#i feel like gore might try to do it with her at one point but just. immediately falls over or something

[wanders-in-stars]

"Hey, Tamar," Gore began, "are you familiar with this thing called a chair? Y'know, what most people sit on, instead of tables." She didn't answer the merc; only gave him a wide, wolfish grin. Even in human form, her incisors seemed a little too long, a little too sharp. It should have been disturbing. Yet somehow, it wasn't.

#skyrim #skyrim gore #skyrim oc #oc: tamar #just headcanoning things: tamar hardly ever uses chairs.. let alone uses them PROPERLY #like she'll sit on the backrest instead of the seat #i feel like gore might try to do it with her at one point but just. immediately falls over or something #heavy armour is NOT conducive to delicate balancing acts #poor boy doesn't know she's using alteration magic to do it #meanwhile tamar's laughing her antlers off as she helps haul him to his feet; prolly with telekinesis to show off some more #gore just shakes his head and mutters something about mages before going to lean against the wall instead; much less precarious lol #anyway can you tell im obsessed with the dynamics i envision for these two #like c'mon they're literally a wolf and a raven.. it's perfect #and when he joked about wanting a fire enchantment on his sword she was like “k bet” and put TWO on it lmao; upfront damage & lingering #they're such a perfect duo in combat too; gore tanks while Mar keeps back & buffs/heals him while also debuffing & poisoning the foe #and when she's in werewolf form.... yeah between the two of them nothing lasts more than 3 seconds tops #it's glorious

[thisismeracing]

Charlieverse | CL16

― Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader ― Word count: 2.1k ― Warnings: mentions of alcohol and Halloween costumes (clowns, werewolves, and others).  ― Summary: When Yn decided to go to a Halloween party with her best friend, Charles Leclerc, she did not consider that some of the fantasies would be so close to reality that they would terrify her. But one thing Yn had no idea about too, was Charles’ feelings for her. All Hallow’s Eve is not the most romantic scenario to confess your feelings, but it might be just the perfect one for them.

▸ my masterlist | my taglist | patreon guide ▸ you can support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece), or buying me a coffee

There are many sayings about how sharing is caring, and how life feels bigger and better when you do so.

Charles knew this all too well.

He was used to sharing everything with you since he was a kid.

It all started after you forgot your snack at home. He was only five years old then, but he had two brothers so he knew exactly what to do. Little Charles offered to share his bag of colored goldfish and grapes with you. The next day you shared your coloring pencils with him. It started with simple things, and it grew as you both grew older. All through the school years, Charles and you were inseparable, even with his crazy racing schedule. You would take notes for him, he would bring you stories, and you would study together until late hours. You shared your fears, deepest feelings, and even the shame of being underdressed when invited to a party such as now.

“I had no idea people would go this hard,” you state, watching as the Taxi driver came to a halt in front of the big doors. Gathered in front of the mansion were people dressed as all kinds of gore Halloween beings, some of the makeup seeming too real to your liking.

“We can go back home and change if you want,” there’s Charles' tranquil voice. He is always the one to keep his patience even if the world is ending, and you love that about him.

You shake your head, “We would never find something else in time, plus, we’re together, so… here’s to another good story,” you point to your matching costumes, and Charles smiles.

You’re both wearing Spiderman costumes. Though it felt like the best choice, the easiest one, you should have guessed it was too easy and, therefore, not ideal.

Charles gives you one last wink before putting on his mask. You do the same just as he opens the door for you, and hand in hand you walk through the crowd into the house. You cling to your best friend’s arm trying to stay as far away as possible from some of the costumes.

“You sure you’re ok over there?” Charles asks when you’re halfway to the kitchen, and you tighten your grip on his hand.

You nod, “Yeah, just.. That werewolf costume seems too realistic.” And there’s no need for you to explain to him. He knows you like he knows the back of his hand, his favorite track, his most played song. Charles knows that someone planted a seed of fear about some creatures when you were little, and some of the stories have stayed with you even after you grew. It is a bit curious how despite your fears, you still love Halloween, at least the kind of parties you go to where people will dress in a way that clearly shows that they are human beings and meant no harm.

Were you supposed to guess that a certain crazy clown costume was a mere costume after seeing people being killed by those?

You wouldn’t stay to answer that question.

When you finally reach the kitchen, both of you take off the mask to your friends, hugging and making your rounds. Charles grabs you two a drink and you choose to stay there instead of mingling and risking bumping into scary figures.

“Can you get me another of these?” You mouth to Charles pointing at your empty cup. From across the kitchen, he nods, and a few seconds later he’s in front of you with a full cup.

“They were out of ice, is it ok if we share this one?” he asks over the music and you nod. You’re sitting on the counter, and when Charles turns to your friends he stands right between your legs. One of your hands goes to his shoulders, and you keep talking about your costume as if your heart weren’t hammering inside your ribcage, almost coming out from your throat the second his hand finds your knee, holding it so your anxious bounce can cease.

You gulp trying to keep your attention on whatever your friend is talking about because all your mind can focus on is your best friend’s hand on you, his body radiating warmth into yours. And not that it is unusual for Charles to touch it, quite the opposite, he loves to hug and kiss those he cares about, but it’s just lately your heart seemed to wish for a different kind of sharing.

It wants to share the secret touches. It wants to claim hungry kisses, tears of happiness, loud silences, and whispered mysteries. It is as if your heart created a reality where you had all of this with Charles.

Your own Charlie-verse.

The party keeps going in full swing, and Charles never leaves your side for over thirty minutes. He comes and goes always checking if you’re ok and if you want to go with him, but you choose the safety of the counter and your crowd of friends. The conversation is good, and so is the booze, from the kitchen you can see a bit of the living room and the pool area through the glass doors.

And it’s only when part of the girls decide to go dancing that you hop off the counter, and grab Charles’ hands following him in the direction of another crowd of friends. You’re tipsy enough to lace your fingers with his and to tighten your grip when you pass people dressed as clowns, werewolves, and with fake open wounds.

You end up in the pool area in front of Charles, he holds your body protectively against his, while his other hand has a cup you’re still sharing. The conversation is between the group, but every once in a while something will catch his attention and he’ll whisper about it in your ear, to which you’ll slightly turn your head, chuckle, and then answer him.

Though you felt a bit out of place at first with how everyone’s costumes seemed so extra compared to yours, you and Charles have had a lot of fun. So much so that you have given up going back home and decided to share a cab to his apartment.

Half of the ride a tipsy Charles is lecturing you with his “I told you so” about how he suggested you slept at his place and you denied it before the party. You just rest your head on his shoulder and pretend you are listening to his non-stop rant.

As it happens, the driver seems a bit uninterested in Charles’ rant because he turns the music on, and the last song that starts playing when he makes the curve into Charles’ street is Michael Jackson. You shriek and start jumping on the car seat.

“Chérie, it’s late,” your best friend tries to reason, but you just giggle.

“You have soundproof walls.”

“But not windows,” he tries again, and you playfully roll your eyes before getting out of the car wishing the driver a good night.

“Annie, are you okay?” you start to sing as you reach the elevators, and Charles just fakes a sigh, holding you close by the waist.

“So, Annie, are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?” you sing loudly until you reach the penthouse.

“Love, that’s not Smooth Criminal’s dance, that’s Thriller…” Charles holds back his laughter when you start a made-up choreography in his living room. “Oh mon dieu, you’re so precious.”

You giggle, smacking a loud kiss on his warm cheeks. While you make your track to the bathroom Charles goes to the kitchen.

“I’m using the guest bathroom! Go shower on the main one, you stinky!” you scream from the corridors and you hear his scoff, almost able to picture his eye roll.

You go through your shower on autopilot, brushing your teeth, and reaching for one of Charles’ shirts that are on the guest bedroom bed. Your visits have been so frequent you have everything you need there, but tonight you didn’t want one of your pajamas, you want to indulge in the daydream that your mind is harnessing.

When you reach your favorite Monegasque bedroom you can hear the shower still running, so you settle in the middle of his bed, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere in your head, there’s still music playing and your body seems to have kept a bit of the buzzing from the party. The distant noises coming from the open windows, along with the wind hitting the curtains lull you into a soft slumber, that only goes away when a door closes, you guess it's his closet, you smell his body wash and shampoo before he steps close to you.

There’s too much happening inside your head, so you choose to stay in silence while your best friend watches you attentively, eyes finding yours in a beat.

Charles, on the other hand, doesn’t have much in his head. He only has you. Your smell, your laugh, your voice, your body on his bed wearing his shirt.

“You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” his mouth works faster than his brain does, and just like that you’re staring at him in confusion.

It’s like his brain is shortcircuited.

Charles gets up from the bed.

He walks to the door, then turns around and comes back to your side. There’s a crease between his brows and you have known him long enough to identify it as worry.

“Sharls, what’s going on?”

“I’m not drunk ok? Before you say anything, I’m not drunk, I’m just tipsy like you,” he starts and you nod from your spot on the bed. “I am so sorry, but I have to tell you this, and I’ll completely understand if you don’t feel the same, but I have to take this out of my chest, Yn.”

Sensing how serious the situation is you sit up, legs crossed one over the other, hands tucked under them.

“I- uhm… See- It’s like this, I-”

“Charles,” you call.

“I’m in love with you,” he spills in a single sentence, but then he keeps going. “I love you so fucking much it’s starting to hurt the fact that I’ve been keeping it from you. And I don’t even know when it started, but I’m so used to sharing everything with you, I just.. I wanted us to share more. I wanted to share my bed with you, and my clothes, and-” he points with his fingers before you could say something, “And I know we already share those things, but I want to do it differently. I want to share romantically. I want to share my heart with you, Chérie, all of it. But I’ll understand if you’re confused or overwhelmed by my outburst, in fact… shit… I should have waited in case you wanted to go home right? Please, tell me that if you don’t feel the same you’ll at least get the farthest guest bedroom, I promise I won’t bother you, we’ll pretend it didn’t happen in the morning and I-”

“No,” you interrupt.

“Pardon?”

“I said no, I won’t sleep in the farthest guest bedroom.”

“Oh- then let me drive you, just…– fuck I can’t I drank… uhm I’ll–”

“No, Charles, stop,” you get on your knees on the mattress and reach for his arm, bringing his body close to yours.

“No, I’m not sleeping in the guest bedroom because we’re sharing a bed tonight. No, I’m not mad about your admission, I’m sharing my heart with you too. Romantically,” you confess.

His shoulders drop in relief, and you giggle, threading your fingers on his soft strands. Charles mutters something you can’t understand because you’re too focused on how his face seems different from this angle, after all the confessed words. He’s still your Charles, but he’s also a new Charles, and this knowledge brings a new feeling to your heart and stomach.

When his lips find yours, soft and warm, a contrast with his cold hands on your jaw and waist, he presses your bodies closer and hums in pleasure. You smile, unable to contain your happiness. He kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before, and when the air has made itself scarce, you part the kiss, foreheads still touching.

“So, Charlie, are you okay? Are you okay, Charlie?”

Charles throws his head back and laughs.

He knows how insufferable you could get once a song gets stuck in your head.

“I was struck down. You’re such a smooth criminal, Chérie. Stealing hearts around so easily.”

It is your turn to laugh.

“That was cheesy, but I loved it,” you mumble before pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I love you.”

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, lovelies! I hope you liked the piece, I wanted to add a huge shout-out to Delia (@struggling-with-delia on Tumblr) for proof and beta-reading this <3.  Let me know your thoughts on this piece *mwah*.  

If you liked this piece and want early access to new ones and exclusive access to others, subscribe to my patreon!💘

▸ check my main masterlist | patreon guide and my taglist.

taglist: @sachaa-ff @mickslover @mishaandthebrits @fdl305 @iloveyou3000morgan @crimeshowjunkie @saintslewis @carojasmin2204 @chaoticevilbakugo @wondergirl101ks @smiithys @shhhchriss @f1kota @lunnnix @karmabyfernando @crashingwavesofeuphoria @schumacheer @callsign-scully @v1naco @dearxcherry @elliegrey2803 @peachiicherries @he6rtshaker @therealcap @mehrmonga @the-depressed-fellow @cixrosie @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @nichmeddar @fastcarsandshit @goldenalbon @balekanemohafe @jamie2305 @nzygftoji @skepvids @bbreezybitch @graciewrote @piggyinthesea @f1-ln4-mv33-cl16-dr3-op81 @leclercdream @kagatinkita @leclercsluv @alessioayla @littlesatanicassholebitch @barcelonaloverf1life @noncannonships @fanboyluvr

©thisismeracing ― do not copy, steal, or translate my work; do not repost on a different media platform.  

#f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #millie writes #cl16 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc fanfic #formula one imagine #charles leclerc fluff #f1 fluff #charles leclerc one shot #f1 2023 #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x you

[peachymilkandcream]

Movie!William Afton x Wife!Reader -> Scrapped

(A/N: Future Afton oneshots are going to be strictly x Reader, so we'll see how much you guys like this one. As usual this is spoilers for the movie so proceed with a bit of a caution)

WARNINGS: mentions of noncon, dubcon, violence, domestic violence, age difference, power dynamic, murder, yandere behaviour, yandere themes, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, descriptions of gore

==============================================

Agony, all that he could feel was pure agony, the metal digging into his flesh was beyond anything he ever thought he could endure. It had all gone wrong, it had gone so wrong. It was never supposed to be this way, he was better than this, a genius among men. Reduced to a hunk of flesh and wires. Springlocks pierced his skin, down to the bone as that stupid old suit turned against him. It had served him so well in the past, and now all of his sins had come back to bite him in the ass. He was going to die here, all of his schemes and success amounting to nothing.

At least that's what William believed until he heard the sound of crunching glass as footsteps came nearer, someone was in that accursed place with him. It didn't sound like an animatronic, it couldn't be. He didn't have the strength to call out, he didn't have the strength to do anything but lie there.

"William? William!" The voice was feminine, scared, he recognized it as his wife.

His voice couldn't get out, he was weak, so weak, barely holding on at this point. All he could focus on was the pain, he didn't even notice the steps coming closer until his wife stood in front of him, concern painted on her whole face.

"Oh my- William- what happened!? There's so much blood- oh what should I do-"

William reached for her, his costumed hand desperate to touch, to hold her, his one true comfort. After all he had done, he just needed her to save him once again, that was her job, she was supposed to save him whenever he required it, take the fall for his mistakes.

She removed the mask from his head, her hands trembling s she held his cheek gently, tears coming to her eyes, both of sorrow that he was in this state and joy that she had found him before it was too late. "I'll get you out of here my love, I promise. Just hold on a little longer for me." His wife stood, running around the back room like a chicken with her head cut off trying to find a solution and save her husband.

Eventually she returns with spare tablecloths, laying them on the ground. "Alright honey, I'm going to put you on this to drag you to the car, just bear with me, this might hurt." With all the strength her smaller body can muster she lifts him onto the cloth, trying to be as gentle as possible but each movement digs the metal deeper into him. Until finally she gets him on the cloths, taking the extra and dragging him with all her might. He was heavy, but the fabric made it easier to drag him across the tiled floor and outside.

============================================

Somehow she had gotten him into the car, focused on the road but taking a moment every once and a while to glance in the rearview mirror. Her feelings were conflicted about all of this, up until she hadn't known of his crime, she hadn't known of the monster he was deep inside. But she knew that there was nothing she could do but stick with him at all costs, he was her husband after all, and she had always been taught that no matter what he was in the right. Even in this, she couldn't just abandon him now, all of their children had, she couldn't do the same.

Even as rain poured and her dress was covered in mud and blood from dragging him around, she kept going with fierce determination, after all if you want something done right you just have to do it yourself. His basement workshop would have to do, she needed somewhere with a lot of space and where no one would look. She hadn't even been there herself.

It was dark and smelled something foul, rusted bits of metal taking up every square inch of the place. The hollow eyes of the prototypes of long since projects given up on staring back at her, the ones that haunted her dreams. With a brush of her arm the gears and wires clattered onto the floor as she tried to lift him onto the table, taking many failed attempts until he was laid on it. All she could do was roll up her sleeves and get set to it, gathering fabric scissors, a metal saw, and pliers.

First went the costume, cut off and discarded until they were in heaps on the floor, the fibreglass shell coming next. With those disposed of she could clearly see the damage, she had always been queasy around blood, so she had to cover her mouth to keep her lurching stomach in check. This wasn't about her comfort, it was about him living, and continuing to keep things the way they had always been, her at home, him providing for her.

Sparks flew as she cut through the metal, cutting the locks away from the exoskeleton. It made the most horrendous sound, and the smell was vile, she didn't know how William could spend so many hours here working on these things and ignoring his family. As each gave way, all she could think of is the pain he must be going through at this moment, struggling to breathe, each one causing him immense pain.

Even that was nothing compared to the disgusting sound of metal being ripped out of flesh as she pulled each one out. How could it have come to this, her proud and brilliant husband stuck like a pincushion because of his own design. Worry and love the only things keeping her hands moving as she struggling to put him back together again. He was no more than those discarded machines he had spent his whole life making, scrapped and left to rot.

============================================

"After all those murders, I don't know how you got used to all that blood William." His wife says after wiping the last of his blood off of her.

William was laying there, groaning and trying to process anything but pure agony. It was easier to breathe, and even now she had saved him from the fiery pits of hell. He was going to live, beyond all expectations, he was going to live, live to commit more crimes and slaughter more innocent people.

"I don't deserve you my dear.." He somehow manages despite the pain.

"After all you've done for me, this was the least I could do."

He bit back the urge to laugh, all he'd done was gotten her pregnant and had her keep it to make sure she couldn't leave him, made her drop out of her education so she had no option but him. "Whatever you say dear." He smirked, he knew even from then she was a keeper. "What would I do without you."

His sweet little wife.

#william afton smut #william afton x reader #william afton x oc #steve raglan smut #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x oc #five nights at freddys #fnaf #fnaf movie #purple guy #man behind the slaughter

[void-of-unparalled-chaos]

Rending Flesh From the Bone

Ah yes, the dpxdc "drabble" I decided to write for Halloween. Honestly not too enthused with how it came out but posting it anyway. I feel like some parts feel a bit rushed and there might be some plotholes. Oh well. As always, feel free to add on if you so desire.

TW: Gore, Cannibalism, Vomiting, Zalgo Text

Translations for the Zalgo are available at the end.

AO3 version

   “Are you sure about this, Hood?”

   Dick stared at the entrance of the abandoned subway tunnel, Jason practically vibrating out of his armor beside him. 

   For once, it was Jason who had broken into Dick’s apartment and not the other way around. He was rambling something about the Joker and needing Dick’s help, and who was Dick to say no? His little brother never sought him out on his own, let alone asked for his help. Never. Dick was so proud! If he rewarded this behavior then maybe Jason would do it again, and somehow that would lead to Dick being able to give him his highly sought-after best big brother hugs whenever he wanted. Dick was still figuring out the intermediate steps.

  The point is that Dick needed to help him, regardless of if this was all based on a gut feeling and not even a whisper that the Joker was around let alone planning anything. What the hell, Dick thought. Sometimes gut feelings are right, and push comes to shove, Dick will follow Red Hood around Gotham until his paranoia dies down. Then Dick can lovingly bully him into brother bonding time.

   So here they were, staring into the gaping mouth of an unused tunnel.

   There are worse ways he could have spent his night.

   Jason grunts, fists clenched as they gaze into the blackness. “It’s almost Halloween. You know how these freaks get this time of year.”

   Dick concedes the point.  

   “Come on,” Jason bumps against his shoulder as he stalks toward the blackness, “He’s down there I just know it.”

   Dick shrugs and follows him in.

   Something about it is oppressive. Like something is warning them to turn back or face the consequences. Dick swallows. He shouldn’t be getting so worked up over this. He had been in closed dark spaces like this before, tighter ones even! 

  “Dick.”

   Jason is pointing to the ground. Dark splatters. Blood. Fresh, and more than just a little nosebleed. 

   They make their way further in, following the convenient blood trail even as the urge to turn around gets stronger. They only walk a few feet before a loud scream breaks the silence.

   “I fucking told ya Nightwing!” 

   Dick grunts in response as they sprint down the tunnel, following the blood down twists and turns.

   The two vigilantes slide to a stop as the tunnel breaks into a new one. There is something in this new tunnel. Something large and glowing. The Joker is screaming as it bats him around. 

   Dick can’t bring himself to do anything but freeze, watching and assessing. 

   The first thing he sees is the crown. It floats crookedly above the creature’s white hair, bathing the tunnel in light with its green fiery glow. The being’s face almost looks humanoid, with long ears tapering into points. Its body is long and spindly like a man who had been left starving on an island for several weeks. The vertebrae in its neck are visible even underneath its skin. The spinous processes of the vertebrae break through the flesh, creating a long row of protruding bones that clack and rattle as the spine moves. Its pelvis juts out as if only a thin layer of skin is covering it. The ribcage is on the outside of its body like some kind of fucked up turtle shell. Space was underneath it, the purples and blues of nebulas and the blackness of night and twinkling stars and planets rested underneath the bones.

  The creature has the Joker by the neck. It reminds Dick of a cat Damian had fostered, one that had kittens and would carry them gently between her jaws. There is nothing gentle about this though. Red blood drips down to the ground as the Joker thrashes to try and free himself. The jaws tighten viciously around him and the creature shakes, flinging him around like a chew toy before slamming him down into the ground with a growl.

   A skull flashes underneath its face as if its skin and cartilage are merely a transparent overlay. Sharp, jagged bone peaks rise up smoothly from its mandible in a mimicry of teeth.

   The creature’s jaws are still wrapped around the Joker’s throat. He’s scrambling, screeching underneath the being despite the teeth that should be cutting into his vocal cords.  The Joker scratches at its chest, trying to push it away. It merely makes a low staticky hissing noise, one of its hands pinning him down by the shoulder. 

    The other arm raises upwards in the air. It's too long for the body of the creature, fingers tapering into sharp points. 

   The claws slash downwards. 

   The Joker choked on a scream as the digits tore his chest open like it were tissue paper. Mouth still wrapped around his throat, the being flipped a flap of skin and fat upwards like it was turning the page of a book. 

   The Joker continued to struggle, blood and something green gurgling out of his mouth. The being maneuvered itself until it crouched to Joker’s side, twisting his neck with it. 

  The Joker stilled.

   At first, Dick thought he was dead, but then he saw movement inside his chest wound. 

   His lungs.

   His lungs were still moving.

   Dick can see his lungs breathing.

   The creature reaches its hand back down into the Joker’s chest, wrenching the ribcage open with a snap. The Joker begins to struggle once more, red blood and green liquid splattering on the ground.

   One of the clawed hands replaced its teeth, pinning the Joker’s head down as it stuck its face inside the chest cavity. The Joker suddenly froze. When its face remerged a glowing violet orb was held between its teeth. Red and green dripped from its face.

   The green was familiar.

   Glowing green.

   …

   …Lazarus water?

   The tooth-like protrusions pierce the orb with a crack.

   The Joker falls silent.

   His lungs are no longer moving.

   The being’s head tilts back, the shattered orb disappearing down its gullet. It hunches back down over the corpse. The slimy wet sounds of its hands and head digging into the body are sickening. Dick watches as its head remerges with what looks like a kidney. The kidney follows the orb.

   Dick snaps out of his shock, but not quick enough to muffle his strangled gasp. 

   The being catches sight of them, green eyes, lazarus green, boring into them. Dick can see the dark hollows of the skull’s orbits underneath them. His head pounds.

   The creature began to stand. Its joints, too many joints, creaked as it unfolded its legs. It seemed like it struggled to maneuver its stiff limbs. Like it’s fighting against rigor mortis Dick noted absently.  

   Now standing at full height, the being’s crown nearly scraped the top of the ten-foot ceiling. Its maw parted, blue vapor billowing out between the spiked protrusions that were its teeth. The putrid stench of death and burning flesh that invaded the tunnel had Dick gagging. He quietly covered his mouth as he tried to bite back the bile in his throat.

   He glanced back at his brother to find that Jason had taken a step back. It was impossible to see his expression under the helmet, but Dick could read the tightening of his shoulders. Fear. Deep, primal fear. The kind of fear you feel when you know there are no more options. When you know fighting or running is pointless.

   Here, at this moment, the infamous Red Hood looked less like a feared crime lord vigilante and more like a one-week-old gazelle face to face with a lion.

   Dick reached to pull Jason out of sight but the pounding between his eyes made him uncoordinated. He tripped over his own feet and crashed into Jason’s side, gripping his shoulder with shaking fingers as he righted himself. Jason didn’t budge, remaining stock still despite the extra weight of his older brother against him. 

   The creature stared at them, the piercing green glow of its eyes brightening with a spur of power. Its head tilted to the side until it came to rest at well over ninety degrees. A pointed, frostbitten tongue lolled out between its teeth to lick its bloodied face clean.

   “C̷o̷m̶p̴a̵n̵y̵?̵” It sounded like the desolation of space, the static of electricity, the explosion of a star, the final screech before death.

   The space trapped in its chest began to bleed through its ribs, twinkling stars and asteroids and galaxies escaping the confines of their prison to drip down the being’s waist. It ran over its legs, building and thickening until a long serpentine tail had replaced the limbs entirely. Even as the coils moved, the stars and planets stayed in place as if the tail was merely a window. Watching it made Dick motion sick.

  Even as the elongated spines stretching out of its back clanked together in the mimicry of a death rattle, the creature made no move toward them. Another puff of foul-smelling mist escaped its mouth.

   “Y̶o̷u̸ ̶s̵h̴o̷u̴l̵d̶ ̴b̶e̵ ̸m̴o̴r̷e̸ ̴c̷a̴r̸e̴f̴u̷l̵,̷ ̸l̴i̴t̷t̶l̷e̸ ̶g̶h̸o̷s̴t̶l̷i̸n̷g̸.̸” It’s voice boomed, “Y̴o̸u̵ ̶a̸r̶e̵ ̷n̷o̶ ̷m̵a̸t̸c̶h̴ ̷f̴o̵r̴ ̸m̶o̵s̷t̷ ̴s̸p̵i̴r̴i̷t̴s̴ ̵a̸s̸ ̷y̵o̵u̵n̷g̴ ̴a̷s̶ ̶y̶o̵u̶ ̷a̸r̵e̵.̷ ̷E̶s̸p̷e̸c̵i̶a̶l̴l̷y̶ ̶n̴o̵t̷ ̴o̶n̴ ̶S̵a̶m̷h̷a̶i̷n̷.̶”

   The two brothers remained frozen in place. The stars in its tail flickered until millions of eyes were boring into Dick’s soul. With a stuttering gasp, Dick stepped back again. Jason refused to budge despite his urging. The next time Dick blinked the eyes were stars again.

   The being chuckled at them, “N̵o̴ ̴n̶e̸e̵d̷ ̵t̵o̶ ̵f̸e̸a̶r̵,̸ ̵g̸h̵o̶s̶t̶l̸i̴n̴g̶.̸ ̴I̸ ̵d̴o̵ ̷n̶o̶t̴ ̶w̶i̸s̵h̴ ̵y̸o̴u̸ ̷n̷o̵r̴ ̸y̴o̶u̴r̸ ̴f̵r̸a̷i̵d̷ ̴h̵a̵r̷m̸.̶” Dick found that hard to believe considering that they had just watched it eat the Joker’s kidney, “Y̸o̵u̴ ̸a̷r̴e̵ ̵v̵e̸r̸y̶ ̴l̵u̶c̸k̶y̴ ̶i̶t̵ ̴w̷a̴s̴ ̴m̶e̵ ̸w̴h̷o̸ ̸y̶o̷u̵ ̷c̸a̸m̷e̴ ̵a̶c̴r̷o̸s̸s̵ ̶r̸a̴t̷h̷e̵r̸ ̷t̵h̵a̷n̴ ̴a̵n̷o̴t̶h̶e̶r̵ ̷s̴p̷i̸r̸i̴t̸.̵ ̷M̶a̷n̶y̶ ̵w̴o̸u̶l̴d̸ ̷h̸a̶v̸e̷ ̵e̷a̷t̴e̴n̵ ̸y̸o̴u̶ ̴b̵y̷ ̵n̴o̴w̶.̴”

  “I-” Jason finally choked out, “What?”

  The being lowered itself until it was at eye level with Jason. It evaluated him once more before jerking back with what seemed to be an expression of surprise. “O̷h̷ ̸l̵i̶t̷t̵l̷e̵ ̴g̴h̴o̶s̴t̴,̶ ̶y̶o̶u̴ ̸a̴r̵e̸ ̵m̴u̸c̴h̴ ̸y̸o̷u̸n̴g̴e̴r̶ ̵t̶h̷a̶n̸ ̶I̵ ̵h̸a̷d̸ ̴t̵h̵o̵u̸g̸h̵t̵!̵ ̴Y̴o̵u̶r̵ ̷c̵o̴r̸e̵ ̵i̴s̴ ̷n̸e̷w̶ ̶a̷n̷d̵ ̸u̶n̶d̴e̷r̵n̴o̸u̸r̶i̶s̸h̵e̴d̴.̶ ̸N̴o̵ ̴w̸o̴n̸d̵e̶r̶ ̷I̷ ̴h̵a̸d̴ ̷n̵o̷t̴ ̴s̸e̸n̴s̵e̵d̵ ̸y̸o̶u̶ ̶b̷e̵f̵o̷r̷e̶!̴ ̶H̵a̵v̷e̶ ̶y̶o̷u̴ ̷b̵e̵e̵n̵ ̶e̸a̷t̸i̷n̴g̶?̸”

   Its tone seemed almost doting, motherly even. The image was broken by the fact that it was currently leaning closer toward them, supporting itself on what was left of the Joker’s exposed ribcage. 

   Jason shook his head in dumbfounded horror.

  The creature seemed to take it as an answer, humming in what felt like parental disappointment. “Y̶o̶u̷ ̵n̵e̴e̴d̸ ̶t̷o̷ ̷t̶a̵k̸e̵ ̷b̴e̸t̵t̵e̸r̶ ̷c̸a̶r̸e̴ ̶o̷f̶ ̸y̴o̴u̴r̵s̸e̷l̶f̴,̴ ̵l̷i̸t̴t̷l̶e̵ ̶g̶h̵o̸s̵t̴.̵ ̵I̵'̴v̸e̴ ̴n̵e̸v̴e̶r̸ ̸s̵e̵e̵n̷ ̴s̵u̶c̵h̵ ̸a̶n̴ ̸u̶n̷d̷e̸r̶n̶o̴u̸r̸i̸s̵h̸e̵d̶ ̷c̶o̶r̷e̴.̸ ̷Y̷o̶u̴ ̸m̴u̶s̷t̷ ̸b̷e̷ ̷a̵b̵l̷e̸ ̴t̸o̴ ̸f̸e̸e̶l̷ ̸t̶h̵e̸ ̸e̸f̷f̵e̷c̷t̵s̴.̶ ̵A̴r̴e̴ ̶y̴o̴u̶ ̴i̵n̸ ̸p̸a̵i̴n̶?̴”

   Dick knew that he was. If it wasn’t the emotional torment of the pit madness it was chronic pain. There had been many nights where he had to tend to his brother, trying everything from painkillers to ice packs to numbing cream in an attempt to stop it.

   Jason nodded hesitantly, “Yes…” he took his helmet off, letting it drop to the ground. His eyes were burning lazarus green, “It hurts all the time… like there’s a fire burning in my chest. It gets hotter and hotter and hotter until I feel like my brain is gonna melt outta my ears.”

   The creature slithered closer with a rumbling coo. It offered a hand to Jason. Its fingers curled unnaturally. It looked like it had an extra knuckle. “C̷o̷m̷e̴ ̵h̸e̷r̸e̴,̵ ̸g̴h̷o̴s̵t̷l̷i̸n̸g̶.̴ ̴I̷ ̷w̶i̴l̶l̸ ̸s̸h̴a̸r̸e̴ ̷m̶y̶ ̸c̷a̴t̵c̶h̴.̷ ̷I̵ ̷c̵a̴n̷ ̶s̶e̴n̴s̴e̵ ̸t̵h̴e̸ ̵c̴o̵n̷n̸e̵c̴t̶i̷o̷n̷ ̶t̴h̴i̵s̵ ̷r̸e̸v̷e̷n̴a̴n̸t̴ ̴h̴a̶s̸ ̸t̷o̷ ̸y̶o̶u̵.̶ ̷A̸s̸ ̵y̷o̷u̶r̴ ̷k̷i̵l̸l̶e̶r̶,̶ ̵f̵e̸a̵s̷t̴i̴n̸g̶ ̸o̴n̷ ̵h̵i̷m̶ ̸w̷i̴l̵l̵ ̴h̷a̸v̶e̷ ̶e̸x̶t̸r̶a̴ ̶b̶e̷n̸e̵f̸i̵t̷s̴.̸”

   Jason reaches out to accept the hand. Dick throws himself between them, “Little Wing, what the hell! You aren’t seriously going to… you're not…”

   “I… I need it, Dick.” Jason wiped drool from his lips. Dick caught the flash of fanged teeth, sharper than they should have been. “I don’t know how to explain it but I just- I’m so fucking hungry.”

   Dick… Dick wasn’t scared of Jason. He wasn’t. But at that moment, he felt like he needed to run. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t abandon his little brother to this…thing.

   “I̸ ̵u̶n̵d̴e̸r̶s̸t̵a̷n̴d̵ ̷y̶o̴u̶r̴ ̸a̵p̶p̷r̸e̶h̴e̷n̶s̷i̵o̸n̵.̵” the being addressed him, Dick struggled to look it in the eyes, the pounding of his head increasing, “A̶s̷ ̷a̷ ̶l̴i̷v̵i̴n̷g̴ ̷i̸t̸ ̴f̴e̵e̶l̸s̷ ̴w̷r̶o̶n̶g̵,̶ ̶s̴i̶c̵k̴e̴n̴i̶n̵g̴ ̶e̴v̷e̷n̸.̷ ̴I̸t̷ ̵t̷o̸o̶k̷ ̸m̵e̴ ̶a̶ ̷l̶o̸n̴g̸ ̸t̵i̴m̷e̵ ̵t̵o̸ ̷c̵o̵m̶e̶ ̶t̶o̴ ̷t̷e̸r̷m̸s̸ ̸w̶i̶t̴h̸ ̴i̸t̴.̷ ̵I̶ ̴u̸n̵d̶e̵r̷s̸t̶a̴n̶d̸.̸ ̴B̷u̴t̵ ̴i̵t̷ ̸i̵s̷ ̸s̸o̵m̸e̸t̷h̶i̸n̷g̶ ̷o̷u̸r̵ ̷s̴p̸e̷c̷i̵e̵s̸ ̷n̸e̸e̶d̵s̸.̵ ̸S̵u̶r̸e̷l̸y̶ ̴y̷o̷u̴ ̸m̶u̷s̴t̷ ̴h̴a̸v̸e̷ ̷w̴i̴t̸n̴e̸s̴s̵e̶d̸ ̶t̴h̷e̴ ̴e̴f̴f̶e̷c̴t̴s̶ ̶o̴f̴ ̶s̵t̶a̶r̴v̷a̸t̶i̶o̶n̴ ̵o̴n̸ ̸y̵o̷u̶r̷ ̶f̵r̵a̶i̷d̸m̶a̷t̶e̸?̵”

  Moments flash through Dick’s head. Jason breathes as he struggles against the pit so hard that Dick starts to worry his brother will pop a lung. Jason looked at the remains of another destroyed glass in dismay, before practically sprinting to hole himself up somewhere Dick couldn’t find him. Jason sobs into his shirt, begging him to make it stop, to take the pain away as Dick watches on helplessly.

   “I̷t̵ ̷w̸i̷l̵l̶ ̵o̷n̶l̵y̷ ̷g̷e̵t̵ ̷w̴o̸r̴s̸e̶ ̶i̷f̷ ̶h̴e̷ ̷d̵o̶e̶s̴n̸'̶t̷ ̸e̵a̶t̴.̵ ̶E̴v̶e̵n̵t̸u̴a̴l̸l̵y̸,̸ ̵t̴h̴e̵ ̵s̶t̶a̶r̴v̷a̵t̶i̸o̵n̵ ̸w̴i̷l̵l̵ ̶b̴e̶ ̶s̶o̷ ̸b̷a̶d̸ ̷h̷i̸s̵ ̴c̷o̴r̵e̵ ̷w̷i̸l̷l̴ ̷s̷e̵l̸f̵-̷c̴a̷n̴n̷i̵b̷a̶l̵i̵z̴e̷.̵”

   “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

   “I̶ ̷a̵m̵ ̷K̶i̶n̷g̷ ̷P̶h̵a̴n̸t̵o̶m̵ ̵o̸f̷ ̵t̶h̴e̸ ̶I̴n̶f̶i̵n̷i̶t̸e̶ ̶R̷e̶a̸l̴m̷s̴,̷ ̶t̴h̷e̶ ̵A̸n̶c̵i̶e̵n̶t̵ ̵o̵f̵ ̵S̸p̸a̶c̸e̸,̶ ̶P̷r̸o̶t̶e̴c̵t̸o̷r̷ ̴o̶f̷ ̶t̷h̸e̸ ̵L̷i̸v̵i̷n̸g̸ ̸a̵n̷d̴ ̸D̷e̸a̴d̴,̷ ̷t̵h̷e̴ ̶O̸n̸e̴ ̸W̶h̶o̶ ̷L̷i̴e̴s̷ ̸I̴n̶ ̴B̴e̷t̸w̴e̵e̴n̵,̷ ̶t̴h̶e̷ ̴K̵i̴n̶g̵ ̸o̷f̶ ̶G̶h̷o̴s̸t̷s̵.̴” What almost looks like a smile splits across his face, “I̴f̸ ̶I̶ ̴w̵e̶r̴e̵ ̷n̵o̸t̵ ̶a̴w̷a̸r̷e̶ ̶o̶f̵ ̶m̷y̸ ̵p̶e̴o̶p̷l̴e̸'̵s̵ ̸n̷e̶e̴d̵s̵ ̷I̴ ̶w̵o̷u̸l̵d̴ ̷b̴e̶ ̴a̸ ̷v̴e̵r̵y̷ ̷p̴o̸o̷r̸ ̴k̶i̸n̷g̸ ̶i̵n̶d̷e̸e̷d̴.̸”

   Dick turns back to Jason. His brother hasn’t looked this small since before his death. He’s shaking. He looks desperate.

   Dick steps to the side.

   Jason lets out a stuttering breath but remains still otherwise, hands clenched at his sides.

   The newly dubbed King Phantom returns to the corpse, digging through fluid and meat. “I̴f̷ ̸i̴t̷ ̷i̶s̴ ̸a̸n̸y̴ ̵c̴o̵n̸s̸o̵l̶a̸t̷i̷o̵n̶,̷ ̵h̶e̵ ̷w̶i̴l̵l̵ ̸n̴o̷t̸ ̶n̷e̸e̶d̴ ̵t̶o̵ ̶e̸a̵t̴ ̴o̷f̴t̶e̸n̶.̸ ̸O̵n̴c̸e̸ ̴o̸r̴ ̸t̶w̷i̴c̸e̵ ̷e̸v̷e̸r̸y̶ ̷f̴i̶f̸t̵y̶ ̵y̸e̷a̴r̶s̶ ̸o̷r̴ ̷s̴o̵ ̷s̵h̵o̶u̶l̵d̶ ̸b̶e̸ ̸e̴n̸o̵u̸g̵h̴ ̶t̸o̶ ̸k̶e̴e̵p̶ ̴h̶i̶m̷ ̶r̸e̴l̶a̷t̷i̸v̶e̷l̶y̸ ̵h̶e̵a̸l̶t̸h̶y̴.̶“ He pulls out the Joker's liver with bloody claws. "C̷o̴m̷e̵ ̶h̵e̸r̸e̷,̵ ̷g̸h̵o̴s̷t̷l̵i̸n̴g̸," he purrs, offering it to Jason as if it were an apple instead of a human organ, "I̴ ̴k̴n̶o̷w̸ ̷y̸o̴u̵'̶r̵e̷ ̴h̶u̶n̷g̶r̸y̷.̶ ̵T̴h̵e̸ ̷e̶c̴t̴o̵p̷l̶a̶s̷m̷ ̸i̴n̴ ̶h̷e̷r̴e̵ ̵w̵i̵l̵l̴ ̵h̵e̴l̶p̵ ̵b̵o̵o̸s̶t̵ ̸y̶o̵u̵r̵ ̷o̸w̷n̸ ̶e̶c̷t̴o̴ ̸p̶r̶o̷d̴u̷c̴t̴i̶o̴n̵.̵"

   Jason reaches for it, eyes flicking uncertainly between the liver and the creature’s eyes. Despite everything, Dick almost hopes that he will suddenly come to his senses, slap the hand away, and leap backward gagging in disgust.

  Instead, he wraps a couple of fingers around one of King Phantom’s. His tank of a brother looks minuscule in comparison. Jason stares up at the being with wide eyes, like a child presented with cotton candy.

   “Are you sure I can have it?”

   King Phantom’s chest lets out another deep rumbling purr. “T̶h̷e̴ ̶l̴o̷s̵s̵ ̴i̸s̴ ̵n̸o̴t̶ ̷a̷ ̷g̵r̷e̶a̵t̸ ̴o̷n̷e̴ ̵f̴o̶r̴ ̸m̴e̸.̴ ̵I̵ ̵a̶m̸ ̷p̷o̸w̵e̷r̶f̸u̸l̸ ̵e̶n̸o̶u̷g̷h̵ ̷t̵o̴ ̶s̷u̷r̸v̴i̸v̸e̸ ̵o̷f̵f̶ ̷a̷m̴b̷i̶e̸n̵t̸ ̸e̸c̷t̵o̷p̷l̵a̵s̶m̸ ̸a̶n̸d̴ ̴e̸m̸o̶t̷i̵o̴n̸s̶ ̴l̴o̷n̷g̶e̸r̸ ̴t̸h̸a̵n̸ ̴o̶t̴h̵e̸r̸s̷.̷ ̸B̶e̵s̶i̸d̸e̸s̴,̶ ̴t̵h̵e̶r̴e̷ ̸w̴i̴l̷l̷ ̴a̷l̴w̴a̵y̷s̷ ̵b̸e̴ ̸a̵n̶o̷t̸h̴e̷r̴ ̸c̶r̶i̶m̷i̴n̶a̵l̵ ̸t̴o̸ ̷h̶u̸n̵t̵.̵”

   Jason snatches the liver with burning green eyes. The organ wobbles in his hands. To Dick’s dismay, Jason takes a large eager bite. His expression can only be described as blissed relief like he had just tasted ambrosia. He goes in for another, larger bite before he has even swallowed the first, jaw unhinging like a snake. 

   Dick is never eating Jello again. 

   He watches with detachment as Jason takes a third bite of the liver. His brother’s mouth is painted in red and green like a facsimile of King Phantom’s. For the first time, Jason’s chest stutteringly hums in relieved glee. King Phantom purrs in return as he tucks his face back into the corpse, like some sort of horrific feedback loop. 

   Dick tries to focus on something else, anything else, but the iron stench of blood and burning flesh is inescapable. He tries to avert his eyes away from the gorey pile of what used to be the Joker as his brother and the creature tear into it. The stars that makeup King Phantom’s tail stare at him. They blink. A sharp pain shoots behind his eyes as he shuts them tightly. 

   It feels like he loses time.

   When he opens them again, his brother is gnawing flesh off a rib. The entire front of his body is caked in red and green. King Phantom is staring at him with piercing green eyes. Intestines dangle from between its jaws. Its tongue maneuvers them further into its mouth like they are spaghetti noodles. 

   The bile rises in his throat again. Dick retches against the wall. He wipes the acid from his mouth and leans his forehead against the brick. The coolness of the stone eases the pain zinging between his eyes. He can still hear the squelching of meat and snapping of bone behind him. 

  A noise of concern sounds from his brother.

   Dick turns back in the direction of the horror show, keeping his eyes squeezed tight.

   King Phantom hums in thought. “P̴e̷r̷h̷a̶p̶s̶ ̴i̷t̸ ̵w̶i̷l̴l̷ ̸b̵e̵ ̸e̶a̵s̵i̵e̴r̸ ̶i̷f̴ ̸y̴o̵u̸ ̷w̵a̵i̴t̸ ̶o̷u̸t̵s̶i̵d̵e̷.̸”

    “Y-yeah.” Dick nods, voice cracking. “I think I’ll just… do that.”

   Jason makes a noise of acknowledgment. 

   Another bone snaps.

   Dick quickly makes his way back the way they had come. He stops briefly to vomit again, though there is nothing left in his stomach to throw up. When he emerges from the tunnel entrance he gasps on fresh Gotham air. He wraps his arms tight around himself with shaking fingers as he tries to steady his breathing. With the absence of the creature the pain in his head steadily fades away, though the images of bloody organs and sounds of desperate screaming remain persistent. 

   He’s not sure how long he waits outside, but it's long enough that he begins to worry something happened to Jason. He begins to wonder if the creature pinned him down like it had the Joker, restaining him with his neck between its fangs. What would Dick even do? How could he save his brother from that… thing?

   Jason remerges before he can figure it out. He’s clean of any visible blood or lazarus water, but the acrid tang of death and gore follows him. 

   Jason pleadingly stares at him through the eyes of his helmet. 

   Dick nods.

   They don’t speak of it again.

______________________

Zalgo Translations...

"Company?"

"You should be more careful, little ghostling."

"You are no match for most spirits as young as you are. Especially not on Samhain."

"No need to fear, ghostling. I do not wish you nor your fraid harm."

"You are very lucky it was me who you came across rather than some other spirit. Many would have eaten you by now."

"Oh little ghost, you are much younger than I had thought! Your core is new and undernourished. No wonder I had not sensed you before! Have you been eating?"

"You need to take better care of yourself, little ghost. I've never seen such an undernourished core. You must be able to feel the effects. Are you in pain?"

"Come here, ghostling. I will share my catch. I can sense the connection this revenant has to you. As your killer, feasting on him will have extra benefits."

"I understand your apprehension."

"As a living it feels wrong, sickening even. It took me a long time to come to terms with it. I understand. But it is something our species needs. Surely you must have witnessed the effects of starvation on your fraidmate?"

"It will only get worse if he doesn't eat. Eventually, the starvation will be so bad his core will self-cannibalize."

"I am King Phantom of the Infinite Realms, the Ancient of Space, Protector of the Living and Dead, the One Who Lies In Between, the King of Ghosts."

"If I were not aware of my people's needs I would be a very poor king indeed."

"If it is any consolation, he will not need to eat often. Once or twice every fifty years or so should be enough to keep him relatively healthy. "

"Come here, ghostling,"

"I know you're hungry. The ectoplasm in here will help boost your own ecto production."

"The loss is not a great one for me. I am powerful enough to survive off ambient ectoplasm and emotions longer than others. Besides, there will always be another criminal to hunt."

"Perhaps it will be easier if you wait outside."

#baby ghost Jason Todd #stumbling face first into a predator that can absolutely rock his shit #only to get almost immediately adopted by it #family dinner is about to get a lot more interesting #dpxdc #ghost king danny #ghost king au #eldritch danny #tw gore #tw cannibalism #tw vomit #my writing #dpxdc fanfic #ghost cannibalism #zalgo text #ghosts can purr #me sticking my hands into the plotholes: “it has pockets :)” #RFFTB #ghost hunger

[ilguna]

From expired medicine number 66 with sejanus pls 😌

☼ forget-me-nots (Sejanus Plinth) ☼

warnings; swearing, bombs, blood, ehh gore, death, death mention, starvation mention.

wc; 11.1k

prompt; 66. amnesia au

notes; slow burn, all they get to do is hold hands. also coryo slander.

--

“What’s the matter, pretty boy? You in the wrong cage?” One of the other tributes asks, eyes on a blonde Capitol boy dressed in bright red. He’s standing at the back of the truck, hand reached up to hold onto a bar to keep from falling over.

You let out a breath through your nose, giving a look to Marcus, who seems just as unimpressed as you are. Leave it to someone from the Capitol to think it’s a good idea to jump in the back of a truck with a bunch of teenagers that hate his guts. He might be untouchable anywhere else, but here it’s fair game.

“No, this is exactly the cage I was waiting for.” The blonde boy tells him.

The tribute jumps to his feet, hands encircling the Capitol’s boys throat, proving your point. He slams the boy back, forearms pinning him against the bars. The Capitol boy is quick though, bringing his knee up to the tribute boy’s crotch. You watch as he doubles over, releasing him.

“He might kill you now.” The girl from the same district coughed, wafting straight into the Capitol boy’s face. “He killed a Peacekeeper back in Eleven. They never found out who did it.”

“Shut it, Dill.” The boy from Eleven growls.

“Who cares now?” Dill asks.

“Let’s all kill him.” A tiny boy grins. “Can’t do nothing worse to us.”

A few of the other tributes murmur in agreement, taking a step forward to close in on the Capitol boy. The truck hits a bump, the heels of your feet rise, and then fall flat when it comes down harshly. You sway into Marcus, and he uses his free hand to steady you.

“Not to us, maybe. You got family back home? Someone they could punish there?” A girl from the corner asks. She’s wearing a colorful dress, which has since been turned dirty from the cattle car they kept you in on the way here. She crosses the small space, wiggling herself between the tributes and the Capitol boy. “Besides, he’s my mentor. Supposed to help me. I might need him.”

“How come you get a mender?” Dill asks.

“Mentor. You each get one.” The Capitol boy says.

“Where are they, then?” Dill challenges. “Why didn’t they come?”

“Just not inspired, I guess.” The colorful girl says, turning her back to the rest of you.

The truck turns into a narrow street, where the cement must not be completely flat, because it hits a bump every second. It makes a wide turn, before you’re jostled back, as the car begins to move backward into a dimly lit building.

Your face twists, as a new smell invades your nose: a mix of rotten fish and old hay. Your hand tightens on the bars, unable to see through the darkness. The sound of two metal doors opening fills the air. You think you can see a Peacekeeper opening the back door of the truck, and then the ground beneath you turns into a slope.

You’re able to hang on for the first couple of seconds, watching as the tributes in front of you tumble out. Your fingers slip when you try to adjust to hold on better, afraid of where they’re sending you. You hit wet cement, and continue to slide, until you hit a drop.

A scream rises up your chest, clogging in your throat as you hold your breath. You fall for what feels like forever, and land hard at the bottom. The heap breaks your landing, but a shooting pain flies up your back. You hiss, face twisted as you reach back to grab your lower back.

A pair of hands grabs you beneath your arms, pulling you out of the way of another tribute coming down. Marcus places you on your feet, where you hunch while the pain subsides. When you can’t feel it anymore, you stand up fully, looking around to see where they’ve dumped you.

It’s another cage, only bigger. There’s a stretch of sand, with rock formations in the middle that twist high in the air. A shallow, dry moat separates the island and the row of metal bars on the far side. And beyond them are the faces of small Capitol children, their eyes wide at the sight of the group of you.

You begin to wander away from the pile of teenagers and hay, as they pull themselves out to be on their feet. Marcus moves with you, letting you decide how far you want to go. The faces on the other side of the bars begin to multiply quickly, filling with adults, too.

They begin to shout, pointing at the Capitol boy, attention shifting from the rest of you, to him. You glance over, finding that he’s standing taller now, expressionless as he stares where he should be. In no time, the audience begins to call out to him, asking him why he’s in here with you. One of them must recognize him, because the crowd grows thicker.

“It’s the Snow boy!’

“Who’s that again?”

“You know, the ones with roses on their roof!”

A smirk creeps to the corner of your lip, a laugh making its way out of you. You begin to walk again, around the Capitol boy, like a wild animal pacing their lunch. “Snow, huh?”

His eyes snap to you, slightly wide. 

“Do you like to play games, Snow?” Your words have an edge as they leave your mouth. You stop when your back is partly turned to the Capitol people. “Because it looks like you do.”

The other tributes have caught on, beginning to surround him. The two tributes from Eleven, the boy that suggested you should kill him, and a few more, coming to build a circle around him. He notices this almost immediately, eyes darting between each of you, like he can’t decide which one of you is more dangerous. 

His breathing is picking up, chest growing and shrinking. He really didn’t think this through, did he? He thought he’d be able to come in here and do whatever he wanted. A dribble of sweat begins to run down the side of his face, heading for his jaw. He’ll be so fun to tear apart.

“Own it.” A soft voice says.

It’s his girl tribute, sitting on a rock. Snow takes in a deep breath and turns to see her, where she’s fixing a white rose behind her ear. The same one that he’d brought to the train station for her. 

He holds his hand out for her, she smiles slightly, taking his hand. You watch as he bows, and she gets up like a lady. When he raises his head, he asks, “Would you care to meet a few of my neighbors?”

“I would be delighted.” She says, as they begin to walk off together.

He leads her up to the bars, where the people are gawking. You roll your eyes, taking several steps back as you pivot to take a look around the area. There’s not many places to hide if you wanted to. Which means that the cameras will reach you at almost any point in here. 

Snow and his girl tribute—Lucy Gray—introduce themselves, going around the crowd, talking to the children. You manage to find a nice spot behind a rock that’ll block their view, which Marcus joins you behind.

“What’s the plan here?” You murmur, eyeing the other tributes, who are scoping out the land, themselves.

“Survive.” Marcus has his arms crossed, leaning on the wall across from you. “Wait it out.”

“For how long?” You ask, you wrap a hand around your stomach when it rumbles. “I’m starving here, Marcus.”

He tilts his head, “What do you want to do? Eat one of the other tributes?”

“That’s not funny.” You tell him.

“They won’t give us food, (Y/n), I told you this.”

“I didn’t think that they’d keep it from us completely.” You hiss. 

You take in a deep breath, closing your eyes and tilting your head back. It’s been three days since the last time you’ve eaten. A small portion of bread and oatmeal, which was on the morning of Reaping Day. If you’d known that your name was going to be pulled, you would’ve eaten more.

You sigh, “I’m sorry, I know it’s not your fault.” You push your hair back. “And you’re hungry, too.”

You peek out from behind the rock to see that the pair have moved over to the cameras, having an exchange with the reporter, you presume. You watch them through squinted eyes.

“So, do you know my mentor? Says his name is Coriolanus Snow. He’s a Capitol boy and clearly I got the cake with the cream, ‘cause nobody else’s mentor even bothered to show up to welcome them.”

“Well, he gave us all a surprise. Did your teachers tell you to be here, Coriolanus?”

Snow steps forward. “They didn’t tell me not to.” The crowd laughs. “But I do remember them saying that I was to introduce Lucy Gray to the Capitol, and I take that job seriously.”

“So you didn’t have a second thought about diving into a cage of tributes?” The reporter asks.

“A second, a third, and I imagine the fourth and fifth will be hitting me sometime soon.” Snow says. “But if she’s brave enough to be here, shouldn’t I be?”

You scoff, Snow turns his head slightly to find where the noise came from. Brave, as if you all didn’t end up here by chance. By their hands. 

“Oh, for the record, I didn’t have a choice.” Lucy Gray says.

“For the record, neither did I.” Snow says. “After I heard you sing, I couldn’t keep away. I confess, I’m a fan.”

Lucy Gray moves her skirt to show off the color, as the audience erupts into applause.

“Well, I hope for your sake the Academy agrees with you, Coriolanus.” The reporter says. “I think you’re about to find out.”

As if on cue, the metal doors nearby squeal against the concrete, as if there’s not enough space to allow them to move. A group of four Peacekeepers march out, heading straight for the Capitol boy.

Snow turns back to the camera. “Thank you for joining us. Remember, it’s Lucy Gray Baird, representing District Twelve. Drop by the zoo if you have a minute and say hello. I promise she’s well worth the effort.”

Lucy Gray holds out the back of her hand to him, which he takes and presses a kiss to. After that, he waves to the audience once, before joining the Peacekeepers and leaving the exhibit. The doors shut tightly behind them.

They dumped you in a fucking zoo.

Lucy Gray mingles around the bars for a few more minutes, before she comes down the moat to join her tribute partner. The crowd thins out considerably, now that they don’t have a source of entertainment. You disappear behind the rock, lowering yourself to the ground. Marcus doesn’t move from where he stands, looking down at you.

You pull your knees up. “Do you think our mentors will show up?”

“It won’t matter.” Marcus says. “They can’t do anything for us. All they’ll do is bring more people to stare.”

You rest your head back. “Right.” For the first time in days, you feel at peace enough to relax, the drowsiness coming in waves. You sigh, letting your legs down. “Will you wake me if something happens?”

“I will.” Marcus nods.

His confirmation is good enough for you. You settle on the cement, shoulders square with the rock. It’s uncomfortable, but your body doesn’t seem to care, focused on the idea of being able to sleep. The moment you shut your eyes, you’re practically done for, as the chatter of the Capitol people acts as perfect background noise for you to doze off to.

When you wake, it’s on your own accord. There’s a pain in the side of your neck, due to sleeping with your head at an angle. You squeeze your eyes, face twisting as you reach up to massage the area. When you look around, you find Marcus standing nearby, face hard.

You stretch, letting out a groan. It must be getting dark out because the artificial lights on the other side of the rock have been turned on. There’s no telling how late it is. You wonder if they’ll even bother to turn them off when the zoo does close.

You push to get to your feet, swallowing the nausea that rises with the movement. It’s due to hunger, but it’ll pass soon if you take it easy. Marcus looks over when he sees that you’re on your feet, his face smoothing out briefly.

“Anything big happen?” You ask, arms above your head. You can hear your upper back pop, relieving the pressure.

“No, but we have a familiar face in the crowd.” Marcus says.

“Like who? Snow?” You sneer, coming out from behind the rock. 

You squint through the white light, holding a hand up to shield your eyes. The tributes that you’re in here with have spread out to keep from getting in each other’s space. You look up to the bars to see that the crowd has grown again, peering down at the group of you. 

To humor Marcus, you search for the blonde boy that belongs to Lucy Gray, yet you come up blank. A joke begins to form on your tongue, as you turn your head to tell it, you hear your name being shouted from the other side of the bars. You glance back at the crowd, eyebrows together, wandering away from your partner to find who it is that knows your name.

You make it all the way to the moat before you see who it is. He’s crouched, hands wrapped around the bars, forehead pressed to them. His brown hair and brown eyes are unmistakable. You used to stare into them everyday when you were friends, before he moved away to live in the Capitol.

Sejanus Plinth is dressed in the same bright red uniform that Snow was wearing when he came into the truck. He looks just like he did when you went to school together, only older now because it’s been ten years. He still wears that innocent look on his face, which is unsurprising. His heart is big enough to house dozens of people.

“(Y/n).” Sejanus shifts on his feet, leaning away from the bars as he turns to a black backpack at his side. He opens it up, reaches inside, and pulls out something that’s wrapped. It’s reflecting the light. “Please, take it. Marcus won’t.”

“Sejanus.” His name is foreign on your tongue. “I don’t even know what it is.”

“It’s a meatloaf sandwich.” He says, holding it out between the bars. “Please, I know you’re hungry.”

He’s right, your stomach begins to hurt at the thought of the sandwich, but you don’t move from where your feet are planted. You glance behind you, to Marcus, who’s still standing against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s determined to stay there.

He was Marcus’s friend, too. The three of you were very close during grade school. If there was one of you, the other two would be following close by. That is, until the Plinths upgraded from District Two to the Capitol, due to their loyalty during the Dark Days. In many people’s eyes, the Plinths are a bunch of traitors. 

Including Marcus’s.

You would think the same, if he weren’t a child at the time. And especially not now, with you being stuck in this situation. With Sejanus being on the other side of the bars, maybe he can help, beyond just giving you sandwiches. If all the tribute mentors are wearing these red uniforms, that means he might be one, himself.

So, you move forward, crossing the moat and climbing the hill that’ll lead you to the bars. You don’t lower yourself to his height right away, looking between the faces behind him. With your presence, they all seem to shuffle a step back, unsure if you’re one of the hostile tributes or not.

You breathe through your nose, amused. You grab onto the bar with one hand, using it as support as you get down. Sejanus is still holding out the sandwich for you to take, which you do so carefully, setting it on your knee. 

Sejanus nods, happy that you’re trusting him. “I tried to get any of the other tributes to come over but they won’t.”

“Can’t blame them.” You say, not being able to focus on his face when the people behind him peer over his shoulder. “I wasn’t going to, either.”

You jerk forward, a threat to the Capitol people. A few of them let out gasps as they return to where they’d been standing, hiding behind Sejanus. When your eyes make their way back to his face, you find his face screwed.

“Marcus doesn’t want to see me, does he?”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“But he knows that I’m sorry? You know I’m sorry, right?”

You shrug. “Doesn’t change the fact that he’s angry. Or that we’re both here in a zoo cage.”

Sejanus swallows.

You’re tired of this conversation already. “I hear that we get mentors. Where’s mine?”

“I am.” He says. “I’m your mentor, and Marcus has Florus.”

“Oh, how fortunate.” You shake your head. “Did you ask for me?”

“No, I was assigned.” Sejanus says, glancing behind him. His face lights up as he raises a hand to wave someone over. Your eyes shift in that direction, finding the Snow boy coming your way. He weaves through the crowd, and stops two feet away from the bars. 

“Trouble?” He asks, paying no attention to you.

You scoff, “Great, you’re friends with Snow.” You grab the sandwich with one hand, pulling yourself to your feet with the other. By then, the blonde boy has his eyes on you. 

Sejanus looks between you two. “Do you know each other?”

“Of course not.” Snow says first, face twisting, seemingly disgusted by the idea.

You laugh, it’s venomous, “You know, I think I do pride myself in not hanging around Capitol scum.” You spit, holding out your hand that has the sandwich. “Give me another, Sejanus. I’ll see that Marcus gets it.”

Sejanus doesn’t need you to tell him twice, grabbing another. You don’t break the eye contact you have with Snow, which is growing tense by the second. 

“Capitol scum?” He repeats, smiling. “That’s funny.”

“Is it now?” You steal the second sandwich from Sejanus’s hand before it’s fully through the bars. You look over Snow, taking in how big he is. “For a Capitol boy, you look pretty starved. You belong more in here than you do out there.” You take a couple steps over so that you’re directly in front of him. “Except, you wouldn’t last ten seconds before getting ripped apart.”

You look at Sejanus to find that he’s holding out two plums. You pluck them from his hands, giving a nasty look to Snow before you go back down the hill with your winnings. There are several pairs of eyes that watch you return to the rock that you and Marcus have claimed. You return their stares with pressed lips. 

You step behind the stone, Marcus following you. When you hold out the two sandwiches and plums, he shakes his head. “I don’t want that.”

“If we want to win, we need to be strong.” You tell him. “Take one.”

He sighs, irritated, but grabs one of each. You sink back to the ground, unwrapping your sandwich, resting the plum in your lap. The moment that you sink your teeth into the soft bread, every ounce of self control leaves your body. It’s perfect, delicious, and gone within a minute. The plum, too.

Once Marcus has finished his sandwich, he wipes his mouth, sucking the ketchup off of his finger. “Who’s your mentor?”

“Sejanus.” You tell him, “You have someone named Florus.”

“As long as I don’t have him—I don’t care who I have. They won’t make a difference.”

“That’s what you think.” 

—

“Get up!” A voice shouts.

Your eyes pop open as you fly into an upward position, looking around to see where the danger is. Your eyes land on Peacekeepers, dressed in grey uniforms, standing next to the steel doors that are swung wide open.

The other tributes are shuffling toward the Peacekeepers, hardly awake. You rustle in the hay to look at Marcus, who’s already getting to his feet. A yawn escapes you, holding out your hand. Marcus takes it to pull you to your feet, steadying you when you stumble a step.

“What’s happening?” You murmur, rubbing your eyes.

“No idea.” Marcus says, walking away. You follow him, briefly looking at the bars to see if there’s an audience, finding it empty. The zoo must not be open yet.

On the other side of the building is a truck, similar to the one you rode here on. Marcus steps inside first, and then turns to give you a hand, pulling you inside. The two of you choose a spot in the middle, where you grab a rod and try not to touch anyone if you can help it.

Once you’re packed inside, they slam the doors shut. The car jolts forward a moment later, and then they begin to take you through the streets. You sigh, watching the blur of buildings and people on the sidewalk. Occasionally, you glance at the people around you, taking in details in increments to avoid setting them off. The last thing you’d want is to cause a fight in here.

Your eyes linger on the boy from Eleven and the way he hovers over Dill, feeling a need to protect her. It’s the same for Lucy Gray and her tribute partner, who she seems to be close with. Last night, you weren’t the only one to take a sandwich, soon after, Lucy Gray went to have one too. When she decided that it was good, she told her friend… Jessup, that’s his name. She told Jessup to grab one too, which then prompted the rest of the tributes to follow.

For now, you can’t find anyone else that sticks out in your mind. You’re sure that they’ll reveal themselves as time goes on, all you have to do is wait until then. You know that you should keep a distance from Four and Eight, at the very least. They have previous experience with weapons, much like you.

The truck comes to a hard stop. A Peacekeeper comes out to stand on your side of the truck. You look down at him, finding a pair of handcuffs that he has gripped in his gloves. 

“We will take one district at a time. When you step out of the truck, hold your hands out in front of you, palms up.” He instructs. “District One.”

The boy and girl get up from where they’re sitting. The doors open, allowing them to step out. They don’t bother shutting the doors again, letting you take in the amount of Peacekeepers they have on standby in case something goes wrong. The tributes get handcuffed, and then led inside of the building by four Peacekeepers that have a tight hand on them.

“District Two.”

Marcus moves first, stepping out of the truck. He turns to help you, which you accept when you jump off the ledge. On the ground, the two of you turn to the Peacekeeper, holding out your hands as you were told to. The steel is cold against your wrists, he squeezes the cuff, tightening it as much as he can. He repeats the process for Marcus.

With that, he instructs you to move forward, heading inside of the building. The floors are polished, reflecting the dull sunlight, and with how big and empty the hall is, the sounds of your shoes echo. You move down several hallways, until you spot the open wooden doors with a Peacekeeper standing post outside of the room.

When you step inside, you can see that the boy and girl from One have each been sat at their own table. There’s a cement slab on top of it with a metal loop, where the handcuffs are fed through to keep them in place. You grind your teeth, looking at Marcus to see that his face has hardened.

“Girl, sit down.” The Peacekeeper tells you. 

Biting your tongue, you decide not to tell him your name, just listen to the directions. You sit in the folding chair, scooting it up slightly to close the gap between you and the table. You hold up your wrists, he unlocks the one side of the cuffs, guides the open side through the loop, and then closes the cuff on your wrist again.

He crouches down, reaching for your feet. Your face twists, feeling him pull up the bottom of your skirt just high enough, before the coldness encases your right ankle. When you give it a pull, you can hear the rattling of chains on the cement. You look over at Marcus, raising your eyebrows. The Peacekeeper secures your left ankle before getting to his feet.

If anyone had any plans of escaping this afternoon, they’re going to have to rethink it.

Marcus sits at his table unprompted. Right as his shackles are being double-checked, the pair of tributes from Three come through the door. It goes on like this, all the way around the circle, up to Lucy Gray and her tribute friend.

While this is happening, you take the time to look around the room you’re in. It’s classically wealthy, with the columns, the arched windows and the tall ceilings. The best you can compare this building to is the Justice Building at home in Two, but even that’s lacking in several departments.

Halfway up the wall, you find a balcony. You sit back in your chair, forearms resting on the edge of the table. There are faces up there, staring down at you. From what you can see, they’re all wearing the red uniform that Snow and Sejanus were wearing yesterday.

“Eyes up.” You murmur to Marcus.

Out of your peripheral, you’re able to watch him tilt his head back to see what you mean. He straightens up in his seat, hands curling in to form fists.

A door slams, the people on the balcony jump and turn to see where the noise is coming from. “Stop eyeballing your tributes and get down there.” A feminine voice orders. “You only have fifteen minutes, so use them wisely. And remember, complete the paperwork for our records as best you can.”

The first person to come down the spiral staircase is none other than Snow, heading straight for Lucy Gray. When he passes in front of you, a laugh leaves you at the sight of his determined face. He’s quickly forgotten when you see Sejanus bouncing your way, a smile spread across his lips.

“Hey, Marcus.” He says, but he doesn’t get a response. Sejanu takes a seat in the chair across from you. “(Y/n), they’re just having us do interviews today.”

“I’m sure that’ll be easy.” You say. “Considering you know everything about me already.”

He swings his bag into his lap. “I still have to go down the list.” He pulls out a piece of paper and a pen, setting it on the table. His hand dips inside again, and when it surfaces, he has a pair of sandwiches. “I hope you’re hungry.”

I am, you think. All you do is give him a smile. “Thank you, Sejanus.”

“One more thing.” He says, bringing out a clear container. He opens the lid, revealing a slice of brown cake with a fork inside. “Ma made it. Help yourself.”

You nod, “What’s on the paper?”

“Just the basics so the Capitol can get to know you better.” He says, reaching for the pencil. 

You manage to grab one of the sandwiches, unwrapping the paper. With the limited mobility your hands have, you have to lean forward to take a bite. The bread crunches under your teeth, meaning it must’ve been toasted. The roast beef inside is cold, and it must be freshly bought. You hum, closing your eyes.

“I can fill it out, just correct me if I come across something wrong.” Sejanus says. 

You listen as he reads out the list and his answer to them. Your name, district address, your date of birth, hair and eye color, height and weight, and any disabilities you may have. You give him the answers when he pauses to look up at you, for the most part, he nails them.

“Family makeup. If I remember right, you’ve got your mom and dad and two sisters, right?” He asks.

“Mom’s dead.” You tell him, balling up the paper when you finish your sandwich. “One of my sisters is sick, she probably won’t last much longer.”

Sejanus’s hand stops, face twisting as he looks up at you. “(Y/n), I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” You tell him, pressing your lips together. “Do you need their names or is that it?”

“That’s it.” He says, voice quieter. “You’re not married, are you?”

“Nope.” 

“Do you have a job?”

“Not legally.” You sit back in the chair. “I help out in the warehouse and earn money for it, but I’m not supposed to be in there.”

He nods. “I’ll put you down as no.”

“Thanks.” You murmur, looking at the paper. “That’s the last question?”

“It is.” He says.

“Five minutes.” A woman announces, she’s wandering around the room.

“You should give the other sandwich to Marcus.” You tell him. 

“He won’t take it from me, only you.” Sejanus shakes his head.

“I don’t have pockets, so I can’t give it to him later.” Your eyes wander away, finding his mentor, Florus. “Why don’t you hand it to Florus?”

“He’s not having very good luck with Marcus, either.”

You sigh, “All I’m hearing are excuses.” You roll your eyes, looking over. “Marcus, there’s an extra sandwich. You should take it.”

“Excuse me.” Florus says, eyebrows drawing in. “I’m trying to interview him.”

“Looks like you’re havin’ a lot of luck.” You smile at his blank paper. “I can’t smuggle it out of here, and you’re the only one that has pockets between us.”

Marcus looks at you, but nods. Sejanus seems pleased with this, handing the sandwich over to Florus, who begrudgingly stuffs it into one of Marcus’s pockets. You turn to the cake, digging out the fork.

“It’s carrot cake.” Sejanus says.

“I’m sure it’s good either way.” You stick the fork into the icing. “Your mom always made the best sweets.”

“She’s gotten better.” He says. “I’ll tell her about your ma, I’m sure she’ll be apologetic.”

“Don’t make her feel too bad.” You place the bite into your mouth. The sweetness explodes across your tongue. You can’t remember the last time you were treated to something so good. All your money goes to your sister’s medicine, you can’t get sweets like this anymore. “It’s not her fault.”

“I wish we hadn’t moved away.” Sejanus swipes some of the icing off the corner of the container. “It’s harder to make friends here than it is there, but I have Coriolanus.”

“Snow?” You ask, looking to your right. He’s three tables over with Lucy Gray, leaned forward to talk. “He doesn’t look like much company.”

“He is.” Sejanus sighs. “How is it in Two?”

“Worse.” You shrug. “Or the same, depending how you look at it.”

“You said you work in the warehouse, at least you have the job lined up.”

“It’s district work, it’s always going to be available. It’d be a different story if I was a blacksmith but they won’t take me until I’m eighteen.” You say. “Or rather, they wouldn’t.”

He frowns, “I’m really sorry you’re here, (Y/n).”

“I know.” You murmur. “Nothing that we can do about it now.”

A whistle suddenly blows, making you turn your head to the woman by the door. She drops it, allowing it to hang over her chest. “Time.”

You look back at Sejanus. “When’s the next time I see you?”

“I can visit tonight.” He says.

“That would be great.” You drop the fork into the container. “Thank you, Sejanus.”

—

The Capitol people standing on the other side of the bars is an irritating sight, especially since they’re holding food with seemingly no intention to give it to any of you. It’s gotten to the point where the tributes around you don’t bother to go up anymore, knowing that they’re all going to take a collective step back.

They don’t really matter to you, anyway. You have Sejanus, and as long as he’s feeding you and trying to keep you company, you don’t need them. You’ll suffice just fine with one of your old friends. As for Marcus, he wants to be left alone, but you won’t let that happen.

He’s currently laying on his bed of hay. Last night, the Capitol had released a couple of bales into the enclosure. While the tributes fought over them, you and Marcus sat back and watched, slightly amused. When he decided that he had enough, he went and grabbed the last bale from two tributes, throwing them away.

He split the hay with you, but you wanted enough to act as a pillow to rest your head on. You’re fine with sleeping on the cement, because it feels like your bed back home. Except, that one is a little more broken in, and you don’t wake up several times throughout the night. 

Marcus ate the roast beef sandwich from Sejanus, and even admitted that he was glad you had Florus give it to him. He doesn’t want to forgive Sejanus for what he’s done, even though you’ve tried to explain the fact that it’s not necessarily his fault. He was only a child at the time they moved, and he has no choice but to mentor tributes now. It’s just bad luck that it’s the two of you and not anyone else.

You push to get to your feet, kicking the hay into a pile once you’re upright. You wander out from behind the rock, curious to see where the tributes have moved and what the bars look like. The crowd has surely tripled in size since the last time you looked. They’re still up there, holding food.

There was a pair of twins in the corner earlier, a boy and a girl. They’d brought lunch for their tributes, but they’re gone now; replaced by Snow and Lucy Gray. You wander, arms crossed over your chest, looking for Sejanus. He must be coming through the crowd now, because you find his dark hair a second later, when you’re doing another sweep.

You immediately start for him, crossing the moat and climbing up the hill. Your arms fall, as you crouch to join. “Hello.”

“Hey.” He murmurs. “Did Marcus eat?”

“Yes he did. He says that the sandwich was good.”

“Ma sends her regards. She’s been upset since I told her.” Sejanus pulls out two eggs and a couple wedges of bread. “For an egg sandwich.”

“I told you not to make her feel guilty.” You tell him, holding out your hand. He places them inside. “Are the eggs raw?”

“No, hard boiled. I just didn’t peel them.” He says. “And I couldn’t help it. I told her what happened to your ma and she asked about the rest of your family.”

You nod. “I see.”

“(Y/n), they might be implementing new rules.” He laces his fingers. “They’re thinking about letting the Capitol citizens sponsor tributes. Which means that you’ll need to gain their favor somehow.”

“I’m not a circus animal.” You tell him. “Unlike Lucy Gray, over there.”

“I know, but if you could come up with something with Marcus, then Florus and I might be able to pool together. We could feed you and give you water, at least.” Sejanus says.

You shake your head. “These Games never go on longer than a few days.”

“That’s because they didn’t have food to eat in the past.” He reasons. “Now we’re able to feed you and they’re taking suggestions for different ideas.”

You sigh, looking at the sandwich components in your hands. “I’ll try to brainstorm with Marcus, but he’s pretty set on not participating. It’s a fight just to get him to eat food, Sejanus.”

He reaches through the bars, placing one of his hands over yours. You look down at it, and then up at him. With his other hand, he grabs onto the bars, leaning forward. “I want you to live, (Y/n).”

“I do too, Sejanus. It’s just not that easy.” You tell him.

“Well, they’re going to have you do an interview on television. That’ll be your chance.”

Laughter erupts around you, making you break eye contact. You follow the gaze of the crowd, and find a mentor a few feet away. She’s sitting on a towel or blanket, a picnic displayed in front of her. On the other side is a tribute, you think the girl from Ten. The mentor holds out the sandwich, the tribute reaches for it, and the mentor pulls away.

She turns to give the crowd a smile before taking a bite out of the sandwich. You roll your eyes, sighing. The tribute’s face drops, no longer hopeful, as her hand slips between the bars. You watch as she grabs the knife on the blanket, leaning forward to grab the front of the mentor’s shirt, and then slitting her throat.

The crowd screams in shock, the sandwich is dropped from the mentor’s hand as she reaches up to her throat, pawing at her neck. The tribute lets go of her, giving her a shove for good measure.

You get to your feet this instant, Sejanus’s hand falling from yours. You clutch the food to your chest as you turn to the hill, wanting to put distance between you and the scene. Sejanus grabs you, pulling you back down to the ground.

“Help her!” A voice shouts. “Medic!”

“Sejanus—”

“Put your head down.” He tells you, you lower to your knees.

“Is there a doctor? Please, someone help!” The voice belongs to Snow, who’s holding the girl mentor in his lap. She reaches up to grab his shirt, choking on the blood. Snow turns to the crowd. “Come on!”

The Ten tribute leans through the bars, snatching the cheese sandwich into her hands, raising it to her mouth. The sound of metal slamming into concrete fills the air, as the Peacekeepers burst through the far side of the enclosure, raising their runs, presumably aiming for the district girl.

She manages to take a bite of the sandwich, before the bullets are fired, piercing her body. You duck your head, squeezing your eyes shut, as Sejanus presses down on your back to keep you down. Another round of screaming, no more shots fired.

You sit up, Sejanus’s hand retreating. He opens up his bag, showing you the bread and eggs that he has inside, all meant for the tributes you’re trapped with. You know what he’s asking, so you lift the bottom of your skirt to create a bowl, letting him dump the food inside so it doesn’t go to waste.

The people have begun to flee the area, Sejanus rising to his feet. He leaves his backpack behind, holding a single wedge of bread. You get to your feet with shaky legs, turning to look at the Peacekeepers, where they have the others lined up against the wall, hands on their heads.

You carefully step down the hill, breathing slowly to keep from panicking. You glance over your shoulder at Sejanus, to find him sprinkling the bread over the Ten girl. His lips are moving, whispering the prayer, before a Peacekeeper grabs him by the back of his shirt, yanking him away.

You make it all the way to the wall. When they take notice of you, they grab the underside of your arm, pulling you to stand next to Marcus. They don’t tell you to put your hands on your head, letting you tremble.

They wait for the zoo to clear out, and as soon as the last person has left, they begin to search each one of you thoroughly. When it’s clear that you’re not hiding any weapons, they brandish the shackles. They go down the line, slapping the metal on your wrists, tightening the cuffs, and then moving on to the next person.

And when the last restraint is secured, they leave. The doors scraping on the cement before slamming shut. 

—

The Peacekeepers work silently as they direct the truck to back in as far as it possibly can into the alleyway without damaging the bricks. When it comes close enough to the doors, they hold up a hand, making it stop. A few of the Peacekeepers gather together briefly to speak, before turning to the line of you. 

They bring you up to the long truck bed, where they make you get down so they lock you to it. You start by crouching, but as the minutes tick on with no sign of movement, you tuck the skirt beneath you as best as possible so that you can sit. The heat from the metal burns through the fabric, and it feels like there’s nothing under you at all.

Marcus is placed a few feet away, where he shifts on his feet, opting not to sit. The two of you share a long look, where you raise your eyebrows and he shakes his head. Neither of you have a clue what’s happening. The Peacekeepers haven’t said so much as a word to any of you.

They just gathered you up, they sent someone to retrieve the body of the Ten girl, who had been slumped against the bars all night. Since the incident yesterday, no one has been allowed to visit the zoo. Except for Snow, where he briefly spoke to Lucy Gray before leaving.

There’s a large metal structure attached to the truck bed in front of you. You have to tilt your head all the way back to see what it is. It’s a crane, it seems. A metal hook hangs off a chain, swaying in the air from the small breeze. It’s so hot out that it isn’t that much of a relief. You’ve been baking in the cage all night. Forget the food that Sejanus has been giving you, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for a cup of water.

Machinery begins to whirr, the hook slowly coming down at you. You look over your shoulder, curious to see why they could possibly need the hook. You can’t find the Peacekeepers, only the faces of the tributes behind you, who are avoiding eye contact, or staring at the ground.

The chains and hook begin to curl on the ground, when suddenly it stops. A Peacekeeper grunts, there’s a hard stomp on the truck, making it vibrate. It’s quiet for a second, as the sound of something dragging across the uneven surface is all you can hear, until there’s a violent gag, followed by desperate coughing.

As you turn to see, a closed fits smacks the side of your face, causing you to jerk away. You lean as far as the shackles will allow, looking up at the Peacekeeper. You realize quickly that it wasn’t done on purpose, because he’s clutching a pair of handcuffs between his gloves. They’re attached to a pair of wrists, and furthermore, a body.

The rancid smell of a decomposing body hits your nose, making you sick. You bury your nose in the cloth on your shoulder, deeply inhaling to rid the assault. Tears pop into your eyes, which you struggle to blink away. The Peacekeeper reaches down to grab the hook, sliding it between one of the chain links. 

He lifts a hand, indicating to lift the hook. A moment later, it does. The Peacekeeper keeps a hold on the body, setting it straight, making sure that it won’t come loose. It isn’t until he twists the body to get a look, do you see that it’s the dead girl from Ten. In the open air, you’re able to see the bitemarks along her skin, a few chunks missing from the rats that were nibbling on her all night. 

A gag rises, you turn your head to the other side of the truck, teeth grit tightly together while you try to calm your stomach. It isn’t a full minute before they’ve decided that she’s up high enough in the air, which is when the Peacekeeper leaves the truck, jumping down.

They wrap up the area, closing the door to the enclosure, getting in the vehicle. They drive out of the alleyway and down the streets, where a few pedestrians stop where they stand to stare. You drop your head, lips pressed together.

The car comes to a stop a few short minutes later. When you peer around the front of the truck, you can see the grey uniform of Peacekeepers. There’s hundreds of them too, perfectly in place. Your eyebrows twitch, lips parting. This can’t possibly be for the twenty-three of you, can it?

You look back at Marcus, who’s on the inner side of the row, making it impossible for him to see. “Peacekeepers, hundreds of ‘em.”

A few heads rise, eyes landing on you. Marcus’s face contorts, “Why?”

“No idea.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then the beginning notes of the Capitol anthem cuts through the silence. The Peacekeepers straighten, finding their places. 

“Gem of Panem,” A male voice starts. “Mighty city, through the ages, you shine anew.”

The next three minutes are filled with the lyrics to the anthem. They’re vaguely familiar, you haven’t heard them in a couple of months, at least. They used to have you chant it every morning at school, but it fizzled out because it took up precious learning time. Now, they play the instrumental to allow the teachers to talk over it.

The applause that follows after the final note is thunderous, coming from far down the street. You can’t see anyone, though. Only the Peacekeepers, standing still as they wait for their cue to move. A heavy feeling weighs in your stomach, as the thoughts of what may be waiting for you begin to claw.

“Two days ago, Arachne Crane’s young and precious life was ended, and so we mourn another victim of the criminal rebellion that yet besieges us.” A powerful voice says. “Her death was as valiant as any on the battlefield, her loss more profound as we claim to be at peace. But no peace will exist while this disease eats away at all that is good and noble in our country. Today we honor her sacrifice with a reminder that while evil exists, it does not prevail. And once again, we bear witness as our great Capitol brings justice to Panem.”

There’s a slow, deep drumming that starts. The Peacekeepers move forward, as if drawn to the sound. The truck doesn’t move until they’re a good fifteen feet ahead, it jolts, you catch yourself by placing your hands on the metal bed. The scorching heat licks your palms so aggressively that you jerk back, chains rattling, cuffs digging into your wrists.

For a good stretch, you can’t see anything, it looks like any other road. And then, you spot the stands, the people dressed in black on the left, mourning. On the right, it’s the same, but there’s also a choir of the mentors in red, standing together. You search quickly for Sejanus, yet you’re unable to find him.

Behind the truck is another army of Peacekeepers, marching in sync. The car continues down the avenue until you’re out of sight completely. And instead of stopping at the end of the street, like the Peacekeepers, it continues moving. You expect it to bring you back to the zoo, but you’re going in a different direction.

The wind caresses your skin from the car picking up speed. It temporarily cools the burning on your shoulders, but not by much. The group of you are brought across the river, where an amphitheater stands. The truck comes to a stop out front, and it stays here for the next thirty minutes, until the brigade of Peacekeepers show up.

After that, you’re brought off the truck, one by one, with two Peacekeepers flanking one tribute. With you being so far up, it takes them fifteen minutes before it’s your turn to get freed. They line you up numerically, in girl-boy order, and make you wait an additional half hour while the mentors get here.

They step off the bus, instructed to stand next to their tribute. Sejanus comes out with a grave look on his face, eyes on the ground. He lets out a sigh when he squeezes between you and the boy from One.

“I’ve got nothing for you, I’m sorry.” Sejanus murmurs. 

“It’s fine.” You whisper back. “They fed us last night and this morning.”

When all tributes and mentors are counted for, the Peacekeepers remove the bars from the entrance, swinging open the large doors to reveal a grand lobby. Inside, there are boarded-up booths and old curling posters from wartime. The Peacekeepers lead the way through the lobby, to the turnstiles.

Two soldiers stand at turnstiles on opposite ends, feeding coins into the machine to allow you to pass through at the same time as Sejanus. As soon as you step through, a cheerful voice says, “Enjoy the show!”

There’s a long cement hallway leading to where you’re going, lit up by only the red emergency lights. It’s too dark for you to walk with sure steps, so you reach over to Sejanus, chains rattling as your hands wrap around his elbow. He briefly glances over, where you give him a small smile. 

He places his free hand over yours, squeezing your fingers. He doesn’t let go, either, not until you’ve made it to the end, where you walk into the sunlight and onto a giant field. Your pace slows considerably, eyes sweeping the area, wondering why this is so familiar.

“Where are we?” You ask.

“The arena.” Sejanus tells you.

You stop, wanting a moment to take in just how large it is. What should be a healthy and green field is now dead and dried up. There’s a scoreboard hanging over the opening you just came through, with thousands of seats circling the arena behind it.

If this is where you’re going to come to fight in a couple short days, then you’ll have no issue hiding, at least. No matter where you go on Game day, you’ll be safe as long as you’re careful.

The Peacekeepers move off to the side, letting you spread out. Sejanus begins to lead you away immediately. “Did you come up with anything for the interview?”

“No, not with Marcus.” You sigh. “He’s dead-set on figuring it out on his own. I figure that I can play the sick sister card, maybe earn some sympathy.” 

“That could work, but they’re looking for talent.”

“I don’t have much of that.” Your feet come to a halt, you pull away from Sejanus’s arm. Your fingers are warm from where he’d been holding them. “You don’t need to worry about the interview, I’ll have that covered. It’s not a half-bad idea. People like to help the poor, and that’s all the districts are, right?”

Sejanus’s mouth turns downward, but he doesn’t object. “Right. I just wish I could do more.”

“You’re already doing enough, I couldn’t have asked for anyone better.” You say, “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Arachne? I could hardly call her that. She was closer with Coriolanus than me.” Sejanus shakes his head.

“Still, it’s hard losing someone in your class.” Your eyes land on a stray eyelash laying on his cheek. “Don’t move.”

You reach over, hand resting on the side of his face just long enough for your thumb to swipe away the eyelash. You hold it out for him to see, before brushing it away.

“Thank you.” He says.

“You have to keep up your appearance.” You laugh. “Mine doesn’t really matter anymore.”

“That’s not—”

An explosion shakes the arena, the fiery blast throwing you to the ground, head cracking against the cement. Through blurry eyes, you’re able to make out Sejanus in the smoke, hovering over you, before the black blotches eat away at your vision completely.

—

“Follow the light.” The woman tells you, clicking on the flashlight.

As you adjust the pack of ice against the side of your head, you listen to her directions, eyes flickering to keep track of the light. When she’s satisfied, she clicks it off, dropping it into a pocket on her lab coat. There’s a badge hanging from her neck with an old picture of her and her name.

Magnolia Peacescape. Her occupation is a veterinarian.

Your eyes land on her again, squinting suspiciously. The Capitol couldn’t even afford to give you a real doctor? They had to insist on someone who works on animals?

“What’s your name?” She asks, grabbing a clipboard.

“(Y/n) (L/n).” You murmur, attention shifting to the Peacekeepers who are dragging tributes into the zoo cage.

“How old are you?” She asks.

You open your mouth to speak, the number on the tip of your tongue before it slips away. Your face twists as you search the open air as if it’ll have some answer. All you come up with are blanks, you resort to staring at Magnolia.

She looks up from the paper. “How old are you?” She repeats.

“I’m not sure.” You admit. 

Her face contorts, she reluctantly looks away to write something on the paper. “District?”

“Two.”

“Who’s your mentor?” Her pen pauses.

Once again you have nothing, so you shake your head at her. “Am I supposed to know?”

The wrinkles on her face are deepening with every passing second. She licks her lips, looking over at the Peacekeepers briefly, before turning back to you. “Honey, what’s the name of the boy you came here with?”

Your eyes fall to the cement as you try to picture his face, or any features that may belong to the boy that she’s referring to. When that doesn’t work, you try to conjure up details about him, like his name, his age, his height. All of which she’s withholding.

“I’m sorry…” You murmur, trailing off.

She sighs, “Wait here.”

Magnolia Peacescape lowers the clipboard, pulling it against her chest. She walks over to one of the Peacekeepers standing by the metal doors, beginning to speak very quickly, none of it that you can hear over the moans of pain. The tributes are spread out through the enclosure, varying in how hurt they are from the bombing.

Most are covered in soot and smell like smoke from the fire. Their clothes are ripped or burned at the edges, exposing their skin. From what the Peacekeepers were saying, a good number of tributes were injured, but not as severely as the pair from District Nine, who were caught in the fire for an extended period of time.

And of course, a few of them died in the attack. Like the tributes from Six, who got caught by shrapnel, and the two from One, who had tried to escape the arena but got shot before they made it out of the entrance. There was one tribute that managed to escape, though, and that’s the boy you came here with.

As for the mentors, they don’t say much about them. You heard in passing that a pair of twins had died and three mentors got hospitalized. You couldn’t get any more than that, because they pushed you inside of the zoo.

“She needs to go to the hospital!” Magnolia’s high voice suddenly cuts through the noises. “She has a concussion.”

“We aren’t authorized to take them out of the exhibit.” The Peacekeeper drones. “If you have a request, you need to submit it to Dr. Gaul, she’s overseeing the mentoring program and the treatment of the tributes.”

She shakes her head. “So I’m going to have to go through that process for each one of them?” She motions to the cage. “They don’t have time for that.”

“It’s your only option.”

She waves her hand in the air, turning away, coming back in your direction. You move the ice pack the wrong way by accident, making the throbbing come back full force. You wince, pulling it away from your head as you fix your holding.

Magnolia grabs it from you, pats on the ice to make it flat, and then presses it against the dressed cut. “Keep it there until it melts.”

“Thank you.”

“I haven’t done much to deserve that.” She says, looking down at the clipboard. “It says here that you have two sisters, what are their names?” When you don’t respond, she takes a deep breath. “And your mother is dead, can you recall from what?”

You blink, “My mom is dead?”

She writes on the paper. “This is information we gathered from the interview that took place with your mentor.”

Your eyes wander away, thinking about your mom.

“Do you remember the interview?”

“No.” 

Magnolia sighs. “(Y/n), you’re eighteen years old. Your mentor is Sejanus Plinth, and the boy you came here with is Marcus. He escaped early this afternoon.”

Your face twists.

“I suspect you may have anterograde and retrograde amnesia. It’s caused by head trauma.” She stops long enough to write something on the clipboard, then clicks her pen and slides it into her pocket. “From what Mister Plinth told me at the scene, it would make sense. I’ll make a request for them to admit you to the hospital, but I can’t treat you any further. I don’t have the equipment.”

“Amnesia.” You mutter.

“I’ll be checking in on you as much as Dr. Gaul will allow it.” She presses her lips together. “You need to rest and take it easy. If you have any allies, I would suggest asking them to watch over you.”

With that, she walks away, heading to the next tribute. You stand there for a moment, watching as she begins to assess them. And then you turn away, to two piles of hay behind a rock formation. You wander toward it, lowering the ice pack, blinking away the tears that appear in your eyes.

—

In the three days that… that veterinarian visited, you were never actually taken to the hospital. Despite the numerous requests she made, and the notes stating that your memory is gradually getting worse, the doctor—the one in charge of the Games—never had you admitted. 

You weren’t the only one, the tributes from District Nine, who were in much worse shape than you, were neglected. They died sometime during the night, and their bodies were retrieved in the early morning yesterday. A few hours later, the rest of you were packed into two different trucks, separated by gender, with bars, where you were paraded through the streets for what you assume was another funeral.

When they got you together again this afternoon, you were afraid that more people had died, but the Peacekeepers said something about a second interview with your mentors. Which might as well be your first, because you can’t recall a single thing that happened the last time.

The two chairs on either side of you sit empty, their tributes long gone. You know that one of them is dead, but the boy you came here with is still missing. The Peacekeepers have questioned you five times in the past few days, demanding to know where he could’ve possibly gone. Each time they come around, you have to tell them that if he did mention a plan, you don’t remember due to the bombing.

You don’t remember anything.

A group of students dressed in bright red uniforms come down the spiral staircase on the far side of the large room. It really is nice here, with the tall ceilings, the engraved pillars and the arched windows. You haven’t seen anything like it before, the closest building that would come to this in District Two is the Justice Building, but even that’s too worn to compare.

A boy with curly brown hair comes in your direction, with brown eyes so wide that you can see into his soul. He sets his book bag on the ground, settling in the chair across from you. Without saying a single word, he leans forward, placing his hands on top of your shackled ones.

“(Y/n), I’m so glad you’re okay.” He says, face twisted with worry. “When I saw the amount of blood…”

The veterinarian… fuck what was her name? She kept telling you that you needed to be testing your memory, but it’s so hard when you can’t recall the smallest detail. She must’ve told you this boy’s name easily over three dozen times, and how he meant something to you. He’s your mentor of course, you know that much. He’s supposed to be beyond that.

“How are you feeling? Ma made a couple of cold cut sandwiches, you must be hungry.” He says, taking his hands away, opening his bag. “She told me that Doctor Peacescape saw all the tributes.”

Peacescape, that’s the veterinarian’s last name. Whether or not it’ll stick in your mind this time is a complete mystery. Just like the rest of the names, faces and events that should be ringing a bell but don’t.

The boy places a wrapped package on the table, presumably the sandwich. He sits back up in his chair. “It looks like she’s treated you well, the cut on your head is healing nicely.”

You stare at him, face contorted as you struggle to dig through your mind for his name, a significant memory, anything.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur, beginning to shake your head.

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s not your fault. They suspect it was rebels from the districts that placed the bombs.”

“That’s not why I’m apologizing.” You say, “The veterinarian…” You grit your teeth, you just heard her name. “Peacescape, that’s it. Doctor Peacescape diagnosed me with some amnesia disorder due to the concussion. She tried to get me admitted to the hospital but the um… the head doctor for the Games denied her requests.”

The boy has visibly paled. “You don’t remember anything?”

“I mean, I remember some.” Your eyes drift away, to the empty desk to the left, where your tribute partner should be. “There’s a lot of gaps in between.” You look back at him. “I know you’re my mentor, but I don’t know your name. And I know that the boy I came here with ran away in the bombing, but there’s no picture of him in my mind.”

His head has lowered, staring down at the sandwich. He doesn’t say anything for a long minute, thinking to himself. You reach as far as the handcuffs will allow you, which isn’t much. Still, you’re able to place a couple fingers on top of one of his hands.

“Peacescape said you mean something to me. I don’t think she was referring to the fact that you’re my mentor.”

He breathes out, defeated. “I used to live in District Two. Me, you and Marcus went to grade school together.” 

Your eyebrows draw in, waiting for there to be a hint of a memory. “Marcus?”

“The boy that escaped.” He says.

“And what’s your name?” 

“Sejanus Plinth.” 

A part of you wishes that the memories would suddenly flood in at the mention of his name. Like the dozens of times before, there is no reaction, nothing magically clicks. It sits there, at the front of your mind, where it’ll stay for the next few hours until its spotlight is gone. Then, it’ll fade like everything else.

“Sejanus, I’m sure we’re great friends.” You tell him.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n). You shouldn’t be here.” He’s back to holding on to your fingers, tears appearing in his eyes. “You and Marcus should be at home.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it now.” You shake your head. “How far are we into the process?”

A tear slides down his cheek, he wipes it away. “Dr. Gaul has approved the sponsorship program, so we need to get you support from the Capitol.”

You nod, “That’s vaguely familiar.”

“Well, they’re still doing the interviews for that, it’s on a voluntary basis now, so it’s no longer required.” He sighs. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

“I feel like I don’t have much of a choice. If that’s a factor that’ll help me win, I should do it.” You press your lips together. “Did I have any ideas?”

“You said you wanted to gain sympathy by telling them about your sick sister.” Sejanus murmurs.

“My sister is sick? Which one?” You ask.

“You didn’t say.” He says.

You tilt your head back, looking at the balcony above. You could honestly scream from how stupid this is. It makes no sense, how could you forget a detail that important? Or the fact that your mom is dead? Why is this happening to you?

“I’ll think of something else.” You tell him, closing your eyes. “I can’t use that anymore because I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay, (Y/n), you don’t have to.” Sejanus says.

A whistle is blown, you jump in the chair, yanking your hands toward your head to cover, but they don’t even make it halfway before the cuffs dig into your skin harshly, halting the movement. You squeeze your eyes shut as your hands begin to tremble.

A hand is placed on your arm, squeezing your shoulder. “You don’t have any pockets, so you need to put the sandwich in your shirt somewhere. I’m out of time.”

You breathe out shakily, leaning into the table to hook a finger around the inside of your shirt. “If you can wedge it there.”

He does, and no matter how hard you jostle, it keeps in place, giving you hope that it’ll make it back to the zoo enclosure. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He says, getting to his feet. “Okay?”

You have to force yourself to nod, raising your head. He doesn’t move from where he stands, waiting for your confirmation. “Okay.” You breathe.

--

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

#ilguna #sejanus plinth #sejanus plinth imagine #sejanus plinth oneshot #sejanus plinth fanfic #sejanus plinth x reader #sejanus plinth x you #sejanus plinth x yn #sejanus plinth x y/n #sejanus imagine #sejanus fanfic #sejanus x reader #sejanus oneshot #sejanus x you #sejanus x yn #sejanus x y/n #thg #the hunger games #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #3k celebration #angst #amonett #planet anon #ask #requested

[gothlute]

Since you said it was okay to send you asks about Lute (and I really wanna talk about her ajshgs): do you have any headcanons for her as a character, fallenwings and/or guitarspear? :)

Also, as a doodle idea: fallen angel Lute!

I love this so much!!!!

Okay so the fallen angel Lute doodle will be done a bit later since I ordered a graphic tablet and I wanna draw it on it. I'll tag you!

Ive already made a post about Guitarspear headcanons too :D I might post more if I get ideas!

___________________________________________

Lute headcanons.

• Metalhead & likes goth music

• Had an emo phase, obviously, tho she won't admit it

• She's REALLY into music, either listening to it or making it. Adam and her make music together! She can sing and kinda play drums (tho she's a begginer)

• Her favorite bands is Type O negative

•Her favorite colors are black and red

• Super picky eater, and so is Adam

• High IQ, and possibly autistic, she gets told to get tested a LOT but she doesnt want to

• Is SUPER good at make up, she does her eyeliner super fast

• Very very good at strategy games. She's overall very smart and learns fast. The kind of kid to learn how to read super early and then get pissed at other kids because they can't do it

• Super serious most of the time, but the most unhinged mf with Adam because she trusts him deeply. She actually makes almost as much dirty jokes as him when it's just the two of them

• Both bi and homophobic : she was raised in a SUPER religious family and feels attraction to girls but is deeply ashamed of it.

• Had a situationship with Vaggie, but had too much internalized homophobia for it to work. She's SUPER bitter about it

• Pretty interested in mythology

-She's pretty muscular and very strong, she works out a LOT and pretty much all gay exorcists have/had some sort of crush on her (and everyone's aware of it except for herself)

• Wears a band shirt and black sweatpants like 50% of the time when out of uniform

• She would LOVE the Saw movies. They have gore, interesting lore and she'd love to learn about all the traps (she would wanna try them on demons LMAO)

___________________________________________

Now let's dive deeper into the Lute and Vaggie part.

Fallenwings headcanons (sorta)

!!CW interalized homophobia

I don't believe Vaggie and Lute dated. I do think they had something going on though.

To begin with, I think Lute is bisexual, with INSANE. amounts of internalized homophobia and religious guilt. She's plain homophobic, and thinks it's a sin, while ignoring the part of her that likes it. It has been easy at first because she wasn't into ONE specific girl.

But when she started liking Vaggie, everything was way harder. Her feelings were too hard to ignore. She felt genuine physical attraction, to the point where training with her was getting hard. Everything was complicated.

And Vaggie felt this way too. She started flirting with Lute, and even though she felt painfully guilty about it, she gave in.

They kissed a copious amount of times (never in public), slept together almost as much, and genuine feelings were developping for both of them.

But Lute's self hatred was only getting worse, and it was getting in the way. She would rather die than make their relationship official (though let's be honest you'd have to be blind to miss the sexual tension during training), and Vaggie had to constantly remind Lute that it was okay, that it didn't make her a sinner.

She didn't believe it.

She sometimes pushed Vaggie away when she initiated any contact, even chaste and friendly, and got very cold and disgusted to talk to her. Because after all, she's gay.

Vaggie tried to be as understanding as possible, but it was getting too far.

Her and Lute got into an argument.

Vaggie was like "this is stupid, you insist that we hide when we see eachother, you seem uncomfortable and it's clear that you don't really like me SO we should probably just stop". She wasnt that mad just a bit annoyed and sad

Except Lute took it very badly, and got VERY defensive and mad, because Vaggie was right. She got mean and lashed out on her, Vaggie left and they just...stopped talking

Basically, Vaggie thinks Lute used her to "try it with a girl" while Lute had actual feelings, and she HATES Vaggie because she let her see her weaknesses and thinks she's disgusting for making her fall for her!! She was a lesbian after all.

+ She betrayed heaven and it was OVER. It was the proof Lute was waiting for, proof that Vaggie was just a filthy sinner, disgusting, that she deserved to rot in hell, and that Lute's little phase was over, probably a test from God she passed.

Sometimes, Lute still dreams of the filthy sinner, of her sweet words and the warmth of her embrace. She still feels all warm when seeing two girls kiss, she still gets jealous. But she knows better than to indulge in those feelings now, she's a warrior.

#hazbin hotel #lute hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel rambling #fallenwings #vaggie hazbin hotel #lute x vaggie #vaggie x lute #dangervag #I hate this name LMAO #lute #vaggie #queer

[sheriffgrimes-archerdixon]

The devil and I

Tw’s: blood, gore, near SA

Request: hey, I was wondering whether you could do something along the lines of where joes group hold rick at gunpoint but instead of it being michonne and Carl it’s the reader, Carl and rick? And they try to hurt y/n. If you’re comfortable with that? Thank you!

I’m so sorry this took me forever- i binged twd all over again so I’ve got inspiration to write this scene… legit my love for Rick is only growing🥲❤️ note: I am not following the scene so words will not be the same and actions will not be the same. Edit: this has been sat in my drafts for ages I forgot to post it so apologies. (Daryl not included in this version sorry!)

A/N: literally if Rick protected me like this I would legit fold. 😭

Safety was always something no one took for granted yet whenever you took safety for granted even for a split second everything went terribly wrong… exactly like this moment. You were now stood with your hands up in surrender Rick stood beside you and Carl in the car asleep. You listened to the cruel man as he began talking, blaming Rick— going on a tangent about how Rick was going to pay with his life. It made you feel sick to your stomach your fearful eyes locking onto Rick who was clearly watching you out of his peripheral one of his hands inches away from grabbing his pistol his other hand raised. “You think you’re all that?” His voice was sarcastic “well let me tell you somethin’ you killed our friend! That means we’ve gotta kill you! Start with the girl…” his cold eyes moved to look at you, eyes scanning up and down your body tongue lightly licking against his lower lip as he smirked “then we’ll kill you.” His eyes snapped back to Rick who looked infuriated to say the least. “It was my fault okay? Don’t- don’t get my people involved” he spat out. “Don’t? Oh you should’ve thought about that before killing my men!” He yelled making you flinch, immediately making his attention return to you as he suddenly turned his gun on you ricks eyes narrowing as he clenched his jaw,

“Hey! Keep the gun on me. On me.” Rick demanded, Joe looking at him with annoyance “you think you have fuckin’ control in this situation? Well buddy you’re wrong. You don’t tell me what I can and can’t do!” Jesus Christ this guy needed to take a chill pill. Your body trembled as the gun remained pointed at you, Rick too being held at gun point by another man as the other men in the group began searching around— the chubby one finding Carl, beginning to sniff him out in a crude horrible way your eyes wide as you watched the man do the unthinkable… this was sick! “Leave him be!” Rick yelled referring to Carl, Joe only laughing. He could’ve stopped his men from touching Carl.. pinning him down but he didn’t. He seemed to find it amusing. You watched with wide eyes until eventually you couldn’t cope anymore, making a drastic decision as you attempted to sprint over to Carl only for one of the skinner men to kick out his foot making you trip as you landed face first in the mud. “Well that was a dumb decision wasn’t it sweetheart!” You breathed heavily hearing Rick struggle slightly “don’t do anything to them— fuck! Don’t touch them! They didn’t do anything. It was all me! Leave them be!” Rick raised his voice desperately but despite that Joe didn’t listen, only mocking Rick further.

That’s when you felt a hand grab you, swiftly turning you over as you watched the tall man come down to straddle your waist— grubby hand grabbing your jaw as he got a good look at you. “Joe she’s a pretty one. Might keep her!” The man laughed out evilly Rick’s cold pale blue eyes glaring straight into the back of the man’s head his hands clenched by his side as he tried to breathe normally the fury on his face clearer than anything. He was about to snap… about to do something wrong… but these men couldn’t just do this. His eyes slid to the fat man who was now loosening his belt, ricks heart dropping into his stomach. “Don’t touch me!” You yelled averting ricks gaze back to you, watching you fight the man off attempting to push him away only for him to grab your wrists and pin them above your head “don’t touch her! Get your filthy hands off of her” he demanded, Joe taking that as a advantage more than anything knowing Rick seeing his people being hurt would cause him more pain… but unbeknownst to Joe it would also spur him on to doing something else in retaliation. “Hey— turn her around so he can see her face.” Joe laughed out, the man holding you down quickly obeying a sick grin on his lips as he forced you onto the floor— Rick now stood where you could see him but because you were laying on the ground he was upside down. Tears clung to your eyelashes as you stared at him in fear the terror clear. “You can take what you want! Just stop it. Stop this!” Rick demanded but it fell upon deaf ears. The men didn’t care. Rick watched as the man holding you began cutting your T-shirt off until you were exposed- leaving you in your bra and jeans.

“Well would you look at that… ya convinced yet?” He spoke to Joe as if asking whether they could keep you now. Joe only smirked and you watched in horror as the man began cutting your bra off, ricks eyes fleeing to look at Carl again the man pressing a knife to the young boys skin ricks head aching, his vision spinning, before he acted in complete panic and need to save you both as he abruptly head butted Joe making a bullet fly into the air— hitting one of joe’s men straight in the head knocking him unconscious immediately. The smell of gunpowder swirled in the air and you quickly kicked the man in the balls, watching him attempt to ease the pain only for him to pin you down again as you struggled barely registering what Rick had done, the familiar metallic scent of blood making you look over at him momentarily as your body continued to desperately fight…. Rick had bitten a huge chunk of flesh out of joe’s neck… clearly tearing an artery… your breath hitched as Rick stormed towards the two of you his beard coated in blood before he roughly stood the man up, shoving his gun onto his chin “give me one good fucking reason why I shouldn’t pull the trigger.” Rick growled out, but didn’t even wait as he pulled the trigger— it was violent… vicious… merciless.. you watched with wide eyes as Rick didn’t even tend to you, yet, instead moving toward the fat man who was now up hands raised attempting to desperately save his own life. You weakly scurried towards Carl, grabbing him and holding him close as the boy gripped onto you, a shadow of terror in his eyes… he was traumatised… you knew what Rick was going to do. He was going to end this man’s life in the most horrific way for touching his son and so you quickly but gently helped Carl get into the car, your head turning just in time to watch a sharp hunting knife be shoved into the man’s stomach— the jagged teeth immediately sinking into his flesh as Rick began dragging the knife upwards… literally gutting the man like a fish.

You watched with wide eyes your breath hitching, Rick keeping the man held up as he stared into his eyes watching how the life drained from him little by little and as the man slumped Rick began violently stabbing the man over and over and over again. Your eyes filled with terror. You hadn’t seen Rick like this before… never… he was so composed but obviously and rightfully so he acted like this correctly. You would too if it was your child. But you were also traumatised from also nearly being sexually assaulted. Your brain wasn’t entirely working and so you shakily got into the car and began comforting Carl your face twisted with pain and other emotions that couldn’t quite be deciphered… you were unsure with what you felt… you were confused… desperate for comfort but you knew Carl needed it more than you at the moment. You silently pulled a blanket over him in an attempt to sooth him, your fingers beginning to run through his hair gently.

—

You weren’t sure how long had passed but it was now daylight, the sun breaking through the clouds. You were sat near the car a numb expression on your face, your head bowed your body covered in blood and dirt hands trembling slightly. You were still shirtless, bra hanging on by only one strap but that was the least of your worries. You barely noticed as the familiar boots came into view, the man soon sitting beside you your eyes catching onto his hands covered in dried blood his wedding ring coated in the crimson liquid your eyes remaining locked on it momentarily before you looked away again. “Are you okay?” Those words left his lips so compassionately yet you could hear the tiredness in his voice. He didn’t need someone else to worry about.

“Fine.” You murmured back tiredly ricks eyes boring into you as he studied you carefully, he was an ex sheriff for gods sake he wasn’t dumb… he could sniff a lie out immediately. But really was anyone okay nowadays? “Hey” he reached his hand out grabbing onto your hand gently his grip tender and you slowly looked at him feeling gross. You could still feel the man’s hands on your body… groping you. “He touched me rick.” You whimpered feeling pathetic but you trusted him. Deeply. You knew you could talk to him without being judged. “I can feel his hands everywhere.” Tears stung your eyes as finally a few trailed down your cheeks leaving pale marks down your mud covered cheeks, Rick didn’t know what to say. What could he say? He however didn’t think much on it, instead giving your hand a squeeze. “I won’t let that happen ever again. Im sorry y/n.” He spoke tenderly and you glanced at him tired eyes locking with his and you only shook your head. “Not your fault.” You assured calmly yet emotionally, Rick didn’t speak for a moment or two before he eventually stood up. You believed he was going to leave but much to your surprise you watched as he removed his jacket, extending a hand out towards you as you slowly and timidly grabbed his hand. He pulled you up carefully before helping you put the jacket on, and once it was over you he leaned down slightly grabbing the ends of the jacket as he zipped it up for you until the zip dangled just below your neck before he stood back up. “We’ll get moving as soon as Carl is awake. Don’t want to risk running into anymore folk like that…” he spoke and you nodded silently, expecting him to walk off which he did at first before pausing turning to look at you “again I’m sorry.” He paused momentarily before walking back to you and much to your gratefulness and surprise he pulled you in for an abrupt hug, holding you for a solid 50 seconds before he pulled away hands resting on your shoulders “we’ll be alright.” He reassured searching your eyes that held doubt and worry and you gulped heavily before nodding. He then pulled away, “Rick” you murmured shakily making him pause as he looked back at you “pinky promise?” You held your pinky out for him watching as he glanced down at your pinky outstretched for his and he smiled slightly before nodding, stepping back towards you his pinky locking with yours “I pinky promise that we’ll be alright y/n.” He spoke whilst looking into your eyes. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you or carl ever again.” The look in his eyes saying that much… he was going to protect you and his family until his last dying breath.

#twd #comfort #twd imagines #rick grimes x you #rick grimes twd #twd rick grimes #rick grimes #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x reader #carl grimes #welcome to my twisted mind #triggering content #triggering themes #read at your own discretion #happy ending #you x rick #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead #rick x yn #not specified whether reader is love interest so can be readers decision to relationship with him #rick grimes x sister reader #Rick grimes x daughter #rick x daughter reader #rick x reader #rick x best friend reader #rick x you #rick x y/n #zombies #walkers #tw

[mistypsych]

ANATOMY OF A CRIMINAL - CHAPTER 6

/ yoongi / suga / agust d

summary: as a doctor you never expected to be dragged into “the criminal life”, nothing and no one seems to be true anymore, your whole world turns upside down after you save him.

pairings: yoongi mob boss x f.reader x non idol bts members.

warnings: smut, guns, knives, stabbings, blood, gore, murders, drugs, criminals, gang life, medical emergency, illness, abuse, swearing, angst, dubcon, gang violence, corruption, manipulation, lies, cheating - 18+ minors dni.

Note: Hi! This is an attempt of writing a fanfic long after not writing anything at all. Please also keep in mind English is no longer my first language and it might be a bit rusty and odd at times but I try my best. Comments and thoughts are well appreciated. Don’t hesitate to ask questions, state your thoughts for me to post up and have me add you to the tag list!

He slightly tightened his hand around your neck earning a louder gasp this time. You swallowed nervously. It was like he could easily snap your neck if he wanted to, so why were your feeling the desire burn in you more with each second? Agust-D was a dangerous man, a man you should not be involved with in any way. As much as you did not feel intimidated by his pawns like Teahyung, he himself was another story. He scared you in many ways but also intrigued you and excited you, what made a very dangerous mix of emotions. One bound to finally explode.

Hearing you desperately take in air to your lungs, he smirked. He felt the slight tremble of your body. He was aware of the fear that was tangling up with the lust within you. He knew in one way you wanted to run but in another he was keeping you on your tiptoes. So he pulled on your neck, bringing you closer to him, your eyes shutting tighter. His breath danced over your chin. “I’ll ask you again… are you sure you’re finished?”

Your muscles shook from all the anticipation. You knew the plan for fucking around with someone like Tae was already stupid but this? This felt like a suicide mission. Like a moth throwing itself into a beautiful flame. But why couldn’t you stop? Why couldn’t you run away? While you were trying to cling to whatever that was left from your rational mind, an image of your fiancé messing around with some girl swung into your brain. You wanted it to go away. To push away the vision of someone you loved so dearly fucking some other woman, pleasing her, making her beg for more. The thought of what he was doing made something break inside of you.

You finally opened your eyes and looked into the black ones in front of you. “I asked you something?” he slowly articulated, again tightening his grip to the point it was starting to get uncomfortable. “No… I’m not sure…” you almost panted out. His hand moved from your neck to grab your face in a strong squeeze, what made a stunned whimper fall out of you as he brought you millimeters from his lips. You felt his fingers dig into the flesh of your cheeks, sure that it would leave a red mark.

“That’s what I thought…” he bellowed crashing his lips over yours. His kiss was aggressive but also strangely full of passion, as if he was needing this as much as you were. You dug your hands into his hair, pulling at the wavy strands, angling his head to drop back. He groaned and let out a slightly amused chuckle while grabbing your ass with both hands, pushing you more into him. “Fucking needy as I thought… don’t worry…” he said while staring into your eyes as you pulled at his hair. The way he accepted the roughness, made you burn even more.

Letting one hand slip from your ass, he snaked it up to the nape of your neck, forcing you to crash over him. As much as he enjoyed your roughness he was not about to let you take full control. No, you needed a little bit of freedom but also to be tamed, brought to the challenge but then taken over. He overpowered you easily. His lips now sucking on your collarbone, his tongue trailing up your neck.

You squeezed your fingers tighter into his soft hair. A suppressed moan quietly trying to escape. Sitting himself higher up he nibbled your earlobe while whispering “Come on… let me hear those noises… let me know how I am making you feel… how much you fucking want this…” you didn’t want to let go completely. You were still trying to find something within you to escape. You knew getting entangled with him was dangerous. That he was a man that made you curious, that was opinionated, that he had to be smart and that surely he would be able to keep your interest. Those facts made you slightly panic. What were you doing? He was a criminal.

“Agust… I ca…” he bit your flesh and muttered “Yoongi… for you it is Yoongi…” he kept on attacking your sensitive neck with licks and bites. You could feel your mind get completely clouded and then you felt him move under your core, you felt how hard he was and how dam ready you were. With a slow motion of his hips he made you toss your head back, a moan rolling off your tongue “Oh fuck Yoongi…” you spat out. At this point you knew you were a goner.

Your sultry voice made him grab at your waist and lift you both up from the couch.

Your legs automatically wrapped around him. Once he carried you into the bedroom, you pushed the already unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders. He smirked at you and tossed your top over your head and into the corner of the room. Then he dropped onto his knees and pulled you by you belt closer to him.

He kissed your stomach mercilessly and then trailed his tongue over the brim of your jeans. Your body shivered from his touch. You looked at him. His wavy hair was messy, his eyes shining from all the lust. Fuck he looked like a sin, a sin you were ready to dive in fully. He pulled your trousers down, leaving you only in your lingerie. Lucky for you, you chose to wear your best laced pair. He licked his lips while getting up and unbuttoning his black jeans, letting them fall to the ground.

You could see threw his boxers that you also had an effect on him. Walking up to you like you were his prey he had you back up and trip over down to the bed. He climbed on top and towered over you. You snaked your legs around his waist pulling him closer to your core. He rubbed against it causing you to arch your back and whimper. “Look at you… already a sweet mess…” he said slowly in a deep voice.

Leaning over he once again attacked your lips with his. Your tongues trying to fight over for dominance, causing them to end up in a hot and sensual dance. His fingers slipped into your underwear and he slid them over your folds earning a loud moan from you and a push of your hips. He bit his lip while smoothing his fingers over your wet entrance again, making you push towards him even more.

“Fuck…” he panted and with one strong movement he tossed you on your belly. Slowly he slipped down your panties and massaged your cheeks with his long digits. Leaning over to your ear he whispered “such a fucking sweet ass…” and then he bit down on your shoulder, having you yelp both from the slight pain and pleasure. As you were trying to gather yourself a bit he grabbed your waist and pulled your ass up towards him. Having you now on your fours.

He teased your entrance with his fingers and then you felt him line up his member. He slid in excruciatingly slow. Holding you firmly, making sure you would stand no chance to push onto him. He was toying with you and driving you crazy. Once he was fully in, you felt yourself clench over his big cock. “Mmm yea… good girl…” he slowly whispered, still not making any movement, and then he started to slam into you in the perfect rhythm.

The sudden wave of pleasure rendered you speechless for a while. You fell forward to your face, leaving your bottom up. Your mind was twisting and flying threw clouds. Were you really doing this? Were you actually in bed with a mafia boss? How did you let this happen. All those questions quickly disappeared once he grabbed your face with one hand, sticking in his index finger to your mouth and pulling on your lips to the side. This forced you back up on all fours and had you bend your head back. Tears forming in your eyes from the mixture of pleasure, pain, ecstasy and fear.

He kept his tempo, quiet, low moans stared to come out of him. You moved you face to the side to catch a glimpse of him. His back was straight, his shoulders tight as his hands were grabbing at your mouth and waist. His long waves were messily sticking to his face, that was now beaded with sweat. His eyes hooded and his tongue slightly sticking out as he was biting down on his bottom lip, a slight satisfactory smirk showing as well. He looked so damn hot. His toned body was perfect while his muscles were all tense and moving under his fair skin. Fuck even the scars made him look somehow better.

Sweat was rolling down him in all the perfect places. No wonder you gave in. Looking at him now, you started to feel less guilty about your weak will. His eyes finally met yours and his lips twisted to the side into a devilish grin. He slid out his finger from your mouth just to grab a fistful of your hair, pulling you up so your back was now leaning on his chest. The new angle causing you to whimper and throw you head back on his shoulder, giving him a perfect spot to grab your neck.

Once he slightly tightened his grip, you gasped and moaned. You were completely losing it. “Fuck Yoongi…” you slurred making him bite down on you shoulder and whisper into your ear “Mmm? Yoongi what hm?” and then he moved his hips even more aggressively, earning a cry from you and having you utter out “You fuck me so damn good!”.

A low laugh escaped him as he kept pushing in and out of you, causing the knot in your belly to get even tighter. The edge was coming closer and you were about to jump over it. Once he grabbed your breast with his other hand, you leaned even more into him, moving your hips faster to meat his. He continued to kiss and lick the crook of your neck. His breath was getting louder and more erratic. Finally you heard deep and low moans escape his perfect lips and that was enough to make you come undone.

Your body convulsed helplessly as you rode out your high, the raven haired man following right after you as you both crashed on the bed breathless. Gasping for air you slightly rolled on your side. You saw him laying on his stomach with a content and wide smile. His muscles moving as he took air in his lungs. Black curls sticking to his handsome face. He looked so good all messy like that. There was something relaxing about his demeanor at that moment. Something almost innocent. Something that really did not stick to the fact he was the head of a gang.

You smiled gently, feeling your eyelids get heavy. You were about to say something when suddenly you felt tiredness take over you. Slightly murmuring you tried to snap out of it but the events of this evening took a toll over you, whipping you out completely.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

After some time you opened your eyes. Your vision slowly adjusting to the darkness, only a dim light from the streets falling in threw the window. It took you a second to figure out you were not in your apartment. Realization of last nights actions hit you like a brick to the face. So it was not a weird dream? It really happened. Gently you turned your face. There he was, laying behind you. His body facing your way, hand stretched to your waist. He looked incredibly peaceful.

You sighed quietly and rubbed your face. What the hell were you thinking? Or more like why the fuck were you not thinking? Slightly shaking your head you decided not to be too hard on yourself. You had a moment of weakness, you were in a bad spot. You gave in. Who wouldn’t? Agust-D sure knew how to make an impression and you just found out your fiancé was cheating.

Slowly you wiggled yourself from under his hand, causing him to scrunch his nose slightly. As you were about to escape from bed, he grabbed your waist with a grunt. Looking at him you saw he was still asleep. Sighing you once again attempted to get out of bed, this time pushing a pillow in your place.

As you got up, your eyes immediately tried to locate your scattered clothes. Making sure to not be too loud, you got dressed. Your thoughts were all over the place. You really messed up. Sleeping with a mafia boss was not something you ever saw yourself doing. The fact that you were able to do something like this under an impulse started to frighten you. It was almost as if you didn’t recognize yourself.

Making your way to the hallway you took out your phone, you should order a ride home. You got yourself outside quietly. Deciding to at least cover some way on foot, you were about to phone for a pick up but a car drove behind you slowly. You felt panic hit you. Running didn’t make sense, so you decided to pretend you had no idea you were being followed. Putting your phone to your ear, you pretended to be on a phone-call.

It seemed to work as the car passed by you, but to your surprise it suddenly halted. You froze in your tracks gripping your cell and getting ready to run for your life if necessary. The doors from the drivers seat swung open and a familiar silhouette appeared. It was Jimin, what the fuck was he up to? Was he going to grab you and drop you back to Yoongis place?

Seeing your worry he said “Calm down… get in… we need to talk…” looking around as if he was worried he would get targeted. Get in? He had to be kidding you. As you were about to tell him to fuck off, he looked at you seriously “Y/N trust me I am not here to hurt you… you will want to see this, besides these streets are not as safe as they may seem, so please don’t make this difficult…”

You rolled your eyes slightly. This was all not going as you planned. But something in you pushed on getting in that car, so you did. When you closed the doors Jimin looked at you calmly and started the engine “Open that cache… there is something you need to see…”

You looked at him very suspiciously. What the hell was all this about? As you opened the small doors, a leather cover appeared. It looked as one of those things you would put on your passport. Deciding there had to be something to it, you opened it. In front of your eyes you saw a badge for a KCIA agent. Jimin’s photo and credentials plastered on it. You started blinking, making sure you are actually seeing what you’re seeing.

Then the mans melodic voice snapped you out of it “As I said… we need to talk….”.

tags: @wobblewobble822 @nansasa @nochook @kootieful @kooslilhoe @yoongisducky @xjiminsthighsx @danielle143 @llallaaa @idkjustlovingbts @darcyw16 @missusally-blog @honsoolgloss @nochuel @kaitieskidmore1 @starrlo0ver @geek-lara-nerd @jwnghyuns @xyahrinx @acquiescence804

#min yoongi #suga smut #yoongi #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #agust d #hobi smut #suga x reader #agustd #namjoon #jimin #suga x y/n #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #bts yoongi #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x oc #yoongi min #min yoongi reader #bts suga #suga x you #jungkook #bts x reader

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Shades of Red - Chapter II | 4k

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three ao3 | masterlist ✦ Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x civilian f! reader ✦ Summary: The sole survivor of a terrorist attack that killed over a hundred. The soldier responsible for saving her. He wants to help you, but his own trauma make him withdraw when he wants to get closer and intoxicate when he wants to remedy. He kisses your scars and hopes you’ll runaway. He wants you to run away. But you won’t. ✦ TW: NSFW, explicit, f!reader, little to none f! physical appearence descriptions, canon typical violence, mentions of abuse and trauma/PTSD, bit of gore, mental illness mentions, slowburn;

✦ Chapter TW: slightly obsessive behavior hehe.., just a hint yet; mentions of trauma and violence

A/N: Dropping chapter two because I'm excited to start the real deal of this story! Also, chapter three might take a little while to come out cause I'm working on a request I received; hope y'all enjoy! If anyone's interested in getting into a tagslist just lemme know!

Chapter 02 - Survivor

The hospital room you were in was pleasantly cozy. A large bed in the center, a considerably large television right in front of it and the big window to the left, whose blinds were closed for the time being. There were a few empty chairs next to the bed - you were sure that at some point in the last hours, someone was sitting there, as there was a small vase of flowers resting on one of the chairs. Although you could not see the world out there, you knew it was raining by the sound of the raindrops hitting the window; the sound echoed through your ears in an almost hypnotic intonation as you dissociated.

Your daydreaming was abruptly cut off when someone opened the door to your room. A lady, a nurse, whose name tag said Doris. You shook your head and quickly looked in her direction, your eyes no longer as confusing as before, but equally expressive.

“You’re awake, finally.” She pointed, as she approached her bed with some caution. “You’ve been sleeping for at least fifteen hours since you came here. I was starting to worry,” she said, sounding somewhat caring.

You raised your eyebrows briefly.

“Fifteen hours? Fuck my life…” You whispered, and her face turned into a little grimace in response.

“Language, lady.” she joked, as her hands caringly wrapped your nearest arm and began to remove the tapes that covered your venous access. “How are you feeling?” She asked in a murmur. “I don’t expect you to say ‘well,’ for God’s sake.” she pleaded.

“Well, I’m not feeling any pain at least.” you said. For the first time in those twenty-four hours in which you were silent, your mouth bitter in the metallic taste of blood and the horrible feeling of a cake in your throat, you began to speak. There was still a lot you wish you could say, but felt like you might never get to do it. You could never take the weight you felt on your back, the unsaid words, the pain that grew restless in your mind.

“That 's good. Means the medication is working; you hurt yourself pretty bad let me say,” she commented, still trying to sound as caring as possible. The care that emanated from her made you feel a little better, you had to admit. “but you will be fine. Can you move your leg?” She finally asked, finishing by skillfully exchanging your access without causing further pain.

You looked into your legs, and felt that bitter taste invading your mouth again. Fuck. You didn’t stop to think about it: that wound on your leg, previously partially buried by concrete, was well, very extensive. 

After breathing deeply, you concentrated your energies into the hurt leg. Your face shrugged in a strenuous expression, you were giving your best; your leg began to tremble and the rest of your body too, by the effort. It was as if that concrete block was still there, preventing its movement, causing you to suffer in stuckness.

“It’s okay, you can stop now.” she said, but you were negative and shaken your head with all the strength you could, small tears forming on your red face as you tried to move.

“No. I can do it.” you grumbled between your teeths and closed your eyes.

“Dear, no-” she tried to say, but nothing seemed to be able to change your mind right now.

A little move was all you got, and then the relief. Your breath accelerated, exasperated and relieved by victory, but still concerned by the fact that all you could achieve was almost equivalent to a spasm. Doris sighed.

“Why can’t I move straight?” You asked, your eyes ran into hers with some despair and impatience. "Will I lose my leg’s movements? Will I need to amputate?” You asked anxiously.

“God, girl. No!” She assured you, striking with her head and placing a new tape on your arm. Doris then walked to the end of your bed. “No one will amputate anything. Just see, well,” she started, and pulled the blankets that covered you from the waist down. 

Your expression relaxed, perplexed as you looked at the scarring on your leg. Almost like a crack, in your thigh — it started near your hip, and went up to almost half your thigh in a diagonal angle. It was a red, ugly wound, a crack in your now imperfected shell. It was sewn with the help of so many stitches that you could barely count. “you hit a nerve. It didn’t break, of course, or could barely move this leg, but it hurt and badly. It will take some time for you to recover from it. But you will.” she said.

“It’s horrible,” you whispered, your eyebrows scratched in a sad expression. “I’m horrible.”

Doris looked at you, to the tears that formed in your tired eyes. Her lips were compressed in a line.

“Oh, dear... You’d never be awful, don’t say that,” she whispered. “A scar won’t make you any less beautiful. Got it? It’s your survival mark.” she said, trying to encourage you a little.

You wanted to curse her. You felt angry at the kindness she offered you, for trying to make everything seem less heavy than it really was, but it didn’t seem fair. You knew that this should be some reaction of your mind poisoned by the depression you felt now. 

It would not be fair to discount your frustrations on the only person who had offered you some comfort so far, would it?

No.

Your face formed a smile so weak that maybe it only made her more worried than she was already, but that was all you could do for now. Doris covered you again, fitting the blankets around your body in a very comfortable way.

“I’ll bring your lunch. You’ll need to eat enough to get some energy for your recovery now.” she commented quietly by changing the IV from the support over you. Your eyes followed the whole process attentively.

Although you were grateful for the treatment you were receiving from the hospital, there was only one thing surrounding your mind. The Ghost.

The man in the skull mask who had saved your life. He was nowhere to be seen, you knew that you might possibly never see him again, but the idea that you didn’t even have time to thank him correctly tormented your mind. He was in your dreams while you were unconscious, standing there looking at you, glaring at you with those dark eyes of his. The curiosity of what was hidden behind the mask was hitting you hard this time, the need to see something human in him; the way his eyes seemed to present him as nothing but a machine. He seemed unbeatable, but when he took you in his arms, gently as he could be, like he was holding porcelain - you could only see a human being. And you wanted to see it, you craved for confirmation, that there was a human beneath the mask and that this human was just the way you pictured him to be. Or perhaps the complete opposite. You liked surprises, and fairly - you just wanted to see him.

“Where are the soldiers? You know, those who took me out of the building.” You curiously asked, cleaning your throat. The nurse's eyes wandered around the room in search of the small window that turned out to the hallway, she could not see anyone there, a confirmation that they might have been there before but not anymore at the moment. “I didn’t have time to thank him.” you whispered.

“Ah yes. Of course. Captain Price said he would call you when you were feeling a little better. Do you want me to give  them a call?” Doris asked kindly.

“Yes, please,” you agreed.

━ ⟡ ━

Soap was watching the news on TV in the town hall of the headquarters. His eyes were attentive, his ears well opened; he heard the television reciting for the thirteenth time that day those words that echoed in his mind, "hundred and two dead." The news anchor was saying something about the intelligence’s inability to detect the terrorist threat before the bombing occurred. Massive criticism of the military staff responsible for national security; people were in panic. How would you feel safe after that?

After the 141 left the building back to the headquarters, the British intelligence team searched the ruins of the disaster looking for any indication of association of some terrorist group known to the incident. At first, nothing. Bombers usually leave no traces but a blast of blood and human flesh everywhere.

But then, an agent left the building with a piece of semi-destructed cloth in his hands. It was almost incomprehensible but soon they discovered a symbol in it. And to the most absolute disappointment of all, no soul even recognized the symbol in question. A new terrorist group.

Fuck.

While the population was hiding in fear, the press was rendering a disgrace to society and introducing even more chaos by spreading information that should be confidential. Soap was too distracted with their babbling to even listen to Price and Ghost’s conversation in the background. 

“She will need physiotherapy, and a good time to recover.” said the captain, releasing some smoke from his cigarette into the air. “She apparently suffered a nerve injury.” 

Ghost had his arms crossed, resting on the wall behind himself, facing Price. His eyes were fixed on the ground, as if he was thinking of something.

“I can imagine.” he whispered, with a head nod. “I hope it goes well. What these guys did there...” he closed his eyes and snorted, seeming nervous.

“Yeah... The press won’t give anyone no peace now. I get nervous just to think.” he grumbled as he threw his cigarette butt into the ashes. Ghost only shook his head negatively, in disapproval; in accordance with the captain’s speech. 

The silence that followed Price’s last words did not last more than five seconds before he spoke again.

“She asked about you.” he said, raising his eyes to Ghost. He was looking back at him this time. It was as if his words had caught his attention now. “Said she wanted to thank you personally.”

“She doesn’t need to. I just did my job.” he argued, pulling his back off  the wall and pulling one of the available chairs around. As he sat down, he grabbed a piece of a disassembled rifle that rested on the table, and went on with his work to clean it.

“I know that, but work sometimes involves accepting a bit of gratitude from other people for what you did for them, Riley. In this situation specifically.” Price raised his eyebrows, and watched the gun as Ghost cleaned it, his concentration quickly diverted from the conversation to the work he was doing. “You should go see her.”

“With all due respect, captain, I think the job of talking to the victims is anyone else's but mine.” he replied almost instantly.

“Maybe, maybe. But she wants to talk to you.” Price insisted.

Ghost released an annoyed, almost annoyed breath. 

“She doesn’t have to thank me. I know she’s grateful,” he tried to argue again, but the captain seemed irreducible for the moment. “Bloody hell, Price, hire a psychologist for once. She needs help, not to talk to me.” he continued, receiving nothing but silence in response.

“She wants you.” Price said, simply, unfazed by his upset behavior.

Ghost immediately stopped what he was doing and left the gun aside, the hand

supported on his knee, once again an uncomfortable breathing leaving his nostrils in a surely irritated mood now.

They would not understand. It wasn’t that he didn’t like you; there would be no reason for it, no. Ghost didn’t want to see you again. He followed the whole moment the ambulance left you in the hospital along with the rest of his crew, was informed of your situation, and like all other soldiers, he was discharged after that.

His job was to rescue the victims who survived the attack. Not to talk to a victim, sketch some sort of feeling – even if it is false. He would need to say something, comfort you, or at least try to look positive. He would have to face the idea that getting in touch with your trauma could remind him some more of himself, could bring back past memories he wanted to bury. There was no good in it, no. He wasn’t a therapist, wasn’t built for it.

Although he wanted to, he couldn’t feel compassion for you. He couldn’t feel sorry – He thought it was an extremely illegitimating, invalid feeling. Affirming that someone was worthy of pity was almost like treating someone like garbage, no; he would rather die than have others pitying him, why would it be different with the people around him? He wasn’t the right person for that.

As if the universe laughed at his face, the moment the conversation between the two became silent and he raised his eyes to the television, the image of the building's debris was replaced by one of the only survivor of the attack; a recent photo you had taken in London, two months ago. You were smiling, you could still do that at that time. The screen displayed your name, while the reporter was now talking about you.

“It’s her; poor girl.” Soap said, turning a little to observe them, and turned up the volume. The news said something about your success in keeping yourself alive: you were treated as a great achievement, called a ‘miracle girl'; they were talking about you as a poor little girl, about how clever you were, in college studying to become a prestigious doctor. Ghost squeezed his jaw, his teeth gritted in a bitter taste inside his mouth. There was no miracle in what happened to you.

You were lucky. You were in the right place, at the right time. 

Two hundred people did not have the same luck.

A hundred and two people, men, women and children, were now dead. You had eternal marks engraved on your skin and soul. A miracle? He felt offended as if he were with himself — as if they were calling him a miracle for having survived all the painful events he had experienced so far.

“How dare they say this kind of thing?” he grumbled lowly. The other two shrugged their heads in denial, in disagreement.

“Fucking vultures.” it was Price’s turn to complain.

━ ⟡ ━

You had turned off the TV the moment you heard your own name. There was no reason you’d want to know, to to hear what they had to say about you. You didn’t want to hear them treat you as a mere victim of an incident, acting as if that disaster was all about you that mattered. You hated the way everything seemed to be reduced to that now: the attack.

The survivor. The only survivor. Your name didn’t matter anymore – you had become a martyr, and everyone treated you with caution, as if you were made of glass, as though it was impossible to get close to you without the risk of breaking it.

Since the silence established itself in the environment when you turned off the TV, all you heard was the static silence floating in the air, sound of little drops that flowed through your veins. Your mind had become vague, your thoughts made room for your imagination, you slowly fell asleep. There was a long time after you felt unconscious - you weren’t sure of how much exactly. Maybe two, maybe three hours. You had asked Doris to open the window before she let you rest alone in your room, and the wind was hitting your skin, still sensitive due to the excess of meds; the subtle cold you were feeling was making you feel alive.

The lights were off, and as soon as it became dark, the lights of the city reflecting through the window were no longer enough to light up the room belongings.

In that intense darkness and in the most absolute silence possible, the ghost that haunted your dreams was standing, tall as always, at the end of your bed. Haunting you. Silent like a snake approaching a possible victim, even his breath seemed to be controlled enough not to make a noise. His eyes, behind the mask, fixed on you; you slept quietly in a heavy sleep that was obviously the result of the strong medicines you were taking. He approached the bed a little, your hand was laying in your body side by the bed. So small.

Drop.

Drop.

The sound of the drops of IV falling through the bag invaded the environment as if it were the sounds of a giant walking. The big night silence had this effect on small sounds – it enlarged them. You heard the sound of the window closing inside your dreams, but that didn’t seem to wake you up. The cold wind no longer hit your skin, and you began to warm up.

How long has passed since the sound of the curtains closed you could not say; but what awakened you knew: it was the sounds of the door opening. You instinctively frightened and adjusted your posture in bed a bit abruptly, until you realized that the man who was entering — now unarmed though still dressed in his combat suit — was him. The Ghost.

He watched you in silence for a few seconds before shaking his head.

“Did I wake you?” He asked, the same serious and rough voice, the loaded British accent, different from your American one. “Forgive me.”

“You’re all right.” was all you could think of answering in the first moments. His eyes looked at you altogether; he was so tall that only his presence there made you feel intimidated, even if that was not his goal. “Don’t you want to sit?”

“I don’t intend to delay myself much.” He responded quickly, getting a little closer to the bed and sitting on one of the chairs next to him just to match your heights a little, imagining it should be uncomfortable for you, bending your neck to look at him standing. “Do you need something?”

“No. I’m fine now,” you whispered, sitting down. “I just wanted to thank you personally. I didn’t have time before, I- I just don’t think I was in good senses for it.” you admitted, holding your hands together on your lap.

“I just did my job.” he nodded, a serious air to his words. Ghost seemed like a man of few words, of few feelings too. His tone was monotone, always serious, seemingly stern sometimes. Made you feel like it was perhaps due to his habit of giving orders; he was a tenant, as Price told you. You knew little about the military hierarchy you had to admit, but the little knowledge was enough for you to know he did give orders. 

“I know, but... What you call ‘job’, to me was saving my life.” you seemed to try to remind him as if it was something obvious. “If I have any way to reward you for that, please tell me.”

Ghost closed his eyes for a moment and stretched his neck, shooking negatively.

“Again, I just did my job. You don’t have to reward me for that.” he said, looking at the flower vase that rested on the headboard table for a moment.

Simon noted that although there were thousands of gifts and tickets on the outside, sent by ordinary citizens in support of your situation - there were no balloons or any indication of a family or friendly gift inside your room. Only those flowers.

They were addressed to Anthony Miller. He assumed it would be your boyfriend.

“You don’t get it, Ghost. It’s not  about needing, it’s just something I want to do. It doesn’t have to be right now, you can tell me in the future if you need a favor or something like that.” 

“I don’t usually need favors.” he assured, snorting at your insistence, but trying to stay as polite and friendly as possible. He didn’t want to end up making you worse, did he? You were already sad enough. 

“Everyone needs favors. I also used to not need many before yesterday’s events.” You admitted, raising your eyebrows quickly and turning your gaze away.

“I didn’t do you a favor. I helped you, those are completely different things.” He shook negatively, irreducibly. “Any other decent soldier would do the same. You owe me nothing.” 

“Yes, but it was you. If it had been someone else then I’d like to thank this person.” you argued, and your stubbornness began to irritate him; he gave in compassion to your state and only sighed deeply.

“That’s all you have to treat with me, miss?” He asked, turning his head a little, and you corrected him; do not call me lady, you murmured, and instructed him to call you by your name.

You watched him in silence for a few seconds, before breathing deeply.

“Actually no. I have a request.” you said, in a whisper, and he shrugged his head as if giving you a positive one. “Can I see the face behind your mask?” You asked curiously.

“Negative.” He answered, almost immediately, without even giving you a chance to try to refute or argue. “I can’t show my face, and if it relieves you if anything, it’s not a nice image to look at,” he continued, rising up.

You were a little desperate for his sudden rising, hoping he would stay a little longer. Of all those people with whom you had talked so far — Price, Doris; he remained the one who seemed to please you into a conversation the most. You wanted to talk to him, because, unlike others, Ghost did not treat you like a porcelain doll.

He was treating you like any other person. 

“No, wait — you think you’re ugly, is that so? I don’t care.” you assured. “I doubt you’re ugly, to be honest.”

“I didn’t say that,” he raised an eyebrow, seeming to have your commentary somewhat amusing. You raised an eyebrow in response and laid your body on the pillows behind you.

“Wouldn’t you open an exception for me?” You asked, and he shook negatively. You closed your eyes, in a frustrated but accepting sigh.

“Well- you get well soon. Hear me, girl?” Ghost gently said, and walked a little further to the door, and stopped in his steps before leaving. He looked at you for a moment. “Are you here alone?”

“Yeah, I am. Why is it?” You asked curiously.

“Because your IV is running out, and without those pain meds, let me tell you...” he raised his eyebrows quickly. “Should I call your boyfriend or a nurse?” He asked, glaring at  you.

“Wait- my boyfriend?” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows for a moment, and he remained silent. His hand stood up and pointed to the flowers next to the bed, as if he mentioned that the person who sent them should be your boyfriend. You eyed the flowers and let out a soft laugh.

“Ah, that... No, it’s not from a boyfriend.” You explained.

“Well, I’ll call some nurse then.” he said, his hand leaned on the door knocker and his fingers danced in unison, in a thoughtful expression. He looked at you again. “Stay safe.” he said, before his huge, broad figure disappeared through the door and the long hallway of the hospital leaving you once again lost to your thoughts, and alone.

Your eyes looked at your own hands for a few seconds, and you realized that they were pleasantly warm. You looked out the window, closed.

How strange was the fact that you didn’t remember having closed the window, thought to yourself. 

It could have been Doris. But your intuition said no.

#simon ghost riley #cod fanfic #ghost cod #ghost x f!reader #ghost x female reader #ghost x you #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #shades of red

[lanawinterscigarettes]

I'd like to request Jennifer Check and Needy with a male s/o and he's just perfectly fine with the fact that Jenn might eat him. "Like yeah totally you can kill me...want me to call you mommy or some shit?" And he just laughs every time Jenn threatens to eat him. Meanwhile Needy is just trying to keep the peace between the two teasing assholes. Poly headcannons please love ya bro ❤️

What makes it funnier is that this is something you'd actually do lmao. Love ya too 💙

(Also I know I said I was taking a writing break but for you I made an exception)

Poly! Jennifer Check and Needy Lesnicki with a male s/o who isn't intimidated by demon Jenny

Warnings: murder threats (they're jokes...for the most part), slight gore mention, slight angst (just a little bit, for flavor)

You both amuse and frustrate Jennifer at the same time

Like yeah it's cute that you're not afraid of her, and your constant state of calmness when she threatens you is kind of funny, but if you aren't going to be bothered by it when she says she's going to rip your head off and use it as a door stopper then what's the point?

She could be glaring you down, demon teeth bared, about to lunge at your throat and tear out your vocal cords and you'll just be standing there like "really? You're actually planning on killing me right now? Well alright then"

Meanwhile Needy is off somewhere in the background trying to coax you into dropping the subject while watching from a safe distant

Jennifer has fun testing your limits, upping the ante by making her threats more gruesome and horrifying with each one (while poor Needy is trying not to puke by how much detail she goes into)

It gets to the point where you actually tease her back, giving her your own ideas for what she could do to you

"You're going to regret messing with me once I tear you apart limb from limb-"

"-and rearrange my dead, mutilated body to look like a shrine to you and your never ceasing hunger? You used that insult last week, try again"

Even if you guys are "just joking" (mostly) sometimes Needy gets legitimately terrified that something is going to happen between the two of you and she won't be able to stop it

At least once a month she'll be found holed up in her room, either freaking out while pacing back and forth or crying while curled into a ball on her bed, trying to find some way to stop your "fighting"

This, of course, makes you and Jennifer feel guilty, even if it's in the slightest amount, leading to you both apologizing (yours might be more sincere than hers, but it's the thought that counts) and promising you won't actually end up fighting each other (no promises on Jen's side, but she does her best to seem apologetic and trustworthy)

You guys have a big cuddle session in Needy's bed after talking it out, you and Jennifer still making the occasional smart mouthed quips while Needy just rolls her eyes in disbelief. It would seem as though some things just never change

~

Likes < reblogs | PLEASE REBLOG if you like what you read

Main masterlist | Jennifer's Body masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist?

🏷 taglist: @anxiously-sad @iloveentrapta @ghot-girl @taecube @corn3liiia @gilmore-angel @your-next-daydream @alexxavicry @noisy-dumb-piece-of-shit @lovelyy-moonlight @red1culous

#jennifers body #jennifers body imagine #jennifers body imagines #jennifers body x reader #jennifers body headcanons #jennifers body hcs #jennifer check #jennifer check imagine #jennifer check imagines #jennifer check x reader #jennifer check headcanons #needy lesnicki #needy lesnicki imagine #needy lesnicki imagines #needy lesnicki x reader #horror #horror x reader #horror imagines #jennifer x reader x needy #x male reader #x gn reader #x gender neutral reader

[xxsycamore]

👻🕸️🦇 IKEVAMP SUITORS IN A HORROR-MOVIE SETTING ! 🦇🕸️👻 (headcanons)

Happy Halloween! Yes, this includes all 17 suitors. I'm no expert on the genre but I thought this might be fun! Some of them die. I'm sorry. Warnings: everything that can appear in a horror movie really, including mentions of death, mass murder, blood, gore, torture, cults.

If you feel like reading something more goofy where everyone lives, try Pumpkin Carving Competition At Saint Germain’s Mansion or maybe even “Welcome to Saint Germain’s mansion, please have a fang-tastic night.” 

𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍

The "okay guys, we need a plan" guy and welp, he has a sword, he is willing to walk in front, why not trust him? 👍🏻✨He's totally the one to hide being infected because come on, how are they gonna get out of there alive if the leader is down? Has a dramatic scene where he's fighting off the transformation in secret. Ends up being saved by someone and survives.

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎

Leonardo is the one you find along the journey, mistaking for an enemy at first as you get into his trap... when it actually turns out he's been there long before you, surviving all alone in this post-apocalyptic setting, adapted to it, prepared for every danger out there with gadgets he made himself! He might not stay alive until the end but plays a key role in the plot.

𝐌𝐎𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐓

He tried to warn them not to do anything stupid... He's now stuck suffering from the group's bad decision-making. He doesn't even know how he ended up there. Mozart is that one character that you're supposed to hate for being an asshole. At one point he falls in danger that specifically relates to a fear of his, and when everyone expects him to sacrifice another person to save himself, he does the opposite. He seemingly dies right there, breaking everyone's hearts, only to be revealed at the very end that he managed to survive!

𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐀𝐂 (credits for the idea goes to @scummy-writes guys she can write a whole fic of those I swear,, it's been such a pleasure listening to her)

Isaac needs to be saved five minutes into the movie... which writes him off as the weaker one from the get-go. This is going to be bad if the situation comes to "we gotta leave someone behind or we all die here!" - but hey, DON'T LEAVE ISAAC BEHIND IF YOU WANT TO SURVIVE! Because the next thing you know everyone falls into this deadly trap that only HE can figure the way out of, using his big brain skills. His worth has been proved! Everyone loves him now! And all he wants is to go back home and never go on a trip with these guys ever again!

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑

I'm sorry, Arthur dies first. The others are trying to warn him about the cases of victims who've been sucked to a dry husk and he's like "later virgins, i have a date tonight". Yeah his date totally killed him. Bonus points if we're dealing with vampires here, because irony. It's fine though, he's still important to the plot after he dies, because we find his writing diary and he left important cues there while trying to escape from his killer. Maybe he even came close to the truth! He knows his mystery genre stuff after all...

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐔𝐒

Theo just does NOT believe paranormal exists, not even after witnessing it with his own two eyes. Worst part, he tries to convince the others too. "My broer IS NOT POSSESSED!" Uhuh! Okay Theo! You just saw cryptic images appear on his canvas without him even moving the brush but I guess he was just trying a new painting technique!! And he levitates too and his eyes are tar black but what do we know... Once Theo realizes the situation, he's out there swinging a bat (sexy), ready to beat the shit out of whatever caused this, and he's good at it. Don't worry about him dying.

𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓

Poor baby Vincent is every sinister ghost/demon's number-one target. Vincent listens to the voices. He sympathizes with them! He makes friends with them! Maybe he doesn't even need to be possessed at this rate... Same story with joining a cult, honestly. When their bad intentions begin to come to light, Vincent puts up a fight and is suddenly not as easy to control as they thought.

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍

Jean might take some bullets from our main cast while someone shouts "IT WON'T DIE!" but it's fine he's used to it... he's been dead for quite some time and not just inside. Jean is probably the result of some sick experiment about making an immortal army of warriors and. It's sad. But it's fine because he joins the protagonists now! He's friend! I hope they apologize for calling him a monster. No, he doesn't die by the end of the movie, but at what cost?

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈

"Oh, it was just Dazai." Of course it was, someone has to be that one idiot that scares the shit out of everyone until he becomes the boy who cried wolf. Which usually ends with death! I'm sorry Dazai. At least they can take him seriously now and pay some more attention to the strange things he kept on saying.

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄

A very old-school villain! Bonus points if the setting is modern yet he still has a villain's lair and all that. There's something beautiful and tragic about him and he probably dramatically lets himself be defeated even if he had a chance to escape. Everyone will remember him. Mostly for the mental and physical torture, but still.

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐓𝐄

"But we have one hour left until the curse kills us all, how are we gonna get there on time?!" *sounds of safari jeep pulling over* "Someone ordered a ride?" - yeah. Comte is here to save the day with the power of money friendship. And not just that! Who is the one who suddenly remembers a family heirloom that is as old as time and suspiciously shaped exactly like the key they're searching for? I also want him to lose an eye or a limb for some reason... just for a little touch of gore maybe?

𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍

Gods, Sebastian is the only prepared one, bless him for that. He's read all about that urban legend while everyone's been busy denying its existence. He is not scared at all, too... you might wonder if he's just geeking out during all of this bloody mess or something. He's so important, please don't let him die please don't let him die... he died.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒

The villain's aide that infiltrates the protagonists' group. By the time his betrayal scene happens and he nearly kills three members of the group with a chainsaw, we get a glimpse of his trauma and that's the key to sucessfully talking him out of doing it, eventually disarming him and catching him. He manages to escape and maybe later returns as an ally! Yay!

𝐅𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓

Gods he's scary. I'm not watching this. Of course he's the killer, what did you expect? Has a tragic backstory of being used by an even more fucked-up killer in the past to do the dirty work for - and kept doing it even after getting rid of them himself, because that's the only thing he knows how to do. You can't fix him.

𝐕𝐋𝐀𝐃

IT'S HIMMM he's the scary little boy from the photos and the same scary little boy that always shows up in the rose garden and his soul just won't rest in peace!! Shows up in his adult form plenty too, just expect his expression to twist into something horrible every second. He needs to be sealed forever somewhere and it would take three sequels to get to know what would actually defeat him once and for all.

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐄

... I'm sorry but there definitely is a lighthouse in this movie. And you can totally trust Drake! The poor guy's body just washed up for you to discover, tragically drowned-oh, wait no, he's breathing. He's totally not the same sailor who died around here many, many years ago. He's gonna keep you good company in the lighthouse alone for miles.

𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐎

Galileo is the one who saw the Thing™ with his own eyes, while he was watching the stars one night ages ago. He dedicated not only his massive research but also his life to this, yet noone believes him. If he somehow manages to find that one missing piece that connects everything together, he will die a horrifying death before he can even share it with the main cast. Rip...

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran    @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 ​ @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @kittygrimm88 @my-day6 Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp theo #ikevamp theodorus #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp jean #ikevamp comte #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp shakespeare #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp faust #ikevamp charles #ikevamp drake #ikevamp galileo #ikevamp fanfic #ikevamp headcanons #ikemen #ikemen series #otome #otome games #ikemen headcanons

[whumpshaped]

have some tragic backstory idk

masterlist

tw vampire whumper, vampire whumpee, lady whumper, conditioning, torture, burns, dehumanisation, knives, stabbing, gore, disembowelment, choking

"You are late." She shut her book with a loud snap, making Helle wince. "Again."

"Yes, Mistress," they said quietly. "Things have gotten out of hand–"

"Have they?"

They bit the inside of their cheek, taking a deep breath before finally meeting her eyes. Lady Marie was sitting in her favourite reading chair, her piercing red eyes pinning them in place where they stood. She was wearing one of her finer dresses — maybe she was expecting visitors. Maybe they'd messed up royally.

They swallowed, trying not to think about the potential consequences of embarrassing her in front of others. "I brought a human," they offered. "A– a nice one."

"You have been away for hours."

"Yes, Mistress."

She didn't even glance at the enthralled human standing behind them. Her gaze remained entirely focused on them, heavy, almost crushing. It sent shivers down their spine. They desperately wanted to look away, but they also had a feeling she would pounce as soon as they did.

"And you brought a human. A nice one." Her mocking wasn't cold and vicious, already letting them know that at the very least they would go hungry tonight.

"Yes, Mistress," they said dutifully, voice barely above a whisper.

"Well, forgive me for not taking out the nice cutlery."

Helle opened their mouth to argue, then prompty closed it again. She would know they were lying, most likely. No vampire needed hours to find a suitable human. The only vampire staying out that long was a disobedient one.

"I... it will not happen again."

"Oh, it will not." She put the book aside and stood up, and Helle immediately took a step back, bumping into the stupid human. "I knew you would not dare leave me, of course. Apart from the fact that you would not survive a single night on your own, I happen to know that you are very loyal. A useful quality." She walked over to them, and if Helle had been alive, their heart would've been pounding in their chest. "But others... others might question that."

She wasn't expecting guests. The guests had already left the mansion, and they had been out and about the whole time. They tried to swallow the lump in their throat once, then twice. "I apologise, Mistress."

"Your apology is as late as your arrival, pet."

"But I assure you, the blood–"

She moved quicker than they could comprehend, grabbing them by the shirt and hauling them across the room. They hit the wall with a thud, then the floor with another, but they couldn't even get their bearings before the woman was already on top of them. "Do you know what it was like to stand in front of the duchess and say one of mine was out hunting?" she hissed. "Then wait for hours on end as she insulted and berated me because of your incompetence? And you want me to taste the blood of the one pathetic human you managed to bring back for me, as if you had done me a favour by doing the one thing you were made for."

She flipped open her pocket knife, and Helle immediately recognised it as the silver one. They lifted their hand in a pitiful attempt at self-defence, crying out in pain when Lady Marie simply put the blade through one of them. "I am sorry!" they said desperately as she yanked it out, but there was no peaceful quelling of her thirst for revenge at this point.

She stabbed them again, and again, and again, and again, her vampiric strength carrying her through the motions effortlessly, with speed that left Helle dizzy and disoriented. They couldn't block a single one, nor could they keep count. Each one felt more ruthless than the last, drawing all kinds of screams and whimpers from their throat — until she targeted their trachea, of course. It was only bloody gurgles and wheezing after that.

Their whole body was burning by the end of it. Their guts were spilling out onto the carpets, a crime they would no doubt be punished for later. They were well past the point of struggling. They lay still as the corpse they should've been, save for the involuntary twitching of their ruined muscles. The coffin seemed like a favourable place to be, in times like this, safely tucked away under layers and layers of dirt, their only company being the worms that had found their way in. They hadn't appreciated it enough at the time.

"You will never make this mistake again," she said quietly. It wasn't a question that required an answer. It was a statement, and she had made sure no one in the vicinity would be able to dispute it. She glanced towards the other end of the room, and Helle realised the human must've fled long ago. They weren't thinking about keeping the stupid thing still while being stabbed seventy times. "A nice one indeed. Say, pet, do you happen to know the punishment of a servant that came back empty-handed?"

Helle tried to beg. They put their heart and soul into trying to make at least a single placating sound, a gesture, anything. They couldn't do it again. It had been so horrible the last time, they thought they were going to die, they couldn't, they couldn't–

"No? Well, then I shan't spoil it for you. But let me say this: I hope we have a gorgeous, sunny day tomorrow."

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik

#at my beck and call #whump #whump writing #helle #lady marie #vampire whumper #vampire whumpee #lady whumper #conditioning #torture #burns #dehumanisation #knives #stabbing #gore #disembowelment #choking

[prince-liest]

Your last 666 series installment is the best thing that happened to me. Its full of gore, somehow fluffy and wait-.. do I finally see some FRICKING COMUNICATION between the two idiots!?!?!

Ngl, Vox's 'Alastor not being able to love' statement hurt my soul. Your writing is brilliant and and let's just see what ending ya wro-..O MA LORD IS THAT VAL'S LOVE POTION!?!?!?!?

Now I need to know what's next!!!! And VOX I SWEAR IF U USE THIS SITUATION IN ANY WAY IM GOING TO SKIN YOU ALIVE.

This series is a blast♡ love it!♡ makes me weirdly passionate and excited hah!

Some communication, and some communication failure, hahaha. They're going to be talking a lot more in the next one, actually, because I meant to write some NSFW and they had to go and attempt a healthy conversation instead. What can you do.

Thank you so much, I'm delighted that you're enjoying! :D

And: Way more anon asks about the latest 666 getting answered under the cut! <3 I combined a bunch from the last couple of days.

prince, I'm going insane over the latest fic. so we know from Alastor's inner monologue that he knows the roofie was an accident, but considering the super stressful situation, the fact that Vox was the one to ask for a kiss and the fact that Alastor accused him of wanting instead of loving him not a few minutes ago…. makes me wonder if Vox might not be at least a little worred that Alastor might think it was on purpose <3 gonna be rotating this in my head for the foreseeable future - ✨

I am so glad that these things are on y'all's minds, hahaha. Because you can bet they are on mine. >:D And THANK YOU, very pleased to be dragging everyone down into insanity with me.

“Should I stitch together the scars your teeth left in me in a mirror of my own signature on your body.” Fucking. POETRY. 🐈‍⬛

I am always so happy when I write shit like this and instead of everyone pointing at me and going, "Look, what an EDGELORD!" the response is you people being VERY nice and leaning into the feelsy fun! 💛

holy moly ??? i love the new 666 addition aaaah 😭🙏 the trials and tribulations of feeling scorned and ghosted by a loser who confessed his love to you and the next time you see him he’s holding your LITERAL heart in his hands by alastor ! OMFG this was too good esp the part where vox is like “bro why do YOU CARE ?? i thought you didn’t love me huh?” and alastor is like well. maybe i.do. 😐 LIKE CMONN this really played out like some soap drama and i loved the neat details on resuscitative thoroctomy (learned a new word too so double bonus) the fact vel was on the line w her and val’s apparent surgeon for val’a little ‘incidents ??? GOLDEN I SAYY hope we see more of ur oc … 🫣🫣 btw ofc vox would love to an end an argument with a kiss OF FUCKING COURSE HE WOULD 😭 thank u sm for this chapter princeliest my dear <3 hope life is treating u well too !! -🦌

Vox is ahead of Alastor in terms of effective in-the-moment conflict resolution, but goddamn if he isn't fucked up in his own fun little ways. They're so not done with most of these issues, but at least they're on they're way to maybe be able to have a real conversation about them!

You know. If they chose to do that kind thing. Instead of whatever they will probably do instead.

Anyway, THANK YOU!! I had a great deal of fun writing this chapter and digging into some of the issues that have been slowly collecting underneath the surface of kinky radiostatic, so I'm happy you guys are enjoying as well!! :D

AS FOR MY OC... I WILL POST ABOUT THEM SOON. I LOVE THEM A LOT AND IT EXCITES ME THAT PEOPLE WANT TO KNOW MORE OF THEM. Tysm for asking Q^Q

Just read the new addition to the 666 verse, and inside of me are two wolves: The first is saying: Immaculate, artistry of the highest form. We finally get Alastor’s own confrontation with his vulnerability and him trying to figure out what exactly the relationship with Vox means to him. Cannot wait for how this all is going to develop. The other part of me: THE BREADCRUMBS WORKED THE MUSE IS WRITING!!! Followed by this image (since tumblr won’t let me attach it while being anonymous) https://i.redd.it/hx2shk642vs71.jpg -🕊️

LMAO THAT PIC. Amazing, flawless, thank you. The breadcrumbs DEFINITELY worked, please keep feeding. Digging into Alastor's shit is bringing me life and I'm happy to share it, hahaha. We're swinging even harder on the introspection in the next one!

As a sucker for medical gore and aroace angst, I lack the words to express my love and appreciation for your most recent installment of 666, but your writing of radiostatic's dynamic was captivating and proved to be such a lovely read as always! I loved that you touched on Alastor's relationships with the women around him as that has always been such an interesting aspect of his character to me! I never really put much thought into how Vox's apparent avoidance of Alastor in the show could mirror Alastor's disappearance, and now it will Not leave my mind. My heart hurts for these two dorks, super looking forward to chapter 2!

"Medical gore and aroace angst" should be the title of my memoir. Honestly, this series has ended up a lot more edgy-bloody than I expected it to, since I usually tend to prefer to portray my whump/angst/violence/etc in a much more roundabout way, but it's actually kinda tipped over into, like... part of the point is how banal it is, how beside the point. The upsetting heavy-hitting bits aren't the blood, they're everything else that goes on around it. Anyway, thank you so much! <3 I think your heart will find some relief in chapter two, haha, I hope you enjoy!!

Meanwhile alastor, completely convinced that there’s no situation where vox actually loves him and is happy with the way things are—either vox wants more and is going to start asking for more, or he doesn’t actually love him and just wants to have sex with him and thus either way he is a Liar. They’re so fucking bad at this. No one is capable of being the adult here. I think they need an auspitice.

It's really funny that you said that, because that is kind of exactly the role that [spoiler] ends up playing, though in a more roundabout way, hahaha. They certainly need someone to, like, get them to be having the same conversation with each other instead of two parallel ones. I think the fun thing about writing Alastor reacting to his own feelings is just how much his reaction can change based on how things are framed for him, and it leaves a lot of wiggle room for how differently I've ended up writing him reacting to the season 1 finale in 666 vs in Happily Ever After, and Other Shit Nepotism Can't Buy.

But, god, you really nailed the description of what Alastor is feeling. <3

Vox in the latest 666, my ENTIRE HEART. Literally nothing about how he read the situation was a bad take or a leap to conclusions, but alastor constantly says the opposite of what he means and refuses to admit vulnerability or friendship and what the hell else was vox meant to do with that, of course he backed off, they need to have this talk so badly

YES, PRECISELY! Like, I hope it came through that really neither of them was completely crazy to react the way they did! It's a result of how much of their communication has been nonverbal, implied, and talking around things - they'd been doing so well up until this point, but there's only so far that can take you before you start thinking that you're on the same page when really you're reading two completely different books! Thank you sm! <3

‘But I am capable,” Alastor says gently. “I love you very much.” Vox gapes up at him. “...I. Fuck you.” His voice is tight, strained. “I don’t fucking believe you.” Alastor feels his smile thin. “Well. That’s just dandy, then, isn’t it?”’ I AM NOT OK GOING FUCKING FERAL

Probably one of my favorite lines to write, ehehehe. THANK YOU ANONNNN <3 It's kinda interesting to see how differently some people read this. Some folks thought Alastor was saying it to hurt Vox (which is how Vox read it). Some folks thought it was true (how Alastor intended it). Some folks thought Alastor was trying to fit into the mold that he thought Vox wanted from him (how I intended it). All of them make sense as readings! >:)

#ask #personal #Anonymous #black cat anon #sparkle anon #deer anon #dove anon #t #long post #tumblr if you break the cut on this one I'm gonna fuckin cry #answering 9 asks in one post here

[littlenahsstuff]

Liar

Amanda Young x Reader

Warnings: blood, gore, angst, betrayal, choking, sad with a happy ending, slow, mentions of character death, self harm, blades, anxiety, longer fic, pov shifts kinda, also it’s mainly Amanda’s pov just cuz

Summary: you find out Amanda is a serial killer the hard way, by falling into a trap she made. You survive but does your relationship?

A/n: suggestions are welcome as long as they’re nice, also not proofread

Amanda missed another one of your dates because of her job, which, you don’t know anything about. You were hoping she was just some high level agent if you were being honest. It would explain the natural muscles and bad-assery that was your girlfriend. That’s also why she keeps getting cuts and bruises you tell yourself.

You at least knew that they weren’t from self harm, they were too scattered to be from that and you can somehow tell when Amanda hides self harm scars. It’s like a sixth sense, telling when she’s in danger.

You got the feeling more than you’d like too, but it was a little different when it was caused by Amanda herself. She seems more satisfied with herself sadly.

You just want your precious girl to be happy and safe, even if it’s only been a couple of months she’s your entire world. It just kinda happened but at this point in your life Amanda was the only person you talked to other than the occasional phone call from an old friend once a year. You were just floating right now with Amanda being your rock to tie you down and you, hers.

You convinced her to go on anxiety medication. Well, she refused to get a prescription (she can’t go to the doctors after Dr. Gordon) so she kinda shares your prescription both well aware that’s not a good idea but it does seem to help her and you would do anything for her.

The downside is you aren’t taking your prescribed amount and your next appointment to try and up the dosage, so one pill does the trick for both of you when you split it in half, is months away. You yourself are falling, you can feel it. You keep telling yourself that you gotta just wait it out and take it one day at a time for Amanda.

Right now you’re driving home from work in the rainy city. Your apartment is not Amanda’s yet but what little free time she has away from work is spent there so it might as well be.

A particular bolt of lightning hits a little too close for your liking and the booming thunder after it chills you to your bone. You don’t feel so good.

You try to just focus on what’s ahead while steadying your breathing. Traffic is light on the outskirts of the city, the small complex is right on the town line in a small patch of woods next to one of the parks.

You hate outside dark, outside dark is open and anything could surround you on all sides. You run up to your floor and flick on the lights but to no avail the darkness still remains. Your stomach is tight as a knot at this point, really wishing the owner allowed candles or that you had remembered to buy more batteries for the flashlight.

You grumbled to yourself, thinking you should just go to bed early. So feeling your way through the pitch black apartment, you stumbled a total of three times and now have a stubbed toe. It was a great fucking night that’s for sure.

Your bed offered little to no relief on your aching post-work back but the exhaustion was taking over rapidly. You shuffled a little to get comfy but then heard a creak of a floorboard.

“Hello?” You called out. Nobody answers, why would they. “Mands is that you? Come on you know how scared I get babes. Not the time to do this shit,” no response and yet another creak. You were still though, it couldn’t have been the bed which never makes much sound anyways. You sat up now and try to train your eyes to the darkness, no moonlight was there to help.

You frantically open the drawer to your dresser and procure a weapon Mandy gifted you for protection, boy were you great full now. You couldn’t tell where the thing or person was so you waved it about hoping it would get them.

Your eyes started to adjust and you saw a figure in the corner, once it realized you could see it, it lunged forward at you, sticking you with what you assume was an anesthetic by the lightheaded feeling making it hard for you to push them off. Your screams were muffled with a hand, you tried to bite them but it felt like you were swimming in syrup. Eventually everything just stopped as you lulled backwards.

The figure swooped you over their shoulder and took you out of your apartment, stuffing you in the trunk of a car pulled of to the back of the building.

Amanda’s POV:

She really did feel awful that she had to cancel another date, she knew that whenever she did you just stayed at work later in hopes to distract yourself. She knew you understood but if you knew what was really happening she’s not sure the understanding would still apply.

John called her in with a special request, no details were given about this person and she wasn’t even the one to kidnap them. All she had to do was come up with a new trap. She thought it was like a test to see if her engineering skills have gotten better as well as her “moral” compass. John always was better at tinkering than her and John had found out about her previous unwinnable games so this was most likely just a checkin to see if she would deter again from the purpose.

She blames herself, if she didn’t get all trigger happy with the traps she wouldn’t be missing another date night. She triple-checked to make sure this game was beatable but not too easy, John doesn’t like it when they are too hard orrrr to easy. It was a comfortable in between but definitely still very much challenging. Whoever plays it would have to give up a lot of blood to live if they aren’t careful. It was a solo game, that’s all that was required for this one.

She really hoped that this would be done quick. So while the trap might have been beatable, the timer was set to go off probably fifteen minutes before it should. Good luck to whoever plays this, she hopes they’re pretty bad or else the guilt will eat at her for the rest of the month. Sometimes John picked stupid targets that didn’t do anything bad necessarily as much as he believes it with his “solid” ideals. Maybe after John dies she can hand everything over to mark and move far away from this hell city with you. As much as she wants to, she needs to take care of John for the time being. He’s practically her father at this point.

With the trap finally finished she hands it over to Mark who’s been oddly quiet in the corner. He had a smug expression nobody liked, he was up to something.

“Hope you didn’t make this one unbeatable,” he laughs. He never cared if they were or not before so she’s a little put off, assuming he’s just teasing her for her screw up with John.

“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters and turns around to pick up her stuff. She just wants to get home to you so bad.

“Hold up,” Mark stops her, “John wants you to watch live with him. She groans in response.

“Fine let’s get this over with,” and with that they leave.

It was the same old set up, a rusty building. She definitely didn’t like the idea of having to get a tetnus shot. She hates needles, preferring to sedate people using chloroform or with blunt force to the back of the head.

She split ways with mark, her going to the observing room where John was already.

“Hello Amanda,” he croaked smugly.

“What is with you and Mark, you guys act like you just got the president?”

“They certainly are important but no, they are not the president. I can’t wait to see your work on them, I’m sure after our talk this trap will be exemplary?” He tilts his head upwards. She awkwardly laughs, his questioning gaze makes her slightly uncomfortable.

“Should be,” she mutters.

“Well then let’s begin.” She turns on the cameras to see marks back covering the kidnapped. She yawns but when he moves away it cuts off with a choke. She really hopes her eyes are deceiving her, she still can’t see much of the face but everything else looks exactly like what you were wearing this morning. They really need better cameras but money is tight in the Jigsaw business.

“So, I didn’t ask before but what’s the name of this one?” She starts to panic, please don’t say your name, please.

“I thought you’d recognize Y/n?”

Everything shatters, she doesn’t know what you could have possibly done to deserve this so she assumes it’s her fault for going against orders.

“John please, you and I both know she doesn’t deserve this. She isn’t cruel I would know she tells me everything, I put a tracker on her all she does is go to work!” She’s pleading for your life right now.

“I know, this is for you though. Even if she has done nothing she lacks the understanding you and I have of our message. The only way to understand is through this method. If she doesn’t make it out than she’s not worth it anyways, she didn’t fight hard enough for you.” His explanation makes sense but what happens when you don’t. She already knows you’d fight for her as hard as you could, she doesn’t need proof of that. And honestly she was content on hiding this part of her life from you forever.

Oh god, you must have been so scared, your about to be terrified when you wake up. She’s torn, she could get you and risk everything, Mark would kill both of you anyways and John might let it happen too. She has to painfully wait it out.

“I can see your worried, rightfully so, this is good. I promise. We do good for the world, and I’m doing good for you.” She wants to strangle him but she just breaks down sobbing. She sees you moving on the monitor in the corner of her eye and her breath hitches; you’re awake.

Mark had left the room and made no attempt at sticking around. He probably went home like the two of you should have.

She didn’t want to watch but she needed to see how you progressed. There was a collar on you’re neck that squeeze a millimeter tighter every five minutes, which originally would have killed you in an hour but she adjusted it so it gave you forty-five minutes. It’s incredible how cruel life can be. She threatened somebody’s life more just to get to you but now she might not get to you because it’s you who might die.

There was no audio but she could see all of the panic by the way you tensed, she would hate herself forever. You were not completely an idiot, thankfully. You checked all around you immediately and then found an envelope eventually in your pocket. The next thing you found was the tape recorder taped on the underside of an old table.

She had no idea what it said or how helpful the hints would be. She always debriefed John on how to disable the traps because his favorite thing was to record those tapes, so she let him. Her stomach jolted when she remembered your device cut into your neck as well. It wouldn’t draw blood until the thirty minute mark but blood loss was an added motivator to get the player to hurry up. She could tell you wanted to throw up when you heard something specific on the tape. Most likely that you would need to mutilate yourself more to find the key hidden inside your body. She had no idea where mark put it but she did know that your entire body had to be cut so you wouldn’t be able to tell exactly where it was put in your body just by looking.

You were then most likely searching for something sharp to preform the painful process of self-mutilation. She knew that the key would be put somewhere easily accessible at least given the time limit. You found a knife behind a pipe and you stared at it.

You hesitated, now what not the time for contemplation, Y/n.

She saw you sit on the ground and feel around for any foreign objects under your skin, when you paused and then continued to feel a specific spot right over your heart she went whiter than she had been.

“I didn’t tell him to put it there,” John muttered. He wasn’t worried for you but maybe a little for Amanda’s sanity. He thought she would be handling this better, he had to remind himself that this was in her best interests. He needed to make sure you were perfect for his little girl.

She just stared blankly at the screen. It had been 25 minutes already, you had just enough time to gauge the key out but you were looking worse for wear and had to be very careful with the cutting. You now had your shirt off and we’re biting down on it as the blade sliced your skin where the cut already was. You were shaking, barely managing to get the key.

By the time you got it out it was only 2 minutes left which you used to unlock the death collar. You threw it with whatever might you had left to the other side of the room.

When the timer was finally up the collar snapped tightly together. You where bleeding everywhere, but still stood back up to greet Billy the Puppet as he wheeled in to the now open door. Again she had no idea what he was saying to you but you looked right at the camera and ran out the door. She could hear your footsteps come closer to her room.

You burst in with a newfound strength and yelled as well as you could with a sliced neck,

“Amanda are you okay, oh my god I was- are you hurt? Oh-“ you stopped and looked around her, John was still there but what really confused you was that she looked not only completely fine, but that there were monitors with the room you were just in on them.

“Before you go allow me to explain,” John spoke up, “you my dear have been chosen to help revive humanity. What that was, was a test. You passed and now appreciate life. Amanda here did not know about you, however, she did make the trap. If you join us then, you too, can spread an appreciation for life.” Your eye twitched and you looked back and forth and back and forth and then collapsed.

Amanda ran to catch you, this was from blood loss and probably you finding out she was a serial killer as well as working with the man who now not only gave her trauma but you too.

You knew how fucked up that ordeal made her, you know how badly her nightmares still are. What you didn’t know was that even though she’s mentioned feeling more alive and slightly grateful that she herself would become the thing that she feared.

“She passed. I’m gonna patch her up, she just needs time,” Amanda sniffled, tears finally poured down her face. You were still here, she would never let you go again. She dragged you out of there and back to her room where all her medical supplies were, and she started to patch you up, kissing each stitch despite it getting her bloody too.

When she was done she laid you to rest and started to come up with things to say to beg you to stay when you inevitably break up with her. She doesn’t know if she can let you go but she realizes it’s ultimately your decision. She’s already hurt you so much.

Twenty minutes go by when you awake to Amanda holding your hand. Your eyes aren’t open but you desperately wish that none of that was real. The aching and stinging pain coursing through you was a dead giveaway that this was real. You peeled your eyes open to a greatfully dim room, Amanda’s room.

“Your awake,” she states.

“Were you gonna tell me if the Jigsaw killer didn’t put me in that situation?” You asked. She didn’t want to lie anymore

“No… but I wanted to forget about it myself. I just wanted to spread the message until John- the Jigsaw Killer died. I was gonna runaway with you so we could live happily. I would never miss a date night again and yeah, you wouldn’t have known about that but I couldn’t lose you. I never wanted this at all, I just didn’t want you to leave me. I will never ever hurt you again. I technically owe John my life and in the process of repaying him he treated me like a daughter more than anyone before. I know you know I’m sick but it’s so much worse than that, I care about you both so much. I would have gotten you out of there but the man who put you in there, Mark, would have killed you anyways. I know I am a sick person, I will never pay enough for this but please don’t leave me, please! You are the only thing that makes me feel normal and sane. You can leave when your better if you must. But if you are willing, we can work together, the idea is insane but you and I are proof that it works. I want to live life again and live it with you please.”

You look at her and your eyes gloss over, you have no idea what the hell to do but as much as you hate it she’s all you’ve got too. Everything is screaming at you to just run away to the hospital and get their asses arrested. Everything.

Except your heart.

You fought to live for her, you could have waited for death rather than living through this trauma but you fought to see her again and when that puppet told you she was here you had the exact same look of horror still plastered on Amanda’s face. He’s right and you know it, you want to live more. Maybe you’re more fucked up than originally thought.

“Okay” you say

She tilts her head afraid to ask you to continue so you do for her.

“I can’t leave you, but I don’t want to be a part of this idea for awhile,” you wince, “I need time to think that over but I know that after everything I still just wanna be held by you. I’ll stay…” you pause, “I don’t forgive you right now but if you ever lie to me again I will leave faster than that stupid puppet can wheel into a room. I know you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose, but it’s going to take a bit till I can trust you again.”

She finally lets go of a breath she’s been holding in since she met you. You’re gonna stay with her even though you know everything and went through it.

You’re staying.

“Yes, now come on into the bed I’ve had an insanely long day.”

“Anything for you”, she replies, kissing you softer than ever before.

#amanda young x reader #the pig x reader #amanda young #saw #saw franchise

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 29

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: The Fallen Ones.

Notes: I kept revising this one :S It's time to let it free.

Warnings: Grief. Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +200K

Chapter:  29/ It’s a secret.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

By the time you felt strong and awake enough to leave your room, it was past midday.

There was talk in the fort about what had transpired in the village the previous night, about Lancelot, and how the flames had not harmed him or the family he had saved.

So far, most of it was positive.

You found your mother as she was searching for Ciro and Squirrel, apparently the little ones had skipped the soup that had been served at midday in the dinning hall for all to enjoy.

She looked quite tired still, it was much harder for your parents to use their healing abilities than it was for you, and it took some more time for them to feel better again.

Mirena carried a warm tea in her hands like it was a source of life to her, it was a habit she had kept for years, there was nothing some tea could not fix for her.

You walked with her through the fort in search of the little rascals, the scent of the tea filled your nostrils.

She took a sip from her cup. “This morning I have told the children of what happened in the village, so they would not be confused by what is being talked about in the castle.”

“That is good.” You approved of it. “Do they know of what Lancelot did?”

She gave a nod. “They loved to hear all about that.”

Squirrel and Ciro must have nearly asked her ears off about it.

Mirena spoke so casually that she might as well have talked about the weather, “He is a handsome man, don’t you agree?”

“Huh?” You weren’t sure who she was speaking off.

“Lancelot.” She clarified.

There was no point denying it. “He is.”

“Those eyes.” She nudged your elbow with her own. “You must have noticed.”

Slowly you turned to look at her face, “Mother, should father be concerned?”

It was only a jest, because you sensed that she was trying to fish information out of you.

Mirena did not let it fool her. “Of course not.”

You wondered why she would bring this up now, “Why this sudden interest in the Ash Man then?”

With another sip of tea, she told you what was on her mind, “Little moon, I think you need to speak to him. The Ash Man is not the kind of man I thought he was, even when drunk.”

“How so?” It piqued your curiosity.

She recalled what happened that night during their short walk, “He kept apologizing when I walked him to his sleeping quarters on the night of the feast.”

You frowned. “For what?”

She named a few, “For everything, for drinking, for what he did to his people-”

It strangled your heart. “Oh…”

“For you.” She said, and asked about it, “Why did he apologize for you? Is there something he did wrong?”

How much had he told her?!? You had spared her of most of the details regarding your time in captivity. Was this about what he had tried to do that night?

You tried to ease her mind, “Nothing I haven’t forgiven him for.”

Apart from the attempt to kiss you…

She could tell that you were hiding something from her, your fidgeting hands warned her.

That night kept going through your mind over and over again.

“I think his conscience was just clawing at him. But, may I tell you something?” You asked.

“Of course.” She nodded encouragingly.

You tried to not give away that he had tried to kiss you, fearing how she would respond, “He was raised as a monk since childhood and lived strictly by the rules set in the scriptures of the Church, until he saved Squirrel and I. Now… sometimes it feels as if… uhm…”

It wasn’t easy to explain how it felt like he was growing more and more closer to you. Lines were blurring and bending.

Mirena saw you struggle and stated what she had observed, “He cares for you and Percival very much, like family would.”

You managed to nod timidly. “I trust him with my life, mother. I’ve never met anyone who could be so unselfishly caring. Sometimes I feel as if he effaces himself, to repent for the past. Last night was not the first time he stepped into danger for the sake of others. It frightens me.”

A pensive hum sounded from her. “Thankfully, he has someone who reminds him that his life is important too. Someone who cares.”

“I hope he believes me when I try to tell him this.” You feared he did not accept this truth.

She gave some wise advice, “Remind him of it often. Sometimes it takes a while before people are ready to believe others care for them too. If the former Weeping Monk can convince a Dawn Woman of this, you can convince him too.”

Ah yes, the Dawn Folk were not quick to trust at all.

You chuckled a little at it. “I really picked the hardest person to trust, didn’t I?”

She jested about it, “It does not surprise me, Little Moon. Nothing is ever simple with you.”

You scoffed amused. “Thank you, mother.”

She drank up the remainder of her tea as you walked through the entrance hall towards the courtyard together. “When you disappeared, the night the Brotherhood took you, your father and I thought you had ran off with the Ash Man.”

She was sheepishly admitting to what you had already thought had happened.

You shook your head, smiling at the absurdity. “Mother.”

“It was a possibility.” Mirena breached the matter on her mind. “He does appear quite charmed by you.”

You were quick to try and refute it, “He was a monk not long ago.”

She did not fall for the attempt to brush it away. “Do you think monks cannot feel love in their hearts? Those of the clergy vow not to act on it, it does not mean that they do not feel it.”

“I know that.” You meekly said. “But Lancelot and I are just friends, we have been by each other’s side through terrible things, that created a bond.”

She opened the door to the courtyard for you. “I am grateful the Ash Man was by your side when we could not be. Your father is too, even though he will not admit to it.”

It reminded you. “I never expected father to help him last night.”

“He’d rather help Lancelot, than watch you run into danger to do so yourself.” She was close to scolding you over it again.

You walked into the courtyard a bit faster before she could.

An arrow flew across the courtyard all of a sudden, shortly followed by excited voices. It had landed in a practicing target, a wooden pole with a sack of straw bound to it, at the other side of the courtyard.

Well, you had finally found Squirrel and Ciro. Lancelot was helping them learn archery, he tried at least. Squirrel was seemingly determined that his skill needed no adjustments, even if the Ash Man tried to give some useful hints. But Ciro was more accepting of the help, as he knelt to the boy’s height he showed him how and where to hold the bow and arrow best.

The second arrow that flew across the courtyard landed in the heart of the straw target, it was quickly followed by Squirrel’s arrow that landed in the head of it. Perhaps the boy was right to be proud of his skill at such a young age already.

Mirena watched them for a while, letting them have their moment of fun before she would scold them for letting their soup go cold. You bit your lip, knowing that your mother was waiting for the right moment to call upon Squirrel and Ciro.

Lancelot let Ciro try it on his own. “Nock.”

The arrow fell from Ciro’s hands, he quickly picked it up and tried to do as asked. Poor Ciro was shaking in his boots until Lancelot came to his side to help again.

“I can’t do it.” Ciro was beginning to panic.

He put a hand on the child’s back. “Perhaps not yet. But you will not know until you try.”

Squirrel went over to Ciro. “Go on, you can do it.”

With shaking hands, Ciro nocked the arrow and lifted the bow.

“Breathe, Ciro.” Lancelot told him.

Slowly but surely, your cousin’s hands steadied, little puffs of air formed in the cold air at his mouth. The arrow was released and landed in the side of the straw target.

It was good enough to have a positive reaction from Ciro. “I did it! I did it!”

Ciro accidentally knocked one of the edges of the bow against Squirrel.

“Oi!” Squirrel ducked to avoid a second collision.

“Sorry, Squirrel.” Ciro apologized quickly.

Squirrel looked at the target, than back to Ciro with a smile. “See! I told you you could do it!”

Ciro looked so relieved at the approval coming from his friend.

“Well done.” Lancelot praised. “Both of you have done very well.”

Your mother walked up to them, you followed a few steps behind.

“Well done, indeed.” She announced her presence and saw the children get a little nervous. “So this is what the two of you were doing while the soup went cold.”

Lancelot frowned in confusion, then realized they had ‘forgotten’ to mention this to him and send the two of them a stern look before apologizing to her. “Forgive me, Mirena. Had I known they were expected in the dining hall, I would have brought them there.”

She waved it away. “No apology is needed from you, Lancelot. It must have ‘slipped’ their minds.”

You bit your lip again, the children were looking at her like caught criminals.

“The soup is still waiting, boys.” Mirena send them a look. “Off to the dining hall with you it is.”

Ciro grabbed Squirrel by the sleeve and pulled him along, knowing that his aunt was giving them a second chance.

You stepped aside for them as they followed her inside, then walked over to Lancelot. “So, decided to teach them archery because teaching them the sword would potentially alarm others?

He could only affirm it. “I spend many of days on lecturing others how to use their weapons best. Old habits.”

You hummed, “I think you just love to show off your skill, and what better audience than children?”

He tried not to smile. “Or perhaps I just want them to learn a useful skill.”

You hummed again cheekily, it made the smile break through on his face.

“Are you feeling better?” He inquired, holding the bow loosely in his hand.

Physically you felt better, but you couldn’t pretend that you had not dreamt that he had not gotten out of that fire last night.

“Better.” You assured him.

He blinked and squinted his eyes just a little. “Yes?”

Well…

Quietly you confessed, “I dreamed that you didn’t walk out of the fire.”

“Oh…” He fell silent.

Your mother’s advice came to mind. “I’m really glad you did.”

He was quiet for a different reason now. His heart felt full after hearing this.

You turned at the sound of a group passing by, some of the knights were heading out it seemed. Matthew was among them and looked at you as he walked by, but dropped his attention to the grass soon. It wasn’t nice to feel uncomfortable about the situation, but it was all still so raw.

Lancelot noticed something was off, “What was said between you and the knight yesterday? I saw him beg.”

With a shrug of your shoulders, you told him, “I told him what I thought of his babbling behind my back. We aren’t on good terms right now.”

He gave a compassionate look. “I am sorry. I know it is hurting you.”

Knowing what you did now, had spared you from greater pain later. “At least I know the truth now. Before I could be persuaded to wed him, that would have been worse.”

His question came quick, “You thought of wedding him?”

You grimaced at the thought. “My father spoke of it to me yesterday, he said he wouldn’t mind a joining between Matthew and I. I was quick to throw that idea off the table.”

Lancelot let out a breath, the news staggered him, “A joining…”

“No joining.” You scoffed. “No nothing.”

His stunned reaction made you look at him questioningly.

“What?” You saw how downcast he appeared now. “Don’t worry Ash Man, I have no desire to be trapped again. Not in a dungeon, and certainly not in wedlock.”

All he managed was a nod.

To lead the conversation away from the awkward topic, you asked, “Have you read all of that page I gave you last night?”

He took a step away and touched your arm, asking you to walk with him for a while. “I have. Thank you for giving it to me, even if it meant ruining a book.”

You gently asked about it, “Do you remember your parents?”

“Only their names. Their faces have become a vague memory a long time ago.” He sounded pained. “I never knew they were considered royalty among the Fey. I was too young to remember.”

The names had been present on the page for you to read. King Ban, Queen Elaine and their son.

It wasn’t your intention to upset him. “Sorry, if I sound curious-”

“You trusted me with your family, I shall trust you with mine.” He locked eyes with you as he walked. “What is there you wish to know?”

You were a bit worried you’d still accidentally upset him, “Do you know what happened to them?”

He fidgeted with the bow a little, lost in thought.

“Are they…” You couldn’t get the rest of the question over your lips in fear of the answer.

Lancelot knew what you were trying to ask him. “I was told my father died in the war, and my mother of grief after they took me.”

A lump formed in your throat, how awful had the Church been to him… You honestly didn’t know what to say to that.

He noticed. “It was a long time ago.”

It was obvious he was trying to hide how it hurt him. “I can’t imagine that it does not hurt to know.”

He walked with you past the curtain wall of the fort, and fixed his eyes on the sea in the distance. “I do not like to think of how my mother must have felt. Her last thoughts of me, she must have know what would become of me after I was taken.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, letting him have some time to collect himself, he needed it. It wasn’t until he pulled his attention away from the distance that you spoke again. “You became a man who she would be very proud of.”

He looked around himself, than stopped, and made you halt too by carefully taking hold of your lower arm. Your eyes were on him right away, watching him step closer.

His thumb drew slow circles on your sleeve. “If you believe it to be true, than I shall consider it so.”

You felt your heart beat in your throat all of a sudden and looked down to his hand, he saw but did not move it away. “I know it to be true. I see it all the time.”

It wrapped around your arm, like it was resisting the urge to pull you towards him. You could feel his gaze on your face, but the nervous feeling that settled in your stomach refused to let you meet it. All you could tell was that he often discreetly looked around him, like he did not want others around to see. That in itself was proof that he knew this line between you kept bending in ways that others would take notice off.

“Uhm…” You fished for something to say whilst keeping your eyes on a fallen leaf, “Is that the bow you always have on Goliath’s saddle?”

A short pause came before his answer. “It is. I was taking it back to the stables.”

You forced your feet to move a step to the side, it broke the hold on your arm immediately, only than did you look at him. “Then I’ll let you do that… I’ll go and see if my mother needs any help with the young ones.”

His eyes followed your every movement, “Alright… I will see you tonight?”

“Tonight.” You spoke fast.

It seemed to be amusing to him. “Good.”

You let him walk past and could have sworn he bumped into your arm with his on purpose now. Especially because he smirked back at you as he walked away.

Your whole being responded strongly to him, similar to what you had experienced before, yet different. Stronger. So much stronger and you did not want to let that feeling take hold again, not after it had caused you such pain.

No.

No.

This wasn’t good. It would pass. Surely it would pass…

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

That evening, as he returned from the stables, Lancelot searched the hallways for the Dawn Folk scent. He found it, but unfortunately it was not yours, only two similar ones. Mirena and Helio were conversing in the hallway. He had managed to stop before they’d notice his presence, a corner blocked him from their sights.

It was not his intention to eavesdrop, but he did overhear them. From the angle he was standing, he could also see them.

Mirena was reassuring Helio, “You are a good man, and a good father. I am sure she knows it.”

Helio did not sound like he believed it and spoke with a heavy heart, “When I saw her running to that fire… I had to reach her in time.” He hated to think back to that moment. “I do not want to lose her again.”

She explained your reason for that action, “She thought her friend was burning, my love. How would you have responded if it were you?”

He nodded shallowly. “I always tell her she is so much like you, but it is when I see myself in her that it frightens me.”

“That eagerness to run into danger to help others.” She tsked him. “She is much like you. You might as well argue with a mirror instead of her.”

A chuckle fell from him. “A mirror would not give me her wit.”

“No, it would not.” She smiled.

His wife’s smile brought on his own. “But you often do.”

Mirena hummed, letting him lean in and kiss her tenderly.

That was the moment he turned his eyes away for a second, watching this felt intrusive.

The love between them was clear to see, they left the hallway together. He did not continue his walk yet, he was lost in thought. One desire had managed to crawl under his skin once again. There was someone who he wished he could share the same affections with. It left him to come to his senses, and push the idea away before it could lead to what had happened on the night of the feast.

He resumed his walk and was about to cross paths with a Sky Folk woman when she deliberately stepped in his way. By reflex he stopped before he got too close to her.

Was she there to voice her dismay to his presence in the fort? He had not seen here there before. Black hair, brown eyes and a scar at the side of her neck. No, she did not look familiar.

With a small step he tried to see if she would let him pass.

She spoke to him in response, “I know what you did in the village.”

He looked at her expectantly until she spoke again.

The Sky Woman took a step closer. “The woman you saved is my sister. I am here to thank you for the incredible gallantry you have shown last night.”

Lancelot acknowledged the grateful response she had, “I hope she is well?”

She left little distance between herself and the Ash Man when she got closer again. “She is, and so are the children. Thanks to you. I wish I had something to repay you with.”

He sought no reward. “You owe me nothing. I am glad they are well.”

The young woman kept staring, seemingly intrigued by him. With a shallow nod, he hoped to bid her a good day.

What she said next took him off-guard. “I do wish to thank you. Perhaps some place where we can be alone?”

The last thing he expected was to be propositioned, and in the middle of a hallway. He could not hide how nervous it was making him and kept looking around himself while also keeping an eye on her.

He politely declined the offer. “I do not know you, madam.”

The woman saw that he showed little to no interest, and tried to awaken it. “My name is Emmeline. We can get to know each other, I would be pleased to make your acquaintance.”

From what he could tell, this young woman might have a small infatuation. It was not uncommon to find a person who had done something dangerous, attractive. But he preferred a deeper connection over a shallow one. And this woman did not know him at all.

“Lancelot.” He introduced himself formerly. “Apologies, madam, I seek not what you want.”

She dropped her gaze to the tile floor, looking a bit embarrassed. “I understand. I shall leave you be, sir.”

He felt compassion towards her, she seemed to be kind under that first impression.

Emmeline seemed to shrink under his eyes. “But may I thank you, in another way, for saving my family?”

After a second of thought, and knowing he could easily stop her if needed be, he gave a nod. Timidly she put a hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek, she was quick to step away. With a curtsy, she bid him a good day and left without saying another word.

Flattering, but unexpected. Usually people tended to avoid him. It appeared two knights who were passing by had seen it happen, one was even sending him a grin while the other was baffled.

What the Ash Man did not know was that they were not the only ones who had seen it…

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

You had been searching for Lancelot around the fort to ask if he’d sit with you at dinner.

You wished you hadn’t…

Had you known that you would see him be kissed by someone, who was quite beautiful, you wouldn’t have searched for him at all. Never before had you felt so physically ill so suddenly. Where did this strong response come from?

Was it the exhaustion from last night mixed with the response to what you had seen? At least you made it to your room and to an empty bucket, because you felt close to throwing up. On your knees you kept the bucket close, feeling the painful tensing in your stomach. Your body was shaking terribly, like it tried to fight it. Nothing came out, and the feeling remained. The last time you had felt like this was after Matthew’s rejection a long time ago, but not this gravely.

It was time to admit to yourself that you had fallen for the Ash Man, and wished you hadn’t. Now you had to go through all the suffering a second time. All of this, only because you had seen him receive affections from another.

You fought against the tears, refusing to let them win and show, telling yourself to calm down. For all you knew, it could have been innocent, just nothing…

“Please, let it be nothing…” The plea was aimed to the Hidden.

It was a selfish thing to ask, but could you not wish for something for yourself?

Squirrel found you dry-heaving whilst he walked by the room, like the Hidden had called him there to see it. It was embarrassing.

The boy was at your side a blink of an eye later. “Are you sick?”

“No… ugh…” The weight of a rock tumbled inside your stomach

Squirrel did not believe it one bit. He saw how you struggled, hunched over the bucket on your knees, and your arm around your stomach. Suddenly he ran off and left you there, then it hit you why that was.

“Squirrel, no, wait!” You shouted after him but he was too stubborn to return without the help he was after. To your dismay, that help came in the form of Lancelot rushing into the room followed by Squirrel.

“See, she’s sick!” Squirrel looked so worried over you, it made you only feel worse and guilty.

Great… you were a mess…

Lancelot knelt by your side, hand on your back, the panic clear in his voice, “What is wrong? Are you ill?”

You were prying his hands off of you, still feeling that awful tightening in your gut. “Leave me be. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

He said it to make you feel less embarrassed over it, “I grew up among paladins, I have seen far worse.” Then asked the boy, “Percival, fetch a cold damp cloth.”

Squirrel darted off to the washing table in your room to fetch one.

“Talk to me.” Lancelot’s concern was clear for all to see. But his presence was not helping you now.

You wouldn’t lie to him to avoid further questions, but asked for a delay to answer, “Not now. I’m sorry, not now. I’m not sick, I just need a moment to myself.”

Squirrel returned and handed the requested damp cloth to Lancelot. It did feel very nice to feel the cold cloth be placed on the back of your neck. Was the Hidden alerting him that this situation was caused by distress?

He hated to ask, because he did not wish to do so, “Shall we leave you?”

Hearing and seeing them so concerned… it made you feel guilty. But your fragile heart felt like breaking into pieces again, and it hurt.

You needed the nausea gone before you would be able to tell him what was wrong. “I will tell you, when I’ve had a moment to think.”

He hesitated for a couple of moments before finally rising to his feet and beckoning for the boy.

“Doesn’t she need a healer?” Squirrel pouted up at him.

Lancelot send you an inquiring look.

You shook your head. “I’ll be alright, Squirrel. I promise.”

Poor Squirrel wasn’t put at ease by it.

“Mirena will be waiting for you in the dinning hall, do not let your meal go cold again. Go on.” Lancelot nudged him against the shoulder.

Squirrel didn’t run out like he usually would, he walked out and looked at you one last time before leaving the room.

That heaviness in your stomach was slowly bettering, you dared to look up at the Ash Man whilst pushing the still empty bucket away from you.

He was reluctant to leave you on your own, “I will come find you after dinner. Shall I bring you some then?”

“I don’t feel like eating.” You declined the offer.

There he stood, near the door, feeling powerless to help you. He hated the feeling to his very core. What he hated most was seeing glimpses of sadness present in you, the reason of it still unknown to him.

“Go. Don’t let a meal go cold.” You mustered a small smile.

His boots almost dragged across the floorboards as he headed out of the room.

You still sat on your knees, and let yourself sit on your rear instead. Telling him felt like the wisest choice…

You had survived heartbreak before, would it not be better than prolonging the pain? What if he rejected you? What if he accepted?

Thinking of it was enough for the knot in your stomach to return and you decided to clear your head of it before you’d lose all courage to speak to him later.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Lancelot had lost his appetite after the Hidden had notified him of your distress, through them it was as if he had experienced some of what you must have felt.

No, he gravely disliked the feeling that had coursed through him. Some fresh cold air was what he craved to forget the feeling. Some time to clear his mind before he’d search you out to speak to you.

Unfortunately, it was not granted to him.

From a distance, he had already picked up that Sky Folk scent he hoped to avoid.

Matthew found him in the courtyard, and when he saw that no one else was around, he went over to the Ash Man, “I think we should have a word, don’t you?”

Lancelot could hear the venom in his tone. “If you find it necessary.”

“I do.” Matthew responded sharp. “I know you were the one who told y/n.”

He turned to face the knight, feeling the tense turn in the atmosphere. “If you had told her yourself, perhaps she would be more inclined to forgive you.”

The knight looked seconds away of hitting him, he had been in enough battles to recognize that sort of look.

Matthew let him know what was bothering him, “Do not act haughty to me, I know why you’ve done it! It’s much easier for you to have her all to yourself if there are no others vying for her!”

The furious knight sought to escalate this by shoving the Ash Man against the chest.

When Matthew tried to do it a second time, he knew he had to diffuse this before the situation could get messier than it already was. You would never forgive him if he’d damage one of those ‘honey eyes’.

With fast reflexes, Lancelot caught his arm and kicked the back of Matthew’s knee, sending the knight to the ground while blocking his arm behind his back. Matthew tried to get up but the Ash Man kept him to the ground, and prevented he’d use his other arm to free himself.

“I’ve done it, because she deserves to know the truth!” Lancelot snarled.

The fool did not see his mistake, “She didn’t need to know! You only upset her!”

“I did?!” He could not believe his ears. “Others know! Others who have no right to know! How long before it reached her ears? Do you have any inkling of how much you have hurt her?!”

The ruckus had drawn the attention of three other knights, when they threatened to come closer to interfere, it was Matthew who told them to stay back, “Stay out of it!”

The group looked at each other with uncertainty. He felt how Matthew stopped struggling against his firm hold.

“I never thought she would hate me…” Matthew confessed sorrowful. “I took it for granted.”

The love you once had for Matthew had not saved him from the consequences of his actions this time.

He released him and took a few paces away from him, “You did.”

Matthew didn’t get off his knees just yet, and looked at the Ash Man with mixed emotions. “The Weeping Monk has a better conscience than me…” He scoffed. “I understand why she put her trust in you, I don’t like it, but I understand.”

It was almost a nice thing for him to say, if it weren’t so bitterly said. The man was filled with self-pity, it would not help his cause if he let it remain as it was.

He really made an effort to advise him, “You have a conscience as well, I suggest you learn to listen to it from time to time.”

Matthew got up from the ground and waved the watchful knights away, “You believe she could one day forgive me then?”

There was still that attitude, but the question sounded like it had come from a genuine concern.

Lancelot kept at a safe distance from him. “She forgave me. I think she can forgive you too, in time.”

If he deserved it.

Matthew rolled his shoulder, feeling the strain that had been put on it, he did not appear as angry anymore. With a step back, he created more distance. “Speak not a word of this to her.”

Did he sound… embarrassed?

He managed to keep himself from letting the smirk appear, “I do not intent to trouble her with futilities.”

Matthew almost rolled his eyes at him, then he walked past the Ash Man in the direction those knights had gone, undoubtedly to ask the same of them.

So far this day was spared of bloodshed and violence, he prayed it would remain so.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

The evening had come, and to reassure both Ciro and Squirrel that you were fine, you had went to their room to read some of that book with them again.

They were fascinated by the small bits of knowledge on the Fey clans that they had not been previously aware of. Squirrel began to show more enthusiasm towards reading and you helped him learn, he’d point out a letter and you would tell him what it sounded like.

Needless to say, some very strange sounding words came out of the boy’s mouth often.

Yet, Ciro never once laughed, he was just glad to finally have a friend that did not mind that he wasn’t the bravest around.

Moon Wings were their favorite subject, and you read most of it out loud to them on the matter.

Your fingertip followed the line you were reading in the book, “Moon Wings often posses druid magic, most of them can read the minds of others around them.”

“Wow.” Ciro exclaimed in awe.

“I’ve seen a Moon Wing!” Squirrel said, then went on to tell Ciro all about the young Moon Wing he had seen.

They were a rare kind indeed, it was a Moon Wing child that had survived a cleansing. And you didn’t have to guess how the child had survived…

Outside the window, the stars reminded you of the time. And you had heard some yawns in the past few minutes coming from the children.

“I believe it is time for bed.” You carefully closed the large book.

There were some protests, but they still crawled under the covers. You went around the room to tuck them into bed, which they seemed to appreciate.

“Y/n…” Squirrel caught your arm when you walked by, “I’m really glad you’re my friend. You’re really sweet.”

Was he sick? It was what you first thought upon hearing the compliments.

The initial shock passed and you bend down to kiss his forehead. “I love you too.”

“I didn’t say that.” He sank back in the pillow.

“I’m pretty sure I heard that, somewhere between the other words.” You smiled broadly and saw him do the same.

You repeated the action with Ciro, who promptly used his sleeve to wipe his forehead afterwards.

“Ew.” Ciro blurted out.

“And I love you too, dear cousin.” You snorted a laugh at his response.

Before you left, you blew out the candles and let the darkness of night into the room. To see them close their eyes and softly fall asleep, gave hope for a better world and future for the Fey, at least for them.

You rubbed the sleep from your tired eyes whilst walking through the hallway towards your room. At first you had thought Lancelot had forgotten how he had said he’d come to speak to you after dinner, but now you found him leaning against the wall beside your chamber’s door, he pushed himself off of it when he saw you approach. He was seconds away of questioning you on what happened today, you could feel it.

There was no avoiding it, so you faced the issue head on. “About earlier. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause you worry. Sometimes I feel ill when things become too much for me, it’s just the way my body reacts.”

He was visibly relieved to hear that you were not truly ill, “Do you feel better now?”

It was sweet of him to ask. “I feel well.”

Before he could ask what had caused it, you asked him about what had been on your mind all evening and hoped it didn’t sound too nosy. “I saw you with a woman today. Who was she? I didn’t recognize her from living at the fort. Maybe she is new.”

It was already at the back of his mind.

“Ah. I believe her name was ‘Emmeline’, she is the sister of the woman I helped escape from the fire last night.” He said.

The sister of…

Oh…

“She came to thank you…” You finally understood what had happened.

Lancelot’s expression changed slightly, like he was puzzling something together in his mind. “Yes.” The question fell out of his thoughts, “What caused you to feel ill tonight?”

You struggled to make the decision for yourself to whether or not you would tell him the true reason, and if you were ready to do so. What if you made a fool of yourself by telling him?

He saw the reluctance to answer the question in your eyes.

He gestured to the door of your room, “Can we talk? Where we are not so prone to be disturbed?”

Oh no, did he suspect something? Was it obvious to him?

“Of course.” You walked past him to open the door. “Get in before someone sees and gets the wrong idea.”

He grinned and followed you into the room. To let your tired feet rest, you plopped down on your bed to sit. The doll at the foot of your bed had drawn his attention and he picked it up.

“And who is this?” The cheeky Ash Man smiled.

You squinted your eyes up at him. “It doesn’t have a name. My mother gave me that.”

He studied the way it was made for a moment. “Lovely.”

When he showed no signs of putting it down, you teased, “Are you here to play with my doll, or to talk to me?”

His mouth curved at the corner at the jest. With respect for your belongings, he placed the doll back at the foot of your bed, making sure it wouldn’t fall. That was rather thoughtful of him.

He still stood at the foot of the bed when he explained why he had wanted to talk someplace private, “I had hoped to speak to you about the night of the feast.”

“The one you can’t remember?” You were still a little bitter over it.

He was nervously tapping his index finger against the foot of the bed. “I have not been honest with you. I do recall what happened.”

You looked up at his face and saw the remorse in his eyes. “You lied to me…”

It was disappointing.

His bowed his head in shame, voice growing quieter, “By lying, I thought it would spare me from having to face the truth.”

“What truth?” You asked.

He came to your side and knelt down just next to your leg. “I saw you and Matthew together that night, I saw him seek your affection. I drank two tankards of ale..” He took a breath. “I made a mistake.”

“I…” Realization hit. “You saw that?”

His gaze dropped to the floorboards, as if he did not like the memory at all. “I know it is no excuse for my behavior.”

“You were jealous?” You needed to hear him say it, because it didn’t feel real or possible.

“I was.” It was difficult to admit, but he did.

Regret for his actions swarmed inside his head constantly. The foreign feeling had been all consuming that night. Jealousy, mixed with the fear he had for what he felt.

“Why?” Deep down you already knew the reason.

He opened his mouth to speak, the words he wished to say caught in his throat, “Forgive me.”

“Lancelot.” You waited until he looked at your eyes, “Tell me. Please?”

He rose from the ground to walk a few steps further into the room, his back to you. That annoying feeling in your stomach threatened to return at the sight of his reaction. Your legs felt unstable when you stood up and got closer to him.

He slowly turned, his eyes a thousand stars away and yet all present, his hands folded behind his back to hide how unsteady they were. “I fear you will shun me, if you hear what I wish to tell you.”

His hesitation was not because he wished to deceive you, the look in his eyes told of it. The look of a man fearing to lose it all, the same fear you recognized in yourself.

You took his hands in yours, seeking to connect with him. “I wish I could fight away all that troubled you… all I can pray for is that you will feel safe enough with me, to tell me what you wish to say.”

He turned his hands and claimed yours, holding on to them while brushing his thumbs over your knuckles in a soothing manner. Almost did you step back when he knelt down before you.

He submitted himself to you, placing his body and soul at your feet, for his heart was already in your hands.

His eyes lifted to yours, locking on your gaze through his lashes. He hesitated a few times before he began to speak, his voice was full of raw emotion and quite prayer, “Your gracious heart holds mine in it’s power. All I wish for, is yours in return.”

You were staring into the heavens that the gods had created in his eyes, feeling your breathing quicken.

His eyes remained on yours, ensuring himself that all was heard, “I have come to know you, to loveyou.” A pause. “Am I fooling myself into believing that you would let me into your heart?”

You watched him play absentmindedly with your fingers, while his intense gaze distracted you, “You are…”

The mistake dawned on you when seeing his eyes change. “Oh gods, wait no I… ugh,” You could slap yourself for it. “I didn’t mean you are ‘fooling yourself’, I meant that you are in my heart. Gods, I’m such an idiot.”

The nerves were getting the better of you.

He blinked a few times, like you had just turned water into wine. He went through two very different emotions in the span of seconds, highly preferring the one he felt now.

The stunned response just proved how unexpected it was for him that this was a mutual feeling.

You pulled a hand free and buried your face in it. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit overwhelmed. Because I’ve fallen in love with you and I didn’t know if you felt the same…”

He breathed in, the joy visible in his eyes. “You are forgiven.”

You felt safe enough with him to speak the truth of what had happened earlier, “When I saw that woman so close to you, I felt my heart shatter into pieces. I couldn’t stand the thought of another with you. Selfish, I know, and I’m sorry you had to see my reaction.”

It sounded like you had experienced the same distress that he had felt after seeing you with another.

His hand was gently squeezing yours. “Do not apologize. I did not react well to seeing you with another either.”

That was true. Your eyes flickered to the window, feeling the small smile begin to form on your lips.

He was warming your hands with his own. “You love me…”

The truth was finally out. “Quite a lot.”

There was a moment were nothing was said, the reality of the situation was setting in.

“What now?” He inquired in a rather timid manner. “If you wish to ignore it, I will understand.”

His past could not be erased. Matters were already sensitive at the fort. He would understand if you chose to not give in to what you felt. He just need you to hear the truth, just as he needed to hear it too.

You stole your hands from him and covered his own with them. “I don’t really know. But I cannot keep pretending that I am not attracted to you.”

It felt like such a risky thing to admit, and heat went to your cheeks. But he would have figured that out sooner or later anyway. Of course that smug oaf smirked at you for it. You send him a warning look in case he were thinking of teasing you about it. Slowly Lancelot rose to his feet, never breaking the connection your hands formed between you. He held them, using them to bring you a step closer to him. You stilled when he touched your cheek to caress it, his fingertips touched your chin and had a gentle hold on it while watching your response. He collected all his courage while slowly leaning in, aiming for your cheek, offering you the chance to pull away if you’d wish to.

The kiss to your cheek was nothing like the one you had once given him, it was far more intimate than you thought such an innocent kiss could ever be, his warm breath was felt near your ear when his lips lingered.

Tentatively he curled his hand around your shoulder. While leaning back again, his gaze fell on your lips. Seeing him take a deep breath forewarned you for what he desired to do. But the Ash Man was holding back, and you laced your fingers in his jerkin to slowly pull him closer, willing to meet his lips. Almost did your nose touch his, when suddenly he broke away.

You were so confused. “Wha-”

The knock on your door came a second later. Lancelot looked alarmed, having caught the Fey scent.

“It’s your father.”

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten​​ @the-great-adventures-of-me​ @linkpk88​​  @fxrchxldws​​  @elenaoftheturks​​ @slytherlight​​ @beananacake​​    @crystallizedtime​​  @moonlightaura03​​  @angrygardendeer​​  @have-aheart​​   @5am-cigarette​​ @arcanenature​​  @thewinterskywalker​​ @notyourwildestdream​​ @coloursforyourportrait​​ @koressecretidentity​​ @nike90​​ @n1ghtlux​​ @rachlovesactors​​ @luckyzipperscissorsbat​​ @morena-doing-stuff​​  @the-fangirl-diaries​​ @gipsydanger17​​ @heavenly1927​​  @phantasmalbeiing  @labyrinthonmymind  @asarcastic-thiamstan​​  @rainyv-skies @kissingandromeda @stclairesplace @​​katjusja @isla-bell-blog @beebeerockknot

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story.

#the weeping monk #weeping monk #cursed netflix #weeping monk x reader #weeping monk x you #lancelot x reader #cursed lancelot #lancelot #the weeping monk x reader #cursed

[lillianofliterature]

Hi Lillian! If your preferences are still open, could I please request a preference for what the LOTR Fellowship think of a modern woman appearing in Middle Earth and developing feelings for her? Thank you!

LOTR PREFERENCES || 3/?

a/n: hi, love! thank you for your request! I’m delighted to do it! 💚 Sorry it took so long to get back to you, I’ve been working on this on and off since it was sent in to be sure I wrote a good amount for every character (although my favoritism is palpable, oops). I would get through 1-2 characters and then my brain would shut off for a while. Very convenient of it. ¯\_( ◉ 3 ◉ )_/¯

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK.

if gifs are not sourced, they were found ages ago on Google and have sat dormant in my gallery since. if they’re yours, lmk and I will credit or remove them!

some of my preferences are written like imagines, some are written like headcanons. this particular request fits the headcanon format best!

each character varies in length (I mean, some of them have A LOT and I hope you don’t mind, I just like to include everything I think of for headcanons!) and some ideas or descriptors may have been repeated a few times due to there being so many of them! On this particular request, it was so hard to make everyone’s unique because they’re all so kind and good? I feel like everyone would just dote on you and take care of you in their own way? I hope they’re unique enough!

I do my best to keep them gender-neutral for everyone! <3

warnings: repetitive ideas I’M SORRY I TRIED I PROMISE, some injuries and light gore mentioned, mental health issues implied (depression, anxiety, etc.)

(preferences below the cut-off)

| how they would react to developing feelings for someone from the modern world

aragorn | word count: 1.3k+

Aragorn was no stranger to forces of magic and otherworldly power he didn't quite understand, as he was exposed to such truths all of his life, so he wasn't as untrusting or suspicious of you as some of the other folks of Middle-Earth might be to someone claiming to be from another realm of a far advanced make and age. 

He wouldn't develop feelings for you right away, he's the slow and steady sort who must get to know and become familiar with someone before even entertaining fonder, sweeter thoughts, much less full-fledged feelings. But you did have that mysterious air about you, being a stranger to his world, the era and its customs, and he always wished to understand you from the moment Elrond had introduced you to each other. You were intriguing, to say the least.

To be fair, you were slow in trusting people completely, just as he was, so your path in developing feelings for each other was equally stubborn and forgiving. He believed your story, of course, about how you'd come from another land that was quite different from his own, about the strange humming you'd heard one night and the stinging you felt in your toes and fingertips, about how you'd ended up in a forest somehow and had followed the Ford of Bruinen into Rivendell. 

He was the first person to truly believe you and not just try to assuage your questions and anxieties passively. He made a point to validate that you weren't crazy or dreaming it up; he did everything he could to help you feel grounded and understood. Aragorn was humble enough to admit he didn't understand everything—and that he especially didn't have to understand something in order for it to be true. 

At Elrond's request (and largely due to his own curiosity), he'd agreed to help you learn about this strange new world and its history and customs. Why he'd been tasked above any other elf of intelligence in Rivendell to be your guide and tutor, he hadn't the faintest idea, except for the fact that perhaps since he traveled more than those who dwelled comfortably in the elven lord's domain, his experiences might be of more value than knowledge gleaned solely from literature and speeches.

He was quizzical about the strange things you would do, the habits you admitted were hard to break. Such as how you would rub your knuckles against the wall by every door frame when you entered a dark room, presumably looking for "light switches''—and the way you searched for "buttons and knobs" when you entered a kitchen and asked if there was such a thing resembling a "refrigerator" or an "icebox" in this world. Whatever phantom switches and objects you were after, he found it amusing to see you chastise yourself for looking for things that weren't there in Middle-Earth. (But he also realized it must be difficult to enter a realm where nothing is the same and everything is new to you, even down to the most basic aspects of daily living.)

There was also the way you were afraid to drink from rivers and skeptical of sleeping on the ground and accepting food from people you hardly knew and constantly asking what it was you were eating or if it was cooked all the way through. He knew there was some wisdom to caution, but your caution seemed extreme, which made him wonder what sort of world you hailed from that food and drink could not be trusted and one would not be accustomed to natural resources and living off the earth.

He never once made you feel silly or cowardly, though, for whatever you discovered or worried about that made you feel squeamish. He merely taught you his own ways with generous patience; he taught you to hunt and forage, how to protect yourself from insects and parasites with herbs and salves, to trim your hair with shears, and use a specific type of tree branch to clean your teeth (you couldn't just pick up any stick on the forest floor, you know), and how eucalyptus was especially soothing for the scalp when washing your hair (so long as the water wasn't too cold when you rinsed, which you learned the hard way after bathing in the river after he concocted something resembling shampoo for you).

He'd been the one to hold you that night on your travels across lands (an idea Elrond had had to get you used to the world you'd been brought into, teaching you with firsthand exposure or something of the sort) that you'd finally broken down into tears after weeks of trying to make sense of your predicament. He'd sang to you in his elvish tongue until you'd fallen asleep in his arms under the warmth of his furs and winter coat. You missed your family, your friends, and some of the beauties and conveniences of your own land. People and things he couldn't replace. He did his best to calm your aching spirit. He knew what it was to miss people, to ache for them, to reach out and not find them reaching back, to not feel your mother's warmth any longer–no matter how much you longed for it.

It was that kind of sweetness, how in touch he was with his emotions and how readily he extended his compassion, that made you realize how special of a man he was. 

And after months of helping you along in Middle-Earth and watching you blossom and grow with the changing seasons, essentially becoming part of his world, Aragorn began to feel deeply towards you. Not just his protective instinct that he'd developed for you since he'd been your confidante and ally since your arrival (he once compared you to a fawn just learning to walk in the afterbirth or a little bunny hidden away in a burrow that he had been tasked with - and obliged - to help grow and adapt) (all until you asked him to stop comparing you to wild animals), but also these funny little bouts of fluttering in his stomach and an innate need to be near you. The reprieve your mere presence gave him. The pure happiness your eagerness to learn and understand him and his world offered him. 

It would be difficult for him to act on those feelings at first because the last thing he would want to do is add more pressure or discomfort to your already convoluted burdens. But when he did, after weeks of pining for you and feeling himself smile (momentarily free of any heavy thoughts or worries of his own that often tugged that smile flat) after your many failed attempts to mimic or poke fun at him for his quiet, mysterious "Strider" persona.

Luckily, Aragorn was not alone in his feelings, and his only regret was not telling you sooner.

Neither of you knew if your returning home was a possibility or not, nor especially how such a thing could even be done, but he hoped that the day would never come when you would disappear from his life. It wasn't that he wished you never to return home to your loved ones and your comforts, but that he needed closure of his own. He needed warning in order to prepare himself to lose you if he was fated to–not that any amount of preparation can teach someone how to nobly lose their soulmate. Or perhaps he needed at least enough preparation to follow you into that world if he was ever given the chance. 

And if you were to stay in Middle-Earth until the end of your days, he vowed to help you in whatever endeavors you faced, as long as he could be by your side for every one of them. He would gladly go on teaching, guiding, and needing you.

boromir | word count: 1.8k+

Boromir was definitely skeptical of you, not only because of your sudden appearance in his father's city, but also because of your explanations to their inquiries of who you were, where you were from, and how you had come to enter the steward's palace without having alerted any guards or centremen were never quite believable. It seemed as though your answers just brought on more questions, which only made his father's temperament even more fragile than normal.

For his father's sake, Boromir would take over the situation, reprieving him of any responsibility of having to deal with the "nuisance of a wench" that Denethor, Steward of Gondor, had so politely referred to you when you didn't admit to his accusations of your being a spy from Edoras or some sort of conspiring assassin having come to usurp his throne (because you weren't one and in light of your very sudden and confusing teleportation into an entirely different realm, couldn't care less about some rickety old man on some throne you didn't even know about, much less want)

(which you told Boromir to his face once he'd come to visit you in your holding cell to interrogate you further).

Your relationship was a rocky start, to say the least. There wasn't torture involved or anything, you were kept fed and hydrated from within your cell, and the cell itself was much more quaint living space than the stuff of dungeons. The door even had a lock on the inside to ensure your privacy as an individual, although there were guards placed outside the door and the windows were too narrow and too high to even see out of, much less clamber out of to escape further out into a world you didn't understand. In all actuality, as the hours wore on and no one came to remove your fingernails or dunk you in a barrel of icy water until you spoke, you began to realize that the steward's son–Boromir, you think it was–had most likely placed you in the guest or servant's quarters. There was no way that this room, furnished with a single bed, a vanity, a well-stocked bookshelf, a wardrobe, and even a small washroom was in any way dungeon quality. Where was the hay all over the floor? The rusty cell bars? Mice scurrying over your feet? Mushrooms and mold growing in damp corners?

So, had he lied to his father? Gone against his orders to let you rot in a cell for your lying impotence and instead given you room and board?

As the next day dawned and Borormir came to speak with you privately, he was an entirely different person than what you'd expected from your brief encounter in the throne room. Out from his father's scrutinous and demanding gaze, Borormir was much more agreeable and even somewhat patient. He wasn't quick to condemn you as a liar or some manipulative traitor, although he obviously still did suspect it. He was commanding, but he wasn't dominating.

In short, romance wasn't even on the map for either of you due to the circumstances of your meeting. No one falls in love with the man interrogating them for days on end about losing everything they ever had in an instant, about walking into an old alleyway back home to escape the rain, only to find yourself walking into the halls of some grouchy old steward who accuses you of treason and attempted murder. And no one falls in love with the person skulking through their father's halls unannounced and dishing out insults to that said father and kingdom at first glance, wounding their pride and dignity in one fell swoop.

In fact, he'd even chastised you for speaking ill of his father.

"You mean the man who just called me a nuisance? And a wench?"

Your pension for being very...communicative despite speaking to the son of the steward shocked him to say the least. Boromir wasn't used to being spoken to with such reignless freedom—especially not from strangers under lock and key.

He apologized for Denethor's crass and demeaning insults. You wouldn't have accepted his apology if it hadn't been for the forlorn sincerity in the man's eyes when he explained that his father was a changed man–and not for the better. Regardless, he asked that you respect the steward and his position of power, but even more so, respect that he is his father and he couldn't tolerate ill words being spoken about him.

You agreed to speak no such insults in his presence out of respect for Boromir in return for the patience and hospitality he'd shown you, but you made no vow to be tolerable of Denethor himself. He found that agreeable.

As the questions wore on and your answers remained much the same, Boromir realized that this story you kept explaining, about the alleyway and the rain, the smell of the bakery across the street, the soggy socks in your shoes, it was obviously what you believed–even if he wasn't sure if he could believe it yet. It was hard for Boromir to believe without seeing for himself. It's ye old "I believe that you believe it happened," two hairs shy of calling you crazy sort of response.

That is, until his brother gets word of the new visitor a few days after your arrival. Faramir was his name. He remembered how strange that passageway deep in the stone walls of the palace near the eastern wing had always made him feel when he passed through it. And when he heard of your predicament, he actually seemed rather aware of some sort of power or legend that once spoke of beings traveling between realms in some rare instances. Apparently, Boromir was much more trusting of his little brother. He took Faramir at his word, especially once shown several tomes and scrolls from across the ages of rare but unexplainable instances such as yours.

With Faramir's help (whom you found much more agreeable than his suspicious and impossible older brother), Boromir actually believed in what had happened to you. Not just that you thought it was true, but that such strange things do happen, things even the bravest warriors from great kingdoms cannot explain away.

When it was revealed that it did make factual sense, given your odd apparel that day you'd arrived and the baggy "sweatshirt" you'd refused to let them confiscate, the difference in your accent and dialect, the contrast to your world and Middle-Earth, how very little you understood about his kingdom and the way of basic living, you were then given a proper room in the guest housing just outside the palace courts, a few blocks from the courtyard and stories above the inner city.

You were viewed as an intellectual advantage (or at least that was how he explained it to his father in order for it to make sense to the paranoid steward to keep you nearby), given access to the libraries and studies under Boromir's supervision, and were assigned servants to help you learn to bathe without running water, how to brush your teeth without paste and a brush, how to lather your hair with only water and sweet-smelling oils and rinse within a basin, and a myriad of other daily changes you needed to adapt to. When you refused assistance beyond being taught how to live and function in his world, Boromir found it almost insulting–but it made him curious.

He'd never gone a day without servants, almost like shadows ushering about him, unseen and avoided beyond what they were needed for. He appreciated his people and had great pride for them, but your point of view (from someone of the working class) helped humble the entitled nobility woven into his countenance.

As time passed, Boromir found that it was he who took you for walks throughout the palace courtyard rather than silent guards or obedient servants under order; it was he who excitedly showed you his prized steeds and explained each of their individual personalities, who insisted that you venture into every reach of Gondor until you are as familiar with its villages and rivers as you are with the backs of your hands.

It was his idea, then, to show you parts of Gondor you'd never seen. Forests, plains, meadows, farms, and mountain passes, even the distant horizon of a vast beach shore toward the south. All of it grand, all of it foreign, all of it breathtaking. It was there, on horseback and walking through his father's kingdom, that you really saw who Boromir was. Free of armor and duties, he was just a man desperately in love with his country and his people.

He was flawed, yes. Greatly so. But then again, everyone bears flaws as much as any other person. Some are just skilled at hiding them from the world. Others use them to their advantage. But Boromir–Boromir just seemed like a boy some days when he was beyond the walls of Minas Tirith. The tours he gave you of his beloved land, free of expectation and any sense of obligation, were what allowed you to see everything differently, everything way back to the beginning, to months ago when you'd stumbled through those passageways between royal chambers.

And evidently, Boromir had started to realize much the same for himself. He wasn't one to take ladies for strolls about courtyards and offer them wildflowers that he nearly trampled under his boot; it wasn't like him to look forward to the days when he could spend his time riding into the villages and forests with company rather than being alone; it wasn't like Boromir, son of Denethor, heir to the stewardship of Gondor, to find himself lost in laughter as he tried to teach you how to start a fire without a "lighter" contraption that you were used to and watching you fail miserably into the evening hours and cursing under your breath with risqué words he'd never heard. It wasn't like him to feel such relief, to feel so light and free of his father's burdens.

But love comes when you aren't looking for it, and it often brings people together who would never have noticed one another in any other circumstance.

So maybe that's why you were brought to Middle-Earth, to Gondor, to the halls of his very home, out of all the places and realms you might've ended up in. Whatever might've happened, it must have been fate, or some destiny tied to love. For Boromir, the greatest warrior of his father's vast army, to find himself believing in miracles and accepting the truth of the unknown and uncertain–it could be little else but love. For the first time in his life, not knowing was enough, as long as it meant having you.

faramir | word count: 1k+

Your meeting would definitely be in a forest somewhere, perhaps in Gondor or somewhere you can't even pronounce when he tells you. He's with his rangers, scouting and securing the borders of his country–but truly, his purpose for being all the way out there was to be far away from his father to drown out his disdain and favoritism.

The way you would meet would provide him with comical relief somehow, I just think that's something that would give your relationship such a different beginning than all the other people in his life. Not bound by blood or duty, just victims of circumstance, although he wouldn't want to say he was any sort of victim in having the privilege of meeting you.

He would be knelt by the river, scooping crisp water with his hands and sipping it as his men are some ways down the bank, offering him a moment of silence and reprieve from his own duties. His men, the rangers he lead as their captain, were more than just his "Inferiors" (as his father put it), they were his friends and most trusted advisors. They weren't sworn to serve Faramir, son of Denethor, younger brother to the great warrior Boromir, only because duty and station required it of them. They were both fond and loyal to him, to his humility and wisdom, to his feeling nature. His strength was different but no less honorable. So when their captain wandered off alone, they knew him well enough to give him space.

Although, that's not exactly what he would get.

One moment, you were on the hiking trail you'd taken near your local park for the scenic terrain and perfect reading spots when suddenly the trail had twisted in a way it hadn't before until it had completely disappeared from beneath you in the rapidly appearing overgrowth. Now in a forest you didn't recognize, with panic and anxiety pulsing through your body, running back the way you'd come from in desperate search of the trail you'd been vigilant not to wander from.

That's when Faramir hears the rustling in the forest behind him, he stands as he shakes the water from his hands and poises his bow, knowing his men would never rush him unexpectedly while in the wild (and they weren't even in that direction as far as he knew from where he left them). Before the poor man can react, your bodies collide as you appear out of the thicket and slam into him. I mean, you absolutely take this man out.

You'd both crash in a heap by the river, sliding down the bank and into the shallow edges of the freezing water. Your comfy tennis shoes? Sopping wet. His cloak? Might as well hang it on the laundry line next to the linens.

You'd scramble to your feet, still rushing from adrenaline, while he'd take his time getting up as he rubbed the sore spots you'd brandished him with. With one look in your direction, he'd do a once over and a double-take, completely befuddled by your apparel and whatever reflective material your tight leggings were made of. Not to mention the strange device in your hand with a long cord dangling from its end and the sack of books that had tumbled into the damp dirt at the river's edge.

Once he regained his footing with an adjustment of his jaw and posture, he'd be bombarded with your frantic questions of where you were, where the trailhead was, if his "phone" device had any cell power (whatever that meant, he hadn't a clue) or if he was a "LARPer" based on his apparel (which, mind you, he had several questions about your very strange clothing of choice as well). Simply put, you were quite confused by one another.

Much akin to how he would be of aid in Boromir's version, Faramir would be adamant in his studies and knowledge of many mysteries and forces in his world, from long ages past. He was quite the scholar, given his neglected childhood. He would at first be skeptical of your explanation, but it wouldn't take him as long as his brother to believe you. Faramir could sense things about people, he had that sort of discernment that helped him know whether people were honest or insincere. And you were honest.

He would be very empathetic to your situation. He would offer himself as a guide and a protector, teaching you gradually how to arm yourself in the wild during the long trek back to his home of Minas Tirith. Once there, you would be kept out of his father's reach and safely somewhere you could be comfortable and adjust to the changes of his world.

Apart from being a very mature aide to you in your time of crisis, Faramir would be as excited as a kid in a sweet shop. Your presence in Middle-Earth, the circumstances which brought you to him, were absolutely incredible. It was as if his whole life sort of made sense—all the hours spent with his head in the clouds and books upon books flitting through his hands as a young boy and into adulthood, it had all prepared him for you. This fantastical miracle that came hurling at him by some stream in the eastern forests and defied any and every law of science and physics he'd ever been tutored about.

Over time, once his feelings matured into something more than honorable duty (and giddy curiosity), he'd be absolutely devoted to you. He would spend his life trying to find the answers you needed, even if it meant finding a way for you to get home, despite how much he wanted you to remain in his life. He would cross seas and brave mountains to seek out others who knew of anything like your situation, he would risk himself to keep you safe. 

Faramir would do absolutely anything for you, at all times, with the utmost sincerity and adoration from the deepest parts of himself. He would vow himself to you and leave you no room for doubt or insecurity.

eomer | word count: 800+

Eomer, Lord of the Mark and future King of Rohan, would definitely place duty above curiosity and emotion when first meeting a stranger claiming to hail from another much different world completely unrelated to Middle-Earth in its entirety. Albeit a respectful and honorable man, he would have his suspicions about whether or not your predicament was at all possible. And if possible—that was a big if—he would doubt your sincerity (if it had really happened or not). He's the type to need proof and evidence so he can work out how to respond and execute a plan of action. He wasn't one to meddle with ancient powers and mysterious magic—he was a man of law and combat.

What you don't know for the first few weeks, though, is that there's a reason behind his doubt and scrutiny of you, his blatant distrust and sheer callousness. He'd seen what the dark powers of wizards and warlords had done to his uncle Theoden. He'd witnessed firsthand how it had torn his family apart, stricken with grief and remorse. His sister had been plagued and stalked by one such man who was an ally to such dark arts. Magic and powerful entities had never brought Eomer or his people anything good.

Eventually, when you learn about all of this, you're more compassionate to his point of view and not so frustrated with him for being so darn suspicious all of the time.

However, despite his reservations about your situation, that would not affect his efforts in helping you (after you've been ruled out as a threat). You would never be treated like a prisoner or an enemy, nor as any sort of asset or property. You were simply a traveler, a person in need, and eventually a friend to Rohan and the people that dwelled within Edoras.

Something you noticed early on was his absolute devotion to his family. Not just his lineage or his people, not solely to the crown that still sat upon his uncle's head. His sister was his closest friend (and she soon became yours as well) and there was a bond between them you had never born witness to in your disconnected world. The loyalty and affection he showed freely were quickly one of the traits of his character that attracted you to him, as well as his consistent sincerity—there was never a word uttered from his lips that he did not mean or a promise that he failed to keep. He spoke with bluntness plainly, you never had to solve any riddles or secrets. There were never any tiresome games. He just was. The "once loyal, always loyal" sort of person.

And as someone used to a world full of people more concerned with themselves rather than those they claim to love, it's refreshing.

Because of Eomer's need for proof and evidence to be able to believe and understand things that were presented to him, your relationship was also rocky at the start. Yes, you knew he was trustworthy and you felt safe under his care as his sister showed you the ways of their people and clothed you in their garments. You knew no harm would ever come to you as long as Eomer kept watch over your wellbeing. But there was the disconnect between you where emotions and souls come into play–a need for him to have faith in your story, a need to be trusted above reason and common sense.

That would be the great battle throughout your developing feelings for each other; to understand and accept each other and your very different origins. It would be that discourse and the eventual change of heart that would convince Eomer he was in love with the one person who had appeared wandering aimlessly across the Riddermark. And when he was able to accept the heavy truth that you spoke—that not only were the myriad of powers and mystics of his world very real and prevalent, but there was another realm far beyond his own—it would not only prepare him for the throne he would one day succeed, but open his heart to the reality of love itself. That there is more beyond honor and duty, beyond loyalty; there is love, devotion of the heart, and the binding of one soul to another.

Truly, your crossing into Middle-Earth was more than mere chance. It was the dealings of fate, the weaving of a tapestry that spans beyond lands and stars, that brings union and contentedness to those it touches.

To Eomer, you would become more than a dangerous risk or a misunderstanding or a wearied traveler between lands. You would be his life source in a more intimate way than even what he had always known with his family–the love of one's life is one incomparable to all else. His fierce loyalty that you'd observed since your first meeting had become an unsplintering shield. You were now bonded by that same sort of unwavering devotion.

eowyn | word count: 800+

Eowyn, Lady of the Mark, would react much like her brother at first. Suspicious and protective of her people, she would do all she could to ensure that those around you were taking all precautions necessary when you are first brought before the throne. She wouldn't take as long to come around to you as Eomer would, however. She was more prone to trust people and offer them a chance to prove themselves.

You see, Eowyn has a sense about people. She could always read them like an open book, whether they meant to be read or not. And you? Well, she had a feeling you were a good book. Shrouded in mystery and understandably met with fear at first by most of her kin, Eowyn would be the first person of her people to reach out to you as an individual after the initial shock of your sudden arrival and concerning origins.

She'd be the one to bring your meals and stuff extra pastries under the napkin for you (she'd conceited her brother and his men to allow you a room with humble furnishings rather than a cell until they were sure you would not pose a threat) and offer up small talk as best she could. Eventually, though, that small talk turned into stories and memories shared between two fast-growing friends. You told her all about your world, about your home, about the technology and amenities you missed, about the pretty lights of the city at night and the twinkling strings of lights decorating your bedroom walls.

"They're like little bursts of fire within tiny shards of glass, led along a wired string of sorts", you'd tried to explain. You loved the way she listened to your every word, her smiles growing bigger and her eyes reflecting the warmth of the hearth.

You told her about your family and friends and some of your most memorable moments with them. Several of which derived a very contagious laugh from the fair Lady of the Mark. "Tell me more about your homeland!" She would exclaim, offering an encouraging nudge to your knee.

She would spend hours helping you adjust in whatever way you needed. Didn't know how to brush your teeth the medieval way? No problem; Eowyn walked you through the steps. Kept burning your fingertips while trying to light the lanterns and oil-glazed candles? She'd show you how she got around that herself as a child. Wonder what it would be like to fight like the soldiers training in the yard? Eowyn would teach you better than any man could.

You'd always wondered what it was like to experience that best friends to lovers sort of romance—and that's exactly what you found in Eowyn. Although her protective loyalty had set a boundary between you for the first week or so of your unexpected arrival, that loyalty was soon extended to you. She'd be the first person you would really trust, the one you would call for when your dreams turned sour or your loneliness weighed too heavily in the night. She'd be the one who would lead you around Edoras, showing you the beauty of her home and people. She would teach you to bond with your own horse and train you well to become a proficient rider yourself.

The horses (and Eowyn, of course) were really what made you hesitant to ever leave this realm called Middle-Earth if you could. Rohan, their whole culture, was surrounded by the rich history and generous communion with horses. Everything here was tied to legend or powers beyond humanity's limited understanding—but everything was beautiful and enchanting. Their ancestors resided in great halls of kings in the stars. Everything about these people was so rooted in family and kinship. You'd never known anything like it back home.

People in Edoras were kind to each other, save the occasional drunkard. And Eowyn—Eowyn was the brightest star among them all. Compassionate, loyal, and brave. Those were the words you thought of when she came to mind (which was more often than not).

It wouldn't be long after becoming best friends, perhaps a few months, that you would feel things slightly shift between you, and she, you. You wanted more of Eowyn. More hours spent riding together across plains of tall grass and wildflowers. More evenings unraveling the debris of the wind from her unkempt golden hair. Eowyn wanted to share with you her greatest secrets and desires, her darkest fears. She wanted to sleep alongside you, her hands entwined with yours, to ward off the nightmares she often suffered. Eowyn found herself always in want of you; your voice, your presence, your scent. You become her comfort.

No matter how harrowing your appearance had been and the implications of other worlds beyond hers—Eowyn would never once wish that the fates or ancestors hadn't brought you to her across realms. You were everything she'd needed and yearned for in a friend and a partner her whole life, just for someone to see her and hear her.

You'd become everything to each other.

elrond | word count: 1.1k+

The Lord of Rivendell would be no stranger to mysterious visitors happening upon his halls unannounced. In fact, he'd begun to think it almost routine at the rate hobbits, dwarves, and all manner of beings showed up on his doorstep. But there was definitely something different about you, the visitor who claimed to hail from another land—no, you clarified, not just another village or region; another world.

Where cars and trains and buses rattled the bones of the earth and ushered time and society forward at a harrowing speed. Where kingdoms and governments warred endlessly and stars were a rarity to see above the lights of growing cities.

He would be interested in this "advanced" world of yours and desired greatly to learn more about its vast variety of life—but not as much as he was interested in making sure you were acclimating to such a drastic alteration of life itself.

He would be wary of you, due to his wealth of knowledge on all manner of strange magic and ill-boding omens (do you know how many peddling sorcerers and distasteful necromancers this man has had to turn away at his doorstep?). However, Elrond would be much more hospitable from the very beginning than any of his kin. He wouldn't be as off-standish or suspicious of you—at least, not to your face.

You would be given lodging and hearty food almost immediately rather than a cell and modest portions, as well as a servant-guided tour of Rivendell and access to most of the beautiful city (save for the sacred archives and private chambers). He would not only meet with you in the hours he could spare each day to decipher your journey into Middle-Earth, but he would recommend several pieces of history and literature to get you acquainted with the customs and cultures around you. He would let you into the library at any hour you needed, even in the wee morning hours when you couldn't sleep.

A gentleman through and through, your experience with him would be much different than with any other host you might have stumbled across.

He would be undeniably patient as you're thrust into an entirely different way of living in every possible aspect, down to the very brass tacks of human nature. It feels like you're having to be raised again, like how children are taught to take care of themselves and understand the way things and people around them work and operate. There is never a grievance expressed or muttered from him as you excelled with some aspects and struggled through others.

His graciousness and soft-spoken wisdom were just the cusps of how intelligent and tender-hearted the kind elf truly was—all of which you would come to know well when he had had plenty of time to adjust to you. His introvertedness would definitely be a bit of a stunt in the development of your relationship from acquaintances to romantic partners.

He wasn't one to speak just to engage in conversation and keep busy; he only spoke if he truly had something worth saying. That of course makes it difficult for you to try to communicate beyond discussions about your unprecedented situation. But if you asked a question or politely pressed for conversation, he wouldn't deny you his attention either. While this leaves you being the one to strike a majority of the conversations between you (outside of his devoted interest in learning about your situation), you don't mind all that much. You could push through your own social anxieties as long as the person was receptive and open to engagement, and Elrond certainly made extensive efforts to be as much and more.

You liked his quietness, though. It was attractive in a way that made you hang onto every word he did decide to share. It gives you a sense of comfort. It's startling at first, the way you're able to trust him so fast, especially given the absolute madness of your traveling between realms themselves. Surely it was wiser to have your guard up at all times when in a strange new world with such stark contrasts to your own, right?

But you just couldn't bring yourself to doubt someone so compassionate and sincere.

All the while you're slipping fast into fonder feelings with every day that dawns over Rivendell's many waterfalls and etched forests, Elrond is slowly dissecting every thought pertaining to you as it surfaces in his mind. He had already had one great love in his life, the mother of his sons and daughter, a loving lady who had led their kin alongside him. He would feel such a heavy burden of guilt when he realizes the same patterns of infatuation and fondness start to swell over him. The same fluttering, freeing feelings that he had felt with his wife in their early years together. The same wandering of thought, despite his very disciplined nature. The instinct to return to your side when he wasn't busy, as if that was suddenly where he belonged more than in his study or his chambers.

Within a mere few months, it was Lord Elrond who was escorting you to peer at moonlit waterfalls and forests set ablaze with fireflies and starlight. It was he, rather than a servant or guard, who taught you how to mount a steed more than half your height and ride with all the elegance of an elleth. It was he who felt his zeal for excitement return to him when you dared to race him beyond the forest and across the rushing ford. It was Elrond who sat with a smile on his face as he listened eagerly to the cultures that thrived in your world, specifically the details of your own home and heritage.

Although it took time to trust his own heart enough to feel more than politeness for someone, Elrond was no stranger to love or what it felt like. That's probably what would scare him so much when he first starts to feel himself becoming attached to you—the realization that somewhere along the discussions about your homeworld and the hours poured over tomes and memories...he was falling in love again.

Another facet of your growing relationship that would shock him would be the fact that he'd fallen in love with a human? Of course, he was the most tolerant of the race of men across all of his elven kin, but even that tolerance hadn't prepared him for the day he would face the same risk of love that his daughter had faced (you know, the courtship with a human that he'd told her to leave behind for immortality? Well, now he's facing the same question, darn it). He would absolutely need the approval of his children before even making a single stride in pursuing something beyond friendship with you, something permanent (spoiler alert, they would absolutely bless your courtship).

arwen | word count: 500+

Arwen Undómiel would be very open and intrigued by your arrival, especially when she notices how out of place you seemed to be, not only among her people but with the way of life itself in Middle-Earth. It isn't until she inquires about your odd behavior (the asking about cellphones and electricity and other foreign amenities) to her father that she realizes you had hailed from another world entirely—not just another region or from somewhere beyond the mountains. Learning this, her intrigue only grows.

She was a lady who adored her people and the comforts of her home, but was not a stranger to adventure and the restlessness that accompanies a free spirit. Because of her love for exploring and learning, you're like a perfect mixture of mysterious and confusing. She might not have understood how travel between realms was at all possible, but she didn't mind not knowing. After all, many of her kin were gradually departing to the Undying Lands beyond the sea—a place that, in its simplest explanation, was a sanctuary divided from the common world of Middle-Earth. If such a place as that could exist just beyond the western horizon, then surely it was not so outlandish to think that there were even broader realms beyond that.

Arwen, as stated before, is a very open individual when it comes to expressing her feelings and saying exactly what she means. There is no loitering about wondering about this or that—when Arwen desires to become your friend rather soon after your arrival in her father's halls, she does just that.

She would help you adjust to things with an abundance of patience and sincere interest. She would be excited to teach you about her people and her world—about its histories and legends. But even more so, Arwen would be of even more aid when it came to helping you work through your sporadic emotions as the shock and remorse of your situation became clearer with each day. Of course it was exciting to suddenly find yourself in a world as illustrious and peaceful as this one—but there was a home, a family, and a slew of friends and interests that had been left behind without warning. She doesn't belittle or rush your grieving process, and instead becomes your confidante and place of refuge.

She would speak on your behalf to her father, about what you might need or what you were struggling to understand. She would be your voice until you were able to get your bearings and become more and more comfortable while so far from everything you once knew to be true.

In short, she isn't one to be afraid of her feelings or have any reservations of expressing them the moment she becomes aware of them for herself. Because of that kind of communication and the way she would devote herself to helping you from the very first day, it doesn't take long before she confesses that she harbors a fondness for you, like how the moon has a fondness for the sea; how her father harbored a fondness for her mother, and still does.

It's her openness and her lack of fear in expression herself that draws you both together from the first moments you share. From then, your friendship developed naturally into something of romantic permanence. As your place in her world became cemented, your place in her heart flourished with unabashed sincerity.

legolas | word count: 500+

Legolas would be very suspicious and observant of you for quite some time before even engaging with you, much like his friendship with Gimli. Already being someone of very few words, Legolas would take his time in getting to know you before having even said a word to you. He was raised to be suspicious and discerning of "outsiders"; woodland elves, specifically those native to Mirkwood, were known for their suspicion and distrust of others, even their own kin.

So getting acquainted and close to someone who's not only not an elf or from Mirkwood, but also not even from Middle-Earth itself? That's gonna be a big barrier for him to get around and it's going to take time to achieve that familiarity and comfortability around you.

But when he does—it comes from seeing how you are with his friends, such as Aragorn and Gimli. His gradual trust builds up not from interacting with you for himself, but from observing how you communicated with others and treated his friends and allies. When he's more or less sure of your character, he would then venture into becoming friends. What he doesn't expect, however, is how quickly that friendship became something so much more to him.

Perhaps because he'd been getting to know you from afar and seeing how kind and generous you were with his loved ones despite the sheer confusion and fear you must be feeling every day in his strange world. It was one thing to venture away from home in search of adventure, even among unfamiliar faces, like he had. It was another entirely to be ripped from your world and everyone you knew, away from your kin and your people, away from your family, without any sort of warning or choice. He comes to admire you and the bravery you displayed every day just by choosing to exist in his world and trying your best to become a part of it.

Then he would notice how you'd been taught to fish with just a shaft and some thin twine by Aragorn's hand. How you kept absorbing skills as though you were a sponge, desperate to cling to any sort of help. This is when he would reach out and offer you archery lessons because "everyone should learn to have some skill with either a blade or a bow. It is better if you know both—but in your case, I think we should start with one." And you chose the bow, telling him how you admired how beautiful of a weapon it was, how graceful. You'd seen it in movies and read about great archers—you'd always wanted to be one. And so Legolas, though he had no idea what a movie was, vows to make you proficient with a bow.

It's really your devotion to learning about his world, about his friends, and eventually about him that really snares him in the end. The way you refused to wither and panic within the shelter of one of many great cities in Middle Earth, but instead wanted to see the world and get your bearings, despite how obviously unsteady it often made you feel. For you, you'd not only been brought to another world, but a world that was supposedly far behind in its technology. Everything had completely changed for you and yet you still worked hard to make something good out of your predicament. It's that bravery that pulls him to you.

galadriel | word count: 300+

Someone as wise and clairvoyant as the Lady of Lothlorien would not be surprised at your unprecedented arrival across realms. She had probably (listerally) seen you coming long before your arrival (remember that magic basin of psychic water she traumatized Frodo with?). Her ability to read the minds of others offered her an immediate leeway into your intentions and sincerity. This meant that while she was still careful with you, she was well aware that you posed no threat or harm to her people.

You, on the other hand, were more than wary of her upon your first meeting. It wasn't just the shock of entering a new world that made your heart uneasy to trust—but something about the ethereal, untouchable power about the Lady Galadriel herself that left you teetering into doubt and discomfort. While her beauty and gentleness made her alluring and with time to develop that trust, your doubts faded. Her goodness and generosity proved time and time again that her power wasn't something to fear.

Something that made her so wonderful once you grew trusting of her was how much she believed you—largely due to her ability to read minds and people themselves—and never doubted your character or motives.

Hailing from a world hewn with distrust and malice, the calm pace and sincerity in which Middle-Earth (and Lothlorien especially) was governed made you hopeful for what sort of life could be made there.

With the help and generosity of your hostess, you soon considered Lothlorien your home. Not just for its beauty and its sort of magnificence that you'd never seen in your world before—but also for the lady who watched diligently over her forest and her people. In time, you came to consider her your closest friend, someone you could wholeheartedly trust with your life.

Galadriel would find your naivety of her realm intriguing and would be more than happy to offer herself as your guide. She would find your tendency for loud bursts of laughter and curt outspokenness refreshing in a culture of hushed voices and gracious tones.

All in all, you're both quite a mystery for each other to solve. Luckily, neither of you mind the adventure of getting to know one another.

haldir | word count: 600+

To say that your first meeting had also been a bit of a rough start was the understatement of the century. I mean, who would react well to having a dozen arrows poised inches from their face while trying to find their way out of an unfamiliar forest? Your fear had quickly turned to frustration and anger, despite the threat of being pierced with the polished shafts of their arrows. Your quick turn to anger stunned the very poised marchwarden—it wasn't often that intruders grew hostile when threatened at the neck. Typically, people would stare back in silence like a doe stunned by fear.

A mixture of terror, exhaustion, hunger and dehydration had driven your more cooperative senses from your caliber of responses, evidently.

After you'd recovered well enough to be questioned over a generous meal, it was very obvious you were simply lost. Very, very lost. Of no threat to his people or the sacred forest they dwelled in, Haldir would have no issue in setting his pride aside to apologize for frightening you.

Soft-spoken and introverted, Haldir would have that wall of kind politeness that was at first almost polarizing to someone who'd just had the shock of their life by entering an entirely new realm in a split second. It would be many awkward attempts at sifting through your explanations and anxious emotions before Haldir was able to gauge how you would feel more inclined to trust him. And in order to achieve your trust, he would need to let you (a stranger, mind you) break through those carefully learned guards to see the real him behind the graceful countenance and elegant sentences.

It was your desperation to find answers, to understand if you had gone mad or if something so radical could have truly taken place, that sparked in Haldir the great need to console you. Generally, elves were calm and uninvolved beings—to those not understanding of their ways, they might even appear void of emotion. But that couldn't be any further from the truth. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

As your time in his homeland spanned from weeks to months, Haldir grew more and more attached to your side. Devoted to your wellbeing, he became more of a confidant and friend than the simple guide he had volunteered to be for you at the start. The softhearted nature that flourished within him bloomed around you, finding a home to take root in.

Your knowledge and straightforwardness about what you needed at any given time, whether it was a hot bath or an audience with the Lady Galadriel herself, struck a chord of admiration with Haldir. He didn't like having to piece together the riddles that strangers often gave when they were prejudiced or distrusting. Your sincerity in such matters, no matter how embarrassing or seemingly insignificant, quite honestly inspired the skilled marchwarden. With such honesty, he didn't have to work so hard to get the answers he needed to best help you.

In return, it's his diligence in his help that draws you to him. The absolution he promised with every request he listened to—there was never a question or a need he left unresolved for you. If you'd asked for your favorite meal from your world, he'd find some way to have it made for you. If you'd gone to him in a fit of tears and in need of comfort, his arms would be the first to be open to you.

It wasn't that you were a basket case, mind you (and if you were, he'd never let you or anyone around you use such insensitive terminology for your very validated expressions of distress). It was simply that you'd never been so vulnerable and in need of someone before. And Haldir, well...Haldir had never felt so inclined to a soul before, so effortlessly devoted and tethered as if some string was being pulled taught between you.

Haldir relished in being able to be of service to you.

And you held fast to the curious needing you felt for him.

gimli | word count: 400+

From the moment he met you, Gimli knew something wasn't quite right. Sure, you weren't waving the tips of pointy weapons or spitting out slews of evil curses at people—but you were like a shard of sea glass among grey stones. Everything about your stature, the way you spoke and carried yourself, the way you interpreted the world and its people around you...it was all so different from anyone he'd ever met before.

For starters, you're much more outspoken than anyone he'd come to know. You weren't afraid to speak your mind (and even include the occasional profanity to get your point across) in any given occasion or setting, even among elven nobility. The time you practically cursed his fair-haired elven friend Legolas out was an afternoon he'd not soon forget. Especially since the whole ordeal, which he conveniently didn't recall the details of, had most definitely been Gimli's fault rather than the prince's.

He wasn't too keen on trying to understand all the details about your predicament or how you came to be in this realm of all places. Gimli never asked for more of an explanation than you were willing to give, which was something you found quite refreshing amidst a slew of people who had been asking questions upon questions since your peculiar arrival to Middle-Earth. You knew you didn't have to explain yourself to him or try to make sense of it all in order to be believed—the red-haired dwarf simply nodded through his pipe smoke and moved on.

In all honesty, Gimli hadn't thought much of you at first, the same way he didn't think much about anyone until it was apparent their paths would cross more than once. He didn't give much effort into friendships that weren't of substance, despite the loss of much of his kin. If anything, it was harder for him to attach himself to friends now than it ever had been before due to the great losses he had suffered.

But when he does get accustomed to you, it's all over for him. Once Gimli gets attached to a friend or partner, his dwarven passion for loyalty and honor kicks in. He understands you're not familiar with this place, whether that meant Gondor or Edoras or any other region beyond Middle-Earth, and that's enough for him to believe you and offer some sympathies to your situation. He was kind of the same, you know. Far from home without any of his kin left to visit or send word to.

All in all, Gimli likes your modern gumption, your fighting spirit, and that occasionally sour tongue of yours. And although it's obvious he didn't have to protect you when you were very efficient in doing so for yourself, he would gladly spend an age or two by your side offering his services as a companion—and someday, perhaps as much more, if you'd allow it.

frodo | word count: 400+

Somewhat of an expert in the joys and terrors of adventuring, Frodo Baggins would be a most empathetic and compassionate companion to have upon crossing into his realm from your own homeworld. More than anyone, he would understand the pressures of having to keep it all together in the presence of unfamiliar faces. When he had been the ring bearer, shouldering an object with the very sentience of darkness within it, the fear and desperation had nearly overtaken him as he traveled into forests and mountains he'd never ventured to before. He couldn't imagine traveling between worlds—realms of existence entirely. 

He would value the trust that you placed in him, handling it with the utmost care. His skill for listening is unparalleled, as is the wisdom he offers in return for your woes. 

Frodo would find your situation extraordinary and fantastic. He wouldn't be able to resist asking all of his questions and brimming with excitement about this realm of yours beyond his reach. He would, however, do his best to temper his ecstatic humoring in favor of handling your delicate situation with attention and care. He found himself reminded of the years he spent as a young boy listening to Bilbo's stories of his grand adventures with goblin kings and dwarf lords and fire drakes from the north. 

Imagine hours of pouring over books and scribbled notes his uncle had left behind for him, huddled near each other by a warm fire in his home. Papers and stacks of sifted lore and myth, anything pertaining to what had brought you to Middle-Earth, littering the floor around your folded legs and shared quilt. He would dedicate himself to helping you find the answers you were looking for, even in his small corner of the world (don't worry, he has this friend who's a king somewhere out on the southern plains who would be more than happy to lend some scrolls and tomes).

To Frodo, your mere existence is illuminating. Just having you pop up in his favorite glen while he was spending his usual afternoon reading was enough for him to strike an interest in you. You were yet another adventure, living and breathing, waltzing into his life. Sure enough, you become an answer to the hobbit's dwindling hopes for normalcy, thinking perhaps he was destined to the fate of bachelorhood and haunted memories, the same as his uncle. 

You show him that it is possible for Frodo to have another adventure—one that won't cost him his soul or his life. (Just maybe his heart.)

samwise | word count: 500+

Samwise Gamgee knows a fool when he sees one—after all, he'd grown up with Merry and Pippin in his circle of friends. So when he's the first to believe you out of the tale-spinners and prank-weavers of the Shire, it's a relief to say the least.

He'd invite you into his home, seeing as you were so far away from yours and had no way of going back. He would offer you his pantry, his sunroom, his best linens and finest silk nightgown. There would be afternoons of gardening and learning a trade for yourself that would both provide food on the table and a bit of coin in the markets. Sam would be more than delighted to have a houseguest to cook for, seeing as his Old Gaffer wasn't one to spice up the recipes very often. But for you, Sam would cook a feast. He'd even sit down with you and help you write out recipes that reminded you of home, meals that wrapped around you like a warm blanket on a cold day. He'd grow flowers you remembered seeing in your mother's garden.

Somehow, even so far away from your world and your home and your friends and family, Samwise Gamgee would give you a sense of home you'd never encountered before.

It was so exceedingly rare to find people so willing to lend such a selfless hand to others in need. Helping a strange person he'd never met find their way through Hobbiton was one thing—but inviting them into his home and giving them a place to stay and warm meals to eat without anything in return? Quite literally offering the (night) shirt off his back? You'd never been extended such kindness before.

When Sam realizes how much of a stranger you are to such hospitality, he would go all out with everything he possibly could. Finding it rather sad that you'd come from such a dismal world that was void of such simple acts of kindness, Sam can't help but want to display every possible act of kindness he can think of.

And Samwise found in you the purpose he'd yearned for all his life—the chance to be something for someone that no one else could, the chance to make a difference simply by being himself and doing what it is he does best. Although it was difficult for you to navigate through the differences and the culture shock of his world and his land—there was really very little to complain about when you find yourself in the Shire (except maybe those pesky neighbors who have nothing better to do than to stick their noses in your business between meals).

Eager to be at ease and belong, you are more than willing to learn all that Sam can teach you and his way of life. Your acceptance and sense of humor, joking about things he didn't quite understand (What was that you'd said about looking "at all those chickens"? Those had definitely been ducks swimming in the pond that day), worked together to win Sam's heart in no time.

It really didn't take long before Sam was fonder of seeing you disheveled in the mornings and in his borrowed nightgown than fixed up for the day ahead; for him to cherish those small domestic moments you'd both begun to share as time wore on. Before long, Sam found himself daydreaming of dances and the music of flutes and fiddles to set the pace.

merry | word count: 500+

This rascal would absolutely not believe a word that comes out of your mouth about whatever peculiar land it is you keep droning on about. Automobiles? Airplanes? Lanterns that work without fire? Portion control and food pyramids dictated by the government? What the bloody hell was all that nonsense? (Dark magic or the result of some soured Old Toby, he was sure of it.)

He'd volunteer himself to be your official tour guide to Middle-Earth, claiming he'd been as far as Mordor once (wherever that was, you had no idea) and was, therefore, the best guide anyone could ask for this side of Brandywine River.

For the longest time, Merry really thinks you're spinning tall tales about this world you came from with all these fancy doohickeys he hadn't a clue about. As someone proficient in telling exaggerated memoirs and pulling indulgent pranks, he would for the longest time assume that your explanation of origin was one and the same. Listen, he'd seen the weird stuff out there, probably as much of it as there was to see, and there definitely wasn't any Europes or Americas or Indias or anyplace else you kept mentioning.

When he's taking you on a stroll along his favorite trade route all the way to the Breelands and back home, any mention of your predicament (beyond being a lost traveler far from home) was met with a mischievous scoff and a twisted grin. Once, with a mouthful of fresh summer berry bread, he'd made such an expression of dubious skepticism that he hadn't needed to even utter the "uh-huh, sure" along with it.

He meant no harm in his teasing disbelief, of course, but sometimes the gradual accumulation of it got on your nerves. While Merry was fun, kind, and a very joyful and admirable hobbit to be around...sometimes it felt as though you were trying to convince a toadstool that its colors were indeed brown and not blue.

He's fond of you already, of course, nearly upon the moment he met you—who else was he taking on his little adventures across the many borders within the region of Eriador apart from Pippin and a batch of Old Toby?

As weeks pass and one day, his distrust in your explanations pricks a little too far beneath your skin, your bout of aggravated and fearful tears came as a shock to the hobbit. It's in that moment sat across from each other with a small campfire between you that his carefree persona faltered with guilt.

Oh, he thinks. You're telling the truth about all that.

From that moment on, he would be the most expressive and compassionate person you had ever met. He'd be sure you were getting your daily dose of sunlight and ale for the day, as well as whatever desserts or hearty meals you felt inclined to indulge. You'd become attached at the hip and wherever Merry (and usually Pippin) went, you were there with him (them). He'd already been welcoming and friendly to you, but now he had this sort of tenderness in his gaze that you thought might melt you through like a chocolate drop in the oven. And if anyone were to express the same sort of doubts or contribute to the rumor mill around Hobbiton about you, he'd put an end to it before it had gone beyond the hedges of Bagshot Row.

pippin | word count: 400+

Much like his rapscallion counterpart, Pippin's first impression would be that your whole story about arriving from another realm was a fabrication of your very active imagination. He and Merry had spun their fair share of tall tales and mischief as far and wide as the town of Bree and the little villages along the Brandywine river.

Unlike Merry, though, Pippin's reason for skepticism wasn't even so much skepticism as it was ignorance. He'd never knowingly poke fun at what you were going through, whether he thought it exaggerated or not. Pippin just truly didn't think it was at all possible for other places to exist. He really thinks you're joking or unsure of what you're even saying for the longest time.

But when Pippin figures it out after you become a sordid mess of blubbering tears over a pint of ale outside the Green Dragon Inn, he realizes everything you'd been trying to explain hadn't been a "really wonderful story" you'd been working on. It was how you'd come to be in the Shire, in Eriador, in Middle-Earth at all.

"There's no use cryin' ov'r a pint, (Y/n)! Ded someone let the barrel sour?"

You sniffled, trying to dry your eyes with the back of your hand before they were too heavy to extinguish. "It's not—it's not soured, Pip."

"Oh. Then what—?" He took a moment to understand. You'd been talking about a dog with two mismatching socks on its paws. A bedroom with fairies for lights and walls made of printed paintings. The way you'd been describing everything was almost too detailed to be off the top of your head...and then he realizes.

Pippin would buy you another pint, one untainted by salty tears. He'd do his best to listen more, although he still misinterpreted much of what you tried to explain. But it was better now, knowing that he was trying to comprehend this world of yours, rather than committing it to his memory as a tavern story.

He'd be excited to learn about what sort of drinks and food and pipeweed you had in your world and what sort of music your village danced to at seasonal festivities.

While Pippin may not be able to really grasp the extent of what you're explaining, that perhaps entire realms exist beyond the very vast one he had traveled across himself, you are reassured that he does at least believe you and understands the jest of it. And somehow, that's all you really needed—someone to just listen to what you were trying to say, to take your truth for what it was.

(Of course, this confirmation that you're really an "other-worlder" as he coined it means that he's designated himself to acclimate you to the life of a hobbit to its full extremities. This includes seven meals a day, which you're more than happy to oblige.)

TAGS:  @moony-artnstuff @wellfuckmyexistence @tessaem @izbelross @bloodblossom73

#lord of the rings #lord of the rings preferences #the lord of the rings preferences #fanfiction #aragorn preference #aragorn x reader #aragorn imagine #aragorn fanfic #lotr imagine #lotr preferences #lotr imagines #lord of the rings imagines #pippin took x reader #pippin took imagine #legolas x reader #legolas imagine #eomer x reader #eomer imagine #eowyn imagine #eowyn x reader #faramir x reader #boromir x reader #boromir imagine #boromir preference #faramir imagine #faramir preference #arwen x reader #arwen imagine #arwen preference #legolas preference