#i played dead plate ... obsessed. with. them

[kiisaes]

apple of my eye 🔪

[thinkinonsense]

old!logan and his obsession with the cute diner girl *mdni

a/n: this is my first attempt at writing something smutty so if it sucks im sorry lmao also if any writers have any tips please share! :)

logan has been around for long enough to know when a woman is attracted to him. there was a certain essence given off that was always a dead giveaway. usually it came from women close to the age he looked like and it tended to be brief moments of lust before all hope was lost. this was until he met you.

the pretty young girl working at the diner during her time off from college. everyday, he came in and ordered a black coffee. the coffee wasn't even that good but logan would spend two dollars every single day of his life if it came with the view of you bending over in that tiny uniform skirt.

logan would watch you for hours while he drank and skimmed the news paper alone in a booth. your hair was always up in either a ponytail or held together with a hair clip. he loved seeing your pretty handwriting as you scribbled on your notepad, taking orders. it was part of your job to be nice to everyone but you were especially nice to him. even your friends began to notice how you would linger by his table, constantly topping off his coffee mug and making small talk; sometimes giving him a slice of cherry pie on the house.

"don't you think he's kinda old for you?" one of your friends whispers to you behind the counter.

it's stung but you suppose she had a point. what would a man old enough to be your father want with a young wild girl like yourself?

"i-i guess so?" you stuttered, embarrassed at your previous attempt at flirting with him.

the rest of the night, you hoped he would leave before close so you could have some time alone with your feelings. summer was almost over and you would go back to the city soon. it was time to forget these silly fantasizes.

by ten, all the other waitresses went home except you, the older woman in the back who counted the drawer every night, and a few of the cooks. the only customer still there was logan. he flipped through one of the books he brought with him; still sipping away at that damn coffee.

"isn't it getting a little late for you, sweetheart?" he asked nonchalantly, not even looking up at you as you bent over to scrub the table next to his. the fifth table you've cleaned in the last hour and the second time you've cleaned that specific table. logan noticed but you didn't.

"need the hours." you mumble, frustrated by a stubborn stain. all logan could focus on was your scrunched nose and how your tight top pushed your boobs together just right for his viewing. "college is fucking expensive plus grants and scholarships only cover so much."

"hmm.." logan grunts. grants? scholarship? what a goody fucking two shoes, logan thought to himself. "if you bring me piece of pie, i think i can help you out."

you lean off the table and go get what's left in the glass container. it's probably a little hard so you definitely didn't plan on charging him for it. you sit the plate down in front of him and before you could turn around to walk away, logan reaches for your wrist softly.

"join me." he offers.

you knew you shouldn't but what was really the harm? at least your friends weren't here to make fun of you. the radio played quietly on an older station while you watched logan take a bite of the pie.

"why did your friends leave you here alone?" he asked, watching your face turn sour at the memory of them.

"don't wanna talk about it." your voice was small in the empty diner.

"why? think an old man like me can't relate to it?" logan chuckles. your thighs squeeze together without thinking. so much for not embarrassing yourself.

"no, no, not that." you shake your head and a strand of hair falls from your bun. "just sort of juvenile, you know?"

logan could tell that you were trying to come off more mature around him. you didn't want him to see you as some college kid.

"juvenile, how?" he eggs on, pushing down his glasses a bit.

god, those glasses got to you; and logan knew it.

"they don't understand how i feel about someone." you sigh.

"how do you feel about this person?" logan noticed you now avoiding his gaze, not liking it one bit. "eyes on me, princess."

the nickname caught you off guard like a dear in headlight; blinking and trembling up at logan. something logan enjoyed very much and could get used to.

"it's not important, just some stupid crush." you lie through your teeth. "they will forget about me in a month."

"why don't you think it'll work?" he cocks his head to the side a bit. "you're a pretty young thing, dollface. anyone of those college boys would be lucky to be wrapped around your little finger."

"i don't want college boys." you mumble, slightly annoyed by the memory of your friends.

logan felt himself getting hard at you admitting you had a taste for someone older. his eyes grew dark as he leaned in a little over the table.

"then what do you want?"

your moment to answer was interrupted by the older woman from the back, releasing you to go home for the evening. this was your chance to get up and leave before you admitted anything else that you would regret.

both of you stood up. logan threw down some cash while you went to collect your stuff behind the counter.

"i'll see you tomorrow, lo-"

"you didn't answer the question."

"i must go now if i want to catch the last train."

logan worried about you taking the train back to your apartment alone this late at night. usually you drive back but your car has been in the shop for almost three days now. he would watch you get to your car every night to make sure you were safe.

"i can drive you home." logan offers.

you shouldn't be this excited to be sitting in a strangers truck alone at night but here you were. the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes before logan brought up the conversation from the diner again. what did you even want?

"i want someone who understands me..." you begin rattling off the first things that come to mind when you notice logan's hand on your knee. you don't dare move.

"someone who is responsible..." with every word, his hand creeps higher and higher up your skirt. logan is more than pleased when he notices your legs spread on their own.

"someone who is m-mature..." logan's fingers inch towards the delicate skin of your inner thigh. there's no way this was happening, you thought as his index finger plays with the lace on the center of your pink underwear. he smirked at the wet spot front and center, waiting for him.

"treats me r-r-right." every word was a struggle to form as he stroked you softly. back and forth. back and forth.

logan nods along, not letting up down below. his index finger hooks onto your underwear, pulling it aside. you weren't even sure if you were breathing at this point; all this teasing was torture.

"p-p-please, logan..." you whine. "touch me."

his thumb rubs tiny circles on your button, adoring the way his name pours from your glossy lips. your hands fly to his wrists, needing more; nails digging into his skin in the most delicious way.

"where did this greediness come from?" logan groans, dipping his index finger inside of you. "what happened to that good girl from the diner?"

logan's finger barely fit in the tight space. your head fell back and a loud moan escaped you.

"oh, you weren't letting those college boys touch you at all, huh?" logan mocks, adding another finger and creating a steady pace.

"n-no!" you whine, lifting your hips a little.

"you were waiting for a real man to have his way with you, isn't that right, pretty girl?" he growls, pushing your hips back down.

you completely missed logan pulling off to the side of the road until now. his pace increases becoming rather rough now that he isn't driving. logan leaves deep purple bruises down your neck and across your chest, praising you to no end until you gush around his fingers, completely soaking his palm.

your heart pounded like you had just finished a marathon. logan allowed you to catch your breath as he carefully removed his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to lick clean. he can feel your dazy eyes staring at him as he does so, making a real show of it.

"i've been wanting to do that for months now." he admits with a smirk.

"me too." you said, leaning forward and pulling him into a kiss; tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. logan wraps his hands around your hair, pulling you back a little when another moan falls from your lips.

"and we aren't even close to being done."

[dontbesoweirdkira]

I was wondering if you can do Yandere dick and Tim with a Childe reader who seems to favor Tim over Dick.

Just imagine Tim finding this little Kid following him like a little duckling and thinking that he is soooo cool!

No matter how much Dick makes the kid like him Tim is always his favorite!!

(It will be funny if Batsis who doesn't like Dick at all is also around. He will be losing his mind!!)

A/N:Oh my gosh yes! Lowkey Batsis and Tim being co-sibling-parents lolll. Honestly Tim and Batsis duo is so iconic. I need to do more. I love them. look at him...he's such a good brother.

Here's the thing, Dick is the honorary dad of the family. Like he's changed diapers, taught how to tie shoes, walked his siblings to school and gone to graduations... All the siblings go to him with their problems before Bruce.

Now new baby alert,,,,Dick is in full papa mode and is ready to do the same with batchild and is so hurt when the kid screams in his arms. Like anytime he's near or picks the child up like this kid is in distress. O my gosh I feel so bad. Poor Dick.

Dick is seriously trying so hard to make batchild love him but nothing he does works. Dick could have cocomelon on full blast and wearing a Barney costume and this kid will be trying to get away.

Eventually like Jason has to be like..."dude, please just let someone else take care of em'. They need more time to adjust to you."

It's because of his blue eyes isn't it? Dick unintentionally has the Miley Cyrus blue eyed stare and the kid cannot take it. lol

All jokes aside it's really not that bad but it's clear that Dick isn't their favorite. There's definitely cute moments where Dick is sitting down with batchild in his arms and they are munching on some snacks. Or Dick is singing to them or doing a fun trick with them in the air. But ultimately the kid seems to gravitate to other siblings instead.

Dick doesn't really know how to function though. I mean we've seen just how insane he is with batsis. Only problem is he cannot be as forceful with the child in fear of scaring them.

I think the batchild and Tim situation won't get to him until he sees batsis, Tim and batchild all together.

The whole Tim obsession is out of the blue. Like Tim is almost always in his room or in a dark corner somewhere doing research. He decides to come out one evening as he had a bit of time after solving some cases...

I like to think Tim is a super geek who probably wears cartoon pajama pants or silly slippers and it caught the kid's attention so he's waddling towards him.

Tim is kind of like...what is happening? What do I do with this young human? He's kind of awkward with the kid at first but the kid is just loving himmm. Tim will try to explain the character that it is on his clothes to the kid, and they will try cutely mimicking him and Tim's heart just melts.

"Oh uhh...this is Link from..well Zelda.."

"lwink...frwum zweldwa..?'

The kid is dead set on sitting with him during dinner too. Like they climb into his lap and starting eating off of his plate. It's perfectly okay because Tim doesn't eat much at all so he didn't mind the kid messing the plate up.

He stays out in the living room a little longer than usual that night to play with the kid a little, it's super sweet.

I like to think Tim and batsis are rather close siblings so there are times where Tim will be coupe up in this room and batsis will come in with batchild and pull him away from his work. Batchild loves playing pretend with the two, specifically knights and dragons and hospital. It's nice seeing Tim a bit out of his element and having fun.

Sometimes batkid will just fall asleep in Tim's arms as he's working late. Speaking of, Tim takes to the kids like they're his little apprentice. Oftentimes you'll find them together with tons of case files out and the kid is grabbing items or pinning things on the board for Tim. Seriously that child's reading level went from first grade to 10th in the span of a few months lmaooo

But there's often times where batsis and Tim are with them. Quickly they become the kid's favorite siblings and they want them to do everything. Like when the kid is hurt, they'll cry for either. If the kid need to get ready for school, they want either to help. If it's movie night, the kid is squished in-between the two. You guys basically broke the honorary parents and it's so adorbs.

But this is where I said Dick is not having it. I feel like Dick was never threatened by Tim until now. Like sure Dick knew that Batsis and Tim were kind of close in a way and he was okay with batkid taking a liking to him...but all three of you being your own little squad is killing him.

He hates being excluded and not being needed so he's like ripping his hair out. He'll try inviting himself into the group and like the kid is just ignoring him...

Dick will try to open a juice box for the kid and now the kid doesn't even want it anymore like....bruh I wants Timmy to open it for me :(

Honestly I am not even sure really how Dick copes...Like I just feel like he doesn't explode because like I said he doesn't wanna scare the kiddo but idkkkk

[obvithe-bestsoph]

Hi! Could you please (if only you don't mind) write some story about Pedri with baby fever. Love your works with my whole heart! Thank you very much!

baby fever.

masterlist requests word count: 1k (exactly lol)

a/n: cute fluffy pedri yay genre: fluff. warnings: children.

summary: pedri goes absolutely soft whenever he has a baby in his arms.

It starts when you're out grocery shopping.

You don’t expect Pedri to stop dead in his tracks near the fruit section, eyes locked on something just beyond your shoulder. You follow his gaze, assuming he’s seen someone he knows, maybe a teammate or a fan. But no. His entire body has gone still for something far more dangerous.

A baby.

More specifically, a very chubby-cheeked toddler sitting in a trolley, babbling nonsense at a banana like it’s speaking back. The baby has curly brown hair and a onesie with blue onesie, and you can hear Pedri’s heart melting next to you. He’s not even blinking.

“Oh no,” you say, poking his shoulder. “Don’t even start.”

“What?” he says, clearly offended, though his expression is still soft and adoring. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The baby giggles, clapping its hands, and Pedri exhales like someone just punched him in the stomach. “Look at him. He’s- he’s got tiny socks with ducks on them.”

You physically have to drag him toward the bread aisle before he offers to babysit a complete stranger’s child. He glances back over his shoulder like he’s leaving a piece of himself behind.

The obsession doesn’t stop there. If anything, it ramps up.

You catch him scrolling baby TikToks in bed the next morning, the volume turned down low so he doesn’t wake you. But you stir anyway, mostly because he’s laughing softly under his breath at a video of twin babies in matching pajamas.

When he notices you looking, he just grins and holds out his phone. “Tell me you wouldn’t want this.”

You blink at the screen. The babies are playing with a golden retriever. You bury your face in the pillow.

“Too early,” you mumble. “I haven’t even had coffee.”

“Babies don’t drink coffee either. That’s why they’re so peaceful.”

You groan and throw the blanket over your head.

The signs only get worse.

He volunteers to hold your friend’s baby at a dinner party and absolutely refuses to give her back. He rocks her gently the entire night, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he’s been doing this for years. When she falls asleep against his shoulder, he whispers, “She trusts me. Do you see this? She trusts me.”

“Yeah, well, she also just spit up on your hoodie,” you say, reaching over with a napkin.

He doesn’t even flinch. “Worth it.”

You bring it up one night when you're doing the dishes together.

“Be honest,” you say, passing him a clean plate to dry. “Do you have baby fever?”

Pedri shrugs, but there’s a guilty little smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe. It’s not that crazy, right?”

“Depends on if you’re planning to come home with a stroller tomorrow.”

He chuckles. “No strollers. Yet.”

You lean your hip against the counter, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Where’s this coming from, though? I didn’t think you were that into kids.”

He sets the plate aside, a bit more thoughtful now. “I wasn’t. I mean, not in a real way. But I don’t know. Lately, it’s like I see a baby and think... wow. That could be ours. And I think I’d be good at it. Not perfect, but… you know. I’d try hard.”

The vulnerability in his voice is quiet, but it knocks the air right out of your lungs.

You tilt your head. “You’d be so good, Pedri.”

He smiles at the floor. “You think so?”

You nod. “I’ve seen the way you make kids feel safe. Even adults feel safe around you.”

He glances up, meeting your eyes. “Even you?”

You fake a dramatic sigh. “I guess I feel safe around you.”

That earns you a wet towel to the face.

A few days later, he proves your point without even realizing it.

You’re on a walk when you pass a crying toddler on the sidewalk. His mother is frantically digging through her bag, clearly trying to find something to calm him down, but nothing’s working.

Pedri crouches without hesitation.

“Hey, amigo,” he says gently. “What’s going on, huh?”

The kid sniffles, looking suspicious of this stranger with dark hair and soft eyes. Pedri pretends to look shocked.

“You have no idea where your toy went? Eso es una locura. We should send out a search party. You can be the captain.”

The kid giggles, hiccuping through his tears. Pedri grins.

By the time the mother finds the missing toy car, her son is fully enchanted, clutching Pedri’s hand like they’re old friends. She thanks him over and over, but Pedri just waves it off like it’s nothing.

You watch him, arms crossed, smiling so hard it almost hurts.

Later, when you bring it up again, he just shrugs.

“I just don’t like seeing them cry,” he says. “I want to fix it, even if I can’t always.”

That’s when you know it for sure. He doesn’t just have baby fever. He has dad instincts.

That night, curled under a blanket, he holds you a little tighter than usual. There’s a calm silence between you. No TikToks. No teasing. Just warmth.

“I don’t need it to happen right away,” he murmurs. “I just like the idea that maybe one day, we could have that. You and me. A little us.”

You press your face to his chest.

“I like that idea too.”

He sighs into your hair. “Would our kid like football, you think?”

“Hopefully,” you answer. “They’d be amazing, I’m sure. Just like their papá.”

Pedri grins. “Can I pick out their first jersey?”

“You’re already planning their wardrobe?”

“Obviously. You think I wouldn’t dress our baby better than you?”

You laugh and he kisses the top of your head.

It’s not something you’re rushing. You still have time, goals, lives to live. But the way he talks about it, so softly, so seriously, makes your heart fold in on itself.

Because yeah. One day? You wouldn’t mind that at all. And neither would he.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♱ ₮ⱧɆ ⱧɄ₦₲ɆⱤ: Ø₦Ɇ ♱

♱ Pairings: boyfriend!yungi x fem!zombie!reader, detective!seonghwa, detective!san

♱ Genre: horror/angst

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

♱ Word Count: 5k-ish

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

♱ A/N: I started this fic, like, a year ago I believe and posted an incomplete version of it but I really do love this fic so I decided to come back and actually finish it. Hopefully this finds all the girls who like spooky stuff the way that I do. If you've read this before, I hope you like what I've added and if you've never read it before, I hope you enjoy it now. I'll be posting the second/final part of it next week so please let me know if you like it.

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

And the rain…it hasn’t stopped since. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tap. Tap. Tap.

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

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

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

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

Yunho slams it shut, unable to wrap his mind around what’s happening, “What do you mean it’s her? It can’t be her!”

“It’s her! I swear! Open the door!” Mingi begs, gripping the doorknob tightly enough that his hand’s begun to redden, “Yunho, please.” 

There has to be an explanation for this. Some shared hallucination fueled by their grief. They’re only hearing things, they must be, but Mingi seems to need this and Yunho can’t bring himself to deny him of it. “Okay” he sighs, backing away from the door, “Do it.”

Mingi wastes no time tearing it open, rain pouring in as you limp across the threshold. The two towering men shrink at the sight of you, terror freezing one where he stands and making the other retreat into a corner.  

Barefoot and soaking wet, you wear the tattered, blood stained dress you were rushed to the hospital in. In death your skin has paled, broken blood vessels giving your lips a light blue hue. Behind you is a trail of muddy footprints, marking your journey up the front stairs to this place you call home.

It’s a blur. Your death and your return. It’s all a series of broken memories, fragmented pieces of film that make you dizzy each time you attempt to piece them together.��You can only recall a party filled with dancing and laughter. Headlights brighter than the sun. Screaming. A dark place. A coldness eating at your bones. Then, like magic, you were here, dragging yourself up to the front door with blistered feet and an unnerving stillness in your chest.

Turning to meet the faces of the men you love, faces that haven’t once failed to light up in your presence, you’re puzzled by their fear. Noticing Mingi’s injured arm, you run your fingers down his cast. 

“Mingi hurt?” you grunt softly. 

His eyes blur with tears and he blinks them away, quickly conjuring up a lie to soothe your worries. “Only a little. I was working on something out back and, well, you know how clumsy I can be, but it’s nothing” he says, smiling through the tears.

You return the comforting gesture with a smile of your own, placing a frozen palm against the warm wetness of his cheek. “Liar. Mingi hurt. And…sad?” 

“No, baby, not sad. I’m just happy to see you. We’re happy to see you, aren’t we?” Mingi looks to Yunho, confident that he feels the same way, but finds instead that he’s alone in his joy. 

Backed so far into a corner that he might as well be a part of the wood paneling, this is nothing short of a nightmare for him. This is unnatural. Far beyond anything that should be possible. You, the real you, is lying on a slab in a morgue somewhere. Whatever’s standing before him is something he can’t bring himself to trust. 

“Yunie hurt too?” you ask, turning your attention to the bruising around his jaw. You hobble over to him, nearly touching his hand before he snatches it away. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

His rejection is so alien to you that you don’t even process it as such, reaching out for him again. “Yun—”

Your fingers skim his, making his skin crawl. “Don’t touch me!” he yells, slinking clear of your grasp. “I don’t know what you are but you’re not her. She is dead. You are dead.”

“Me? Dead?” The word sends more memories racing through your head. The taste of wine. Your favorite. Mingi’s arms around your waist. A high pitched ringing in your ear. The beeping of machines. The visions drown you in an overwhelming sense of sadness that makes you want to crumble into pieces. 

“No! Don’t listen to him!” Mingi says, filling the space between you and Yunho,“You’re not dead, baby. You’re here with us and it’s a gift.” Ignoring the nagging pain of his injury, Mingi lifts you up into his arms, cradling you like a baby as he carries you up the stairs. 

“Now how about we get you cleaned up?”

“Take bath? Bubbles?”

Mingi laughs, smitten with you even in your undead form, “If that’s what you want, of course.” 

Yunho slides down to the floor, growing catatonic as he zones out to the sounds that come from above. The running of bathwater, his best friend’s laughter, and the broken words of some kind of monster. This has to be a nightmare. All he needs to do is wait it out until he wakes up. 

“Wake up” he whispers like Dorothy clicking her heels together three times to escape the land of Oz, “Wake up. Wake up…”

Two showers, one long bath, and a few hours cuddled under the blankets with Mingi. That’s all it takes for you to begin to look more like yourself. You’re far from what you used to be, signs of your time as a lifeless corpse still showing through, but you’re coming back to yourself and, however long that takes, Mingi’s more than willing to wait it out.

While you’ve refused to eat, despite the grumbling of your empty stomach, he’s managed to keep you happy with movies and games which now litter the bed and the area around it. Much to Mingi’s dismay, beating him at everything is something you picked up on quickly. You’ve only been back to life for a few hours and already you’re kicking his ass again.

“Play again?” you ask, excitedly spreading your winning Uno hand out on the blanket. 

Mingi yawns, the sleep he lost last night beginning to catch up with him, but he shuffles the deck for a new game anyway. He knows he can’t keep this up much longer. His lids are growing heavy and his focus is waning but he can’t, for any reason, allow himself to drift off to sleep. While Yunho may be somewhere in this house terrified by the possibility that this isn’t just a dream, Mingi’s been haunted by the very real possibility that it might be. What if he closes his eyes and you’re gone again? That’d mean losing you twice and his heart can’t survive breaking for you a second time.

As Mingi deals the cards, you glance around your bedroom with fresh excitement. Every new color or scent brings your dulled senses back to you if only briefly. And every item has a memory attached to it. Some vague, some incredibly vivid, but all serve as a suitable feast for a brain hungry to recover what once was. Just as your focus hones in on a pair of fluffy puppy shaped slippers by the door, you catch a tall figure looming in the doorway. 

Halfway obscured by the wall, Yunho watches you the way a scientist would its test subject. Simply observing, waiting for you to do something that proves you’re an imposter. But you only smile at him the way you always have, making him feel strangely welcomed to enter the room.

Coming up here was far from his intention. The rain had let up almost immediately after your arrival and he’d picked up the car keys a half dozen times to leave. Once he got as far as the end of the driveway before he turned back, making it further up the steps each time until finally gaining the courage to face you.

And it is you. Despite the words he spat in fear and anger, he felt your energy all around him when he first heard your voice and that feeling’s grown in intensity every minute since. 

“Are you playing or are you just gonna watch like a pervert?” Mingi teases. 

Yunho steps from behind the wall, arms folded across his chest, “If I recall correctly you’re the one who likes to watch” he shoots back, cautiously entering the bedroom. 

“Ha” you snort, sorting through your hand, “Like with sex and stuff.” 

“Oh, I see you’ve been helping her get her language skills back. Starting with the important words first, huh?”

“Playing or watching? You pick. Quickly” you insist, patting Yunho on the arm, his prior reaction momentarily slipping your mind.

He winces a little, jogging your memory, and you go to pull away but he stops you, taking your hand into his. It’s like holding hands with a block of ice, making sense of the baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants you’re curled up in. What you said on the other side of the door had been true. Cold. So cold. 

Yunho’s thumb traces the blue collapsed veins down the back of your hand, brushing past your knuckles to an empty space on your ring finger. There used to be two gorgeous silver rings there, part of a set of six that he and Mingi had made for all of you. 

“Mingi says we’ll get back, won’t be a problem. Right, Mingi?” Your question’s met with the sound of snoring, a few seconds without stimulation being just what Mingi needed to drift off to sleep. You crawl up the bed to lay down beside him, poking at his cheek. “Mingiiii” you sing, softly flicking at his plush bottom lip. 

Yunho slips in on the other side of you, pulling your fingers away from Mingi’s face. “Maybe we don’t do that” he laughs, “We should let him rest. I think he’s tired.”

“Mingi’s tired and what about you?” you ask, rolling over to face him. The color of your eyes are marbled between the paleness of death and their natural shade. It’s bizarre but beautiful in a way that mesmerizes him. 

“Tell me, have you eat and sleep?” You pet his hair, watching it twirl around your fingertips in bouncy brown wisps. Being touched by you, it’s something he thought he’d never feel again, and the joy of it makes him want to cry almost as much as the fear did. 

“It’s ‘eaten and slept’ but no, I haven’t. I couldn’t” he says, “I’d ask you but…”

Your stomach grumbles, announcing its hunger. You hadn’t eaten before the accident. The party you were headed home from had been overflowing with alcohol but food, at least any you were interested in, was in short supply. 

“I can cook for you. We haven’t been shopping but I’m sure I can whip up something.” 

You shake your head, having already gone through this with Mingi, “Nothing really tastes good but the smells help.”

“The smells? What smells?”

“Mmm” you hum, sniffing the side of Yunho’s neck, “You and him. Your smell makes me warm inside.”

Nuzzling your nose against his neck, you inhale the scent beneath his cologne. The natural oils of his body are more fragrant than anything that comes in a bottle. You rest a hand on his heart, feeling it pound as your lips meet his heated skin like ice against fire.

Yunho can’t help but feel guilty about the way his body responds to you. He can’t manage to fight the instinct to bring you closer, massaging the fullness of your curves through the thick cotton of your clothing. You part your lips, dragging your tongue along veins that rush with hot, fresh blood. As they pulse below the surface of his skin, yours begin to pulse as well, matching the rhythm. 

“I…I’m not sure we should be doing this” Yunho stutters, his hands betraying his words to move under your sweatshirt and reacquaint themselves with the rise of your hips and the hills of your breasts. His lust for you only makes the blood pump through his body faster, worsening your hunger. 

“But I need you to keep me warm inside. Please don’t let me be cold again” you beg, sinking your teeth into his neck. Blood drips from his wounds, coating your tongue, pooling in the bottom of your mouth. It’s the taste of life, draining his to restore yours, and you’re ravenous for it.

Yunho screams out in pain, sacrificing a few shreds of flesh to tear himself free of you. “You bit me! Why would you do that?” he cries, stumbling to his feet, his sleeve pressed to his neck to control the bleeding.

On your hands and knees, you move to the edge of the bed like a lioness prowling for her next meal. Your eyes swell with tears at the pain you’ve inflicted but your mouth salivates at the delectable taste of his blood. The ecstacy of it sliding down your throat makes you feel more alive than you did when you actually were. 

“I’m sorry, Yunho. I didn’t mean to hurt you, really. I think I’m just, mmm, hungrier than I thought” you pout, speaking with perfect clarity for the first time.

“Hungrier? Are you…you’re trying to eat me?”

“Eat you? Of course not. I would never. I only needed a nibble to make me better.” You raise your shirt, stroking your exposed skin as it grows plumper and warmer to the touch. “Come feel me. Touch me.” 

Your voice is like a spell, drawing Yunho back in. Your body sings out to him, whispering how badly it longs for him. He wants you, though he shouldn’t. The searing pain in his neck dulls at the realization. It gets him off seeing that you need him this desperately. Not only for pleasure but to survive. 

Approaching the bed again, Yunho lowers his blood stained sleeve from his neck and caresses your body. The red liquid coating his fingers sticks to you like candy, leaving a trail of red along your belly. You lean into him, sliding a hand up his thigh to palm the growing bulge in his jeans. He lets out a satisfied moan, lightly tugging at your hair so that your head’s tilted back, sparkling eyes gazing up at him. 

“What are you?” he whispers with whatever speck of sanity he has remaining.

His bloody fingers find your mouth and you lazily lick them clean, savoring the taste. All the while your own hand’s undoing his zipper to stroke his length, your thumb circling the moist tip of his cock.

“What am I?” you giggle, “I’m yours, aren’t I?”

Releasing his middle finger from the suction of your soft lips, you push his sweater up to kiss your way across his lower stomach. Every kiss has his cock twitching in your grasp as his fingers tangle deeper into your hair, keeping you in place.

And then you find it. The perfect spot. You aren’t sure how you know but you just do. You suckle at his skin, letting your teeth gently pierce the surface until your tongue’s reintroduced to the taste of his blood. Yunho grits his teeth through pain that only makes the adrenaline rush that follows all the more pleasurable. 

“I’m still yours, aren’t I, Yunie?” you ask, his flesh still filling the space between your teeth.

Yunho pulls your head back and leans down to kiss you, the feeling of your lips against his worth the faint metallic taste that comes along with it.

“Of course you are, baby” he whispers, “You’ll always be mine and I’ll never let anything hurt you again. I promise.”

You lay back on the bed, pulling him on top of you, and wrap your legs around his waist. Yunho tears at your clothes, kissing you ravenously as if he’s the one with the undead hunger that must be fed. He’s ready to rip them off of you and take you right here with no regard at all for the best friend sleeping an inch away from you. But a loud banging at the downstairs door snaps him out of it, stirring Mingi from his sleep in the process. 

Mingi jolts upright in bed, on the verge of a heart attack, “Huh? What? What’s happening?” He glances over just in time to catch Yunho climbing off of you to zip his pants back up, the blood from your second bite already showing through his clothes.

You reach back to rub Mingi's leg, your view of him inverted, “Mingi, be calm.”

“Be calm?” he shouts, jumping to inspect the blood on your face, “Answer me now. What happened?”

The banging on the front door gets louder and Yunho throws a “Ssh” at Mingi, sneaking to the window to get a peek at the unexpected visitors. 

“Don’t shush me! Why’s there blood and why were you…” 

Yunho turns around slowly, eyes wide and hands trembling, “Mingi, shut up.”

“No, not until one of you tells me what’s going on and who the hell is that?” 

The banging continues, shaking the door so hard the hinges creak. Yunho sits back down on the bed, his brain firing off in a hundred directions at once. He wishes the knocking at the door were another minion of the undead—some corpse you accidentally drug back with you from the trenches of the morgue—but what awaits him this time, what awaits all of you, is something far worse. 

“It’s the fucking cops.”

Detective Choi has heard of a lot of strange things happening when it comes to dead bodies but one thing’s for sure, they don’t just get up and walk away by themselves. And if one were to miraculously rise from the dead it’d no doubt be too busy hunting for brains to tamper with hospital security footage. 

“So you’re saying you do believe in zombies then?” Detective Park teases from the passenger’s seat of his partner’s car. Fishing a small box of chocolate milk from the pocket of his black trenchcoat, Detective Park kicks his feet up on the dashboard and pops a straw in to enjoy his daily sweet treat. 

Detective Choi grimaces at him from behind the wheel, his malice rooted in both that dig about zombies and his partner’s indulgence in room temperature dairy. “How do you drink that shit? Do you know how much sugar’s in that?” 

“I’m sorry, would you prefer I bring some joy to my day with a nice protein shake? Maybe get real crazy with some unseasoned chicken breast?”

It’s tempting for Detective Choi to punch him in the arm for that but they’re already investigating one car wreck. The last thing he needs to do is cause another one. “Ooh, that’s a cheap shot” he grumbles, drumming on the steering wheel, “I’ll remember that.” 

Ignoring that trademark grumpiness he’s come to love, Detective Park sips away at his drink as he watches the wide green fields of the countryside roll by. The rain has finally stopped—thank god—but a few leftover droplets remain on the window, reflecting in the low light like crystals. It’s a beautiful sight for what feels like such a dark, strange day. He’s seen a dozen car accidents before but none like this. A missing corpse and a missing suspect with zero prior connections to each other and not a crumb of evidence to help them locate either. Something’s just not adding up. He takes a deep breath to steel himself, knowing what he’s about to say might open up a can of worms. “So you really think these two know something?”

Detective Choi stops at a lonely intersection, checking the map on his phone before turning down a winding, tree lined road. Between the storm and the rough cell service this far out, he’s had to return to the archaic act of finding his own way and he hates it. “I know that these two know something. I can’t explain it but I feel it in the pit of my stomach.” 

A feeling in the pit of your stomach is far from enough proof to investigate someone but Detective Park can’t deny that he feels it too. There’s an answer out here begging to be found if only they knew the right questions to ask. “For once I’m on your side with this. Just try not to let them notice our suspicions. Ya know, control your face when we get in there” he warns. 

Detective Choi frowns, displaying his inability to do just that, “Control my face, what does that mean?”

“Control my face, what does that mean?” Detective Park mocks, mimicking his partner’s sour expression, “Hey, wait, I’m not done with that!”

It’s too late. The window’s already down and Detective Choi has sent his last few sips of chocolate milk flying to the side of the road. “Oh, look! We’re here!” he laughs, turning up the dirt driveway leading to a lone house tucked behind the trees.

Detective Park mourns the loss of his snack only for a moment before his attention’s drawn to the tall maroon house. Its modern architecture stands in stark contrast to its rural surroundings, appearing more like a retreat than somewhere people would actually live. The car comes to a stop behind another that’s positioned awkwardly in the driveway. It’s as if someone backed up to leave but stopped short and ran back in for something. 

“I thought their car was totaled” Detective Choi comments, already hopping out to inspect the car before them. Detective Park is on his heels, working double time to stop him from doing anything that might compromise the case. “Don’t do that!” he whispers, swatting Detective Choi’s phone away. 

“Too slow. I got it” the other man gloats, flashing a picture of the back of the car, license plate included. 

“They aren’t suspects. We can’t go in treating them like they are. We’re about to tell them their girlfriend’s body’s missing, San. For the love of god.” 

Detective Choi shrugs, charting a path to the front door, “No can do. I’m an atheist, remember?” 

Bang, bang, bang! His strong fist meets the wood of the door as he surveys the porch, keeping an eye out for anything that might be out of the ordinary. Detective Park grabs him by the wrist, “You don’t have to knock like you’re the police.”

“We are the police, Seonghwa. Plus you said this was important right? They must be informed. It’s our duty.” Detective Choi raises his free hand, banging at the door a few more times before his partner’s grabbing his other wrist.

“Yes but we don’t want to scare them, we need to…” Detective Park steps back to peer at the upstairs window, sure that he caught a glimpse of someone peeking out at them. It could’ve been a trick of the light, maybe a bird whipping through the overcast sky, but he’s positive that the curtain moved. “Go ahead” he says, hands on his hips, “They’re in there.” 

Detective Choi’s excited, maybe a bit too excited, to be given free reign to do as he wishes with no resistance. He continues to bang at the door as Detective Park remains on the lookout for further movement in the windows but the curtains remain still. No movements. No shadows. And then the clicking of a lock. 

“Um, hi, can I help you with something?” Mingi asks, cracking the door only enough to get a good look at the well dressed men. The detectives fish out their wallets, flashing their identification. 

“I’m Detective Choi San and this is my partner Park Seonghwa. We understand you had an accident last night and we have a few updates on the case that we’d like to speak with you about.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence as the men size each other up, Mingi refusing to open the door another inch even when Detective Park comes forward to extend a hand. Mingi leans his head against the door, raising his cast, “Sorry, can’t, broke it. What is it that you needed to tell me? I was busy resting, you know, car accident and everything.” Detective Choi detects attitude and there’s plenty of it. Mingi doesn’t want them here. He knows what they’re about to tell him, two things he already knows and he doesn’t want to discuss either with anyone, let alone the cops. 

“We’re sorry for your loss” Detective Park says kindly, “I know this must be a difficult time for you but please, this conversation can’t wait. Could we come in?”

“Come in for what? Why…”

“Officers, I’m sorry about that” Yunho apologizes, pushing Mingi aside to open the door, “It has been a difficult time and we’re all handling it differently. Please, come in.” 

Mingi gives Yunho a look that says he doesn’t need him to apologize on his behalf. Yunho gives him a look that says he does if he wants to stay out of prison. Mingi waits by the door, forcing a smile as Yunho guides the officers into the kitchen. 

“Sure, let them in” Mingi mumbles, slamming the door shut, “Why not let them search the place while you’re at it? ‘Hey officers, wanna take a look in the shed’?” 

“What’s in the shed?” you whisper from atop the stairs. You’ve managed to crouch down in a corner where no one can see you, only half of your face visible as you peek out to eavesdrop on Mingi. 

Mingi whips around, placing a finger over his lips as a warning not to speak, but there’s something else there too. A refusal to answer the question and an unfamiliar darkness forbidding you from asking it again. “What’s in the shed, Mingi?” your eyes ask what your mouth can’t and you’re met with the same answer. 

“Ssh” he gestures, taking a leisurely stroll towards the kitchen where the three other men have already taken their seats. Mingi chooses to stand, leaning in the doorway as he observes the conversation. 

“Missing? What do you mean missing?” Yunho asks. His performance of a man in shock is nearly perfect if only to the detectives. To Mingi, who already knows the truth, it’s a bit much. 

“Who’s missing?” Mingi throws in for good measure, making sure their shock is a united front.

“Her body, they said her body is missing. How does a body go missing?”

“Look, we’re as confused as you. This is far from a normal occurrence. We have our people working right now to recover the surveillance footage” Detective Park reassures them.

Detective Choi leans forward, his suspicions reading in his expression despite his best efforts, “How’d you two get home from the hospital?”

Yunho crosses his arms, displeased with the inflection of the detective’s voice, “A friend picked us up.”

“And that car out there? Has it moved at all?”

“There’s three of us…were three of us. We need more than one car and no it hasn’t moved.”

“So you’ve been here since your friend dropped you off then? You haven’t left once?”

“I don’t like how you’re talking to us” Mingi snaps, “You’re acting like we did something wrong. Do you see us? We get into an accident, we lose someone we love, you tell us her body is missing and this is how you treat us?” 

Detective Park cuts his eyes at Detective Choi who settles back into his chair to cool off. “That isn’t our intention at all. My partner can be a tad aggressive but we do need to know these things. There’s something else too.” He waits for the room to calm down before he speaks again, “The driver who hit you…he’s missing too.” 

“Missing?” Yunho asks without missing a beat, “What do you mean he’s ‘missing’?”

Mingi erupts into a heavy, exhausted laughter. “Her body is gone, her killer is gone, and you’re here asking us about a fucking car? Grade A detective work. Really.”

“Look, he posted bail. There’s nothing we could do about it” Detective Choi sighs, his own frustration with the legal system washing over him. “According to his wife he never made it home. Still there’s no evidence that he has anything to do with the disappearance of her body. When would he have had time?”

Detective Choi’s gaze lingers on Yunho who averts his eyes, refusing to entertain his speculation. Instead, he directs his attention to Detective Park who seems to be the more sympathetic of the two. 

 “You think I stole my girlfriend’s dead body?”

Detective Park can’t quite say yes but he can’t quite say no. His gut’s never wrong, something’s not right here, but what that is he can’t imagine. “That’s not what we’re saying. This is just bizarre, you have to admit that.”

Yunho flicks on his charm, giving Detective Park that same innocent look he always threw at  you after an argument. “We understand that but we swear to you, we don’t know anything. All we want is her body back so that she can be laid to rest properly. I think she deserves that, don’t you?”

The detectives nod, the weight of the grief permeating these walls finally hitting them. Detective Park digs a card out of his jacket pocket, slipping it across the table to Yunho. “You just promise us if there’s anything you know or something you can remember, you’ll call us.”

Yunho picks it up, inspecting the exquisite ink stamped into overpriced paper, “We promise.”

It’s a lie and everyone in this room knows it. They know more than they’re leading on, much more than even you do, but they’d rather rip their teeth out one by one than say a word. Some secrets are better left buried and the moment the detectives leave it will be. 

The shed. 

You stand barefoot in the wet grass, watching it from a distance. You’re vigilant, staring it down as if it might grow legs and walk away if you blink for too long. Unlike you, there’s nothing otherworldly about it. It’s made of cedar. Big enough to fit a small work desk, the lawnmower, and whatever else the boys needed to fix things around the house.

You’ve watched Mingi drag a grill out of there once or twice on nice summer days when you had a barbecue craving and driving into the city was too much of a hassle. Still, a sense of foreboding overcomes you as you approach it. Mingi’s face flashes in your mind with each step. The silent pleading for you to let this go. For your own good or for his?

Clutching a small silver key in your hand, you reach out to touch the heavy padlock on the door. Your fingertips barely skim it when you hear a low, guttural hum from inside. It’s low enough that any human might miss it but you aren’t just any human. Not anymore.

The smell coming from inside turns your stomach. It’s blood. Different from Yunho’s or Mingi’s. There’s no sweetness to it. You aren’t tempted by the scent. It’s stale like a plate of food that’s been left out on the counter all night. It’s enough to make you want to turn around but you can’t. You have to know. 

Slipping the key into the lock, you take a deep breath, bracing yourself as you twist it open. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mingi shouts, bursting through the back door. 

He advances on you with a speed you’ve never seen before, slamming his shoulder into the shed before you can get it open. The panic overtaking him seeps from his body and right into yours. Suddenly it feels like the world’s about to end and you’re responsible for it. 

“Leave her alone!” Yunho calls after him, “They’re gone.”

“How do you know that? They could come back! What then? Are you gonna explain it to them?”

“Explain what?” you ask, grabbing onto the door handle. “What’s in the shed, Mingi?”

It’s a battle of will. Mingi pressing his weight against the door. You gripping the handle like your life depends on it. You’ll be here all night if that’s what it takes for you to get in and he’ll be right here with you, intent on keeping you out. 

“There are some things you weren’t meant to see,” he says through gritted teeth. 

For his part, Yunho seems indifferent. The shock of seeing you rise from the grave did something to him. It pushed him into his worst nightmare, beyond that even. What else could there be to fear? “She’s already dead. What exactly are we protecting her from?”

As much as it pains Mingi to admit it, Yunho’s right. You’ve already experienced horror beyond anything either of them could imagine. There’s nothing to protect you from. But that really isn’t the problem. It isn’t you who needs protecting, it’s them. It’s the way you see them now and what you’ll think when you open that door. Mingi steps aside, shoulders slumped as he watches you click the padlock open. 

It falls to the ground, the wooden door gradually creaking open to reveal what’s inside. Gardening equipment. A rake, a couple of shovels, a lawn mower, boxes filled with old clothes marked for donation, and a filthy blanket that’s breathing. Blankets don’t breathe but whatever’s under it? That’s a different story entirely. 

You swallow hard, your body tensing as you reach out to tear the blanket away. You stumble back at the sight of it, landing hard in the grass as a set of piercing blue eyes stare back at you. They tell a quiet tale of agony, the blood and bruises that pepper the man’s skin, doing more than enough to tell you it’s true. 

“Don’t feel bad for him” Mingi rasps, any shred of regret absent from his voice, “He didn’t feel bad for what he did to you.”

Yunho kneels down at your side, a finger on your cheek to turn you towards him. “Tell me, sweetheart. Are you still hungry?” 

[kirikorik]

Dawn over Rome

Emperor Geta / OC (Helena - Acacia's daughter)

Part1! Part2! Part3! Part4...

Summary: "General Acacius has fallen," exclaims Emperor Geta. "But he left us the most precious thing he had—his daughter! The sun of our Rome!" If the road leads to the abyss, only a madman would walk it with submission. But does a prisoner have the right to choose? "In the name of peace, I shall take his daughter as my lawful wife!" Peace is merely a word behind which violence hides. Oaths sworn in blood do not smell of blessing but of a curse. "Smile, my little bird, you are to bear the emperor's child," a warm, sticky whisper. "And remember, your whore of a mother is still alive." She is his. She will be his. Just as the sun belongs to the sky, just as fire devours wood, so too was Helena made to burn for him alone…

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18+!

Warnings: Forced Marriage, Rape, Rough Sex, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Sex Dubious, Consent Mildly Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Vaginal Sex, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, public sex, Sexual Overstimulation, Depression, Angst, Drama, Blood and Violence, Unrequited, Love, Sexual Content, Complicated Relationships, Sexism, Sexual Inexperience, Cruelty, Feelings, Possessive Sex, Pregnancy, Forced Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Breeding.

Dawn

With the first rays of the sun enveloping Rome in golden radiance, the Colosseum awakens to life. The rays flow down the marble walls, spreading over the stones like molten gold. The air is heavy with the scent of blood, dust, and oil from the torches still smoldering after the night's riot.

The crowd hums, its shouts and murmur blending into a single rhythm, like the sea crashing against rocks. Waves of voices break again and again against the walls of the Colosseum, rolling in echoes through the ancient stones, filling every crack, every curve of the stands. The air trembles with tension. The scent of fear, sweat, and sun-heated blood intertwines with the aroma of resinous torches, spilled cheap wine, and the stench of drains. This is the pulse of the city, its thirst, its beastly grin.

Its eternal hunger.

But now comes a moment of silence—fleeting, deceptive. Like a beast, pausing for a moment before the leap. Thousands of heads lean forward at once, catching the breath of power. Some lips are parted in anticipation, others clenched like those of cornered dogs.

Rome smells of decay. Not just of rotten meat and sewage but of human flesh—the sickly-sweet, warm scent of blood seeping into stone, sand, and palace walls. It clings to the skin, penetrates the pores, saturates the hair. Even the haughty patricians, wrapping themselves in fresh togas, cannot escape it. They pour perfumes over it in vain, but Rome always betrays itself.

The life of the Colosseum is the smell of charred flesh, screams, sweat, and the perspiration of fear. It is the fat flies swarming over fresh corpses, settling on dried crimson stains embedded in the stone. It is the crowd roaring, rushing like jackals sensing prey. And the Colosseum feeds them. Feeds them meat, feeds them spectacle, throws the dead under their feet so the people may chew on this pain until nothing remains but bone dust.

It is also taste. The salty tang clinging to the lips. The bitterness of ash covering the stands. The weight of hundreds of breaths, mixed in a single frenzy. The spectacle is the food they consume, flesh and death their bread and wine. They chew these moments, grind destinies, stuff their mouths with another’s agony, not realizing they themselves become part of it.

Beside two elevated thrones, adorned with carvings, golden plates, and lions, stands a girl. Her long honey-golden hair falls over her shoulders, cascading down her back. The wind plays with it like silk ribbons. Her porcelain skin pales, and her green eyes, fixed on the arena—on the very place where her father’s lifeless body had recently lain—fill with tears once more.

She does not move. Only breathes. Raggedly, intermittently, like a fish thrown ashore. Her temples throb, her chest tightens. Dead air. This air is not for breathing; it is for drowning. It fills the lungs with heaviness, makes every movement sluggish, every thought viscous. It seeps inside, settles in the chest, grips the throat like an invisible hand. And no one will be saved. Because there is no fresh air in the Colosseum. Even the wind here smells of death.

General Acacius was a valiant warrior, a defender of Rome, a man whom the people loved and begged to be spared. The Romans pleaded for mercy. But the emperors pronounced their verdict, and the voice of the Gods, as Geta himself said, was inexorable.

"Only the Gods are given the right to decide fates," he whispered before his clenched fist rose into the air, and he lowered his thumb downward. Execute.

Now the people are furious. They shout, they murmur, their voices rumbling like thunder before a storm. But no one will leave. No one will abandon this theater of death. They will watch, even if their hearts tighten with horror. Even if someone clamps their mouth shut, suppressing vomit. They will not look away, because Rome craves spectacle, and blood is its greatest entertainment.

Emperor Geta only smiles. Narrowly, predatorily. Like a beast locked in a cage, who suddenly realized: the cage is not real. This whole crowd belongs to him. Their anger is laughable, their cries pathetic. They will growl, howl, screech, but in the end—they will bow. They always bow, as if he and his brother were Gods.

Lucilla is dead too.

Lucius, Lucilla’s son, perished in the darkness of night. He did not even have time to understand what was happening when the guards found him among the gladiator cages, dead with his throat slit, unarmed. The news reached Helena through her servant, Jnessa, and her heart collapsed at that moment, as if Death itself had whispered her name—within a few hours, the emperors summoned her to service.

Now Helena is alone. The last of those who once lived under the sky of old Rome. And now her life, like her father’s once, hangs by a thin thread, torn by the cruel hands of power.

And his voice, when he begins to speak, sounds as if Jupiter himself is speaking:

"People of Rome!" the emperor exclaims, raising his hands to the rising sun, and the crowd suddenly falls silent. "We hear your anger, your pain. We hear your cry for justice!"

And the crowd regains its noise—Geta only needs to pause for a moment. But he immediately raises his head again with confidence, his eyes gleaming—madness swirls in them, and something else—ancient, primal, as if he is either the conduit of a will or merely a madman allowed to rule by equally insane people.

"But is it not the Gods who are meant to decide the fate of mortals? Are we, mere mortals, able to argue with their will?!" he sweeps his gaze over the ranks of his people, and silence spreads through the Colosseum like dark wine in a silver cup. "General Acacius has fallen, and his blood has washed this land." Others do not hear the fleeting, barely perceptible click—a smirk. But Helena stands too close to ignore the sound. "But the general left us the most precious thing he had—his daughter! The Sun of our Rome!"

Geta pronounces this with relish. He savors the words like a sweet fig, crushing them with his tongue, filling the air with them. "The Sun"—he nearly purrs, like a cat that has caught a bird.

"You wanted blood? You shall have it," his voice rolls across the square. "You seek justice? You shall have it!"

Helena grows cold. Her fingers clench into fists, nails digging into her skin. She knows him. She knows his gaze, knows that crooked, cruel smile. Once, in childhood, he had taken her hand, leading her through the marble corridors of the palace. Back then, his touch was different.

Does he want to kill her? Worse.

"In the name of peace, so that the sacrifice is not in vain," Emperor Geta’s voice cuts through the air like the tip of a dagger, "I shall take the daughter of General Acacius as my lawful wife! In three weeks, at the sunset of the next month, she shall become—Augusta of Rome!"

The crowd gasps. Some begin to shout in fury, others murmur in confusion. The people sway like a great wave that is about to either crash upon the shore or retreat. The anger does not disappear—it transforms. It compresses into bewilderment, into heated debates, into a search for logic in this madness.

Geta slowly raises his hands. Let them see him. Let the sun cast its glow upon his reddish hair, let the purple of his toga, heavy and solemn, be remembered by all. Let this moment remain in their memory—the moment he bent the people of Rome to his will.

He smiles. Calmly. Slightly mockingly. But his eyes are wild, insane.

"I hear your anger," he says, and his voice is full of cold majesty. "Your hearts boil, for blood has been spilled!"

He steps forward, spreads his hands as if revealing the cosmos before them.

"Blood is pain. Blood is sacrifice. Blood is the price we pay for order! I do not deny my deed. But I will not allow the death of the great traitor-general to divide us! I will not allow his name to become mere ashes in the wind!"

Geta pauses, letting the crowd absorb his words. Then he speaks, each syllable echoing:

"For such is the law of fate: what is destroyed must be reunited. The blood of General Acacius’ daughter and mine shall merge into one. His spirit will live in my heirs. I do not reject him—I will make him a part of me, a part of Rome! And let the Sun of the Empire rise above us!"

And then the sound. One voice, foreign, elevated, yet commanding, like a hammer blow. The words flow, penetrate ears, sink into hearts. And then—the first movement. Someone’s fingers nervously clutch the edge of a toga, someone gasps for air, and then... an explosion. A wave of voices crashes over the Colosseum, a roar shatters the air like stones tumbling down a cliff.

A new empress. The daughter of the man whom Geta himself condemned to death.

Helena freezes, feeling her world crumble. And the guards suddenly push her forward, forcing her to step toward the emperor. The fabric of her long blue dress catches on her sandal, and she nearly falls.

Geta yanks her to him. He moves slowly, like a predator playing with its prey. There is something lazy, unhurried in his gait, but beneath it lies sharpness, cunning. He stretches this moment, prolongs it, like a spider savoring the agony of its victim. Geta drinks in the moment, absorbs her fear like wine that gives him strength.

He has already tasted her despair, and now he merely savors it.

Golden fire dances in his eyes. His lips are wet from wine, his breath warm, with a spicy bitterness. He smirks, allowing himself to examine her up close. He watches how tears glisten on her lashes, how her lips tremble. In this, there is power. His power.

The scent of his body is thick, rich. Frankincense, wine, honey, salt, skin—he smells like a feast, like a sacrifice to the gods. His fingers wrap around Helena’s waist, and she feels his strength—rough, insatiable. He holds her as if sinking his teeth into her, as if carving his name into her flesh.

His face is frighteningly close. His lips slide along her temple, hot breath scorching her skin. He grabs Helena tightly under the ribs, like an iron hoop, his fingers digging into her body, forcing her to freeze from the pain. She feels her bones almost crack under his grip.

"You're trembling, meus sol," (my sun) - his voice is low, hissing, like a snake slithering across the sand.

His eyes are burning. The black ring of his dilated pupils blurs the crimson color of his iris, eclipsing it, like night extinguishes day. He looks at Helena too intently, too hungrily — like someone who already considers something his own. Geta inhales the air near her face, as if testing it. And he gets drunk.

She is his. She will be his. Just like the sun belongs to the sky, like fire consumes wood, so Helena was created to burn only for him. For now — unreachable, like the morning light that slides over stones, not allowing itself to be caught. But soon… Soon he will tear her from the heavens and make her burn only for him.

His hand slides across her shoulder, feeling the fabric of the tunic, the crumpled cloth from the struggle that sticks to her body. The thin linen soaked with sweat, clinging to her skin, accentuating the shape of her breasts, the curve of her hips. Geta slowly traces his fingers across the folds.

"Are you afraid? Or angry?"

Helena’s breath catches, but he catches the sound. He catches her fear. He drinks it, savoring it, like sweet Falernian honey. He is used to fear. He has been fed by it since childhood. People fear him. Women fear him. But no one dares to run. Not even her.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she breathes out barely audible.

Helena jerks, but he tightens his grip, pulling her closer, so that there is no space left between their bodies. Beneath him — flesh, alive, alert. She breathes deeper, sensing his essence — meat, vanity, power, which has soaked him through like oil — wool. Geta feels her breath, not moving.

Her wrist is in his palm, and he raises her arm, like proclaiming victory. Her body no longer belongs to her. It belongs to his hands, his strength, his whim. Even the air she breathes seems heated by his breath. Geta holds her tightly, as if afraid she will fall apart under his fingers. Or maybe he wants to hear her crack.

"Glory to the Empire! Glory to Rome!" he exclaims. His hand, gripping Helena’s shoulder, slowly slides down to her thin wrist. The touch is hot, as if he just dipped his fingers in blood.

Cries explode through the air. Helena gasps, tears burning her eyes. Geta bends close to her ear, his breath brushing her skin.

The crowd roars her name, their filthy mouths desecrating his property. They reach out to her, longing to touch, to steal even a drop of her light. Their rotting teeth, sweaty fingers, their hoarse voices… Pitiful, insignificant worms daring to desire his sun! He will burn them from her memory, erase every one who dares to think she does not belong only to him.

Fingers sink into her skin. Her heart beats, but not in flight — in the painful realization that between disgust and something darker runs a thin, shiny, predatory thread.

His eyes glide over her face, tearing it apart with his gaze.

"Fool," he exhales. "You think you can just turn away?"

He touches her cheek with his lips, like a snake testing the air. Slowly, barely perceptibly. But enough for her to feel how repulsive his kiss is. Crimson petals swirl in the air, like drops of spilled blood. Thousands of them, tens of thousands — they fall from the upper tiers, settling on the stones, on the heads, on the shoulders of the gathered. Beneath their feet, they mix with the sand, and it feels like the entire arena is drowning in a crimson sea.

"Smile, my little bird, you are to bear the emperor's child," a warm, sticky whisper. "And remember, your whore of a mother is still alive."

Geta pulls back, but does not leave. He enjoys the moment. He wants to see how fear is born in Helena’s eyes, how it twists inside her, how she fights, resists, only to give in afterward. He wants that taste — the taste of victory, the taste of power, the taste of revenge on her.

Helena lifts her gaze, forces a smile, but her eyes speak otherwise. But from this distance, no one can tell what she's thinking.

Geta tightens his grip on her fingers. He presses the back of her hand to his lips, intertwining their fingers. His eyes — two dark abysses that want to consume her entirely. His fingers slide, feeling the protruding bones. Too fragile. Too brittle. But something about this pleases him. Isn't it beautiful, what can break?

The crowd roars. The Colosseum thirsts for blood once again.

Helena feels his nails digging into her wrist, leaving crescent-shaped marks of pain. He doesn't let go. Even when she tries to break free — he enjoys it. She feels it in how his breath trembles, how his fingers tighten, how he savors this fleeting resistance.

Geta lowers his gaze to her neck. The skin is pale, tender, taut with tension. Already, the marks of his touch are visible. He slowly traces his finger along the line of her shoulder blades, wrapping his hand around her neck from behind. He feels how quickly her heart beats, how it pounds beneath his hand. His lips slowly curl into a grin.

And over this chaos, over the screams and roars, dawn continues to scatter its brilliance. The sun rises higher, its honeyed rays glide over the ancient stones, penetrating every crack, spreading gold over the blue folds. The wind stirs the thin fabric, as if trying to rip it off and carry it away, away from this prison. But is there a glimmer of hope in this light? Or is it just an illusion — a lie before another fall into darkness?

Part1! Part2! Part3! Part4...

I don't know English. Maybe there are a lot of mistakes. ♡♡♡

My AO3^ My Tiktok^

[idv-sunsxin3]

Vincent Charbonneau // Random Dating HCs

{Dead Plate and characters belong to Studio Investigrave}

Note// I'll rather put this as GN! S/O, despite that he's canonly gay. Just so i can at least dream😒😔/ih. Also, the headcanons might include Vince being unhinged and obsessive, so you're now warned. Vincent may or may not cook... suspicious things for you.

•Having a bond with him where you both start dating happens after having this slowburn process(and after you managed to make him not kill you to turn you into food or something, lol)

•Once you become lovers, it's an automatic option that he would decide to cook for you. Giving you lunch and dinner during and after your shifts.

•He always offers to let you stay over for the night, and then insists for you to not leave too soon by bribing you with more food on the table---(if it's not enough, he'll make sure he'll give you money, service, and so much love---) At that point it almost looks like he wants you to move in(which he doesn't mind about that option either-- he'll be concerningly more than happy)

•For such a stoic face, he is pretty touch starved and attention seeking once he starts to experience intimacy with a lover for the first time in a long while-- but he'll only show it behind closed doors, since he has pride and a reputation to secure lol;;😒😔

•He hasn't played the cello for a long while, but he'll try and play a piece for a bit on a day-off if you ever ask.

•To the public eye, he looks like he hates you or at least looks like this friend of yours who seem to be grumpy all the time. But to you, you know his sharp words usually mean for good if they're addressed to you. He once firmly told you that he'll never be angry at you, but would probably scold you like a mama duck/lh

•If he learns that you get scared of horror content, he sometimes would make you watch horror movies with him at theaters just so he can feel you holding onto his arm tightly whenever you flinch -

•He loves the feeling of you depending on him, as if your life depends on you to do that---(ehhhh yeah, he'll still be unhinged as a bf ngl)

•He stalks you because you're always the main attraction to him. He'll never stop following you once he finds you interesting. Ever since before you even started dating even---

•If you bite him as a love language, it'll leave him shocked-- like, why did you do that??? Is he delicious??? Should he cook himself??? *gets bonked *

•Once you explain it to him clearly that it's a form of affection like hugging and kissing, he would start doing the same to you. Soft bites on the arm, on the cheek, on your shoulder, on your neck, on your ear.... it almost tempts him to bite harder--- but he would manage to restrain himself if you did warn him to not make you bleed.

•I feel like you should never act too friendly around your friends- especially if it's other men... unless you want to see remains of them on your dinner plate.

•He probably wouldn't be so jealous, more like if there's ever a second person outside of your family who you love the most, then he'll cook a dish out of them as an ingredient for you... to eat...

•I think he'll ever get pissed at someone if they do cross the line as they hit on you -

•Though, other half of myself think that the love between you and him is like that meme of "You're the most jealous man I've ever known" and then "You know other men?" Kind of thing./ih

•As much as he gets so excited and maybe turned on by the sight of you bleeding, too--- he surprisingly doesn't like to see you in a bitter expression...

•Besides cooking, he would give extravagant gifts with the ✨️best of the best✨️ quality possible. I imagine that he'll be the type to adorn your neck with many kinds of Jewel necklaces - even if you're not materialistic.

[pandalexoxo]

since i’ve watched youtubers play dead plate, it’s been on constantly my mind 😻 i’ve literally searched up gacha reactions, fanfics, edits, etc, just because i’m starting to obsess over the game. not to mention how little attraction it’s gained?! where is the fan art, the fanfics, the loveeee?!? 😭 anywho! just a little blurb i keep imagining in my head!

this takes place after ending 3 so please, keep in mind that this will contain spoilers for the third ending! you’ve been warned!

(DEAD PLATE X READER)

With his left hand, Rody puts pressure on where his left ear had been before Vincent had ripped it off and eaten it. He pants softly, unable to tear his gaze away from the flames that engulf the bistro.

Rody is able to break contact when he sees a shoe in the corner of his right eye. Rody’s body tenses as he looks over at the shoe, allowing his gaze to slowly move up to take in the owner of the shoe. Black leather shoes that shine bright from the fire’s light, black slacks and a white long sleeve button up underneath a black vest adorned with a black tie. Rody’s eyes widen at the face.

The persons expression is full of worry, the figure holds their hands out as if wanting to comfort Rody but feeling as if they shouldn’t overstep boundaries in such a clearly traumatic time. the figure’s mouth opens, mouthing some illegible words. Rody hasn’t realized that all this time his ears had been ringing, his brain already trying to force this moment into the back of his head.

Rody’s eyes fill up with tears and he sniffles. The ringing slowly fades out as the voice slowly registers. “Rody! Hey, are you alright? Hey, deep breathes, you don’t have to tell me what happened, let’s- here, can i lead you to my car…?” Rody feels tears flow down his cheek and drip off his chin and Rody feels like he’s breaking as he wetly smiles. “…(M/n)…”

The man, finally known as (M/n), looks relieved as Rody seems to snap out of his previous delirious state. “Rody… Hey… Let’s step away and go to my car, yeah?” Rody nods but takes one step and falls forward. (M/n) panics, stepping a few paces forwards to catch Rody.

Rody’s eyes close and he whines, letting his tears fall and openly sob as he mourns. Mourning over the truth he has learned, that his girlfriend was killed and cooked up by his boss, being served to Rody though, due to his inability to cook, he had not eaten the dish, which Rody is now thankful for. Rody finds himself surprisingly mourning over Vincent too, just wishing to make some money to whoo Manon and wanting to try to become closer to Vince, maybe even become friends. It’s too late, what’s done is done.

(M/n) sighs softly, his expression softening as he holds Rody close. He allows Rody to get all of his feelings out, hoping his friend will be able to feel better. “Rody… I don’t know what happened and you don’t need to tell me until you’re ready, but… Please … I want you to know that i’ll be here with you, for you… All the way...”

Rody’s body continues to heave from the force of his sobs but ultimately seems to be calming down. Rody is reduced to sniffles and he clears his throat to speak. “All the way…? You promise…?” (M/n) hums, rubbing Rody’s back soothingly. “All the way. I promise.”

Rody nods, feeling content before pulling away with a sheepish look, as his stomach growl. He scratches the back of his neck nervously but (M/n) breaks into laughter, causing Rody to follow suit. “(M/n)… Could we get something to eat…?” (M/n) nods, able to pull both of them up and lead Rody to his car. “Of course, my treat.”

[princessbrunette]

okok line cook jj who is absolutely obsessed with the new doe eyed pretty smile waitress. she’s always so nice and patient with the crew even if they’re behind, getting yelled at ect. they flirt and she always gets all blushy and shy, and he just loves it. one day she ends up in the kitchen teary eyed and covered in coffee from an angry customer and jj just looses his shit cause his girl is obviously upset and even possibly hurt and how dare they.

this anon had my tummy hurting and everything like omg i love it sm .

he’d fall for you as soon as he’d lay eyes on you.

jj definitely didn’t have a type and his track history was living proof— however, with all the girls he’d hooked up with in the past they tended to be a little on the sassier side, confident, bites back and can handle the loud mouth that belongs to none other than the man himself— but he’d never felt deeply for any of them, happy to part ways with them when the fun was all over. you however, you were something else entirely.

it was like watching a baby deer trying to learn how to walk when you were brought into the restaurant as the new waitress hire. clearly you’d had no idea just how busy the beachside restaurant got, but you’d tried to adapt quickly. for the first few weeks you were skittish, dropping the occasional plate, tripping over extended legs from tables and forgetting a couple of orders — but surely enough the customers took a liking to you anyway. of course they did, you were adorable, polite, pretty and young — you could have set the place on fire and your manager would probably have let you off with a slap on the wrist.

jj was dead set on getting to know you, hell— he’d even consider himself your guide, befriending you and helping you out whenever he could. he’d have your order ready first everytime, greeting you with a wink that flustered you as he’d carefully hand you the plate and watch you shuffle off to find the corresponding table. he’d gently manoeuvre you out the way with hands on your hips when he needs to get behind you in the busy kitchen on chaotic shifts, smirking to himself at the way you get all doe eyed and embarrassed whenever he did it. it never took much to fluster you, and your sweetness had apparently been just what JJ had craved.

he noticed you started to come to him for everything, and it made his heart swell with pride. toeing nervously into the kitchen during a quieter shift, not many of the staff around that evening. “excuse me, jj?” he remembers your polite voice calling from behind him as he chops some bell peppers. he’s wiping his hands on his apron as he glances over his shoulder at you before turning around fully, giving you his full attention.

“yeah?” he breathes, almost silenced by how pretty you are.

“sorry to disturb you but theres some guys arguing really loud in the restaurant and i think they’re gonna fight and the security guy isn’t in today… dont really know what to do…” you shrug, clammy hands subconsciously playing with your work uniform. he could tell whatever had happened out there has made you uncomfortable, not a fan of confrontation or big scary men yelling. he’s quick to nod, tossing the dish-cloth he was about to wipe the surface with over his shoulder and placing a hand on your arm, looking down at you reassuringly.

“hey, you’re good, i’ll handle it, yeah?” he nods, brushing past you briskly and out the kitchen doors into the restaurant. it was night time, so the restaurant overlooking the beach only had a few customers dotted around eating their meals, equally disturbed by the loud quarrel the two seemingly tipsy men were having. you follow him to the door, watching him saunter out toward them without a care in the world. you liked that about jj, he wasn’t scared of nothing.

“alright ladies, pack it up. go kiss n’make up somewhere else, bein’ waaay too loud and i don’t think these people paid for dinner and a show.” he waves them off, the two men standing at their table having their argument.

“stay outta this kid, i ain’t going nowhere ‘til he gives me what he owes me!” one of them barks back, slamming his fist down on the table making you jump as the cutlery clatters. JJ doesn’t flinch in the slightest, stepping up closer.

“yeah, i wasn’t asking. you’re disturbing my waitress and quite frankly you’re pissing me off, so again, i’m gonna have to ask you to leave.” you pushed down the way ‘my waitress’ made you feel, knowing he was likely just throwing it out there without meaning.

“you think i give a fuck ‘bout how ‘ya waitress feels? we’re doing business here. why don’t you go back to the kitchen, huh?” the other man waves him off, and you see his eyes flutter in irritation a little at the mention of you. he locks his eyes on the man, oddly calm and steps closer, staring him down.

“i’m not askin’ again. leave.” JJ warns.

“or what, blondie?”

“or I beat the shit out of you and your little friend.”

you were happy your manager wasn’t in that evening, because JJ would have gotten in lots of trouble. like that one day, a few weeks later during an afternoon shift, patrons from the nearby golf course having swarmed in for their lunch. JJ had been chatting away with another cook in the kitchen at his post, laughing and swatting eachother with the dish rags when the doors swung open, making him double take when he’d clocked on that it was you. your eyes didn’t find his with a bright smile and fluttery eyelashes like they always did, in fact you didn’t look at him at all. upon further inspection, your uniform was drenched with brown liquid, assumably coffee even dripping from the ends of your hair. your bottom lip wobbled as you headed toward the cloakroom through the back.

JJ’s smile fell off his face and he chased after you, skidding to a stop infront of you as he places both hands on your shoulders.

“hey, hey what happened out there?” he speaks gently, gentler than you hear him speak with the other cooks anyway.

“some guys coffee was cold, so— so he dumped it on me. i’ll be fine, just— just need to change my clothes and go and clean up the mess out there and—” youre wiping your tears off your cheeks, mortified, and when you open your eyes again JJ’s no longer right there, the only sign of his existence being the sight of the kitchen door swinging. you curiously follow, standing in the doorway like you did last time. his eyes had scanned the room, quickly honing in on the older, sweaty Kook in an ugly polo loudly complaining about the ‘help’ with a puddle of coffee beside his table.

he didn’t think, striding over, lips pressed in a firm line. he grabs the man by his collar and yanks him with such a force out of his seat that his chair tips back and falls, skidding along the polished wooden floor. gasps ring around the restaurant, an imaginary spotlight shining on the blonde as he grips the man with white knuckles, looking down his nose at the flailing Kook struggling to get his footing.

“you think it’s okay to humiliate my waitress, huh? you think that shits all sweet? someone oughta teach you—” he’s hissing between grit teeth with a trembling voice when the security guard runs over to tear him off.

“maybank.” the officer warns with a knowing tone and JJ lets the man go, not without shoving him back by the chest first, a spiteful, quick adrenaline fuelled laugh leaving him as he did so.

“yeah, nah, we’re all good. get this asshat out of here though.” he backs off, letting the guard escort the shaken man away to the exit, probably profusely apologising on JJ’s behalf. he pants, watching him leave before looking around at the entire restaurants eyes on him, staring in shock. he scratches his cheek before holding up his hand. “hope y’all are enjoying the food.” he calls out, making eye contact with your manager who stands leaning against the bar with her arms crossed, shaking her head at him. he swears under his breath, before storming back toward the kitchen, not even glancing at you as he storms past you, knowing he’s in trouble.

he heads towards the staff cloakroom, yanking his apron off and beginning to punch the code into his locker, clearly deciding the best way to deal with this was to take off. you follow him, standing in the doorway.

“jj, you shouldn’t have done that.” you scold him softly, watching him screw up his apron and stuff it into his locker, rooting around for his stuff.

“yeah, well i did, so…” he doesn’t turn to acknowledge you, still out of breath with a noncommittal tone.

“you’re… you’re gonna get in trouble. i don’t want you to get fired.”

he suddenly turns to you when you approach at his side. “you think i want that either?” he snaps before softening, seeing the way your eyes widened in hurt confusion. “i’m sorry. i… i just don’t like how these assholes get to roam around and do what they want. they can direct all that shit towards me, i don’t care, i can take it…” he takes off his backwards hat, raking his hands through his hair. “but… but not you! they don’t get to talk to you like that. someone’s gotta show them, you know?” he rants and you soften, stepping closer.

“thank you.” is all you say, pressing your hands to his shoulders and standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. you offer him a small smile, before turning around and heading back toward the door. you turn before you leave, his body still twisted towards you as he watches you in awe, suddenly a lot calmer. “no one’s made me feel safe like you do, jj.” you state before heading away.

he sighs, turning back toward his locker and leaning his forehead against the cool metal, screwing his eyes shut for a moment just breathing. when he turns back around, you’re gone, replaced by the disapproving glare of your manager.

“you wanna talk about what just happened?” she tilts her head.

“well, no— but i feel like i don’t really have a choice.” he forces a fake smile. it was gonna be a long day for jj.

[fistfightinganxietyandlosing]

fandoms i think the sbg kids would be/would have been in at some point in their lives!!

ashlyn

I feel like she'd be really into small indie horror games. Things like Omori and Dead Plate. She'd probably play them at 2 in the morning, can of coke in hand and with the blankest expression known to man. She would definitely always have the volume off though.

aiden

A rottmnt kid if I've ever seen one. He found himself really liking Leo during his first watch which lead to him developing an obsession with characters played by Ben Schwartz. Dewey Duck? He loves him! Sonic? He has pictures of him on his walls! Ben is considering warning Ashlyn about it before she and Aiden start dating.

ben

He's sooo underrated 🫶. Anyways, I'm not sure how canon it is, but I remember hearing that Ben has every episode of the first season of Danny Phantom memorized which I think is awesome. He'd be the type to really enjoy consuming fan content like fan animations and fan songs. His dad nicknamed him Ben 10 because of how similar the audience for both shows are.

logan

100% an Animal Crossing fan FIGHT ME. Specifically New Horizons. He'd probably spend a long time decorating his island with flowers and other pretty things. In true sibling fashion, he made Ashlyn play with him. She spent a lot of time hitting the various villagers, but they had a good time. I can also see him having a Danganronpa phase at some point in his life, but eventually growing out of it.

tyler

DEFINITELY a pjo kid. He secretly(he told Taylor that they were dumb) took those "which cabin are you?" quizzes underneath his blanket in the middle of the night. Much to his frustration, no matter how many times he repeated the dam thing, he NEVER got Poseidon and instead got every god other than him. He would've kept going until he got him if Taylor hadn't woken up and yelled at him to go to sleep.

taylor

MARVEL GIRLIE. She burrito wraps herself and binge-watches all the movies regularly. Taylor's FIRMLY on #TeamIronMan and will argue with Tyler(he's secretly on Tony's side too, but he likes to say he's Team Cap' to piss her off) about it. She managed to convince Logan to watch with her and his favourite character ended up being Bruce Banner!!

[jq37]

Just to throw my two cents on the Rat Grinder discourse: They weren't worth the Intrepid Heroes' time. We didn't get the full picture of what's going on with the Grinders until the last quarter of the season. Before that they were just this other clique that hate the main characters, so in-character why would the Bad Kids bother giving them so much attention when they've got so much of their own crap going on. Kristens quest to get Cassandra back and her presidential campaign, Gorgugs courseload, Riz's million and one plates that he's been spinning all season, Adaines financial problems, Figs curse and her doubts about what she wants to do with her life. Fabian's the only one who might have had the time, but he had to be Maximum Legend. There genuinely was no time or even an incentive on the IH's side to develop the Rat Grinders characters.

I still think it's fucked up that these teenagers got taken advantage of by adults they trusted, but we didn't learn any of that until we only had two roleplay episodes left. Too little too late to even try anything diplomatic even if they didn't spend all their time after the Last Stand in hiding.

And a thing about Ivy that no one is roasting her about and really should: An elven archer? Really? Wow, never seen that before.

Yeah totally. Like, from a meta level, I see where the players themselves could have been more curious about the Rat Grinders. There are obvious plot threads that could have been teased out there (though, in fairness to the cast, the adult manipulation aspect didn't become clear until way later in the season--the rivalry and foil aspects were more obvious). This final confrontation could look really different if they'd played that all the way out all season.

But in character? The Bad Kids really didn't have a good reason to waste time on the Rat Grinders. They came into this school year already burnt out from their Night Yorb quest and wanting a break. But they don't get that because they immediately are beset by problems they have to deal with--Kristen's god is on death's door from neglect and she's on the brink of expulsion, Riz is running himself ragged trying to boost his resume for college, Fig is having a whole ass existential crisis, Adaine is struggling with money issues she doesn't want to talk about, Gorgug is taking FOUR YEARS of school at the same time, and Fabian is multiclassing and dealing with his empty house/not having parental support (or Cathilda's support) for the first time. They are dealing with SO MUCH high stakes, personal stuff before the plot even kicks in. And, mechanics-wise, this is represented with the downtime system that means that any time they spend on the RG's is time they can't spend on something that matters more to them. IMO, not prioritizing your haters is actually pretty mature. Like, they weren't proactively using their free time to bully them or anything (except for arguably Fig). They were snippy with them when they crossed their paths and that was it. As opposed to the Rat Grinders who literally had to be told by Jace to stop antagonizing the Bad Kids (though they must have been pretty ineffectual at it because the Bad Kids hardly noticed, which I bet stung considering they were so obsessed).

And also, it's not like they didn't try at all with the Rat Grinders. Early Insight checks on Kipperlilly just got, "This is a polished steel orb of a personality" which doesn't sound very worth interacting with in a sympathetic way if at all and then the next big thing they learn is that she had hated Riz since Freshman Year and that she wants Riz and Kristen dead. And that's AFTER we saw her smile and kill her party cleric. In their position I'm not spending further time trying to empathize with this person, I have made my judgement and it's up to the Jawbones of the world to find if there's something in there to be rehabilitated.

And that's not the only case. Adaine straight up saved Ruben from disintegration during the Frosty Folk battle when she easily could have saved the spell slot, but that didn't soften him towards the Bad Kids any. Adaine also was really keen to Scry on the Rat Grinders to find out what was happening at their meetings. But, in scene at least, she was never able to do that so we never got a scene of them, huddled together, clearly unsure about the path they're on but not feeling like they can walk it back or say no to the authority figures in their lives. She didn't get anything humanizing that would cause her to rethink their position on them the way that she did with Aelwyn for instance. So why would they think they're anything but gleeful co-conspirators?

Hell, the one RG Adaine was even slightly curious about was Oisin and now we know that he was feigning interest in her which, man, can you imagine how much worse that would have felt if she'd actually taken the bait and pursued him beyond just thinking he was cute? Of course, it's possible that her interacting with him more along with some good charm rolls could have changed the narrative in some way but we can only go off of what we know to be true in canon and those facts are (1) He tried to get closer to Adaine while actively planning the downfall of her and her friends, (2) he (along with Ivy) was mean to Buddy behind his back while tricking him into a plan that would force him to go against his religious beliefs, and (3) he called his KVX related dragon ancestors to try to kill the Bad Kids and endanger the entire student body population. Three strikes, you're out. If I'm a Bad Kid I'm not super interested in whatever else is going on with him. And again, literally all of Adaine's friends (except Riz) gave her help to do an Insight check on him during their confrontation in the hallway so she was looking for something there worth engaging with, but she didn't get much.

Fig was fully doing CIA, MKUltra, Fantasy Geneva Convention violations on Ruben to try see if she could get information or flip him. I think she did it in an objectively insane way so I'm not entirely shocked that it didn't yield the exact results she was looking for. But she never found the smoking gun (or whatever the opposite of that is) in his head that would absolve him/show the Rat Grinders were being controlled and her messing with his dreams never flared his conscience enough to make him try to break free (as far as we know) which is what I assume she was going for. If I was Ruben looking for a way out but scared of the repercussions, I might go to Adaine who saved me from certain death earlier the same year and has helped saved the world 3 times with her party and their friends in high (and low) places. Maybe that's what Fig thought might happen but it didn't so from Fig's POV? Gave him a chance. Time to start blasting. And again, at that age, if I walked in to the first day of class and the first thing this random boy does is sneer at me and flaunt his musical success, I'm popping up on his Nemesis Alert at that moment. Doubly so after he tries to trick me and my friends into doing drugs so we get expelled. I'm surprised she tried at all with him.

Fabian absolutely tried to interact with Ivy--in large part for self interested reasons of course, but that doesn't change that he did it. And she came across as callous and unkind from the jump. Their final conversation before the latest episode is the one where she talks about wearing Mazey like a sweater and then says that Fabian missed his chance with her before stalking off. That's a pretty open and shut interaction. No way 17 year old me is like, "Hmm, but why is she acting so mean? Perhaps I should examine that more closely to further understand her." Nah, I've decided she sucks.

And Kristen has tried with Buddy literally up until the last moment. She rolled an Insight check on him right before the fight started and she got a 1. She got nothing from him.

Mary Ann is actually the only Rat Grinder who hasn't done anything to make a bad impression on the Bad Kids--the only thing she did was have a really good Bloodrush tryout. So no reason to hate her specifically (and, in fact, she is also the only Rat Grinder that at least half of them are positively obsessed with), but no reason to explore her further. And Kristen still tried giving her a stuffed animal and her response was that she already had that one and that she was going to give it away. What are they supposed to do with that?

Even when they tried, they didn't get information that was worth chasing when they were so busy and had to manage their free time. Gorgug didn't even slot in downtime to talk to his bio parents when they visited. Why would he spend any time on Mary Ann to figure out her deal? Maybe if they were given more explicit opportunities to interact with them in passing. If Mary Ann was shown at Bloodrush Games. If during class time Oisin tried to interact with Adaine. If Kristen ran into Buddy and Bucky talking. If any of their forays into talking to them or looking into them yielded anything actionable or that piqued their interest--they opened the door for Brennan to give them something more than once. But they never got anything that was worth investing more of their limited time into.

(And also, they didn't learn that Porter was involved until WAY into the last quarter of the episodes. Which absolutely could have changed things since, as far as they knew the RG's were working alone to raise this god which isn't crazy for them to think because Kristen literally did that last year and it was of her own free will. If they knew early that the RG's were smaller players in Porter's plot then maybe they would have been in more of a rescue mindset--especially since Fig has always mistrusted him--but that's not information they had and by the time they got it, the RG's were in deep hiding, like you said.)

And so, coming into the last few episodes, that's who the Rat Grinders are to the Bad Kids. A group of kids who they first heard about in the context of, "they famously hate you," even though they'd never interacted before. A group of kids who they already thought sucked even before they tried to kill the entire study body an hour ago. A group of kids who are trying to doom all of Elmville to eternal rage and who are willing and ready to kill them to do it.

With that context, yeah I think their actions are pretty understandable.

(Also, lmao. Yeah, I think calling Ivy basic would probably hurt her more than most things you could say to her.)

[kitcat992]

Don't Fear The Reaper: The Identity Saga and the Through-line of Death

*waves*

This might seem random (because, well, life is), but I’ve put together a little “behind the author’s chair” insight into this quirky series I call Identity Saga — sorta kinda sharing my POV on what it’s really all about.

For real though. I had some rough news thrown my way recently. And I think this fanfic memoir is my way of acknowledging a new reality that approaches me.

Thank you to those who read below. Love you all.

I started writing Identity Theft right after my second viewing of Infinity War — fully emotionally compromised by the chaotic mentor-meets-dad vibes between Tony Stark and Peter Parker. I was also knee-deep in a bizarre quarter-life crisis at the same time. Needless to say, it was the perfect storm for some serious storytelling.

It started with Loss.

You see, from the age of 25-27, I had a very strange anxiety about death. Not in a phobia sort of way, just in a sorta ‘awakening’ way. It’s a long story that deserves a glass of wine and plate of cheese, but to make it short — around this time in my life, a childhood friend of mine had her father pass away. He was 54. She was 27.

It wasn’t the first death in my life, but in hindsight, I found it to be the moment my childhood truly came to an end. As if suddenly, death wasn’t just a word anymore, or something that happened to our grandparents. It was happening closer than that. And that meant, one day sooner than the last, we’d be next.

Pretty morbid thoughts for age 25, but hey, what else is a cool swanky gal like myself gunna do but finger guns have an existential crisis.

The Identity Saga comes into play, here, by the way — I didn't lose the topic. I just took a detour.

While this underlying theme wasn’t the entire reason I started to write the fic, I snuck it in there at the encouragement of my therapist at the time. When I expressed this odd obsessive thought I had about death ever since my childhood friends father passed away, she advised that I start finding a way to express that anxiety so I could get it out of my head and out into the world.

What’s the saying — knock two birds out with one stone? I’m a nerd in therapy, why else wouldn’t I turn to fanfiction? And I had some crazy ideas for this fanfiction. Enough that when thrown into a blender, they all needed a through-line to tie them together.

With that said, I approached writing Identity Theft with one central theme in mind: crafting a story around the death of a young Peter Parker, believed to have been cruelly lost in a tragic explosion — only for him to be revealed alive, and then almost lost once more.

The saga’s origin story follows Tony’s inner struggle as he reluctantly steps into the role of a mentor — never intending to grow attached to Peter — only to emerge with a kinship bond that cuts deeper than he ever expected, shattering his reality when Spider-Man is caught in a fiery explosion and presumed dead. Suddenly, grief blindsides him before he can even name what he’s lost. In a matter of days, he’s dragged through despair, hope, and desperation; realizing along the way that to have loved and lost means surrendering control to places of his heart that not even his armor could protect.

All the while, fifteen-year-old Peter Parker suddenly finds that fifteen-years-old isn’t nearly long enough to call it a wrap on this thing called life. And yet, when fatally wounded, he awakens a fear within himself that wouldn’t have otherwise existed: Death was terrifying. And dying long enough to think about death was twice as terrifying.

So if it started with loss, then death had already made its presence known, right? Loss doesn’t happen without death stepping in first. And death… well, death is a darkness that reaches farther than we ever want to admit.

Death is scary.

It was around this time in my life, I had done something absolutely wild. I went to conquer my fear of death, whatever fear this was — the reality that we’re mortal and may one day die — I conquered it by exposing myself to it. I passed my exams, I entered the medical field — don’t ask me why, but I wanted to deal with the unknown by making it known. I wanted to face it head on. I wanted to work alongside it. I wanted to look it in the eye, and I even wanted to fight it. Prove that life was better than death. Prove that there was nothing to be scared of.

Death is a topic many people shy away from. It’s uncomfy. It made me very uncomfy. I had this crazy thought that if I made myself really uncomfy, maybe I could eventually understand things a little better.

(That worked, by the way. Tl;dr.)

That brings us to Identity Crisis. I wanted to portray this part of Peter’s journey with the as much dignity as possible because, in many ways, I felt like I was walking a parallel path.

As we move into the second installment, and as Peter slowly recovers from the near-death experience that seems to gnaw at him more with each passing day, we begin to confront how loss truly takes root in the original wound — death itself. For someone who has stood on that razor’s edge, there’s a profound, unsettling truth to face: just how fragile life really is.

Suddenly, Peter realizes nearly losing his life had more effect on him than he thought.

When I went into the medical field, I had no idea just a few years later I’d be in the trenches of a once-a-century global pandemic that took my neighbors, my friends, my coworkers, my loved ones loved ones — I had gone to conquer my anxiety about death wanting to expose myself to it, and wound up doing it through the mask of a hazmat suit.

I remember walking to work one morning, and seeing the refrigerated trucks at the loading dock of the hospital, and thinking “It’s no longer just on the news. It’s now my life.”

During the time I wrote Identity Crisis, I continued to follow my former therapists advice that worked so well for me in the past. She had advised me that I start finding a way to express my anxiety, allowing it to get out of my head and out in the world. I clung to that advice as I went through the 2020 Covid pandemic on the floors of an ICU, wondering if the day was going to bring more death than the last — and how many more codes I’d be called to, knowing exactly how each one ends.

As I began Identity Within — the third book in a trilogy split into two parts — I realized that the trauma I endured during the pandemic demanded real rest and recovery. When I stepped away from my career and made a pivot, I discovered that a large part of my identity had been lost along the way. Suddenly, I had to rediscover who I was beyond the scrubs and figure out how to contribute to the world without being directly involved in someone’s health.

Death is scary. But when you begin to see it so often, the Grim Reaper suddenly doesn’t feel like such a threat. Once you get to know him, you don't want to fight him. Not all the time. Not when he's showing up on his schedule. You realize he’s just an entity like life. Without one, there isn’t the other. And life really is a fragile thing, one we have to take care of.

Life is something we truly must take care of.

Coming out of the pandemic, I felt like I had lost myself. But with time, distance, and a genuine effort to rediscover who I was, I came to realize I hadn’t truly lost anything after all. The through-line had simply shifted — still rooted in Loss, but now perfectly intertwined.

We had moved on from Loss. We moved on when we Let Go.

I never lost that part of myself, I let it go. And I did that to better myself, to ensure I’ll always shed one old skin for a new one, always grow to be better than who I was yesterday — even if it means stepping away from something once loved for something that's healthier for the mind. I had let go of my old self, and started to find the new identity along the way.

I’ve been writing Identity Within during a very special period in my life. It’s had crazy ups and downs and whirlwinds that I can’t even begin to summarize here. I have found a way to contribute in my new field of business, still abiding by the way of Peter Parker — always here to lend a helping hand. Always a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

I’ve leaned heavily on this series for the last 7 years to get me through so much growth, unintentionally creating a therapy session over time with the stories through-line that gracefully, here soon, comes to an end.

After we have loss, we have to let go.

My mother was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer a week prior to writing this post.

It’s been a…its been a time. It’s been an experience. It’s been a shock and blur and surreal heart wrenching anxiety that rips at your heart. I’m the youngest of three, all of us estranged. I’m in my early thirties, at that. My mother has made it to the age of 68 years old. She survived quadruple heart bypass just last year. The diagnosis came as abruptly as the cancer.

We know our time won’t make it to the end of the year. Perhaps not through the summer that hasn’t even officially begun.

I won’t lie, the way this series has entangled itself into the chapters of my own life never fails to amuse me. Having it at my side to get me through these moments makes for a story almost as compelling as the one I like to think I’m writing.

When Identity Within: Part II kicks off, I’ll find those parallel paths with this series and my life intertwine once again. I’m not surprised, it’s not the first time. If you think I’m making it all up, I wish I was — the grief of losing your mother at a young age is no pain I’d want anyone to feel. I’m just not surprised, at this point, that my life merges a little too closely with the characters I’m writing.

In Identity Within: Part II, one of the unfolding plots begins to pave the way for the final installment’s defining arc: a journey from loss to letting go. As Peter faces his greatest challenge alone, he must grapple with the weight of a legacy he never asked for — left wondering just how heavy the crown is, and whether he can even bear it.

This series has truly rooted itself in deep with my own life. I will never stop writing it, not until the day it’s done. Please keep me in your thoughts as I go through this chapter of my life with saying final goodbyes to my mother. And when you think of the subtext that coats each one of these books (in a series far too long for my own good, I’d like you to acknowledge the woman who brought me into this world to craft them into the pieces they are today.

I love you, mom. We had our differences, but you always said I was special, and always encouraged me to do the things I loved to do. I started writing at age 9 years old, because you saw it made me happy, and you encouraged me to keep doing it. I may not have a published book to write your name on the front page of. But you played a part in what I’ve been able to do in life; from leaving childhood and turning into an adult, to looking a global pandemic dead set in the eyes and laughing — all the way to rediscovering an identity that wouldn’t exist had you not encouraged me to keep doing what I love, and insisting I was special for it.

We had our differences, but thank you for being my mom.

I’ll see you all at the end of Part 1, and we’ll move forward — and let go — in the final installment.

(by the way, I fully acknowledge what I've insinuated is going to happen in the final installment, all while while also mentioning my mom is dying. It's okay to scream at me over what I've implied and skip that. Honest to God, I actually need the fan love now more than ever. #no character death #but you guys know that doesn't stop me)

[aldisobey]

tagged by @emmg and hell yeah (let me buy your Rook a gun, she deserves an arsenal, if she has zero fans I am dead, Emmrich deserves every last thing coming his way, in the worst way possible.)

and I'm at a loss on who to tag, but if you see this DO IT, TAG ME, tell me all about your Rook

My Rook Thorne is just that, my brain calls him Rook Worne sometimes because he's been through it. and I'm writing what I like because this is reference for me now

LUST. desire for connection. pursuit of pleasure. emotional intelligence. obsessive. lovesick. one-night stands. seductive encounter. flirtatious conversation. erotic party. seductive attire. revealing clothing. passionate gaze. provocative makeup. sensual expressions. suggestive gestures. flirtatious smiles. lingerie. love letters. perfumes. provocative behavior. love poems. erotic art.

→ He’s only had light experience with serious relationships. Plenty of dalliances. Life itself has never been stable enough to consider entering much of a stable relationship. He went from street kid, pickpocket, mugger, unwilling Grey Warden, to Veilguard. He only ever expected something sexual when flirting with Emmrich (the man screams BDE okay, he wanted in on that). The romance Emmrich responded with awakened something, turns out he just never had the time or attentions to go full Romeo. He’s in deeeeeep

GLUTTONY. indulgence in experiences. savoring moments. hospitality. generosity. hedonism. culinary expertise. wine-tasting. excessive snacking. overloaded plates. excessive portions. bloated stomachs. messy eating. greasy fingers. full tables. indulgent spreads. overflowing cups. satisfied expressions. wine bottles. just can't get enough. fast food wrappers.

→ He ate next to nothing in Kirkwall and gruel with the Grey Wardens. He loves food, more than that he likes sharing. Knows what it’s like to starve, and he’ll always finish a plate, but only after checking the plates of others, big ‘older sibling’ energy. But he doesn’t share chocolate.

ENVY. motivation. competitive spirit. strategic planning. observational skills. bitter rivalry. contest. envious gossip. resentment-filled argument. social media jealousy. furrowed brows. clenched jaws. side-eye looks. pursed lips. tense posture. whispering behind backs. crossed arms. gossip magazines. keeping up with the joneses. the grass is always greener. feeling inadequate.

→ Major problem with the nobility. Maybe he’s envious of their easy lives and comfort and lack of struggle, but he likes who he is and where he came from. He hates those prick bastards and how they treat people like things and don’t look you in the eye. He’ll bad mouth them any day and is causing problems at the Necropolis and feeling zero shame. He spends a lot of time playing board games with Johanna and delivering her all the latest rumors while getting all the history. They have plans.

GREED. resourcefulness. entrepreneurial spirit. negotiation. materialistic. aggressive investment. lavish spending spree. resource-hoarding. get-rich-quick schemes. auction-bidding war. property acquisition. piles of money. overflowing wallets. luxury items. locked safes. penny-pinching. rare collectibles. selfishness. unwillingness to share.

→ Very resourceful. Never had much, can make a lot of things go a long way and can negotiate for plenty. Saves as much as he can, would be that coupon guy and picking where to eat because hey there is a deal. He wants property because he wants to develop community alright. And he adores old books and art stuff, but would never buy it. If rich or noble people own it, he’s stealing that shit.

SLOTH. calmness. stress management. nonchalance. relaxation techniques. lethargic. apathetic. inactive. lazy weekend. binge-watching marathon. neglected chores. skipped workout. long nap. lounging on the couch. missed deadlines. unkempt appearance. messy hair. pajamas. blankets. slippers. procrastination station. self-care routines.

→ He’s lived life so fast for so long that he takes advantage of a lazy weekend if it’s there. He’ll neglect the simpler chores because there are skeletons for that. Naps are a gift from whatever true gods are out there. And why would he do anything with his appearance, Emmrich loves him fine. 

PRIDE. confidence. self-assurance. self-respect. dignity. public speaking. self-promotion. arrogant. conceited. egotistical. self-important. vain. boastful speech. puffed chest. raised chin. smug smiles. spotlight. tooting your own horn. showing off. refusing to admit mistakes. feeling entitled. personal branding. leadership development.

→ No one ever did a thing for him until Varric. He’s very aware of that and confident in his ability to take care of himself and what he needs to. He’s had failures, lost friends, but learned very young, you have to save yourself and there’s no saving everyone. After killing gods he’s not about to let anyone look down on him for any reason. Who cares if he isn’t educated, did you stab a god? Insufferable really.

WRATH. assertiveness. decisiveness. strength. intensity. boundary setting. courage. indignant. heated arguments. road rage incident. physical altercation. angry outburst. clenched fists. glaring eyes. tense muscles. raised voices. reddened faces. aggressive gestures. stormy demeanour. intense frowns. destructive actions. broken objects. punching bag. out for blood. fists. simmering anger.

→ There is no such thing as an idle threat. Words carry meaning and he’ll answer word threats with fists. Forgave some violent rhetoric once and nearly died for it. Does not play. Horrible at de-escalating. Honestly if he’s yelling you’re fine, that’s squabbles with friends, when he’s quiet there’s going to be blood. 

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♱ ₮ⱧɆ ⱧɄ₦₲ɆⱤ: Ø₦Ɇ ♱

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

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

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

♱ Word Count: 3.5k-ish

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

♱ A/N: I started writing this ages ago and decided to post an updated version so if you wanna read it, it's here!

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

And the rain…it hasn’t stopped since. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tap. Tap. Tap.

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

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

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

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

Yunho slams it shut, unable to wrap his mind around what’s happening, “What do you mean it’s her? It can’t be her!”

“It’s her! I swear! Open the door!” Mingi begs, gripping the doorknob tightly enough that his hand’s begun to redden, “Yunho, please.” 

There has to be an explanation for this. Some shared hallucination fueled by their grief. They’re only hearing things, they must be, but Mingi seems to need this and Yunho can’t bring himself to deny him of it. “Okay” he sighs, backing away from the door, “Do it.”

Mingi wastes no time tearing it open, rain pouring in as you limp across the threshold. The two towering men shrink at the sight of you, terror freezing one where he stands and making the other retreat into a corner.  

Barefoot and soaking wet, you wear the tattered, blood stained dress you were rushed to the hospital in. In death your skin has paled, broken blood vessels giving your lips a light blue hue. Behind you is a trail of muddy footprints, marking your journey up the front stairs to this place you call home.

It’s a blur. Your death and your return. It’s all a series of broken memories, fragmented pieces of film that make you dizzy each time you attempt to piece them together. You can only recall a party filled with dancing and laughter. Headlights brighter than the sun. Screaming. A dark place. A coldness eating at your bones. Then, like magic, you were here, dragging yourself up to the front door with blistered feet and an unnerving stillness in your chest.

Turning to meet the faces of the men you love, faces that haven’t once failed to light up in your presence, you’re puzzled by their fear. Noticing Mingi’s injured arm, you run your fingers down his cast. 

“Mingi hurt?” you grunt softly. 

His eyes blur with tears and he blinks them away, quickly conjuring up a lie to soothe your worries. “Only a little. I was working on something out back and, well, you know how clumsy I can be, but it’s nothing” he says, smiling through the tears.

You return the comforting gesture with a smile of your own, placing a frozen palm against the warm wetness of his cheek. “Liar. Mingi hurt. And…sad?” 

“No, baby, not sad. I’m just happy to see you. We’re happy to see you, aren’t we?” Mingi looks to Yunho, confident that he feels the same way, but finds instead that he’s alone in his joy. 

Backed so far into a corner that he might as well be a part of the wood paneling, this is nothing short of a nightmare for him. This is unnatural. Far beyond anything that should be possible. You, the real you, is lying on a slab in a morgue somewhere. Whatever’s standing before him is something he can’t bring himself to trust. 

“Yunie hurt too?” you ask, turning your attention to the bruising around his jaw. You hobble over to him, nearly touching his hand before he snatches it away. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

His rejection is so alien to you that you don’t even process it as such, reaching out for him again. “Yun—”

Your fingers skim his, making his skin crawl. “Don’t touch me!” he yells, slinking clear of your grasp. “I don’t know what you are but you’re not her. She is dead. You are dead.”

“Me? Dead?” The word sends more memories racing through your head. The taste of wine. Your favorite. Mingi’s arms around your waist. A high pitched ringing in your ear. The beeping of machines. The visions drown you in an overwhelming sense of sadness that makes you want to crumble into pieces. 

“No! Don’t listen to him!” Mingi says, filling the space between you and Yunho,“You’re not dead, baby. You’re here with us and it’s a gift.” Ignoring the nagging pain of his injury, Mingi lifts you up into his arms, cradling you like a baby as he carries you up the stairs. 

“Now how about we get you cleaned up?”

“Take bath? Bubbles?”

Mingi laughs, smitten with you even in your undead form, “If that’s what you want, of course.” 

Yunho slides down to the floor, growing catatonic as he zones out to the sounds that come from above. The running of bathwater, his best friend’s laughter, and the broken words of some kind of monster. This has to be a nightmare. All he needs to do is wait it out until he wakes up. 

“Wake up” he whispers like Dorothy clicking her heels together three times to escape the land of Oz, “Wake up. Wake up…”

Two showers, one long bath, and a few hours cuddled under the blankets with Mingi. That’s all it takes for you to begin to look more like yourself. You’re far from what you used to be, signs of your time as a lifeless corpse still showing through, but you’re coming back to yourself and, however long that takes, Mingi’s more than willing to wait it out.

While you’ve refused to eat, despite the grumbling of your empty stomach, he’s managed to keep you happy with movies and games which now litter the bed and the area around it. Much to Mingi’s dismay, beating him at everything is something you picked up on quickly. You’ve only been back to life for a few hours and already you’re kicking his ass again.

“Play again?” you ask, excitedly spreading your winning Uno hand out on the blanket. 

Mingi yawns, the sleep he lost last night beginning to catch up with him, but he shuffles the deck for a new game anyway. He knows he can’t keep this up much longer. His lids are growing heavy and his focus is waning but he can’t, for any reason, allow himself to drift off to sleep. While Yunho may be somewhere in this house terrified by the possibility that this isn’t just a dream, Mingi’s been haunted by the very real possibility that it might be. What if he closes his eyes and you’re gone again? That’d mean losing you twice and his heart can’t survive breaking for you a second time.

As Mingi deals the cards, you glance around your bedroom with fresh excitement. Every new color or scent brings your dulled senses back to you if only briefly. And every item has a memory attached to it. Some vague, some incredibly vivid, but all serve as a suitable feast for a brain hungry to recover what once was. Just as your focus hones in on a pair of fluffy puppy shaped slippers by the door, you catch a tall figure looming in the doorway. 

Halfway obscured by the wall, Yunho watches you the way a scientist would its test subject. Simply observing, waiting for you to do something that proves you’re an imposter. But you only smile at him the way you always have, making him feel strangely welcomed to enter the room.

Coming up here was far from his intention. The rain had let up almost immediately after your arrival and he’d picked up the car keys a half dozen times to leave. Once he got as far as the end of the driveway before he turned back, making it further up the steps each time until finally gaining the courage to face you.

And it is you. Despite the words he spat in fear and anger, he felt your energy all around him when he first heard your voice and that feeling’s grown in intensity every minute since. 

“Are you playing or are you just gonna watch like a pervert?” Mingi teases. 

Yunho steps from behind the wall, arms folded across his chest, “If I recall correctly you’re the one who likes to watch” he shoots back, cautiously entering the bedroom. 

“Ha” you snort, sorting through your hand, “Like with sex and stuff.” 

“Oh, I see you’ve been helping her get her language skills back. Starting with the important words first, huh?”

“Playing or watching? You pick. Quickly” you insist, patting Yunho on the arm, his prior reaction momentarily slipping your mind.

He winces a little, jogging your memory, and you go to pull away but he stops you, taking your hand into his. It’s like holding hands with a block of ice, making sense of the baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants you’re curled up in. What you said on the other side of the door had been true. Cold. So cold. 

Yunho’s thumb traces the blue collapsed veins down the back of your hand, brushing past your knuckles to an empty space on your ring finger. There used to be two gorgeous silver rings there, part of a set of six that he and Mingi had made for all of you. 

“Mingi says we’ll get back, won’t be a problem. Right, Mingi?” Your question’s met with the sound of snoring, a few seconds without stimulation being just what Mingi needed to drift off to sleep. You crawl up the bed to lay down beside him, poking at his cheek. “Mingiiii” you sing, softly flicking at his plush bottom lip. 

Yunho slips in on the other side of you, pulling your fingers away from Mingi’s face. “Maybe we don’t do that” he laughs, “We should let him rest. I think he’s tired.”

“Mingi’s tired and what about you?” you ask, rolling over to face him. The color of your eyes are marbled between the paleness of death and their natural shade. It’s bizarre but beautiful in a way that mesmerizes him. 

“Tell me, have you eat and sleep?” You pet his hair, watching it twirl around your fingertips in bouncy brown wisps. Being touched by you, it’s something he thought he’d never feel again, and the joy of it makes him want to cry almost as much as the fear did. 

“It’s ‘eaten and slept’ but no, I haven’t. I couldn’t” he says, “I’d ask you but…”

Your stomach grumbles, announcing its hunger. You hadn’t eaten before the accident. The party you were headed home from had been overflowing with alcohol but food, at least any you were interested in, was in short supply. 

“I can cook for you. We haven’t been shopping but I’m sure I can whip up something.” 

You shake your head, having already gone through this with Mingi, “Nothing really tastes good but the smells help.”

“The smells? What smells?”

“Mmm” you hum, sniffing the side of Yunho’s neck, “You and him. Your smell makes me warm inside.”

Nuzzling your nose against his neck, you inhale the scent beneath his cologne. The natural oils of his body are more fragrant than anything that comes in a bottle. You rest a hand on his heart, feeling it pound as your lips meet his heated skin like ice against fire.

Yunho can’t help but feel guilty about the way his body responds to you. He can’t manage to fight the instinct to bring you closer, massaging the fullness of your curves through the thick cotton of your clothing. You part your lips, dragging your tongue along veins that rush with hot, fresh blood. As they pulse below the surface of his skin, yours begin to pulse as well, matching the rhythm. 

“I…I’m not sure we should be doing this” Yunho stutters, his hands betraying his words to move under your sweatshirt and reacquaint themselves with the rise of your hips and the hills of your breasts. His lust for you only makes the blood pump through his body faster, worsening your hunger. 

“But I need you to keep me warm inside. Please don’t let me be cold again” you beg, sinking your teeth into his neck. Blood drips from his wounds, coating your tongue, pooling in the bottom of your mouth. It’s the taste of life, draining his to restore yours, and you’re ravenous for it.

Yunho screams out in pain, sacrificing a few shreds of flesh to tear himself free of you. “You bit me! Why would you do that?” he cries, stumbling to his feet, his sleeve pressed to his neck to control the bleeding.

On your hands and knees, you move to the edge of the bed like a lioness prowling for her next meal. Your eyes swell with tears at the pain you’ve inflicted but your mouth salivates at the delectable taste of his blood. The ecstacy of it sliding down your throat makes you feel more alive than you did when you actually were. 

“I’m sorry, Yunho. I didn’t mean to hurt you, really. I think I’m just, mmm, hungrier than I thought” you pout, speaking with perfect clarity for the first time.

“Hungrier? Are you…you’re trying to eat me?”

“Eat you? Of course not. I would never. I only needed a nibble to make me better.” You raise your shirt, stroking your exposed skin as it grows plumper and warmer to the touch. “Come feel me. Touch me.” 

Your voice is like a spell, drawing Yunho back in. Your body sings out to him, whispering how badly it longs for him. He wants you, though he shouldn’t. The searing pain in his neck dulls at the realization. It gets him off seeing that you need him this desperately. Not only for pleasure but to survive. 

Approaching the bed again, Yunho lowers his blood stained sleeve from his neck and caresses your body. The red liquid coating his fingers sticks to you like candy, leaving a trail of red along your belly. You lean into him, sliding a hand up his thigh to palm the growing bulge in his jeans. He lets out a satisfied moan, lightly tugging at your hair so that your head’s tilted back, sparkling eyes gazing up at him. 

“What are you?” he whispers with whatever speck of sanity he has remaining.

His bloody fingers find your mouth and you lazily lick them clean, savoring the taste. All the while your own hand’s undoing his zipper to stroke his length, your thumb circling the moist tip of his cock.

“What am I?” you giggle, “I’m yours, aren’t I?”

Releasing his middle finger from the suction of your soft lips, you push his sweater up to kiss your way across his lower stomach. Every kiss has his cock twitching in your grasp as his fingers tangle deeper into your hair, keeping you in place.

And then you find it. The perfect spot. You aren’t sure how you know but you just do. You suckle at his skin, letting your teeth gently pierce the surface until your tongue’s reintroduced to the taste of his blood. Yunho grits his teeth through pain that only makes the adrenaline rush that follows all the more pleasurable. 

“I’m still yours, aren’t I, Yunie?” you ask, his flesh still filling the space between your teeth.

Yunho pulls your head back and leans down to kiss you, the feeling of your lips against his worth the faint metallic taste that comes along with it.

“Of course you are, baby” he whispers, “You’ll always be mine and I’ll never let anything hurt you again. I promise.”

You lay back on the bed, pulling him on top of you, and wrap your legs around his waist. Yunho tears at your clothes, kissing you ravenously as if he’s the one with the undead hunger that must be fed. He’s ready to rip them off of you and take you right here with no regard at all for the best friend sleeping an inch away from you. But a loud banging at the downstairs door snaps him out of it, stirring Mingi from his sleep in the process. 

Mingi jolts upright in bed, on the verge of a heart attack, “Huh? What? What’s happening?” He glances over just in time to catch Yunho climbing off of you to zip his pants back up, the blood from your second bite already showing through his clothes.

You reach back to rub Mingi's leg, your view of him inverted, “Mingi, be calm.”

“Be calm?” he shouts, jumping to inspect the blood on your face, “Answer me now. What happened?”

The banging on the front door gets louder and Yunho throws a “Ssh” at Mingi, sneaking to the window to get a peek at the unexpected visitors. 

“Don’t shush me! Why’s there blood and why were you…” 

Yunho turns around slowly, eyes wide and hands trembling, “Mingi, shut up.”

“No, not until one of you tells me what’s going on and who the hell is that?” 

The banging continues, shaking the door so hard the hinges creak. Yunho sits back down on the bed, his brain firing off in a hundred directions at once. He wishes the knocking at the door were another minion of the undead—some corpse you accidentally drug back with you from the trenches of the morgue—but what awaits him this time, what awaits all of you, is something far worse. 

“It’s the fucking cops.”

[xviiperr]

HEY DOLL: OBSESSED BIKERBOY!

"WHAT'S WRONG, BABY? AM I GOING TOO FAST?"

Gif isn't mine.

AN INTRODUCTION TO A SHORT SERIES OF HEADCANONS OF MY NEWEST CHARACTER. THANK YOU FOR READING AND ENJOY!

A/N: I'm testing out a new writing style and of course, gradient fonts! This fic also allows you to check out different paths regarding how my character would react to a certain plot point! I will update this post when I have the routes written out to how I like them!

Warnings: foreshadowing of stalking.

Image is not mine.

Your first encounter with your bizarre stalker happened when you were en route to work. Stopped at a traffic light, you make eye contact with a man on a powerful-looking sports bike.  He looks you up and down, almost as if examining an art piece. You have to admit, he has a certain dark flair to him. He leans forward against his tank, trying to get a better look at you from the turning lane. You, in turn, get to look at his attire more clearly.

His gear and bike are in a noir chromatic color scheme; you see a go-pro attached to his helmet and a camera stick attached to the end of his bike. Another detail you notice is his license plate is hidden or missing— you can't see it. With his bike set up like it was, it wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to say he was baiting cops to chase him, likely for content on social media.  Those types of content creators were rather...upsetting. His visor is up and his eyes are set on you. He seems to fancy you, with his simple wink and flashy nod of his head. At first, it’s flattering to you, maybe even cute, with how he acts while waiting for the light. Then, the whole interaction flips on its head and becomes startling when he dismounts his bike and struts over to your window, knocking on it.  Against your better judgement and under the assumption he needs something from you, the window rolls down with a press of a button. He quickly snatches this opportunity to sweep you out of your comfort zone by grabbing your chin to stare directly into your eyes.  Something strange happens.  His eyes shift from their sultry grey to a shimmer of a pinkish-red for the briefest of seconds. A strange feeling settles itself on your shoulders and tightens around your heart. It’s suffocating. And it feels dark. 

“You look beautiful, doll. How ‘boutcha give me your number?” 

It's shocking how upfront he is; this man is interested in you. Why, you can't be sure. Maybe it was because you were listening to your favorite song before work. Or glancing at your phone. Could it be you were admiring his bike? What was it? Part of you wish you had the same level of confidence he had— that could score you the highest job possible! He leans further into your car window, eager for your reply. His hand still hasn't left your chin. And, on top of everything going on, you can feel other drivers staring at you two. That mysterious feeling is growing unbearable; you find yourself leaning back to try and alleviate the overwhelming situation. He only chuckles, a clear grin displayed on his face— his eyes creasing are a dead giveaway to his smile. A car honks. His head turns, pulling out your car window. You're unsure if he's angry; the soft grip he has on your chin tightens quickly. He takes a deep breath before looking back at you. He sighs.

"See ya later then, baby."

The light was green and you quickly replied on your own accord. He slowly releases your chin, flicking the bottom playfully, and returns to his bike, giving a theatrical wave goodbye. You drive forward, still unable to shake off the unsettling feeling from that man before. 

Alrighty! Thank you guys so much for reading! I'm taking a different pace from writing character x readers fics and requests in general--- I want to write stories based off ideas I like!

A yandere bikerboy has been on my mind for a while and I wanted to post my take on how an idea like that could play out! Comments, reblogs and asks relaying feedback are always welcome! I might even do in-character questions for this guy! Only deal is: I'm not going to reveal his name until the other fics are posted!!

Again, thank you so much!

xViiper

[wispythreads]

Some thoughts as I spent a significant portion of my day today playing Dead Plate by racheldrawsthis (which you can go find and play yourself https://racheldrawsthis.itch.io/dead-plate), and honestly it was pretty fun! Enjoyed it a lot!

I got the Table for One ending first, which is an ending most people would probably get first since the other ones require specific triggers. I'd missed some cutscenes, but talked a bunch whenever I could with the restaurant owner/head chef, Vince. Even though I knew that this was a horror game and that Vince was probably up to something incredibly shady in the background (i.e. the usual the food = human remains trope that kinda follows this setting), I was hoping that there might be an ending where he and Rody go beyond a boss/employee relationship.

There was just something really endearing about that first cutscene when Rody arrives late after biking through rain, and Vince took the time to not only help dry him off but gave Rody an umbrella so that it wouldn't happen again in the future. I found their conversations really fun and silly and began to formulate a scenario in my head where this very put-together, cold and quiet no nonsense guy grew to begrudgingly but genuinely like the blunt energetic but absolute mess of person he'd happened to hire, and maybe the two of them could balance each other out a bit more (and Rody could maybe put an end/prevent Vince from treading into cannibal territory)

Having gotten all four of the endings now, I'm torn between appreciating them all and being a bit sad that the one I was hoping for didn't come to fruition, and, judging by the timeline of events going on that I somehow just completely missed the first time, really couldn't. like. ever...?

I am very much stuck contemplating just what the hell was both of their deals now. (why lemons specifically what does it mean something outside of it being a food he appreciates its existence for why was the wine bottle broken with wine spilled everywhere why doesn't he follow you in and you have to come back out with it why was her silhouette standing in the street staring up at you ghost not dead just spooky event to be unsettling what was the real purpose of the dinner party what is that one inaccessible room of the apartment what did she mean by that when they broke up why was he bouncing between jobs so much why such a violent reaction to the garbage tearing how the hell do you burn pbj what is the deal with the fridge freezer why does it seem like he initially intends to leave and then decides on such a firey response instead why not an ending where he does just leave flunked out obsession what was the point of the whole plan he just lets you leave in the first ending what does he gain from that)

The fact that it was just released today and I have no idea if anyone else will be talking about this game has me very Normal.