#I just know the second i put some colors it will ruin the drawing

[dorothywonderland]

I started doodling greek gods, it's over for me. I have to accept that I'm officially addicted to epic the musical

[blughxreader]

Soft yandere Miguel O’Hara

cw: noncon, breeding, kidnapping, m masturbation, biting, SPOILERS. Headcanons and drabble. 1.4k words.

Mean dom Miguel is so hot, but I find that soft yan Miguel has so much overlap with canon.

This man still does all the sick and deplorable things a villain does, but in a way that's strangely tender.

I mean, you simultaneously have to be a sweet man and a stone-cold motherfucker to step in the shoes of your dead counterpart and con his family into thinking everything is fine. Like, he (eventually) fucked a dead man's wife, adopted his child, and seamlessly integrated into his shoes.

While certainly calloused, it also reveals a profound desperation for love and a willingness to do anything for it.

Enter you: a Spider from a random dimension that got caught up in an anomaly's destruction. Maybe your world was destroyed or it's emotionally difficult for you to return, so you end up spending a lot of time at HQ.

Miguel doesn't notice you for a while. There's hundreds of Spiders milling about the base, so it's only until you befriend Peter B and his baby that you get acquainted.

You draw him in without trying, no matter the walls that Miguel puts up. He needs to focus—everyone's very existence is at stake, dammit,—but by month five, you're the only thing he can think about.

His advances start off slow, bogged down by his own exasperation at himself. You're ordered to give in-person de-briefs in Miguel's office and get invited to lunch with him and Peter B, giving you the impression of an upcoming promotion. Miguel is as poised as ever, not letting a single stray emotion color his expression, and talks to you in an aloof, polite manner.

However uninterested he might seem, his insides tighten and flutter at your growing friendship. Every time you smile or secretly share a bemused look, he sinks deeper and deeper in his desire to have you.

Proximity-wise, Miguel vacillates between sitting next to you, close enough for your elbows to brush, and standing 30 feet away on his podium for the next week.

His involuntary, physical reactions startle him, and it becomes another contention he internally wars about. The second he thinks it's harmless to brush against you, it divulges into grabbing—cupping—pinning—fucking—ruining.

God, he fucking loathes the powerless feeling you inflict on him, but he doesn't have the strength to put an end to your friendship. He furiously jerks off after every meeting, biting into his hand to punish himself as he comes to the thought of you swollen with his child.

He thinks of all the deplorable ways to make you pay for causing these feelings, but he ultimately knows the blame lies within him. You see him as a boss and friend, nothing more. You would never intentionally drag him down to this state, so he bottles up all these feelings for your protection.

It takes a particularly bad mission for his control to break.

Whatever reservations he had about locking you in his bedroom evaporate when he sees you covered in blood and rubble. Protecting you from himself was one thing, but the thousands of universes?

You didn't realize what happened until you woke up in an unfamiliar bedroom, weary from pain medication.

He takes your fear, anger, and tears in stride.

While he can't shake his bitchy personality, his annoyance always fizzles out to mumbles and sighs. For months, he takes your verbal abuse and outbursts with resigned acceptance. Miguel didn't always like what he had to do, but he would commit any atrocity if it meant keeping you at his side.

He moves some of his work at home to spend more time with you, just content to occupy the same room while you adjusted to your new situation.

Your shared apartment is quiet most days, save for sporadic outbursts of rage from you, and Miguel daydreams about having a few little kids running around to fill the void.

He stares at you most evenings, watching you curled up on the couch pointedly ignoring him. Miguel thinks you wouldn't be so belligerent if you needed him for something, if you craved his presence and help in some way.

Miguel's mind always drifts back to his favorite fantasies on nights like these: you nine months pregnant and too big for anything other than his shirts. His eyes drift down to your stomach, to the place where you could make his dreams come true.

Patience is something Miguel prides himself on, which is why he puts up with the loneliness for nearly a year after bringing you home. You were given ample time to warm up to him and he's been nothing but kind. Every broken plate and spoiled food, every scratch across his face, every insult—he let you have your way in hopes that you'll eventually recognize him as your lover.

But no. You complained and struggled every step of the way.

Miguel could never hurt you, but he realized that more permanent and assertive measures had to be taken to make you see that you need and love him as much as he does you.

---

When he finally takes you, there's hardly any space between your bodies. There are months of touch starvation to make up for and Miguel is compensating all at once.

His entire 6'9" stature pins you to his bed, locking you between arms as large as your thighs. Miguel is the only thing you see or feel, as his hands caress every dip and curve of your body and his cock grinds against your slit.

With your legs helplessly hiked up around his waist and one of his hands pinning your wrists above your head, he makes love to you with a slow burning intensity.

Your fear and disgust are palpable, but between his sweet voice in your ear and his fingers somehow knowing the rhythm and speed to play with your clit, you're more wet than you've ever been.

"Shh, shh, mi cornazón. I have you." Miguel kisses your jaw, his cock rocking in and out of your aching heat with an agonizingly slow pace. "Just breathe steadily and let me take care of you."

He's too big inside of you, and your grunts of pain make him linger in place to help you adjust. When his stride picks up and the wet sounds of sex fill the bedroom, disgust roils in your stomach. Yet fuck, fuck, fuck, your body temperature rises with each stroke.

Miguel kisses you deeply, using his free hand to hold your head in place. He says, "It's time. I've been so patient. Be brave for me and take our baby."

He swallows your horrified pleading with another scorching kiss.

Your pussy clenches around his dick and your breath catches in your throat. Miguel hugs you tighter, his nose pressed into your hair as he angles himself just right. When the first waves of your orgasm make your head dip back, the sharp edge of fangs scratch your neck.

You barely register his mantra of, "Te amo," when his jaw clamps down on your shoulder. Blood spurts from between his teeth, and you cry out in confused pain as your orgasm shakes your body.

Miguel moans into your flesh seconds later, pumping his cum deep inside you. His thrusting is uncoordinated and rough, too blinded by pleasure to notice how powerful his pounding is. The mattress springs whine beneath you two, and you can only cry from the overwhelming treatment.

He milks every last drop of cum into your cunt before he begins to slow. Both of you gasp for breath, your chests heaving against one another's as sweat cools on your hot skin.

He keeps you plugged up for a while longer to give the conception time. His bloodied lips drag across the wound on your shoulder, peppering you with kisses as he trails red along your neck.

A sob shutters in your chest as Miguel runs a palm along your stomach.

"You'll understand soon. I promise. This will be the best thing that's ever happened to us."

[gi4hao]

some vernon x acts of service fluff for you ♡

vernon dyed his hair black this morning. he kind of loves it, and he hopes you will too. obviously the execution isn’t perfect; there are some dark stains on his ears and his forehead and he ruined two t-shirts in the process. but he knows how much you love that color on him.

this afternoon, vernon did some shopping. he needed a new shirt and he remembered the pretty bracelet that had caught your eye last time you were in town. he hopes you’ll be happy when he gifts it to you.

and this evening, vernon cooked dinner. it’s not done yet, but it will be in about thirty minutes. mingyu sent him an easy yet sophisticated recipe which he followed to the letter, and it turned out pretty well, at least on the outside. he hopes you’ll like it.

it’s past 7pm when he hears your key turn in the front door’s lock. the oven is a bit greasy, there’s oregano spilled on the counter, the wrapping of your gift is a little messy, and his ears are red from his attempts to remove the dye from his skin. perhaps from stress too.

and suddenly it hits him. he feels stupid. what if he’s doing too much? it is too much, isn’t it?

“hi handsome” your voice pulls him out of his panic as he exits the kitchen, his hands a little moist. you’re ready to lean in for a kiss, it’s almost muscle memory at this point, but the sight of his hair makes you pause.

“love it. and love the new shirt”, you reply, letting your hand brush against the strands of hair on his forehead before finally going in for the kiss. “what’s that smell? did you cook something?”

his ears turn a new shade of red as he grabs your arm to lead you to his living room. “i did, but you don’t wanna go in there right now”, he warns you, grabbing your arm to lead you to the living room instead.

it’s rather unusual for vernon to look so agitated, especially around you. you look at your surroundings, trying to notice anything different.

“is everything okay?”

he nods, a bit faster than usual, before digging his hand in his pocket and pulling out a small gift with a wonky ribbon on top.

“got you a little something today. but you can return it if you don’t like it, or even if you change your mind in a few days. or weeks. or even months, really.”

you’re only now noticing the dye stains on his skin, which draws a chuckle out of you. he looks so frantic it’s almost comical. without a word, you put the gift aside and stand up, pretty sure to know what this is all about.

“i already know i love that gift. i’ll love it forever and i would not trade it for any other. ever. because it comes from you, and that’s all i want.”

completely unfazed by how easily you saw right through him, he looks down at the hand you’re still holding, the one with a brand new silver ring on his fourth finger.

your words were heard and understood, but you can feel him internally tiptoeing around what’s really on his mind. his eyes, however, carry the same sweetness they always do when he looks at you.

“this is gonna sound really dumb but, i just want to make sure you don’t feel pressured to love… my gift. or to commit to it. i promise i won’t be mad if you tell me you don’t want it”, he tells you, grabbing your other hand to get a look at your own ring, the exact same as him.

it’s now 7:25pm, meaning that it’s been almost 24 hours since vernon has gotten down on one knee to ask the most nerve-wracking question of his entire life. 24 hours since you were legally allowed to call him your fiancé, a much awaited upgrade from the ‘boyfriend’ status.

last night had been a dream come true. but this morning, an uneasy feeling had started crawling into vernon’s mind, making him feel like maybe that dream of his would never come true after all.

dyeing his hair, making dinner, buying gifts, he had really thought about doing anything in his power to keep you from second-guessing your answer from yesterday.

still, nothing would calm his mind except maybe hearing the words from your mouth.

“i’ll love your gift because i love you. and because i spent the last 24 hours on cloud nine, thinking about how lucky i am that you proposed”, you told him in your calmest voice. “i’ll be honest, i even spent my entire day practicing saying “my husband” instead of “boyfriend”… and it sounds really, really nice.”

and that is the exact moment when the crushing weight of doubt and insecurity is lifted from vernon’s shoulders.

he still feels a bit stupid, but in a way that feels great, warm and almost comforting. for the second night in a row, he’s overwhelmed by the pure yet simple feeling of knowing his love is perfectly reciprocated.

“so… does that mean you still want me to be your husband?” he asks with a relieved smile as you trap him in the tightest hug, one hand running in his freshly dyed locks.

he loves you and you love him, that’s the one thing he doesn’t need to hope for. he knows it, and oh how he loves knowing it.

[esstrellaa123]

Saw a fic of crybaby!reader, and was like? My two sense????

Don’t ask how many words :>

Thinking of reader right, all silent for like… a week. Caught up in their head with God knows what, and boom. Sweet Simon finally cracks that fragile barrier you’ve put between the two of you

Because Lord knows Simon hates silence, especially from you. Talk to him, won’t you?

“You’ve yet to speak.” He says blankly, prompting you as he watches you intently like he might be able to see into your very soul. He’s done it before, but now you’re just being difficult >:(

“I’m coloring.” You say just as blank, devoid of the emotion he usually enjoyed. The sun to his world was going dark and he’d do anything to clear those clouds away. Anything. Even if it burned him.

“I like it when you talk.” He tries, arms crossed. Defensive, and unamused by your lack of enthusiasm.

“Not in the mood to.” You all but snap, getting annoyed with him. You let out a harsh huff, coloring a little too hard. Now your drawing was ruined because the pressure changed the color. Everything was fucked. Fuck this.

You tear the page out unceremoniously, tossing it carelessly to the trash before getting overwhelmed with having to start another complex piece. You couldn’t do anything about it now, your old piece was in the trash and-

“Why’re you touching me?” You snap again, jerking away from his hands.

“Alright. What the fuck?” He finally says. Maybe he was more upset at your reaction towards him than you. Either way, he’s getting to the bottom of what he thought was complete and utter bullshit.

“What do you mean ‘what the fuck?’ I don’t want you touching me.” You say, face to face. More like chest to face, but who’s counting the inches? (YES IM AMERICAN)

Okay, ouch. “I’m trynna help here!” He grumbles back down at you.

“I don’t want your stupid help.” You say back, abandoning your art and going to the room. The bang of the door reaches his ears louder than he liked.

“Fucking bullshit. Fucking women.” He grumbles, going out to the porch to smoke.

He’s unhappy. Very exasperated and wanting to break some shit. But he’s better. He got better for you.

He finishes his smoke, somewhat calmed. Maybe you were hungry. Had you had water?

“I don’t want-” you start up but he’s having none of it. Not when his patience is spread thin and he’d really like to spread you open. So be cooperative.

“Nah, shut- shut up.” He cuts you off, setting the tray of food down on the bed. Fruits, peanut butter, chocolate, and some water. “Eat.” He says, sliding under you.

“‘M not hungry.” You say, crossing your arms.

…..

You sit in his lap, being hand fed as you watch your Law and Order. “Water.” He instructs, watching you take a sip before opening your mouth for another strawberry. He delivers.

You’re more responsive now. He’s appreciative of that. But food wasn’t the root of this problem. Neither was water. Something else was bothering you.

“Feel better?” He asks, letting you curl up on his side, using him for all his warmth and comfort.

You nod into the crook of his neck, finding comfort in his tone and smell. “Feel better.” You confirm.

“Wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?” He finally questions.

“Nothin’s goin’ on.” You huff.

“Don’t huff at me.” He says, flicking your forehead. He let you get away with that shit this morning. There would not be a repeat.

“Just wanna relax.” You breathe, turning over.

“You’ll relax when you get it off your chest.” He turns over, curling around you like heat does a fire. Like it’s natural to be enveloped by a certified heater, it’s second nature.

You can’t help but lean in, scooting back, pulling his arms closer. “Just tired.”

“Tired of what?” He pushes.

“Life.” You mumble, the tears welling. You didn’t like thinking like this, but it plagues you. Sneaks and floods into your day. Your smile dropping too quickly for your own liking. You just wanted to curl up, sleep, and stay in your dreams.

He only hugs you closer. He doesn’t move as you shift, your face pressed firmly into his chest as the tears finally fall.

“I got ya. Si’s got ya.” He mumbles lovingly, rubbing your back, pulling you impossibly closer as you cling to his back. “Tell me what you need, hm?” He suggests, letting you nuzzle into his warmth even more.

“You.” You reply simply. There’s nothing you want or love more than lying in bed with him. You’d stay there, keep him there, even if you had to tie him down, but ultimately knew you wouldn’t, because he’d stay if you asked.

He hummed, low. You almost missed it, and he just holds you, keeping you close.

He’d be there in the morning, letting you cry on his shoulder again if you needed. He’d kiss all your tears away, kiss your tension away. It eased his, made him feel better, let him relax. He’d be your safe space if you promised to be his….

[21consecutivebattles]

With Legends Z-A, I gave him the unavoidable design. I had written so much background and trying to get it on Insta was a hassle, but luckily I’ll be able to fully put it here with no issues,,:

It was hard to steer from the typical older Emmet look but I tried my hardest to make it seem like it would’ve been. I tried looking up France fashion from 1600-1900 but it was either some ridiculous outfits or suits, and since it mentioned the redevelopment of Lumiose City, it was either working up from something like Jubilife village or was upgrading from what it already is. I’ve heard a lot of theories that Legends Z-A will be taking place in the future or bounce back from future to past, but since it’s hard to incorporate futuristic outfits without knowing “how futuristic” it’ll be, I stuck to something from a layer time period in France. I drew him more of a square shape in his eyes instead of triangular, both to signify age and his lost connection with Ingo. Maybe not a permanent design but I think it adds a lot to his demeanor. He kept Basic stuff like he still has his coat, hat, etc. because Ingo got to keep all his old stuff too, but since the trailer looked more modern and Pokémon were with people, I don’t think it would be all destroyed like Ingos just cause it seems like a more civilized nation alongside pokemon and if it really did get destroyed in some way, I have a feeling he would be able to get it repaired without it getting ruined again. Also in terms of the suit I think the darker color is a good parallel to Ingos pearl clan outfits lighter colors. A lot of the design choices were meant to parallel him anyways. Since Ingo had lost his gloves in his Hisui design, giving Emmet new ones felt appropriate for some reason. In terms of the cane I gave him, not only is he an old man, I think it’s kinda needed. Ingo had that little wristband to signify he was a warden, while I think the cane could be useful for a mega stone wink wink nudge nudge. Cute little accessories for them I’m so nice 💀 he could definitely have a slower lifestyle in comparison to Ingo, and I definitely could see him working at Lumiose Station (if it exists in this game) and even though he would most likely have his memory wiped too, Ingo still said the same train themed quotes even with his memory gone, and even then he still had SOME memory, it was just very faint. Emmet definitely could feel some “connection” to the station and say stuff like “Some late nights I think I see a man who looks like me, but upon second glance it’s just my imagination. Even if I can’t seem to shake it from my mind, it seems I still wish to see him again…” anywho for the drawing, I made a few references. The main one just being a reference of design, but the one in the top right corner was a small reference to Alabaster Icelands. I’ve seen a lot of people use the snow to give Ingo flashbacks to Emmet, and while I think my station one is more closely related to Ingos darker color scheme, I think having him in the snow was a good nod to that. The bottom right corner was a reference to a drawing (that probably most people already know what I’m referencing) that had Pokémon that I thought resembled them, and one of the ones I had included for Ingo was Klefki. So just a little salt to the wound (it wasn’t even that bad.) Anywho, I know the design isn’t very refreshing, but I tried to keep it as canonical as possible.

[besideprimroseshade]

ᴳᵒᵈ ⁱˢʰ ᵀʷˢᵗ ˣ ⁱᵐᵐᵒʳᵗᵃˡ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ CH: 3

"I want you, I want you, it's like my IQ's going down"

TW: decapitation mention, religious themes?? sorta??

    Current Alias

    Hanakoto Y/N

Finishing the now cold remains of your mashed potatoes and steak you get up.  Bumping into a student walking behind you, they offer their apologies first, a low voice that you'd expect from an grown adult not a teen.  "My apologies child" was all he said as he walked away.  Staring as he walked away you couldn't help but feel a twinge of familiarity radiating from him.

    You’re unsure why you returned to school, back in your mortal days it was pure hell for you.  It wasn’t difficult by any means, but certain subjects had a way of making you feel so hopelessly stupid that you considered just giving up on everything together.  Gradually, nothing seemed interesting anymore, slipping into eternal sleep seemed so inviting.  Much more so than the hours of work that you hated yourself for not being able to finish.  You hated yourself for not being able to finish a simple worksheet, it should’ve been easy, you started it but now you’d have to finish it.  But it wasn’t easy, it was a struggle to even look at the paper, your own disappointed voice in your head chastising you relentlessly.       Gradually, everything got to be too much.  And honestly, you stopped giving a fuck the day you challenged that god.  Praying to an all-knowing being that you weren’t even sure really existed anymore.  Your family was particularly religious, putting their faith in a god that you too believed wholeheartedly in your youth.  You knew that you shouldn’t pray for yourself, yet you still did.       Your faith was shaken roughly after a dear friend of yours was struck with a sickness.  You prayed day and night, begging your family’s almighty god for some sort of relief for them.  Anything to ease their pain, anything to ensure their survival.  Your poor friend who’s only sin was being too kind to stray animals.  You offered up your sweets as a penance to perhaps appeal to this god’s mercy.  One day, they actually appeared back at school, no longer bound to their wheelchair.  It was a miracle, perhaps all your prayers and sacrifices worked, perhaps the god was moved by the prayers of their devoted follower.     They were buried just a week later. 

That was the beginning of this god’s fall from grace in your mind.  Your teenage years were full of suppressed rage, each time you tried to express your feelings your parents shut you down and handed you tools to work in the fields. That did help, but you ended up ruining the fields in your anger, and your parents decided it best for them to have you take walks instead.  Walks were nice, they offered some sort of solace for your bottled emotions.  Occasionally, along the shores, you’d find some merperson that had swam too far from their home.  Sometimes they’d tempt you down to the watery depths with their songs, and other times they were simply curious about humans.  Both were better than being home, in your mind.      The diaries that belonged to you as a child were thrown out, further cementing your disbelief in this god that you had so fondly worshipped.  You hated each page, you hated your younger self for being so fucking naive, you hated that god.  You found a particularly bright colored diary that reappeared in your shelves.  It was your favorite, a special book handed down from your mother, it bore a smooth dull red cover, still had some of her notes written down in her neat handwriting.  You almost laughed at yourself when you read it again, swearing was so forbidden in your household, however did little you write ‘shut up’ without a care in the world.       Into the trash it went, for a second time, it was probably possessed or something.  There went another piece of your past that you so fervently hated.  The horrible grammar, the shitty drawings, that ‘unshakable’ belief, you didn’t realize it was possible to hate something so much.  You bought more journals as the centuries passed, and decided to not throw out anymore, lest that force that brought your red one back from the trash struck again.      Then the worst drought in a centuries time struck your village with a vengeance.  Usually, you’d read in history books that you stole from your brother, that your village would sacrifice a young maiden or child.  To appease the gods and beg them for rain.  The willing sacrifice would be led to a quiet place in the cliffs, then they would pray that their life would help pave the way for the new lives that the rain would nourish.  Then came the gruesome part, they were usually drugged, their head chopped off and placed on a stone for the gods.  The body was buried on the mountain, and then they would pray again.       You do wonder why after your challenge your village was hit with rain enough to replenish the river that had long run dry.  Perhaps the gods looked with favor upon your foolish endeavor.  Perhaps they decided to further prove your demise.    You were currently preoccupied with completing the work of a student whom you shared classes with that didn’t seem particularly interested in completing today’s classwork.  You sent them a short summary of how you completed the work and they paid you decently.  You felt like those tutors that you’d see in the windows of the rich families of your town.  Helping the kids learn their school and life skills.  All things their parents were too busy to teach them.       You recognized the student in front of you, that deep-voiced boy from lunch.  Purposely bumping into him you drop one of your books, “Oh no my books!” You mutter and bend down to pick it up, noticing that he does the same.  You meet his eyes, round and scarlet.  They seemed so familiar… Wait… That fae… What the hell was he doing here?

    “Have we met before?  Once upon a dream perhaps?” He breaks the silence with a cheerful grin.  Glaring into his eyes, you attempt to fish out any information about him.  "Who the hell are you?" you stare incredulously.  He senses your suspicion "Ah, I haven't introduced myself havent I?  I'm Lilia Vanrouge, Vice Housewarden of Diasomnia.  Pleasure to meet you!" he extends his gloved hand out.  And you take it cautiously, shaking it slowly.  Then you pull your hand away.

    "You" the word slips from your lips before you register it.

    "Ah, so we have met before" he mutters softly, taking note of your glare.

    You stand up slowly "Lilia..." you say it as you rise, something about his name strikes a familiar chord in your memory.  "your name doesn't seem familiar but you do" you add cautiously.  What if he takes you for some rando stalker or something of the sort? he pauses and continues "You seem familiar to me as well..." he takes a long silent pause "Ell... is that you?".  You throw a hand over his mouth "It's not Ell anymore, it's Hanakoto, don't forget that... and wait, how do you know my name?" you hiss.  "Ah, Hanakoto, do you mind if we continue this er… reunion back at Diasomnia?  Classes should be starting again soon, and I’d hate for you to be tardy cause of little ‘ol me”.  Lilia gives you one last smile before vanishing into thin air, your schoolbook in hand.     Damn him, wait, why would he need your schoolbook?  Oh, for a bribe, so that you couldn’t refuse his offer… He was more conniving than you gave him credit for… damn bastard.       You finished your school day without much fanfare, as usual.  You stood in the Mirror Room, approaching the mirror with the emblem of Diasomnia above it.  Lilia, such a floral name for hardened warrior.  Well, at least you knew it now.  That explained his past distaste for the lilies that you occasionally grew to sell.        Diasomnia was the equivalent of a gothic castle if you’ve ever seen one.  If you were a weaker soul perhaps, maybe the very sight if it would have you shaking in fear.  Though you thought it to be too much.  In any case, this was your destination.  You walked the long and rather thin path that led to the dorm's great black doors.  Pushing them open with a heave you were greeted by the sight of an annoying freshman who you recognized from the Orientation, Sebek Zigvolt if you recalled correctly.  A loud boy, with a lean build, bright green gelled back hair and golden eyes with slit pupils.  He was missing the common features of a Zigvolt though, where were his scales?  He must be a half blood then, you decided silently as he greeted you with a shout.  You were expecting him to spout off something about humans in disdain. But surprisingly he welcomed you, "Welcome to Diasomnia!" you muster a reply "Hello, Zigvolt...".   

    You follow him into the dorm's lounge, "I do not know what Master Lilia sees in a human like you.  But if he specifically invites you to Diasomnia, I will do my best to treat you like a guest!".  He shouts, much to your dismay.  Sure, go ahead and announce me being here to everyone you sigh inwardly.  Taking a seat on the plush black couches of the dorm's lounge, you two wait for Lilia to make his appearance.  Now that you thought about it, it had been a while since you had last seen a member of the Zigvolt clan, last member you had seen was Baur.  He was a soldier under Lilia back then or something, you never really cared to learn about him.  This boy wasn't a full fae, so perhaps he was a grandson or great-grandson, the hatred the fae held towards the humans made the thought seem impossible in your mind.  Perhaps it had been healed by centuries after?  In any case you were here to see Lilia, not ponder about the racial tensions between humans and fae. 

    Lilia himself decides to appear right next to you, making his presence known with a bright 'Well hello there!'.  Sebek stiffens at the sight of his Vice Housewarden.  "Master Lilia!  Thank you for gracing us with your presence!" you give him a small hesitant wave and place your hands onto your lap.  "Whats with the sullen face??  Don't you miss me El-er Hanakoto?" he corrects himself mid-sentence after remembering the underclassman's presence.  "Eh, not really" you admit honestly, "How dare you be so curt when Master Lilia is speaking to you human!" Sebek cried.  "He's your master not mine" you lean back against the couch, "Tis quite alright Sebek, Hanakoto and I are acquainted" Lilia smiles.  He processes this new information and mutters an apology.  The elder fae waves a hand in a shooing motion, "No need to apologize, I'm sure that Hanakoto has taken no offense" you nod in agreement, "I really don't give a fuck". 

   “Well, now that you’re here, why don’t we discuss some things in private?  I’ve been meaning to talk to you” Lilia smiles.  You throw him an incredulous stare, “You are aware how that sounds right?” He returns with an innocent look “Nope!” and grabs your hand, teleporting the two of you to his room.

    You followed Lilia into his room, "What the fuck??" you mutter as your eyes trail around, observing clothes and objects that were hurriedly shoved into drawer shelves.  "Ah, well, I didn't have much time to clean up" he chuckles "Silly me".  Lilia's room is a random ass assortment of items you presumed he collected from after you met.  A guitar on the bed, a spare jacket and shirt tossed over the wardrobe's open door.  "How did you go from only owning the clothes on your back to some grandpa with a hoarding issue?" you groan in disbelief.  "That, Hanakoto, is a story for another day".  "How has time been treating you?" he sighs with an air that you can't decide if it's playfulness or genuine curiosity.  "Same as always" you admit.  Lilia snaps his fingers and summons a rather elegant teapot and two teacups. 

    You hesitantly take the cup of tea that was oh so generously offered to you.  The distinct aroma of oranges and cardamom filled your senses as you brought the cup to your lips.  "Have you a family yet?" he asks the question carefully to which you shake your head, "Nah, the only family I had are dead and gone".  Your eyes look up from the cup, "You?" he sighs wistfully, "I do, I have a son...".  He says the word 'son' with such love you were almost jealous of this random child.  "Gods, I feel ancient" you tease.  "You're much older than me after all" he grins, before his lips fall into a frown "I missed you, Ell, I thought that you left me...".  Lilia's words run a knife through you, your grip falters and bit of steaming tea falls on you, Fuck you whisper, fuck fuck fuck fuck... you had forgotten that you were forced to leave your home by the forest, lest you be killed by those Silver Owls or the fae.  You never told Lilia, just packed up and left in a hurry, taking your house with you. 

    'I missed you Ell' the words stung with a force you weren't expecting.  Truth be told, you wanted him to forget about you, everyone forgot about you in the end so what was another person to add to that list?

   But no, Lilia had aged almost 400 years and still remembered you.    He had a family.  He looked older, he was no longer the petty creature with an attitude.  He was a father, a father beloved for his wisdom.  Yet he still remembered you.     You were exactly the same, physically and mentally.  You would never change.  You would outlive him, outlive his family, outlive his grandchildren and great grandchildren.  There was something that you felt, a feeling that choked you, a feeling that you'd heard of people experiencing when their loved ones passed.  But, your so called 'loved ones' had passed oh so many years ago, yet that feeling never came to you.  It was only now, that you met with Lilia again, that you understood the feeling.  That haunting feeling of grief and loss.  That horrible feelings that was like a hand closing on your throat.  Choking the life out of you.  You felt unworthy of being remembered by him, why did he remember you out of all people?  When he could've easily forgotten about you like so many others had.  Why you?

    At least I completed something that my brother said I couldn't, he said that I would die unremarkable and forgotten.  You're wrong for once fuckface. 

   You forced yourself out of your thoughts and choked out a little, "I missed you too" before finishing your now lukewarm tea.  You shook those despairing feelings away as someone knocked softly on the door. 

╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗

Author's Thoughts

Lilia Vanrouge - 'He actually remembered me...'

Sebek Zigvolt - 'Loud and annoying, but whatever.'

Silver - 'One lucky kid.'

╚══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╝

An: thank u all my lovely readers for still sticking around <333 and to all the new ones that have joined this hell lmaooo. plz forgive any errors <333

[porcelainebambi]

silly drawings and a small sketch page

Out here up at almost 4 in the morning knowing damn well i have a job i need to go to in the morning but the desire to draw matters more. Anyway some art featuring two other peoples PCs and my darling Lilith.

First photo i have no clue why she'd be covered in blood but she looks the most annoyed I've ever drawn her and I love it. Freak fact about Lilith is that she has a thing for Leighton, she is like concerningly into that man as much as she is Bailey. She needs them both to concerning levels and I will give them to her on occasion as treats because I am cringe and free. And if he said put the school uniform on she will say yes sir want me to put the cat girl panties too.

Second one is the sketch page featuring @plusydney Care. I read the thing of her pulling a tooth just for his attention and it instantly drove me insane. Imagining something as silly as her bearing witness to Bailey kissing Lily and she's like now I need to ruin her life but she's a kid so she just angrily draws pictures in her room while Bailey cringes.

@thedolmainblog Blythe taking the horrible little creature for a car ride and he put her in a car seat. She can fit in his pocket and she's got the stupidest little face going meep meep as he orders her a quarter pounder and she eats half in one bite.

and the final one is Lilith suffering, put over an actual photo because I am NOT going to draw a bunch of $100s over and over. Forgot to draw her horns there but also they're literally just hair buns so her hair is just not styled there. Also her eyes actually have color for once in that one cause they're drugged swirlies not actual irises.

[mellowyellow236]

SSR Yuri - Everend’s Cove: Moonlight Song

[GROOVY - UNLOCKED]

Summon Line: ��Tell me how pretty I look, Arrrloooo~!” 

Groovy Line: “See? This is so much better than being back at the concert!” 

~

For @sunnysidesevenup's event. The card's finally finished! It's modeled after the scene from the second fic I did, although the setting ending up slightly changing time.

~

Tap 1: “It is… Possible that straightening my hair was a miscalculation… Or even a mistake. At least Arlo put it back up for me. Heh… He’s never getting his hair tie back.” 

Tap 2: “Babe, quit grabbing me! You’re going to ruin my makeup. Well, more than it already is.” 

Tap 3: “Mwah~! I’m a darling, don’t you think?” 

Tap - Groovy: “My nails match Arlo’s scales. I don’t think he noticed, but still. I’m happy that I can make us wear matching clothes, in some way. Or maybe accessories is a better word?” 

~ 

Idle 1: “Hahhh… I’m tired. It’s dark outside, and I didn’t sleep enough last night. Not to mention, singing always takes a lot out of me.” 

Idle 2: “Arlie? Lolo? Ari? Lovely dear? My dearest heart and soul, Arlo, my little piranha fishy? …Which do you think will annoy him the most?” 

Idle 3: “I have every intent to win this competition. I might not- Arlo and his siblings are strong singers- But I’m adorable. Hell, I used to be an idol. I'm going for gold, baby.” 

Idle - Login: “Do, re, mi, fa, so, la, ti, do~ Do, ti, la, so, fa, mi, re, do~ Do, mi, so, mi, do~ Ti, re, do~ So, do, so, ti, re, do~ Fa, mi, re, do~! Hehe, isn’t my voice pretty? If they weren’t real, I’d say I had a siren’s gift for music.” 

Idle - Groovy: “Hm… Do you think… I could tie my sash around Arlo, and convince him to actually keep it on? Maybe if I got him once he’s asleep… But how could I convince him to go to sleep during the competition?” 

~

Fun fact: The notes she sings there are an actual vocal warm-up. It's pretty good if you're trying out sight reading or need to get into a scale.

I also edited the groovy so that way her nails looked the right color (I just put them in over the shading, I still don’t know how they were so drastically wrong the first time) and added Arlo’s tail to the corner, thought it's not that noticeable. Your Honor, they're cutie patooties.  

The drawing took me forever since I couldn't figure out what to do for the background. I started and scraped like three versions after I had finished drawing Yuri, plus the one I chose and the alt.

All the alts + the same chibi as in the first one just so all the art’s in the same place: (Under the cut)

[lamorravailxoxo]

Here's the story I said I was gonna do, got busier than I expected so here's a quick one. Hope you enjoy, and if you do don't hold back in saying so:

It's been a few weeks since your brother came home from studying abroad. The two of you have an alright relationship. He's older so he always did his own thing and the two of you ran in different circles. You remember him getting into trouble when he was in high school as well as bringing a different girl over every month, but only when your parents weren't home. Part of you wanted to blackmail him for that, get him to cover you as you did some stuff you wanted, but something about your brother scared you a little. He had these...looks he'd give other girls. Almost like a sneer and almost always when they weren't looking. Sometimes, he'd do it right in front of them. You never saw their expression, but they'd usually meekly follow him up to his room and then the loud metal music would play. Sometimes, he'd give you that look. You only know cuz you accidentally saw him once and became conscious of it, your heart instantly sinking as you felt his eyes on you. But that was the past, surely he grew up and out of that after he went off to college, right?

A clap grabs your attention for a second, a chuckle following soon after. Guess something funny happened? Your parents were gone, taking a vacation. You yourself had a break from school, but nothing going on. Not that you wanted to leave the house anyway, in fact you were looking forward to staying inside for a while. But then your brother gave a surprise visit, and now your alone time is ruined. It was awkward, since you two weren't close. But it's strange, it's been a few weeks yet it doesn't feel like it. He's laying on the couch, watching something on Netflix and yet you get this weird feeling of deja vu. You feel like you've been here, seen this very scene. Your brother, sprawled out on the couch watching this very episode. You can't quite put your finger on- "What are you doing? If you want to watch, just sit down don't stand there like some middle aged dad." His voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you feel them slip away just as quickly as they came. You turn to look at him, an amused expression on his face. "Yeah, sure..." you half mumble back. You feel a little dizzy all of a sudden, so you do as he suggested and sit down. "You good? You seem a little pale." "Just dizzy, for some reason. I'll be fine" "If you say so. But if you start sweating or something, I suggest taking some layers off."

Now that he mentions it, you notice that you are feeling a bit warm. How did you not notice the sweat beginning to form on your brow? You nod in agreement, and without a second thought about it start to strip. You pull your top off and slide your pajama pants down, sitting back down in just your bra and panties. It already feels better, good thing you listened. Your mind still feels...hazy, as you lean back into the couch. The tv in front of you blurs into a mix of colors and sounds, yet blinking your eyes does nothing. You turn your head yet your vision is fine, your brother isn't blurry and you can make out his handsome features just fine. But you can't look away from the tv for long, the noise drawing you back in.

You don't feel hot anymore, but your body feels like it's warm all over. The haze feels like it's spreading. Your start to breathe slightly heavier and you feel your thighs begin to rub together unbidden. You place your hands on them to stop them but that only proves to be a temporary solution as soon even your hands begin to slowly trail up your legs. You barely register a snicker to your left as your eyes close halfway, the lids feeling heavier with each passing pant. "You feeling alright?" a voice says from somewhere, worming into your brain. It has a mocking tone as it continues; "Why are you panting so much? And why are you spreading your legs like that?"

You glance down, seeing the voice was right. Your legs, closed previously, were now spread wide open. A damp spot was clearly visible, even through your half open eyes. One of your hands was very openly touching your clit through your underwear. Your other hand was cupping your breast.

"Huh?"

"Geez, didn't realize my little sister was a whore."

That word enters your brain and it feels like it kick starts that fire in you. You let out a moan immediately, loud and primal, as your fingers pinch your nipple in response.

You feel that look of his on you without even looking up. That sneer of superiority, of looking completely down on someone beneath him. It only stokes the fire inside of you, yet even now you can't cum. Something about this, in a situation where a simple word pushed you to the brink, is still keeping you teetering on the edge of release.

You feel hot breath on your ear and shudder in response. Your whole body tenses, as if it expects what's coming next.

"Unfortunately, I got plans to see some other bitches today. So we'll have to wrap this up here for now. But don't worry, I'll be sure to pound you into your sheets later just like before"

You whimper, looking up at him for the first time in a while with the most pathetic pleading expression you can muster.

"Aw, what's wrong? You want your nice older brother to help you cum?"

"Mhm!" your nod your head vigorously, making him laugh at you

He leans away from you and you feel that fire inside you sputter a little. You feel desperation and anguish as he goes further away, but soon that's replaced with more desire and excitement as he begins to slide his pants down. Back to his previous spot, he leans back and places his arms behind his head. His dick, to which your eyes are now locked on, is large and throbbing. Beckoning. You feel your mouth begin to water in response almost instantly.

"I suppose I have time for an appetizer before tonight. Go ahead, I'll let you ride me. But you can only cum when I do, go it slut?"

"Yes! Yes, please!"

"Then hurry up."

You all but scramble into his lap, shedding your underwear as quickly as possible. Your pussy is dripping, your inner thighs drenched in excitement. Practically hyperventilating, you hover right over his dick and look at him in anticipation. Waiting for permission like you've done this dozens of times before.

He smiles that familiar, superior smile as he looks you dead in the eyes and you shudder.

"Go ahead"

You immediately slam down, swallowing him in one swift motion. You feel a jolt of pleasure, like electricity, shoot straight into your brain. Your body twitches in response, but already your hips are rising. You were told you can't cum except when he does and you need to cum. You feel like you'll go insane if this goes on any longer. Soon, the tv is drowned out by the sounds of your hips slamming into his as you ride him with everything you have. Eyes half closed and half rolled into your head, your tongue is lolling out and droll is falling onto his chest. He doesn't seem to mind, instead reaching over and pinching your nipples as you bounce like a sex addict. You moan, you've been moaning, but it's like his touch is a drug. You can't help but feel immense pleasure every time he does something. A little voice in the back of your head wonders "why?" but it gets smothered in the sea of euphoria as your brain screams at you to go faster, to go harder.

"More!" you shout, echoing your thoughts. He's just laying there as you hammer yourself onto him as hard as you can. Your whole body tingles, from head to toe, but it's your womb that you feel the most. It aches in need, in desire, wanting nothing more than to drown in your older brothers sperm. You swear you feel it kiss the tip of his dick every time you bottom out, your cervix getting crushed in indescribable pleasure.

"Not bad," he grunts, "I wasn't planning on busting early but you're really squeezing down on me. Must love my dick that much, huh?"

"Yes! I love it! I love your dick! Please, cum with me!"

"Fine, but you better take it all slut!"

For the first time and last time he becomes active. He grabs your waist, encircling it with his hands completely, as he lifts his hips to slam them into you just as you go down to slam into him. Your eyes roll up as you feel him begin to empty himself inside you, the warmth that swells into your womb spreading out through your whole body. You cum, violently, your whole body beginning to shake and spasm as your mouth opens in a silent scream. You collapse, toppling off his dick, as your vision fades completely

"Wake up, how long are you planning on lazing around?"

Your eyes flutter open. Groggy and dazed, you find yourself in your lounge wear on the couch. You glance up and see your older brother with an amused expression looking down at you.

"I'm heading out to meet some friends, I'll be grabbing lunch. There's money on the counter if you want anything, but I'll be home in time for dinner. You gonna be okay by yourself?"

"Yeah, I'm not a little kid," you answer groggily.

He grins, and ruffles your messy bed head with his hand. Your body jumps slightly, a damp spot beginning to form in your pants.

"You'll always be a kid to me, dork. See you later tonight, don't miss me too much."

"As if," you manage to respond.

You get up and stretch, deciding you better take a shower if it's already almost noon. You even fail to notice the lack of underwear under your clothes

"You'll always be a kid to me," he says, my pussy still sore and my womb full of his cum. What I wouldn't give to have someone so shamelessly own me. I wonder how long it would take me to finally realise I was spending more time desperately fingering myself than I was questioning his behaviour? How long it would take me to realise that it didn't matter how I felt, that only one thing mattered?

[starvity]

— ☆ lo$er=lo♡er

gn!reader x zb1 taerae

genre: fluff, bsfs to lovers // warnings: loser taerae, drinking implied, hint of angst at the end?

author’s note: i am so here for stuttering loser taerae attempting to flirt... thank you for the request!! (★ω★)/ [requested♡]

it all started with subtle and soft touches. taerae found himself yearning to become closer and closer to you. he noticed how he would think about you more often and he would smile to himself whenever he received a notification with your name on his phone. he didn’t think much about it at first, considering that it was just because he cared for you a lot, as a best friend.

but then his mind would get completely clouded when you’re with him. his heart beating faster and faster when your thigh would slightly press against his. when your fingers would graze his neckline and when your lips would be ridiculously close to his ear at night. taerae thought he was starting to go crazy, his crush on his best friend becoming so intense that it would actually distract him in his daily life. so one day he decides to let you know, through small actions at first to test the waters, in hope that you’d feel the same.

it was getting late but taerae and you were still outside in his backyard. he had begged the rest of the friend group to find a way to spend the evening alone with you while they went partying and taerae was both happy and flustered when he noticed that you didn’t take any second guesses on the situation. bottles were almost emptied after taerae and you played several games. it was getting a bit chilly outside so taerae had draped a blanket over his legs and yours. and as the night grows darker, you subconsciously throw a leg over his, looking for some warmth. taerae twitches in his seat and clears his throat, clearly embarrassed about how this small action had such an effect on him.

he uses the slight breeze outside as an excuse to slide his hands under the blanket and draw patterns on the skin just above your knee. he studies your reaction from the corner of his eye, a red color prominent on his cheeks. "i am so sleepy" you turn around which makes taerae immediately averts his eyes from you. "are you not sleepy, rae?" you settle your face on his shoulder and look at his face from under. the boy starts sweating, his back becoming completely straight and his tight fists resting on his thighs.

rae?? the nickname made him scream internally. was this a hint of flirting, was it pure friendship? should he make a move or should he wait for you? should he risk a confession and possibly ruin your friendship? "what’s up with you today?" you suddenly sit up and watch beads of sweat roll down the side of his face. "do you have a fever, rae?" you softly grab his jaw to make him look at you and his eyes widen as you place your cold hands on his forehead first then on his cheek. "i-i i’m fine, leave me alone" he stutters as he stands up and walks to the door. "but you’re red, let me take care of you" his legs almost give out and his heart was jumping out of his chest. "i…’ll… just! rest!! that’s fine" he tries to act composed but he struggles at even putting the key in the hole.

"rae, don’t be reckless. best friends need to take care of each other" you wrap your arms around his waist but taerae grabs your wrists right away, turning around to face you. his grip softens as he tries to calm himself down "never have i wanted to be your best friend." he says, much more serious than he was before. tears start to poll in your eyes, clearly hurt by his words but before they even start to roll down your cheeks, taerae speaks up. "i’ve liked you every since i’ve known you and i’ve always wished we could be more than best friends" he stutters a few times and avoids eye contact with you, his hearts immediately beating faster again.

"sorry for being too oblivious" you look at him with soft eyes and chuckle, finally realising that all of his actions was him trying(?) to flirt. taerae finally locks eyes with you, blushing at how they shine under the moonlight. "can i kiss you? i also want us to be more than friends" you blurt out. "i mean. i’d like it but. i guess if that makes you comfortable. i mean. we don’t have to do it! you don’t have to do it to make me happy-" taerae starts to rant as you lean in. "you’re a loser" you giggle before pressing your lips against his.

[do-not-lick-the-walls]

a devil put aside | chapter three - renaissance

masterlist | read on ao3

(gif by @goodsirs <3)

beelzebub x fallen angel!reader

summary: you wash off the blood, and make a deal with the devil.

(she/her pronouns are used for the reader, no description of any sexual characteristics for the reader, no use of y/n)

warnings: non-sexual nudity & being undressed, religious themes & trauma, aftermath of injury, references to slight cosmic horror, some sexual undertones

ineffable taglist: @sarcastic-sourwolf <3

-----

You don't want to go in the bath.

Filthy is an understatement for you right now. Sticky with dry blood, covered in grime, clothes ripped up and hair swept into tangles. It makes you want to crawl out of your skin, how dirty you are. Too many layers made for Heaven's air-conditioned climate stick to your body, soot and ash mix with sweat to cover you in smears of dull gray. It's the third-worst thing you've ever experienced.

But you don't want to go in the bath. Sixty centuries worth of instinct is telling you not to touch molten sulfur, not to go near anything this hot, and certainly not to sink yourself in liquid hellfire. Your brush with death mere hours ago hasn't left you eager for a second try, no matter what godawful sensations you keep discovering.

You don't want to go in the bath. Because if it doesn't kill you, you'll know what you are, and you're not sure that would be any better.

So you just stare at it.

"Yes, you have to."

You shake your head and keep your feet firmly planted on the tile. You do not want to. It's not going to happen.

Beelzebub sighs. "You have to, love. I told them you would."

Tongues of steam-smoke curl around the little room, slowly licking at the air as the fire throws shifting pieces of darkness along the walls. Whirls of yellow sulfur float lazily within the red-orange fire. Dried blood sticks your shirt to your back.

"I don't want to."

They place a hand on your shoulder.

Every time you look away, the swirling patterns of the bath draw your eyes back. It's mesmerizing, in a horrible kind of way. Bright, like you're meant to be. Glowing with the vibrancy of colors found in fine stained-glass windows; the shades of red somebody could cut a depiction of Eve's apple straight from, hues of yellow fit for halos.

"You'll be okay." Beelzebub's voice is gentle, coaxing as they pull your suit jacket down your shoulders. You move to cling to it, but by the time you manage to tear your gaze from the fire, it's already been dropped on the floor, and they're undoing what's left of the knot in your tie. "It won't hurt, I promise."

That's what I'm afraid of.

Your tie follows your jacket, and though your brain wants it back, your body untenses at the loosening of your collar. The air feels cool in comparison to the humidity that's been building between your clothing and your skin, despite its actual temperature.

They peel off the rest of your clothes like that; carefully, slowly. Every button undone lets your skin breathe a little more. It's a relief. It's a deathmarch.

You fall into a detached kind of state, simply exist while your clothes turn into a pile of ruined fabric on the floor. Let time move through you without intervention. Only when Beelzebub holds out a hand to help you into the tub do you return to the active world, and by then your fear has settled into something less frantic. You have to go in, whether you want it or not. The quiet sinking of the inevitable wraps around your hand as you brace yourself on theirs, and step into the bath.

It doesn't kill you. It doesn't even hurt. It is a little uncomfortable when you sink all the way in, but you're quick to start adjusting to the heat, and it's nothing you can't handle. You haven't been smelling the sulfur this whole time, either. The scent is still there, but it's like somebody turned down your receptors to it. You're both thankful and concerned.

Beelzebub sits leaning against the tub, fidgeting with their hands in a way uncharacteristic to the calculated mannerisms you've come to expect. You don't dwell on it; the bathfire is starting to feel good, and you want to get this filth off your body before you explode.

You take a breath, close your eyes, and sink underfire. It's oddly peaceful, not altogether different from being underwater. There's the same bubbling noise, the same semi-floaty feeling. It'll take scrubbing for the blood to come off, but some of it is already starting to loosen while you soak. You wonder if it'll still be you underneath it all.

A tightening in your chest reminds you of your new need to breathe, and you resurface with a gasp and a slosh, fire-soaked hair sticking to your face and the back of your neck. Rivulets of sulfur run down your skin to drip back into the bath, rolling over your face and along your neck like rain on a window. A quick glance to Beelzebub reassures that you didn't splash them.

The cuts and bruises from tumbling around the office seem to have disappeared, though a general soreness remains. It's your back that truly hurts. From your shoulderblades all the way down past your ribs, a deep ache pulses angrily beneath your skin. You decide to save the back and the wings for last. Hopefully the fire will soothe in the meantime. You pick up a cloth.

Scrubbing the dirt from yourself isn't easy, and the blood's even harder to deal with. Your legs aren't too bad, but from the hips upward you're caked in blood that ran over your shoulders and down your chest, or around your sides to your waist. Your hands are particularly disgusting, bits of dark red-brown are mashed into every line and stuck underneath your fingernails. So the hands go first.

You weren't bloody after the war. Having a full cardiovascular system wasn't really your forte as an angel. When you took an injury, it was always pure light that shone out of the wound, clean and easy to manage until you or someone else could miracle you back to full. And you didn't take blows very often in the first place. But now a beating, bleeding heart's been shoved inside your chest, and you have a feeling it won't be going away. You've been cursed with a heart and lungs and guts. Your wounds will never be beautiful again, just messy and impure.

"Tell me how it happened."

The suddenly-broken silence makes you jump a little, knocking you out of your bitter thoughts. You stop scraping the ash from your forearm.

Some things are hard to say out loud. Hope leaves you lonely when you run out of denial to feed it with, and once the truth is past your throat it's never going back in. Your cardinal sins cannot be unconfessed, to others or to yourself.

When you answer, you answer quiet.

"Pride."

"Yeah," they sigh. "That'll do it."

A silver thread of understanding passes between you. You don't really want to say any more, and they don't push. The silence becomes a little more comfortable. You return to scrubbing the blood and grime off your body, probably ruining the washcloth forever in the process, and things are okay for a minute. As long as you don't think about where and what you are.

Eventually, you manage to get most of the gunk off. All that's left is whatever mess your back must be. The fire's helped the ache some, but your shoulder starts complaining when you move to reach behind you. The other one fares no better, and after a few attempts on each side coming up fruitless, you swallow the pride that led you here. "Um... would you...?"

Beelzebub turns around, and you gesture to your back sheepishly. "I can't reach. My shoulders won't, ah..."

"Oh." They blink a couple times. "Oh. Uh... yeah. Sure,"

You must've caught them off-guard, to get a reaction so much less confident than their usual demeanor. Or maybe you've just been assuming their patterns wrong based on first impressions. This could be how they actually are, and the confident, authoritative Beelzebub could have been the outlier. You don't really know them.

And yet, you have a feeling the truth lies somewhere in between.

They pull off those odd little gloves of theirs, and their sash follows, then their blazer. Your throat catches at the sight of them left in mostly white, then catches again as they roll up their sleeves past the elbow, carefully tucking them so they won't unroll. As you hand them the cloth, your fingertips meet for half a second.

The fire-soaked cloth drags once across your back, and you're about to relax into it, when they inhale sharply. "Shit, angel..."

Their finger runs along the spot where one of your upper wings used to connect to your back. Ah. It must've scarred when they healed you, then.

"Did they...?"

You nod.

Beelzebub sighs, curses under their breath, and continues their work. The repetitive, slow swipes across your back are somewhat comforting.

"I miss the eyes more," the words fall from you suddenly, and without prompt. After all the crying and heavy breathing yesterday, your voice has gone hoarse, but you have an urge to talk again. Your thoughts have been racing around in your head like scattering rats, and you want them out. "I've still got two wings, I'm sure i'll be able to fly eventually, but the eyes..." you trail off, unsure of the right phrasing.

"You've still got two eyes. You can see, can't you?" They pour fire over your hair and start to work their fingers through it, and you lean into their touch without thought.

"No, I--- I meant the other ones. In here." You tap the side of you head.

"Well yeah, maybe you can't see in three-sixty or anything, but you can still see."

You pause, try to figure out a way to explain this to them.

"No, the ones on the inside aren't just eyes, really. They don't just see, they... they think."

"...How do you mean?"

"They're not just extrasensory, they're---" You struggle to find the right words for a moment, "They're a part of my brain. They're on it, they're in it. It's not just sight, it's foresight, it's insight, and now they're all closed, and I can't understand the things I usually do. It's like... like somebody's stapled a part of my mind shut."

The longer you think about it, the more frustrating it gets. You're stuck in the here and now, seeing only in three dimensions, unable to slip into bits of future or past or places far away. You can't see behind you, or through the walls, or what's going to happen. You can't see the answer to infinity, or how to divide by zero. You just sigh again, and stare at the curlicues of sulfur drifting through the bath.

"Do you want me to get your wings?"

You hesitate, then let them out. They fixed your wings themself yesterday, you can probably trust them with cleaning your feathers. You swear you can feel the missing sets unfurl too, but there's nothing left behind. Michael made sure of that. Sliced them clean off, left your upper and lower back flat like a human's. But Beelzebub healed you well. The remaining set feels perfectly uninjured, if a little sore, and all the other damage has been fixed alongside.

Nobody but you has ever groomed your wings before. It's a kind of intimacy you don't find in heaven. Even if you ever wanted to, if you had someone close to you, it wouldn't have been proper upstairs. It's probably not down here either, now that you think about it, but it's not like anyone's watching. The security cameras are all broken or fake. There are dark corners to hide in, dark little rooms to make secrets in. This can be one of them, you think, while their soft hands brush over you. I won't tell anyone.

They're careful not to dislodge any feathers, or bend them out of pattern while they clear away the blood. It's almost contradictory, how gentle their touch is for someone who's fallen so far.

Did their fall hurt just as bad?

A pang hits your chest at the thought. You want to ask, but can't bring yourself to.

How many did you send falling in that battle? How many lost their halos to your spear? How many did you put through this?

You beat the thought back. They're demons, it was justice when you struck them down. And it doesn't matter anyway, because if you didn't get them, someone else would've. It was inevitable for them all to fall. You were doing your job.

When your wings are free of blood and put away, Beelzebub offers their hand to help you out of the bath.

You shake your head. "I don't feel clean yet."

They give you a look that falls somewhere between sad and resigned. "You never will again."

You're dried off and wrapped in a long silk robe. The red looks wrong against your skin, replacing the beiges and whites and soft blues that should be there. While Beelzebub rolls their sleeves back down, you look at your pile of clothes, stained beyond repair, and let yourself mourn them. The last visible trace of angel is gone from you.

Your stockings lie at the top of the pile. They're ruined, of course. But maybe not quite so much as everything else. Maybe, if you could find a way to wash them...

You doubt they're compliant with hell's dress code, and although they've been kind to you, you really doubt Beelzebub wants you hanging onto a piece of heaven. But... they're pretty. And nobody would ever have to know.

You sneak a glance at Beelzebub. They're facing the other way, distracted with pinning their sash back on.

You take your stockings from the pile, and slip them up your sleeve.

Barely a second after you finish, Beelzebub turns back around, pulling on their gloves, and waves for you to follow.

---

Beelzebub's throne room isn't much of a throne room. It's a small, undecorated concrete box with a short platform, a gold-edged old sitting room chair, and as of last night, thanks to you, a bloodstain on the floor. But there's one thing to say for it: it's a lot cleaner than the rest of hell. The huge piles of newsprint and paperwork are tied into neat-ish stacks, likely never to be finished, and although the chair trying to be a throne is old, it doesn't look infested with anything.

Beelzebub flops onto it, throwing a leg over the side, and gestures vaguely to a collection of newspaper bunches stacked like haybales. Seeing no other chairs, and not wanting to sit on the floor beneath them, you follow their suggestion. It's not actually the worst place you've ever sat.

The silk robe moves and falls with you in a way so elegant it has to be borderline sinful. The feeling of it against your skin, too, is horrifically pleasant. Empresses from long-gone dynasties come to mind, in their bright dresses and golden hairpins, or perhaps more similarly the lush dressing gowns of golden-age Hollywood stars. You try not to look at yourself.

"So," Beelzebub starts, "We've got a lot to talk about here, I suppose."

An icy sinking along your spine pulleys your heart up into your throat like a double elevator shaft.

They sigh. "Don't look so tense, love. I'm not going to bite you. Go ahead, relax."

You make an attempt at relaxing into your seat, at first trying to mirror them before quickly realizing that's not going to work with your setup, then fumble around for another couple of seconds trying to find some other position. It feels unnatural, to lean back at a time like this. You're not sure you like it. You must not do a very good job of it either, because they wince, and wave you off. You go back to sitting straight up with your feet together like you're meant to.

"But you just did it in the--- no, not important, actually. We can work on the uh, relaxing thing later. More pressing matters." In a seeming attempt to reset themself, they exhale, and straighten their lapels. "Alright, I'm assuming you know who I am, or you would've asked by now, and I know who you are, or I would've asked by now, so thankfully we can skip that bit, yeah? Good. Okay," they pause, then reset themself again.

"I don't know how a Seraph managed to get the boot after so long. But however it happened, you've joined the Fallen now, and you're clearly not faking it. Making you," they sit up a little, focusing. You're stuck between wanting to break eye contact, and wanting to lean in closer. "An unprecedented phenomenon. And an important one, too."

Still stuck in your throat, your heart flutters.

"Point is," they sit up fully now, resting their elbows on their knees. "You're something special, pet. So,"

Their mouth twitches upward, so slightly that you would've missed it if you'd blinked. Their eyes flash like they're letting you in on a joke. You brace yourself for the words.

"I have an offer for you."

It was always going to come to this. To a deal with the devil. Your heart sinks back down the shaft, pulling the icy dread up again in counter.

"Let me train you."

You blink.

You're not sure what you expected. Maybe a threat, or something more candy-coated, an obvious temptation. Something other than an internship with the Prince of Hell.

Tentatively, you poke at the idea with your foot. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. I'm not trying to trick you into something. Be my apprentice, let me teach you to be a demon. There's still power in you, I'll help you tap back into it."

They look you dead in the eyes, and you almost say yes right then. A sudden want to bury yourself in that obsidian gaze comes rushing through your veins and down to your fingertips, hot, then cold, then hot again. You stare into the void, and the void stares back.

A second passes.

Cut it out, traitor! Your rationality slams you over the head with a laptop full of reasons why you're an idiot. They are a demon. They are Prince of Hell, patron unsaint of the flies that follow them. They are distracting you. Demons are liars, no matter how beautiful, how kind, and you cannot afford to forget that. You are in enemy territory.

You clear your head, and move with caution as you prod at this a little more. "What's in it for you?"

They chuckle. "You, sweet. You're drowning in potential. I'd be a fool not to want you on my side."

They say it as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, and you have to look away to avoid being hypnotized again. The idea of being wanted drips into your head, starts to melt into the cracks like honey while your brain tries to scrape it off.

Didn't they just say you're something unprecedented? Important? Whispers the scars on your back. Even missing wings and eyes, they still want you.

"Come on, love. It's a win-win. I get to teach you, you don't get fed to something, everybody's happy."

That sobers you again for a moment, furrowing your brows. There's the threat, then.

"You don't have to worry about it," they take your hands, moving closer, an honesty in their undertone that you want to believe is real. "I'm offering to bring you under my protection. Nobody would ever touch you again, and if they did, I'd kill them."

A finger traces your cheek, like it did yesterday, and your face untenses. Such a violent idea should scare you. Instead, it makes your heart skip beats and tremble in a different way, slowly trying to push the lid closed on your moral compass.

You swallow. "Tell me more."

"I'll train you myself. Teach you to be a proper demon, and keep you by my side while you learn. You'll assist me with things, if I need you to." They pull your hands in so slightly you might be imagining it. "And you won't just be some errand girl. You could have status. Who knows, in time, you could be a Duke of Hell."

You want to say that's not tempting, but so help you, it is. Technically, you fell high in the ranks of Heaven, but not in the way they're offering. Seraphim think, not lead; that's an Archangel's job. God trusted you with higher cosmic knowledge, but what else did she ever give you but commands?

Images flash through your mind: more red silk, jewels and pins, comfortable sofas, ignoring your paperwork. Darkness, depravity, hedonism. The kinds of sin that make your body go hot just thinking of it. Giving the orders instead of only taking them. Wine. Music. Velvet.

Suddenly, you become very aware of the stockings hidden in your sleeve, take another laptop to the face, and frantically shove your visions of grandeur back into the box labeled 'SIN: DO NOT OPEN.' You have to get out of here. You're being corrupted already, and worse, you're starting to like it. God forgive you, you're starting to like it.

But where else is there to go? If you say no, you're getting fed to something, probably over and over for all eternity. And short of an intervention from God herself, you're not getting out of hell entirely.

"So. What'll it be?" Beelzebub drops your hands, then reextends one of theirs, inviting.

Those hands have only been kind so far. Every touch from them has been to help you, to heal you. You want their touch again, that feeling of another that's so rare to find in heaven, their hand on your face, in your hair. You want them to want you.

You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

You slide your hand into theirs.

They smile.

[natblue0]

Crossroads

(Before anyone worries, I'm still doing fine right now. These are merely the thoughts I had as I was drawing this.)

Again and again I find myself at these crossroads. Deep down I want to be angry at the world, angry at the things going on around me. I see it almost regularly: good people being threatened, forced into bad situations, taken advantage of, and even injured or killed. The reasons are even more messed up: Because they look different, act different, have different beliefs and values, and for the mere act of existence outside of a set of 'norms' that can and will challenge someone's worldview. I want to understand why people act like this, why they would turn on their fellow human beings for the most trivial of reasons. As far as I was raised, many issues were never fully about picking A or B. We are far more complicated than we think, and so are most situations. But to many of us, it's much easier to point fingers, shift blame, and put down a person or set of people purely for being different. Nowadays, some people believe that the mere mention or show of empathy is a sign of weakness. But from my own experiences... it is a fail-safe.

Because I know the moment I throw away my empathy, I will have thrown away my humanity. If I start caring less for those around me, and seek only personal gain in return, I will become as hollow as a dead tree. And to be honest, I truly fear that day if it happens. My personality, my beliefs, and yes, my empathy and my humanity, all make me who I am today. I know there will be those out there that will tell me that I'm setting myself up to be walked all over. Being kind or empathetic doesn't mean I can't or won't set boundaries. In truth, I never want to. But the moment someone starts causing trouble for me and those around me, even I have my limits. To me, anyone who would take advantage of others for the sake of personal gain and with no regard to those around them simply show their true colors, outing themselves as a result. A simple mistake is one thing, but to do it continuously over and over again over a short period, emboldened because I think you deserve a second chance, only makes me believe you learned nothing and aren't interested in learning at all.

And every time I see it, Every time I experience it, I find myself at these crossroads again. Sometimes, I know which way to go, with no regrets or reservations. But there are moments where I arrive at these roads when I'm on the verge of giving up, when just I feel completely disconnected from everything, and when I just feel invisible to most people. Half of me sometimes wants to get revenge, to prove to all of those who told me I wouldn't make it in the world at different points in my life that I can and will find my own path. I know now that even if I do the things they told my I couldn't, they'll just move the goalpost again, completely waving me off. People hate for the sake of hating. For the sake of self-preservation either for their lifestyles or their pride and ego. And again, because it's easier to blame someone then to look into a mirror.

And so, I have to remind myself regularly to stay the course. I deserve to live my life as peacefully and happily as I can get it to be. There will always be hardships, of course, but it's no excuse to give in to hate. It's no excuse to ruin another person's life for your own happiness. My story will always be different from yours, as will the paths we take.

At the end of the day we all take our own paths through life, our meetings and farewells mere crossroads in the path we follow. Friends and family that support you will gladly walk this path alongside you, but sooner or later as life changes, some of them will break off of it. Whether it's because they can no longer follow it, or something forces them off of it. We are only seeing the cover and a few pages of a person's story, and if any of us were ever to take a deep dive into it like a real book, we may begin to understand what and why they were brought to this moment in their journey. Many people fear that, and just as many people want to understand and connect.

We all follow our own paths, and although we cross each other regularly, only you can dictate how the journey ends. That is why I try to remain on the right path, hard as it might be at times.

[recurring-polynya]

Writing/Art Update 1.30.2024

Good news! I have finished Chapter 7, including the parts of Chapter 7 that is now in Chapter 8. I mentioned last week that Chapter 7 was running really long with 3 scenes left to go, and I wasn't sure if I was just going to let it get really, really long, or if I was going to shunt those scenes into Chapter 8. In the end, I did both--I moved the longest of the three scenes to Ch 8, and kept the other two in Chapter 7. I had it in my mind that this would ruin the pacing, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed Fine, Actually, and I think it is.

Finishing "all the stuff allotted for Chapter 7" was kind of a big milestone for me, so I celebrated by...editing Chapters 5 and 6 and sending them to my beta. The editing was a bit of a bigger project than I expected--I had run into a couple of places where I wrote things out of order, and I ended up with "well, does this character know about X or not?" problems that I had to resolve. Anyway, I got a very positive review, so that's exciting!

What's next? Well, the second scene of Chapter 8 was already written, although it had more integration problems, so I cleaned those up and got it into place. That puts Chapter 8 at about 5k words right now (I'm always aiming for 8-9). I've got one more, fairly hefty scene on the outline, so that should fit just about right.

My plan was to try and finish Chapter 8 and then skip ahead and try to write the end. Usually, for fanfics like this, I have a very clear end in mind, and I honestly did not for this one. A while ago, I sat down and came up with one, but I'm not all that sure if it's gonna take up a whole chapter, or if I'm gonna have to pad it a little. I figure that once I have the end in place, it will be easier to fill in the canyon between what I've got and where I've got to go. Right now, the outline gives me one chapter to do that. I feel in my heart like it's more realistically two. I am not excluding the possibility I might get carried away and need three (geez I hope not tho). I've had a little trouble getting started on that last scene of Ch 8 tho-- I'm gonna give it another day or two, and if I can't get some juice on it, I might just skip ahead to the end and come back to it later.

Word count: Part B is now 34,983, for a total of 71,862 (+7265 from last week, although about half of that was already written, so let's call it a 3600 word week).

I also spent a lot of this week drawing. It's a Kuchiki sibs piece for both their birthdays. It was very hard and I won't say I'm happy with it, but I fanart-failed the last two things I tried to do, so I'm just pushing forward. I want to have something to show for January. I've finished up the linework and the flat colors, but it still needs shading and I need to half-ass a background of some sort. I hope I'll be able to do all that in time to post it tomorrow. This is also the phase of the project where it looks the least good, and the part that comes next is where it rapidly starts to look a lot better. I also need to do A Special Effect, and I think I'm going to have to look up a tutorial, because my usual brush-mashing was not turning out to be fruitful. We'll just have to see, I guess.

[rwprincess]

Blinded Me With Science (Part 5)

Masterlist

Previous

Word Count: 1.2k

Synopsis: Teasing toes the line into flirting; You and Fred have an argument about Dungeons and Dragons

CW: mild language, flustered nerd flirting, talk of germs

“I can’t believe you’d even entertain the thought of playing a game with so much math again. Traitor.” Fred spit his joke at you as you collaborated on your article regarding germs-by-class. You made the unfortunate mistake of bringing up The Hellfire Club’s generous contribution and all you observed that night.

“I’ve told you before, I can do addition and subtraction,” you rolled your eyes at his accusation. “Besides, that guy..uh, Gareth, was there to help me figure out what number to put where.”

“Oh yes. Can’t forget about Gareth,” he said in a sardonic tone.

“What is that even supposed to mean?” You asked, completely oblivious to what he could be getting at.

“Nothing.” He said with a slight smirk but when you continued looking at him with confusion, he dropped his shoulders and tried to push it aside. “Really. Nevermind.”

You wrestled with asking a follow up or demanding to know, as he had somewhat piqued your curiosity. However, you also knew that Fred was stubborn and probably wouldn’t crack easily, so maybe it was best to just let it go. “Anyway…” you tried to pivot the subject back to what you were initially talking about, “the results are in from the experiment.”

“And?”

“The hypothesis wasn’t right on the money, but the freshmen definitely had the dirtiest--most scientifically bacteria-filled, I should say--hands.”

“Well of course,” Fred snorted back, “not much surprise there, right? That’s why it was the hypothesis. It’s the obvious conclusion from observing the unwashed masses.”

You pursed your lips, trying not to give in and smile at his jab. You were still trying to act as professional as possible. You had assured him that you would approach this without judgment, as a scientist, when he was worried about contributing his own sample. You couldn’t go back on that and ruin the facade now. “Right. But, surprisingly, age did not equal maturity and the seniors were in second place.”

“So you’re telling me that it’s the little kids and Eddie Munson and his cohorts? Color me shocked.” He barely raised an eyebrow in response, flatly and sardonically taking another jab.

“Fine. Fine! Yes, you could draw those conclusions from this study, but remember: it’s a small sample size, so it doesn’t really justify your bias.”

“Me? Biased? Whatever gave you that idea?” He asked, playfully, so you responded in kind.

“Oh, just your strong opinions about, y’know, everything.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that those ‘opinions’ come from hefty research.”

“Oh, do they now?”

“Yes,” he insisted and you were more amused with his straight-laced demeanor, knowing he didn’t particularly mean it, “they’re not just some baseless ideas I come up with on my own. They’re logical deductions from facts and data. What do you take me for?”

“Me, apparently. God, I’m rubbing off on you. ‘Facts and data,’” you quoted him with a scoff.

“And what would be so bad about that?” He asked, “To have you rub off on me.”

You hadn’t noticed how incredibly close he was standing until now. The playful banter had made you unaware, and now you were mere inches apart. The realization flustered you and you almost automatically leaped back, out of self-preservation. Instead, you tried to play it cool and took a slight step away from him, nervous to alert him to how he truly made you feel. “Yeah, I guess…I mean, I don’t know,” you muttered a half-baked answer to his rhetorical question, then quickly covered it up with, “If we start talking about data, we might actually begin valuing numbers and then that is a slippery slope to liking math, I bet. Can’t have that,” you joked.

“No, can’t have that,” he said, and his agreement put you more at ease, thinking that the awkwardness had passed and that you could move on to something else. But then he looked at you strangely, an emotion you couldn’t read flashed behind his eyes as they lingered on you just a bit too long.

*~~~*

Despite Fred’s ribbing, you agreed to another session of Dungeons and Dragons, or ‘D&D,’ as Eddie insisted was the ‘cool’ way to refer to it. “You can come along again, if you want,” you posited to him when he mildly objected to you going again a couple weeks after your initial game.

“I know I said anytime you wanted to scope out a Satanic cult, Y/N but c’mon, you can’t be serious. It doesn’t have that much appeal.”

“You only think that because you didn’t actually play, Mr. ‘Conscientious Observer.’ Maybe if you take off your little reporter’s cap and join us, you might have a little fun.”

“Good lord, Y/N. Whatever made you think I was interested in fun?” He gave you that signature deadpan look you’d become accustomed to and secretly favored.

“Fine,” you shrugged, “I don’t mind going by myself.”

“Or…” he drew out the one-syllable word far longer than it needed to be, “you could just not go.”

“I’m not really doing anything better.” 

“We could, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, study for math. That would be better.” 

You raised your hand to his forehead with fake alarm, “Are you ill? I can’t believe Fred Benson of all people would say such a thing. I’m not so sure you’re my Fred.”

‘My Fred’ echoed in his head and caused a dull ache in his chest. He wanted to be nothing more, and hearing you say that out loud made him weak in the knees. He lost himself for a moment and then, in an effort to save face and pull himself back to reality, swatted your hand away. “That’s my point. That’s just how bad this is and how much I wouldn’t want to go.”

“Oh my gosh, then don’t!” You had become exasperated at this point. You had offered to have him join because you liked his company, but didn’t need him to go, and he was putting up one hell of a fight. “They were all plenty nice last time. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

That jogged his memory, causing him to relive the way Gareth looked at you and talked to you. Maybe he needed to insert himself as a barrier after all. But he couldn’t look like he was worried about that, so he pretended to acquiesce to you instead. “Jeez, if you’re gonna get all bent out of shape and mad about it, I guess I could come. If it means that much to you.”

“It doesn’t. You’re free to do whatever you want. I don’t want to put you out and make you bored.” You weren’t sure what he could possibly want at this point and he was hurt that you were willing to go without him,that you could just forget about him that easily.

“I…ugh, I’ll think about it,” he finally offered. He felt like this was a compromise: he could save face and appease you at the same time. You, however, worried about trapping him somewhere he didn’t want to be; but the argument was over, for now.

Tags (aka Fred-lovers)

@wowthisisastupidblog @kendallmm @its-the-autism-innit-luv @yeaimchloe @waiting-to-stop-fixating @pineaplesoooodaaaaa @toastnfrostedflakes @jade-04 @executethyself35 @losersclub848 @rem-e-jea @teeth-boy @anxious-runes @bighe4rtt

@antique-whiskey @frog-cultist @wormrw @sincerely-a-terry-apologist @xxblossombunnyxx @chipycookie @carnivalsofsilverfish @itcomesback @yhs-headcannons @velvet-ames @silkcherubs @guilloween @drizzlingminds

@slut4boomerang @schoolrumor @firey-phoenixs @foggypkryptonite @evanpetersissohot

@trashfireambrose @goldstarsoup 

~If you’d like to be on the Fred Benson taglist, let me know with a comment or an ask/direct message! (Same if I’ve falsely tagged you and you’d like to be removed)~

[void-wolfie]

Hiiiii me again mom ☺️

🧡 what is your sexuality?

🖤 favorite hobbies outside of your blog

💜 describe yourself in five words or less!

🧟‍♀️ scariest thing that’s happened to you

🍊 favorite season?

🍒 what is your earliest memory

🖇️ what are your favorite asks to answer

Please feel better! ❤️

heyyy kiddo!! 😊

🧡 - sexuality?

I go by queer or bi!

but in total honesty, I'm still figuring it out as I go lol

🖤 - hobbies?

I technically already answered this one, so here's just the answer from earlier lol

gaming and drawing, I'm not very good at either but who says you have to be good at your hobbies lol

i generally game by myself since most of my friends like first person shooters and those might just be my least favorite lol, and when it comes to drawing I usually just trace stuff and then put my own twist on it

💜 - describe yourself in 5 words?

funny, charming, introverted, resourceful, cunning?

(might've stolen the last two from my Hogwarts house description but it's fine lol... I ran out of adjectives that fit, don't judge me 😂)

🧟‍♀️ - scariest thing that I've experienced?

a while back, right around the time where my friends I started getting cars and driving, I was in a car accident with some friends

everyone was alright, no one was hurt (physically) but it's still one of the scariest memories I have

one second everything was... well I wouldn't say alright since I literally got dumped by my ex that morning and was miserable... but one minute we were all fine, and then next thing I know the car in front of us was stopped, every single airbag in the car had gone off and there were all kinds of gases and stuff filling the car... pretty scary

I didn't realize this till after when the firefighters were pulling our belongings from the car, but apparently we hit the car in front of us so fast my glasses flew off my face and I didn't even realize 😂

everyone was ok though, so it's alright, some slight ptsd but nothing too serious 😂

🍊 - favorite season?

either fall or winter, but I think fall wins

the color changes, the orange leaves (not that we get any where I live lol), it's not too hot or too cold, the holidays that come with it, love it all lol

🍒 - earliest memory?

my family and I used to live in this house, and I guess they wanted to redo the flooring, and my bedroom at the time has carpet

so my parents, tore out the carpet and cleaned the floors, and let their crazy, chaotic, creative 5 year old, paint and draw all over the concrete flooring 😂

I got to paint and draw and do whatever and my parents never had to worry about me ruining fancy flooring, it was a win win for everyone 😂

🖇️ - favorite asks to answer?

literally all of them!

despite being a raging introvert, I love people and I like hearing what you guys have to say!

funny, kind, unhinged, serious, I don't care, ask whatever you guys want (just please be respectful about it lol)

thanks for the asks kiddo! and go back to sleep, it's late where you are 😂

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Before I Go

Chapter One

AO3 Link

Chapter Two:

Remus tells Janus what he did the next morning while Janus is making them breakfast.  Janus does not seem happy about it.

“Roman,” he says flatly.  “Your brother.  The one who stood by while your parents kicked you out of house and home.  That Roman.”

“Yes, Janus, that Roman,” Remus says, sketching another line on the drawing he’s doing of Janus’ very attractive ass.  “He’ll be here later this week.”

“And I don’t get a say in this?” Janus asks, turning around and putting his hands on hips.

“Nope, I’m dying.”

“You can’t use that as an excuse every time!”

Remus raises an eyebrow.  “‘I’m dying so let me try and fix things with my brother one last time’ isn’t an understandable want?”

Janus growls something under his breath, but turns and starts moving the scrambled eggs around the pan again.

Remus casts his eyes downwards again and picks up the pencil, but Janus turns back around before he can really get proper inspiration.

“I don’t want him to ruin everything,” Janus says through gritted teeth.  “You have half a year left at the most, I want it to be good.”

Remus gives Janus a soft smile, then stands and walks around the kitchen island and wraps his arms around him.  “It will be,” he murmurs.  “You’ll be in it.”

Janus sighs in exasperation, though it’s clearly wet and shaky.  “Dammit Remus, that’s not fair,” he says weakly.  “You know I can’t deny you anything when you get all sappy on me.”

Remus turns and kisses Janus on the ear.  “All the more reason for me not to stop,” he purrs.

“Let go of me,” Janus says.  “The eggs are going to burn.”

“An acceptable casualty,” Remus says, letting his hands wander lower, purely so he can get some more inspiration for his drawing, of course.

“Mm, Remus, seriously,” Janus says, though he certainly sounds very averse to Remus letting him go.

Unfortunately, a second later the sound of sizzling on the stove starts to get louder, and Janus actually pries himself from Remus’ arms and turns to move the eggs around again.

Remus pouts, moving to lean over on the counter next to him.  “Meanie.”

“This meanie doesn’t want you to starve,” Janus says, giving him a look.  “Go sit down, the eggs are almost done.”

Remus blows a raspberry that turns into a couple coughs, but he just waves off Janus’ concerned look and moves to sit back at his seat, picking up his pencil and starting to draw again.  He’s just finished with the last of the sketch when Janus sets a plate of scrambled eggs down in front of him.

“You really want to do this,” Janus asks quietly, sitting down opposite Remus with his own plate.  “Even if it blows up in your face?”

“Especially then!” Remus says with a bright smile.  “What better way than to go out with a bang?”

Janus reaches over and puts his hand on top of Remus,’ then shifts their hands around until they’re clasped together.  He gets that sad look in his eyes when he’s thinking about something he doesn’t want to say, then lifts Remus’ hands to his lips and presses a kiss to it.  “Okay,” he murmurs.  “Then I’m here, Remus.”  He looks up, a sudden dangerous look in his eyes.  “But the second he tries something—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Remus says, lifting Janus’ hand to kiss it back.  “You can stick your teeth in ‘im.”

“I’ll do more than that,” Janus says lowly.

“I hear you,” Remus says, giving him a fond smile.  He lowers their clasped hands onto the table and takes a bite of egg with his other, and the two of them lapse into silence as they start to eat.

…

It’s a couple days later when Roman arrives.  Janus has positioned himself in between Remus and the doorway for most of the day, and Remus has pretended not to notice.  Just after lunch, Remus is hanging his picture of Janus’ ass, which he has colored and shaded and framed.  It’s going to hang above the coffee table for as long as Janus wants, after.

Remus finishes hanging it, climbs down from the coffee table and steps back slightly, looks at it and tries to be satisfied.  He isn’t.

Janus steps closer and smiles up at the drawing anyway.  “It’s very you,” he says, sounding slightly exasperated.

Remus huffs, crossing his arms.

“What?” Janus asks, turning to look at him.

“It’s… hmm,” Remus says, moving to sit back on the couch.

“Remus, I like it,” Janus says, moving to sit next to him, still in between Remus and the door.  “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Remus grumbles, crossing his arms.  “It’s… it’s fine.  It’s just not right.  I’ll just have to make another one until I get it right.”

“Remus,” Janus says, giving him a look.  “That’s like the fifth time you’ve said that.”

“I haven’t gotten it right yet,” Remus says.  “I’ll say it until I get it right.”

“And when exactly will that be?” Janus asks, crossing his arms.

“I don’t know,” Remus says, rolling his eyes.  “I’ll know when it happens.”

“Remus—”

A knock on the door interrupts them both, and they turn, going quiet.  They don’t get a ton of visitors since Virgil stopped coming, and this is the day Roman is supposed to arrive.

Sure enough, a second later he calls out, “Remus?  Are you there?”

Janus stands before Remus can make a move, and walks across the living room to the door.  He pulls it open, and Roman blinks, startled.

“Uh, hi,” Roman says.  “Do I have the wrong apartment?  I’m looking for—”

“Yo!” Remus calls, and Roman’s gaze shifts from Janus across the room to Remus, who is now laying over the back of the couch in an attempt to appear as casual as possible.

Roman’s gaze falls slightly in relief, before scrunching up again in confusion.  “But then who—” he starts, turning back to Janus.

Remus snickers, practically feeling Janus’ annoyance and exasperation.  “For fucks sake,” Janus mutters, turning to stalk back across the living room.

“We’re really close roommates,” Remus calls with a grin over at Roman, right as Janus sits down on the couch and slides up to Remus’ side.  He slips under Remus’ arm and looks pointedly back at Roman.

Roman at least has the decency to look a little sheepish.  “I… thought you would be alone,” he says.  He drags two suitcases in the door and sets them to the side before shutting it after him.

“Ah yes, the poor lonely gay,” Remus says, leaning against Janus.  “It’s so sad.  Isn’t it so sad, Janus?”

Janus gives Remus an unamused look, and Remus beams at him.

Roman doesn’t say anything, but he does look a little bewildered as he comes over to stand in front of the couch.

Remus raises an eyebrow at him.  “Well?  Spit it out.”

“You… sounded very different,” Roman says.  “On the phone.”

“Ah yes, that was 3AM Remus who was exhausted and had just finished hacking his guts up,” Remus says, ignoring Roman’s flinch.  “Just because I still want you here doesn’t mean we’re playing by his rules.”

“You…” Roman says hesitantly.  “Aren’t you scared?”

“I’m fucking terrified,” Remus says plainly.  Janus goes still next to him, and Remus tightens his grip around him.

“Just like I was terrified to come out to our parents,” Remus continues to Roman.  “And just like I was terrified to live on the streets.  And just like I was terrified to ask Janus out.  Being terrified is not a new thing for me.  I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”

Roman doesn’t say anything to that.

“So,” Remus says, sitting up.  “Toss your shit in the guest room.  Tonight we’re going to a drag show.”

Roman goes pale immediately.

Janus chuckles in amusement, leaning more heavily against Remus.  “You know maybe this wasn’t such a terrible idea,” he muses.

“I—” Roman says hesitantly.  “I don’t know how comfortable I am with—”

“He’s dying,” Janus says with a smirk.  “Go put your shit in the guest room.”

Roman swallows, then heads off to grab his suitcases.  As soon as he disappears down the hallway, Remus turns to Janus.

“What happened to not using that as an excuse every time?” he asks.

“I’ve suddenly become more amicable to the idea,” Janus says.

Remus rolls his eyes and leans against Janus’ shoulder.

“Uh, guys?” Roman calls from down the hallway.  “There’s only two bedrooms.  Doesn’t Janus need one?”

Remus doubles over cackling, and he’s too amused to even care when it devolves into coughs.

…

The guest room was small and plain, and Roman hadn’t brought any decorations.

He set his suitcases over by the wall, but all that was in the guest room was a bed and a tiny desk, so it looked like Roman was going to be living out of his suitcases for a couple months.

He promised Clarissa he’d call when he got there, but now that he was there the idea honestly sounded so distasteful that he was seriously debating putting it off until tomorrow.

He could still hear Remus talking with Janus out in the living room.  Janus had apparently just said something amusing, because Roman could hear Remus’ cough-filled-laugher from here.

Janus was definitely not something Roman had expected.  But then, the times he had considered Remus in the past ten years, what had come to mind was Remus struggling to make it by on the streets or making a living in… less socially acceptable ways.  Living in a perfectly normal apartment with a… a boyfriend had never been on the mental table.

But then, neither had dying.

Remus’ phone call hadn’t helped either.  Nothing about how scared and lost he’d sounded had suggested he had a boyfriend to help him.  If he had Janus, why would he want Roman?  It’s not like the two of them were close.  He hadn’t expected to hear from Remus ever again.

Roman sat down on the bed, not liking the way that thought felt all of a sudden.

Maybe this would be good, then.  He was going to stay even if it wasn’t, for Remus’ sake, but maybe it would actually be good for him too.  He might actually get some kind of closure with his brother, which he’d needed for… he didn’t even know how long.

And yet you had to wait until he was dying to try for that closure, hissed a voice in his head.

Roman winced, dropping his head with a sigh.  Maybe, on the other hand, this would just fill him with guilt and make him miserable and Clarissa was right and right and he should have stayed home.

He looked towards his door, still easily able to hear Remus and Janus talking, light and almost carefree, except it couldn’t actually be carefree.

No, Clarissa wasn’t right.

Roman wasn’t sure he’d be ready for everything Remus would want them to do together, but Clarissa still wasn’t right.

And Roman was going to call her tomorrow.

...

Chapter Three