "Aren't you here for me?"

"Of course I am."

"Then you have to kill me! If you love me, you have to-!"

Warren dropped his bag, revealing a hacksaw. He held it relaxed in one hand, and held a belt in the other. "Do you know how selfish you are, (Reader)?"

(Reader's) mind went numb with confusion.

"I've loved you for so long, and now that I finally have you, you think I'm going to kill you?"

"I'm not going to let anyone have you."

"Not even death."

The End

The two story house was full of trash bags. Every room in the building was full of clutter and filth, except the master bedroom.

Warren came home from a long shift, excited to have his precious spouse in his arms.

None of the guards at the prison would listen to Donavon when he tried to convince them all that something was wrong. A child suddenly not visiting their murderer of a parent in prison was not reason to go to the police and open a missing person's case. Even the officers that liked Donavon couldn't do anything.

The bedroom decorated to (Reader's) taste was unlocked by Warren as he finally climbed through all the shit. He entered their shared home with a warm expression of pure love on his face.

"(Reader), I'm home!"

In the middle of the room watching television was a wheelchair bound (Reader). Their arms and legs amputated, sitting helplessly in a soiled diaper. A drugged up, lopsided smiled sleepily tugged the corners of their mouth up.

"Welcome home, baby.."

A/N: Sorry it took so long, happy to start writing again ❤️

#yandere #yandere x reader #dead dove do not eat #not a romance #cw death #cw dead animal #cw blo0d #cw trauma #thank you for waiting so patiently #i know it isn't my usual #dark #cw abuse #abduction #yandere stalker #cw rap3 #male yandere #yandere oc

[common-grackle]

listen to me. no listen to me. tuck everlasting isn't a love story, it's a tragedy. it's the story of the family stuck in eternity. it's the story of the girl who rejects it. it's the story of how desirable eternal life might seem, and what happens to those who receive it. look me in the eyes and tell me tuck everlasting is a love story

#tuck everlasting #for the record i feel the same way about romeo and juliet #not a romance #although i get less pissed about that one i think #gracie creates conflict

[bookishlyvintage]

Goodbye Earl, Leesa Cross - Smith [x]

#goodbye earl #leesa cross smith #not a romance #domestic fiction #fiction #book review #mini review #bookstagram #bookish #book cover #cover art #revenge #found family #bookblr #booklr #book lover #cr #currently reading

[orkydorkyy]

Renegades 001

if you want to read the rest of the story, I have it posted on archive of our own and Wattpad up to chapter 8!! :D

"So," he continued as he pressed the last language under the Google tab, crossing it out from his list. 

What is your name? Google spoke the words under the language on the list, one he couldn't understand. 

No recognition came through to the girl across from him as it asked for her name. They had gone through the whole list of languages under Google Translate, and she still hadn't shown any sign of comprehension, only more confusion with her pinched brows and head tilted to the side. She had to speak some sort of language, yet how was it not identifiable by Google? 

Major Kang sighed. If only it could have been as easy as it was with Ijin. Kids, these days. 

He shook his head in thought. If words weren't working, then he was sure gestures would. After all, gestures were universal.  

With his pointer finger, he pointed to his chest. "Hamchan Kang," he said slowly, making sure he was pronouncing his words as concisely as possible. "Hamchan Kang." 

He smiled as her brows unfurrowed. 

She gestured to him the same way he had with her pointer finger out as she repeated, her words barely recognizable through her accent, but undoubtedly, "Hamchan Kang." Finally, they were getting somewhere. He sighed in relief, glad she hadn't pointed to herself and said his name. The chances were there. 

He pointed to her. What is your name?

Her eyes widened, making her eye bags more visible, and she started to look uncomfortable in her own skin. 

Major Kang quickly realized his mistake. 

If she was anything like Ijin—as he was assuming her to be—of course, she wouldn't want to go talking about her name as a numbered. No, he wanted to get her to say her name given to her from birth, not whatever that damn camp had assigned to her when she entered. 

He took out the paper underneath him that he was using to draw lines through languages she couldn't understand (which happened to be all of them) and started writing the pound symbol. And crossed it out.

A moment of shock passed through her eyes, although it was immediately hidden by an understanding stare. She took a deep breath in, nodded, and pointed to herself. 

"Rei." 

It took all of him to not stand up and scream Thank you for figuring something out as simple as her name. Rei. Rei was her name. Sure, that wasn't enough to search for her in the database or get anything on her, but it was a start. 

He checked his watch and sighed; this was taking too much time. They would have to get Ijin at this point. He'd have to know her language if they lived together at the camp. And anyway, this would give him an excuse to get caught up with the kid since he had started school just over a month ago. 

***

Rei watched as the man stood up and pulled out his phone, unsettled by the fact that he wrote the pound symbol. She understood that it was a symbol for 'number,' which was enough to get his point across—that he knew. But how? 

She questioned the whole thing for a moment, unaware of if she could possibly trust him. She felt no sense of malicious intent from him, and he had seemed genuinely happy to know her name, so at least he most likely wanted to keep her alive. It just didn't make sense that he, knowing that she was a numbered, would let her be sitting across from him without her hands in cuffs or without having a gun pointed at her face. 

He made eye contact with her and nodded. Yeah. She would be dead now if they didn't want her alive. Within a few seconds, the phone rang. As the call was answered by whoever was on the other side, he started to open the door. Fluorescent light shone through the dimly lit room. 

"Hey, kid. How's school been treating you?" 

Her eyes squinted as the door came to a close, the light lost, and she could only hear his muffled words going back to the other person. Not that she could understand what he was saying. It was useless. The only thing she noted was that it sounded similar to how 001 and a few others would talk when they first came to the camp. But they had all gotten used to having to speak whatever language their holders had spoken very quickly. She only heard 001 speak this familiar language under his breath during stressful times. Or through the occasional nightmare. 

She let out a jagged breath, glad that she was finally alone. It was upsetting that she couldn't remember much before she got here, that she had woken up in this building, but she tried to not let it bother her. She would find out soon enough. Hopefully. They needed a better method of communication. 

She stood up, taking a careful eye on everything around her. She had never grown up with personal rooms, or if she did, she couldn't remember, but she knew that this was what people would call a bedroom—hence, the twin-sized bed to her nine o'clock. It was adequate, just large to hold the table and a few chairs she was sitting at. 

She looked down at herself. Damn. She needed a shower. She continued to take the room in and was interested to see a dresser, hoping to find some clothing articles. The only thing she could find was disappointment. In herself. The dresser was empty. 

She sat back on the chair, not wanting to test out the bed yet since her fatigues were all but considered clean. 

So now, all she could do was wait. And wait she did. 

***

Hamchan Kang was not expecting Ijin to sound so surprised when the major said Rei's name. He was sure that the boy had sputtered and hid his shock with a cough. Even the fact that Ijin had said, "I'll be there," in the middle of the school day had Hamchan confused. He knew those words would mean he would leave school immediately and get over to the base as soon as possible. 

Although, he was glad, as it only solidified the theory that she was a numbered. It made sense, the more he thought about it—she had the same stance and fighting style as Ijin. It could only mean that she was also working under the camp. It would've been awkward, otherwise, if she had not happened to be a numbered; but who else would have the audacity to put children through harsh training and not care about the consequences? 

Oh yeah, Rei. He got up from his spot on one of the chairs to find some clothing for her. She needed some new clothes. And a shower. He was elated that he had decided to have the discussion in the bedroom as he was worried something too formal or cold would frighten her more than she already was. 

He entered another room, finding some extra shirts and bottoms, trying to remember her size. He put down the large t-shirt he came across, recalling her short stature. 

Finally, he left, satisfied with his search, and walked back to Rei's room. He knocked a few times before slowly opening the door, only to find Rei still sitting in her seat. 

Her intense gaze quickly met his, not attempting to look away any time soon. It was something he remembered Ijin doing too—always keeping eye contact with the authority in the room. It was something driven into them to the point of instinct. 

He held up the folded clothing and white towel in front of him and jerked his head towards the door, hoping that would be enough to get her to follow him. She slowly stood up in acknowledgment, shoved a strand of dark hair behind her ear, and attentively followed him out the door. Good. 

They walked for a few minutes, reaching the bathrooms and showers in silence—as was expected since neither could understand the other. Rei always stood at least six feet behind him as if to give her enough response time if he were to try and hurt her. All it did was bring Hamchan back to the time when Ijin was here. The wary stance. That dead, hollow look in his eyes—although Rei's wasn't as bad as Ijin's, fortunately. Hopefully, she would warm up more quickly with Ijin here in a few. 

"Here are the showers..." he said, before remembering that she couldn't understand a word he was saying. But hey, showers were also universal, and she would know right away what to do when she entered, so it wouldn't matter much. 

She silently took the clothing from his hands and pushed the door forward. 

***

The more she thought about it, the more she got herself to believe that she would be fine. Giving her new clothing and allowing her to shower? If he was trying to instill a sense of false security into her, it was working. 

She entered the stall farthest from the door and ran the water until she could see steam, undoing her knotted braid down her back as she waited. She undressed carefully, considering she had a bullet wound on her right arm (thank the universe that it wasn't her dominant side) that was haphazardly bandaged up. She huffed in discomfort, realizing the wound reopened from too much movement. Fuck. 

With a bit of work, she pulled the shirt over her head, struggling as the sleeve stuck to her skin as it started to soak in more blood. After that, it was easy enough to remove the rest of the clothing off her. 

She blissfully welcomed the warmth of the water, ignoring the burning tears of all her fresh wounds. Showers were not often, and heated showers would be far between—and she had no clue when she'd be able to have another shower like this. 

She felt a pang in her left calf and realized a piece of shrapnel was stuck in her skin. She pulled it out along with a few other scattered splinters. 

She didn't leave the shower until the water was ice cold and the feeling of putting on clothing through her wound had sounded better than hypothermia. 

And then it hit her. 

She had just escaped the camp. 

***

Her eyes were red and puffy by the time she was dressed, and she couldn't think of anything to use or say to make herself look like she hadn't just cried her eyes out. 

But she escaped. 

It was a weird feeling. She never knew what she was missing out on since she had only known Grian. She had lived there since she could remember, fending for her life all the same. And now, she was gone. There was this bittersweet feeling inside of her that she couldn't comprehend. She had gotten so used to life at the camp, it had become her constant. And now, she'd have to learn how to manage a new world. 

She sighed, shaking herself out of her daze. 

She looked down at the shirt she laid on the small bench. Despite the shirt having an S on the tag, she was sure the shirt was still going to be a few sizes big due to the shirt being a men's small—also considering that her body stopped growing after she hit puberty and stayed at 5'2, despite her now being 18. 

She needed to bandage the bullet wound anyway, so she didn't feel too bad shredding the bottom of the shirt to wrap it around her arm. It made the shirt a little ratty, so she remembered to tuck it into the bottom of her large-fitting fatigues as best as possible. 

And now came the struggles of actually putting the shirt on. 

Five minutes later, the shirt was on, although it now felt like the shower was for nothing with how sweaty she was. Oh well. The major was probably waiting for her, and she had taken a bit too long for her liking in the bathroom. She was just glad that there was no one to bother her. 

She held her old clothing firmly, knuckles becoming ashen. Her clothing from the camp. So why was it so hard to throw it all away? They took everything from me. They took my freedom, my innocence, my family...

She bit her tongue. The argument inside her head was stupid. It made her angry that there was ever a hesitation. 

Without another look, she dropped the clothing into the trash and pulled the door to walk out, damp towel in the crook of her elbow, although it was instantly dropped the moment her eyes laid on the figure in front of her and all she could do was stop and stare. The person in front of her should've been dead. He should be dead. 001 should be dead. 

"011?"

#teenage mercenary #mercenary enrollment #fanfic #renegades #the story is kind of serious but kind of ridiculous #can other people PLEASE write some fan fiction for tm #not a y/n #my writing #original character #opium #(no drug use) #not a romance

[callsignecholimamike]

Loved this!! Incredibly haunting, lively writing, gripping story. Really awesome character study. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️/5.

#rebecca daphne du maurier #gothic #not a romance #haunting #character study #book reccs #book recommendations

[gogandmagog]

the most unhinged fic i would ever write is ____________

Lol. I have entertained a scenario that sees Anne die when Shirley is born, and sees Gilbert found an eligible bachelor to the Four Winds community; then, in order to be both economical and to avert the single women approaching him, he marries Susan.

#platonic marriage okay #to be clear #not a romance #how old is susan anyway #she’s called elderly back in the HOD days #how old is she by ingleside #just ancient

[kurlyfrasier]

The Summons

Pairing: None, really. I mean Leia Organa x Han Solo are in it for a hot minute, but they are not the focal point lol

Synopsis: Captain Carson Teva gets a summons from Mandalore requesting his presence. OR: Teva meets the Mand’alor

Word Count: 3600ish

A/N: So I’ve had this idea in my head for a WHILE and finally got it out lol I’m talking, like, this was my 2nd Mando fic idea here, people lol So excited to finally share it! Anyway, it was supposed to be super short and funny and ended up being a little longer than anticipated, but I still like it. Might write another part to tie up a small thing or might write this in Din or Cara’s pov lol cuz well, you’ll see. I think it would be fun to read their pov. ENJOY!

Warnings: none. This is all for fun people lol

Disclaimer: I do not own any Star Wars/Mandalorian anything. I know very little of the lore. All Mando’a words found at mandoa.org. Everything else I typically find on Wookieepedia or make it up. OCs are my own.

Captain Carson Teva stared unblinking at the holovid message, not hearing a word that was said. He heard it the first time. Or, he thinks he heard it the first time. Maybe it was the seventh time when the rush of blood in his ears finally stopped long enough for him to listen. Either way, he was lucky he hadn’t crashed into an asteroid field before going into hyperspace.

As a New Republic X-wing pilot who was often patrolling the Outer Rim, he had seen and heard many things. He himself had even bent the rules a few times. Sometimes, he thought, what happens in the Outer Rim, should stay in the Outer Rim. With this message though, he needed to get back to Coruscant and speak to the senator. She, he knew, would want to see this message in person. Otherwise she might think it a joke. Heck, he thought it might be a joke.

~~~

“Is Senator Organa available?” Teva hadn’t even waited for his feet to hit the ground with the question.

“Last I saw she was just heading back to her apartment,” Trapper Wolf, who was only waiting for him to return so he could head out, furrowed his brows. Teva wished he could explain, but he still wasn’t sure if Wolf was interested in their - at the moment - small band of rebels. So, he ignored the look with a quick thanks and hopped on the closest speeder for hire to the Organa-Solo home, a small holo-pad hidden in his hand.

Han Solo answered the door with a curt, “What.”

“Sorry to bother you, sir. I’m Captain Teva, New Republice X-wing pilot, looking for Senator Organa.”

Solo raised his brows, “Must be important to come knocking on our home this late in the day.”

“I believe it is, sir,” Teva said after a beat, realizing Solo had no intentions of inviting him in, standing there blocking the entryway. “I got a holovid message from-” Teva took a quick glance of his surroundings and seeing no-one, took a step closer in order to whisper, “The message comes from Mandalore.”

“Mandalore?” Solo’s brows scrunched. “Wasn’t that planet turned to glass? Completely inhabitable.”

“Not anymore. On my patrols in the Outer Rim these past few years, there's been a lot of changes.”

Sensing he wasn’t going to get any more information until Leia was present, Solo invited him in, stating his wife was putting their son to bed and should be out momentarily.

“Want a drink?” Solo asked after a few silent, awkward minutes.

“Captain Teva,” Senator Leia Oragana’s voice had the men spinning to find her entering the living room. Teva noticed she didn’t look fazed by his presence and thought maybe there was more Skywalker in her than he originally thought. “Please, make yourself comfortable,” she motioned to the sofa and he sat, happy to let himself relax after his rush there. Not many things made Carson Teva nervous, but this message was beyond his understanding and mulling over it in a never ending cycle since he first saw it had him at his wits end. “Would you like a drink? Last I heard, you were out patrolling the Outer Rim,” she sat in a chair adjacent to him.

“Thank you, but no. I,” Teva cut himself short, glancing at Solo, wondering if it was okay to speak further with him around. The rebel group Organa was slowly building was small and he didn’t know if the past smuggler was part of it.

“Speak freely, Carson. My husband knows all about our venture. In fact,” she gave Solo a wide smile, “he’s part of it.”

Teva nodded. “I’ve received a message from Mandalore-”

“Mandalore? They just got a new king, didn’t they? And have started settling themselves back on their home planet, yes?”

“Correct. And I thought you might like to see it, so I flew here straight away.”

She gave him an assessing gaze. “Well, let’s see it.”

Teva set the small holo-pad down on their caf table and held his breath as it started.

“Captain Carson Teva,” the blue-tinged, fully-armored figure stood, blaster on one hip and knives on the other, a spear strapped to her back and arms at her side. She seemed completely relaxed, if not a little bored, yet her voice was succinct and full of certainty. “The Mand’alor invites you as his guest to Mandalore. Come alone and at your earliest convenience,” the mandalorian’s head snapped, looking over her shoulder. “Marshal Dune sends her regards.”

“Marshal Dune?” Organa’s face pinched.

“She was a shock trooper. Turned Navarro into a safe place. I recruited her for a marshal position. Took a bit of convincing, though.”

“And her relation to Mandalore?”

“I’m,” Teva dragged the word out, remembering an old Razor Crest entering hyperspace as he entered Navarro’s atmo. It was an uncommon enough ship those days and he only knew of one person who flew one. A Mandalorian. But Dune had never mentioned knowing any Mandalorians and when he asked the now magistrate about the Razor Crest, he had shrugged and denied a Razor Crest was ever there. He hadn’t seen either since, but had spoken to Dune over comms. Nothing of note came to mind as he thought over those conversations, though.

“Hello,” a fingers snapped in front of Teva, bringing back from his thoughts. “Captain. Mandalore,” Solo, who was now sitting next to him, made an impatient gesture for him to continue.

“Right. Sorry, senator. I’m not really sure what Marshal Dune’s relation is to Mandalore, but,” he took a deep breath, sighing heavily as he let it out, shaking his head. “There was an incident a few years back when I recruited Dune,” Teva looked up to find Organa giving him a nod to continue. “An old Imperial base was destroyed on Navarro. I saw a Razor Crest entering hyperspace when I hit their atmo. I had thought I’d seen it before - it always seemed to be running from trouble - but Greef, Navarro’s magistrate, had implied there was never a Razor Crest there. I didn’t believe him, of course. But I wasn’t about to make a big deal about it.”

“I see,” she hummed. “As much as I wish I could go with you to have a chance to discuss political matters and Mandalore joining our cause, it’s clear they only want you. Are you okay with going alone? Do you think it’s safe?”

“I believe so, ma’am. The summons didn’t seem threatening.”

“True. It would be nice to get a feel for what they want,” her fingers drummed against her thigh. “Please, report back with what you find and be safe, captain. I hope to become allies in the future. I would hate to be on a Mandalorian’s bad side.”

Teva gave Senator Organa a weak salute, grabbed his holo-pad and left, letting her know he would leave in the morning.

~~~

Captain Teva landed in the Keldabe - an old city on Mandalore - shipyard with trepidation. He could not, for Maker’s sake, think of why he would be summoned to Mandalore at all. He had spoken to that one Mandalorian after shooting a few ice spiders, and no others. Had he seen a few from afar? Yes, especially since Mandalore had become habitable again. But still, unless that one was still mad about him and Wolf leaving him stranded on the Maldo Kreis - which he fervently hoped was not the case - he had no idea why he would be a guest of their king. He was nobody. Just a simple pilot of the New Republic.

Teva shook his head, ridding himself of his circling thoughts and opened the hatch, reminding himself that he was not an easily intimidated man. He would not allow a bunch of Mandalorians to change that. Besides, he needed to figure out what they wanted and if they would be interested in becoming allies with the New Republic or help the senator’s cause.

“Captain Teva,” a familiar, modulated voice spoke. The very same one he had listened to on the holovid message at least a hundred times. His thoughts immediately fled, gaping as he noticed his greeting party. His eyes roamed. There were at least a dozen, all carrying varied weapons as though they were extensions of themselves. All seemed relaxed, no blasters in hand at least. All painted differently, even if some had the same colors. Except one. The one from the Maldo Kreis who stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Suddenly, his mouth was dry and tongue felt swollen.

Maybe this particular Mandalorian did hold a grudge?

Teva gave them all a curt nod, swallowing, uncertain of the proper way to greet them.

“I’m Vyktoria,” she stepped closer, apart from her entourage, and grasped his forearm in greeting. “Aide to the Mand’alor. I, along with a few guards, are here to escort you to the throne room where the Mand’alor will greet you.”

Teva thought the ‘few’ who came to escort him was a bit extreme, but muttered out his thanks, nonetheless, happy he was even able to get the words out. Vyktoria made a simple motion for him to follow as she turned around. The others followed suit, except the silver Mandalorian, who stared him down, keeping Teva frozen in place. A beat later he also turned and allowed his arms to relax at his sides, walking forward. He spoke not a word. Letting out a breath he didn’t know he held, Teva followed, heart pounding as he wondered who the Mand’alor was.

The Mandalorians spoke amongst themselves in a language Teva had never heard, allowing him to relax. He would not have to make conversation nor did they see him as a threat. That was good, even if the silver one had slowed his pace to match his own.

“If I’m correct,” Teva said before he could stop himself, noticing the helmet turning to face him in his peripheral. “I believe you may be the same Mandalorian I once saved from an incident with ice spiders a few years back.”

The man stayed quiet, giving no indication that he was the same guy, gaze moving to face forward. Teva had no doubts that he was. He looked too familiar, felt too familiar. Not being Force sensitive, Teva trusted his gut and his gut said they were one and the same. Although, he remembered, he talked a bit more when hoping for a ride off of Maldo Kreis.

Teva tried for conversation again as they passed piles of rubble and crumbled buildings, not seeing a newly restored city past the Mandalorians in front of them. “I’m glad to see you made it off that Maldo Kreis.”

Still, his companion did not speak. 

“I’m sorry your home still has reminders of war,” Teva tried one last time, gesturing at the emptiness around them, the half crumbled ruins, the sands that turned to violent sculptures of glass. Teva couldn’t imagine his home planet, green and filled with the noise of life, ever feeling so empty. “I hope your Mand’alor,” he fumbled over the word, even if it was similar to the planet’s own name, “is making it feel like home again.”

When the man next to him, once again, did not respond, Teva gave up on his one-sided conversation. Ahead, he could hear a crowd of people and as they got closer he saw a large marketplace, filled shoulder to shoulder with Mandalorians, countless without helmets or even armor on at all. All were talking at once, weaving through each other, and laughing. It put a smile on Teva’s face and calmed his mind.

“It seems your Mand’alor is doing good for his people,” Teva couldn’t help but say, eyes never focusing on one thing as he soaked in their surroundings. The marketplace was basic, but most planets didn’t have big cities with large shopping structures. He could see homes - many with children running in and out, laughing and shouting as they played their games - made of sand and stone. No rubble or half ruins in sight. He gave the silver Mandalorian a wide smile. “All this joy after being away from their home planet for so many years. And the children! not a care in the world, it seems. It’s amazing. I find I like your king already.” It was the truth, he realized, surprising himself. After seeing all these carefree people, Teva knew their Mand’alor was a good man. He was still curious about the summons, but could now confidently say he did not think he was in any danger.

As they walked, the crowd shifted to allow them room, all taking the time to pound a fist to their chests, nodding their heads. Teva noticed none in his group were reciprocating the gesture and thought maybe it was respect toward the guards. Still, Teva nodded in greeting as he walked by, feeling odd not to acknowledge them.

Further in the city Teva could see a much larger, more distinguished home. Several stories tall, looking like a castle. Half built with steel and the rest with sand and stone, mixing the old building with the new. It was tragic and beautiful. A reminder that Mandalorians will never stop fighting and will always find a way.

The noise of the market faded, bringing with it new sounds. Familiar sounds from his rookie days. Mandalorians, young and old - all in full armor - sparred and shot targets on one side of the field next to the castle while the other side held line after line after line of young soldiers doing drills. Blaster shots and the clanging of metal on metal rose to his ears just as loud as the perfectly aligned drills. The group he followed started to holler and shout their encouragement and praise, simultaneously cheering and booing in good fun.

Captain Carson Teva was astounded by the sheer numbers there were, how carefree they could be while seeing how seriously they took their practice. Mandalorians were always known to be the best fighters - guardians in a cruel galaxy - but those tales of grandeur he heard as a young boy had been silenced by rumors of how fearless, ruthless, heartless they became when they were driven from their home. Practically destroyed. The galaxy thought them dead. Extinct. Yet here they are, alive and thriving.

Before he knew it, Teva was inside the castle walls. A chill made him shiver, but not from being cold. No. But from the knowledge that he was about to meet the man who made it all happen. The man who gave these people hope. A home. The man who brought the Mandalorians of old back to life. This man, Teva knew, deserved the title of king.

But would this same king believe in Senator Organa’s cause? Would he welcome allies after they had done so little to help them? Would he willingly put his people in harm’s way to help bring peace to the galaxy? To rid them forever of the Empire? 

Teva could only hope.

Two overly large, decorated doors opened - the kind one had to push or pull - by two sentinels standing guard. Inside, there were dozens of Mandalorians standing, all fully armored and, as one, turned to the group and pounded a fist to their hearts when they entered. The force of which caused the simple pilot’s ears to ring. The guards who had escorted him scattered to the outskirts of the open room where the walls held banners of a creature’s skull with two rounded tusks and a long face. Teva’s gaze followed them until his eyes caught sight of a large tapestry of a mudhorn’s head, made in a simple design, hanging on the opposite side of the entrance. Further down and in front of the tapestry sat a throne. It was simply made, and sturdy with no extravagance. Teva’s first thought was that it looked uncomfortable. He noticed, with a curious tilt of his head, that a small, green, big-eared being sat on an arm of the chair. It was babbling to the guard standing next to the throne and the guard, holding a spear in his hand, listened as if he was enraptured by its words. Like he could understand what it was saying.

Not for the first time that day, Captain Carson Teva, was confused.

The small being was obviously a child. A young one, at that. And one who was allowed to sit on a king’s chair. He had never heard of such a thing. Never before seen such a thing. It didn’t make sense.

What in Maker’s name was going on?

A flash of silver caught his attention, his eyes instantly glued to the one Mandalorian he knew. Teva watched the man’s steady, confident stride end at the throne. He sat. The voices died down, watching the man on the throne. The T-visor gaze surveyed the room until the kid, squealing excitedly, hopped onto his lap. The king’s gaze quickly landed the child, lifted wiggling fingers in the air as a threat for tickles, causing the kid to laugh so loud it echoed off the walls, enveloping everyone with its joy. Quiet chortles at the scene caused Teva to glance around, finding most of the Mandalorians had taken off their helmets, holding them comfortably under their arms like a limmie ball. Suddenly, as though the last piece of a puzzle was finally put in place, Teva understood.

The silver Mandalorian was the Mand’alor. 

It made sense now, why everyone pounded a fist to their chest. It was the Mandalorian equivalent of a bow. They were showing him the respect that was his due.

Teva felt all blood drain from his face, only for it to pool nauseously in his stomach.

“Captain Carson Teva. Long time,” a heavy arm landed around his shoulders. “Come on,” Marshal Dune smiled, dragging him forward as everyone started conversing again. “Let me introduce you to a friend of mine.”

“A friend,” Teva deadpanned, feeling slightly better now that he wasn’t the only one without a helmet.

Dune hummed, face scrunching in faux thought, “More like a brother really.”

“To a Mandalorian?” He was skeptical, learning over the last few years through their comms that Dune could have a dry sense of humor.

“Not just any Mandalorian,” she whispered. “The Mandalorian.”

“As in-”

“Mm-hm,” she nodded, her smile turning feral as they stood in front of the very man they spoke of. “And when he made a comment about an X-wing pilot and some ice spiders, I asked him which one. And, of course, he didn’t know. Not until I pulled it out of him with as many details of the tale as possible. And what do ya know? The X-wing pilot he owes his very life to is my friend, the captain.”

“I’m not so sure abou-”

“Now, Captain Teva,” she held up a hand to silence his protest. “Don’t go selling yourself short. If not for you, my friend may very well be dead, may not have become Mand’alor, and may not have brought his people back together on their home planet.”

Teva was certain he heard the Mand’alor give a long-suffering sigh.

“So, after knocking some sense into the guy, I convinced him to throw a celebration in your honor.”

“You wha-”

“What’s the point of having a royal friend if you don’t get to enjoy a good old fashion party every once in a while, am I right?”

“I suppose so-”

“Exactly!” She slapped him hard on the shoulder, making him wince. “So we celebrate tonight, but first,” she pointed at the silver Mandalorian, laughter in her eyes, stretching an arm out for the kid to climb up to her shoulder. “Pay up, Mando,” and walked away with the child babbling away at her.

Teva, once again, did not understand what just happened.

“Captain Teva,” the beat of awkward silence ended at the Mand’alor’s words, forcing him to face that dark, T-visor gaze. “She’s right, I never did properly thank you.”

“There’s really no need. I was only doing my job.”

“That may be, but still, I thank you,” the visor stared down at Teva from his throne, waiting.

“You’re welcome,” Teva finally said, not knowing what else to do.

“Prepare yourself,” the Mand’alor whispered and stood up, causing the room to go silent once more.

“Prepare? Wha-”

“A few years ago,” the Mand’alor’s voice carried without him even trying. All eyes on him as he told the tale. “Before I had even won the darksaber, I was traveling sub-light in order to hold up my end of a deal for a passenger I was shuttling to Trask, where her husband awaited her there. On my way, two X-wings ended up chasing me through the tunnels of ice on a freezing planet. I landed my ship to hide, not wanting to deal with them, and instead ended up falling into a cave filled with ice spider eggs. It was here that Grogu decided to have a snack,” the crowd chuckled. The Mand’alor continued the story. Telling everyone of his near-death experience with the ice spiders, barely making it back to his ship that was practically done for after the fall into the cave, afraid he had failed. Failed his passenger. Failed his son. “When suddenly the X-wing pilots found me again, just as the largest ice spider had started cracking the transparasteel, and shot it down,” he looked over at Teva and held out a hand. Taking his cue, Teva grasped his forearm as Vyktoria had done earlier in the day. He nodded, “So tonight, in  honor of this man, Captain Carson Teva, for saving my life… We feast!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!

Would you like to read more fics? Masterlist

#fanfic #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #cara dune #grogu #summons #captain carson teva #carson teva #teva #mand'alor din djarin #funny #my writing #enjoy #holovid #holovid message #star wars #han solo #leia organa #everyone else is platonic #not a romance #all for fun #my gosh #im so excited about this one #x wing pilot #organa is not the general yet #ok i think that's all

[little-bit]

Xehanort Headcanons

* This man is so pretty(y’all know it too so), and his intentions do start out as good, but somewhere along the way they become tainted.

* I feel like he would focus more on his plans than anything else, so he probably wouldn’t devote any time to have an s/o. Even if he did have one he would more than likely use them by manipulating their emotions.

* If his s/o is a defender of light well let’s just say things are not gonna end well unless they surrender to the dark. If they did surrender xehanort might spare them.(I don’t feel like he’s entirely a dick)

* If he did find any value in his s/o he would more than likely show some emotion toward them, but I doubt it would be a lot especially if he does fall for them. He might alter his plans somewhat to keep his s/o safe, but I still don’t feel like he would completely abandon his plans for them.

* At least his s/o would be alive after everything is said, and done, but they will more than likely have some emotional baggage to contend with. If xehanort was yandere well he would show more emotion toward his s/o, and do what he could to keep them always from everyone including his subordinates.

* All in all if he did develop feelings for someone I don’t think he would be a threat to them, but he would not abandon his plans for them, so definitely not husband material.

This image is terranort, because I’m not posting old Xehanort on here,also image credit goes to google, and kingdom hearts.

#kingdom hearts #xehanort #he’s so pretty #not a romance

[animentality]

#twitter #writing #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #romance

[ceevee5]

#lgbt #film #brokeback mountain #summer romance #italy

[becuzmdsaidineededpersonality]

#femslash #f/f fanfic #f/f romance #f/f ship #archive of our own #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 tags #fanfiction #fanfic #fanart #destiel meme news

[rookthebird]

"redemption arcs are toxic, you shouldn't try to fix someone!"

actually it is so important to me that being in community and experiencing human connection can save people. thanks

#reylo #snowbaird #redemption arc #romance genre #romance writer

[jayvespertine]

– Audrey Hepburn

#literature #quotes #dark academia #light academia #poetry #romance #romantic academia #poem #memes #love quotes

[bookishlyvintage]

Goodbye Earl, Leesa Cross-Smith

☆☆☆☆☆ | review

#book review #goodbye earl #leesa cross smith #not a romance #domestic fiction #sisterhood #murder mystery #revenge novel #fiction #new books #found family #goodreads #bookblr #booklr #book aesthetic #small town

[ineed-to-sleep]

This mans got me in a chokehold ahahahaaa 🫠

don't tell him I said that

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #sleepyscribble #yk in hindsight it was probably a mistake to romance him in my first run #How am I supposed to romance other ppl in the next ones now 🫠

[staygolden-ponyboy]

#aesthetic #tenderness #passion #romance #intimacy #desire #couple #lovers #couple goals #intimate #amor y deseo #intimidad #touch