#HELL its because of those choices when i was young that made me regret missing out on big things and things i shouldve known at my age

[genshingarbage]

Could I request any boys of your choice where they’ve had an exhausting day and their s/o says they should take a nap on their lap? Thank you!

Cute boi hours again? Yes <3 Sleepy time awe! I am gonna pick a very select few that i think this works well with, so i hope you're okay with the hand picked few ;) - Mod Diluc

Rest My Love.

|| Head Cannons ||

Kazuha/Diluc/Xiao/Kaeya

Kazuha

He was beat, exhausted and aching, every muscle in his body ached like something fierce. But, who ever said the life of a lone wandering samurai was gonna be a breeze? Yea, that's right- no one. Because it sure as hell wasn't. He was use to feeling this way yet somehow it still made him just as grouchy as the first time.

He walked into the small building that was titled as your homestead and yawned; stretching his arms out he heard a few odd bones pop from the pressure, it relieved some of his tension but not nearly enough for it to be actually satisfying. With a huff he removed some of his more heavy going clothing, including his shoes, till he was more loose and relaxed.

He shuffled slowly into the house, trying not to wake you. You were his lover and so him coming to your home was somewhat normal now, but he often was away for large periods of time, and he never liked to disturb you. Specially when you're busy. Which you were, you had your nose deep between the pages of a gripping story written so entrancing like from a book. So much for his first theory that you'd be asleep at this time, huh?

He tried to creep past you as you read, but you wasn't born yesterday. So with a roll of your eyes and a soft exhale from your nose you spoke out. "Kazuha. Welcome home hun." You didn't even bother to turn your head around to him, you knew fully well he was frozen in his steps now, eyes wide like a doe caught in headlights. He blinked a few times before sorting himself back to his normal standing position and chuckling awkwardly, a breif rub to the back of his neck ensued.

"Ah, yea, I'm uh- yea. I'm home, thanks Y/N. I really didn't wanna disturb you there." He spoke softly and with great regret; like he'd just committed an awful crime. You simply closed the book after having bent the tip of the page you were on, as to know where to start off when you return to it, and placed the item down on the small table infront of your sofa. "Kazuha, it's fine... I was only reading a book." You chuckled gently.

"I know, but... it felt wrong to interupt you so abruptly specially when you seemed so into it-" you'd twisted your torso ever so slightly so your eyes could lay on his now, your heart almost broke, he looked absolutely shattered- like all life was drained from him. Just what had this crazy man gotten up to in his absence? "Kazuha- oh my goodness. Look at you! You're about to pass out."

He smiled politely and waved his hand side to side as if dusting your worry back into the wind. "Nah, I'm a lil tired that's all. I'm gonna have a lie down, I'll be right as rain after." He went to go back to making his way to the exit of your living room, that is until you called out ever so gently. "Or well, I wouldn't mind if you rested your head on my lap." A faint blush flushed your cheeks. He turned to face you yet again. Blinking several times over again.

"Really?" He tilted his head almost like a curious puppy, he has no idea how cute he is sometimes. "I mean, sure why not? You've not been home for over a month. I do get lonely ya know, the company would feel nice, and your presence is always warm and welcoming." You smiled sweetly at him and he returned the expression with full earnest. Nodding softly he made his way to the sofa, where you rested, and now reshuffled and organised yourself to get into a more comfy position.

It wasn't long before he was laying on his side with his head nestled into your lap, breathing softly as your hand gently rested adorn his head of hair. "Mmh. You're right, this beats sleeping alone any day." He hummed sleepily to you, by the way his voice was giving out you could tell he was close to succumbing to his slumber already. With a gentle smile still planted across your lips you hushed him softly.

"Shh, rest now. My Kazuha." You began to hum a quaint little lullaby that had him snoring in under three minutes. This man, he works himself so hard, but still, it's one of the reasons you love him so much, the fact he's hard working and never gives in. And you have the comfort in your mind of knowing whenever he gets this tired again, he'll have you here to be by his peaceful sleeping side everytime. Now and forever.

Diluc

The sky was a beautiful orange and red tone, the colours mixed so beautifully, with the white fluffy clouds scattered around too, it looked like a stunning evening. You were sat alone at the dinner table again, your chin resting on your opened palm, your eyelids half shut to block the rays of the last bit of presence from the sun.

The candles had long since burned out and the beautiful sweet honeyed roast you'd prepare with such delicacy and tender care was going cold. Diluc was suppose to be home over thirty-five minutes ago, he promised he'd make it in time for whatever dinner the maids threw together tonight, he wasn't aware you'd taken it upon yourself to lovingly prepare tonight's meal for him.

You couldn't be mad at the man; or hold a grudge for that matter, you knew what type of person he was, you knew he wasn't one for sticking to plans and promises, he simply couldn't be with the work he has, not to mention his little sun down hobby that you became privy too after several years with the crimson haired gentleman. If there was one thing you were grateful for, it was the fact you knew without doubt he truly did love you. And in a way that was enough for you.

It was sundown now and your dinner had long been since tidied up by the maids, with a somewhat solemn look to your face you'd decided to go to bed early that night. Knowing Diluc, he wouldn't be home for hours to come anyway. Your eyes were just starting ache and your eyelids were starting to feel heavy for you now. Breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth softly you let your body sink further into the warm embracing sheets.

Click.

Your eyes slowly opened back up when you heard the all too familiar noise of your bedroom door opening, narrowing your eyes slightly to help adjust to the dim glow of the room, the small aid of illumination being provided solely by your nightstand candle. It wasn't hard to make out who it was however, since his deep red hair practically danced from the slight glow of the flicking flame.

"Diluc." It came out more like a whisper which you never intended for it too, but you were so gripped by tiredness now it was hard to sound more awake at the given circumstances. "Sorry for waking you my dear, wasn't my intention." You hummed softly in response and then watched as best as you could as he removed his attire and shoes, stripping down to just his boxers.

Gripping the band that kept his hair up was the last part, with a tug his hair flew down and waved apart, you kept a watchful eye on him. As it was when his hair was down that he was always at his most tired and vulnerable mental state now. "The maids told me Y/N." He still sounded strict, or at least he was trying his best too. But his voice wavered in every sense of the word.

The bed dipped beside you as his weight was added to the mattress now, a small groan escaping his lips. You knew what he meant, it wasn't a surprise the maids told him you'd prepared the dinner today, you'd just wish they'd not sometimes, to avoid adding more stress to the man's poor ordeals. "It's fine, it was just a small attempt. I'm not exactly the best cook to begin wit-"

The poorly sounding wince from him cut you off, the failed attempt to stifle it and keep it under wraps didn't go unnoticed. You narrowed your eyes at the man beside you in bed now, and then you saw. He was littered with cuts and bruises, they surely must hurt, why didn't he say anything? Scratch that. He never tells you anyway, thinking its better that way. Silly man.

With a gentle huff you shook your head, shuffling your weight and sitting up ever so slightly, your back pressing against the several puffed pillows under you. "Enough of that. Come here darling." It was your turn to sound strict however, and for once he didn't fight back. Your heart tugged at you slightly as you felt the weight shifting around beside you and then were suddenly graced with the feeling of his head nuzzling into your lap.

You took it upon yourself to softly begin to caress his head, letting your hand stroke and massage the man's hair and scalp. The groans and sighs that left him were evidence enough he was in a blissful state right now, your sweet Diluc. Always putting his life on the line to protect those less fortunate than him, when will he learn? That his life matters just as much. Sigh.

You heard a soft mutter from him, something along the lines of 'sorry' and 'dinner'. But he was already taken by the nights calming embrace to be formulating anything coherent now, so you closed your eyes with another soft shake of your head and continued to massage his head. Till both you and your hand laid still, silent, asleep. Whatever he'd done tonight, whatever reason he'd missed dinner, it didn't matter. As long as he loved you it was enough. It always has been, it always will be.

Xiao

The stars twinkled softly an slowly, looking so entrancing from down below, the dark blue sky washing above you with the dazzling twinkles looking like small fire flies dancing around. You stood there, your knee bent slightly as your weight was supported by the banister of the top balcony to Wangshu Inn. Any minute now, you thought to yourself calmly.

And is if on que a sudden and harsh breeze blew past you, followed up with a loud thud. You turned your head ever so slightly, seeing the young looking yaksha lifting back up from his crouch landing position. "Welcome home honey." you said somewhat stone like, to which you got a simple sounding 'Tsk' as response, as he chucked his spear lazily behind him, to which it dissolved away instantly.

You rolled your eyes to the quiet scoff that greeted you back, shaking your head slowly, your eyes went back to focus on the landscape below you from the viewpoint of the balcony. It was so peaceful and beautiful. "How has your day been?" You decided to question him further, all while remaining your focus elsewhere.

"Fine." he responded in short. This type of reply was normal to you now, he wasn't the talkative type, despite having been the first to say to you he loved you. "Well, that's good then." you said back in your normal sweet tone now. You could tell from that tone in his voice he was exhausted, he didn't have to say or do anything, you could just tell.

Thinking it was best to leave now and give him his privacy you turned away from the balcony and began to walk to the exit. "I will let you rest my love, see you soo-"

"Wait."

His voice was louder than its ever been round you, the faint flush on his cheeks was evidence enough he never intended for it to come out so loudly from his own mouth. "Xiao?" you turned back round, seeing him stood there looking like a somewhat lost lamb, it was damn cute.

"S...stay with me, ... please."

His voice, so soft, so sweet, so gentle. You felt your heart crack slightly, your poor adeptus, he must've been rushed off his feet tonight. The dark bags forming under his eyes said all you needed to hear.

Chewing your bottom lip softly you breathed in and then walked over to him slowly. "Xiao..." you whispered his name lovingly, his eyes met with yours and for a brief moment the air left your lungs, the sight of his exhausted face so close to you, actively seeking comfort within you, it was enough to melt the coldest of icebergs.

Letting your hand slip into his with a gentle squeeze, a small smile on your lips you led him down the stairs of the Inn, into your bedroom, a tidy and quaint little sleeping quarter. He needed to rest, he is pushing himself too much, and if you do not take action, he never will.

Climbing onto the bed once you'd abandoned your shoes on the carpet you looked up at him, laying in a relaxing position. The red on his cheeks only flushed deeper and darker, and you couldn't help but laugh softly. Such a lewd mind, oh my, you never expected him to get the wrong idea over a situation like this.

"Xiao- no... not that." you chuckled at his confused expression, he was so alien to the concept of just touch in general now, that to him he sees it so black and white, being close means being intimate, otherwise why get close? So it was up to you to show him the ways of being human again.

You let your hand softly pet and stroke your lap and he raised his brow, but seeing the sudden light in his eyes spark showed you he caught on to what you really were aiming for. So he hesitantly dipped onto the bed next to you, he was tense and his movements were awkward, but he eventually shuffled his head and body to lay down with his head nestled softly into your lap.

"Is this... okay?" he muttered it nervously, like he was scared the slightest movement would shatter everything around him. You looked down at him and gently kissed your fingers, pressing them against his lips in response. "Shh, rest my love, you need it." Just to further add to what you were saying you let your hand gently rub the outer ridge of his ear.

The blush eventually left his cheeks, the tensed muscles finally went lax and his breathing grew heavier and more unguarded, with a pleased hum from your lips you closed your eyes too and began to succumb to the sweet calling of slumber too.

As long as he has you, you will always be there to help[ him, he may be an adeptus, a yaksha, but you? He is just as human as you or anyone else. Wrath filled or not. He is and always will be your sweet little adeptus. Your perfect lover. Your Xiao.

Kaeya

Another late night and you sat cuddled up on the sofa scanning through several paintings, more specifically paintings that you had done over the course of several months. It was a hobby of yours, but with the aid of Albedo giving you tips and throwing you pointers here and there you'd become surprisingly good at it; who would've guessed you'd secretly be an artist in hiding? Not you that's for sure.

It was fun enough to help tide over the unsettling impatience that always started to bubble under your skin at least, specially on nights like this, where Kaeya, your boyfriend, who also happened to be the Calvary Captain for the Knights of Favonius was out at an ungodly late time, dealing with a suspicion of criminal activities, within the borders of Mondstadt.

He never broke his promises to you thus far, of which were he will always return safely home to you, but it never did fully destroy the raging thunder of worry that often seized your mind on a daily, who could blame you? The man was always in such dangerous predicaments. Who knew if this morning, or any morning for that matter, where you kissed him goodbye, would be the last time you ever would see his face when you waved him off?

It isn't his fault you know this, but you do wish that sometimes he would be cut slack, just a little, so you could for once not have to distract yourself with idle glances of your paintings while waiting for his return. If only every now and then Jean, The Acting Grand Master would just let him have a day off-

Click.

You jumped slightly upon hearing the noise of your front door not open, but actually close. Turning your head you saw Kaeya stood there, arms covering his chest in a crossed way, a raised brow prominent as he glared down at you. "How long have you been worrying?" His voice sounded so flat and monotone, almost a hint of exhaustion. Was he growing tired of your over worried nature?

"I... uh. uhm..." You were at a loss for words, how long had you been worrying exactly? Two, three hours now? You were unsure of the answer yourself. He shook his head and sighed out slowly, it was long and drawn out; he must be so tired from his work today, seeing you up at this hour acting like a child probably doesn't help his situation in the least.

You looked down sadly, feeling ashamed and guilty of yourself because you do this oh so often to him, he always prays your in bed, safely tucked up and lost in your own dreams before he gets home, but you never are, you're always awake and worried, your face far from the peaceful look he often daydreams you having.

"It doesn't matter anymore my little petal." He hums softly as he walks around the sofa to get within arms reach, crouching onto his own weight to scoop you up, your mind in shock you let the paintings slip from your grip and pool around the seat you were just in and the floor underneath you. "Whe- Kaeya?"

"Shh, it is time to head to the bedroom." He spoke so matter factually, which left you eyes wide and beet red, to which he glanced down and a smug chuckle slipped from him. "For sleep Y/N." You relaxed instantly, a sigh escaping you. "Unless of course, you want the other thing?" You squirmed, embarrassed beyond belief, he loved to teased you. "Quit it Kaeya!" You pouted at him, to which he just chuckled at lightly, planting a soft kiss on your head.

Once in the bedroom he drops you so you fall and sink into the softness of your mattress and covers, to which he joins you quickly after. Now both in bed he simply huffs as he turns and crawls around before you feel his head find its preferred resting place; your lap. You smile and gently chuckle. "May i?" He asks just a tad bit too late for permission.

"You're already laying there Kaeya, bit late for the formalities now." You roll your eyes and turn to blow the candle out, leaving you both in darkness and silence, just your soft and gentle breathing in unison as you stroke and massage his head, to which he groans gently in delight too. He is so sweet when he sleeps on your lap like this, you feel closer to him now than you ever normally do, unless you involve the factor of intimacy sexually.

Its calming and sweet, and it helps you remember that he will always keep his promise to you,

He will always come home safely.

[deleteddewewted]

Incel!Shinsou x F!Reader fanfic idea (Part 2)

So here we are, Incel!Shinsou is back and this time with a bit of growth that he needs to make independently (While thinking about the reader of course. Thank you so much to @blossominglark for sending in such a lovely message! Also here you can find a small explanation as to why i even started the Incel!Shinsou series.)

"I think I want you. I think you're bad. I think you're good, it's like the love I never had. I think I need you. Oh God, it's true. I think I'm falling and there's nothing I can do" - Beetlejuice Chill by Life After Youth

Part 1: Incel! Shinsou x F!Reader

Part 3: Incel!Shinsou x F!Reader (1/2)

How difficult could it be? To forget that you ever existed... thats what's haunting Shinsou ever since the conversation you two had a few days ago. He cant seem to focus anymore, everything just reeks of you. (His own bedroom where you two would sit on the floor and work on your project together. You would laugh at something that came on the television, every time resulting in his face heating up and heart beating harder at the sound, the beautiful sound, of your laughter. It doesn't feel the same anymore. He cant sit or sleep there anymore.) Shinsou starts speaking with Aizawa more, to be honest its not like Aizawa gave him that much of a choice. He needed to understand what was happening with his son and you in order to help or bring some constructive input.

Shinsou goes on and on about how he mocked you to his "friends". When questioned on his "friends" he said that they were all telling him that you needed to be taught how to be a "proper woman" the "perfect girl for them".

("Hitoshi what-...why would you...?"

"I don't know! It made sense when i was young and- i... i dont understand how or why and...please just- help me i dont understand!"

"It's ok, it's ok, come here." Aizawa hugs Shinsou tightly. He starts running his hand over Shinsou's hair comforting him.

"What did you show them? What did you tell them about...her, exactly?") A mess of tears and regrets, thats what Shinsou is. A puddle which he somehow drowned you in out of a bitter rage that had nothing to do with you.

Aizawa finally holding a grasp as to how Shinsou's mind worked, he couldn't help but feel defeated. He neglected his son so much he became bitter and resentful towards the wrong people, the wrong person. (Aizawa only ever told Shinsou that his mother moved away from them because it was "too much for her". Young Shinsou couldn't grasp why his mom would leave him, but again he never really asked questions since he saw how upset it made his dad. "Dont worry Hitoshi, ill be here for you no matter what. Got it, problem child?") An intervention needs to be made now. To prevent even more damage, to keep his son safe and his sons ex-friend safe.

"Hitoshi? The posts and things you put online, you need to delete everything now." Urgency was a must, damage control needed to happen now. Who knows if Shinsou wrote about where he lived, where you lived and studied at, if he showed those "friends" of his your face. Who knows how much information he put out there to a bunch of strangers about you. "Ok, ok. Let me delete everything...yeah...thats-yeah...makes sense." He's slipping, Shinsou is slipping into a pit of shock and disgust, he needs to fix things and that only starts by wiping away years of miss informed opinions disguised as truths.

Everything is gone. No more accounts. No more pictures. No more you. He didn't make any announcements or even address why he was wiping everything. He didn't answer the piles of questions flooding his inbox about why he was doing all of this, he just didn't care anymore. He couldn't find you either. No account on any platform with any signs of you. (He should have asked for your socials, but knowing where you two started off at he thinks its better that you two didn't. It saved you from his incessant torment he saw himself being capable of.)

Week one came and went. You didn't show up for classes and people started to take notice.

"Does anyone know why y/n isn't at school anymore? Is she sick?" Midoriya asked one day. Everyone kind of just looked at each other hoping that someone might have an answer. Be it that no one other then Shinsou was in the same class as you, everyone in his friend group knew about you since you where always nice despite the way you presented clothing wise. (The clothing didn't matter nor did the labels, you were still so welcoming to everyone. Hell, you even welcomed Monoma and that guy is considered psycho by everyone.) Shinsou couldn't do anything but listen to his friends (Midoriya, Shoto, Denki, Mina, Iida, and Ururaka) go on about how nice you were. How they miss you. He misses you . He ruined this, he ruined your school experience and pushed you to lose the friends you had because of his own ignorance. He forced you to choice between showing up to school and dealing with him or not coming in at all and losing the friends you had because of him.

The Sports Festival was coming up soon, here all the students would compete against each other to show off their skills. The Festival acts more as an opportunity for the different Courses to fight each other since its focus centers on the physical strength and wellbeing of the students instead of their study of focus. It also helps with publicity by letting UA show off their students to the general public. (Shinsou didn't understand why the school would have a Sports Festival. UA was better known for being STEM and Art focused which meant that many of the students only had to take 1 year of P.E. instead of the 3 years other schools required.

"So again, what's the purpose of this?"

"Its just a chance for the different Courses to bully each other, and for the General Course to get mocked." responded Togeike. Be it that she never spent time with Shinsou, they both had a mutual attitude and just stayed away from each other out of disinterest. It wasn't after Shinsou's personality changed did she feel more comfortable being around him and started speaking to him casually throughout the day.

"So what does the Business Course do during-"

"Hey, didn't you and y/n work on that project together?" This caught Shinsou of guard. For the past week its all been about you and how you hadn't been coming to class. (You haunt him even outside of school, the guilts too much for him at times.)

"Yeah...what about it." he snarls. Just because he's changed in appearance and largely in attitude, that doesn't mean he's over the way he treats people. Cant she get to the point already-

"Geez man, i just wanted to ask if you needed her number." That...was off. Why would she assume that he needed your number?

"Why would you give me her number? Don't you think that as former project partners i would already have her-"

"You're clearly upset about her not being here, so shut up. Either take it or leave it, jackass." she bit back. How did she know? Shinsou has always had a resting bitch face which made it hard to read his emotions. How did she manage to figure it out? (God he was an asshole!)

"Yeah, please....i'm sorry. I could-"

"Please shut the fuck up, i don't want an apology from you. Take it and fix this shit. I hate seeing people mope and you're pretty much dying in a pit here." Togeike really gives no fucks and she was tired of the purple haired boy looking like a kicked puppy. She assumed it had something to do with you. When you started skipping class, Shinsou also started to look upset and wouldn't speak that often. It wasn't like Shinsou was shy, he just didn't see the need to speak all the time. So to see him become even more silent was concerning.)

He left school that day with a skip to his step. He has your number! He has a way of contacting you! Yet, he still knew that having your number wouldn't fix anything. You left him alone and it wouldn't be fair for him to barge back into your life without proving he's improving, that he's actually deserving of you're friendship at least....

The Sports Festival.....

He can prove himself to you there....

Everyone will see it, every student at UA has to be there for credit....you'll have to be there. You'll also have to participate for the start of it, so you'll have to interact with someone.

(This was it)

This was so much fun to write! Lets give this a slow build up to give him proper character development and redemption. The next part will be the Sports Festival and what he plans on doing to get you back. Let's set up that his intention is too for one, make an impression on the school for when he decides to transfer to the Art Course but also to make an impression on you and get you to notice him in a positive light. Our poor incel is trying his best ok....

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

Jin Guangyao isn't cruel because he is nice sometimes! No... no... just no. He pretends to be a nice, sweet person to get what he wants, it is exactly why he got away with the killings and plannings for the Yin Hu Fu, YEARS AFTER JIN GUANGSHAN IS OUT OF THE PICTURE. He's the only legitimate Jin left old enough to take over the Sect, who the hell was gonna argue that when all relevant Jins were dead and Nie Mingjue was killed by the happy smiling pretty boy?

First example, he was actively friends with Xue Yang, there is no saying he was coerced into that one since he recommended him as a guest disciple and made creepy little jokes with him.

Jin GuangYao sighed, “I only turned around for a second and you stirred up so much trouble for me. I only had to pay for a bowl of dumplings in the beginning, and now I have to pay for his table, chairs, pots and pans, and even bowls.”

Xue Yang, “You’ll miss the couple of coins?”

Jin GuangYao, “No.”

Xue Yang, “Then why are you sighing?”

Jin GuangYao, “I don’t think you’ll miss the couple of coins either. Why can’t you try being a normal customer once in a while?”

Xue Yang, “Back in Kuizhou I never paid for anything I wanted. Just like this.” As he spoke, he casually plucked off a stick of sugared haws off a vendor’s pole. It might be the first time the vendor saw such a shameless person. As he stared open-mouthed, Xue Yang took a bite, “Besides, you can deal with the trouble of me wrecking a tiny stall, can’t you?”

Jin GuangYao smiled, “You little delinquent. Wreck stalls however you want. I wouldn’t even care if you burned down the entire street. Just one thing—don’t wear the Stars Amidst Snow robes and cover up your face. Don’t let anyone know who did it, or it’d be trouble for me.”

He tossed the money to the vendor

A.K.A: haha you're funny and I don't care who you fuck over but be sly and

Next example:

And so, Jin GuangShan sought after all those who imitated Wei WuXian in cultivating the ghostly path and gathered them under his rule. He spent a great amount of money and resources on these people, ordering them to study and analyze the structure of the Tiger Seal in secrecy so that they could replicate and restore it. Among them, not many achieved anything, while the one who walked the furthest was the youngest Xue Yang, recommended by Jin GuangYao alone.

Jin GuangYao was overjoyed. He accepted him as a guest cultivator and gave him high rights and freedom. The corpse training ground was an area of land Jin GuangYao specially requested for Xue Yang for him to research in secrecy, which meant for him to fool around however he wanted to.

He gave a whole torture playground for Xue Yang to use, he specifically asked for this from his own mouth, for Xue Yang to use and he would check in on progress. As for his morals:

Jin GuangYao’s tone was somewhat reproachful, “He Su gongzi is a respected cultivator, after all. How could you refer to him in such a disrespectful way?”

The cultivator laughed coldly, “I’ve already fallen in your hands. What are you keeping up the pretense for?”

Jin GuangYao responded with a kind expression, “You don’t have to look at me like that. I also had no choice. To elect a chief cultivator is an irresistible trend. What was the use of stirring up trouble and seeking arguments everywhere? I’ve already warned you again and again, yet you were determined not to listen to me. Under these circumstances, things are already beyond redemption. From the bottom of my heart, I, too, feel utmost pain and regret.”

He Su, “What was the irresistible trend? What was stirring up trouble? Jin GuangShan wanted to establish the position of chief cultivator only to imitate the QishanWen Sect in being the only one at the top. Do you think all the world is ignorant? You frame me like this only because I spoke the truth!”

Jin GuangYao smiled, saying nothing. He Su continued, “When you really succeed, all of the world of cultivation would see the true face of the LanlingJin Sect. Do you think killing me alone would put you eternally at ease? How wrong you are! We, the TingshanHe Sect, teem with talent. From now on, we’ll unite and never surrender to you Wen-dogs of another skin!”

Hearing this, Jin GuangYao squinted slightly, the corners of his lips curving up. It was the usual kind, gentle expression. Seeing this, He Su felt his heart skip a beat. At the same time, commotion sounded outside the corpse training ground, among it the cries of women and children.

He Su spun around, only to see a group of LanlingJin Sect cultivators drag inside sixty or seventy people all wearing the same uniform. There were men and women, old and young. Every one of them was a cross between shock and fear, while some were already crying. Both tied up, a girl and a boy kneeled on the ground as they wailed at He Su, “Ge!”

He Su was shocked speechless, his face instantly as white as paper, “Jin GuangYao! What are you doing?! It’s enough if you kill me—why drag my entire sect along?!”

Jin GuangYao looked down and fixed his sleeves, still grinning, “Weren’t you yourself the one who reminded me just now? Even if I killed you, I wouldn’t be put eternally at ease. The TingshanHe Sect teems with talent, and from now on, you’d unite and never surrender—I was quite frightened. After much thought, this was the only thing I could come up with.”

Among the group are children. That he did see and stare at gleefully as he lets Xue Yang decide to use all of them for corpse experiments. What does that mean??? Maybe that Jin Guangyao is also not in fact best uncle as he similarly was willing to kill Jin Ling who he "loved" as bait to try running away and is more than willing to use his "friends" for his own rise to power or to run away.

Examples of him enjoying emotionally torturing others as much as Xue Yang as a tactic:

Example 1:

“That’s not the way to go about things, is it? The TingshanHe Sect rebelled and schemed to assassinate Sect Leader Jin with all its forces before it was caught red-handed. How could that be called without a reason?”

The ones overhead cried, “Ge! He’s lying! We didn’t, we didn’t!”

He Su, “Utter nonsense! Open your eyes and fucking look! There are nine-year-old children here! Old men who can’t even walk! How could they rebel against anything?! Why would they assassinate your dad out of nowhere?!”

Jin GuangYao, “Because you made a mistake and committed murder, Young Master He Su, while they refused to accept Koi Tower’s conviction of you, of course.”

He Su finally remembered the accusation for which he was transferred to such a creepy place, “It’s all made up! I never killed a cultivator of the LanlingJin Sect! I’ve never even seen the person who died! I don’t even know if he was really a cultivator from your sect! I… I…”

He stammered for a while before eventually caving in, “I… I don’t even know what happened, I don’t even know!”

Yet, at such a place, nobody would listen to his protests.

Example 2:

Just as he was about to move, Jin GuangYao smiled, “HanGuang-Jun, it’s best if you take five steps back.”

Wei WuXian suddenly felt a small, sharp sting come from his neck. Lan XiChen lowered his voice, “Be careful. Do not move!”

Lan WangJi’s gaze landed on Wei WuXian’s neck. His face paled slightly.

An almost invisible guqin string, light and golden, was tied around Wei WuXian’s neck.

The guqin string was extremely thin. It was covered in special paint as well, making it almost invisible to the eye. Along with how disoriented Wei WuXian was, unable to pay attention to anything else, he didn’t notice it when it wrapped around his throat.

“Lan Zhan, don’t! Don’t back away!”

But Lan WangJi immediately walked five steps back without any hesitation.

Jin GuangYao, “Wonderful. Now, please sheathe Bichen.”

With a clank, Lan WangJi obeyed again. Wei WuXian raged, “Don’t ask for too much!”

Jin GuangYao quipped, “This is already asking for too much? Next, I’m even going to ask HanGuang-Jun to seal away his spiritual powers. What would that be called?”

Wei WuXian seethed, “You…”

Before he could finish, the sharp pain of flesh being lacerated came from his throat. Something dripped down his neck. Lan WangJi’s face was pale. Jin GuangYao said, “How could he not listen to me? Just think about it, Wei gongzi, his life is in my hands.”

Lan WangJi spoke one word at a time, “Do. Not. Touch. Him.”

“Then you know what to do, HanGuang-Jun.”

A moment later, Lan WangJi responded, “Yes.”

Lan XiChen sighed. Lan WangJi raised his hands. With two strong taps, he locked his own spiritual powers.

Jin GuangYao smiled, his voice soft, “This really is…”

Lan WangJi’s eyes were locked on them, “Let him go.”

Example 3:

Wei WuXian wouldn’t have had to be responsible for a life as heavy as Jin ZiXuan’s, and the things that happened later wouldn’t have had to happen.

Yet now, he finally realized even the reason behind culprit’s curse wasn’t to frame him. Even the cause didn’t have anything to do with him!

Such a fact was truly difficult to accept.

As he laughed, Wei WuXian’s eyes reddened. He mocked, whether at himself or otherwise, “I can’t believe it’s because of someone like you… because of such a ridiculous reason!”

But Jin GuangYao seemed like he knew what he thought, “Wei gongzi, you really shouldn’t think like this.”

Wei WuXian, “Oh? You know what I think?”

Jin GuangYao, “Of course. It’s quite easy. You’re definitely thinking about how unfortunate you are. In reality, you’re not. Even if Su She didn’t curse Jin ZiXun, Mr. Wei, you’d receive a siege sooner or later, because of some other reason.” He smiled, “Because that’s what kind of a person you are. At best, you’re the untamed hero; at worst, you offend people wherever you go. Unless all those whom you’ve offended lived their lives safely, as soon as something happened to them or someone did something to them, the first person they suspect would be you and the first person they seek revenge on would also you. And this is something you have no control over.”

Somehow, Wei WuXian smiled, “What should I do? For some reason, I think you make a lot of sense.”

Jin GuangYao, “And even if you didn’t lose control at the Qiongqi Path, could you guarantee you didn’t lose control sometime in the rest of your life? Thus, someone like you is destined to have a short life. You see? Doesn’t it feel a lot better if you think about it this way?”

He takes little time in using others hurt or their protective instincts against them, and is just as gleeful to see others in powerless situations in comparison to him as it still gives him a form of control to worm his way out of everything that has caught up to him.

Jin GuangYao, “Ge, every word of what I say is true.”

His tone was more than earnest. Ever since he captured Lan XiChen, he’d indeed been treating him with respect. At this point, Lan XiChen wasn’t able to turn against him yet. He could only sigh, “Sect Leader Jin, I have already said, when you went your own way to scheme such havoc at Burial Mound, that there was no longer any need to call me ‘Brother.’”

Jin GuangYao, “What happened at Burial Mound was an accident, a mistake. But, I can’t go back anymore.”

Lan XiChen, “What do you mean you cannot go back?”

Lan WangJi frowned slightly, his voice cold, “Xiongzhang, do not engage in excessive conversation with him.”

Wei WuXian reminded him as well, “Sect Leader Lan, do you remember what you said to Sect Leader Jiang? Don’t spend too long talking to him.”

Jin GuangYao, “Ge, listen to me. I don’t deny that I did those things…”

Lan XiChen, “How could you deny them? There are both witnesses and proof!”

Jin GuangYao, “And so I said I don’t deny them! But to have killed my father, my wife, my son, ge—if not because I had no other choice, why would I have done those things? Could it be that I’m really so out of my mind in your eyes?!”

"Your… wife…” As though he couldn’t say it, he immediately changed his phrasing, "Your sister, Qin Su, did you really marry her while knowing what blood relationship you had with her?”

Jin GuangYao stared blankly at him. Suddenly, tears rolled down his eyes. He answered with pain, “… Yes.” Lan XiChen took in a deep breath. His face was almost ashen. Jin GuangYao whispered, "But I really had no choice.”

With a sigh, Lan XiChen continued, “Third, do not try to avoid it and answer me—did you plan the death of Jin ZiXuan on purpose?!”

Hearing his father’s name, Jin Ling, who’d been holding Jiang Cheng, widened his eyes.

Lan WangJi raised his voice somewhat, “Xiongzhang, you believe him?”

Lan XiChen’s expression was complicated, “Of course I do not believe that Jin ZiXuan ran into the attack at Qiongqi Path by accident, but… let him speak first.”

Jin GuangYao knew he wouldn’t be believed if he denied it no matter what. He clenched his teeth, “… I indeed didn’t run into Jin ZiXuan by accident.”

Jin Ling immediately clenched his fists.

Jin GuangYao continued, “But I’ve never thought of planning everything that happened afterward either. You don’t have to think of me as so clever and faultless. Many things can’t be controlled at all. How could I have known that he’d definitely die by Wei WuXian’s hands together with Jin ZiXun? How could I have predicted that Wei WuXian would definitely lose control and the Ghost General would definitely run a riot?”

Wei WuXian’s voice was harsh, “And you said you didn’t run into him by accident? Isn’t that self-contradiction?!”

Jin GuangYao, “I don’t deny that I told him about the attack at Qiongqi Path on purpose, but I only thought that he’d encounter some difficulties if he ran into you when you were being troubled by his cousin since he’d never been on good terms with you. How could I have known that you would simply kill everyone present, Wei gongzi?”

“Why was a sect leader who spent money like water unwilling to do the smallest favor and buy my mother’s freedom? Simple—it was too much trouble. My mother waited for so many years, weaving together so many difficult circumstances when she talked to me, imagining for his sake so many hardships. And the real reason was only a single word: trouble.

“This is what he said, ‘It’s especially women who’ve read some books who think they’re a level higher than other women. They’re the most troublesome, with so many demands and unrealistic thoughts. If I bought her freedom and took her back to Lanling, who knows how much fuss she’d make. It was best that I let her stay where she was just like that. With her conditions, she’d probably be popular for a few more years. She wouldn’t have to worry about her spendings for the rest of her life.’

“‘Son? Oh, forget it.’”

Jin GuangYao’s memory was extraordinary. With such a word-by-word repetition, one could even imagine that drunk expression of Jin GuangShan’s when he said these words, “Ge, look, those three words were all that I was worth to my father, ‘Oh, forget it.’ Hahahaha…”

Pain flashed before Lan XiChen’s face, “Even if your father… you…” He still couldn’t find an appropriate comment and gave up, sighing instead, “What is the use of saying all this now?”

Jin GuangYao shrugged as he smiled, “I can’t help it. To seek pity even after doing all these terrible things—that’s the kind of person I am.”

At the word ‘pity’, he suddenly flipped his wrist. A red guqin string wrapped around Jin Ling’s neck.

Tears still hung at the corners of Jin GuangYao’s eyes as he spoke, voice low, “Don’t move!”

"I had no choice", "I couldn't predict anyone would be killed" "He mocked and forgot my mother and I". He uses all of this as a try to convince a kind Lan Xichen to let him go. However,he contradicts his own defenses as he had said Wei Wuxian was always fated to die for his actions and lack of being to keep things under control. This empathy is faked on his end while he makes excuses all while he never extended the same courtesy to those he killed, innocent or not, and underhandedly still tries to get those sympathetic under his manipulations. When they are not working he resorts again to threatening lives. He uses his mother also as a reason for revenge, however his grab for power alone after Jin Guangshan and Nie Mingjue are killed was solely based on his own obsession of status at that point. His mother was no longer a goal to accomplish anything and his continued lies dragged in more than one innocent party to get what he wanted.

He never saw Jin Ling, Lan Xichen, Lan Wangji, or Wei Wuxian as anything but pawns despite his soft words to them that are really just a mockery within Guanyin Temple at that point. He has placed none of them before himself in terms of what he cares for and never had.

TL:DR: Jin Guangyao's "kindness" was always a mask and Nie Mingjue was right that he was irredeemable, genuinely unkind and cruel as a person.

(Edit: Jin Guangyao stans don't even try, I will block you if you dare to reply to this)

[bookishdream]

Could you do a Kaz x reader where the reader have to "cheat on him" (not in relationship but like she goes to another gang) because someone's threatening her and when he discovers she was just trying to protect him and the gang she dies

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for a request, I've been wanting to write some angst for a really long time! I hope it is as hurtful as you wished, enjoy xx

TW: angst, blood, killing

kaz brekker x reader

Your hands were sweaty and shaking. You crossed your arms on your chest in order to hide that. You didn’t like being threatened, especially by some amateurs. But it wasn’t a threat against you, it was against your family in Novyi Ziem. You had to use your whole will power to not kill them right there and then.

“Why do you think I’d do anything you want me to?” you asked snapping your gaze between a woman and a man in front of you. “You don’t know anything about me and my family you assume I have.”

“Oh, y/n, but we know everything. For instance, your little brother is playing as we talking on your vast field, your parents are watching him with so much love in their eyes,” woman with blonde hair spoke first, describing the scene so vividly that you almost showed an emotion on your face. “maybe they have already forgotten about you? Maybe your mother is pregnant so they could fill a blank you left in their home.”

“Shut up, you think you’re so smart, aren’t you?” you snapped, face blank and mind filling with memories from times when you were as young as your brother was then, playing on the exact same field. “I will never betray Kaz, and you should know that.”

“Oh sweetie,” the guy beside walked closer to you, you made a step, in order to make some distance between you and them. “we’re not asking you to betray him, we’re asking you to leave this silly gang and join us, Pekka Rollins would be really happy if you did.”

“You two are much denser than I thought, if you think I want to make him happy.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Blonde said, making you shiver. “We have someone who would be pleased to kill this little family of yours. I don’t think you want them dead, even though they think you are, in fact, dead.”

You started to think about that. Crows were your friends and you love them. Inej and Nina always found various ways to make you cheerful when your day wasn’t the best, Jesper taught you how to use a pistol and flirted with you like his life depended on it. Wylan was like a sun in rainy days, even if you loved them, you also loved this boy and his stupid jokes. Matthias was funny to tease, he always was saying how awful you and the girls were, but you could also see this little twitch of his lip corner when he tried to suppress his laugh. And there was Kaz, your beginning wasn’t the pleasant one, you nearly killed him when you saw him for the first time, and in revenge he left you in the Barrel for the whole night, all alone. But after that, you started falling for him, and you fell hard. You couldn’t exactly point out when that happened, but you were sure you’d anything to save him from himself. He had tough personality, he cared only for money and how he could invest it to get the whole city only for himself. But he let you do that with him, barley sleeping and when you did it was in the same bed. Arm-length gap but you always were less exhausted than when you were sleeping in your own bed. You loved him and the rest of the Crows, but you loved your family more. And you knew what you had to do.

“Bitch.” You murmured. “Fine, whatever. Just stay the hell out of my family. And the gang.”

“We knew you’d make a right decision. Pekka will send money to Per Haskell in order to buy your contract. You won’t regret that.”

“I already do.”

After that day, you were about to start living with your new gang, family, like Pekka had said to you the previous day, he’d also told you to not worry about your parents and brother, that they were safe as long as you were working with him, willingly.

You wouldn’t call this willingly, but you guessed it was enough to prevent your family from any harm coming from Pekka and his stupid gang. You hated being here, you missed the Crow Club, late night talks with Inej and Nina, and helping Kaz with buying new ships. You wanted nothing more than to escape, but you couldn’t. Kaz and Crows could fight and kill, whereas your family was vulnerable, they couldn’t even hurt a fly. You spent the whole evening in your empty room. Window with grids making you shiver, you felt like a prisoner you were.

“We have a job for you.” The blonde girl who captured you came in, like it was her cell, not yours. “Behave and perhaps we’ll get rid of those grids.”

You wanted to punch her, you didn’t even know her name, it wasn’t even relevant, your hand was itching. You took a long, calming breath and looked at her, frowning. “I thought it was another week until you’d trust me enough to even open my window.”

“You’ve been here for two weeks. Plans have changed, we need you right now, so cut the attitude and come with me.”

You rolled your eyes and went after her, going up the stairs and leaving the place Pekka’s gang lived. You took another deep breath, smelling the awful scent of Ketterdam, smoke and money as Kaz used to say. Gods, you missed him.

“Where are we going?” you asked, falling into step with the girl, there were only the two of you, you assumed the rest will be somewhere where you were going. “What’s the job?”

“Can’t you just shut up? You’ll know when we’re there.”

You really wanted to punch her, still you said nothing, you wouldn’t get anything from her. It was dark on the city’s streets, buildings high enough to cover the moon, didn’t let its shine to light up the roads. You were annoyed and cold, your hair was swaying with the wind, goose bumps poking on your skin.

“Here.” Blonde said, handing you a pistol. “If you kill someone from ours, you’re dead before you take your last breath.”

You rolled your eyes, hiding your gun into the pocket of a coat you had. The metal was cold, making your hands even colder than they were before. Now when you had a real gun, not only your knife, perhaps you’d be able to escape. But where would you go? You were sure Kaz knew where you were, perhaps thinking you betrayed him, that thought only made you feel guilty in your guts, he trusted you and you chose people who you hadn’t seen for years over him. You had to escape, the cost didn’t matter.

When you came to the place, you saw a guy from Pekka’s gang and Kaz. Both of them were talking, but members of both groups had their guns or blades taken out. The Dirtyhands had his black coat, and his walking stick, as always. Jesper also was beside him, hands on his gun belt, ready to take them out and fire. You were more than sure that Inej was also there, somewhere on the roof or in the shadows, waiting and prepared to fight.

“We have men everywhere, two on roofs, one behind the bridge. All of them have guns pointed on you and your previous friends. I hope you know what that means.” The girl said, eyeing you. You only nodded, worrying too much about the Crows to even snap at her. “Good, now go and wait for a signal.”

You did as you were told, you hid somewhere behind a building, trying to recall every piece of information you gathered while snooping on guards or using the fact that they didn’t always close your doors. You had to find someone and tell them, you couldn’t waste any more time.

You poked your head out, searching for Matthias or Wylan. You doubted Nina would be here, since she was still working in the pleasure house. You were sure Wylan was there with his explosion ready to, well, explode. You cursed under your breath, when you couldn’t spot any of them, panic getting out of you with frustration. Someone from the Dime Lions would notice you’re not somewhere where they could spot you.

You crossed the narrow lane, as you noticed Matthias, you whistled hoping he would look into your direction. He turned his head and spotted you, anger on his face visible even in the dark. You cringed, knowing you’d get beaten up.

“You’ve got some nerve,” He said, his voice low. “after you started working with them, you have the audacity to come here.”

“Listen, I didn’t have a choice,” your voice so close to start begging him for forgiveness. “It was about my family.”

He looked at you wordlessly, confusion painting his face. Of course, he didn’t know you had a family, why would he. After a second, the ire came again. “You’re lying.”

“I'm not, I want to help you.”

“Oh, so now you did that to help us?”

“Matthias, I’m begging you, just let me tell you what I learnt.” You pleaded, your voice small. “Pekka wants to kill you as you’re standing, he has those new guns that can shoot you from really long distance.”

“What?” he looked alarmed, “We have to tell Kaz. Come.”

You let out a breath, it wasn’t the best look he sent you, but at least he didn’t leave you here. You told him everything you knew, he listened but his face still didn’t have pleasant expression.

You took out your gun, making your way behind the dumpster, hiding in shadows. You tried to calm your nerves, but the adrenaline had already kicked in. Matthias and you startled when you heard a shot, then another. You sent yourselves a knowing look, taking a step closer to the place where Kaz and the other guy were talking. Jesper had his guns out and Kaz was looking at the boy in front of him with disgust. You saw one of the Dregs were bleeding, you lifted your gun, targeting the closest one from the Dime Lions and fired. The bullet hit the girl in her stomach, making her stumble and fall to the ground. You hid yourself behind the wall and waited. Matthias sent you a look and you only lifted your arms, not knowing what to said.

After that, guns started firing, screams were everywhere. You saw the blonde girl that came here with you, standing with her pistol, aiming Kaz. You shot without looking, trying to hit her in an arm, you heard her scream and saw how the gun was laying on a ground. You looked up and saw that Kaz was looking at you, his face blank and unreadable. Jesper beside him, shooting people and screaming at Wylan to explode. The sound of explosion came from the roof, exactly where members of Lions were, you let out a shaky breath and made a step into the fight. Matthias fighting with his fists, slowly making his way toward Kaz, you tried to help him clear the path by shooting few people either in their heads or legs.

Your hands were tired, your head pounding but you were fighting hard, you had to make this in order to confess Kaz the whole truth. When you were close to him, he locked his eyes into yours.

“We have to talk.” You told him, lowering your tone. “Please.”

“This is not the best time to talk, y/n” the way he said your name made you shivered. It wasn’t an intimate way, it was with so much poison in only one word. “Why aren’t you fighting with your new gang?”

“Kaz, please, I’m trying to help.” You voiced, your eyes burning with sweat that slowly dripped from your forehead.

“Whatever.” He smacked an opponent with his cane, you only heard the sound of cracked bone and a loud thud when the enemy fell to the ground.

You two were fighting as you had before Pekka came into your life. Kaz understood you without any words, knew exactly where he should cover you because you couldn’t. Your movements were precise, keeping people away from Kaz’s vulnerable leg. You were fighting in a harmony, you kept your focus on people you had to kill, you shot them without any hesitation. When your bullets ended, you took out your knife and started stabbing everyone who wanted to stab you.

“I– “you paused, feeling a pain in your abdomen. You looked at Kaz, but he was looking at your lower stomach, you placed your gaze there and you saw blood. A lot of blood, then you felt pain, you stumbled, but Kaz placed his hand on your waist, slowly letting you fall on the ground. Your whole stomach was on fire, slowly burning you with its flame.

“Don’t you even dare dying here, messing my coat with your blood” he said, caressing your cheek. You chuckled, tasting blood on your tongue. “Don’t even think about it, y/n.”

“I’m–, please forgive me, Kaz” you murmured, hoped your words were understandable. “I was trying to save my family, but you’re my family too.”

“Y/n, I forgive you, but I’m begging you, don’t close your eyes” his voice filled with regret, eyes burning with anger, but you knew it wasn’t toward you. “Keep your eyes open.” He yelled at someone, but you couldn’t understand either it was Jesper or Matthias.

“Tell them I love them” you started to give up, your eyelids slowly closing. “I love you, Kaz Brekker.”

“Y/n, please don’t leave me” he tried to keep his voice from cracking, but he failed.

But you didn’t hear that, you had your eyes closed, hand that was laying on your stomach, now laying on the ground. He carefully removed his arm and got up. He spotted a blonde girl, smirking and looking at him, she slowly lifted her pistol, mockingly swaying it. She winked at him and still with a smirk, she left. Kaz made a promise he would kill her, he would do it for him. And for you.

[descentivity]

Depression, Trauma, (and Most Importantly,) My Thoughts on Hello Charlotte EP1 & 2

Eating has been difficult for me for as long as I remember. It started off as an aversion to food, in favour of spending my time more efficiently on what my dumb little mind viewed as more important: Homework, video games.

Over time, it turned into anorexia. I had already gotten used to eating just under 500 calories a day, and my depression took my poor habits and twisted them into a cowardly and slow attempt at suicide.

On my road to recovery, I’ve found that years of poor eating choices have lead to my body struggling to process food. I have to eat at a painstakingly slow pace lest my stomach turns against me, and the smell of food is sometimes enough to diminish my appetite altogether. My bowel movements are, for lack of a better word, a shitshow.

This brings me to today, the 10th of August, 2021. 6 or so years of barely eating enough to survive later, I’m setting the world record for the slowest consumption of a fillet o’ fish in the history of mankind. 

In my absolute boredom and unfathomable stomach pain, ManlyBadassHero’s playthrough of some random horror game (I can’t remember the name) appears in my YouTube recommended, and I’m reminded of a horror game I bought on sale on Steam, the last of a trilogy. In all honesty, I only bought the game because it was dirt cheap and one of my sisters’ names is Charlotte. I was too horrified at the time to process the story nor play the previous two games, so I did a quick achievement run and left it at that. I was certainly very confused as I had no idea who any of the characters or what any of the concepts were, but the gore had me too mortified to go and find out myself. 

A year later, I’m looking the trilogy up on ManlyBadassHero’s YouTube channel, and decide to start from the beginning of his Hello Charlotte journey, in 2016.

Hello Charlotte EP1

I’m going to be completely honest with you, the first game really didn’t resonate with me too well. It was a cute, quirky, RPG Maker horror game, with two loveable main characters and an interesting world. However, with context from the third game, the events felt too self-isolated and inconsequential. Felix and Charlotte are in a little self-contained TV world created by a fictional race called Pythia - creatures with 3 or 4 eyes that can create miniature dimensions, once brought into a hivemind by an “Oracle,” which seems to be some sort of god. They all seem to be falling apart and have taken a horrific turn as most of the Pythia have been “executed,” and those who haven’t have either gone mad or into hiding in their own bubbles of (albeit temporary) safety.

The ending of the game is somewhat misleading, too. Once Charlotte and Felix escape the TV world by having Charlotte merge with the Oracle itself, the game almost plays off the previous events like they were all a story made up by a young and imaginative Charlotte. Did they happen at all? Is she a reliable narrator or point of view to begin with? (Spoiler alert, she is not.) The explanation for it all seems to be that Charlotte herself is a schizophrenic, though the legitimacy of this is brought into question in the third game, which I will talk about later. Altogether, the game didn’t bring out many strong emotions in me, and I was starting to zone out as I moved on to the second game’s playthrough.

Hello Charlotte EP2

What struck me as odd in the second game is that while the first game seemed to bring Charlotte out of her own strange, black-and-white world and back into reality, we’ve found out that she’s right back where we started last game. A black-and-white world, inhabited by her imaginary friends. Aliens, gods, and the like. However, Charlotte’s seemingly made-up world feels more alive this time. I’m not sure if this is the consequence of the game developer improving their skills or an intentional detail, but even more characters are introduced, and previously shallow tenants of Charlotte’s home are given more depth. The hazmat-suit wearing aliens have faces, personalities and whole backstories attached to them, now. Charlotte has a best friend at school named Anri, who has a obsessive crush on her. She’s friends with a bullying victim named C with horrible germaphobia, who has almost identical struggles to her (more on those struggles later.)

What also surprised me is the continuity between the first and second game. For some reason, I thought that this Charlotte would be starting from scratch, completely oblivious to the fate of the first game’s iteration. However, this concept only seems to be used in the third game, so I guess I was simply mislead. This game, in fact, takes place 3 years after the first, and the Oracle still lives on within Charlotte’s conscious. However, it’s a dying god, on its last leg. It had already been dying during the time of the last few Pythia, but it had used the last of its strength to free Felix and Charlotte from their world. As the Oracle’s health declines, so does Charlotte’s mortal body.

Unlike the first game, most of the themes in this game hit way too close to home. The feeling of second-hand helplessness when someone you barely knew ends their own life. Anri’s obsessive and outright manipulative lesbian crush on Charlotte, bordering on bullying. The schooltime harrassment and trauma Charlotte underwent. The fear and dangers of social interaction. Feeling unlawfully punished by your school teachers for seemingly nothing at all. Depression, self harm, and the primal urge to escape from it. Getting roped into others’ mental health, until both of your issues converge into a disgusting amalgamation of the need but severe lack of therapy and a break from it all. Delusions of what could’ve been and the possible, yet near impossible future ahead. Looking back on everything you’ve ever done and regretting every second of it.

While I ticked off the trauma presented to me on a silver platter in the form of a fucking RPG Maker game like a twisted bucket list, I found myself relating more and more to not only Charlotte, but the students around her. Scarlett, whose life was so perfect that nobody had even thought about her possible mental issues until it was far too late. Anri, who would lay down her life for a girl who simply doesn’t feel the same way. C, who desperately wanted to escape from reality by any means possible.

An interesting fact about Hello Charlotte is that there are numerous omnipotent beings amongst its cast. They aren’t shy about providing very in-depth character analysis to Charlotte, and in turn, to the puppeteer (I suppose now is a good time to inform those who are unfamiliar with the series that the puppeteer refers to a species, character, and the player, all at once. Charlotte has a puppeteer controlling her by the name of Seth. You are/are controlling Seth as the player. Capiche? Capiche.)

What this meant for me watching Manly’s playthrough was the feeling of two gods (in this game, at least) peering right into my soul, analysing characters that reflected my exact experiences and even my personality during my school days. I learned and realised things about myself that I simply hadn’t known before. Just like Charlotte, I’m simply looking for direction in life, and I’m too afraid to act without instructions. I found myself bullied, manipulated and abandoned by someone who simply wanted my affections, and only learned to miss them when they were gone. Like Anri, my desperation for love and approval from an individual in turn lead to anger and resentment for them. Like both Charlotte and C, I eventually turned to hurting myself to make all the pain go away, refusing help from others and developing a shell of false optimism and naivety to forget about the damage I had dealt to my body, personality and relationships.

As much as I hate to admit it on my little obscure Tumblr blog with 0 followers and 0 traction, I still struggle with these things. I have no direction in life, and wander aimlessly, hoping for one of my offshot attempts at content creation to take off. I find myself missing the girl who emotionally abused me to hell and back every day. I resent another girl for never feeling the same way I felt about her. I still don’t take care of myself, and spend every day in a state of denial about my physical decline and sickliness. I’m so incompetent emotionally that I spend days ignoring my own boyfriend, starving him of the proper relationship that he deserves all because of how broken, fragmented and distant my own mind is.

Hello Charlotte EP2 has four endings. All four of them, in my eyes, are bad.

In the first, C and Charlotte overdose together, leaving their mortal realm to become gods. They choose to ignore and forget the pains of their mortal lives, and live the rest of their godly lives in ignorant bliss. Do I want to forget about my depression and trauma? Learn nothing, and forget about everything that made me who I am today? Or worse even, do I dare take the plunge into “godhood,” and leave this mortal plane to end my suffering altogether?

In the second, Charlotte discovers that C isn’t who she thinks he is, and she finds him without a soul. Alive, but empty. Charlotte could not save him. Consumed by grief, she ascends and becomes a god, consuming the entire world around her. After all is said and done, she realizes her mistake. All of her friends are gone, C is still empty and unresponsive, and now she is alone. Sometimes, I feel as though I’ve already gone through this ending, many times over. Countless times I’ve let my depression become all-consuming and take over my life. I’ve pushed so many people away and hurt so many more, and for what? I have nothing to gain from every fit of depression, and the consequences make it seem nothing more but a selfish attempt to make myself feel better.

In the third, Charlotte is the only one who dies. In her last moments, the Oracle comforts her, like a mother cradling her child. They embrace, and say goodbye to each other, as Charlotte’s own life was the only thing keeping the dying god alive. At this point, I’ve started to draw parallels between the Oracle and depression. Depression isn’t always a horrible thing that beats you down and keeps you from being truly happy. Sometimes, wallowing in my own sadness and depression would be the only thing that keeps you sane, stable, and calm. The feeling of hopelessness really is bittersweet, and in desperate times, goes hand-in-hand with acceptance of one’s circumstance. Oftentimes, I find that this is the most realistic way I’ll go out. One day, I may just accept depression, and succomb to it. There may not be a struggle at all. Rather, a quiet, submissive hum, which will fade away into silence.

In the fourth and final ending, Charlotte and C die alongside each other. After her death, Charlotte confronts the Oracle, and wishes to save everyone, and for everyone to be unhappy. Of course, this is where the classic saying: “Be careful what you wish for” comes in. Because of her wish, everyone’s soul, what makes them individual and unique, is erased. After all, no one can suffer if they cannot think at all. In some ways, emptiness is pure bliss. This once again goes back to the bittersweetness of depression. The sheer emptiness it may bring on, at times, is bliss. Feeling nothing isn’t always a bad thing. It’s a way to cope with the horrors of the world. To remember nothing at all is such a tempting yet unattainable solution that I can’t say I haven’t longed for in the near or distant past. Charlotte, of course, is distraught that her friends are all gone, their identities and souls lost forever. Following this, she has one request to make of another god, the observer. She wishes to be killed, as all of her actions have lead to nothing but pain for others and herself. The observer, however, refuses this offer. Instead, he comforts her and takes her hand. They go on a journey together. He suggests that one day, she’ll learn to control her power, and she can recreate the world and her friends. As they leave, Charlotte reflects on her hopes and dreams for the journey. She hopes to learn to be kind, and not hurt others. She wants to change her ways, and become an honest, good person. Charlotte, slowly but surely, is on the road to recovery.

Putting the unsettling sequel to this game aside, maybe I could learn a little bit from Charlotte.

[princeanxious]

Okay stupid tumblr didnt tell me you said yes but HERE ARE MY QUESTIONS :DDD

When did they become vanpires

How old are they

What year were the vampires born

How long has V been locked away, what has he missed

Does V immediately latch onto the grunge/emo aesthetic because it matches the whole vampire theme

Is Roman a himbo™

What is the twins relationship like

Anxciet is the main pairing, are there any side pairings?

How does Janus react to the whole "oh yeah vampires are real" thing

Were any of the vamps around for any big historical events

Were any of the vamps big historical figures

Do they end up going to highschool/uni with the humans

What does everyone look like

Do any of them have really strong opinions about something useless (eg. pineapple on pizza, a certain colour, double denim, etc)

:)

Virgil became a Vampire sometime in the 17/1800s?? Logan is from around the 1500s, and Patton claims he lost count a long time ago.(Patton’s probably at least at least a thousand years old though? But he looks more like a young 25 y/o whose attire choices change day to day but generally always gives off that Parent vibe), Virgil was turned by Patton, Logan was born Vampire, Patton was assumably born vampire. Remus and Roman are 27, Janus is 25.

Virgil was locked away for about 150 years, give or take? He missed the entire shift in society and the human experience, from how relationships are viewed/treated to longer lifespans, to cleaner hygiene, convenience, and technology, hell, even the more open existance of the lgbtqa+ community! A /lot/ has happened in the past 100 years, and now Virgil has alot of catchup to do.(and don’t worry, Patton & Logan help Virgil catch up pretty quickly, they share flashcards and Virgil gets h o o k e d on social media when he gets a phone)

He absolutely does. Its a weird adjustment, what with the now wildly varied different textiles and styles and change. Especially the lack of layers, he misses those. (And finds immense comfort in the jacket that Janus gifts him, as its big and oversized and feels oh so very soft and warm.) But no yeah, he gets his hair cut(it still grew for those years locked away, albiet still rather slowly from malnutrition) and rocks the fringe, even gets his hair dyed purple to match his eyes, all the grunge/punk/emo aesthetic! Some of his favorite new things are makeup, piercings, and so much black fabric to chose from!

You’ll be surprised to note, that Roman is sadly not a himboTM in this au, as Virgil has already taken over that roll 💜💜💜

Remus and Roman’s relationship? Honestly ride or die chaos, the kinds of siblings that play pranks on one another and insult eachother but god forbid some poor outsider steps in to try and say the same thing they said abt their sibling, that outsider will have regreted it. The kind if ‘The Only one allowed to call my brother a Bitch-Ass Idiot is ME’ kind of siblings? Look they grew up in a area filled with people who dont like things out of the norm and befriended the local bullied kid who is half-covered in snake scales and speaks with a lisp due to his split togue. Remus himself suffers from intrusive anxiety and Roman suffers from chronic(?) depression. They’re all a bit ride or die, through and through.

Anxceit is the main pairing, and while it’s not entirely set in stone, Logince and Intruality are probably the other two.

Technically its not a secret in their world?? Like magic is a thing in their workd, its just usually left out of humanities bloodline. Humans like Janus are pretty rare bc of that. Vampires are still p rare to meet but not unheard of.

Yes, the vampires were alive for many major historical events. No we are not going to talk abt any of them. Same goes w/ historical figures.

Yes! Infact, Roman and Logan share college/uni theatre classes together! Logans currently an astronomy major, Roman a theatre arts major(i think thats what its called?) Logan is a formidible lyrical rival and Roman finds himself constantly losing to his rival in the form of slam poetry, though every day Roman always gets a little closer to winning(Logan adores the challenge, and the passion Roman has to beat Logan at his own game is riviting to experience. Logan would def consider Roman a perfect companion, but would have never acted on it if virgil hadnt been rescued by said companions twin brother, thus gettig both trios heavily involved w/ each other.) Patton’s been alive so long that he doesn’t care too much for academia, and instead focuses on tactile learning, like pottery and woodworking. Remus himself is an arts major, known for making really hyper horror or grotesque creature sculptures/doll customization, so he kind of just laches onto this man who seems to be larger than life and is far from bothered by Remus’s ‘not safe for common convos’ way of talking and its nice not to have someone run away. (Honestly, the feeling is mutual between the two)

As for what everone looks like, I kinda just want to leave that up to interpretation? If I end up drawing any of them they’ll probably be reflective of the way that I usually draw the sides, just human or vampire-ified, and maybe have a trait or two tweaked specifically for the au? The only real thing standing out to me is that i might give Remus or Roman Albinism? Idk yet.

Uhhhh i’m sure they have alot? Logan hates modern mirrors, bc they are usually not made w/ a silver backing. Let me tell you the first time Logna passed his full blown reflection out of something he’d never been able to use before, its clear, consise, ans ge hates it bc he can now very easily stare into his own eyes clearly and question existance.

Patton, despite being the oldest ever, is still v afraid of soiders despite knowing they cant hurt him too horribly.

Virgil is under the strong opinion that memes are hilarious and hoodies are amazing.

[veterveter]

I'm looking for a way to drop that funeral planning ficlet on tumblr, maybe this would be a "fun" way to do that?

“Everyone should wear black.”

“Of course they will, it’s a funeral.”

“Not because it’s a funeral. Because it’s stylish.”

“Whatever. I’ll write it on the invite. Wear black, it’s stylish.”

“Thank you. White roses, white lilies. You’ll play a white piano. You should play Bella Ciao, that could be my requiem. I think it would be fitting.” He imagines how Martín would make it sound – he would doubtlessly turn the joyful rebellion into something haunting. “Nevertheless, everything will be white, except for the guests.”

“Duly noted.”

“Have everyone bring red roses to lay on my casket. You’ll curse God as you stand there, for a while. I hope rains.” He leans back, and it doesn’t ache too much, and that feels like a blessing. “And afterwards, you’ll go clubbing.”

This makes Martín pause, finally.

Andrés makes sure to have eye contact as he continues, “You and Sergio. Dance. Drink. Start with wine, then whisky, then shots of tequila. Get drunk, forget about me and live.”

Martín sneers, an ugly little thing. His face was made for joy, not… whatever this is. “You won’t have any control over me anymore, Andrés.”

Andrés continues to look at him. An ugly little thing he has always loved. “I will always have control over you. You will do as I ask of you.”

____________________

A week ago, he said, “One last plan, Martín.”

It was the first time he had seen Martín’s eyes light up in three months.

It was the first time he truly felt cruel in his life, when he followed it up with, “The funeral. We need to plan it, you and I.”

The light behind Martín’s eyes faded, and Andrés knew he would never see it again. He wished he had cherished it when he still had the chance, when it took nothing at all to coax it out of him. When that light was his default expression, when Andrés’s presence brought him joy – instead of everlasting pain, a suffering that would surely stay with him for the rest of Martín’s life.

Martín does it, of course. Martín is dutiful, so he clears out the blackboard, without a moment’s hesitation, wipes away the plans they had. He doesn’t say, not even once, this is morbid, Andrés, even though he must be thinking it. Andrés hopes that someday, Martín might think back to these days and find them cathartic. Or that he’ll find it in himself to be proud.

Proud of himself for being brave enough to watch Andrés wither. Proud of the depth of his love. Proud of the gracefulness of their plan, Andrés’s swan song.

Together, they plan the setting. Privately, Andrés plans everything else.

He plans futures for his loved ones.

Tatiana will look pretty as she cries, a woman too young and alive to be a widower. Martín will comfort her, will wrap his arms around her as she shakes with tears. He has never held a woman like that before, but he will do it, if only to distract himself. She will bring him comfort, because she will understand a shard of his suffering, the thinnest sliver of it. Because Martín will be able to look at her and see her love for what it is: inferior.

Sergio will be fine. He has Raquel, and Paula, he has already started building a life that doesn’t include Andrés. It’s just as well. He’s finally growing up, doing what he has to. Taking care of himself in a world that has never cared about him.

Maybe Sergio and Martín will finally bond, over their shared pain.

Or maybe they will become strangers, incapable of meeting each other’s eyes, unwilling to see their own suffering reflected back in them. Andrés can’t do anything about that. He’s not God. Gods are eternal.

For Martín, Andrés has only one plan, but his is the most important one.

Martín will live.

____________________

If it weren’t for Martín, Andrés would have simply killed himself. Truly, he would have. He would have crafted an elegant death for himself, something poetic and needlessly cruel.

The only reason he deems it necessary to cling to life so desperately, even as his body withers, is to give Martín this. He wants Martín to have closure. He wants Martín to grieve beautifully.

Even though Andrés is technically still alive, he misses what life used to feel like. What life was meant to be like. He misses stealing priceless jewels and irreplaceable paintings. He misses drinking tea and going on walks. He misses feeling untethered by the confines of his mortal body.

He misses Martín.

Other people will doubtlessly go on walks and steal jewels, but Martín will eternally be but a shade of himself. Andrés is taking Martín’s heart and soul to his grave, and leaving behind this sad little puppet, his strings pulled by mourning and hatred.

Some part of Andrés is quietly pleased with that. There’s a certain beauty to be found in everlasting suffering.

And if he can’t have Martín in all his glorious brilliance and destructive grace, then no one should.

____________________

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” Martín asks, in a falsely casual manner, studying his cup of coffee.

Andrés sighs. He had been thinking, foolishly, that Martín will have finally gotten the hint, but of course not. Martín never truly stops, he just reschedules. Anything he ever feels or thinks willcome back, again and again, until he finally finds something to do with it.

“No. And I won’t, so you can stop asking.”

“You won’t even know what I do. You’ll be dead.”

“But you will. And I am not giving you my blessing to put a bullet to your brain. You’ll live. It’s my last wish and you will honour it.”

“I never thought you’d be so cruel,” Martín says, his tone accusatory and wounded.

He doesn’t continue, but the implication is clear: he means not to me. He knows Andrés, knows exactly how cruel he is. He just never thought it would be aimed at himself. He’s Andrés’s foil, his mirror, his other half.

And he’s right. It was never meant to be.

“So be it. You’ll live the life I never got to have. If you must die, then it will be from something else. Not your own hands.”

“Andrés…”

“I didn’t get to make a choice, and neither will you.”

He has to ask Martín for this, despite knowing that it’s the cruelest thing to ask for. Because no one else has ever loved Andrés enough to live for him. No one else ever would have, even if he had more time. Andrés knows he’s hard to love. And anyone would be hard to love, this unconditionally.

It was only ever going to be Martín.

Andrés doesn’t allow himself to wonder if he would be willing to go through the same, were the roles reversed. He’s afraid of being bitterly disappointed in himself, on his final days.

Martín has always been his favourite part of himself: just the right kind of cruel, the correct shade of suicidal. Chaos without an outlet, manifesting in the strangest ways. A genius caged in the body of a man.

Now Martín is going to be the only part of him left. That thought doesn’t bring Andrés peace, necessarily, but it’s one of the only things he isn’t going to leave behind as regrets.

“I’m sure time will bring us back together.”

Martín glares at him, but he says nothing. Martín doesn’t believe in any kind of life after death, or absolution, or even redemption, but he’s not going to say that to a dying man. Martín is never going to be fully honest with him again.

Andrés wants to hear every single ugly and awful thought he is holding back.

____________________

“Can I stay here?”

“Martín…”

“Just to be here. I won’t do anything. I just want to—”

Andrés sighs, too weak to argue, in mind and body as well as in spirit. “Fine, come here.” He scoots over, allowing Martín space on the bed.

“You are my own personal hell,” Martín muses quietly in the dark. He stays an arm’s length away, and Andrés can’t summon the energy to question it. “All nine circles, just you, every moment of my life with you.”

Andrés feels the same way about Martín. All nine circles, every wasted opportunity. If there is life after death, he might be stuck repeating exactly that.

He would still take it. He would choose hell of himself repeating the same mistakes with Martín, over heaven without him.

“Would you do it again?”

Martín turns to look at him, doesn’t answer right away. “I would watch you die a hundred times over,” he finally admits, quiet in the way the truth always is.

How misfortunate Andrés is, to have been given a love like that. A love so desperate, so out of control. He would have much rather been loved by a woman, someone like Tatiana, softly but without the intent to burn and destroy everything around them.

If Andrés has to be loved like this, he should have at least been given the chance to truly reciprocate. He should have been given time to give Martín everything he deserves and everything he doesn’t. He should have been allowed to give Martín the entire world, with all of its beauty and all of its gore. To murder every last man but themselves, to bask in their own brilliance, surrounded by all those decaying bodies, rather than being trapped in his own.

Their love is but an incomplete masterpiece, smiting them both with its existence. It’s unimaginable cruelty, because theirs is a love most will never get to experience.

It could have been so perfect.

“You should do the bank heist with Sergio,” he says, “Take my place. Do it in my honour.”

“Sure,” Martín says, and for that one word, his tone is as amused as it is destructive. “It’s always been a suicide, that plan. It was meant to be ours.” He angles his entire body away from Andrés, like looking at him is suddenly somehow offensive. “Now it’ll just be mine.”

____________________

“Here’s what I would have done, if we had more time.”

Andrés doesn’t have the energy to do anything but angle his head towards Martín, without even opening his eyes.

“I would have married you. I like to think you would have wanted that, too. I would have taken your last name. We would have bought an island. We would have stolen all the most priceless things in the world and gifted them to each other. I would have killed all of your ex-wives. Well, maybe not Tatiana, she’s grown on me. But we would have been happy, you and I.”

He takes Andrés’s left hand in both of his, and sighs.

“Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that.”

Andrés wonders if he would have been better off not knowing all of this.

____________________

The end comes fast.

That makes it both easier and harder, but Andrés doesn’t have the energy to feel sad or grateful. He feels like he still has things he would like to say, to both Sergio and Martín, but he just feels tired. Too tired to remember the words, too tired to decide if they need to be said after all.

Every day, he’s awake less and less, to the point where there’s no longer days to speak of. There’s only moments, all of them with Martín by his side. His presence is the only thing Andrés takes notice of, even if he can’t conjure up many thoughts about it. Or anything else.

Andrés is no longer conscious as he takes his last breath, but as he falls under, the last thing he sees are Martín’s sad, sad eyes. The last thought he ever has is

unimaginable

cruelty.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Visit

(I found this prompt while cleaning out my inbox and I’m so sorry I missed it the first time, Anon! With more than 150+ messages I am finding all kinds of treasures I missed when they came in!)

Prompt:  "10. True tenderness is silent and can’t be mistaken for anything else" for Chris? <3

CW: Referenced death of whumper, referenced parental death, grief of an abuse survivor/whumpee, religious abuse, frank discussion of death, referenced past child abuse and survivor anger

Essentially a follow-up to this piece after Oliver’s death

Jake borrows Nat’s truck for the trip out to the cemetery, the old stick-shift Ford better able to handle the steep hills outside the city than his own beat-up four door. Chris sits next to him, pale and silent, and it’s a callback to a version of Chris that hasn’t existed in years, not since he was a frightened child.

This is a different kind of silence - heavier, it muffles the music from the radio, makes it seem like static and not songs at all. Jake doesn’t turn it up, or change the channel. He lets the silence draw out.

It’s not the same kind of silence, in the end.

The gates, wrought-iron and looking a mix of delicate and eerily strong, are open for them to drive inside. The rumbling engine of the truck catches the attention of an older woman laying flowers on a gravestone, who looks briefly up at them as they pass, but doesn’t wave.

She only looks.

Chris doesn’t look at her. His hands are folded in his lap, his hair caught low at the nape of his neck, the blue captured by a pale gray clip that holds it back from his face. He asked Jake to get him a suit, for this - he’s never owned one before.

Not since he left the bastard’s house.  

Jake didn’t ask why - he just took Chris shopping, and they bought the suit. It’s black, with thin gray pinstripes that match Chris’s hair clip. His button-up and tie are perfectly done - Chris had done them up himself, the vestiges of training he still remembered. He’s wearing black leather shoes, shined up just for this, and he took out all his earrings, the perfect emptiness of the skin making Jake’s stomach flip at the way Chris has removed nearly all of the ways he made his body his own.

Jake drives around a curve on the little paved road, and finally comes to a stop.

The grave is unmistakable - the dirt is still fresh and soft, and hasn’t fully settled. It’s just... dirt, and behind it a little marker stuck in the ground. A simple name, date of birth, date of death. That’s all. The real stone hasn’t come in yet.

OLIVER WILLIAM BRANCH DOB: 09/09/1966 DOD: 04/02/202X Chris stares at the pile of dirt, and Jake sees his knuckles turn white. He’s not rocking, not tapping, not humming. Just... silent, and still. Like he’s carved from stone.

Statue boy, Chris used to whisper, when he was scared. Be a good boy, statue boys don’t move, stillness is better than what I do, statue boys stay still...

“You-” Jake’s voice cuts into the silence, a knife into skin, and he flinches at the sound of his own voice. He’s just wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and suddenly he wonders if Chris wanted him to wear a suit, too, if he’s disappointed Jake didn’t think of it on his own. “You don’t... have to do this, Chris.” His voice drops, stays lower.

Chris doesn’t look at him, only looks at the grave. His beautiful face is pale, and looks young - more like when he first showed up - and the blue hair suddenly looks wrong, like he shouldn’t have it yet. It should still have its coppery new-penny shine. The roots are hinting, just a little, at the color it used to be. “Yes, I, I, I, I do.”

Jake swallows against a lump in his throat, and slowly nods, turning off the engine and sitting back. The radio continues to play, pulling on battery power, while the two of them look at a pile of soil that covers a dead man whose life is still carved into Chris’s mind. “You want me to get out with you?”

There’s a quiet, as Chris thinks.

Then he whispers, “Please,” as his thin fingers find the handle to the door and open it up. His other hand grips onto the bouquet of roses they’d picked up to bring out here, wrapped in crinkly paper and tied with a thin string.

Immediately, birdsong filters in, intrudes on the silence, demands their attention instead.

Jake is out of the truck in a heartbeat and around to meet Chris as he slowly steps down. He looks like a child dressed for a party, even with a suit carefully chosen to fit. Or maybe Jake just struggles to see him as anything else, in moments like this one.

Chris leans towards him and Jake slides an arm around his shoulders.

He doesn’t regret this man’s death, only that it couldn’t have been half so painful as what the bastard deserved - but Jake keeps that to himself, because he can see the tears standing in Chris’s eyes, and that’s not what Chris needs to hear right now.

Instead, he just says, softly, “I’m here.”

Chris nods, bumping into him once, twice, three times - a reassurance, a reminder. Then he starts to walk, clinging to the roses in his hand, and Jake walks beside him, narrowing his own long strides to match, so he won’t pull away, so they’ll move together.

There’s no one else here, in this part of the cemetery. It’s just the two of them, walking towards the grave marker, the laid-in dirt. Somewhere, six feet down, is the man who once made the width and length of Chris’s world so narrow that it was condensed to a single hallway, a basement, to the shape of tears.

Jake stands slightly back when Chris steps forward on his own. He doesn’t offer platitudes - he can’t hope that Branch is in a better place, he’s still got his fingers crossed that hell is real just so people like Oliver Branch can experience it - he can’t say everything happens for a reason and then ask himself what possible reason there could have been for Chris to lose everything and be given his own hell in return.

He can’t say it’ll get better or time heals all wounds or you’ll find a way to forgive him or God has a plan because Jake has lived with those words branded in his soul from a thousand well-meaning relatives and church people and his mother’s so-called fucking friends and none of those words did shit, they never helped, they only made it clear that no one wanted to sit in silence with the weight of what had happened, only talk over it until Jake and his mom pretended the pain wasn’t there anymore.

No one deserves forgiveness - you make the choice to forgive, and it’s got nothing to do with whether or not anyone deserves it, you forgive for yourself - not for them.

Time didn’t heal shit, and he’s never forgiven the man who nearly killed his mother and would have kept hurting him if he never got bigger, stronger, better able to fight back.

He can’t say God has a plan, because if that’s true, then it’s a shitty fucking plan, isn’t it? To steal a child from the love that should have been the foundation of his life and hand him over to wolves to be devoured instead?

He can’t say any of it, because he doesn’t believe it, and all those well-meaning words are just knives that tear you open and then demand you comfort the people who can’t stand the sight of blood.

All he can do is give Chris his silence and his presence while he watches Chris lay a dozen roses on top of freshly turned earth.

Chris speaks, and his voice carries just enough, and Jake’s jaw sets, trembles, sets again as he pretends not to hear. As he tries, and fails, not to listen.

“I tried,” Chris whispers, in his slow-stone voice, the one he was trained to use, that he can still slide into as easily as he might throw on a shirt in the morning. “I tried... to be, be good, Sir. I was... I was good. I loved you, and... I didn’t... leave because I didn’t love you-... I... I didn’t deserve to be hurt, Sir. But...” He trails off, and Jake forces his gaze to wander.

A bright red cardinal stares back at him from a tree branch nearby, flits away, lands on a different gravestone. Jake stares at it, wondering with a strange unsettled curiosity if it’s the same cardinal, if it followed them out here somehow, but of course that’s... not possible.

There are cardinals everywhere. Cemeteries just make everything seem haunted.

The gravestone the cardinal rests on has been here a while - there’s a single spray of flowers laid on one side, and nothing on the other. It’s one of those double-stones for married people, Jake thinks.

Chris is still talking to Oliver, and Jake forces himself with all his strength not to eavesdrop, just to be here, to be the strength Chris needs. So he stares at the cardinal, and the gravestone.

Each side has a little clear plastic heart, and Jake knows what those are - the gravetones where you can put a photo of the person inside, and see them, and he thinks those are creepy as hell, but... but he can see why you’d buy one.

A woman and a man. Jake squints. They have the same date of death, he thinks, and his heart twists. Car accident, maybe? That sucks. Chris said once that he remembered his parents died.

He wonders who misses these two, who left the flowers.

Life is not forever - but love is. Beloved parents of-

Jake feels Chris press up to him, cold nose against his neck, hitching in sobs that are nearly soundless, gasping for air.

“Do you want me to talk to you about this?” Jake asks, gently.

Chris shakes his head, twisting his fingers into Jake’s shirt, rocking now, for the first time since they left. His voice, broken, starts to hum to try to drown out his own tears, and Jake slides both arms around Chris’s shoulders and holds him tightly.

“D-don’t, don’t talk, don’t-... don’t don’t don’t, I just n-need, I need, I-”

Chris tenses and then lets out a wail, echoing off the trees, soaked up in the ground around them, a half-scream of stifled pain he’s carried since he was seventeen years old.

“Hurts, h-hurts, hurts, it hurts-”

“Sssshhh, I know, I know it hurts, Chris, I know.”

“It hurts!”

Across the cemetery, the old woman doesn’t look up from her careful care of the stone she is tending, giving them space, a kind of tenderness all its own in allowing them their privacy.

Jake just holds on tighter, giving Chris an anchor, a steady presence he can scream into until all the sound is out of him, until the scream is gone.

Then, it’s quiet. They stand, for a while, in silence, other than Chris’s slow avalanche slide into outright weeping for the man who did nothing but try to destroy what spark he had left, and Jake doesn’t say a word.

He’ll probably cry when his abuser finally dies, too. Assuming anyone tells him.

When Chris, red-eyed and sniffling, pulls back to get in the truck, Jake lets him go, climbs into the driver’s seat, and brings the old truck rumbling to life.

Chris’s knuckles are still white, but as they drive around the curve again, he starts to rock, back and forth, back and forth.

When Chris starts humming, Jake turns the music up a little to give him something to hum along to, and Chris flashes him a tear-stained, trembling little smile in gratitude.

A dozen roses in brown paper lay on top of the grave of a man who could never deserve the grief that Chris so freely feels for him.

The cardinal watches them go, and then hops down from the top of the gravestone to peck at birdseed scattered on only one side of the double-stone grave of two people who died on the very same day when Chris was fifteen years old.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp​, @finder-of-rings​, @endless-whump​, @whumpfigure​, @slaintetowhump​, @astrobly​, @newandfiguringitout​, @doveotions​, @pretty-face-breaker​, @boxboysandotherwhump​, @oops-its-whump​ @moose-teeth​

[thegoodomensdumpster]

Can't stop thinking about your Crawleigh drawing, its so compelling. I feel sad for him getting rained on all alone...has he been on earth alone all this time? Will you draw him again? Is there a way to learn more about his story?

OOOOOH you have no idea how delighted I am that I received this ask ! You just enabled me to drop all my Crawleigh feelings out in the open. Thank you so much for that. First of all, for those who might have missed it: here the fanart @yeoldehetalian​ is referring to (yes I’m showing it again because I love Crawleigh he’s so baby)

If you are not aware: Crawleigh was the proto version of both Crowley and Aziraphale in Gaiman’s first draft of what was going to become Good Omens, a little piece of writing called William The Antichrist. After he sent it to Pratchett, the latest made the excellent suggestion to split Crawleigh into the two characters we’ve come to know and love. From memory, here is what we learn about Crawleigh in William The Antichrist: -is baby -not very good at being a demon -waited for the plumber a whole day -didn’t do any evil deeds because he was waiting for the plumber to arrive -the plumber never came and Crawleigh was really put out so he said nothing -saves all the neighbourhood cats from trees they get stuck in -can’t be mean to humans because well they are nice to him so ??? -has been tortured in Hell after the whole Atlantis debacle (which implies that he was the reason Atlantis sunk I guess) -drives a Citroën 2CV -doesn’t seem to really have any magical ability ?  Uh maybe there’s something else but I don’t remember. But you get the idea. He’s baby. In the picture below (yay ! new Crawleigh fanart !) you can see Crawleigh and his entourage of cats. I was conflicted on whether the rescued cats would take a liking to him or if they would be scared of his demonic aura, but I couldn’t bring myself to draw the Bad Cat Ending so, there, new headcanon: all the animals Crawleigh rescues take an immediate liking to him and their presence become an every day life nuisance. Kindness contains the seed of its own destruction lmao)

The boy is gonna trip on the stripped cat, I can tell you that much. ANYWAYYYY.... Here comes the fun part where I dump all my Crawleigh thoughts. More below the cut!

So, considering how GO works with binomes and mirrors, I decided to back engineer WTA by removing the duos. Crawleigh is a mix of Crowley and Aziraphale; there are two other characters that are respectively a mix of Anathema and Newt and a mix of Tracy and Shadwell (not entirely sure what that would entail tbh; so far I’m imagining two female characters, and Anewthema is the most fleshed out. She’d be something like the descendant of both a witch and a witchfinder and would be very conflicted about her heritage, having troubles making sense of magic being a thing when she has raised rationnality to a degree that it has become a dogma. Or something like that. Anyway I think that’s a cool base.) Now about William himself, the Them and the mirrors. I thought, by removing the duos and therefore the mirrors, Crawleigh would end up trying to stop Armageddon all by himself. This means that one of the core themes of GO, the fact that people have to work together and every contribution, as little as it is, is never unsignificant, isn’t really applicable anymore. Because the theme has to be shared by all the protagonists. In GO, Adam can refuse to destroy the world because not only does he like the world, but also because he’s got a whole network of support. So I think, if Crawleigh ends up having to try stopping Armageddon on his own, that should be the link at the very least between him and William (I would have said between him and all the other main characters but let’s be honest: a story where none of the main characters interact together is not very appealing). And thus we get a story that isn’t about relying on support of other people but on doing the right thing and gaining self confidence and loving yourself even when all the odds are stacked against you and you don’t have anyone to really rely on. I would imagine Crawleigh beginning the story as an obedient (tho ultimately useless) demon with little backbone and regrets and no self confidence, and through the pressure of Armageddon, discovering a very strong and very good part of himself that would end up with him saying fuck to Hell and repairing his plumbery all by himself.  As for William, well, he would go along the same way. I don’t think he’d have the Them with him. At least not yet. Maybe he’s a little weird, has trouble making friends. Maybe the other kids at school make fun of him. Maybe there is this group of kids that seem cool but he’s too shy to approach them.  And I imagine after a pep talk from someone ( Anewthema probably ? After all Anathema is the one talking to Adam in GO so it’d be fitting ) William would realize that because his life sucks a little it’s not by destroying the world - a world that he actually loves ! he’s built up a fort in Hogback woods all by himself! he loves nature and animals! - tht it’s gonna get better. He won’t be able to make any friends if there is no one around to make friends with. (This adds the non neglectable bonus of making the Horsemen “friendship” offer all the more tempting to a young boy who has never really had any friends and is aching for it).  So ultimately, Crawleigh and William would be like “yes, I am weird. Yes, I am alone. Yes, it makes me suffer. No, I’m not gonna be a bastard because of it. Maybe it’ll get better, maybe it won’t, but I’m gonna do my darn best to take care of myself even if nobody else will”. So, it’s less cotton candy than GO, but I think it’s a great message to pass along. Self love, self discovery, self confidence, staying true to yourself even in dark times. Also the fact that being alone / single is not necessarily a bad thing, can be a choice and something you can live with very well. Crawleigh and / or another one of the main characters would end up like “I am actually fine like this”. And... that’s pretty much it. There, you’ve got all my thoughts and reasonning about, basically, how I would have decided to write the whole William The Antichrist novel lmao. I’m not gonna write it though. But if anyone feels inspired and want to give it a go based on my ideas, by all means. Feel free to borrow or to contact me if you want to brainstorm more ideas / make a collaboration.  Why not. I’ve got too many Crawleigh feels.

[i-like-plan-m]

Prompt: (Part 1) Lan Qiren and his young (maybe 14 and 10 yrs old, respectively?) nephews (Lan Xichen and Lan Zhan) are all going to a discussion conference. To go to that conference they pass through Yiling. An attack occurs and tiny Lan Zhan gets separated from Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen for whatever reason. Lan Zhan meets young Wei Wuxian and for some reason, Lan they have to run away from the attackers and end up in the burial mounds as that’s the only palace they can hide.

(Part 2)To Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen, Lan Zhan goes missing and they can’t find him among the dead nor anywhere in the village. Eventually, they leave but never stop looking around the cultivation world in hope of someday finding him. I’d like to see how Lan Zhan’s disappearance affects the Lan family and how they change as characters with a Lan Zhan filled a hole in their lives.

(part 3) Meanwhile, in the Burial Mounds, Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian have to figure out how to survive in this dreadful environment as well as get to know each other and become close as they hurt and struggle throughout their stay. They try to find exits but the Burial Mounds is designed to keep its occupants in, not out.

(Part 4)Some years later when they finally find an exit, they have no idea how to function in normal society as all the company they have had for the last few years was each other and they can’t really remember how to interact with other people. A prominent theme could be their codependency and separation anxiety that they have for each other and how they try to fit in with other people. If you’re interested, please feel free to make any adjustments or make any changes to the prompt!

...this got long, whoops [posted to Ao3]

The problem, Wei Ying reflected, was that, regardless of his ratty robes and threadbare shoes, Lan Zhan was just too damn pretty to be overlooked. 

It made traveling unnoticed impossible. Worse, Lan Zhan didn’t even notice. He only cast an icy glare at those who wandered too close, forever mistrustful of strangers who dared approach him-- or worse, approach Wei Ying. He acted as though he expected someone to snatch him right off the street. 

To be fair, it had happened once or twice. 

Demonic cultivators, it seemed, were not appreciated outside of the Burial Mounds. Wei Ying took the brunt of the harm that the occasional cultivator they crossed (and always the ones with far too much moral superiority to allow Wei Ying to pass without harassment, the bastards) inflicted upon them. They never expected the full force of Lan Zhan’s fury to come crashing down upon them. 

Wei Ying wondered if perhaps they were gaining a reputation in the cultivation world. It was potentially a problem-- he had no intentions of returning to the Burial Mounds. Not after six years of uninterrupted hell, with only his Lan Zhan there to keep him sane. 

The Burial Mounds had taken so much from them-- hope, joy. Memories, even, of their lives before. But not each other. Not even literal mountains’ worth of resentment and hate and slaughter could separate them. Between Wei Ying’s quick, clever thinking and Lan Zhan’s indomitable will and strength, they’d slipped the net and stumbled back into the world outside, one that held so much life and brightness it physically hurt to witness. 

But oh, how he loved re-learning how to be human. The Burial Mounds had made them something else, something a little too strange to be just ordinary cultivators. They’d learned to wield resentment early on-- Wei Ying much faster than his forever stubborn Lan Zhan-- in order to survive. There had been no other option.

Now, though. Now they had the freedom of choice. Lan Zhan could unbind his golden core after years of hiding it from the Burial Mounds’ sights, could use his own spiritual energy instead of the resentment he so detested. 

Wei Ying smiled, eternally fond, and glanced sideways at Lan Zhan, who was eyeing a particularly boisterous vendor with a familiar, dangerous glint in his eye. 

“Aiya, Lan Zhan,” he said, exasperated. He nudged him in the side, drawing Lan Zhan’s attention away from the vendor insistently flapping poorly drawn talismans after them. “You’ll scare everyone away, looking like that!” 

“He should not sell useless protections,” Lan Zhan muttered, staring straight ahead. “It gives false hope.” Behind them, there was a cry of dismay as the vendor’s talismans burst simultaneously into flames. 

“So cranky,” Wei Ying sighed, leaning his weight into Lan Zhan’s side. “Simple wanderers like us can’t judge others for how they make a living!”

“I can and I will,” Lan Zhan said reasonably, and Wei Ying dissolved into giggles. Lan Zhan frowned down at him, softened by the slight, affectionate curve of his mouth. “He makes people think they are safe when they are not.”

Ah. Wei Ying sobered. “Well, when you put it that way..” Hard to argue, really. After half a lifetime of the same feeling in a place much worse than this... The vendor wasn’t so harmless after all. 

He stared into middle distance, lost in thought as they walked, never more than an arm’s length from Lan Zhan. 

Lan Zhan’s gaze flickered to Wei Ying when he remained uncharacteristically quiet-- after years of forced silence in the Burial Mounds, sometimes because their lives quite literally depended upon it, Wei Ying responded to the freedom of the outside by chattering nonstop, as though compensating for six years of quiet. 

Wei Ying stuttered to a stop a moment later, realizing that Lan Zhan had stepped aside, out of the stream of people. He had a single heartbeat of pure, unfiltered panic, dizi clutched tight in his hand as he searched frantically for Lan Zhan. He raised it to his mouth, prepared to send a burst of noise into the air to find him-- and then went limp in relief as Lan Zhan appeared beside him once more. 

“Lan Zhan!” He scolded, trying for stern but undermined by the wobble in his voice. “You can’t just disappear on me like that! I was about to level the street.” He was only kidding. Mostly.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said disapprovingly anyway, then softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worried.” And then, because Lan Zhan was the greatest thing to ever happen to Wei Ying, he held up a jar of Emperor’s Smile. 

“Forgiven!” Wei Ying chirped, and snatched it from his grip. Lan Zhan watched the spill of the alcohol from his mouth, down his neck, and suddenly turned sharply on his heel and stalked back into the street, ears a delightful shade of pink.

“This way,” he said, guiding them to a small building just off the main street. Lan Zhan’s qin needed serious repairs-- it had been a stroke of pure luck that he’d had it with him the day they’d been swallowed whole by the Burial Mounds, and only with his meticulous care had it survived. A few strings had snapped on their last night hunt, and Lan Zhan had been so quietly devastated that Wei Ying had badgered him into visiting Caiyi, known for their famous Emperor’s Smile... and their mastery of music. 

The shop was large and clean, with small rooms off to the side for repairs. Lan Zhan strode immediately to the desk, quietly discussed the items he needed with the owner, and then followed behind the closed door of the back room. Wei Ying nursed his Emperor’s Smile and wandered around the shop, pausing occasionally to inspect the dizis displayed on the wall. 

He smiled, sharp and dark, and rubbed his thumb along his own instrument. Chenqing was slender and pitch black, carved in and from the Burial Mounds. He suspected these dizis would shatter under his full power where Chenqing only sang for more. 

“Sir,” the owner said politely, hovering behind him. “Looking for a new dizi?”

“Oh, no,” Wei Ying laughed, wincing internally at the flicker of indignation from Chenqing. He patted it reassuringly. “This dizi has been my friend through many dangers. I couldn’t bear to part with it.”

“It is certainly... unique,” the man said, like he’d had to choke it out. Amused-- his carving skills at the time had been fueled by desperate terror and shaking hands-- Wei Ying nodded cheerfully in agreement. 

“Is Lan Zhan almost finished?” He asked, and let the man guide him into the room. 

“How’s it going?” Wei Ying asked, hooking his chin over Lan Zhan’s shoulder to watch the way his long, elegant fingers ran along the qin. Suddenly flushed, he sat back and sprawled out beside him, averting his eyes to his Emperor’s Smile. 

“Repairs require attention and care,” Lan Zhan said, intently focused on his instrument. 

Wei Ying left him to it, knowing he’d get no attention from Lan Zhan until the qin was fixed, and closed his eyes, tipping his head back against the wall. His situational awareness was unmatched except for Lan Zhan, so they both noticed when someone else entered the store, unseen through the closed door. 

But Wei Ying was aware-- always aware-- that this man was a cultivator, and so immensely powerful his spiritual energy was almost tangible. He opened his eyes and eyed the door, absently mouthing at Chenqing’s mouthpiece now instead of the jar of alcohol. 

There were quiet voices outside, and he exchanged a wary glance with Lan Zhan. The shop owner didn’t sound agitated, though, or like he was ratting them out to the newcomer. 

Soon after, another door closed and soft music reverberated through the thin walls. He didn’t recognize the song, uncultured as he was by the Burial Mounds barbaric version of society, but something about it made him ache. His eyes burned at the outpouring of emotion, a lament of grief and regret, of pain so encompassing it reshaped the very air. 

“Another qin,” Lan Zhan murmured, hands frozen in place over his own instrument. Wei Ying sat up and curled a hand around Lan Zhan’s wrist, needing the touch to keep him grounded, to keep the memories of the Burial Mounds at bay in the face of such a song. They sat in suspended silence until the song ended, heads bowed under the weight of such grief, and listened as the cultivator very softly thanked the shop owner and left. 

“Who was that?” Wei Ying wondered, and the shop owner paused as though confused as he entered their room. 

“That was Sect Leader Lan, young master. He comes every week to play.”

“A sect leader?” Wei Ying traded a glance with Lan Zhan, who had clearly once been a member of the Lan Sect at one point but had no memories of it otherwise. “Can’t he afford a qin of his own? Why does he come here?”

The shop owner’s mouth twisted with something like pity. “He comes to play for his lost brother, young master. Sect Leader Lan still deeply mourns the loss, but the qin was his brother’s favored instrument. It is hard for his uncle to hear, I’m told.”

“Everyone mourns in their own way,” Wei Ying said, sympathetic. He waited until the man left again to turn to Lan Zhan, who hadn’t moved. “Lan Zhan?”

“Hm?” Lan Zhan blinked as though awakening from a deep sleep. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. I have finished with the repairs.” He stood and left the room, off to use their meager funds to pay for the supplies. 

But Wei Ying didn’t move, wondering if perhaps the sect leader would know of Lan Zhan’s family. How to find them. Part of him wanted to take Lan Zhan out of Gusu immediately, to keep him to himself, and he hated himself for the thought. 

If there was a chance for Lan Zhan to find the family he’d lost, then Wei Ying would help him... even if it meant losing the only thing that mattered to him in the world. 

[easily-infatuated23]

Undercover- Part Three (Healer!Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Prologue, Part One, Part Two , Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

a/n: ok i kinda love where this is going and i’ve decided that the Reader is a spy lol comment if you would like to be added on the tag list for this series! also sorry if this is a cliff hanger 

pairing: Healer! Draco x Spy! (?) Reader

word count: 2.1k

warning: mentions of trauma and death

summary: During her stay at Malfoy Manor, Reader finds some evidence that will help figure out who had been ordering the killings of muggle-born witches and wizards but will Draco trust her?

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

This assignment had really taken a strange turn. Not only had I been imbedded with Death Eaters, but I had been stabbed and was now hiding in Malfoy Manor. Draco was much kinder and happier than the last time I saw him. Of course, I had heard the stories of this newer and better Draco, but witnessing it first hand was something else. No matter how many times I told him I had to leave to keep him safe, he would just assure me that the protective charms he placed around the house would keep us safe. I remained on edge. After all, safety is a matter of perspective. I had a feeling part of the reason he was against me leaving was not just for my safety, but I suspected he was glad to have the company. It truly was a large house. A large and empty house for just one person. With his father in Azkaban and his mother taking a much needed vacation abroad, he was the most alone he had probably ever been…physically that is. After my slip up in revealing the name of the organization after me, I tried to speak about the subject as little as I could. All I wanted was to be relieved of the burden I was carrying but, I knew if I did, Draco Malfoy would surely be killed. So, I continued to bear the burden of knowledge as Draco began healing me again.

Draco had lead me to his kitchen and motioned for me to hop up on to the counter. He had attempted to assist me but I was stubborn and struggled through the process myself. He opened his medical bag and pulled out a needle and suture thread. He rolled up his sleeves as he went to wipe some disinfectant on my side before turning to thread the needle “How did you figure out who I was?” I asked my Healer on the second day of my stay. “Well, the appearance change was pretty hard to see through but once those Death Eaters said your name at St. Mungo’s I remembered you”. “Remembered me?” I questioned. “I don’t think we spoke once while at Hogwarts and I have been off the grid pretty much since I finished there. Ouch! That hurts.” I said, wincing as he tended to my side. “Stop fussing, it’s only a few stitches. And if you hadn’t apparated I wouldn’t have to give you stitches you know” he replied, slightly laughing at my inability to stand the pain, especially after I had refused to let him use a pain relieving potion on me. I was worried I’d say something I would regret later. Whether I was worried about spilling something about my assignment or something else was still up for debate.

“You are avoiding my question” I said matter-a-factly. He sighed. “You knew me back then, I always noticed the pretty girls” he said with a slight blush. “That’s just a cop out answer, I don’t believe you” I replied, not making eye contact so that he couldn’t see the slight smile on my face. He shrugged his shoulders and stood up. “Believe what you’d like”.

He walked over to the sink and washed his hands. I jumped off the counter. “Fucking hell” I muttered. He laughed again. “You should take it easy for at least two weeks” he said. I groaned but then, remembered something. My heart sank a little as I remembered where I was and the history of this house. “Hey look I am gonna ask you a question that’s gonna make you really uncomfortable so I apologize in advance. And, please know I am only asking because I feel like I have to.” He turned to face me, a worried look washed over his face. “Do you have a record of all You-Know-Who’s followers? There were rumors about a book. I know he used this place as a headquarters during the second war and I am desperate for any lead on…..well a lead” I said, holding in my reasons. He grimaced slightly. “Unfortunately for me, yes but I guess that’s fortunate for you” he replied harshly. I felt guilty for bringing up the awful things in his past like this but I truly felt I had no choice. And besides, if this caused him to feel some apprehension towards me that might be beneficial in stopping his relentless questions.

He walked past me and began down a long hallway. I followed close behind him. He took a sharp left turn and continued down a spiral staircase that seemed as if it went on for ages. As he lead me down, neither of us spoke a word. When we finally reached the bottom, it felt like an entirely different place. This couldn’t possibly be the basement of the surprisingly homey manor I had just been inside. Could it? As we exited the staircase, we stood facing a large green door. The green paint on the door was faded, as if the door was centuries old but there was a large golden key hole shining on the front, underneath an equally shining golden door knob. The two looked as if they’d been installed recently.

“Mother and I tried to destroy it but nothing we did worked. There is some serious dark magic in this book. We locked it down here to make sure it wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands.” He turned towards me, his face only inches from mine. If he hadn’t done this in such a menacing way, I might have swooned a little but now was not the right time for that. “I hope I am not putting it in the wrong hands now” he said. I shook my head. It had just occurred to me, there was a possibility that he didn’t believe my story. I knew it was true and the thugs after me were good evidence in my favor, but it all could have been a plant. Thats why he was asking so many questions. Maybe I would have to tell him after all. He turned back around to face the door. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a small golden key on a string. Had he been wearing the necklace the whole time? I wondered why I hadn’t noticed. He took off the necklace and put the key into the hole. He took a deep breath and unlocked the door.

Once the door opened he stepped aside, allowing me to look inside the small room that had been revealed. The inside was dark and gave off a feeling of uncertainty and slight panic. There were only two things residing in the small room; a podium and a large black leather bound book. I started to walk in when Draco put his arm across the entrance and stopped me. “Prepare yourself. Once you go in and open it, you will never feel the same again. The book can have an effect almost like a Dementor” he said. “What exactly is the book?” I asked. “The Binding of the Death Eaters” he said with a shiver. “Before someone could receive the Dark Mark and be fully inducted as a Death Eater, they would have to sign their name. It binds your fate to the Dark Lord” he said. The way he stared at the book could only be described as a raging and powerful fury. I knew that Draco Malfoy had been a Death Eater but I had no idea that even after the Dark Lord had been killed, he still had so much power of Draco’s life. “I am really sorry” I began. “I know that sorry means nothing especially since I have forced you to come down here but I truly am. I’m also sorry that you never got to chose not to sign.” He looked at me. The fury was still spinning in his eyes but with every moment it lessened. He said nothing but simply nodded. I entered the room and, with a deep breath, opened the book. I titled my head to one side and turned to Draco. “It’s blank” I said. He looked almost relieved. “The names are only revealed to someone who has the Dark Mark” he said. “So you were testing me and my story” I said. He nodded. He then turned side ways and gestured with his left arm for me to exit the room. “This might freak you out so you might want to leave now” I said, pulling my wand from my jacket pocket. “Obscure Appareat Vestigium” I whispered, pointing my wand at my left forearm. The black skull appeared on my arm and a snake slithered out of its mouth. Draco stepped back with a horrified expression on his face. “It’s not a real Dark Mark and it’s not permanent” I said quickly. “The task force I’m apart of developed this charm for undercover work”. Draco looked me in the eyes, turned, and hurried up the staircase.

Now I’d done it. Just as he was going to fully trust me, I broke his trust. The look he gave me made me feel sick. Just another horrified face to add to the growing list that haunted my nightmares. I sighed deeply then turned my attention back to the book. I flipped through the pages. I saw plenty of names I recognized, all ex-Death Eaters who had wound up in Azkaban or served lighter sentences and some were names of people who were killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. I even saw Draco’s name. His signature was much shakier than most of the other names. He had been so young. The more I looked I realized something was missing. I started to realize an option that I had never considered. It made the sick feeling in my stomach lurch again but before I could fully register the awful feeling, I saw a name I recognized. This was a name I had never seen associated in this way with the Dark Lord. Suddenly, things started to make more sense. My heart was practically beating out of my chest.

I jumped out of the room and shut the door. Draco had left the key hanging on the door knob which I grasped and used to lock the door. That book had just become very important evidence in a trial no one knew was beginning. I spoke the Dark Mark removing incantation and raced back up the spiral stair case. When I got to the top I was out of breath. I turned right and made my way back into the kitchen. Draco was sitting at the kitchen table. He looked dazed and upset. “I can give you an explanation now” I said breathlessly, tossing him the key. He looked up at me suddenly, just barely catching the key. I had clearly startled him. “I know who is behind the Dark Saints and right now you may be the only chance there is that this will all stop.” He stood up. “What are you talking about? Stop what? You being chased?” He was clearly frustrated. “You have every right to be frustrated with me and I promise I will explain everything but first I need to get one more piece of information.” I said. “And what’s that?” he retorted, crossing his arms. “Do you know where I can get the last…let’s say year of Daily Prophet obituary sections?” He looked at me, clearly feeling very puzzled. “I mean…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “I guess they did start offering a digital option two years ago-” “Perfect!” I said, cutting him off. I raced back up the stairs to his bedroom where I remembered seeing a computer. “Wait! What are you doing?” he called after me.

When I entered his room I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. I sat down at the computer and began furiously scanning through the obituary pages. He entered the room moments after me and stood over my shoulder, curiously watching my frantic scribbles. Once I had finished I slumped back in the chair for a moment. I hadn’t noticed when I started crying but once I did, the tears flowed at a hotter temperature and more quickly down my cheeks than they ever had before. I finally turned to face him. “There’s at least twenty of them” I said, trying to hold my voice steady. “What does that mean?” Draco asked. He understood that I meant twenty people had died but he wanted to know how that was important in my explanation. I slowly stood only to suddenly become so dizzy my balance faltered. “Y/N? Are you ok you’ve gone very pale”. I started to nod but then shook my head then everything went black.

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

taglist!:

@pointlesscoconut @bi-andready-tocry

[jojo-reader-hell]

Jonathan with a girlfriend who is absolutely spoiled, stuck up, always completely dressed up, and a daddies girl? She tries to spoil him all the time with expensive items and throws a fit and starts bawling because she doesn’t know how else to show her affection?

MY BABY 😭🥺 I needed to write something hopeful and sweet for my hubby ❤️❤️ GIVE JONATHAN LOVE.

“What say you to this color?”

Jonathan blanched, seeing that familiar dark scowl cross your face as you approached from the other side of the room. Your father was sitting placidly across the way from where you had been playing inspector, draped on a couch and smoking his pipe away from where the tailor displayed the many suits of clothing you’d commissioned for your future husband. No less than twenty full ensembles, including his wedding attire with more on the way to be delivered tomorrow. As if Jonathan didn’t already feel like a burden accepting your father’s kindness to stay at your home until the wedding, now he felt as though you were trying to dress him up like a show poodle.

“Now love…” Jonathan murmured meekly, but you didn’t hear him.

You slowly looked towards the tailor, the fabric of Jonathan’s wedding clothes between your fingers. It looked sharp and attentive on the mannequin, and from the greedy eyes of the man you hired he was already calculating in his mind how much he could swindle out of your purse.

“This is a joke to you, tailor?” You said, so lowly it was almost a whisper.

“Madam?!”

“Pray tell me sir, if you think this…” with one quick motion you ripped the sleeve of the new suit clean off and held it out, “… is a joke? A spectacle, a farce. I told you it was of the upmost importance that you use the fabrics and the stitches I recommended. Are you perhaps under the assumption that we are performing a production of ‘Twelfth Night’?! You were told this was a wedding, were you not?! SO I AM VERY PERPLEXED AS TO WHY YOU INSIST ON DRESSING MY FUTURE HUSBAND IN THIS INSULT OF A MONKEY SUIT-…!”

Oh great… There you went… When you got like this, not even Jonathan in his most commanding tone could get you to calm down.

“THE NERVE… NO, THE AUDACITY OF INSULTING HIM AFTER HE HAS GONE THROUGH SUCH A PAINFUL ORDEAL!”

He felt as though you would be so busy going over your individual trousseaus that you’d miss both the wedding and the honeymoon abroad you and your father had planned right from under him.

You hadn’t even waited for his wounds to heal or for the embers to be extinguished in what remained of the Joestar estate, no sooner had you invaded his sick room that you began to take over every aspect of Jonathan’s life. It was you that decided what he ate, what clothes he wore, what time he went to bed, he’d never felt as weak and helpless as he sank into his chair while you continued to run off at the mouth. You’d be married in a week (thanks to a bit of your prodding and encouraging he finally worked up plenty of nerve to ask you to be Mrs. Jonathan Joestar), and despite the general excitement of your household and the exorbitant costs, Jonathan was starting to feel the tiniest tinge of regret in his heart.

“Well, all I can offer you is luck for your wedding old boy.” Speedwagon had clapped him on the back, “Seems your lady wants it her way, and I hope she means well taking control.”

For some reason Robert Speedwagon’s usual talent for judging character had gone muddled. He didn’t quite know what to make of you. You tended to Jonathan like he was a child by spoiling him with gifts and trinkets, and tempting him with sweet things, all the while scolding your servants and your father with a sharp tongue, despite the fact that they all seemed eager to bend to your will. You’d been rather abrupt with Robert, turning your back to him and catering to your beloved Jojo as though the other man didn’t exist.

How many times had Jonathan scolded you about your selfishness over the course of your short courtship? Too many to count. He insisted gently at first that he didn’t need anything, your love was more than enough... Only to be blatantly ignored as you chided him for foolishness and delved for hours into the places you’d both go, and the clothes and toiletries you’d need for honeymoon in France and Italy. As of late he’d been rather curt with his tender feelings, trying to quell the resentment that had been building up.

What had he gotten himself into with you? The love you shared was hurried, as though fleeting, like a thief in the night you charmed Jonathan and easily stole your way into his heart because it was where you wanted to be. He knew it. Everyone knew your intentions for the charming specimen, and it was only a matter of time before he found himself inexplicably tied to you with a red string of fate, a chord binding the two of you for better or for worse. Call it the desire of the young to sow his wild oats, call it boys will be boys, call it the beguiling seductions of a temptress, call it whatever you please, all he knew was that this was to be his future if he cared one iota about reputation.

“For the price your crooked practice has tried to extract from me, I expect you to get it right the first time.” You growled to the tailor. “Make sure you do not make the same mistake twice.”

“Yes madam! Anything...! My apologies to your fiancé as well, I beg a thousand pardons sir.” The shriveled old man bowed out, and as you smoothed your skirts and pretended nothing had happened Jonathan stood to make his exit.

“Oh dearest! Please stay seated, if you need something presently I shall send Benson to fetch it!” Your voice rose a few octaves, and you darted towards him like a sparrow when you saw he was preparing to take his leave.

“I am quite alright, thank you.” Jonathan replied, his voice tight and low as he played off dodging your grasp as him trying to grip the arm of the chair to center himself.

He had to insist that he was fine. It would be alright. He just had to take care of some personal things before he could come back. But he instead hid away in the one place in the entire manor you wouldn’t think to look for him.

Surrounded in your own miniature museum, Jonathan sequestered himself in a bay window behind heavy drapes, and dropped his face into his hands as he began to cry his frustrated tears. This helplessness was consuming him. He could do nothing except submit to your will, and in his delusion of masculinity it hurt him and made him feel helpless and lonely. Despite his resolve to never let anyone push him around again, it only applied when his tormentor was a man apparently. What could he do? He couldn’t do anything to you except bow to your whims, already in debt in over his head and trembling at the trap laid out for him; it was a deadly combination of convention and Christian morals that dictated of a man to rise up and be counted responsible for his actions. Where could he go now? His choices of shelter were nonexistent. There was no Joestar estate to return to, at least not until you both returned from your bridal tour abroad when the workers your father hired projected its completion. Heaven help him, he even found himself pining for his lost love, feeling a heaping dose of Christian guilt whenever those thoughts crossed his mind. But there was no comfort even in emotional infidelity. Erina Pendleton refused to hurt you. During the nights she nursed him she rebuffed his reaches towards her, and only told him to treat you tenderly, to make an honest woman of you considering the nature of your close relationship, and to accept the kindness you had extended to him in the form of a place to recover. And there was no way, no chance in hell that a gentleman would betray the expectations of a lady. Even if you drove Jonathan crazy and made him wish that he had never agreed so rashly to marry you, he couldn’t go back on his word. Hadn’t he made a big to do about your engagement? Something he promised his late father pertained to you, a promise just before he went to school he assured his father the same thing he did for you: He would not force you to suffer shame or subject you to the horror of your father’s desire to marry you off to one of his rich friends to save face. If he made the choice to know you, he would take the responsibility of taking care of you as his wife.

They that dance must pay the fiddler after all. His father informed him that his late mother quoted this often. And what a shame it would be to her, if she were alive today and knew that her own son didn’t maintain the morals she wanted for him.

Surrounded by your “curios” and decorations from the Orient, Jonathan tried for many hours to steel his nerves. It took him until it was time to eat with you and your father, the hunger and promise of a feast coaxing him from his corner and to the dining hall where he sat distantly at the overly large table. He supped quietly, refusing to answer your questions as to why he was so late, and simply pretending as though nothing was happening in his mind. Sometimes he made polite conversations with your father, but any time you or the wedding were brought up he avoided the subject like the plague. Hard to do when all your father talked about was you, with the slight possibility he might throw in a morsel or two about his horses. Once in a lull where your father was prying lobster meat from the shell, Jonathan looked up from his plate that he had cleaned nearly five times to see that you barely touched anything, your shoulders withdrawn and your lips pressed tightly together. For a minute his heart twinged with anger, only to soften when he wondered if you’d even eaten anything at all. You looked so pale, and did you always have that green tint to your cheeks? Jonathan watched quietly as you told one of the many servants at your side that you just didn’t want anything right now, but in his heart he knew you weren’t starving yourself for the sake of fashion, nor was it because you were upset.

Jonathan couldn’t let the facade of his anger alienate you… It wasn’t right. Especially not in this condition where the slightest misstep could only make the situation worse. Even if you were with fault and not at all the perfect image of a lady, hadn’t he learned to see passed that to see the beautiful qualities you possessed? Hadn’t he been able to see passed the glitz and glamours you hid your true self behind? As was expected, you were favored by men for your wealth and quick wit, among the women you were hated for the ease with which you could capture a beaux with a simple beckon of your fingers.

It was odd really, among the other ladies of your pedigree you stood out, a bluejay among robins with the temperament to match; none of the ladies were safe from your sharp beak. A beautiful blonde daughter of a marquis would pale in comparison to you, even though you possessed no traditional qualities of beauty that they did. Your face was far too severe, brow perpetually pulled into a look far too sly, and your smile seemed to come at a price as well. Anyone who spent more than a few hours couldn’t fail to notice your short temperament and disdain for the delicate flowers of England. And yet when asked there was never any shortage of complements: your jewelry always sparkled the brightest against your clean skin, your hand was never empty, always clasped by a dancing partner or in fervent confessions of love, and your clothes were always of the finest French silks, fitted in ways to emphasize the assets you did have. Yet the compliments were more superficial, whereas most romantics like Jonathan wanted a Jane Eyre, you were more Blanche Ingram, all French lace and jewelry and coveting any little trinket you could get your hands on.

Yet there were hidden qualities you possessed that you only allowed Jonathan to catch a glimpse of. As much as you threw money towards your curios and your dresses and jewels, you were just as obliged to give it all away to charitable causes. He never forgot the blue coat school you showed him one day when he was itching to go outside for a bit of fresh air. The building bearing your family name was only a few hours ride away from your home, the halls as spotlessly clean and well equipped as your manor, and all the chubby cheeked little orphan girls knew you by name and ran up to kiss you and put bluebells in your hair when you told them you wouldn’t be visiting for some time. They cried at first, thinking you were abandoning them, only to squeal in delight when you told them you were getting married to the handsome man that had accompanied you. He remembered the parties he attended where he’d started to show interest. Your quick with and sharp intellect endeared you to the men, each one pushing Jonathan in your direction when they noticed your demeanor changed for the better whenever he was around. He would always remember the times you purposefully snubbed the advances of one Dio Brando, much to Jonathan’s secret delight, merely because you “did not like the look of his eyes” and that you would not forget the injustices committed against your sweet Jojo.

There were many other things… The times you’d prattle on and on about your fossil collection and all the things you learned whilst collecting them, bonding over a mutual love of history and listening to his own prattling about the stone mask, asking about his hopes and dreams, mourning his father with him on nights where his injuries were too painful to ignore… Even appreciating the friendship and love of Erina Pendleton, because she made him happy during a time where you did not know him. That had to be when he’d truly fallen in love with you. Your heart was wholly good, you only wanted his happiness, whereas any other woman would have flown into a rage because he had never stopped loving another.

Jonathan was so lost in thought about you, he rose from the table without speaking once the meal was concluded, and went automatically towards his sanctuary of your own miniature museum, he didn’t hear your footsteps following eagerly after him.

“Jojo??”

Your voice sounded so innocent, so tiny and sad, that Jonathan paused his journey and allowed you to catch up to him, your jewelry and the knickknacks lining the halls in curio cabinets rattling with your steps as you ran towards him. For every one step he took, you needed to run very far, and it took a while for you to catch up. Yet you did eventually catch up to him winded and looking more pale than before. Gently, like a little girl beseeching her father, you tugged his waistcoat in the hopes that he’d turn to look at you.

“Jojo...” your voice was the tiniest whimper. “Jojo... Are you going to leave me?”

“What?!”

Hours ago before he ate he might have considered breaking the engagement out of anger, but now that he had remembered his love for you (and been fed) he couldn’t dare think of destroying you like that.

“Why would you ever think-…”

“You have that look about you Jojo. I’ve seen it so many times, the first night I saw it, you were making our engagement known to Erina. Now... I... Jojo, please... Forgive me.”

Your hands were shaking. He could see you tottering in your heels and knew immediately when he grabbed your waist to balance you that your mood had only been dictated to anger because you were poorly. Dressed like a doll and smothering in your clothes because your father demanded it of you, and here Jonathan was only making it worse.

“Why... no, I should not pretend as if I do not know the cause of your pain.” He murmured as he pulled you close into his chest. “While I will not deny your tempers vex me, I must beg your forgiveness too... my love, I’ve told you over and over so many times: I have no need for earthly possessions. Your love is all I need. I don’t want to leave you, I only beg of you to let me take care of myself. I wish you wouldn’t spoil me so.”

“B-but Jojo...”

“Shhh... my love, you’re ashen.” He murmured softly into your neck. “You need to have something my love. I can send for a meal to be brought to your room.”

He tried to lead you to your room, but you refused to budge and only tugged on his clothes again, begging him to look at you.

“But Jojo... I... my only wish is that you should want for nothing.”

“I don’t need gifts and trinkets my love.” Jonathan murmured gently. “I just need your love and understanding, and for you to always be happy with me.”

You couldn’t help but melt into tears by his words, explaining through your hiccoughing that you never wanted him to feel unloved or unwanted, citing the many wrongs done to him and the burden it left on your heart to know that while you were blissfully unaware of your future husband’s suffering, you had merely been collecting and hoarding your obsessions and waiting for a man to come and take you away. It frustrated you, you went on, because Jonathan had lost everything, and for once in your life you had the means to give him back what he lost.

“I... I know I cannot turn back the hands of time and return those you have lost...” you whimpered, your tears wetting his cravat and making his own burst forth onto your hair. “However the least I can do is give you clothes, a home, a good meal...-“

“Oh my love... I only. Need. Your. Affections. Nothing else.”

Each word he spoke was punctuated with fervent kisses to your lips, his good arm pressing you tightly against his chest as you lost yourselves to passion. He very nearly lost control there in the hall, not caring that anyone including your father might walk in and scold you both for acting in perversion. But eventually he pulled away from your enticing lips, his heart swelling and beating out the things he thought in anger, your sweetest kisses reminding him of why he asked you to be Mrs. Jonathan Joestar in the first place.

“I had wanted to show you after we took care of your clothes,” you gasped, breathless from his canoodling, “Plenty of other things came today as well, come, before you take me to my room.”

You took him gently by the good arm, directing him into a room he knew to be your nursery in childhood. It wasn’t far from the area you assured him would be your own shared chambers (your father insisted you’d remain with him for the time it took to completely restore Jonathan’s home), and when you opened the door you assured him the setup within was only for a little while.

“Just until the little creature is strong enough to make the journey back home with us Jojo.” You told him with a smile as you lead him into the room.

Seeing the bright pretty colors, as well as the miniature items and clothes, Jonathan couldn’t hold back his happiness. He glanced at you, his lips open in a smile and tears dribbling down his cheeks, and gasped in pure delight to see the items you were squirreling away inside.

“You... you did all this?” He grinned widely.

You nodded eagerly, smiling as he picked up soft swaddling clothes, ran his fingers along the supple wood of a cradle, and looked around with wide, lovesick eyes.

It was as though finally he could see the promise of happier times in these possessions, and realized that you were only trying to give him happiness in the one way that you could. In truth, he still preferred you, and the gift you would give him in a few months time.

[chimswae]

BTS Caretaker CH36

Summary: She may think she has Bangtan Sonyeondan wrapped around her fingers. She may think it is easy to love the members equally without hurting any soul. She may think the boys wont fall head over heels for her. She assumes it is okay to show a little love and affection towards the boys, what if she gets it all wrong? What if it only brings more complication to her already complicated life? Can she survive their charms? Will she be able to resist them? What if they just wont let her go?

- Pairing: BTS x Oc ( Yoongi x OC, Jungkook x OC)

- Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst, Romance, Idol!au

- Word Count: 4, 208

- Author Note: Purely yoongi and seul moment XD

Previous | Next

Chapter 36

Unexpected call from Mrs Hwang few minutes ago caused Yoongi to drop everything that he did right way. Seul’s life way more than important than his unfinished songs, when he left his studio in hurry Namjoon threw the older guy a questioning look.

“Hyung..where-“ “I will explain to you later” Yoongi disappeared into thin air giving him no time to process. Confused, the tall guy returned to his studio in complete silence. Yoongi is a man, he knew how to take care of himself and not to get into trouble. Namjoon assured himself with his little pep talk to ease the uneasiness in him.

Wandering cluelessly around the city was Yoongi, trying to figure out Seul’s whereabouts. Clutching onto his phone tight, this would be his 20th attempt to reach her yet it brought him to voice mail. This unspeakable worries that he had at the moment was killing him softly.

‘Seul, where are you’ he looked down into the dark street. Hearing Seul’s health history from her mother scared him to death, he couldn’t imagine what will happen to her if he delayed the search even for a minute.

After thirty minutes searching her neighbourhood, Yoongi received a text from what seemed to be from Mrs Hwang. His eyes glimmered with hope upon reading the text, ‘Okay, her favourite place to chill. Hill’ he blinked in dazed.

‘Wait, hill? Do they have hill here?’ Yoongi scanned the area, taking in every movement until his eyes noticed a small alley between two tall buildings which will lead him somewhere. At least, he’s one step closer in finding Seul. His main priority was to bring that girl back safe and sound without any scratches.

Even though Yoongi was sceptical by his own choice, however he followed his heart and walk through the dark alley without much thought. The small board near the bench with an arrow and “To Signal Hill” really saved the day. His smile found its way back on his sullen face and now all he had to do was to find any sign of Seul there.

Following the path, he made sure his steps were slow just in case Seul was somewhere around the area. He spent 15 more minutes to reach the peak, and to his utter astonishment he didn’t see even a strand of Seul’s hair. Yoongi refused to give up so he resumed his search until he saw the dead end. Considering there were no one around, it spooked him a little to know a lady like Seul could be roaming around this area alone.

His ears perked up at the sound of inaudible murmur few metres from him, therefore he picked up the pace anxious to see what awaits him. The voice resembled a whiny young lady brought his attention to a familiar figure that stood wobbly on the big rock, which seemed can fit one human legs but due to her small size she could fit both legs there. Yet, it was risky as hell.

The girl screamed at the top of her lungs and bended over as she tried to balance herself on top of the slippery rock. His eyes widened in pure horror “JI SEUL? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING” he sprinted towards her angrily, grabbing the girl’s waist causing her to squeal at the sudden movement.

Seul clung onto him for her dear life “What the-“she didn’t need to see the owner of the voice because Seul could smell his expensive cologne. It was Min Yoongi, there’s no doubt. He tightened his grip around her waist, carrying her bridal style and started walking away from the dangerous cliff to another side of the empty area.

Setting her down carefully, Yoongi flew into a rage “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING? ARE YOU CRAZY? THAT IS NOT GOING TO SOLVE PROBLEM? WHY CAN’T YOU JUST GIVE ME A CALL, SO I CAN HELP YOU. MY GOODNESS YOU ARE AN IDIOT SEUL!” he pushed his face into hers so suddenly that she shrank back, hiding her head like a turtle, afraid by his outburst. It took her by surprise.

A muscle twitched under his eye and he grinded his teeth out of anger, his fiery eyes looked deadly dangerous. Not to mention, he was breathing heavily, and she could see a visible flush on his porcelain skin.

Yoongi straightened himself, rubbing the back of his hair angrily “I…” she gulped in fear. He glowered upon hearing Seul’s timid voice, she looked up at him with her eyes slightly enlarged as she continued “I don’t think I need your help to find my missing necklace. It is not a big deal. Why are you yelling at me?” Seul had a dumbfounded look on her face.

“Wait-what? You are looking for what?” he was slightly annoyed by the fact that he had jumped into conclusion before asking the frightened girl the truth. The image of Seul stood on the rock and was about to roll down the cliff clouded his judgement.  

Her forehead creased into a deep frown, “You are looking for your necklace so you’re not trying to jump off the cliff and commit suicide?” Yoongi eyed glued on her trying to find the lies beneath those innocent eyes.

“What?! Are you crazy? Why would I jump off the cliff?” she shrieked in disbelief.

“So you are not trying to kill yourself?” relieved by her answers, he steadied his breathing and let out a loud sigh.

“YES!”

“I don’t think a sane person would stand on those rock for a stupid necklace! You could get hurt!”

“I dropped it on the ground, but I couldn’t see it, so I assumed it might roll off somewhere down there. Goodness, you are overreacting Min Suga!” Seul rolled her eyes. “For your information, it is not just a stupid necklace, that is a present from Jiminie” to call the precious gift from Jimin stupid offended her.

Yoongi scoffed at the idea of a gift from Jimin way more important than her life. “Yah, since when Jimin’s present is more important than your own life? Now you go all way to sacrifice your life for him, way to go Ji Seul!” he noted sarcastically.

“I will go all length to take the bullet from him one day, so what?” defensive, she crossed her arms mentally judging the man before her. She wondered how he ended up there and making an unnecessary scene which could blow up the whole place.

He inhaled a sharp breath before inquiring Seul about her sudden disappearance, “Where were you? Your mother is looking for you” he raised one of his brows with threatening look.

“So, mother sends you as an errand boy to check me whether I am alive or not?”

“Ya! I am not your errand boy. You- Ugh… where did you go? Goddamit, stop talk back woman. Just answer my question, will you?” frustrated by Seul demeanour, he let out a small grunt indicating his dissatisfaction.

“Here and there. What else mother tells you?” she asked without even bother to put much emotion in it. If Yoongi is aware about her condition, that will complicate things between them. She didn’t want to appear weak in front of a guy that she liked.

Did she just that out loud? A guy that she likes.

“I am sure that still doesn’t answer my question. Where is here and there? And your mother tells me everything. Drop that attitude, we have a lot to talk about” Seul stomped her feet a little out of annoyance causing the latter to hold back his tongue from laughing at her cuteness.

Through her clenched teeth, she responded angrily “Here and there means away from nosy people like you! Argh, trust me I don’t have anything to say to you, just go” she told him to leave her alone but the small voice in her head said something else. She wanted him to stay, to savour his warmness around her, she needed someone she can trust by her side.

“I am not moving, so what are you going to do about it?” Yoongi was adamant that he’s not leaving Seul alone until they talk. “Didn’t I warn you to stop talk back? Or I will have no choice but to kiss you” a playful smirk could be seen across his lips.

“Min friggin Yoongi! You are not threatening me with your sloppy kiss! If you are not moving, then I will make my move now. Goodbye” she shot a nasty glare at his way and started to walk away. Though part of her was calling for Yoongi to go after her, she didn’t dare to say it aloud. Why was she fighting with the demon inside her?

“Fuck. This woman!” he groaned lowly.

Alarmed by Seul’s movement, he hurriedly catch up on her, grabbing her arms turning the furious lady to face him “Please…just this one.. Give me a chance, talk to me” his cockiness and stubbornness earlier disappeared instantly. He’s pleading with his genuine eyes, even Seul could feel his desperation through his touch.

Seul blinked and unsure with herself. It was no doubt that part of her wanted him to stay but why was it so difficult for her to say it aloud? She wanted to ask how far he knew about her condition? If her mother decided to open her mouth, it could be everything right? Judging by Yoongi’s bipolar mood, he seemed to know everything.

“It is better to be alone. I don’t need your help”

“Why?”

She averted her gaze “Because no one can hurt me that way. And, you will never understand the hell feel inside my head, Yoongi” sighing with deep regret, Seul didn’t feel like talking about her own pain. Opening her wounds would only make her weak.

“Seul.. allow me to help you, don’t close yourself. Even you refuse my help, I will not let you go” he moved his hand along her arms making her shudder under his soft touch. Interlacing their hand together, she looked down at their intertwined hand and a rush of sadness embraced her fragile heart.

Could Yoongi heal her?

Was his presence enough to wash away the sadness and worries in her?

There was an eerie silence between them, it just made Yoongi scared of what might come from Seul. She could be predictable sometimes but with this unstable emotion, he could easily be pushed away by her. Contrary to his assumption, he was surprised to see her moving her up and down weakly as giving her permission for Yoongi to help her.

Smiling warmly, he gave her a soft squish as an assurance “Lets go” he whispered.

“Where are we going?”

“To my studio. There is something that I want to show you” tugging Seul behind him, they walked hand in hand returning back to his studio.

 ---------------

Entering Suga’s Genius Lab it amused her to see the place for the first time. It was different from the one that Suga had back in their dorm, it looked massive here with more equipment. She saw a professional keyboard at the corner of the room, and the studio itself gave off Yoongi usual manly scent. The smell itself floated in the air tickled her heart.

Closing the door behind him, he made his way to his leather seat, taking a seat on the swivel chair. Seeing the swivel chair moved brought back the vivid memory that she had with Yoongi. Her face turned pink as she quickly cupped both of her cheeks to get rid of the evident. He glanced over his shoulder taking the image of nervous Seul in front of him then it dawned on him she was reminiscing the sexy night that they shared.

Pushing the thought out from his memory, it was still fresh and clear. He couldn’t simply forget their intimacy. Smirking teasingly, he took her hand in his “Something that triggers your memory?” Seul coughed softly easing the awkwardness between them.

“W..hat do you mean by that?” she stammered.

“You are bad at lying, come on let’s get this done. So where do you want to sit? On my lap or on the floor?” he teased.

“Floor” Seul answered without any hesitation though she was seen blushing madly at the idea of sitting on his lap again. The last time she did that, they ended up ravishing each other lips. No in a million ways she let that happen again. Well, for now since she hasn’t really decided after she made up her mind about Jungkook whether she should choose Yoongi.

Lifting his eyebrows in amusement, he gave her that mischievous grin he was known for. “Really? But I can’t dirty my floor, so I would rather have you on my lap” he whisked her into his arms, settling her onto his lap.

The girl froze for few seconds before struggling, but he had locked his arm around her waist “Stay still, you are rubbing me woman” for some reason, his remark got her body stopped functioning momentarily. Her whole body was overflowing with electricity.

“Yo-u per-vert!” she slapped his chest lightly earning a low chuckle from the latter.

“If you don’t want to find anything poking you from below, behave yourself” Seul gasped at his remarks leaving her no choice but to pout in her seat. She made a mental note to make herself felt at home and acted normal.

Yoongi held back his laugh, as he reached out to turn on his computer. Seul’s eye lit up in excitement watching the equipment worked in front of her, more like watching Yoongi’s arms stretched out with her in between doing his thing made him ten times hotter. She was admiring the visible vein popped out on his porcelain skin.

Chewing her lips to halt herself from squealing over the image, she blinked her eyes few times and gathered her thought together.  “Alright, I am working on this song. It is for my future mixtape. I want you to listen to it” his gruffy voice sounded hotter since his attention was on the list of the songs on the screen.

He licked his lower lips out of habit, plugging the headphone before putting it over her head. “Give this song a chance, just three minutes alright?” his faint whisper over the headphone was still clear even though it covered her ears completely.

A mere murmur, all she was capable of “Okay, since you are ready” he pushed the green button and a mixture of soft beat blasted through the headphones. Yoongi leaned back in his seat, as he stroked his thumb over Seul’s waist. Scrutinizing her face, he watched her distressed face faded away and it soon replaced by a calm smile evident at the corner of her lips.

For some reason, Yoongi felt proud of his masterpiece and by far one of the best songs that he produced this year. He was taken off guard when Seul started to hum to the melody, tapping her fingers on the table with her eyes close. She looked as calm and serene in comparison to an hour ago.

Her lips curled into a cute smile as he drowns himself into the breath-taking view in front of her. The melody started to fade away and followed by Yoongi’s deep voice. He had rapped the song with all his heart and basically filling the emptiness inside her through the emotions that he expressed from the song. The lyric was so meaningful as it defined his own struggle in life.

Opening her eyes slowly, she was surprised to see Yoongi’s face who few inches away from her. His hot breathing fanned her cold skin, giving Seul a hard time to breathe properly. Yoongi smiled genuinely, pressing his forehead against her as the tip of their nose brushed.

Her small hand was clutching onto his back shirt seeking for his warmth. Her heart pounded furiously against her chest, and it doubled when his eyes bore into hers “How was it?” Yoongi mumbled. Caressing her cheeks lovingly, she exhaled a soft sigh enjoying this rare moment that she had with him.

“Amazing as always. The lyrics and the melody comforted me, how did you do that?” his eyes turned into crescent moon as he broke into his usual gummy smile weakening the bones inside her body.

“Honesty. The recipe of the song is honesty. I am expressing my worries and problems via the lyric. It helps me to get over the weird thought circulating inside my brain, so I can remain positive and strong” his short and simple justification touched Seul’s heart.

He continued “When I was diagnosed with depression I thought it was the end of it. I couldn’t think straight, and everything seemed ambiguous. I doubted everything and people around me. For once I thought to put me out of this misery, I must disappear from this world. I was wrong Seul-ah. I was very concerned over my look, and it made me hate myself. I wanted to become happy and strong but why am I getting weaker? Where am I heading to? Yeah, I am heading to that one place, but I will end up here again. Then I inquired myself, is there an end to this maze? My head was a total mess, it was clouded with rage and hate” she flinched, absorbing Yoongi’s pain.

She studied his stoic profile anxiously. Even though his face was hard, he remained stoic, yet she felt his concern. Yoongi resumed, stroking Seul’s flush cheeks with the back of his hand “I sought help from people and I worked hard for my mixtape. I found a way to express my rage through song writing, and I was relieved to tell all the stories that were in my heart. That is how you suppose to channel your frustration and worries, not by keeping it to yourself. I know you have a lot of things in your mind right now Seul. I want you to know, you have your mother, Hoon, your friends, BTS and most importantly me” her eyes watered.

“If you give me a chance to help you through this difficult time, allow me to stay by your side Seul. That is all I wish for” she stared at him with mixed emotion. The tip of his nose rubbed against hers, as he savoured this moment with her.

She was swayed by his words, and she let him to steal her heart away. Everything that Yoongi said was too beautiful and he never failed to amaze her. The fact that she was healed previously because of the songs that he produced, Seul found herself was falling deeply with this man. Was she really?

“Yoongi…” she called out softly almost inaudible for him, but he managed to catch the phrase coming out from her clearly just because she’s Ji Seul. The queen of his heart.

“When I wake up the next morning, I don’t want to live in fear. I want to be free from this pain with you by my side” her small hand made its way to his cheek, tracing it ever so slowly.

That answer was enough to put colour to his dull heart, she gave her trust to him, hence he would guard it close to his heart. “I will be by your side for the next ten seconds, minutes, hours and if it is possible eternity” he kissed the tip of her nose.

“Thank you..for not giving up on me” caressing his jaw softly giving it a butterfly touch, she kissed the corner of his mouth. Her kisses trailed off to his lips, as she leaned down a little to properly latch her lips over his tenderly.

Though he’s surprised by her bold gesture, knowing Seul had never initiated the kiss first before, Yoongi brought her head down to him, deepening their butterfly kisses to a real one. This time he poured more emotion into his action.

Smiling between kisses, he stroked her hair and embraced the girl close to him. Gently holding onto each other, they stayed glue to each other in this way for some minutes. They savoured every moment in each other’s company.

 Yoongi and Seul were now laying on the couch face to face, having their heart-to-heart talk. Yoongi was a great listener as he listened attentively to Seul’s story even though he already got the slight idea about her past from Mrs Hwang. He was glad that Seul wanted to go into details and told him everything. It was the first step to heal herself.

During the conversation, his arms were wrapped securely around her torso, only leaving the small space for him to watch her pretty face while she did the talking. Yoongi didn’t want to trade this night with others and wished they could stay like this for as long as they wanted.

“You are a strong girl; do you realize that? Even though you can be annoyingly stubborn sometimes, but I can tame you. I have less worry on that” he pursed his lips into a small pout.

“Basically, you are saying no one can tame Ji Seul like Min Yoongi did?” she cringed at the cheesiness though it sounded lowkey good to her. Seul just couldn’t get over the cringey feeling that she obtained from this man.

“It doesn’t sound bad at all, I like me. I like us” Yoongi enveloped her into a tight hug, which almost suffocate the latter. However, she soon found herself liking the closeness and threw her arm around his waist, returning the same passion.

The sound of his heart beating was so calming, she was convinced that Yoongi’s presence brought happiness to her life. Why she only realized it now?  “You can be so cheesy sometimes and very bipolar. One second you are yelling at me and not long after that you turn into a total pervert. Then, look at you now, acting all romantic and cheesy” she scrunched her nose, feeling confused.

“I am not acting romantic. Because I am born to be romantic” he sassed.

“Be careful Yoongs, you sound like Jin”

“I am nowhere near him, don’t compare me to him!”

“Right. But, you are so full of yourself”

“I am being truthful with you, that is all matter. Which means you are special to me. Very special” he kissed the top of her head, humming a soft melody from one of his mixtape. Yes, out of the blue, but she noticed that habit of his ever since their intimate moment.

It was cute anyways, his rough and raspy voice made it extremely homey.

“About the song that you listened a moment ago. I wanted you to have it” Seul looked up to meet his gaze, finding some sort of confirmation to what she just heard a minute ago. His eyes were genuine with no hint of jokes.

“Yoongi, that song is amazing. You should include it in your future mixtape. I am sure it will get a lot of love from Armys” she shook her head in refusal. As much as she loved the song considering the comfort that she gained from it, Seul did not want Yoongi to put her above his career and Armys.

Yoongi pushed her slightly higher, to close the gap between them. He smiled “I want you to have it. The song is special as it helps me to curb my loneliness and settle some issues in me. So, I want to make it special. Only both of us have the access to it” her eyes were brimming with tears and within a second she let it fall startling the rapper.

“Why are you crying? I am sorry baby if you feel it is too much-“ a soft lips brushed against his that didn’t really give him time to process. She pulled away with a teary smile “You did nothing to apologize. Instead, I should apologize to you. I only receive but I don’t have the chance to give back. It makes me feel bad” said Seul bitterly.

“Don’t be nonsense. I want you to promise me that you will come straight to me if you have problems and stay by my side. Can you do that?” his smile was addictive. It lured you to explore the deepest core of his heart.

She sniffed a little and nuzzled their face together “I promise” he hummed happily. “But can you promise me one thing too?” amused, he nodded signalling her to continue her words.

“Urm...Can you stop smoking?” eyeing the girl with suspicious, he frowned.

“I only smoke when I am stressed out. You happen to run into me when I am having that moment”

Seul glowered “Smoking can kill. I don’t want you to smoke. If you are stress talk to me, please promise me that?” he heaved a deep sigh before nodded in agreement. She cheered happily, burying her face at the crook of his neck. “Thank you” her softness melted his heart.

“Seul, you are driving me insane. I don’t want to let you go ever” he muttered with determination. He’ll keep his words till the end.

  This work belongs to  Chimswae © 2021. All Rights Reserved

[expectingtofly]

The Cost of Happiness

1.6k

implied/off-screen major character death

also posted on ao3

(I told myself I wasn't going to get all sad and write about the Shadow coming for Castiel,,,, but here we are. whoops. settle in for some angst)

So it was over. Well and truly over. Jack had saved the world as Castiel always knew he would. The world would be different now, more peaceful, quieter. 

Castiel began to smile at the thought, but the expression faded from his face before it was fully formed. 

Not over, not everything, not quite yet. He closed his eyes and breathed in. It would soon be time, he knew it.

At the sound of footsteps, he opened his eyes. He knew who was approaching before Dean entered the room. 

“Dean,” Castiel said, standing. He was going to miss saying that name. 

“There you are.” Dean walked forward, before his footsteps faltered and he paused. “Are you...” His eyes roamed over Castiel. "Are you okay?”

Castiel started to nod, then he realized what Dean was really asking. 

Are you happy?

Ever since he had told Dean about his deal with the Shadow, the knowledge of his fate had weighed heavily between them. In unspoken agreement, they had pushed away any thought of it to focus on the here and now, on protecting the world, on Jack defeating God. 

But now it was time. The deal hung between them now, ominous, thick like fog. It wasn’t right, that happiness could be so foreboding. Such a cruel trick by the Shadow.

Castiel sighed and stepped closer to Dean. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, me too.” Dean looked relieved, though still a little wary. Castiel stopped in front of him and studied him, though, truly, he didn’t need to study Dean’s face to recall it. It was ingrained in his mind. The line of his jaw, his freckles, his so very green eyes, this body Castiel had rebuilt, the face he’d gazed at for hours when he first met Dean, as Dean slept. 

“I’m so proud of Jack,” he said, pushing those early memories away. "He did it. I knew he would.”

Dean nodded, smiling a little. "He was incredible.”

Castiel mirrored Dean’s smile. He felt a deep relief that he hadn’t felt in ages, maybe ever. Jack, Sam, and Dean were safe. The world was quiet. What more could he want? He was the happiest he could ever be. 

“And, Dean, I’m… I’m happy.”

Dean’s smile vanished. “No,” he whispered. Castiel didn’t fault him for his reaction. He felt a similar panic starting to rise in his veins. That after all this time, the one thing he should fear was happiness. He could feel it, the Shadow. Sinister and foreboding. He spread his fingers wide, felt the chill seeping into the room.

“Fuck, Cas, no.” Dean looked around the room, as if expecting the Shadow to appear suddenly, quickly, and snatch Castiel away. Castiel knew it would come slowly, menacingly, taunting. Instinctively, he reached out and touched Dean's arm, fingers trailing over his sleeve, before dropping his hand to his side. 

Dean swallowed, returning his eyes to Castiel’s, and Castiel looked beyond his face to his soul. So bright, so precious, so fragile, yet so incredibly strong. He felt in awe at the sight as always. 

He couldn’t forget how it shone, he couldn’t, but in the Empty, in deep sleep, he wouldn’t remember a thing. 

He was supposed to be happy now, but instead he felt a sadness weighing on his shoulders that made him want to crumple. Maybe happiness always came with such sorrow.

Pushing his shoulders back, he tried to put on a brave face for Dean’s sake. "I can feel its presence. It’s close.”

Dean looked scared, genuinely scared, and Castiel knew it was an emotion that did not come easily to him. “Cas, it can’t, not now, you can’t go.” 

In a rush, he grabbed Castiel’s hand and Castiel looked down in surprise. He studied their hands, held together, then raised his head. Dean’s eyes were red; he was crying, and the sight sent a pang through Castiel’s chest. 

He had not expected Dean to look so broken.  It will fade,  he told himself. Dean will be able to move on, have a happy life, maybe even start his own family. Tears pricked his eyes and he blinked them away. “I don’t have a choice."

“You had a choice—“

"Yes, I did, and I do not regret the deal I made. I saved Jack’s life, and because of that, he saved the world. You and Sam are alive. You can live your own lives now, you’re free. You can be happy.”

Dean shook his head. “I can’t, I can’t.” He gripped Castiel’s hand tighter. "We need you, I need you.” 

I need you. Castiel had heard him speak those words before. Words that brought him back from the brink, that made him hope there could be more between them, that Dean could feel more.

Wheeling around, Dean scanned the room and Castiel followed his eyes, expecting to see the snaking, black, metallic ooze curl from the corners of the room. 

Nothing yet, but Dean yelled, “You sonuvabitch, come out here! We need to talk! You can’t have him, we’ll make a deal!” He began to pull his hand from Castiel’s and Castiel grabbed it with both of his own.

“Dean, no—“  Dean turned back to look at him, at their hands, his face registering surprise. “It’s a deal that brought me to this place,” Castiel said. "I won’t let you or Sam or Jack sacrifice anything else.” Dean started to protest and Castiel squeezed his hand, silencing him. “You will be happy without me. I’m not... needed anymore. I’ve made peace with this. It’s my time to go.”

“Not needed—?“ Dean started and his voice broke. “Cas, that’s not all you are to us, you're family.” 

Castiel waited for him to add our brother, like he’d done years ago—the words that had told Castiel where they stood, the words that he had accepted quietly though he'd felt such a deep disappointment. 

But Dean didn’t call him a brother. He only clung to Castiel’s hand, tears running down his face. 

“I know,” Castiel said and realized he himself was crying. Tears slid down his cheeks to his neck, an unfamiliar sensation. “I know, and you’re my family too.” Maybe he meant to say all of you—Sam, Jack, Eileen—but he said you and looked in Dean’s eyes and knew it was what he meant to say, wanted to say. 

He took a shaky breath. There were so many other things he wanted to say, before he ran out of time. “I have felt close to you since I first saw your soul in hell. We’re bonded together, tied to each other.” Dean was shaking his head and Castiel wanted to reach out and wipe the tears from his face, but he forced his hands to remain enclosed around Dean’s. "I thought it was my mission to take care of you, but it was you who helped me. You taught me about free will, about family, about sacrifice—"

“Cas, please,” Dean begged. For what, Castiel didn’t know. To stay? To leave quietly?

“Thank you, Dean. For everything. I’m truly happy.” He waited for the words to spark something, anything, but the room remained silent, the Shadow yet to appear. 

It’s trying to torture me, he thought. To draw out this moment as long as possible. “Tell Sam and Jack—”

“No.” Dean shook his head, more determined now. “No, because you’re not going. I won’t let you.”

“Dean.” He never knew it would be this difficult to leave him. Maybe he’d known.

“Cas, I love you.” 

Castiel stared at him. Dean set his jaw and looked back, his gaze resolute. 

Was there more? As family, as a brother. 

“I love you,” Dean repeated, and this time his eyes went soft, his expression tender, tears steadily trickling from his eyes. 

I love you. And suddenly it rushed over him, the realization: Dean meant it, truly, in every way Castiel had hoped he could, in every way Castiel felt for him.

Something sparked in his chest, a warmth that spread throughout all his limbs and, oh. 

He was happy. This was happiness. 

“Dammit, Dean,” he breathed, gazing at him, but there was no anger in the sentiment.

Untangling their hands, he grabbed the back of Dean's neck and pulled him down, kissed him deeply. Dean let out a noise of surprise before sinking into their kiss, wrapping his arms around Castiel to draw him closer. 

Wet, salty, desperate, their bodies pressed flush together—this was happiness. Despite the threat looming over his head, Castiel felt a smile pull at his mouth and he pressed it to Dean’s lips.

It was the cold, prickling sensation on the back of his neck that told him it was time.

Slowly, he pulled away from Dean. The look in Dean’s eyes, of love, of grief, made Castiel feel lightheaded. This deep emotion, so new, so young.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said quietly. His voice shook. “I’m so sorry. For everything, for not being there for you, for not being able to stop this, for not telling you…"

Castiel could see black shimmering matter swirling on the floor behind Dean, forming a figure. “Don't be sorry.” Intertwining their fingers once again, he resolutely focused his gaze on Dean.

He pulled back every memory he had of them together: seeing Dean through his vessel’s eyes for the first time, hearing Dean’s prayers in the night, watching his chest rise and fall as he slept, feeling the thrum of the Impala’s wheels beneath them as they drove, touching his fingers to Dean’s forehead to heal him, to feel his grace twine with Dean’s soul. There were other difficult, complicated memories that rose to mind and sent a pang through him even now, but he pushed those away and focused on the ones where he had been truly content and at peace. Happy. 

“I love you,” he told Dean. Reaching out, he touched Dean's face, and Dean closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

It’s time, the Shadow hissed in his mind.

A shiver ran down Castiel’s spine, but he kept his gaze on Dean. “And I’m so happy."

Tag List:

@becky-srs @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @xojo @marvelnaturalock @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @aelysianmuse @prayedtoyou @spooky-things-do-happen-dean @spnwaywardone @letsjustdieeveryone @spooky-spooks-and-all-the-spooks

Let me know (message, ask, comment) if you’d like to be tagged in my other random destiel fics :)

[dwaynepride]

the unfortunate case of nonchalance

PART V - BLOOD WAS OUR INHERITANCE

summary: jethro’s heart is pulling him two ways, and it’s hard to navigate the right direction.

words: 3,335

warnings: female reader

tags: @fairytale07​ @jrenn10​ @f4nboi​ @purplestarsr5​ @ladyzombiielove​ @littlemiss3ma​​ @minikate--24-05​​ @consultingdoctorwholock​​ @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy​​ @ms-allenbrown​​ @ikbenplant​​ @dylpickles1267​​ @diaryofafan17​​ @specialagentlokitty​​ @pageofultron​​ @stanathanxoox​​ @kittenlittle24​​

author’s note: part 5 of the cowboy!au series. this is a part of meg’s 11k challenge. the prompts are cowboy au and secret relationship trope.

part IV | part VI

March 7th, 1889

Once again, I am a wanted man.

The botched bank job was nearly five days ago, and I’ve felt every single second of it. Anthony’s wound is worse than I feared - Doctor Mallard is doing all he can, but I know that man. His hopes are not high. Anthony’s got a fever and he still bleeds from time to time. 

That boy is strong, but even I’m starting to worry.

And we can’t leave while Anthony’s so weak. Everybody’s been packing up, ready to turn tail, but a journey may very well kill Anthony, if his infection doesn’t.

I know my thoughts should be on finding a way to leave, but they’re not. Not all of them. When it’s quiet, I find myself wondering if Y/N is safe. She was far from the shooting, I know that. But that doesn’t stop my concerns.

I need to make sure she’s alright; that’s the only way I’ll be able to concentrate on anything else. I’ll ride to her home at night and no one’s gotta know I was back in town.

Plus, I feel that maybe she’ll help get my head on straight.

-

The night is so silent, Jethro barely lets himself breathe.

Even taking the long route all the way around the outskirts of town, he was nervous. Every shadow, every noise had him instinctively reaching for his pistol. It was some sort of miracle that he hadn’t run into any law yet, but seeing the pure white paint of your home made Jethro’s stomach tight.

All the windows were dark, except for one. A candle flickers on the windowsill; its light is warm and inviting and it draws Jethro in to search for you. Though, with his luck, your bedroom would be on the second floor.

His footfalls are silent against the ground. He still keeps a hand on his pistol, but Jethro’s eyes are locked on the candle in the window. He reaches the house, leaning his back against the wood. And slowly, carefully, his head creeps forward to peer in through the window.

His eyes take a moment to adjust to the light, but the image he finds when Jethro looks in makes his heart tight. There, on the bed, you’re laying with a book in hand. You haven’t noticed him, too focused on reading, but Jethro’s just pleased that he’s found you so easily. He’s already been in town for too long.

A hand comes up, and he gently knocks his knuckles against the glass. Instantly, you jump, eyes wide as they flicker up to look in his direction.

That look of recognition makes this whole journey worth it.

Jethro sees his name leave your lips, and he quickly motions for you to come outside. You’re reluctant, he can tell. And he can’t really blame you, neither. But again, he beckons you out. Eventually you nod, and he watches you scurry out of your room.

His hands curl into fists, and Jethro reminds himself to breathe. But try as he might, he can’t seem to calm himself. Five long days of wondering and worrying, only to find you home; safe and sound and reading a book in your bed. Now, he just wants to talk to you. Hear your voice and simply be in your presence.

After what feels like minutes, the back door of your home finally squeaks open. He hears it, and Jethro immediately moves toward the back of the house. And there, in the light of a half-moon, you’re standing there looking at him and Jethro suddenly can’t remember how to use his own words.

“Jethro,” you breathe out. It’s almost inaudible, but he catches it. And when you run up to him with open arms, he catches you, too. You smell of wildflowers and Jethro’s instantly taken back to that day by the river. When you kissed him softly and he felt your lips for days after

That feels like a lifetime ago.

“I’m okay. I’m right here,” he mumbles. And Jethro’s not afraid to squeeze you just a little too hard. God, as much as he says he’s been worried about you - he’s missed you a hell of a lot more. As crazy and scary as things have been the last few days, this is the first time Jethro feels a sense of normalcy. Like everything is suddenly right in the world.

He wants to stay in this hug forever, but you’re the one to pull away. And when Jethro looks in your eyes, he doesn’t find the happiness he expects to see. He isn’t barraged with questions of if he’s alright or what happened or if everyone was safe.

Instead, you step away from him. Still within arm’s reach, but no longer holding him. “The bank...all those lawmen....Jethro...?”

His eyes fall away. Perhaps Jethro was naive to think you wouldn’t have questions about the heist. Perhaps he was stupid in thinking your happiness to see him would somehow overshadow why he did what he did. But that explanation would take too long and Jethro simply wanted to be here with you.

Your face was taut. Unmovable. And he knows you deserve to know who he is.

His thumbs trail over your forearms, grip still tight in case you decide to pull yourself from his grasp. “I’m not exactly who you think I am, sweetheart,” he says lowly.

You look confused - as if not properly understanding what he means. “You’re Jethro Gibbs,” you tell him firmly. “You came into town with your friends-”

“My gang,” he cuts in. And as your eyes go wide, Jethro’s gaze falls once again. “We aren’t just moving into town, we came here to hide. We....we did some bad things out West. Things that I regret.” The words felt like poison on his tongue. It felt like every syllable was just pushing you farther and farther away from him. But Jethro finally looks back up, watching your shocked expression. “Things that got Shannon killed, and ain’t been ‘till now that I wanted to change. My gang’s not quite there yet - they’re still convinced we gotta rob folk. The bank wasn’t my idea.”

Finally, you wrench your arms out of his grasp. And your eyes had gotten harder. Almost angry; it’s the first time Jethro’s seen you like this. Not even at the saloon when the barkeep threatened to call the law on him. “I have a hard time believing you didn’t know anything about it, Jethro. They’re your friends,” you bite out. Jethro’s never felt quite so small. “My father works there. What if he’d been-”

“My people aren’t killers.”

“And how should I believe you? Seems like everything you’ve told me is a lie. Is your name actually Leroy Jethro Gibbs, or is it something you’ve made up?”

Jethro is silent for a moment. “You think I can make up a name quite so ridiculous?”

You huff and turn away from him to walk back into the house. Truthfully, that smartass comment was reflexive, and Jethro’s kicking himself for saying it. “Hey, hold on,” he says, reaching out and grabbing your hand. And you try once again to pull free, but Jethro’s much too strong. He comes around to face you, eyes intense and serious and you even stop struggling when you meet them. “Not everything’s a lie. I do care ‘bout you - a whole hell of a lot,” he says softly.

He can tell that makes you think. The way you watch him, reluctant to believe him, but also wanting to. And God, Jethro wants you to. His stomach’s painfully tight at the thought of his foolishness being what drives you away.

And his fears are realized.

This time, when you pull your hand back, he lets you go. “You’re an outlaw, Jethro. A criminal.” Your voice is so hard, so harsh against his ears, that Jethro can’t really believe that he heard it.

But he’s not stupid nor deaf.

“Well, you let this outlaw teach you how to shoot, sweetheart. And better yet, you kissed a criminal. Don’t act so high, like your hands are clean.” The words are sharp and terrible, he knows. He spits them out with the poison on his tongue and Jethro’s too angry to feel bad about it.

The light of the half-moon reflects off your tears in the split second he can see your face, because you’re walking away from him toward the back door. “Get out of here, Jethro GIbbs, or I swear I’ll start screaming and get the law down here!”

You don’t even look at him. Not one measly glance as you pull the door open to rush inside. For a few seconds, his feet are rooted to the dirt. And as mad as he is, Jethro doesn’t quite want to leave. That pull that drove him here is still in his gut, much to his annoyance. Buried under the heat of the argument. Plus, he made you cry - some of that anger is pointed to himself.

He turns away from your perfect white house, disappearing back into the darkness so the law can’t see him. And Jethro doesn’t look back, not once.

If he had, he knows he would’ve seen your sad face in the window.

-

Anthony’s infection was like a cough that just couldn’t be shaken.

None of Doctor Mallard’s tonics seem to be working. And as Anthony’s condition worsened, it seems like the gang’s morale faltered, too. Jethro felt that change; he is not immune to the mood that wily young Italian brings to the gang. And with the argument he had with you last night - well, he doesn’t want to admit how much he misses Anthony’s bad jokes.

His hand runs slowly up and down the muzzle of his horse as Jethero waits on Abigail. Their plan is foolish. Could likely get them locked up, or worse. But with Anthony on death’s doorstep, there’s little choice.

Abigail had not been involved in the bank heist. She’s the one who will walk into the general store and buy the things Mallard needs. Jethro’s going along to keep an eye on her, much to the gang’s distress. Because if they lose Anthony, could they really afford to lose Jethro, as well?

Perhaps not. But Jethro wasn’t going to let his foolishness get Abigail into trouble. And letting her go alone would be dangerous.

As they ride into town, he keeps his hat low. Doesn’t look anybody in the eye. It’s been some years since he’s had to ride through a town where he’s wanted, and he hasn’t missed the way it feels. The urge to run, or the sensation that everybody’s staring at him. Having to keep his ears pricked, waiting to hear a lawman shout his name, or the crack of a rifle.

“There’s the general store,” Abigail points out.

He nods without a word, and to his surprise, Abigail has kept a lid on her usual chatterbox self. He knows she’s no fool; this is too important, and her nervous talking may likely draw attention. Even her usual frilly black lace attire has been replaced with a much less noticeable dress. Truly a sacrifice.

But Anthony’s life is more important, right now.

They climb off their horses, and Abigail makes a beeline for the door. “I’ll stay out here. To keep watch,” Jethro mumbles out. His eyes flicker around the street, relieved that everything seems normal.

Abigail nods. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Her words bring little comfort. Jethro doesn’t like feeling so exposed.

Jethro tries not to watch people as they walk by. That would only make him look suspicious - on the other hand, he needs to keep an eye out. Be it paranoia or caution, Jethro watches the townspeople from under the wide brim of his hat. For him, it’s unusual how normal they all act when Anthony is back at camp dying.

And he’s not sure what powers are at play. Whether God or the Universe or just bad karma coming to bite him in the ass. But Jethro’s gaze wonders over across the street, a few buildings down. His heart stops dead, and limbs go cold. Not even the scariest lawman in the state could make Jethro quite so scared.

You haven’t noticed him, of course. Nobody has. But Jethro noticed you instantly. Like his heart was a compass.

He watches you, deep in conversation with the owner of the store you just walked out of. And it’s no wonder - your last name is on the top of that store. This must be some kind of business meeting.

And Jethro’s well aware he’s staring. He knows he outta be on the look out. Knows he really shouldn’t care whether or not you’re in town because of some bank business that your father likely roped you into. The argument was still fresh in his head - there was nary a time Jethro didn’t think back on that night with a hole in his heart. Or a fire in his belly.

Despite his mixed feelings, Jethro’s certain you’ll still be cross with him. Would tell him that you never want to see him again, and he’s not sure he can take hearing that, right now.

But God, how he misses you.

Losing the privilege of talking and spending afternoons with you felt like losing a limb. Jethro missed being able to escape his lowly life for a few hours and feel almost free. And you make him feel good, too. Like he can be a decent, respectable man with a decent, respectable life.

If he apologized, can Jethro even hope you’d forgive him?

Finally, you seem to conclude the conversation with the store owner and begin walking away. Jethro’s first instinct is to follow, and for once, he’s well-aware of how misguided his instincts have been, lately. His head swivels around to the door - Abigail would be fine for a few minutes, surely. He only needs to say a few words to you. And that’s still assuming you would stop and listen.

Jethro is careful about how fast he walks - slow enough to not attract attention, but fast enough to catch up. His stomach is tight, palms are clammy, and Jethro finds he can’t hardly breathe once he’s a mere foot away.

But he needs to concentrate. Needs to stay calm to get your attention.

Slowly, he walks up to your side. And before you could turn and look at him, Jethro leans his head over. “It’s me,” he mumbles out. You jump in surprise, give a gasp, and Jethro’s worried you might say his name and out him. Perhaps this was a mistake.

You don’t say a word. You just stare at him, mouth agape, and he knows this is the perfect time to pull you away from public eye.

With a hand on your arm, he discreetly pulls you into the space between two buildings. Just wide enough to fit the both of them, but provides the perfect privacy he needs. Away from the high society he loathes so much - the only attention he seeks is yours, and now he’s got it.

It comes with a price, though. Your face isn’t so bright and alive as it usually is, and Jethro knows he’s the cause of that. Your eyes watch him carefully, and he notices dark circles that were never there previously. Haven’t you been sleeping?

“What are you doing in town?” You ask him harshly. Jethro’s head backs away from the ferocity of your words. “If the law catches you, you’ll be hanged.”

He knows that. And he knows the stupid decision he made leaving the shop to chase after you. “My friend was shot. We’re here getting some medicine for him, but I think we might be too late,” Jethro says flatly.

And to your credit, you look sad. Sympathetic for his problems, and Jethro doesn’t miss the way your hand comes to grip his arm. As if comforting him, but too afraid to really commit to it. “I’m sorry, Jethro. I really am. I do hope he gets better. But we should not be talking, and you should not be here.”

You’re inching away from him, eyes downcast. And it isn’t until Jethro sticks his arm up to block your path do you stop. “So that’s it? After everything,” he asks. You don’t respond, and that only flares up his old anger from the previous fight. “I know I can never measure up to you and your family. I know I’m some lowlife, no-good cowboy-”

“Jethro, I didn’t mean what I said.”

Your words drain the anger from him. Maybe they shouldn’t; Jethro is never so easily swayed by words. But you look back up to him, meeting his eyes. “I was just....angry and confused and frightened. My father was going mad with everything that happened. You’re a good man, I know that. And I’m so sorry about what I said.”

The apology wasn’t expected. Jethro sooner prepared for a slap to the face than your honest regret. And a small flare of hope rises - that maybe this doesn’t have to end.

You’re still staring. Watching his expression soften, and eventually, your hand reaches out to grip his. A gentle squeeze that Jethro’s been craving. The soft touch that somehow manages to mend some of the cracks that these last few days have inflicted on him.

The seconds tick by, and Jethro knows he’s already been away for too long. It was a gamble to leave the store, and now he’s just being foolish for staying this long.

Regardless, Jethro leans in and presses his lips against yours with fervor. If the first kiss were as gentle and slow as a stream, than this kiss was a raging river. It knocks the wind out of him. Makes him feel like he’s drowning and you’re keeping him afloat. And you....you’re grabbing onto him. Clutching him tight by his coat, unwilling to let him leave this little bubble you’ve created.

Acting like this is the final kiss you’ll ever share.

Jethro promises himself that won’t be the case.

Your lips are soft and pliable against his. Jethro would happily stay in this crevice for the rest of his life, but he breaks the kiss. As he leans back, he sees small tears trickle down your cheeks. With a heavy heart, he wipes them away. “I need to go now. But I need you to do something,” he says, voice somehow sturdy after that kiss.

You look reluctant. “Jethro-”

“Tell your father about us. About everything,” Jethro states. And he ignores the way your eyes flicker away briefly before returning. “Once Anthony’s fit to travel, we’re leaving. And I want you to leave with us.”

It was a tall order, he knew. Leaving everything you knew. Everyone you love. But Jethro knows he wants you with him. Feels it in his bones that you’re meant to be with him, always. And the way you’re still gripping onto him, you must feel the same. That undeniable tug, like a rope around his neck.

His hand runs along your cheek one final time before he pulls away. Unfurls your hands from his coat and squeezes out of the crevice. On his way back to the store, Jethro doesn’t look back. And yet, he feels your eyes on him.

Just as he returns, Abigail is exiting the store. And she’s isn’t stupid; she knows he was gone. Instead of scolding him for such a stupid move, she just furrows her eyebrows at him. “Where did you go?” She asks.

Jethro keeps his hat down, unwilling to look her in the eye. His answer was too long. Too complex.

“Something important I had to take care of,” he answers simply. Not a great answer, but the only one he’ll provide. “C’mon, let’s get back to camp.”

[dudeandduchess]

Love Her [Shinazugawa Sanemi x F!Reader] Chapter 3

Rating: SFW Characters: Shinazugawa Sanemi x Former Pillar F!Reader Chapters: 3/5 Summary: Opposites really do attract, but that sentiment ran deeper than weird quirks and personality clashes for Sanemi and his lover. This is a collection of short stories depicting Sanemi’s life with the woman with whom his life began and ended. Word Count: 1,867 Tags: Smut, Making Out, Awkward Sexual Situations, Genya is a Cockblock, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Soft Sanemi, Handjobs, Biting, Scratching, Caught in the Act, Heartfelt Confessions, Emotional Moments (More tags to be added soon.)

***SFW***

“Oi, you shitty dog,” Sanemi hissed irately, as his eyes narrowed at the other end of the leash he was holding.

And, as if knowing that mean man was talking to him, Taro looked up from where he was sniffing the ground, and turned his attention to Sanemi.

“Hurry the fuck up.”

Silence answered the Wind Hashira’s demand, as Taro sniffed and turned his head away from him.

Anger bubbled up within Sanemi, but he reigned it in since he knew that (Y/n) would not hesitate to throw him in the river if he hurt her precious dog. He didn’t even want to take the damn creature out for a walk, but he had no choice.

It was either he took Taro out, or he suffered through one of her soft-spoken, but extremely lengthy lectures about the proper way to wash his clothes.

He didn’t want that. Hell, he wouldn’t even subject a demon through that degree of torture.

Sanemi loved (Y/n) with all his heart, but her lectures were a lot to take it. They made him feel so guilty, that he didn’t have the heart to even get mad at her during the whole ordeal. He couldn’t refute her words, nor could he defend himself as she wrecked his whole system of doing things ‘like he had always done’.

Then again, she did have a point with her lectures. Because putting one’s clothes in a wooden basin, pouring soap and water in it, and stomping all over it did not count as a good washing method.

Plus, he liked the way his clothes smelled when (Y/n) washed them.

In fact, he liked it whenever (Y/n) stayed at his house, because she made it feel so warm and welcoming. She made it feel like a home.

So maybe it was time to finally make things official with her…

“Maybe we could leave your ass at her parents’ house,” The Hashira sneered at Taro, before snickering at the thought of his well-deserved privacy with (Y/n).

However, he knew that his fantasy was nothing but that; an idle fantasy. (Y/n) would never willingly leave Taro behind. He was sure that if it came down to it, the first thing she would grab out of a burning house was the damn dog.

He didn’t hate the thing; he just really, reallydisliked it for being a cockblock.

“Oh, what’s this?” The hairs on the back of Sanemi’s neck bristled at the lilting tone that assaulted his ears. (Y/n) had a gentle lilt to her voice as well, but it wasn’t as flakily sweet as Shinobu’s; which was good, because the Insect Hashira creeped him out. She was too nice. “Since when did you get a dog? I didn’t think-”

He then turned around to face his fellow Hashira,before narrowing his eyes at her. “One more word and I will make him eat you alive, Kochō.”

Shinobu laughed at the threat, but the unmistakable flash of hesitance shone in her eyes. She really didn’t do well with four-legged creatures; not as badly as Giyuu though. “There’s no need for that. I’m here to merely talk to (Y/n)-sanabout something.”

“What’cha want with her, huh?”

“Well, she said that she had some herbs for me,” Shinobu answered with a hesitant smile, while she raised her hands as if in surrender.

Sanemi, in response, narrowed his eyes even more at his comrade. Whenever Kochō talked to (Y/n), it always ended with her overstaying her welcome. They didn’t always see eye to eye, but even he couldn’t deny that they were very close friends.

But, close friends or not, with the initial plans that he’d had in mind for his lover, he didn’t want anyone else to even be near his house later in the evening.

“Fine. Hurry up. I’ll take you to her.” And with that, the Wind Hashira clicked his tongue so that Taro would follow him back to his house.

 ***

 “Shinobu-chan! How have you been?” (Y/n) asked excitedly the moment that she saw her petite friend. She immediately ditched her task of hanging Sanemi’s uniform up on the clothesline, to saunter towards Shinobu and wrap her in a tight hug. “Ah, I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve been well. What about you? Rengoku-sanmentioned something about getting married?” Shinobu asked with that ever-present smile on her face, which made Sanemi’s attention snap towards her.

To the Wind Hashira’s surprise, his lover giggled, before stepping away from their guest. “Oh yeah, we were talking about what colors would make for good wedding colors. It was a completely random discussion when he visited a few months ago; no one’s getting married.”

And, as if he agreed, Taro yipped excitedly as he turned in a happy circle; which grated on Sanemi’s nerves even more. It was as if the dog was mocking his ability— or inability— to propose marriage to (Y/n), and he didn’t appreciate that one bit.

“Shut it. You’re getting married. To me.”

“Oh, was that a proposal just now? How delightful!” Shinobu commented with an unfazed smile.

While (Y/n), to her credit, maintained her composure even though she wanted to jump for joy. It wasn’t the exact proposal that she had in mind, but it was so uniquely Sanemi’s that it made it much more special.

Though, she didn’t think that her parents would appreciate it if she told them that Sanemi basically just told her that they were going to get married.

“I’m just making sure she knows.” With a huff and a telltale blush on his cheeks, the young man turned on his heel and tugged at Taro’s leash— which made the ball of fluff trot along behind him, back to the house.

He thought that, maybe, he could bury his embarrassment beneath an entire plate ofohagi.

Once they were inside, Sanemi closed the recently-repaired shojibehind him, before unclipping Taro’s leash and padding over to where (Y/n) had placed the ohagi she’d made for him.

He didn’t even bother to sit down, nor brew a cup of tea, before taking a bite out of the sweet treat. While Taro, in turn, sat down at his feet and lightly pawed at his right leg.

He would never admit it to anyone, but he actually had a soft spot for the walking cotton ball. There was no one that liked ohagilike he did, except for Taro. And he respected the dog’s good taste in snacks.

So, with a click of his tongue, he took a small piece of the treat and fed it to the small creature at his feet.

 ***

 The last thing that Sanemi wanted was to have someone else cutting into his supposed alone time with (Y/n). But there he was, sat at the dinner table with Kochō Shinobu across from him, with a pleased expression on her face— while they dug in to the meal that his future wife had made.

He couldn’t exactly tell her to fuck off like he did Genya, since (Y/n) would have his head for that. So he had no choice but to endure another seemingly sexless night.

As the days rolled by, it became more evident to him that maybe— just maybe— the gods were conspiring against him. Because he hadn’t had sex with (Y/n) in over two weeks.

If his current predicament had anything to do with the stunt he pulled with the Kamado kid and his demon sister, then he was sure that he was going to pay for that for a while.

And when (Y/n) brought out the sakehe kept in his stash, he knew that it was definitely going to be a long and sexless night for him.

By the time that the bottle of sake had been drained, Shinobu was already face down on the table, while (Y/n) kept giggling at something that he didn’t even know. His lover was so red in the face and was evidently drunk off her ass, as she didn’t drink much.

He had tried to tell her not to drink a lot, because he knew how she got, but the silent challenge that the Insect Hashira had issued (Y/n) had goaded her into doing something dumb.

Sanemi couldn’t really get mad at her, since he was sure that she was going to regret her actions in the morning, but he didn’t have the heart to leave her on the table like he would to Kochō.

That served his comrade right for overstaying her welcome… and also getting his lover drunk.

“It’s time to go to bed, (Y/n),” He muttered gruffly, as he got up from his seat and pulled the former Hashira up by hooking his arms around her armpits.

Thankfully, the drunk woman staggered up to her feet, but fell back against her lover as her world tilted on its axis. A quiet laugh bubbled from her lips, which made the young man roll his eyes— all while the faintest of smiles pulled up at the corners of his lips.

It wasn’t often that (Y/n) let loose and got as hammered as she was at that moment; so he wasn’t that mad at her for taking on Shinobu’s unspoken challenge.

“Ara, ara,” She slurred heavily, then added, “’Nemi. I love you soooooo much.”

“I know, dumbass,” Sanemi huffed out, all while a blush tinted his cheeks.

“But you don’t know just how much I love you,” (Y/n) whined, as her lover turned her around in his arms. Instinctively, she wrapped her own arms around his neck, and buried her face against the crook where his neck and shoulder met.

And then, as if to test the Hashira’s thinning self-control, she began to pepper his skin with fleeting kisses— which steadily turned into light sucking that left love bites on his pale skin.

“You’ve told me a thousand times, (Y/n). You love me to the moon and back.”

Defiantly, the young woman shook her head. “But I need to say it more. Because when you hear it, you fight harder to come back to me. I never want to lose you, ‘Nemi.”

(Y/n)’s blatant honesty stirred something inside Sanemi’s chest, and a soft sigh passed his pursed lips. She always told him that she loved him, but she never admitted why she constantly said those words.

And now that he had found out the exact reason why, it made him love her all the more. So, as his right hand gently weaved its way up to cradle the back of her head, he whispered in her ear, “I’m sorry, (Y/n)… for always making you worry.”

He always believed that she deserved someone better than him, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to let her go; not that she would ever heed his words. She would sooner slap him unconscious— if he ever voiced that sentiment to her— rather than heed them.

But silence answered the Wind Hashira’s words, which was then followed by his lover’s light snores.

And so, with the opportunity presented to him, he finally told her the words that he’d always been too embarrassed to say to her, “You mean the world to me, (Y/n). You and Genya.”

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Note: Ahh, hello, everyone! I hope you liked this chapter. It wasn't very smutty, but I like how wholesome the ending turned out. Sanemi needs more wholesomeness in his life, okay? But ahhh, thank you so much for reading! See you in the next one. :D xx

Also, I apologize for taking so long on your other requests. Things have just been busy as of late, and I haven’t had the time (or the energy) to write more. :( But I promise I will get your requests up soon. :D