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jmagnabo92 · 1 year

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72 - Cemetery

@prongsfoot-microfic

AO3

When James dies in the attack on Godric’s Hollow, Sirius must deal with his loss and trudge on with their son. To the tune of “Give Heaven Some Hell”.

***

He can’t do this, Sirius thinks, as he enters the church in a suit and tie, since it’s a muggle church. It’d been difficult enough finding James’ body, finding their son – wounded, but alive – and now, he’s here at the church to say his goodbyes? He can’t do it.

He wants to turn heel and leave – never look back, but Kingsley stops him. Offers him a flask, and he takes a pull.

Can't believe that you got me in a suit and tie I had to take a pull so I wouldn't cry

He feels better, at least enough that he could get through his final goodbyes without having a meltdown that would no doubt scare their son.

You got a line out the church door sayin' goodbye

He couldn’t believe the people that had shown up for him, but he deserves it. James Potter always deserved all of the love in the world especially since he saved their son fearlessly.

He was the perfect father. How were they going to go on without him?

Yeah, I believe 'em when they say you're in a better place You had a wild side but you had amazing grace

At least James was in a better place. A safe place. A place where he could go out adventuring again – out there, up there somewhere. Sirius wanted him here, with him and their son, but he could admit that there was nothing he wanted more than for James to be happy in a better place.

“Would you like to say something?” Kingsley prompts, but Sirius shakes his head.

James would already know what he’s thinking, what Sirius would want for him. James would be better at this than Sirius, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s here and James is there.

I know you're way off up in them clouds But if you could still hear me right now

I hope you hit those gold streets on two wheels I hope your mansion in the sky's got a ten acre field With some mud and some hubs you can lock in Make some thunder, make 'em wonder how you got in Hide your beer, hide your clear from the man upstairs Crank it loud, hold it down 'til I get there And when I do, I hope you got some new stories to tell 'Til then, give Heaven some hell

He hopes for nothing more than James to be happy up there. For him not to ache the way that Sirius aches at his loss.

If it weren’t for Harry, he’d have fallen apart completely, but he knows their son needs him, so he pushes back the hurt, the pain, and devastation to say goodbye.

***

As Sirius stands by the James’ grave in the cemetery by the church, holding their son in his arms, he can’t help thinking that James deserves better. Better than dying just because some death eater pointed at their son as some sort of chosen one.

As grateful as he is that he’s got Harry and Harry’s safe with him, he can’t help thinking how he never thought he’d have to do this without him. Never wanted to.

How he had gotten through the ceremony and burial was beyond him because it’d been nearly an hour since they buried him and he couldn’t even bring himself to move.

He kept wanting it to be a dream – a joke. That James would come back to him and tell him that he wasn’t really gone, but he knows it isn’t true. James is gone, now and forever.

“It’s going to be okay, Sirius,” Kingsley says, in his gruff voice from beside him. He’d obviously stayed behind after the ceremony to be there for him.

Sirius appreciates it, somewhat. Although there was a part of him that wanted to be alone, he knows he shouldn’t be, not when he’s holding their son in his arms and should be thinking about him and not wishing that his father were here.

“I know, I just – it’s hard. I wonder what he’s doing up there?”

Kingsley chuckles, “If I know James, he’s probably up there – making friends and causing chaos.”

I bet you're lookin' for a crew like we had Bunch of noise makin' boys that like to live fast Burnin' rubber in a parkin' lot

“You know, as not ready as we are for him to leave, I bet they’re even less ready for him to get there,” Sirius jokes.

Kingsley smiles. “The other side won’t know what hit them.”

Man, I don't know if the other side's ready or not, but

Sirius grins. “I like that thought – you know. James living his best life up there, gathering stories to tell me when I join him.”

“That’s the spirit,” Kingsley grins. “Just remember that it may not be fair, but he’s going to cause all sorts of chaos and then he’s going to tell you all about it, someday.”

I was there when you raised your hand Heads bowed, singing just as I am Walkin' that aisle, prayin' that prayer Man, it ain't right but if you gotta be there

I hope you hit those gold streets on two wheels Hope your mansion in the sky's got a ten acre field With some mud and some hubs you can lock in Make some thunder, make 'em wonder how you got in Hide your beer, hide your clear from the man upstairs Crank it loud, hold it down 'til I get there And when I do, I hope you got some new stories to tell 'Til then, give Heaven some hell, yeah

“I like that,” Sirius admits. He wants James to be happy, to do what makes him happy even if he’s without Sirius. Even if it hurts to think of James up there without him, causing chaos with some one that is not him. It hurts to think he’ll be giving Heaven some Hell without him, but it’s good, too.

“He’s going to give Heaven some Hell, and then you’re to join him some day far in the future, when your boy no longer needs you, and he’s going to spend ages filling you in.”

Normally, Sirius would make some joke about James ‘filling’ him in, but he’s not in the mood. Still, the thought does help.

“Thanks, Kings.”

I was there when you raised your hand (oh) Heads bowed, singing just as I am Man, it ain't right, man, it ain't fair I'll see you again But 'til then, give Heaven some hell

Sirius tightens his arms around Harry, and says, “I love you, James. It’s not right, it’s not fair, just know someday, we’ll be reunited and in meantime, I’ll take care of our boy, and you give Heaven some Hell.”

There’s an answer wind that almost smells like James, and somehow, he feels like he heard him. With that, Sirius feels better, and now, must trudge onto an unknown future as a single parent without the love of his life.

At least, it won’t be forever, they’ll be reunited someday.

#Prongsfoot #bambibelle #Sirius Black #James Potter #Harry James Potter #kingsley shacklebolt #MCD #72 #Give Heaven Some Hell

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rageprufrock · 2 years

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Whittled Down by Another War (pt 1/?)

I just started a new job a few weeks ago, so obviously I am sublimating all of my imposter syndrome into writing a story where Korn dies before the events of KinnPorsche begins.

Korn's death tears through the city like a bullet: the exit wound a gory mess.

The first 72 hours, Kinn doesn't remember sleeping. He calls all his men back to home base, sends the most vulnerable into safe houses deep into the countryside. He has Chan lockdown the compound, the offices, the fallback in the city. Kinn shoves Tankhun—actively dissociating in mute panic—into Kim's arms at the service entrance of the mansion and sends them out of the country.

"What about you?" Kim asks. He's shored up in black jeans and a black muscle tee, wild around the eyes with a gun in the waist of his pants and a knife tucked in his combat boots. "Everyone in this city is going to be going be trying to kill you."

Kinn smiles at him, dizzy—from exhaustion? terror? from grief, because this may be the last time he ever sees Tankhun, this may be the last time he ever sees his baby brother; because after everything, even if this is how they end it, it will be more than Kinn had expected, shivering awake from the worst of his night terrors.

"Everyone's always trying to kill me," he says.

"If you eat it I'm going to be fucking pissed at you," Kim tells him, backing away now, toward his car, where Arm and Pol are flanked on either side of Tankhun in the backseat. "If you die, I'm burning your guitar collection."

It's as close to tenderness as Kim can manage, Kinn thinks, heart heavy and overfull, watching them drive away.

"They'll be your guitars then, you little shit," he says, to the afterimage of the tail lights, disappearing into the gray dawn. He scrubs his hands across his face, and a noise comes out of his throat that has the shape and density of a sob, but that's a hoarse scratch across his voice.

Kinn thinks, now, I'm an orphan. Kinn thinks, now, I'm truly alone.

Chan comes to get him, he says, "Khun Kinn—it's time," and the press of his hand on Kinn's shoulder feels like stones in Kinn's pockets, weighing him down in deep water.

***

It's two weeks before Kinn sleeps in his own bed again, lying down. Four days after that, Kinn shoots his uncle in the head. In the first month, there're dozens of attempts on his life, and six that get close enough to leave a mark. It's three months before he's done burying bodies, another two before he finishes auditing the legacy businesses. Six months after Korn dies, Kinn lets Kim bring Tankhun home.

Kinn's known—vaguely—that they were bouncing around Europe and North America, never staying anywhere too long for their safety. Tankhun left empty-handed, near-catatonic; he comes back with six suitcases of newly acquired clothes and a separate sea shipment of souvenirs he insists that Kinn needs, a phone camera full of photographs and videos of places and people and things he thinks Kinn would like to see.

"This is the musical instrument gallery at the Metropolitan Museum of Art," Tankhun lectures. "Here are some weird old pianos that look stupid, but that I guess you love."

He does. "I do," he says, and he's staring at the side of Khun's face as he says it: his older brother's darker from the sun, wearing an orange jumpsuit and a rope of turquoise beads criss-crossed across his chest. Kinn's missed him so much it hurt like a gut wound; Khun feels like a little miracle, sitting here on the floor of Kinn's bedroom, showing him pictures of weird old pianos because he knows Kinn will love them.

"You look like absolute garbage," Tankhun tells him.

"Work's been murder," Kinn says, and Khun punches him in the arm for it, which Kinn figures he deserves. Tankhun's back; Tankhun's safe. Kim's alive, and as hostile as ever, suffused with feral cat energy and armed to the teeth, sleeping off the time difference in Kinn's bed still fully dressed, clutching a butterfly knife and drooling into Kinn's pillows.

"If you'd died, I would have killed you myself," Tankhun says, hands folding into his lap, phone screen going black. "Are you eating? Have you slept?"

Kinn laughs; it comes out wet, shaky. "No," he admits.

Khun nods, practical, determined. "Well, we'll feed you, and once Kim wakes up, we'll keep watch and you can drool on those pillows, too."

Kinn wants that so badly his bones hurt, his eyes get hot. "Okay."

"And have you decided?" Tankhun asks, going sharp now and reaching over to cup Kinn's face in his hands. "What you'll do with our father's empire?"

Kinn's never let himself imagine it before. The chasm between what he wants and what he can have has always been the gulf of the Pacific, the depth of the Atlantic. Even as a boy, at barely 14, when his father had said, "This ring, and its responsibility, will be yours now, Kinn," he'd known that what he wanted no longer truly mattered. He'd sharpened his bones intro blades, cut away at himself until he'd been the shape of a perfect weapon.

Two decades later, skin thin, the possibility makes him dizzy.

"I'll need your help," Kinn hears himself say; he sounds strange, far away.

"We'll both help," Khun promises him, close and low. "Let's bury our father—and then let's bury what he built."

From the bed, Kim says, "Fuck, don't volunteer me for shit," raspy and irritable and vibrantly, amazingly alive.

Kinn's laugh kicks out of him like a reflex, and he goes lightheaded with it, and he lets Tankhun strip him out of his disheveled suit, lets Kim shove him under the snowy white covers, still body warm from his little brother, and lets himself—finally, finally—give in, give way, into the consuming arms of sleep.

***

According to Kim, he sleeps for 16 hours, during which time Tankhun does routine wellness checks to ensure he's alive, ask if Kinn needs a bedpan, and does he want anything from Starbucks because they're putting in a mobile order.

"And what the hell were you doing that entire time?" Kinn asks Kim.

He feels simultaneously incredible and incredibly shit, making his way through a liter-size bottle of water and shaking out the numbness of his right arm where he slept on it like the dead. Someone had undressed him and redressed him for shits and giggles at some point during his coma, so he's slumped against his headboard in black boxer briefs and a XXXL green t-shirt that says MOVE I'M GAY on it in white letters.

"Masturbating," Kim says, the same time Tankhun carols out, "He was tenderly threatening to shoot anybody who tried to wake you up and trying to break into your phone."

It turns out Kim had been successful in breaking into Kinn's phone, which is why his inbox—creaking under the weight of an eye-watering 703 unread messages at the time Kinn finally lost consciousness—is down to a merely demoralizing 207.

"What happened to the other 496 messages?" Kinn asks.

"We delegated, you sociopathic control freak," Kim retorts.

Tankhun hands Kinn a frappachino. "Drink this before your blood sugar gets any lower and you start shooting."

Kinn doesn't realize he's hungry until the coffee milkshake hits his system, and then he's ravenous, a bottomless maw. He relocates himself into the family quarter kitchens and sits at the long metal worktable on two overturned plastic milk crates, stacked together, barefoot and still in the green tent of a t-shirt. Kinn eats three mangos, a dozen sticks of pork satay, a bowl of rice with three fried eggs and soy sauce, and drinks another bottle of water while he's at it, the gnawing pain in his stomach fading by degrees.

"Did you not eat at all while we were gone?" Tankhun scolds, cutting up another mango, frying him another egg, adding rice to Kinn's bowl.

Kinn ate while Khun and Kim were gone. He ate and drank and must have slept because of the biological imperative of the thing, but he can't remember any of it, only the high-pitched howl of panic that sang through him the entire time. It had left him numb of pain, immune to suffering, what was left of his heart traveled outside his body and possibly already lost. For the first time in six months, Kinn feels the expansion of his lungs, the throbbing soreness of his left knee, the stiffness of his neck: brought excruciatingly back to sudden, startling life.

"I was waiting for you to cook for me," Kinn says to Khun, bratty, smiling, and ducks away from from a smack, grabbing Kim by the scruff of his shirt and throwing him into the line of fire—absolutely shameless.

They're orbiting stars, the next few days: Khun, Kinn, and Kim locked into one another's gravitational wells. They take turns sleeping. They take turns feeding each other. Tankhun and Kim take turns wrestling Kinn away from his cell phone, his laptop, the landline in the bathroom. It's the longest time Kinn's spent with his brothers since Kim turned 17 and fucked off, since he and Tankhun stood shoulder to shoulder in front of their father to make sure Kim could. It's both terrible and amazing; terrible and amazing to be so loved, terrible and amazing that this is the shape and substance of their lives—terrible that this is how Kinn gets his brothers back; amazing that they've returned to him, that they would peel apples and pull triggers for each other.

"If you hadn't gotten all emotional at Uncle Gun, you could have just left him the whole lot and we could call it done," Khun sighs later.

If Kinn hadn't gotten all emotional at Uncle Gun, Gun would have likely gotten all emotional on Kinn, and where would they be now? Tankhun presiding over a pyre of Kinn's guitars; Kim hunting down the senior ranks of the minor family in Doc Martens and skinny jeans, eyeliner flawless.

"I lost my temper when we couldn't reach contractual terms that didn't include our dead bodies in the river," Kinn says, light. Vegas and Macau are still at large, vanished beyond the border into Myanmar, two unanswered questions—one indistinct, one psychopathic. It's a problem for tomorrow, for all of their tomorrows.

"I'm also not sure our Uncle's management style would have been in alignment with not causing absolute fucking chaos," Kim chimes in. "The Lithuanians still have a kill-on-sight order for Vegas."

The Lithuanians can get in line.

"Oh that means the Russians must want him, too," Tankhun says thoughtfully.

"I think it's generally a fair assumption that everyone who has met and been forced to interact with Vegas wants him dead for some reason or another," Kinn says.

His cousin was an annoying kid who was shaped by the weight of their family legacy and Gun's fists into a necrotic wound of an adult. Vegas is too smart, too dangerous for Kinn to ever truly pity him, but he stands on the opposite shore, recognizes that in ways that are too harrowing to admit even to himself, he and Vegas are phantom echoes. The difference is Vegas thinks he can unfuck himself if they upend the family structure—Kinn knows better; he knows they're both ruined.

"Enough about our cousin—we should talk about Papa's funeral," he sighs.

In the immediate chaos of their father's death, Kinn had been too busy trying to prevent the cataclysmic collapse of the Theerapanyakul empire, smuggle his brothers across borders, and shooting his uncle in the face to see to the appropriate funerary rites. In this, as in so many other things, Kinn's been a disappointment of a son and heir.

So now, six months later, he ignores Kim's suggestions that they throw Korn into the river and has Chan pull him from cold storage. Kinn's seen too many dead bodies in his life, but it's a gut punch all the same, all over again, to see his father's face without its panoply of microexpressions—each one a separate area of study and source of paranoia—in the mute peace of death, Korn looks like the after image of a parent Kinn once imagined having: kind, forgiving, safe. The stroke that killed him was fast and comprehensive. It's probably kinder than he deserved, and Kinn—making calls in the background while Tankhun tries to convince Kim that as the youngest, he's honor-bound to be ordained for the services—is grateful: that his father didn't suffer, that he's capable of gladness for it, that as much of a wreck as he is, as complicated as he feels, that at least this dimension of grief can be clean.

"This is our father," Tankhun insists.

"Exactly why I'm not shaving my fucking hair and eyebrows, you clown," Kim yells back.

Kinn schedules the bathing rites for the next day, and it's only himself, Tankhun, and Kim in attendance. Chan is there, but Kinn's not sure in what capacity. The closest thing Korn had to a friend, toward the end? Watching over Korn's legacy? They put a coin in Korn's mouth and lay him out under a sheet, at the high table, wreath him with flowers, heaps of blooms that fill the room with the smell of their garden at dusk. Kinn's still too tired to think about it—he's so deep in the red on his sleep deficit he's going to die tired—to do anything other than pour jasmine-scented water over his father's unmoving hand and to pray for more kindness that Korn doesn't deserve.

It's typical to hire four monks for the seven days of daily chanting, but their family needs every possible fucking merit, so Kinn gives in to all of his worst impulses and hires 16 for the full seven day cycle. Kinn knows that in some families, there are visitors and happy stories, food and dancing; for the Theerapanyakuls, there's just Khun and Kinn and Kim, getting shitfaced on their father's collection of botanical gins and conspicuously avoiding conversation about how angry they are to mourn this man. It's the worst part of family, that someone so arbitrarily assigned to you can both hurt and love you in such concussive, devastating ways. Millennia from now, once Kinn has worked through the karmic debt of this existence, he hopes he's born into a normal family, where when his father dies, he doesn't have to carry a gun to the fucking cremation—where he can feel something other than a gash in his throat.

They go in age order, up to the casket with their wooden flowers, and so Kim's the last to give his bloom away to the fire as it's lit.

"The ashes will be ready for you tomorrow," the funeral director promises, terrified. Chan had done the security briefing, so Kinn doesn't blame him. "Will you—will you want to keep them at the temple?"

He says this in a way that makes it abundantly clear he can think of no more horrifying outcome than for Kinn to inform him that they would like to keep their father's ashes at the temple.

"We'll take him home," Khun says, somehow still the best socialized of them all. "Thank you for taking care of our father."

They're nearly at the door, nearly back into the waiting shadows of the two dozen guards that Chan had sent along for the ceremony, when Kim says, "Give me a second," and disappears back inside for ten seconds, fifteen.

When they get the ashes back, Korn's remains are mixed with sun bright Ratchaphruek petals, fragrant jasmine, their father's favorite flowers. Kim sticks the urn in the back of a cupboard in their father's study, embarrassed by his brief detour into filial tenderness and working triple time to be an asshole in compensation.

"The king is dead," Tankhun says, late into the night. They're all sitting in the garden in the dew-wet grass, passing around a cigarette and staring at Khun's fancy carps; Elizabeth and Sebastian hovering close as if they can sense their owner's distress. "Long live the king."

Kinn snatches the cigarette away from him. "Don't say that."

"Yeah he prefers emperor," Kim says, which earns him a punch in the kidney. "Fuck."

"You deserved that," Khun tells him, and turns back to Kinn. "Well? What next?"

When he and Khun were boys, and when Kim was a (more) annoying blob that screamed all day, Kinn had spent a lot of time trying to figure out how they could escape their fate. Khun could become a famous artist, and they would live in New York, where there were already so many mafias surely Thai organized crime would find no foothold. Kinn could become a famous singer-songwriter, hire his brother as a stylist, and they would travel the world on tour and have no time for calling in debts. They could run away somewhere no one knew them, and then Khun could do whatever he wanted, and Kinn wouldn't have to watch their father turning his brother into a weapon. Once the ring had been on Kinn's finger, he'd stopped imagining the alternatives; he was old enough to know then that the alternative was Kim.

"I don't—I mean, where would we even begin," Kinn says finally.

"Wherever we can, with whatever we have," Kim says, taking the cigarette back. "Unless we've completely misread this situation, and you actually want to keep running the fucking mafia."

Kinn closes his eyes, presses his face into his knees. "I don't know how to do anything else," he admits. I'm scared to hope for anything else, he thinks.

"Kinn, you have an MBA," Khun says. "You majored in accounting."

"I think he means, 'who do we break the news to first,'" Kim says, but he's grinning, savage, bright-eyed. "I vote we start with the Lithuanians."

***

The Lithuanians, once they find out that Kinn has no idea where Vegas is, comprehensively do not care. Their existing partnership is largely limited to coordinating profits off of luxury car thefts—a rounding error on the Theerapanyakul family balance sheet—and they're more than happy to take it off of Kinn's hands. This leads to an existentially bizarre sidebar that Kinn ends up having with the second in command about whether or not this means his cars are now fair game.

"If you have to steal one of ours, steal the purple one," Kinn tells them.

"That one's your fucking lunatic brother's," Boris says. "You think I don't know that rabid little shit will try to chew my throat out?"

Which lunatic brother, Kinn doesn't ask, but only because Khun doesn't drive.

But the Lithuanians are easy, small fry in Thailand, and honestly Boris is probably the closest thing Kinn has to a work friend. It also helps that they both want Vegas dead.

In a sort of grim distillation of Kinn's entire adult life, dealing with the people who want to steal his cars and kill his cousin is actually the least shit part of this entire exercise.

The Theerapanyakul empire goes six generations back, and his father had married into the lineage with a chip on his shoulder and an explosive, obsessive love for Kinn's mother, who Kinn can't be sure ever loved him entirely back. But she'd loved her sons, and it was Rachini who'd put the first gun in Kinn's hands, who'd taught him what it meant to be a Theerapanyakul, and ensured—from as soon as Kinn was old enough to understand—that given a choice between his family and the outside world, he would never hesitate to take the shot. She taught her children the same thing her father taught her, that there's power in controlled violence, that there was a right and a wrong way to be mafia, that they might die young, so to take ruthless, ravenous bites out of life while they could. She'd blow dry Kinn's hair, tender, with the same hands she used to stab someone in the throat. Kinn's keenly aware he was born wrong, raised wrong, that even though her death had felt like an amputation, the phantom pain he feels is both anger and mourning. Their parents had turned all three of them into bullets.

The rot is deep at the heart of the enterprise, so inextricably tied that even at the root of their legitimate businesses, some vein of corruption flows through. The hotels and resorts they own are convenient cash sinks to launder funds from their lower-overhead activities; the shopping centers and hospitals topline PLCs that conceal in their labyrinthine corporate structures holding companies where their casinos funnel cash, where their sideline in brothels and escorts pay dividends, where their import-export hustle dumps free cash flow. They'd gotten out of drugs during their father's generation—too tight a market, too high risk, too low on returns—and dumped their considerable connections into vendor service for the cartels instead. Kinn had combined his expensive MBA, penchant for fucking closeted Chinese nationals out blowing daddy's ill-gotten politburo gains, and struck gold laundering drug money through the brisk tourist trade in vacation hubs like Phuket and Bangkok.

"The Sinaloas will be very angry if we close up shop," Khun meditates.

Kinn pours himself a Pappy on the rocks, because he's fucking earned it, and presses the cool crystal of the tumbler to his forehead. "Let's not—worry about the Sinaloas for now," he says. "Let's start with the easy exits."

Of course, there are no actual easy exits, only less shitty ones. Kinn throws a metaphorical dart ands on the Italians.

"That's going to be a shitshow," Kim says, when Kinn tells him.

"Take Pete," Khun frets. "Take Arm and Pol."

"Pol is absolutely useless," Kinn tells him. "And I want Arm and Pete here in case anything goes sideways and you need actual competent protection—I'll take Chan."

Taking Chan does not ameliorate the broader truth that dealing with the Italians is a shitshow. It starts with snide commentary on gelato and ends in a hail of bullets, Kinn running panicked down the filthy back streets around Thonglor Soi being chased by Sicilian shitbags who are pissed he doesn't want to ferry around their cocaine anymore. It would be absolute poetic justice if he ends up getting shot to death behind a club where he'd once separately facefucked two guys who turned out to be a couple and who'd then started screaming at each other about cheating while Kinn had been trying to put his dick back in his pants.

#kinnporsche #fanfic #wip

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so-inlove-with-robin-steve-eddie · 2 years

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In The Middle Of The Upside Down And No Where To Go

(for those of you who cant read cursive <3)

summary: who knew that accidentally finding Eddie Munson in the Upside Down all bloody and confused would be one good thing that went right about your day.

warnings: fluff/ angst, reader crushes on Eddie, blood, cannon violence. talk of injury/wounds ( let me know if i missed any)

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE PUBLISHED/COPIED OR TRANSLATED TO ANY OTHER SITE! thank you now enjoy

She hadn't known what was behind her she didn't want to know but it was to late she could hear it and now she knew She hadn't known what was behind her she didn't want to know but it was to late she could hear it and now she knew it was there. She was gathering the strength to come to terms that shes gonna have to kill what ever is behind her but once she turned around she was met with His face.. his beautiful face all the feelings from high school come back she had a big fat crush on Eddie.

She knew she couldn't kill him. I mean look at him how could she with his big curls and his big chocolate brown doe like eyes she could easily melt when he looks at her. She just couldn't even if she wanted to. She gave him a look over his clothes all covered in dry blood. he looked horrible but to her he looked perfect. Hes seen better days yes,but he was still perfect.

She finally spoke to him for the first time in a few years since she finally got a job and saved a bunch of money she finished her last year in a school a few states away and promised Eddie that she'd be back. She heard everything from Nancy so she knows all about Carver and Chrissy. Chrissy she was always so sweet to you she never deserved what she got and neither did Eddie. She knew about vecna she knew about their plan and Nancy begged her not to get involved so she did hence how she got down here. " Oh My God Eddie what the fuck happened to you" she panicked

" I was eaten alive by Demo-bats and then woke up alone,cold and hungry. You stood there connecting the dots. Demo-bats. "woke up". cold. hungry. Eddies words repeating themselves in your head before it finally clicked Eddie is a vampire.

you just hug him back he tensed expecting pain from his wounds but was happily welcomed by none Eddie pushes away slightly to look at all his injury's but found none only fresh scarring. speed healing. well thats new too.

he buries his face in the top of your head he inhales deep even though your hair was from what happened to you and how the fuck you got there stuck with him. He could smell your lavender and strawberry shampoo you used getting ready this morning thinking that today would have been a normal day but who knew that accidentally finding Eddie Munson in the Upside Down would be that best thing that ever happened to you and you're happy that even though your day was Horrifying it ended in eddies arms all bloody,scared,traumatized and hungry with No Where To Go

the end

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do-ray-mi · 3 years

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Heavy Metal(NCT Dream Jisung x male reader)

Pairing: NCT Dream Jisung x Male Reader

Genre: fluff, humor, couple of sexual jokes but only jokes.

Warnings: mentions of piercings

Description: Jisung and Y/n could go a couple of days without kissing... right?

⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔

"What do you mean "I can't kiss you for a couple days"!?!?!" Jisung exclaimed on the phone, to him, he felt like he just received the worst news of his life.

Y/n chuckled at his boyfriend's dramatics.

"I told you, I just got my snake bite piercings, my lips are gonna be sensitive for at least a few days. Plus, I rather avoid any ways of getting infections." He mumbled the last sentence.

Jisung froze for a second before sitting on his bed, "I still can't believe you were able to convince management to let you get those piercings... usually they only allow piercings or tattoos when they're easy to hide."

"Well I used their love for "trying new things" against them. You know how good I could be with words~" Y/n totally teased him with that last sentence.

Jisung let out a shaky sigh thinking back to all the times Y/n would casually drop a smooth pick up line and flirty comment before they started dating. He's never been so easily flustered until Y/n debuted in the group and turned his entire world upside down.

He wouldn't have it any other way tho, he's ready to destroy the world just to see Y/n smile.

"... tho, if it bothers you that you can't kiss my lips, you could always kiss my di-" Y/n was cut off by a panicked scream, making him laugh.

"DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT FINISHING THAT SENTENCE!!!" Jisung reached notes so high, Ariana Grande felt a disturbance in the force.

... He forgot how much Y/n loves making dirty jokes...

"Anyways, I'm almost home. My lips may not be available, but my forehead is and I expect to get a big ol' smooch there once I walk in!" Y/n said, eyeing the apartment building they live in that isn't too far from the car he's in.

A chuckle was heard from the other line. "Yeah, I could make that happen. I love you, see you soon!" Jisung said.

"I love you too, sugar plum muffin"

"Nevermind, I hate you, don't come home"

All Jisung got was a loud laugh.

Y/n walked in, his bottom lip still pulsing slightly. Not being the first piercing he's got, he's used to it. He's already got tons of piercings on his ears, even one on his nose. Yuta and Ten are planning on taking Y/n to get his belly button pierced on his birthday.

Jisung once asked him what the point of a tongue piercing was if you could barely see it.

Only to regret it once he found out why, he swears his face has never went more red.

Y/n wasn't even able to take off his shoes before getting pulled into a bear hug from behind and having a face buried in his neck.

"Who are you?" He asked playfully.

"The best Jisung in Kpop"

"Han-Sunbaenim!?!? Omg I'm such a huge fan!!"

"DIVORCE!!!!!" Jisung yelled while aggressively(but not too much) removing his arms from his boyfriend's body and dramatically stomping of into their shared room.

Y/n was clinging onto the wall gasping for air as he wheezed. Renjun got out of his room to check the kitchen thinking his kettle was going off, only to see Y/n fighting for his life in the hallway before sighing and going back in his room.

Day 3 of no lip-to-lip contact. I'm alive, but barely.

The snake bite piercings are becoming a challenge. I didn't expect him to look that good with them.

I try to resist the temptation, but I am but a man, I can't fight the feeling(stan EXO) for long.

379 times, that's how many times I've almost kissed him on the lips in the past 72 hours.

Cheeky bastard always smirks everytime I catch myself. He's lucky he's so gorgeous or I...

... who am I kidding, I can't threaten anyone to save my life.

I don't know how long I could survive like this. This is far harder than any moment in my trainee and idol career combined.

His lips just look so nice... I'm considering therapy.

"Babe, they're just piercings. It's not like it's the apocalypse. You'll be able to kiss my lips all you want tomorrow." Y/n said over Jisung's shoulder, peering onto his Survival Journal.

"... life's been tough, Love. You don't understand..." Jisung sounded awfully miserable. Maybe Y/n should look into a therapist for him.

For now, he can only roll his eyes.

"Oh please, at least you could still kiss every other part of me. I can't kiss you AT ALL! So who's the real loser here?" Y/n shot him down real quick.

"This is what I get for dating someone who had to choose between idol training and law school..." Jisung sighed, basking in his new found defeat.

Jisung felt all his burdens leave him the moment his lips made contact with Y/n's. He's been getting twitchy these past couple of days. Probably going through some sort of withdrawal syndrome.

Y/n wasn't faring much better, but he was able to hide it more.

Jisung was getting so twitchy and paranoid, fans recently started comparing him to Tweek Tweak from South Park.

But it's okay, cause Y/n was being compared to Craig Tucker.

They finally let go for air, leaning his forehead against the other, releasing a content sigh.

"So? How does it feel?" Y/n asked.

"Like... kissing a fork." Jisung chuckled at how fast the smile dropped from his boyfriend's face.

"I better a good looking fork!"

"The sexiest fork in South Korea!"

#nct dream x male reader #nct jisung #nct jisung x male reader #nct x male reader #no beta we die like men #kpop x male realer #kpop #kpop male x male reader

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ofhouseadama · 3 years

Text

Ed gets drafted into the Navy right after high school, and in between finishing basic and getting shipped out to the Pacific, he promises Lorraine that the next time he sees her, he's going to propose.

after high school, Lorraine needs something to do so she gets a part time job as a secretary at the Diocese of Bridgeport helping wrangle parish finances and correspondence and other clerical and administrative work.

(this is where Lorraine first meets a young Father Gordon, who occasionally borrows her because she knows her way around a files room and takes excellent notes; he hears a lot about her boyfriend who's away on a ship in the Sea of Japan)

Ed and Lorraine write... a lot of letters during this time, which range from very chaste and heartfelt to NC-17 horny teenage screeds referring to their 3-day sojourn when they were seniors in high school, their many misdeeds in the back of Ed's car, and the time he snuck her into the Alamo Theatre after it closed so that they could have a "private showing" of a movie they remember very little of

when Lorraine is too anxious to sleep, she sews her wedding dress. she saw the pattern a few weeks after Ed left, and liked it, and bought it. she's been slowly buying yards and yards of satin and lace and tulle.

Ed squirrels away all the money that he can towards buying a wedding ring set for Lorraine. after he buys them while on shore leave in Tokyo, he keeps the rings in the breast pocket of his uniform shirt, next to his heart, to feel close to her.

his ship strikes a mine and goes down in the small hours of the night in June of '53; the rings are in his shirt pocket, and Lorraine feels it immediately. Father Gordon has to drive her home from work, and believes her immediately when she says she knows something bad happened to her boyfriend.

Ed makes it home to Bridgeport ten days later; he gets in a taxi at the Navy yard and immediately goes to Lorraine's house. she meets him at the front door before he can even knock and tackles him on the front lawn.

he proposes to her while very exhausted and not exactly coherent.

technically, she proposes to him because she tells him they're getting married and she's not waiting any longer.

these are two hotly contested facts for years to come.

they get one very hasty pre-cana session in as the Moran family (+ Father Gordon a little bit) cash in all their political capital with the church to expedite a wedding as soon as humanly possible.

Georgiana and her friends plan the wedding, everyone is very concerned about Lorraine's dress. Georgiana tells them they should be more concerned about Ed's dress uniform, currently at the bottom of the ocean.

(He wears a suit from Sears. It's fine.)

the story of Ed Warren, hometown boy, as the sole survivor of the sinking of the USS Saint Paul makes the local papers and absolutely no one remembers to tell his father that he made it home until a full 24 hours later.

Ed and Lorraine get married exactly two hours after the end of the legally-required 72 hour Connecticut waiting period elapses. it's a Friday afternoon.

when he sees her in his dress, Ed absolutely cries.

their wedding readings are Romans 12:1-2, 9-18 and Sirach 26: 1-4. it's not a full wedding mass, due to time restraints. it's actually nothing like Lorraine thought her wedding would be like, but she's so relieved Ed is alive, and he's not allowed to go back to the war without being her husband.

their reception is some cake and champagne in the parish hall, Ed's hands have been shaking so badly all day that he can't manage to get cake in her mouth off a fork so Lorraine grabs his hand and sucks it off his finger.

by this point she's had three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach.

it's over by the middle of the afternoon, and they're speeding off to the same aunt's beach house that they ran off to when they were seventeen, this time with permission and this time knowing the whole drive down that they're finally going to have sex.

Ed spends much of the four-hour drive from Bridgeport, CT to Cape May, NJ rucking the many layers of the skirt on Lorraine's dress up her legs, running the hand not on the steering wheel of the car up and down the inside of her thigh, keying her up.

they arrive shortly after dinner, having eaten cheeseburger and fries in the car in their wedding clothes, and are suddenly very very nervous.

even though they've done everything except the technical deed itself.

as Ed peels himself out of his suit and tries to not psyche himself out, Lorraine goes into the bathroom and changes into the peignoir and robe she made for her trousseau. she comes out of the bathroom to grab her brush to take her hair down, but Ed asks her to sit on the bed and pulls all the pins and flowers out himself, gently brushing her curls.

when he's done, he moves onto gently touching her. the last time he saw her naked was also in this bedroom, as they shook with restraint. now they're shaking for other reasons, hands rediscovering each other's bodies and warming themselves on each other's skin.

kissing her neck, he reaches one hand in-between the halves of her robe as the other moves her hair off her shoulder, exposing more skin.

he rucks the hem of the sheer white peignoir up to her knees, then her thighs, then her hips. Ed decides that he needs to make her orgasm before they have sex, because if he doesn't last long, then at least she'll be satisfied.

he eats her out like a man with a point to prove, because he's nineteen and very much is one in this moment.

it's been almost eighteen months since they've been physically present together, and they didn't have much alone time together before their wedding, and Lorraine feels like her body is on fire. it's been so long, and she feels like a bullet leaving a gun. it doesn't take much to make her cum, and Ed manages to do it several times before she's hauling him up her body.

he's still not done getting her ready, unable to not think about every horror story he's heard about bleeding and pain and discomfort and the terrible jokes from his bunkmates.

(they're all dead now. he tries to not think about that, why he lived and they all died. why did he survive, if not to make Lorraine feel good? if not to make them both feel alive? he needs to feel alive, and when he drinks her with his mouth and feels her clench around his fingers, he finally does.)

he sucks hickeys into Lorraine's neck and chest and breasts, keeping her high as he circles her clit with the fingers on one hand as he plays with her nipples with the other.

he is harder than he's ever been in his life, he thinks, pumping two and then three fingers into her. she's wet and all over his hand, dripping down onto his wrist. he wants to eat her out again, taste her again. his mind is a feedback loop of her pleasure.

Lorraine is trying to touch him, but her hands don't feel entirely attached to her body. she ends up curling her fingers into his hair and pulling. the sharp pain is delicious, and he moans while lapping at her nipple and thinks he might see God.

eventually he realizes that she's begging, chanting "now, now, please now, Ed, please--"

they both feel lust drunk and clumsy, all limbs as they take their clothes off, as Ed slots himself between her thighs.

she hasn't touched him at all, and he thinks if she does he'll cum immediately.

he pushes into her slowly, incrementally, watching her face the whole time.

she gasps, bites her lip, scrunches her face up. then, it starts to feel good, and her eyes flutter closed, and she moans.

he doesn't want to move. he wants to move more than he's wanted anything in his whole life. dropping down on his elbows and forearms, he shakes while hovering above her.

Lorraine's mouth is a perfect "o," and slowly she tests out how she wants her legs, first pressing her heels into his calves, then his hamstrings, before pressing her knees in at the sides of his hips. it feels incredibly intense, and she's not quite sure what to do with herself. she no longer feels in control of her body. all of her gifts of perception narrow down to hyper-perceiving Ed, the red sheen to his face, the flop of dark hair over his forehead, the sweat dotting his brow, his heart in his chest. his racing thoughts, his love for her. she feels him inside her body and inside her head. she shivers.

she squirms, trying to get him to move.

he does not, burying his face in her neck.

eventually he realizes that, as she traces her hands up and down the side of his spine, she's whispering, "move, honey, you gotta move, oh God please move, Ed honey please--"

something in his head breaks loose a little bit, and he snaps his hips into hers. when she moves with him, it breaks loose entirely.

it's entirely unskillful and uncoordinated, but Lorraine is already so close to orgasming again that it doesn't matter. when she cums again, Ed's entire brain malfunctions and he stops, watching her, feeling it and feeling her. she reaches down and straight up spanks him, telling him to keep moving.

doubling down, he sucks on the tendon where her neck meets her shoulder, and doesn't last much longer than her.

he thinks his vision almost whites out, gripping her hips tightly as he cums inside of her before pulling out of her and collapsing, happily burrowing his face into her breasts.

Lorraine laughs, wrapping her arms and legs around him, holding him to her tightly.

the insides of her thighs chafe a little, and she feels a bit raw, but she likes it.

they almost fall asleep that way, but Lorraine knows that's probably not a good idea. her mother knew enough about their relationship to know that Lorraine needed a little bit of motherly advice before her wedding night, but not that much. after rolling him off her, Ed promptly falls asleep on his side of the bed.

he didn't sleep the night before.

Lorraine takes a quick shower, washing the shellac out of her hair and scrubbing the make up off her face. she doesn't bother to redress, just gets into bed with him. he feels her weight on the mattress and rolls over, blearily reaching for her to pull her against him. he's half in between dreaming and wakefulness, and slides his hand up to cup her breast in his hand.

"can we do it again?"

#this is deeply unhinged #ed warren #lorraine warren #emily watches the conjuring #otp: i forgot my pills #this is sam and brittanys fault they encouraged it

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sparkkeyper · 3 years

Text

A Matter of Trust

My take on the “night at Crowley’s flat” fic.

Swapping faces requires complete trust. Unfortunately, Aziraphale has not been particularly honest leading up to Armageddon and it's hard to overcome that doubt.

Words: 2295

Warnings: None

-------------------

"You really think she meant switching our actual faces?"

"I've been over it a dozen times and I'm quite sure. I've had the last 72 hours to become familiar with Agnes' peculiar brand of predictions."

Crowley blew out a long breath and took another sip of his coffee. It was the deepest hour of the night. Darkness pressed around the outside of his flat, threatening at the edges of the LED lighting. "Put a lot of stock in this prophecy, do you?"

Aziraphale nodded from where he sat nearby on the couch, the torn slip of prophecy on the cushion between them. "Absolutely. Every prediction in her book came to pass exactly as she saw it. If this is the scenario we're up against, then 'choosing our faces wisely' is our best shot at surviving it."

"Suppose that's settled, then. Once Above and Below start after us, they won't stop unless we really give them a good reason."

"I agree. Now, this will require complete trust and extraordinary focus in order to work. It isn't like lending someone a scarf."

"That's the point, I thought. Something neither side will see coming."

"Exactly. All right then." Aziraphale wriggled a bit on the couch, bracing himself. "Are you ready?"

Crowley set down his coffee and flexed his fingers. "Ready."

Aziraphale held out his hand and the demon took it. Swap with him.

Nothing happened.

"Er..."

"Ngk. Hang on." Crowley gave himself a shake. "Been a long day and all that. Lemme just refocus. Right, let's do it." He took the angel's hand again. Swap. With. Him.

Again, nothing happened.

There were several long, awkward seconds.

Get it together, you stupid snake. This is important. This could be the most important thing you've ever done. This is Aziraphale. Best friend for centuries. You know what to expect from him.

He did know what to expect. That was the problem.

The moment was stretching on far too long. He dropped the angel's hand like it had burned him and scrubbed his palms over his soot-stained face.

"Crowley?"

"It's fine! I'll make it work, give me a blessed break."

He stood and paced the room for a moment while Aziraphale sat stiffly on the couch, watching him. "Is there anything I can do to...to facilitate things? I'm not sure what the problem is."

"There's no problem, it's fine," Crowley snapped. "I've got this. Just worry about your end of it and I'll worry about mine. Right!" He spun on his heel with his hand out and Aziraphale stood to match him. "Swap, then!"

He clasped the angel's hand and tried. He could feel the miracle simmering somewhere in the ether, attempted but not complete. He reached for it, he reached with all his might.

"Crowley-"

"I can do this," he insisted, a pit forming in his stomach. He'd just held his car together for 40 miles, he could believe one little idea for 5 seconds.

"Crowley-"

"I can do this!"

"Oh for goodness' sake-"

The angel was frustrated. He had every right to be but that was beside the point. A frustrated Aziraphale got indignant. A frustrated Aziraphale stormed off.

A frustrated Aziraphale pulled away when they needed most to stick together.

Crowley blessed savagely and spun, stomping for the balcony.

"Where are-"

"I just...I need to get some air." He slammed the door behind him before Aziraphale could respond.

The night breeze from so many stories up was like a slap in the face. Crowley welcomed it, leaning heavily on the balcony railing and burying his face in his hands. He couldn't do the miracle. Not that he didn't want to - he'd rarely wanted anything so much in his life. But he couldn't get his heart into it the way it needed to be.

We're not friends!

It wasn't true, of course. But it was something Aziraphale had wanted to be true. Because it would make the angel's life so much less complicated. Crowley was a friend...until he wasn't. Crowley occupied a place of esteem...until he didn't. Aziraphale worked so very hard to view a messy world in a manageable way and sometimes cuts had to be made.

His coffee sat suddenly on the railing because it knew what was good for it, and when he raised it to his lips it obligingly added a considerable amount of whiskey.

If they couldn't do the swap, they had no future. The Earth had a new lease on life tonight, but if they couldn't swap it would be at the price of their own. He knew Hell would show no mercy and he couldn't fool himself into thinking Heaven would. But Aziraphale... When it came to Heaven, Aziraphale could fool himself into thinking a lot of things.

I don't even like you!

Even if I did I wouldn't tell you! We're on opposite sides!

Aziraphale, who always had excuses to fall back on.

Aziraphale, who had a book with the Antichrist's address and hadn't told him.

Aziraphale who, when the world was on the brink of destruction, had kept calling out to Heaven.

If it came down to their partnership or Heaven, Heaven was the first to be appeased, no contest. Crowley understood his reasons. Aziraphale was, at his core, an angel. He treasured that identity even if he disagreed with his superiors and assignments. He held out hope in goodness, in Her, in a way Crowley never could. He wanted so badly for everything to turn out nice and good in the end, and Crowley could not take that from him.

When Heaven couldn't provide, Crowley was there to be his safety net. But Heaven was always, always first.

The balcony door clicked behind him and hesitant footsteps stepped out into the night. "If there's anything I can do to help you focus, you need only ask."

Crowley couldn't bring himself to look at him. "Focus isn't the problem."

Aziraphale was quiet for a very long moment. "Oh," he said softly.

There was no shock in his voice. No condemnation either. Crowley wondered if it would take some time to sink it, given everything that had already happened to them tonight, but as Aziraphale joined him at the balcony railing he knew that the angel understood what this meant.

Dull blue eyes followed Crowley's gaze out over London and Aziraphale took a slow sip of his tea. "This is my fault, isn't it?"

"Don't," Crowley told him tiredly. "What's done is done."

"But the consequences are ongoing. And will be for a long time, I expect." Aziraphale sighed heavily. "I am responsible, I won't pretend otherwise."

"I tried," Crowley confessed, the words barely audible over the background hum of the city. "I truly did."

"I don't doubt it."

A breeze wandered in. Tousled through red and blonde hair. Wandered somewhere else.

"I suppose I ought to at least ask...was it slow over time or was it because of this past week?"

Crowley didn't answer for a moment, taking another sip of his coffee. "Bit of both."

"Mmm." Aziraphale nodded, not particularly surprised by this. "I should have seen this coming, really. I should have seen a good many things coming."

"Stop it," the demon muttered. "You can't see everything coming. Something something ineffability."

"Is just one of the excuses I've been hiding behind for a very long time. And now it's caught up with me. With us." He sighed. "I suppose it's not just evil that contains the seeds of its own destruction."

Crowley didn't have the energy to come up with a biting response. He just looked exhausted. "I don't regret a minute of it, you know," he murmured. "The Arrangement. You and I. Wouldn't trade it for anything." There were dark circles under his eyes. "But I can't trust you the way I'd need to for this to work. I wish I could. I've tried. I just can't do it."

Aziraphale grimaced to hear the words out loud, but did not dispute it. How could he? "I don't blame you. You're right - it's not fair to ask you to trust me when I've squandered your trust so thoroughly."

We're not friends, hung thick in the air between them.

"Not that I think you don't care," Crowley clarified. "I know you do. You're terrible at hiding it, really. And you came to find me today before it all ended. That's not nothing." He took another sip of coffee. "But you also lied to my face. Repeatedly."

"I did," the angel acknowledged quietly.

"While the world was ending."

"Yes."

"That hurt, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale bit his lip hard. "I know. I'd take it back if I could. But I suppose it's too late to make a difference now."

They stood in silence for a time. Then Crowley sighed and turned back to the flat. "Come on. It's been a long day. There's wine in the kitchen, we may as well enjoy it while we can before they come for us."

The angel followed him inside and watched as he pulled glasses from a cabinet. "Thank you again for allowing me to stay the night. You didn't have to, after everything."

"Stay as long as you like," the demon uncorked the wine bottle. "Your shop's gone. Fuck's sake, I'm not a monster."

"No." Aziraphale's expression was very, very soft. "You're not."

Crowley took off his sunglasses and looked up at him at last: this demon whose heart had been broken too many times. "I want you to be all right, Aziraphale. I need you safe. I need you alive. I want to see you happy. But I don't know how far I can meet you."

"I can't say I'm surprised, after all I've put you through," the angel admitted ruefully. "Denying we were ever friends, or insinuating that you were somehow less than I. I've been a rather dreadful friend to you over the centuries."

Crowley hung his head, wine forgotten. "I know why you keep us at a distance and I know why you lied about the boy. You were doing what you thought was best at the time. I can't blame you for that. But to do what that prophecy wants, when push comes to shove I need to believe with all my heart that you won't leave me hanging. And I...I can't bring myself to believe that." He scrubbed his hands across his face. "Given time I might, but we don't have time. I can't do it. And I hate it. Because that's going to get you killed. I need you alive but once they come for us, I won't be able to save you. Not this time."

"You talk as though you're not in danger yourself," Aziraphale's face crumpled. "Crowley, if Below gets their hands on you they will destroy you utterly. I will not let that happen. I can't take back what I've said but you are the dearest thing in this world to me and I'm not going to stand back and let them take you."

Crowley looked like he was trying so very hard to hope but just couldn't get there. "I want to believe that, I really do. But I can't do blind faith like you can. I don't have it in me anymore."

Aziraphale closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the demon's. "I'm not asking you to forgive what I've done. And I'm not asking for blind faith. Goodness knows how much trouble that's caused." His voice cracked at that but he plunged onward. "I'm only asking you to believe me when I say that I will not let Hell have you. If we cannot switch our faces, we will find another way."

"But your prophecy. Agnes-"

"Agnes be damned." That shut Crowley up. Tears glistened on the angel's cheeks. "If I have to march Down There after you. If I have to take up a sword. If I have to stand between you and God Herself. I swear to you on everything that I am, I will not let Hell have you."

And in that brief moment, for just that one promise in a sea of other broken ones, Crowley believed he was telling the truth.

His hand scrabbled for Aziraphale's and he pushed for all he was worth before he could lose this moment, he pushed every atom of his soul into the heart of his best friend, gave him everything that he was and ever could be, and in that instant he trusted Aziraphale to keep him safe.

And then Aziraphale was pouring into him and Crowley opened himself up and let it happen, let him seep into every muscle, every bone, every molecule of his being -

-and suddenly there was no difference between them, there was no angel, no demon, just a tumult of soul and hope and pain and fear and resolve and-

Crowley tumbled out the other side like falling out of bed. He gasped in a strangled breath, stumbling backwards into the kitchen counter and staring suddenly into his own face. He stared down at his clothes - beige - and his hands - manicured - and back up, feeling the warmth of his best friend's corporation surrounding him like a blanket. Aziraphale, in Crowley's, did much the same.

There was stunned silence in the flat as they let this sink in. Then one of them snapped, or maybe both, and suddenly Crowley's face was buried in the collar of a stinking, burnt leather jacket and Aziraphale was crushing him close, and both were squeezing so hard the other could scarcely breathe.

"Thank you," Aziraphale managed at last. "For trusting me enough to let me save you."

"Not if I save you first," Crowley choked out, and broken giggles filled the flat.

(Also on AO3!)

#good omens #good omens fic #the night at crowley's flat #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale having to take responsibility for lying #the body swap #can these two idiots just SIT DOWN AND TALK #trauma is never your fault #being gaslight and coerced is never your fault #but we still have to be aware of those we hurt when we're not at our best #not that Crowley's 100% innocent #they'll figure it out they just need time

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scripts4dreamers · 4 years

Text

Just One Drink

Part Two, Part Three

AN: Cases at the BAU wear on you after a while Characters: Spencer Reid Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence

Prompt: “We’re in this together.”

(Do I want to write a part two for this? Maybe. Do I love Spencer Reid and the Criminal Minds bunch in general with all my heart? Most definitely. So feel free to send in requests!)

------------------

You sighed, collapsing into the chair by your desk and burying your face in your hands. It had been a long week. Three missing kids, one crazed killer and less than 72 hours to get them back alive; just another week for the BAU. You tried to remember that you’d signed up for this, that you loved what you did and the people you did it with, and that you had managed to save the kids in the end, but your tired brain didn’t care. Right then, all you really wanted was a mug of hot chocolate and to curl up on your couch with a good book.

“Hey, you okay?” you heard someone ask.

You lifted your head slightly and noticed Spencer Reid had appeared beside your desk without you noticing. He was leaning against the divider you’d set up and was trying to look casual and failing miserably. Spencer had been a part of the BAU for a lot longer than you had and he was a bit of a legend in the Bureau but, for some reason, he always seemed nervous around you. He was nice, of course, and clever, and you enjoyed spending time with him but it took a lot for him to seem properly at ease whenever you were nearby and, right now, you were too tired to want to play nice with anybody.

Maybe it was because you were new, you reasoned, maybe he just wasn’t good at adapting to changes in the team dynamic. Still, he was obviously trying, so you forced yourself to give him a small smile and nod.

“Yeah, I’m all good, just tired.” you answered.

Spencer nodded, like he understood, and pulled up a chair, “I was the same when I’d just joined, every case took the life right out of me. You’ll get used to it.”

“I hope so,” you sighed, resting your head in your hands again, “because there’s no way I can keep going on like this.”

For a long moment there was just silence, until he cleared his throat and asked, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Your head shot up and you tried to hide the flash of confusion on your face, “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” Spencer laughed nervously, “contrary to popular belief I’m actually a really great listener.”

“And humble too,” you joked.

“Oh exceedingly so,” he joked back, rising out of his seat, “come on, let’s go get a drink and I’ll prove it to you.”

You considered for a moment. On the one hand, you desperately wanted to get out of the office and remember what it felt like to not be miserable, and you’d been secretly crushing on Spencer since your first day at the BAU, on the other…

You shook your head, “I should stay, I’ve got so much paperwork to get done for this case and-”

Spencer rolled his eyes fondly, reaching down and pulling you to your feet, “And it’ll still be there on Monday,” he interrupted, “Come on, Y/N. I’ll help you with whatever you need later.”

Your heart jumped into your throat at the feeling of his fingers wrapped around your wrist, and you felt a lick of heat run up your neck. It was unfair for a skinny white boy who could describe the plot of every star trek episode ever made in detail to be as attractive as Spencer Reid was. You didn’t know if it was the hair, or his cheekbones, or the way he smiled but, whatever it was, you were a sucker for it so you let yourself get pulled up.

“Okay, Reid, but I’m holding you to that. If I’ve forgotten even one important detail that messes this report up-”

“Y/N, I have an eidetic memory. The report will be perfect,” he smiled, letting your wrist drop and scooping up your bag, “let’s go then, I know the perfect place.”

----------------------

The bar Spencer took you to was small and cozy; busy enough that you could blend in to the crowd without being so loud that it became overwhelming. The drinks weren’t cheap, but they were good, and the booth you’d tucked yourselves into was comfortable and out of the way so you could talk freely. Spencer loved it there. He’d been coming to that bar since he’d first joined the BAU and, even though a bar wouldn’t usually be his first choice for a happy place, this one was packed to the brim with happy memories.

Across from him, you were sipping your second whiskey sour in silence, casting nervous glances up at Spencer every few seconds. Something was definitely wrong. It wasn’t just the dark circles under your eyes that worried him, or the way you never really sat still, constantly glancing around the room and over your shoulder, it was everything. Usually you were so...alive at work. You’d joke around with Morgan, swap stories with Prentiss, brazenly flirt with Hotch and Rossi until they’d crack and give you a smile. In every situation you made a point to add value, whether that be by making a poignant connection during a case or just sliding the perfect cup of coffee Spencer’s way without him having to ask for it. But now things were different. It had been happening bit by bit, too slowly for some of the others to notice but, after this last case, it was impossible for Spencer to ignore. You didn’t laugh anymore, or joke or flirt. You still made amazing points, still worked harder than anyone asked you to, but now it seemed like it weighed you down, like every new case chipped just a little bit more of you away. It hurt to watch.

“Y/N, you know it’s okay to struggle with this stuff, right?” Spencer eventually said. He wasn’t exactly the king of knowing what to say but he felt like he owed it to you to try. After all, when he was new he’d had Gideon to help him through it, “You don’t have to be alright right away.”

“You are,” you replied softly, meeting his eye briefly.

Spencer snorted and shook his head, “Me? The recovering drug addict? Yeah, I’m definitely the poster-child for healthy coping mechanisms.”

You chuckled and then looked up, horrified, “I didn’t mean to laugh at the whole addiction thing.”

“I know, Y/N/N,” he smiled, “but you’re allowed to. I was making a joke after all.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” you teased gently, leaning back in your seat.

Your shoulders were untensed now, Spencer noticed, and you were fiddling less and he breathed an inward sigh of relief. You were relaxing.

“Yeah, Morgan says I’ve gotta work on my delivery more,” Spencer said.

“Smart man, Morgan.” you countered.

Spencer smiled, “But seriously, Y/N, if you want to talk-” he lapsed into silence, holding your gaze as he let his offer hand in the air.

You watched Spencer for a moment, that piercing look in your eye that always made him feel unsteady, like you were seeing right through him. You weren’t profiling, he knew that, but you were definitely trying to figure him out. Eventually you sighed, seemingly resigning yourself to your fate, and nodded slowly.

“I just-” you started, “I didn’t know it would feel like this,” you blinked quickly, probably trying to stave off tears, “all the worry just-it just eats away at me and I can’t do anything about it.” You paused, sniffing, before taking a deep breath and continuing, “And it’s never enough, you know? We do everything we can but it’s just never enough and the cases keep coming and coming and all these people keep dying and dying and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. We’re the best people for the job and we still spend 80% of our time playing catch up to these guys,” you shook your head again, “it just messes with my head.”

Spencer felt his heart pinch in his chest, affection rushing through him so fast that he didn’t know what to make of it.

He leaned forward, holding your gaze and said, “Of course it does, we spend most of our day trying to think like some of the most disturbed and dangerous people in the country. Honestly, I’d be more worried if you weren’t struggling with it.” Spencer assured you, “Our job is really really fucking hard, okay? It’s rewarding, but it takes its toll on all of us eventually. What’s important is to remember that you’re not doing this on your own, I’ve got your back-we’ve got your back, the whole team.” He hesitated for a moment, before leaning forward and covering your hand with his own, “We’re in this together, no matter what happens.”

For a long while you just looked at one another, something like gratitude glimmering in your eyes as you squeezed Spencer’s hand. His skin felt warm where it met yours and he softly let his thumb glance along the inside of your wrist.

You were beautiful, Spencer noticed, but not in the way he expected. Objectively speaking you were an attractive person, of course, he’d have to be blind to miss that, but there was something more. Just being pretty generally wasn’t enough to make Spencer’s heart race like it did around you, it wasn’t enough to make him want to reach out and touch, to make Spencer so desperate to spend time with you that he dragged you to a bar he loved on the off chance he’d get you to smile. Just being pretty wasn’t enough to explain why Spencer felt the way he did, it had always been more than that.

You nodded, quickly wiping your cheeks and giving Spencer a small smile as you gently detangled your hand from his. His heart sunk, just a little bit, at the loss of contact, but he made sure to keep his face neutral.

“How are you so good at this, doctor Reid?” you asked.

I’ve been practicing what I wanted to say for nearly two weeks now, Spencer thought.

He shrugged, “It’s just the truth, Y/N, that’s all.”

You nodded and lapsed into what seemed like a thoughtful silence.

“Hey, Reid?” You eventually asked, sounding almost nervous.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Why do you call me Y/N?”

Spencer frowned, suddenly confused, “That’s your name. Is there something wrong with how I say it?”

“No, no you say it perfectly,” you assured him, “it’s just, you don’t call anyone else in the team by their first name. Just me.”

He opened his mouth to say that that was ridiculous, but stopped just before the words left his mouth. You were right.

“Um,” Spencer started, a lick of anxiety flaring up in his stomach, “I don’t-I don’t know, really. Guess I never thought about it. You want another drink?” He took the opportunity to stand up and walk to the bar, returning your empty glasses and ordering two fresh drinks.

He needed a minute to figure out where his head was. He felt unsettled, like maybe something about the way you’d looked at him had struck a nerve. He knew how suspicious he’d sounded just then, like he was hiding something. He knew he had to have a better answer, otherwise you’d just come to your own conclusion and, judging by how good of a profiler you were, you’d probably come to the right one.

Fuck. When he’d invited you out for a drink Spencer had just wanted to make you smile, maybe take a little of the load off your shoulders. He’d never meant to make it so personal, such an obvious declaration of his feelings, but he had. It may have seemed small to call someone by their first name in your line of work, but you both knew different. It signaled intimacy, care, trust. It meant that he felt something for you, something different than what he felt for other members of the team. He had to be smart about this. There were rules against agents fraternizing with other agents, guidelines that had to be followed, boundaries that had to stay in place to preserve the team. Beyond that there was the fact that you were new, he didn’t know you well enough to say for sure how you felt about him, whether there was even a possibility of his feelings being reciprocated, and the fact that he didn’t even really know what his feelings were.

He admired you, he thought you were smart and resourceful, funny, sweet, tough as nails, he liked being around you. He liked you, but that didn’t have to mean anything. He’d liked tons of women in his time, some of them had liked him back, most hadn’t. But the name, the name meant something, it had to.

The bartender handed him the drinks and, reluctantly, Spencer made his way back to the table. You were watching him, somewhere between nervous and expectant, and Reid felt a familiar rush of fondness shoot through him. He collapsed onto the seat across from you, handing you the drink with a small smile.

“Whiskey sour,” he commented, trying to break the tension, “often considered a more masculine drink due to the presence of whiskey and egg-white.”

“Drinks shouldn’t be gendered,” you answered, taking a sip, “and by the way, if there’s egg-white it’s called a Boston sour.”

“Are you from Boston?” He asked.

You shook your head, “Nope.”

“Oh.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, just expectant. Spencer knew instinctively that, if he wanted, he could just avoid the topic completely. You wouldn’t push him. You would leave the bar together, say goodnight, and life would continue on like nothing had happened, but something about that felt inauthentic, like he’d be lying to you somehow, and he respected you too much for that. So he settled on part of the truth

“I call you by your first name because I care about you,” he eventually said, “I-uh-I feel….protective over you, I-” he cleared his throat, “you’re important to me. I didn’t-if it makes you uncomfortable I can call you Y/L/N.”

“No!” you said quickly, “No, I didn’t-it doesn’t make me uncomfortable, I like it. I just-” you looked away, worrying at your lip in a way that made it seem like you were nervous. You took a deep breath and stared down into your drink, “I was worried that it meant you didn’t respect me.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, “What? Y/N that’s ridiculous! You’re one of the best profilers I know.”

You rolled your eyes, “Maybe in other departments, but in the BAU?” You shook your head, “I’m practically an amature.”

“I’m sorry, did you not just solve a case and rescue three kids?” Spencer asked, “Was it someone else who made the connection between De Vos’ childhood arson charge and the kids home the victims were from? ‘Cause if I remember correctly, and I’m pretty sure I do, that was all you.”

You smiled a little, enjoying the praise, but still seemed unsure, “Well none of that would have been helpful if you hadn’t figured out where he was keeping the kids.”

“Yes, it would have,” Spencer promised, leaning forward and covering your hand again, “Y/N, you cracked that case wide open. Without you, those kids would probably be dead.”

“Without you those kids would be dead,” You corrected, nudging his leg under the table and giving him a shy smile.

Spencer felt his heart stutter in his chest and he leaned back, taking his hand off yours but leaving your knees touching under the table.

“Well that just means we’re a good team.” He said, returning your smile.

You laughed and, with that, the tension dissipated. You spent the rest of your time together sharing childhood stories and swapping jokes. You spent twenty minutes just listening to him explain common misconceptions about the story of Tristan and Isolde before he caught himself and, when he laughed and apologized, you just shrugged and smiled, saying that you loved seeing how happy he looked when he talked about it. Spencer nearly swooned at that.

By the end of the night you seemed more like your old self than you had in weeks. Spencer walked you out and waited with you on the street as you called a taxi. It felt different between you now, no awkwardness or strain, just the warm comfort of being with someone you care about. Of course, just under the surface, Spencer could feel the start of something. It was fragile, easy snuffed out if treated poorly, but it was there; potential, the potential for this to be more than a friendship, to be something real, something worth fighting for.

Your taxi arrived before Spencer could figure out how to feel about that. Before he could say anything, you’d pulled him into a warm embrace, leaving him enough time to pull away if he wanted as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he pulled you close, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You smelled wonderful.

“Thank you for today, Spencer,” you said quietly, so that only he could hear, “I-I really needed it.”

Spencer swore he felt his heart actually melt at the softness in your voice, but he pushed through it.

“Anytime, Y/N.”

You pulled away, smiling bigger than he’d seen in ages, and he couldn’t help but smile in return. You clambered into the taxi gracelessly, because you were looking back at him.

“You won’t be saying that when you’re stuck working those reports with me all of next week,” you teased.

Spencer smiled, stepping forward to close the taxi door behind you, “Wanna bet?”

“You’re on.” you agreed fondly.

He watched the car from his position on the sidewalk until it disappeared, trying to calm the frantic pounding of his heart.

“Spencer,” he muttered to himself happily, “she called me Spencer.”

And by god, he’d never liked the way his name sounded more.

#jordsie #jordsie writes #criminal minds #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer x reader #spencer x you #spencer reid headcanons #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler imagine

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imagine-loki · 3 years

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The Tragedy of Thor of Asgard

TITLE: The Tragedy of Thor of Asgard CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One shot AUTHOR: colifower ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki attending a play about his little adventure in Svartalfheim. It is too poorly written that he decides to take the matter into his own hands… The tragedy of Loki is born. RATING: G NOTES/WARNINGS: It’s an option on my Choose your own adventure fic, which was too confusing to be posted in IL. Link to the full story here!

“I’m in desperate need to take a day off. I’ll do it today; not much is happening anyways” shouted Loki-as-Odin. He had been suplanting his not-father for a while now and was only starting to learn the extents of Odin’s routine, which mainly consisted in doing nothing and claiming his counselor’s ideas as his own, so in order to fix it Loki had to take a few extra hours. He summoned their not-father’s horse as soon as he could and pet it’s side. He desperately wanted to ride with his own horse, Apricot, but still had to deal with the appearences.

They trotted out of the stables and into the sunshine. It was truly a good day to go for a horse walk. “Yes, that’s what I’m going to do! We’re going to the blue fountain! It’ll be very nice today, maybe even have a bath…”

Loki stopped his train of thought when he saw a yellow banner ad. “The tragedy of Thor of Asgard. Find out the details of The Midgardian’s murder of Queen Frigga, the betrayal of Prince Loki The Jötun and much more…” they read out loud. “Well, you got me interested. Let’s see the depths of asgardian propaganda.”

“This is going to be so painfully inaccurate” he muttered to himself while getting sited. He had parked Sleipnir a bit far away from the place not to bring much attention to himself. The piece was performed at a corral de comedias *, quite a musty place for a king. Loki foolishly hoped nobody paid much attention to the attending Allfather, but as soon as the space started to get filled, he noted the looks of the gossipy aesir piercing through his skin. He couldn’t do much about it now, so he remained seated and quiet, trying to remain unnoticeable.

The crowd got quiet as the actors came to the stage.

ACT 1 Scene I

Enter CHOIR.

CHOIR

Oh Norns be gentle with us. Our fates are sealed and our lives have no meaning. But what do we hear from the palace above? It must be Prince Thor and his latest human conquest. Look at her rags and horrid features: must be an evil witch, no human could have captured the Prince’s attentions otherwise.

“Wrong in so many levels” Loki murmured. Several of the attendees shushed at him. He got quite surprise with their support for the play, but said no more. It was going to be a long two hours.

Enter THE HAG, FRIGGA, THOR wiggling Mjolnir quite violently

THOR

I do not understand, mother. Why couldn’t we just kill Loki? One jötun less, one problem less.

FRIGGA

Can’t you see, my son? Even if we take his life, we will get nothing in return. He is an evil man and we already lost him along the way. We cannot do a single thing to save those poor midgardian’s lives. It’s best to leave things be. That’s what your father wants us to do.

THOR

But we must avenge the fallen. He murdered those 72 innocent guards. He’s just like Malekith The Dark, who burned Svartalfheim’s whole population alive.

FRIGGA

The sorrow will kill me. My own son betraying us like this.

Leaves crying

ACT I scene II

THOR

I still think we should do something about it. What do you think, my beloved?

THE HAG

Oh my muscular, muscular man. You are so right, we cannot stand here and do nothing while the monster is still alive. It is a risk for our people.

THOR

Our people? Does that mean you will marry me?

THE HAG

If you desire so.

THOR

Well, I…

A cloud of green smoke appears and surrounds THOR while THE HAG shakes her arms around. She is enchanting him to do as she pleases.

I do! I will marry you!

THE HAG

I am the happiest woman alive.

They embrace.

ACT 2 Scene I

Enter FRIGGA with a flower vase. THOR and THE HAG are still embracing each other.

FRIGGA

Oh sweet Valhalla!

She drops the flower vase.

Thor, my son. What are you doing?

THOR

Embracing my beloved, mother. We are to get wed this afternoon.

THE HAG [Aside]

Yes! My evil plan is coming to fruition. Soon after the wedding I’d just have to kill old king Odin to become the most powerful being in the universe.

FRIGGA

What did you say, my dear?

THE HAG

Oh, nothing. I am very excited by the event.

CHOIR

Oh, your majesty, our beloved royals, look outside the window. The forces of evil are slaughtering us! We need the help of our hero prince Thor to save our lives from the poisonous knives of the dark elves.

THE HAG

Is that true?

FRIGGA

Oh dear!

THOR

I’ll butcher the monsters that hunt our people. Wait for me, mother, wait for me, my beloved. I’ll be back in a heartbeat.

Exits

ACT 2 scene II

THE HAG

Well… now that we are alone…

Stabs FRIGGA

FRIGGA

Oh cruel Norns. To die at the hands of an evil creature like you. Ladies like me aren’t suitable to hold a knife, I didn’t stand a chance.

THE HAG

Ha! Only midgardian woman are enough deprived to learn the ways of war.

FRIGGA

Curse you sudden but inevitable betrayal!

Dies

THE HAG

One step closer to victory.

ACT 3 scene I

CHOIR

The dark elves’ threat is gone! Hooray the soon-to-be king! But inside the palace there are still some scoundrels left to slaughter. Prince Thor will surely get here in a minute

Enter DARK ELVES SOLDIERS and LOKI. His green cape is twice as long as his own height.

THE HAG

Who are you?

DARK ELF SOLDIER 1

Your new king! Bow to him.

THE HAG

I think not!

She moves her arms around and a green cloud of smoke surrounds the stage.

By the power of Girlb-oss you shall be defeated.

DARK ELF SOLDIER 1

Oh no!

DARK ELF SOLDIER 2

We are dead.

The soldiers die. LOKI starts circling THE HAG, ready to attack.

THE HAG

Damn! My seidr never fails me.

LOKI

The girlb-oss invocation doesn’t work on me, since I am both a seidr user and a weak man.

THE HAG

How is that even possible?

LOKI

I am evil.

THE HAG

Yeah, that makes sense.

LOKI

Anyways, time for you to die.

Stabs her

THE HAG

Curse you! You disgusting and treacherous creature. You will perish soon and painfully.

LOKI

If you say so.

She dies

ACT 3 scene II

Enter THOR

THOR

What is this? Mother is dead? My beloved too? Who has done this?

LOKI

Not me.

THOR

You ungrateful bastard. No jötun should be trusted

THOR and LOKI fight dramatically. THOR is the superior fighter. LOKI lays on the ground without much movement.

LOKI

I am defeated. I die now.

LOKI dies for no reason whatsoever. THOR doesn’t even threaten him with a weapon.

THOR

No! My brother no!

Enter ODIN

ODIN

We shall mourn the dead. My son Loki the treacherous should be buried like the rest, with honour. Even if he was born a monster, he was still my son. I’ll carry my queen to the boats, where they all shall reach Valhalla.

THE END

“What a bunch of nonsense” Loki-as-Odin muttered to himself yet again. “My muscular, muscular man. What does that even mean? And the xenophobia was off the charts (although it’s nothing new anyways), Dr Foster didn’t even have a name! Argh! So frustrating. Somebody needs to sort that mess before it has the chance to become a problem.”

An idea crossed his mind.

“Maybe I should tell the real Tragedy of Loki of Asgard.”

#Loki #God of Mischief #Imagine #Submitted one shot #colifower #the tragedy of Thor of Asgard

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conradscrime · 4 years

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Germany’s Creepiest Mystery: The Hinterkaifeck Farm

February 02, 2021

Get ready for a bone chilling one you guys, this story has had me freaked out for years. Another unsolved, and another old time long ago story, this one really leaves you with chills going down your spine. Let’s get into it.

One of Germany’s oldest and most terrifying unsolved mysteries surrounded a very quiet and kept to themselves family, Viktoria Gabriel (35), her two children Cäzilia (7) and Josef (2) lived on a farm with her parents Andreas (63) and Cäzilia Gruber (72). They lived on a farm in a town called Kaifeck, which was outside of a place called Gröbern.

On April 1, 1922 people in town began to grow concerned for the family as Cäzilia had failed to show up for school as well as the family not showing up to church where Viktoria sang in the choir. Also on April 1, two coffee sellers named Hans Schirovsky and Eduard Schirovsky arrived in Hinterkaifeck to place an order. But no one responded when they knocked on the door and the window, they walked around the yard but found no one. They noticed that the gate to the machine house was open, but they decided to leave without checking it out. When Cäzilia still had not shown up to school two days later on April 3 and the notice of the family’s mail piling up going uncollected, neighbours began to grow suspicious.

On April 4, 1922 a man named Albert Hofner went to Hinterkaifeck to repair the engine of the family's food chopper. He said he had not seen any family members there and had only heard sounds of the farm animals and the dog inside the barn. He waited an hour, but decided to start his repair, which took him about 4.5 hours. This is honestly so creepy to me because at that point the Gruber family had been murdered and if any of the people who had shown up to sell or repair anything had known they were not only a property with 6 dead bodies but also probably in the presence of the person responsible for it I am sure they would never sleep again.

So on April 4, neighbours began a search of the family farm to figure out what was going on. This search was led by a man named Lorenz Schlittenbauer who was a nearby farmer. The neighbours found four bodies in the farm, all of which were covered in hay. There were also two bodies found within the house, one being Josef, Viktoria’s son and the other being the maid, a woman named Maria Baumgartner (44), who suspiciously (and very creepily) had just begun her first day on the job when the murders took place.

The reason the family had gotten a new maid was because the old maid had claimed that the farm was haunted and quit six months before the murders took place. Keep this in mind, it will become important later on.

What happened to the family was very disturbing. It appeared that on the evening of March 31, 1922, Cäzilia Gruber (Viktoria’s mother) had been strangled as well as received seven blows to her head, leaving her skull cracked. Her husband, Andreas’ face was covered in blood, Viktoria’s skull was also smashed with her head showing “nine star shaped wounds” and she had most definitely been hit in the side of the face with a blunt object. Her daughter, Cäzilia’s jaw had been broken with her face and neck covered in wounds.

It is suspected that the adults died pretty instantly from their injuries, however the younger Cäzilia appeared to have suffered the most. They believed she was alive for hours after the attack and in a state of shock, so much so that she had ripped her hair out in clumps that were found.

Josef, the two year old found in the house had been murdered in his cot, suffering a heavy blow to his face, while the maid, Maria, suffered blows to the head. What is interesting is that the killer covered the bodies in the barn over with hay, and also covered the bodies in the house; Maria’s with sheets and Josef’s with his mother’s dress.

None of the animals on the farm had been harmed, in fact it was discovered that they were all kept well and fed after the murders had occurred which meant that someone was staying in the house, someone who did not belong to the family. This explains why the bodies were covered, so that if the killer had remained in the house for a few days they would not have to directly look at the bodies. Chills.

The killer also had made meals and eaten in the house in the days following the murders, as well as lit the fire to stay warm. The killer is suspected to have lived in the house with the dead bodies for 3 days. The previous maid that had recently quit, and claimed the house was haunted said she always felt as though she were being watched and constantly heard noises in the attic. Sounds like someone was living in the house with the family, unbeknownst to them.

The previous maid was not the only one to report strange happenings around the farm. Andreas, Viktoria’s father also had claimed that he had found a newspaper in the home that he did not buy, a set of keys to the house had gone missing, and he had noticed footprints from the woods going towards the farm that were not any of the family members. The footsteps were found in snow, and only going in one direction: toward the house. Whoever’s footprints were in the snow, they had not left the family farm.

There have been a few suspects over the years, but no one has ever been arrested for the murders.

Viktoria’s husband had died in WWI and there was always suspicion on who the father of 2 year old Josef was. Viktoria apparently had a relationship with Lorenz Schlittenbauer, the man who led the search party and helped discover the families bodies. Lorenz had publicly claimed that Josef was his child and he had planned to marry Viktoria though Andreas did not approve and the marriage did not happen. Lorenz went on to marry another woman and they had a baby together, but the baby died a few weeks later.

Lorenz was a pretty solid suspect and police theorized that he was in a bad place over his baby dying so he came to kill the family. They found his behaviour suspicious, he was very nonchalant about the whole thing, however they really did not have much evidence to actually tie him to the murders.

The also thought maybe Viktoria’s husband, Karl Gabriel had come to murder the family. They suspected that he came back to war and killed the family though they soon found out he had died in France years before. This theory suggests that a possible affair was happening between Viktoria and Lorenz at the time her husband was away at war.

There was also talk that either Viktoria or Andreas had slain the entire family before taking their own life due to the suspicion that Andreas had violent and incestuous tendencies. There was rumours that Josef was the product of incest and that Andreas was known to have a sexual relationship with his children. There is no real proof of this however, and none of the wounds found on any of the bodies appeared to be self-inflicted so it is very unlikely that this was a murder-sucide.

In 1923, just one year after the murders the Hinterkaifeck farm was demolished, and the bodies were buried in Waidhofen. When demolishing the house, a mattock was found in the attic and a pen-knife in the hay of the barn.

The Grubers and the maid Maria were beheaded after their autopsies and their skulls were sent to Munich to be examined, though no new information was found. They were actually buried headless and their skulls supposedly got lost in WWII and were never returned.

This case remains unsolved. So I’m curious, what do ya’ll think? To me it’s pretty obvious that this is someone who knew the family quite well and someone who definitely had beef with someone in the Gruber family. I think that whoever the person was they planned the whole thing out very well, and had probably been living in the attic of the family home for a period of time (at least coming in and out of the house as far back as six months before the murders due to the previous maid’s claims) and without the family knowing which is perhaps the creepiest part of this entire story. Whoever did it will probably never be known as it will soon be the 99th anniversary of the Hinterkaifeck Farm murders.

Whatever happened on that farm almost a century ago will probably remain a mystery forever.

#1922 #farm #murder #truecrime #mystery #germany

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fandom-imagines-stories · 4 years

Text

72 Hours

Dean Winchester x Reader

Words: 3742

Part One

Summary: With only three days until being dragged down to hell, you hope to spend them in the embrace of the man you love. The man you're dying for.

Notes: Alright, here is part two for The Deal! This might be my favorite series for this month and I am really proud of how it turned out. I told you there would be some dark Dean imagines this October. Let me know what you guys think and you think it’ll end!

Warnings: Death, gore, mentions of Hell, plenty of guilt, sacrifice

Special shout out to my amazing beta reader Sarah, @suckmysupernatural . I love her so much and honestly, she’s helped me so much in getting these imagines out for you and she has some absolutely killer writing of her own!

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

Saturday 12:50 A.M.

“Tell me you didn’t,” Dean begged, his hands cradling your face. You didn’t say anything. “Damn it Y/N, tell me you didn’t do it!” He shook you slightly when he yelled.

“I had to get you back,” you cried. Dean pushed away, forcefully knocking over a stack of books and kicking a table into the wall. “Sam wasn’t going to find anything else and you know it.”

“Then you let me stay dead.” He boomed, furiously turning towards you. You had never seen him this mad before. Not at you. “You bury me and you move on.”

“I thought you were in hell!” You screamed. Both of them just stared at you, fuming. “I-I saw you. It was like a dream, but it wasn’t. I saw you in hell screaming for help, in agony. I couldn’t sit by and do nothing.”

“That’s what last night was about?” Sam asked, feeling a wave of guilt rush over him. He could have stopped you. If he had just paid more attention, he could have figured out your plan.

“I saw him, Sam.” You wished you could make them understand. “Dean, you spent forty years in hell for Sam, I couldn’t let you spend any more for me.”

“Well I wasn’t there.” His tone was harsh, making your heart sting.

“What do you want me to say? I’m sorry?” You crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m not.”

“This is the most selfish thing you have ever done, you know that?” Dean was hiding his pain with anger, but damn he was good at it. But so were you.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing.” You challenged. His jaw clenched. “You can’t, Dean! Because you have done it!”

You stared each other down, casting an icy chill over the room. You didn’t have time for this. You stiffened, eye darting to the clock. Time. Sam noticed this and finally spoke.

“Y/N, how long did the demon give you?” Judging by the way your body tensed at the question, it wasn’t the usual decade. You clammed up, the adrenaline of the argument fading. Your silence sent a terrible pang through Dean’s chest. He repeated Sam’s question.

“How long do we have?” Through his anger, you still caught one of his words. We.

“Dean…” Your fire was gone and you couldn’t help but think about the demon. She said he was in hell. The bitch had tricked you. And you fell for it completely. Even so, as you looked into Dean’s rage filled eyes you knew it was worth it. You would have saved him with only three minutes to live if you had to. Dean roughly grabbed your shoulders.

“How long?” This close to him, you could see it. The fear. You had to look away.

“Three days.”

Dean stumbled back like he’d been punched in the gut.

“What?” Sam gasped, taking a step towards you. Dean wasn’t moving. He was hunched over, unable to breathe.

“I have until Monday at midnight, so you can understand why I don’t want to spend my time fighting with you.” Dean slowly straightened up, putting on his emotionless soldier face. He stalked towards you until your faces were inches apart.

“What did you expect, Y/N? That we would be all kisses and cuddles?” The low rumbling growl in his voice scared you. “You want to throw away your life, fine. But when the bitch comes to drag you down to hell, don’t expect me to be there to watch.” He spat and Sam watched him in shock.

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed. Dean tried to fight it, but a tear streaked down his face. He tore his gaze away from you and stormed out of the room. Your body relaxed and you let your own tears fall. You knew this would happen but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell. Pardon the expression.

“I- um, I should probably go.” You gulped, shoving your hands in your pockets. Sam moved to the base of the stairs to block your way.

“Don’t.”

“Sam-”

“You are not going to just crawl into some hole to die.” He loomed over you, his anger having changed to protective determination. “You brought my brother back and I can never repay you for that. But what you did…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Do you have any idea what that’s going to do to him?”

“I didn’t have a choice, Sam.” You smiled sadly. “I love him.” Sam didn’t say anything for a moment. The woman that he saw as a sister was going to die the same way his brother had. But there wouldn’t be an angel to pull you out of hell this time. He backed up suddenly.

“Oh God, I have to call Cas.”

4:41 A.M.

Dean was surrounded by shattered glass and crumbled wax. It was a miracle that he hadn’t set the room on fire. He sat against the wall amongst the carnage of candles with his head in his hands. Alone, he cried- screaming and destroying anything he could get his hands on. Now, he just sat in the corner, feeling the fight draining out of him. Even if there was a way to stop the deal, it would take longer than you had. He was going to lose you.

A knock at the door pulled him out of his miserable thoughts. Sam came in before he could tell him to go away. Dean rested his head against the wall and dried his face with his sleeve.

“How are you feeling?” He asked cautiously. Dean didn’t say a word. He just picked up a piece of glass and flipped it between his fingers. “Dean, this isn’t something you can just ignore.”

“Sam if you try and pull any of that Dr. Phil crap, so help me God, I will shove this candle wax down your throat.” He hissed. Sam kept a cool head, knowing that his brother’s animosity wasn’t directed towards him. He also knew that it wasn’t directed towards Y/N either.

“Dean, you have to talk to her.” The older Winchester lifted the shard of glass to throw it at him. Sam smacked it out of his hand and yanked him to his feet. “Y/N is going to die, Dean. She’s going to hell unless we can figure something out to stop it.”

“What do you want me to say?” Dean pushed Sam away from him. “Gee Y/N, I’ve spent every minute of our relationship trying to keep you safe, but now that you’ve sacrificed yourself let’s all sing Kumbaya!”

“I don’t like this anymore than you do. Y/N’s family. So yeah, I’m going to work my ass off to try and stop what happened to you from happening to her. But if nothing works…” He wanted to have hope, but even his optimism couldn’t triumph over this. “We have to be there for her.”

Sam looked like he wanted to say more, but decided against it. This was something they needed to figure out themselves. Besides, Cas was on his way after being on the road and he had a lot to catch up on. He walked out of Dean’s room passing you in the hall.

You entered your room slowly. Dean stood in the middle of the floor, bits and pieces of candle around his feet. You stopped moving when his gaze lifted to your face. He didn’t look as hostile as he had before. He just looked broken.

“I just came to get some clothes.” You said as calmly as you could with him looking at you like that. Dean made no movement to stop you so you walked over to the dresser and grabbed some shirts and a few pairs of jeans. Just enough for three days. You tried to make a quick exit, but Dean’s voice stopped you.

“Don’t.” Your hand fell away from the doorknob, now shaking nervously at your side.

“I told you I don’t want to waste the time I have fighting.” You sighed, almost afraid to turn around. You felt his hand on your shoulder and your solemn resolve crumbled.

“I won’t fight you.” He whispered. “Just stay here.” He slowly turned you around. Your eyes locked together and he pulled you into his arms. You reveled in his warmth. Less than 24 hours ago, he had been lying on that bed, his body cold and his eyes empty. You were sure nothing in the world would ever feel better than his embrace.

“Why did you have to do it, baby?” Dean cried, the crack in his voice shooting up through your heart. You pulled back, running your fingers through his chestnut hair.

“I told you, Dean. I need you alive. I can’t do this without you. Sam was barely holding on. I thought you were in hell. You were crying out for help. For me. It was my fault you were dead and I couldn’t live with it.”

“But I-”

“Shhh,” You hushed, pressing your forehead against his. “There’s nothing we can do about it now. Please, can we just be together? We’ve already wasted enough time and I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.” He promised, gently lifting your lips up to his.

8:30 A.M.

You and Dean got a few hours of sleep before cleaning up the room. Cas had finally arrived and pulled Dean into an awkward Cas-like hug.

“Sam told me what happened.” He looked at you disapprovingly. “I won’t be able to pull you out.”

“I know.”

“If there’s anything I can do…” Again, the angel felt so powerless to help his friends.

“Thanks Cas.” You kissed his cheek affectionately. You knew that there was nothing to be done and frankly, you didn't want to waste the precious time you had searching for a way out. You just wanted to be with your boys.

“How are you feeling this morning?” You fretted, instinctively putting your hands on Dean’s chest as if you were making sure there was a heartbeat. Dean put his hand on top of yours, holding it close to his heart.

“I’m not the one we need to worry about.” He wished that he could hold you there forever, but the clock was ticking fast. Only 63 and a half hours left.

“How about I make some breakfast?” You suggest cheerily. “We should still have some stuff for omelets and lots and lots of bacon.” You knew that your boyfriend couldn’t object to that.

You yanked him to the kitchen and connected your phone to Sam’s bluetooth speaker that Dean still called ‘new fangled tech’. Queen’s “Fat Bottomed Girls” started to play and you just couldn’t resist dancing. Dean was leaning against the fridge until you grabbed him and forced him to shimmy a little with you.

Dean’s laugh filled the kitchen as he spun you into him. He wrapped his arms around you from behind and you both rocked to the music. It was almost like nothing had happened. Like you were going to dance and laugh like this a week from now. The song ended and you felt Dean’s arm tighten around you. Neither of you said a word, but you knew that he was thinking the same thing. He didn’t want this to end either.

3:01 P.M

“So get this,” Sam set his laptop down in front of you. “Two missing persons reports in Kansas City. Witnesses described a strange woman stalking the house before the couple disappeared. They just found the husband yesterday… his heart ripped out.”

“Sam, you’re seriously looking for a case right now?” Dean snapped. You put a hand on his arm to calm him.

“No, this is perfect.”

“Y/N, you can’t be serious.”

“Dean, the best way to get our minds off of this is to go kill some evil son of a bitch.” Looking between the brothers your hearts swelled proudly. “What do you say, boys? One last hunt together.”

Dean wouldn’t argue with that. When he was on the fast track to the underworld, all he could do was waste as many monsters as possible. You had earned one more victory. Besides, it would distract you enough for him to make a call.

8:14 P.M.

The drive took roughly four hours and Dean even let you drive part of the way. The three of you agreed to hit the coroner’s office first and then head over to the couples’ house to see if the wolf had left any clues as to where it took them.

“You know what, we should just knock two birds with one stone.” Dean suggested. His girlfriend and his brother gave him a questioning look. “I’ll head to the house and you two go check out the body.”

“I guess so, but why?” You wondered. Dean shrugged.

“I just figured we could bust this thing tonight and be back home by morning.” He mainly needed enough time to call a certain reluctant ally.

“Sounds good to me.” You gave him a quick kiss before grabbing your pantsuit from the trunk. You and Sam quickly departed and Dean started walking to the suburbs where the couple lived. He pulled out his phone and waited for that grumpy accent to answer.

“What do you want?” Crowley barked, sounding especially annoyed.

“We’ve got to talk. I need you to undo a deal.”

“I’m sorry, you want me to what?”

“Y/N made a deal with one of your lackeys and I need you to erase it or whatever the hell it is you do.”

“That’s not how this works, Squirrel. You can’t just call me, making demands because your girlfriend is an idiot.” Crowley sounded like he was about to hang up, so Dean spoke quickly.

“What if it wasn’t a square deal?”

“We’re demons, you imbecile, nothing we do is ‘square’. Now don’t call me again.” The Crossroads King hung up before Dean got another word in.

“Damn it.” Crowley was Dean’s one shot at fixing this. For the time being, he channeled his frustration into investigating the house. On the other side of town, you and Sam finished up checking out the body and headed back to the impala.

“Hey Sam.” You said suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“I never said thank you for being there for me that night.” You leaned on the car’s hood. “You had just lost your brother and you didn’t hesitate to comfort me. I appreciated it.” Sam wrapped an arm around your shoulders for a side-hug.

“You’ve been there for me and my brother more times than I can count.” He kissed the top of your head. “I’ll never forget that.” You blinked rapidly, feeling the water works coming on.

“Damn it, Samuel, you’re ruining my tough bitch cover.” You laughed, fully hugging the younger Winchester. “Look after him for me, Sammy.” Sam didn’t respond, but you knew he would. It’s what Winchesters did best.

11:49 P.M.

Dean was able to trace the werewolf to a dive bar because of a dropped napkin. Due to the time of the moon cycle, you knew you were dealing with a pureblood so you’d have to be extra careful. With guns loaded with silver bullets, you strode in with a Winchester on each side.

It was pretty empty, but seeing as it was a dump that didn’t surprise you. What did surprise you was the woman who was supposed to be missing sitting in a corner booth. She was with another woman with a tattoo on her hand. A full moon.

“They make it so easy.” You muttered and started towards them.

The chase was always your favorite part of a hunt. Once you were out in the open, they turned. The pureblood must have turned the woman and fed her her husband’s heart. Gross. Sam and Dean went after the newbie but the pureblood was all yours.

You tackled her to the ground, pinning her down with all your strength. She struggled, but you had your gun on her quickly. She looked up at you with a smile full of fangs.

“You don’t have long.” She sneered. “I can smell the death radiating off of you.” You took aim at her heart.

“Yeah, well I’ll see you in hell, bitch.” You pulled the trigger and heard another shot from across the empty lot. Sam and Dean sauntered back towards you. This was just what you needed. One last hunt in the books before you punch your clock.

Sunday 6:40 P.M.

After a great night of hunting, you’d earned the right to sleep in. You lounged in bed with Dean while Sam left for coffee. Majorly craving cheeseburgers, you all stopped at a local dinger for a late lunch. It wasn’t until around 3:00 that you finally got on the road back to the bunker.

The sun was setting, giving everything a pretty orange hue. You were hogging all the beers since you were in the back seat and Dean was driving. The open road and the beautiful rumble of the engine made for the perfect combination.

“Wait, turn up the radio.” You cheered, hearing the beginning lines of “Drive Away” by Dobie Gray begin to play. Sam chuckled and turned up the volume. Reaching the chorus, you leaned forward, draping your arms over Dean’s seat, resting them on his chest. You all sang off key, but it didn’t matter.

“Give me the beat boys and free my soul! I wanna get lost in your rock n roll and drift away.”

It took a moment for the lyrics to sink into Dean’s head. Free my soul and drift away. Damn. As crazy as it sounded, maybe this was Baby’s goodbye to you. His smile was sad, but watching you grin, singing at the top of your lungs, he loved you more than he ever had before.

It was all perfect. From the sunset to Dean and Sam belting out the song with you, you couldn’t have imagined a better way to go. Even if you could go back, erase all of the loss and pain, live a life without hunting, you wouldn’t do it. No matter what, you would always pick this moment every time. Drifting away with your boys in the best car in the world.

10:00 P.M.

Dean was taking a shower and you were changing into your sexier pajamas. You wanted your last night to be perfect. You knew you would be gone before he woke up. The ringing of Dean’s phone caught your attention. Why was Crowley calling him? You decided to answer.

“Alright, I looked into the deal so you would stop bothering me about it.” Crowley said gruffly.

“What?” You tried to lower your voice so he couldn’t tell the difference.

“How stupid to you Winchesters get?” He snarked. “Your girlfriend’s deal. The one you wanted me to reverse?”

“Oh, um, right.” You stammered.

“Well like I told you before, I can’t just snap my fingers and undo what’s been done. The demon was clever in manipulating her dreams, I’m actually quite impressed.” You rolled your eyes. “Anyway, Y/N made the deal of her own free will, so it’s legitimate. Now seriously, never call me again.” He hung up abruptly and you felt your blood start to boil. Dean did what?

“Woah, you haven’t worn that in ages.” Dean smirked, coming out in his sweatpants, droplets of water still dotting his chest. You tossed his phone on the bed, giving him a death glare.

“You called Crowley…” You seethed. Dean’s smirk fell instantly.

“Yes.” He crossed his arms over his chest, daring you to argue.

“Dean, this isn’t a game of tug of war where we fight over who’s dying for who.” You mimicked his stance. “I made my bed. I know what I got myself into.”

“No, you don’t!” He shouted, voice echoing down the hall. He closed the door with a hard slam. “You have no idea what it’s going to be like.”

You watched his entire body tense and his eyes glazed over. This is not how you wanted this night to go. Dean was trying to keep it together, but the memories were too much.

“I remember every minute of it.” He wasn’t looking at you anymore. Rather, his eyes were focused behind you, staring into his past. “From the second the hell hound tore me up to Cas raising me out. I can’t get it out of my head, even after years of being out. It was agony.”

You screwed your eyes shut, but Dean crossed to you, holding your chin between his thumb and pointer finger to make you look at him. Tears had escaped onto his face now and his voice cracked as he continued.

“And then when I couldn’t take it anymore, I did it to other people. I tortured those poor souls to save myself. So if I thought there was a change to save you from that pain, I would take it without flinching.” This was different from your other fight. You weren’t hiding behind anger anymore. You could see the pain in his eyes and it was breaking your heart.

“I won’t pretend that I wasn’t selfish.” You sighed, taking his hands in yours. “I needed you back and I didn’t care how I got you. I knew that you would hate me for what I did, but it didn't matter. I had to get you back.”

Dean’s gaze fell to the floor and his voice dropped to a devastated whisper.

“How many more people have to die for me, baby?” He looked up again and for the first time, you regretted putting him through this. “How many more people do I have to lose?” He rested his forehead against yours and you draped your arms around his neck.

“Don’t think about that now. Let’s just have tonight.” You said, bringing your lips to his. You moved together, desperately savoring this moment knowing it would be your last.

Dean laid back on the bed and pulled you onto his lap. Your hands ran through his hair as you deepened the kiss. It was your last night to love him and you damn sure weren’t going to waste it.

Continue to The Last Toll

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination; @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl

Supernatural: @desimarie12; @deandreamernp; @vicmc624; @halesandy @livshaes; @d-whinchestergirl87

#dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #cas #supernatural iamgines #character death #demons #crowley #dean winchester #Jesnen Ackles #Jared Padalecki

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shijiujun · 4 years

Note

I LOVE your chuyao fics. I was wondering if you can write something about them being soulmates with soul marks. Another prompt is chuyao being soulmates but was never able to be together for different reasons, but in this lifetime, this is their chance. Time after Time. Life after Life. Their souls yearning to be together. LOVE you for sharing your fics.

Heya! Oh my god, this took FOREVER, I think about 3 months plus, but here it is, it’s a shorter one but ooof it’s my first soulmate/soulmark/reincarnation fic!

Summary: Lu Yao dies at the grand old age of 72 seated in his rocking chair, his hand clutching onto a photo of him and Chusheng, a man who died nearly 40 years ago without even saying goodbye to him. A man who had his soul mark, but didn’t tell him.

He remembers Qiao Chusheng fully when he sees him in what seems to be their next life the moment he lays his eyes on him.

“You’re the new roommate then?” asks Chusheng, standing at the door with only a towel wrapped around his waist. “Come on in.”

Warnings: Major character deaths (temporary!!!)

⬇⬇⬇

1965

An almost faded photo of him and Chusheng - the only one Lu Yao has - sits on the table next to a cup of steaming tea. Leaning into his rocking chair which is lined with thick fur to keep him warm in the dead of winter, Lu Yao reaches out with shaking hands to slide it over to him.

They were so young then, Chusheng in that lovely, gorgeous navy blue three-piece suit and himself in that red corduroy jacket and pants, a photo Youning took when they were not looking. Lu Yao can hardly remember what it was they were talking about that sunny afternoon, but as he closes his eyes, he thinks he can still feel the warm sunlight on his skin, the fresh scent of flowers and grass in the air as he stood right next to Chusheng.

And the smile in Chusheng's voice as he spoke to him.

One would think that at the ripe old age of 72, Lu Yao would have learnt to let things go, but the regret sits heavy in his chest — an unchanging weight that has lodged itself permanently between his heart and his ribcage, throbbing painfully with every breath he has taken in the last forty years.

Forty years, Lu Yao thinks.

Forty years since he laid eyes on the man he loved for the very last time. A man he never got to spend his life with, for which Lu Yao has regretted since.

As he aged, as the wrinkles sank deeper and sun spots emerged on his once-smooth and unblemished skin, Lu Yao can barely see his own soul mark anymore. The image of it however has been seared into his brain — a full moon right over his heart, just like the one he saw that night with Chusheng on the bridge, when they were both naive and hoping life was just that bit simpler, that time would pass just a little slower.

A full moon that was printed right over Chusheng’s heart, identical to Lu Yao’s.

Qiao Chusheng, Lu Yao blinks languidly, how dare you?

When Lu Yao finally saw it, when he finally realized that he had lost so much time he could have had with Chusheng because the man truly was his soulmate all along, Chusheng was no longer breathing.

I’m sorry, Liu Zi had said to him, his face ashen.

Lu Yao stood in the morgue, a place he had spent so much time with Chusheng in as the man watched him conduct multiple brief autopsies on their latest victims. Instead of an unknown face and body lying there this time, however, it was Chusheng.

By then, Lu Yao hadn’t seen Chusheng in three years, having fled to Paris to escape his family and a love that he thought would never be reciprocated.

He told us not to let you know, Youning said, her eyes swollen from a few hours of continuous tears, he wanted something better for you.

Well, Lu Yao thinks bitterly, Chusheng eliminated that 'better' option the moment he died, leaving him alone with regrets of all the things they never said to each other. And forty years later, he is old, dying and alone. No wife, no children, no family in sight.

If Youning didn’t force him to come live with her and her huge family a few years ago, Lu Yao might have died even sooner perhaps.

As it is, Youning and her husband are still alive. If Chusheng did not leave them so early, he would have been uncle to three lovely children and their children too. The manor is never quiet, the silence constantly punctuated with high-pitched giggles, raucous laughter and heavy footsteps. Hands, both big and small, patting or shaking at him to get his attention, asking him to tell them exciting stories of his days way back as a consulting detective.

Those days were his happiest. And after his soulmate left him, the most painful.

If only he had said something, if only he did not leave like a coward, if only Lu Yao had opened his fucking mouth and taken a leap of faith, he could have had a few more years with Chusheng, if not a lifetime.

Lu Yao has lived four, excruciating and long decades after as punishment, even though he’d thought about following after Chusheng too many times. Every glance at the soul mark on his chest makes the skin burn as his throat tightens, unable to breathe as the memory of Chusheng’s every word, his every smile and touch, assaults his senses.

The afternoon today is unnaturally lovely for this season, sunlight peeking through the dense clouds and casting a golden glow against the thick sheets of snow outside. Lu Yao is afraid of the cold and has dreaded every winter since Chusheng was buried, because the only person who loved him enough to ensure that he was always warmed up died forty years ago, taking along with him Lu Yao’s beating heart.

On this day, however, the biting winds don’t seem to bother him all that much. He left the door open earlier, and from where he’s seated, he can see the grand manor that is Youning and her soulmate’s home. Outside in the courtyard, Li Chuyu, Youning’s eldest daughter, is watching her two children and their three cousins tumble in the snow with Li Minsheng, Chuyu’s younger brother and Youning’s third child.

They grew up calling him San Tu shushu, and Lu Yao wonders what kind of an uncle Chusheng would have been. If Chusheng knew that Lu Yao spent most of his time buying expensive gifts for the children and agreeing to all their requests, including when Chuyu and her younger sister, Chuwen, begged him to bring them to a crime scene, Lu Yao knows Chusheng might have scolded him for it.

I wouldn’t have, Chusheng’s voice sounds in the back of his head.

Lu Yao smiles. Chusheng is standing right there next to him as he says that, dressed in the same navy blue suit from the photo in his hands.

“You wouldn’t have?” Lu Yao croaks before huffing in laughter, “You’re such a liar, Lao Qiao.”

How would I have had the heart to scold you, Chusheng points out, I would have scolded the children instead.

“Even I can’t bear to scold them,” Lu Yao says, sighing as he looks out again. “Minsheng reminds me of you. And the way Chuwen nags at me sometimes, it’s as if you were around when they were growing up.”

They grew up well, Chusheng agrees.

Lu Yao feels the slightest of pressure on his shoulder, but he no longer has any energy to turn and look at Chusheng.

San Tu ah, Chusheng says softly, you did well.

“Did I?” asks Lu Yao, shuddering as he takes in another breath. “I lost you.”

Stupid, and there it is, that exasperated but immensely fond tone that Lu Yao has not heard in so long, you’ll never lose me.

Lu Yao chuckles, and for the first time since he saw Chusheng’s lifeless body, that weight in his chest eases.

Much later, when little Ruoyun runs into the little hut that serves as San Tu yeye’s private study, she sees the old man asleep on his rocking chair. Her baba and gugu are there, their eyes puffy and red, and Youning nainai is there as well, seated on a stool right next to San Tu yeye.

“Nainai! I want to ask yeye about something,” Ruoyun says quietly, coming inside. “Is yeye sleeping?”

She goes to Youning when the old woman opens her arms, wondering why everyone is crying.

“Ruoyun ah,” Youning nainai says, “Your San Tu yeye went to find your Chusheng yeye.”

“Chusheng yeye? The one who has San Tu yeye’s mark?”

Clutched tight in his right hand is the photo she took so many years ago of Chusheng and Lu Yao, his fingers curled around it as he left.

===

2019

He remembers Qiao Chusheng fully when he sees him in what seems to be their next life the moment he lays his eyes on him.

“You’re the new roommate then?” asks Chusheng, standing at the door with only a towel wrapped around his waist. “Come on in.”

Lu Yao stands frozen in the doorway for a good few seconds, his eyes trained on his new roommate as everything clicks in his head, all the missing pieces sliding together perfectly in his head as images of a different looking Qiao Chusheng melds together with the one before him.

For as long as Lu Yao could remember, he has dreamt of himself and his soulmate, but differently. Snippets and snatches of moments that belonged to a different time, and when he was younger, his mother would bring him to doctors and psychologists to see what exactly was ailing him but Lu Yao continued having the dreams. He learnt instead to hide them from his family and friends.

He did wonder if he was going insane, or if there was something wrong with him, but while the dreams were frequent when he was much younger, once he entered high school, they only turned up occasionally. In university, Lu Yao could almost pretend he was normal and that everything he dreamt of and saw was simply a figment of his imagination.

A man in an old police uniform, driving an old, vintage car. The same man putting a watch on his wrist. The man in a long, black cape on one occasion, in a leather jacket on a few other occasions, and the one that surfaced frequently was him in a three-piece navy blue suit. Lu Yao never heard any sort of dialogue, but he remembers the man’s gentle eyes, full of fondness for him and the smile tugging at his lips whenever he looks at Lu Yao.

Looking at him like he loves him. The same soul mark on the man’s chest, right where Lu Yao’s is.

A full moon, like the one he and Qiao Chusheng, in their past life, was looking at that night. Lu Yao remembers that night as clearly as if it was a recurring dream.

And right here, right now, Lu Yao’s breath catches, because his new roommate’s soul mark is there for everyone to see, fresh from his shower.

It matches the soul mark on Lu Yao’s chest, and for a moment, he feels nauseous and sick.

“Hey, are you okay?” Chusheng frowns, stepping forward. “You look a little sick, are you-“

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because Lu Yao bends over, and empties his stomach right on the man’s doorstep.

—

When his mind is clearer and the urge to throw up has abated somewhat, Lu Yao feels like throwing himself into the river and be done with it.

His soulmate, his one and only true love, and Lu Yao just made him clean up his mess. Most people would be happy to find their soulmates, he knows, but right now, Lu Yao is petrified. His cheeks are scalding hot with embarrassment as he lies there unmoving on the couch after Chusheng helped him there.

“Lu Yao, isn’t it?” Chusheng’s voice sounds right next to him then, and Lu Yao jolts. “Man-jie said you were coming over today.”

“I’m Qiao Chusheng. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”

Ah, Lu Yao thinks, even his name is the same.

Lu Yao suspects that he’s truly gone off the bend, because what are the fucking odds? Soulmates and soul marks are the order of the natural world, but reincarnation, prophetic dreams, fate and what not? That’s something you only see out of movies.

Shaking his head in mortification, Lu Yao croaks, “I was feeling a little under the weather from the long train ride. I’m a doctor, I’m fine.”

Then, “I’m really sorry about the door.”

“No worries. You’re a doctor at Jiahui International? That’s four streets away from here,” Chusheng smiles.

Lu Yao feels his dumb, traitorous heart leap at the sight of those curved lips.

“Yeah, this is the closest place I could find,” Lu Yao swallows. “You… What do you do?”

“I work at the precinct, it’s seven blocks away in the other direction,” Chusheng answers.

A police officer, Lu Yao thinks, just like…

Just like before.

“It’s almost time for dinner and I’ve got some ingredients in the fridge,” Chusheng says suddenly, getting to his feet. “Are you allergic to anything? I’ll do some seafood porridge and two light dishes.”

“Ah, you don’t have to go to the trouble-“

Lu Yao tries to get to his feet, but Chusheng pats at his shoulder, signalling for him to just lie down and take a good rest.

“Consider it a welcome dinner,” he winks. “I haven’t had many roommates that throw up right on the door the first time we meet.”

Lu Yao’s cheeks flame immediately and the nausea recedes momentarily. He’s not sure if he can manage without throwing up again, so he obeys and lies there, almost drifting off to the sound of Chusheng in the kitchen.

It feels as if he’s split into two - one part of him remembers another Qiao Chusheng from a long, long time ago, and the other part of him has met his own Qiao Chusheng now. Are they one and the same? If they are, it doesn’t seem as if this Qiao Chusheng suffers from the same dreams as he does, because the man didn’t even pause one bit at the sight of him earlier.

Smiling to himself a little, Lu Yao knows all he has is time. If the dreams are from a past life, a past life of love unfulfilled and soulmates who were doomed to part, then in this one, in this life…

Lu Yao will never let him go again.

He’s interrupted from his thoughts when a steaming hot bowl of porridge appears in front of him, and the scent has his stomach growling loudly.

“You’re too skinny,” Chusheng says, sitting down on the coffee table as he moves the bowl closer to Lu Yao. “Are all doctors as skinny as you are?”

“Have you seen a lot of doctors?”

Lu Yao asks, then grabs for the bowl thankfully as he sits up. His hand touches Chusheng’s unintentionally right at that moment, and Lu Yao draws in a sharp breath and jerks, as if the contact burnt him.

Chusheng is staring at him with an indescribable expression on his face.

Damn it, Lu Yao did not think so far earlier, how he would tell Qiao Chusheng that he has a matching mark on his own chest. He didn’t think the connection would be this strong either — in his dreams, he doesn’t recall this ever happening, otherwise maybe Lu Yao in the past would have gotten a clue, considering how often Qiao Chusheng touched him.

Quietly, as if entranced, Chusheng reaches out. His fingers lightly trail over the spot where Lu Yao’s soul mark should be, hidden underneath his shirt.

“… here?” he asks, eyes wide. “The same?”

Setting the bowl on the table next to Chusheng, Lu Yao unbuttons the top few buttons on his shirt, his fingers hesitant and a little clumsy. His cheeks are tinged slightly in red and even though he knows this is his soulmate, the man he's destined to spend the rest of his life with, this Qiao Chusheng is new to him.

“You didn’t say anything earlier when you saw mine,” Chusheng swallows, Lu Yao’s soul mark visible to him now.

“I was busy throwing up at your door,” reminds Lu Yao, and then because it’s a little ticklish, he grasps at Chusheng’s straying hand.

The grip brings Chusheng back to the present, but nothing can prepare Lu Yao for the wide, gorgeous smile that emerges on Chusheng’s face.

"You mean... our door," Chusheng replies cheekily.

It takes Lu Yao's breath away.

“Here, eat up, and we should… we should talk,” Chusheng says, already sounding like a naggy motherhen as he picks up the bowl again.

He watches a little reverently, so quiet as he watches Lu Yao eat, not forgetting to pick up some vegetables and meat from the two other dishes he cooked and place them in Lu Yao’s bowl whenever it looks a little empty.

Perhaps this Chusheng will never remember, Lu Yao wonders, it’s too soon to tell.

One thing is for certain — the way this Chusheng looks at him, and the way the past Qiao Chusheng looked at Lu Yao… it is exactly the same.

“What do you like to eat? I’ll do some grocery shopping later,” Chusheng suggests.

Lu Yao smiles then, remembering all the times this man bought breakfast and meals for him in a lifetime that is not his own.

“We can go together,” he says.

They have the rest of this life to figure it out.

#my roommate is a detective #mriad #chuyao #民国奇探 #ahhhh kind of back from writing hiatus i guess?#this has been in my askbox forever #sorry anon #thank you anon #soulmate!au #soulmark!au #reincarnation #fic

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so-inlove-with-robin-steve-eddie · 2 years

Text

In The Middle Of The Upside Down And No Where To Go

Vampire!Eddie munson x fem reader one shot

summary: who knew that accidentally finding Eddie Munson in the Upside Down all bloody and confused would be one good thing that went right about your day.

warnings: fluff/ angst, reader crushes on Eddie, blood, cannon violence. talk of injury/wounds ( let me know if i missed any)

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE PUBLISHED/COPIED OR TRANSLATED TO ANY OTHER SITE! thank you now enjoy

She hadn't known what was behind her she didn't want to know but it was to late,she could hear it and now she knew it was there. She was gathering the strength to come to terms that shes gonna have to kill what ever is behind her but once she turned around she was met with His face.. his beautiful face all the feelings from high school come back she had a big fat crush on Eddie. She knew she couldn't kill him. I mean look at him how could she with his big curls and his big chocolate brown doe like eyes she could easily melt into when he looks at her. She just couldn't even if she wanted to. She gave him a look over his clothes all covered in dry blood. he looked horrible but to her he looked perfect. Hes seen better days yes,but he was still perfect.

Eddie didn't know how she got down there he was shocked when he woke up and just started to walk not knowing what to do and then he saw YOU. you of all people he may be in hell and just got eaten alive by Demo-bats then have his friends leave him there in the middle of the upside down to die only knowing about this place for about 72 hours roughly but god has sent him an angle. A sign that he'll be okay eventually. " I was eaten alive by Demo-bats and then woke up alone,cold and hungry. You stood there connecting the dots. Demo-bats. "woke up". cold. hungry. Eddies words repeating themselves in your head before it finally clicked Eddie is a vampire.

"E-eds" you say shakily you reach up to feel his pulse and Nothing nothing.. it took him a minute to understand what you were doing but he finally put the pieces together. Once he realized he could tell that every one of his senses was heightened he could hear your pulse,smell the blood in your veins. he reaches out and grabs your waist and pulls you into him his new found strength making you gasp and your heart to flutter " sorry sweetheart" Eddie muttered. you just hug him back he tensed expecting pain from his wounds but was happily welcomed by none Eddie pushes away slightly to look at all his injury's but found none only fresh scarring. speed healing. well thats new too.

You blushed harshly at Eddie for practically flashing you his abs you pull his shirt back down and go back to hugging him and holding him letting the un-shed tears spill over and over on to his shoulder he holds you tight knowing you were just as scared as him but he was just happy he wasn't alone and even better hes with you his best friend his everything His girl. he buries his face in the top of your head he inhales deep even though your hair was from what happened to you and how the fuck you got there stuck with him. He could smell your lavender and strawberry shampoo you used getting ready this morning thinking that today would have been a normal day but who knew that accidentally finding Eddie Munson in the Upside Down would be that best thing that ever happened to you and you're happy that even though your day was Horrifying it ended in eddies arms all bloody,scared,traumatized and hungry with No Where To Go

THE END

#eddie munson #eddie the freak munson #vampire eddie au #eddie st4 #x female reader #x reader #eddie my beloved

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beelsnack · 4 years

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Hey there! Love your Writing!! Can I request Some HC/Drabbles on the brothers and Diavolo comforting a Mc(GN) That Struggles with Migraines? (Thank you in advance if you do!)

Aw, thanks Nonnie!

I get migraines pretty frequently, so I’m pretty sure I’ve got headcanons lined up already, lol.

Content Warning: Mild description of vomit. Nothing graphic, but migraines be nasty.

(Side note: I guess these are kind of a mix between headcanons and drabbles, huh? Maybe I should combine them. Drabcanons? Headrabbles? I kind of like headrabbles.)

Lucifer: They hadn’t come down for dinner.

Usually, if they were planning on skipping dinner, they let at least one of the brothers know. But nobody had heard a sound from them after they had finished up their classes at RAD, and they weren’t answering texts or calls.

Lucifer climbed up the stairs leading to the second floor, already formulating a lecture. Tardiness would not be tolerated, neither at RAD or at home, it would reflect poorly on Diavolo if the exchange student suddenly developed a habit of skipping out of obligations, how dare they make him worry -

He was just about to knock on their door when he heard a soft noise from inside. It sounded like a whimper.

He stilled, pressing his ear against the wood of the door. There it was again. Definitely a whimper, longer this time, laced with pain. His heart seized at the sound, and without thinking he stepped inside.

The human had burrowed beneath their blankets and had pressed a pillow over their head.If it wasn’t for the lights strung up along their headboard, Lucifer would have just assumed the human hadn’t made their bed.

They whined again, spurring Lucifer in to action.

He called out their name. “What’s wrong?”

A pathetic whimper was his only response, and he swallowed down the lump of panic that was beginning to rise in his throat. He crossed the room in three big strides before kneeling beside their bed. There was a small gap between the blankets and pillow, and he could see the way their brow was furrowed, how their eyes were squeezed shut, the thin sheen of sweat that shined over their skin.

As though they could feel his gaze, they cracked open eye and managed to groan, “Too bright.”

Lucifer flicked his gaze over to the soft lights strung up along their headboard. They were so low that even he had a hard time seeing anything in detail. If they thought those were to bright...ah.

“A migraine, huh?”

He didn’t bother waiting for the human’s strained “Mhm,” before reaching behind the night stand where the outlet was. Suddenly, what little light there had been was gone, leaving only the slight glow from the hallway.

“Better?” he asked softly, gently reaching beneath the pillow to wipe their sweat-drenched hair away from their face.

“...Yeah...” they sighed, the crease in their brow easing slightly. “Thank you...”

“Of course.” Their eyes were already beginning to slip closed as he stood. “I’ll get you some water and let you rest.”

He was pretty sure they had passed out before he finished speaking. Which is why he allowed himself the small indulgence of placing a kiss on their forehead before he left.

Mammon: It seemed to come out of nowhere. One minute, they were walking through the halls at RAD killing time until their next class. The next, they were crying out like they had been stabbed, falling to their knees and clutching their head.

Immediately, he was beside them. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? What happened?”

They were trying to respond, he could tell, but all that was coming out were short, staccato breaths that ended on a pained moan. He could see tears welling up in the corner of their eyes.

A crowd was beginning to form around them. Curious whispers and hushed gossiping echoed through the hall, and Mammon instinctively scratched his claws along the marble floor to attempt to keep his cool.

They had mentioned something like this before, hadn’t they? That sometimes they got these blinding headaches that left them completely incapacitated for at least the rest of the day?

“Hey,” he took their face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs soothingly along their jaw. Damn all the demons that had gathered around them, he had his priorities. “It’s okay, I’m right here, I gotcha.”

He vaguely remembered them saying something about light sensitivity. Honestly, this probably wasn’t going to do anything, but he plucked his sunglasses from where they were hung on his uniform and slipped them over their face. “I’m going to get you to the Student Council lounge, okay? Can you walk?”

After a few deep, shuddering breaths, they managed to stand. Mammon didn’t liek the way they were swaying on their feet, however, so, with a click on his tongue, he scooped them up bridal style. The buried their face against the column of his neck without complaint, and that was when he knew they were really in pain.

“Everything’s okay, your first man’s gonna take care of ya.”

Levi: It was obvious the human wasn’t feeling well. They had their right eye squeezed shut, just barely watching the anime through their left. Every time Luminous-chan started her transformation scene, they were cringe at the sudden flash. He swore he even heard them whimper a little bit.

“Why are you still here?” wait, no, that came out wrong. “I-I mean, like, if you feel sick or something, we can watch it later. You’re not even really paying attention!”

They winced at the volume of his voice, and Levi internally cursed himself. “Seriously, go lie down if you feel sick. I don’t want your normie germs.”

Another bright, intensely colorful scene started, and Levi belatedly realized that he probably should at least pause it.

They slumped their head against the back of the couch. They seemed to relax just a little bit without the noise. “Being in your room helps.”

“Eh?” Levi looked at them incredulously. “Why would it help?”

“The blue lights don’t hurt as much, and it’s nice and cool in here.” they muttered. “But I can leave if you really want me to.”

“N-No!” this time, both of them winced at his volume.

“You can stay here.” his voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ll just...use my headphones or whatever. You take a nap.”

Satan: With all the things that can go wrong with the human body, the species should have died out a millennia ago.

They were currently holed up in their room, trying to stave off the throbbing headache with Excedrin and sheer willpower. Satan, feeling particularly useless, was doing what he did best - research.

Obviously there were no books on human medical conditions in the Devildom, so that had led him to the internet.

“Aura? Migraines can affect your vision?” he muttered to himself, scrolling down further. “They can cause nausea? ‘May last up to 72 hours?!’“

No wonder the human wanted to be left alone. He would be in a foul mood too.

Asmo: “You know, I’m usually thrilled when my partner wakes up looking like they spent the night tumbling around, but something tells me this wasn’t nearly as enjoyable.”

They were a hot mess. Their usually neat uniform was rumpled, and they hadn’t quite been able to get the last button done right. Harsh, almost bruise-like bags stood out against their skin, which had taken on a sickly pallor.

Joking aside, Asmo didn’t like how the human looked. “What’s the matter, darling?”

They plopped down on Asmo’s bed next to him, letting him fuss with their hair. “I definitely feel a migraine coming on.”

His fingers paused in their ministrations before beginning to massage gently at their scalp. “Poor thing, why are you even up?”

“Because Lucifer will flay me alive and use my pelt to decorate his office if I skip classes.” they shot back, and Asmo was glad to see they still had their snark even though they looked dead on their feet.

“Darling, it’s not skipping if your brain in trying to escape your skull.” he stood, running his long fingers through their hair one more time and quite enjoying how they leaned into the touch. “Now, let me take care of Lucifer, you get some rest.”

“Can I stay here?” they asked, rubbing at their temple. Asmo giggled.

“Well, I’m certainly not going to turn you away from my bed.” he flicked the lights off on his way out. “There’s an eye mask in the drawer next to the lube.”

Beelzebub: The two of them had a routine. Friday night, Beel would go to the gym, come home, and they would hang out in their room and watch so-bad-they’re-good horror movies until they fell asleep.

Since this was an every week thing, Beel didn’t even think to text them and tell them he was coming over. They usually left their door unlocked when they were home anyway.

There was no answer when he knocked, which seemed strange. They were usually here at this point. Maybe something had come up? But they would have let him know, surely. A frown tugged at his lips as he tested the doorknob. Unlocked.

Slowly, he opened the door, calling out to them. “Are you in here?”

A few seconds of silence ticked by. Beel was about to call again when he heard a gagging noise coming from their bathroom. He peered a little farther in and saw the light from the bathroom spilling into the room. They hadn’t even been able to close the door.

Concern washed over him, but he was pretty sure barging into the bathroom while they were sick wouldn’t help matters. He carefully shut the bedroom door behind him. “I’m coming in okay?”

“N-No, don’t -” another gag cut them off. Beel winced in sympathy as he entered the bathroom.

The sight made him want to cry. They were clinging onto the toilet, half slumped to the floor. Their pajama shorts were all twisted around, and Beel could see red marks from where the human had been kneeling against the floor tiles. Tears were streaming down their cheeks as they took deep breaths in an attempt to fight off the nausea.

Beel knelt down next to them, and they didn’t even have the energy to protest when he swept some of their sweaty hair out of their face. “Did you eat something bad?”

They shook their head, then squeezed their eyes shut. “No...it’s a migraine.”

Beel frowned. “I thought migraines were headaches.”

“They make you nauseated, too.” they muttered, reaching up to flush the contents of their stomach down the toilet. “Sorry, I should have let you know...”

He placed a large hand on their back and they sighed, letting his presence stabilize them.

“It’s okay.” he said, rubbing small circles along their spine. “Isn’t there a drink that helps with upset stomachs?”

“Ginger ale.” they supplied, voice going a bit hoarse. “I’m pretty sure they don’t have it in the Devildom, though.”

“There might be some at that convenience store near The Fall. I could go check.” he stood up, almost instinctively reaching down to scoop them up before pausing. “Do you still feel sick?”

“No, it’s passing. I’m just super tired.” they reached out towards Beel, and he proceeded with the scooping.

“I won’t be long.” he promised as he deposited them on the bed.

“Don’t get distracted by all of the yummy snacks, okay?” they teased, and he smiled a little.

“I make no guarantees.”

Belphegor: He could practically see the irritation rolling off of them.

Movie night was always a garbage fire, but tonight was particularly bad. It had been nearly an hour and they were still arguing over what movie to watch, Mammon and Asmo had nearly come to blows, and Beel was sitting on his own island of pop cans and empty bags of popcorn.

Usually, they found the brothers’ antics amusing, but tonight, Belphegor saw murder in their eyes. And as much as he would delight in seeing his big brothers get fucking wrecked by a human, dealing with the cleanup would be a complete hassle.

“Are you feeling okay?” he leaned in to whisper. They blinked hard a few times, trying to clear their vision.

“I already felt like I was going to get a migraine,” they gritted their teeth as they spoke. “But this definitely isn’t helped.”

Belphie hummed in agreement. “Yeah, I can’t imagine it is. Think they’ll notice if we bow out?”

There was the sound of glass shattering as someone threw a couch pillow and either missed horrendously or hit precisely what they were aiming at. It was hard to tell.

“I think we’ll be fine.”

Chuckling, Belphie grabbed their hand and led them out of the living room. Of course the only one who saw them was Beel, and Belphie merely made a shushing gesture and nodded his head towards the staircase. The older twin nodded and went back to his munching without any fuss, bless his big, fluffy heart.

The human trudged after Belphie, already worn out. They walked past their room, so they assumed they were going to the twins’ room. But they passed that too.

“Belphie, where are we going?”

He stopped them at the base of the attic stairs. “Someone will just barge in if we go to one of our rooms. Nobody will think about up here, though.”

If their head wasn’t pounding, they would have asked if Belphie was okay going back into the room that had basically been his prison cell for a year. But, their head was pounding, and they didn’t have the energy to question his logic. So up to the attic they went.

It was blissfully dark in the attic. Belphie yawned as he made his way over to the bed and flopped down.

“Come on, I think we both need a nap.”

“It’s late, isn’t this just going to bed at this point?” they wiggled into bed next to Belphie anyway, snuggling deeper into the blankets as he hugged them close.

“The human doth protest too much. Shut up and go to sleep.”

Diavolo: It was irrational, he knew. The human had a migraine, not the Black Death. But still, worry and uncertainty chased each other around his skull like rabid beasts until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Lord Diavolo?” Lucifer looked shocked to see him as he entered. “Did we have a meeting for tonight?”

“No, no, don’t worry.” he grinned. “I heard our little human friend had to leave RAD early due to a migraine, and I wanted to see how they were feeling, is all.”

Lucifer raised one delicate eyebrow, and Diavolo knew he was blushing. He had grown rather attached to the human, probably more than he should have, considering the circumstances.

“They’re resting right now.” he nodded towards the stairs. “I’m not sure it would be wise to disturb them.”

“Disturb who?”

Both demons turned to look as the human came out of the hallway that led to the kitchen. Aside from their sleep-heavy eyes and the occasional roll of their neck, they looked just fine.

“Oh, Lord Diavolo!” they smiled.

“Well, you look much better than this afternoon.” he hoped the relief in his voice wasn’t too obvious. Based on the look Lucifer shot him, it was.

They nodded. “That medicine you gave me worked wonders! Better than anything I ever took in the human world. Thank you so much.”

“Think nothing of it.” his grin softened into something warm, something he knew was professionally inappropriate to feel towards a human exchange student. “I’m glad I could help.”

#shall we date obey me #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me diavolo

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happenedinkingsman · 4 years

Text

𝐓𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞

Pairing: Merlin x reader

Summary: Y/N contemplates her entire career at Kingsman on the floor of Stateman’s surgery room, after a particularly difficult surgery she performed on a certain agent

Warning: Description of surgery, swearing if you squint your eyes

Words: 1.5 k

Y/N kept laying on the Statesman’s surgery room’s floor, even after three different agents had come by to see if she had aid to get to her room, or desired a change of clothes. Polite as ever, she declined every time, shaking her head a little, making everyone else grow irritated while she just rested there, smiling slightly.

It had been a long and god-awful surgery. And Y/N had had their share on long and awful surgeries, this one was easily the worst. Not only because her feet were basically screaming form pain and her neck was cramping after the 16 hours of complications and near-death experiences, but mostly because who she was trying to save.

Really, it was only a matter of time, before he’d go and pull something so heroic and stupid like he now did. She had always told Merlin how one day he’d be hanging from a thread on the surgery bed.

“Lucky me then, I have the best surgeon in the world to save me,” He’d answer cheekily, earning a slap to his chest from Y/N.

Now, he was wheeled into another part of the med wing, mostly in one piece minus one limb.

Y/N hadn’t realized it before, always too busy with her work in the med bay to see what was right in front of her the whole time. She always considered herself to be married to her job, as did all the other agents as well. Drilled into their minds that working for Kingsman was certainly not a position to mix business and pleasure, made Y/N forget any kind of possibility to find love.

She was stupid not seeing it before when it was so obvious. Immediately after she switched from her position from the central hospital to Kingsman (being noticed by Arthur after she saved a child’s life with a juice box straw and a bottle of whiskey) she and Merlin had clicked, bonding over the work off-field. Whenever they’d wheel in an injured agent, he’d wish her good luck although everyone in the whole department knew she could handle almost any injury.

After a while, he’d begin to bring her coffee in the morning, in exchange Y/N would leave him tea on his desk, as she always came to work before him. Sometimes she’d leave a note, with a stupidly hilarious comment of the work she’d have that day, never failing at making Merlin chuckle.

Indeed, Y/N had been a complete idiot, not seeing how much she loved the adorable man in the chair. That was most likely the reason she was so dead set on getting Merlin out of that surgery room alive. He had in a way saved her life when the attacks had hit their homes. Defying orders, Merlin hadn’t put Y/N’s address into the database, for reasons the woman did not know. Not yet at least.

But it had saved her life, and now she had hopefully saved his.

“Gaius”, Agent Tequila greeted Y/N as she finally managed to peel herself off of the surgery room’s floor. She smiled at him tiredly, noticing how Eggsy and Harry were also in the room waiting for her. Knowing she must have been in the surgery room for at least an hour plus the seventeen hours before, it made her beyond happy to think the two had waited for her, patiently in the lobby.

Harry got up from his seat, hugging Y/N shamelessly. She hugged him back, burying her face into her chest, still not completely used to him being back.

“You did marvelous job darling,” He praised, speaking softly. Y/N just smiled. “So far at least, he’s alright.”

“I’m glad,” Understatement. She was more than that, there wasn’t most likely enough words to describe how glad Y/N was right now.

Eggsy smiled his goofy lop sided smile, pulling Y/N into a hug as well. He made a pretend scowl when she hugged him back.

“Yeah, you really were there for 17 hours,” Eggsy joked. “You need a shower.”

Y/N chuckled and hit his bicep after pulling away from the hug.

“Your girlfriend alright?” She asked, a hint of worry in her voice. Eggsy nodded, smiling contently and dug his hands into the front pockets of his trousers.

“Damsel de-stressed do to speak,” He said humorously, although everyone could see the rock being rolled off of his chest. Y/N had been so busy with getting Merlin out of Poppy’s secret lair without him completely bleeding out on her hands she hadn’t had time to comfort Eggsy. Or anyone for that matter.

“Right”, Y/N stepped back a little, playing with her hands. “I think Eggsy’s right, I do need a shower.”

“I’ll come by to check on him, after?”

“Don’t rush”, Harry warned her, knowing how little rest Y/N had gotten during the past 72 hours. Y/N smiled and nodded, walking back to the other direction and towards the room she was given.

Y/N looked after Merlin, not trusting anyone else at Statesman to do the job. She knew the doctors were talented, surely. They were working for an agent corporation, but still, she couldn’t quite place the life of the most important person she knew into someone else’s hands. Not after she had had to cauterize his wound so he wouldn't bleed out and then cut him open once again to remove any infected flesh.

No, she couldn't let go of him, quite yet.

Merlin had been sedated for the past week. Y/N wanted to give his body some time to begin the healing process, also it would lessen the pain he was most likely going to have to endure for the next month or so.

For the first time since she joined the Kingsman, Y/N shamelessly walked around the Statesman HQ just in sweats and a thick sweater. After everything that had happened, the woman quite literally said fuck it when she had changed out of her surgeon gown. She had been almost been nuked by a terrorist, as of now, out of all the things she was worried about, what Y/N decided to wear was most likely the least important one.

Y/N walked down the same, familiar hallway towards the infirmary, holding a cup of coffee in her hand. In her left hand, she messaged Galahad, telling him she was once again checking up on Merlin.

It was a bummer that neither Y/N nor Merlin could go to Eggsy’s and Tilde’s wedding, but it was better for her to lay low for a bit and Merlin to just get better. Eggsy, of course, understood this, but still threatened to come over and throw another reception party at Statesman, if Y/N couldn’t bring her ass to England to see them soon. His words, not Y/N’s.

“Hey”, Y/N briefly greeted another doctor, who was checking up on a field agent. From what she could see through the small crack of the curtain, he seemed to have quite a few bruises and most likely a broken nose. Nothing too bad.

Y/N turned to Merlin, after making sure the curtain was fully pulled in front of the bed for maximum privacy. The heart monitor gave out reassuring and steady beeps, while Y/N checked for Merlin’s IV and other vitals. They had decided to stat gradually lowering the propofol, so Merlin could begin to wake up on his own. A couple of times, Y/n had caught him mumbling something incoherent in his sleep, signalizing that he had begun to dream. It was a good sign, as then she knew he had begun to wake up slowly.

“Hey you,” She eventually sat down beside the bed. Merlin looked a lot better than she had a week ago, that’s for sure. His face was much more colored, not hollow and grey anymore. His fingers didn’t feel as cold either.

“What are you dreaming about?” Y/N spoke again, as Merlin mumbled something so lowly sh couldn't understand. She smiled and placed her hand on his forehead to make sure he had no fever. He didn’t.

Y/N left her hand there, gently stroking his head with her hand.

“You’re going to be alrigh-”

“Y/N?” She sat up straighter when she recognized her own name form the middle of the mambo Jambo Merlin was murmuring about. Y/N gently grabbed his hand, squeezing it slightly.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Y/N could almost see a hint of a smile, trying to tug the corner of his lips. She leaned a bit closer, trying to figure out what he was saying.

“What is it?” She asked softly, squeezing his hand again, selfishly trying to keep him awake. Instead of speaking again, Merlin grasped her hand, ever so slightly squeezing it. Y/N chucked, squeezing back with glossy eyes.

“I’m going to take care of you”, she said, softly stroking his cheek with her free hand. “I promise.”

---

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