Warning: Effeminate Vincent (Since Dead Plate is a very fucked up game I’m only going to warn about stuff you don’t expect from dead plate fanfics)
The tavern, nestled deep within the woods, had become a sanctuary for the two of them. Rody and Vincent, an unlikely pair to some, had made their home here. The inn was modest but always bustling, a favorite stop for weary travelers. And it was here, in the comforting glow of candlelight, where Vincent found joy in cooking and Rody found peace in protecting what was his.
Vincent stood by the hearth, stirring a pot of stew with that delicate grace that only he possessed. He wore an apron over his simple tunic, his slender frame moving rhythmically as he added herbs, tasting the broth with a small smile playing on his lips. His black hair, longer than it had once been, framed his soft face, and his dark eyes reflected the dancing firelight. He was beautiful, and it was no secret that others noticed.
But it was never admiration that followed Vincent-at least, not the kind Rody found acceptable. No, it was often sneers or leers. The travelers would whisper behind their mugs of ale, making crude remarks about his effeminate mannerisms or casting hungry eyes at him. They mocked his softness, ridiculed his voice, and assumed him weak for the way he held himself. And it was those looks, those words, that drove Rody to the quiet rage that simmered beneath his calm exterior.
Rody watched Vincent from the corner of the tavern, his green eyes sharp and attentive. He was a towering figure, broad-shouldered and rugged, with auburn hair that fell in careless waves. He appeared every bit the hardworking, simple innkeeper. But there was a darkness in him, a fierce and violent protectiveness that he kept hidden from Vincent. The patrons never saw it coming.
A group of men sat by the bar that night, their eyes lingering too long on Vincent as he served them. One of them leaned in to mutter something crude to his companion, causing the other to laugh, his gaze raking over Vincent’s lithe form. Rody’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching under the table. He heard it all-their comments, their snide laughter, and worst of all, the way they looked at his Vincent.
Vincent, unaware of the hatred being spewed in his direction, smiled softly at the men as he set their plates before them. He had long since learned to ignore the whispers, but it still hurt, the way they never saw him as more than an oddity. He retreated back to the kitchen, unaware of Rody’s gaze following the men’s every move.
“Hey,” one of the men called out to Rody, clearly drunk. “How does a man like you end up with *that*? Must be good for something, eh?”
Rody didn’t respond, just smiled that quiet, knowing smile he always did. “Enjoy your meal,” he said softly, his voice calm, betraying none of the storm brewing beneath the surface.
But later that night, after the tavern had quieted and Vincent had gone to bed, Rody returned to the bar where the men had sat. They didn’t make it far, those who dared to degrade Vincent. They never did.
Out in the woods behind the tavern, Rody caught up to them, his anger fueling his every step. It wasn’t difficult; they were drunk and sloppy, easy prey for a man like him. His fists did the talking at first, but soon the knives came out. Blood spilled under the moonlight, and Rody made sure they would never look at Vincent or any other person again.
By morning, the men were gone, just like the others who had disrespected Vincent. Rody, calm and collected, went about his work in the tavern as if nothing had happened. He whistled as he chopped meat in the back, preparing it for the day’s meals. The flesh was unrecognizable by the time he finished, mixed in with the other cuts they used for the stew.
Vincent wandered into the kitchen, humming softly as he wrapped his arms around Rody’s waist, resting his chin on Rody’s broad shoulder. “You’re up early,” Vincent said, his voice soft and warm.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Rody murmured, setting the knife aside to turn and pull Vincent into a gentle embrace. He kissed the top of his head, breathing in the familiar scent of herbs and smoke that clung to Vincent’s clothes.
“You work too hard,” Vincent teased, though there was a note of concern in his voice. “I wish you’d rest more.”
Rody smiled down at him, brushing a strand of Vincent’s hair from his face. “I just want to keep everything running smoothly. For us.”
Vincent smiled, a little shy but full of affection, and leaned up to press a soft kiss to Rody’s lips. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Rody’s grip tightened slightly, possessively, though Vincent didn’t notice. “You’ll never have to find out,” he whispered, his voice low and almost dangerous, though it was masked by tenderness.
As the day went on, travelers came and went, unaware of the secrets hidden within the tavern walls. And as Vincent cooked, his delicate hands preparing meals with love and care, Rody watched over him, making sure no one would ever hurt his Vincent again.
No one ever would.
The tavern buzzed with the usual energy of travelers and locals alike, but Rody couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight was different. His sharp eyes flicked toward the group of adventurers in the corner. They had been drinking heavily, their voices growing louder with every mug of ale. But it wasn’t their rowdiness that bothered him-it was the way their eyes lingered on Vincent.
Vincent, graceful as always, moved between tables, his soft voice barely rising above the din as he took orders and offered polite smiles. Rody knew those looks. The way the men’s eyes trailed Vincent’s every movement, how their heads turned to watch him pass by, their laughter growing more vulgar with each whispered comment. It made Rody’s skin crawl.
Among them was a man named Leon, who seemed more focused on Vincent than the others. Younger, fairer, with an almost boyish charm, Leon’s eyes never left Vincent. He didn’t join in the crass jokes his companions made, but there was a look in his gaze that disturbed Rody more than any of the others: desire. Not just lust, but admiration. A dangerous infatuation.
“I swear, are we sure that one’s not a woman?” one of the adventurers barked, his voice filled with amusement. “Pretty little thing, ain’t he? Bet you he’d fetch a good price if he were workin’ in the right taverns.”
The others laughed, their mugs clinking together in crude camaraderie. Rody’s jaw clenched. He kept his position behind the bar, but his hands gripped the countertop so tightly he thought it might crack beneath his strength. His green eyes darkened with barely restrained fury.
Leon, though quieter, leaned forward with a smirk. “Woman or not, he’s beautiful,” he said, his voice softer, as though the thought hadn’t been meant for the others to hear. “I’ve never seen someone like him. He’s wasted here, in a place like this.”
The man beside Leon, a hulking brute named Orwin, nudged him with his elbow and laughed. “Why don’t you offer to buy him for the night, eh? Bet someone that pretty would keep you warm in your bed.”
Leon flushed slightly, but his eyes never left Vincent. “Maybe I will,” he muttered.
The others howled with laughter, raising their mugs in toast. “Oi, barkeep!” Orwin called out, his words slurring as the drink took hold. “How much for your pretty boy? Name your price-me and the lads, we’re willing to pay for a good time with him.”
Rody’s blood ran cold.
There was a pause, a silence that seemed to stretch on forever. The noise of the tavern faded into the background as Rody stared at the group. His mind raced, his fury boiling over. These men-these animals-had the nerve to speak about Vincent like he was nothing more than a common harlot, someone they could purchase for their sick pleasure. They treated his beloved like an object, like something they could buy and discard.
Vincent, oblivious to the dark undercurrent, approached the table with his usual grace. He smiled, though there was a flicker of unease in his eyes as he felt the weight of their stares. “Can I get you anything else?” he asked politely, his voice gentle.
Leon’s gaze softened as he looked at Vincent, and he opened his mouth to say something. But before he could, Orwin spoke up, his words thick with lewdness. “Yeah, you can get somethin’ else for us. How about a night with you, sweetheart?”
Vincent froze, the blood draining from his face as the meaning behind the words sank in. His eyes darted toward Rody, confusion and embarrassment flickering in his expression.
Rody was there in an instant. He moved so fast, it was as if he’d appeared out of thin air, his large frame looming over the adventurers’ table. His eyes, usually calm and reserved, burned with a dangerous intensity as he glared down at them.
“You will show my Vincent some respect,” Rody growled, his voice low and threatening. The tension in the room shifted instantly, the atmosphere thick with impending violence.
Orwin, still drunk and oblivious to the danger, laughed. “Respect? Come on now, we’re just havin’ a bit of fun. Ain’t no harm in makin’ an offer.”
Rody’s hand slammed down on the table, causing the mugs to rattle. “Vincent is *not* for sale,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Not now. Not ever.”
Leon, who had been silent up until now, stood up slowly, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “We didn’t mean anything by it,” he said, his voice calm but sincere. His eyes flicked toward Vincent, who had taken a step back, his face still pale. “I’m sorry if we offended you.”
“You didn’t offend me,” Rody snapped, his gaze locking onto Leon. “But you’re testing my patience.”
The room had gone completely still. Other patrons watched the scene unfold with bated breath, aware of the sudden shift in mood. Vincent, though shaken, placed a gentle hand on Rody’s arm, trying to defuse the situation.
“Rody, please,” Vincent whispered, his voice soft, though his eyes held a plea for restraint. “Let’s not make this worse.”
But Rody wasn’t listening. His rage had taken root, festering deep inside. These men had dared to look at Vincent like he was something they could possess, dared to speak about him like he was beneath them. Rody wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t.
The night passed slowly, tension hanging heavy in the air even after the adventurers quieted down. Leon, though apologetic, couldn’t help the way his eyes followed Vincent whenever he moved. Rody saw it all-the infatuation, the way Leon’s gaze lingered too long, the way his lips curved into a smile whenever Vincent’s back was turned.
When the tavern finally closed for the night, Vincent, still shaken by the earlier events, went to bed early. Rody lingered, his mind consumed by the images of those men-Orwin’s lecherous grin, Leon’s longing stare. It was all too much.
He had to act.
As the adventurers slept, Rody moved through the tavern like a shadow. His steps were silent, his presence an ominous force as he approached their rooms. Leon was first. Rody stood over him, watching the peaceful rise and fall of his chest, the way his lips parted slightly in sleep. He looked so innocent, so harmless. But Rody knew better.
He brought the blade down swiftly, cutting off Leon’s breath before he even had time to stir. Blood soaked the sheets, but Rody remained calm, methodical. It was for Vincent-always for Vincent.
Orwin and the others followed soon after. Their deaths were just as quick, their bodies disposed of with the same care Rody always took when protecting his beloved. By the time dawn broke, the adventurers had vanished, their presence erased from the tavern’s walls, their flesh stored with the other meats in the cellar.
Rody washed his hands, the cold water biting into his skin as he cleaned away the blood. When he returned to the bedroom, Vincent was still asleep, curled up under the covers, his breathing soft and steady.
Rody slipped into bed beside him, pulling Vincent close, wrapping his strong arms around him. Vincent stirred slightly, nuzzling into Rody’s chest, his breath warm against Rody’s skin.
“Everything alright?” Vincent murmured sleepily.
“Everything’s fine,” Rody whispered, pressing a kiss to Vincent’s forehead. “You’re safe. Always.”
And as Vincent drifted back into peaceful sleep, Rody smiled. He would do anything to protect his Vincent. Anything at all.
The days that followed were quiet. Vincent, though still uneasy about the adventurers’ crude behavior, found solace in the peaceful routine of their tavern life. Rody was his usual self, attentive and loving, and Vincent tried to push the memory of the previous night to the back of his mind.
One evening, as the tavern was about to close, a particularly rude customer-a man who had berated Vincent earlier in the night for his effeminate manner-staggered in after a heavy night of drinking. He was loud, obnoxious, and clearly inebriated. Vincent had tried his best to keep his composure, but the man’s disrespectful comments about his appearance and the insinuations he made about Vincent’s sexuality had stung deeply.
As Vincent was cleaning up, he saw the man stumbling toward the bar, his face twisted in anger. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense,” the man slurred. “You think you should be allowed to be with a man? Just because you’re some pretty little thing?”
Rody, who had been busy tidying up the back room, emerged from the shadows. His eyes, darkened with barely contained fury, fixed on the man. “You need to leave,” Rody said in a low, dangerous voice.
“Or what?” the man sneered, getting closer to Vincent. “You going to make me? You think your little girlfriend’s going to defend herself?” the man mocked reaching out to grab Vincent.
The words were a final provocation. Rody’s face tightened as he grabbed the man by the collar, dragging him toward the back. Vincent, worried but too stunned to move, followed hesitantly, hoping for a peaceful resolution.
Rody led the man into the cellar, his grip unyielding. The room was dimly lit by a single flickering bulb, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Vincent peered around the corner, his heart pounding in his chest, unsure of what to do.
The man, still oblivious to the danger he was in, continued to rant and rave. “Think you’re tough, don’t you? Just wait until-“
His words were cut off as Rody slammed him against a wall. The impact rattled the shelves, causing various tools and containers to clatter to the floor. Vincent’s breath caught in his throat as he watched Rody’s face, a mask of controlled rage.
Rody’s movements were swift and practiced. With a flick of his wrist, he drew out a knife, his eyes cold and determined. The man’s bravado faltered as he saw the blade, his eyes widening in fear.
“Rody, no,” Vincent whispered, taking a step forward, his voice trembling. “Please.”
Rody ignored Vincent’s plea, focusing solely on the man. With practiced precision, he began his work, slicing through flesh and bone with a grim efficiency. The man’s screams were cut short by Rody’s ruthless actions, and soon the cellar was filled with the sickening sound of dismemberment.
Vincent watched, his mind racing. He wanted to turn away, to flee from the horror before him, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from Rody. The sight was both terrifying and mesmerizing, a brutal display of Rody’s protective nature.
As the man’s body was reduced to parts, Rody paused for a moment, looking up at Vincent. His expression was one of grim satisfaction, but his eyes held a flicker of something deeper-regret, perhaps, or a plea for understanding.
Vincent swallowed hard, his voice barely audible. “Rody, why? Why are you doing this?”
Rody wiped the blood from his hands, his gaze never leaving Vincent’s. “They don’t understand,” he said quietly. “They don’t see how special you are. How much you mean to me. I can’t stand it when they treat you like you’re nothing.”
Vincent’s heart ached at the raw emotion in Rody’s voice. He wanted to be repulsed, to turn away from the man he loved, but something held him back. The love he felt for Rody was a powerful force, and despite the horror he’d just witnessed, he couldn’t bring himself to hate him.
“I don’t know if I can live with this,” Vincent said, tears welling in his eyes. “I’m scared, Rody.”
Rody took a step toward Vincent, his eyes softening. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, his voice filled with pain. “I did it to protect you. I did it because I love you more than anything.”
Vincent’s tears fell freely now, mingling with the blood that stained the cellar floor. He looked at Rody, seeing not just the monster who had killed in cold blood, but the man who had always been there for him, who had protected him from the cruelty of the world.
“I don’t know what to do,” Vincent admitted, his voice breaking. “But I can’t leave you. I don’t want to.”
Rody closed the distance between them, pulling Vincent into a tight embrace. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you,” he promised. “I just need you to be with me.”
Vincent clung to Rody, his fear and confusion melting into a deep, unshakable bond. He didn’t know what the future held, or how they would navigate the darkness that now lay between them, but for now, he could only hold on to the man he loved.
As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms amidst the remnants of the night’s violence, they both knew that their lives would never be the same. The darkness had touched them, but their love, though tested, remained strong. And as long as they had each other, they would face whatever came next-together.
Comment