#I’m just going to torture myself trying to get them to treat me like a fuckinf person I need to man up and drop them

[thegreatestheaver]

uhghghfh I need to cut off someone in my life so bad but I just don’t know how to do it

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales 5

Summary: A celebration of Amarantha's victories in Illyria reveals just how bad the Empire has become.

Content Warnings: Blood and Descriptions of Injuries; Crucifixions and Mentions of Torture; Slavery

Pt 1, 2, 3, 4

--------

Sleep is elusive. I find myself staring at the ceiling, watching the cream colored walls change colors as the sun slowly begins to rise. 

I have to be the worst mate in history. Well, my Father murdered his mate, so maybe a close second. Even if Rhysand did reach into my head and use me to brand them, I’d still held that iron, hadn’t fought it like I should have. Now, I can’t even say I made it right by getting them the hell out of here! I’m now actively giving them ways to stay, not just in the Empire, or in the arena, but in the middle of a game with my Father they can’t possibly hope to win. I should have pressed the issue harder. I should have ignored their call and waited til morning when Anise had found passage out of here and hauled them onto the ship. I most definitely should not be calling for a tailor as soon as the sun is up to make sure they’re fitted for clothes for this stupid parade. 

I’m tempted to think Rhysand has found a way to make me do this for him, but I know he can’t reach me this far. The tether in my chest that links me to them feels strained from being so far away. It’s as if it’s a living thing beneath my skin that knows there’s too much distance between us. 

Anise worms her way back into my room as I dismiss the tailor and tell her to send the healer my way for a report on the injuries the Illyrians finally let her treat once I’d left their room last night. 

“I found what you were looking for,” she says as she shuts the door. I expected her to find an excuse not to do what I’d asked, especially after she’d given me the royal inquisition about what I’d been doing once I came back through the secret entrance last night. But her emerald gaze sweeps conspiratorially over my empty room, even as she hands me something that smells like a contraceptive tea.

I try to pass it off on my bedside table. “You know I don’t need this.”

“Drink,” she sits herself on the edge of my bed with a sigh. “Can’t have a boat disappearing into the Wastes while you grow with child.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Anise!”

She shrugs, “I suppose your Father would kill it anyway.”

“Get to the point, Anise.”

“Drink the tea first.”

To appease her, I pinch the bridge of my nose to avoid the awful smell and force the amber colored liquid down my throat. 

“There’s a merchant ship that takes the long way around the Wastes to reach the Human Lands. Passage can be acquired for a hefty fee.”

“Not a problem,” my stomach rises in my throat and I have to take a moment to let it settle before finishing the tea. 

“There is a matter of it only being available for another three days before it’s gone for six months.”

That complicates things. How am I supposed to convince them in the next three days that they need to be on that ship?

“Thank you for looking,” I pass the, now empty, cup back to her. “I will need you on standby. Hopefully, I can find a way to convince them to get on board before it’s too late.”

Anise chews on her wooden thumbnail. “There’s a rumor, around the house, that they’re insurrectionists, is that true?”

I push the curtain blocking the bathroom aside. I might as well change and prepare for the parade now. If I give myself enough time, maybe I can slip back into the secret passage and strategize with my stubborn set of mates on how we handle today. I don’t like going into this blind, and I certainly don’t like having to be responsible for their well-being knowing that they’re just winging it. 

How have they managed to get this far?

“More or less,” I say as I slip my sleep clothes off my shoulders. I frown at my reflection in the mirror. Too thin. Too pale. I need to get back into training; I need to get some color back into my face. All my clothes hang a little too much off my shoulders. Mother would have never let me hear the end of it if she knew how long I’d wasted away in this house over her. She hated mourners. Hated having an excuse not to be on top of training, in every area of life. 

“And what-” Anise comes to stand in the doorway, frowning at the outfit I’ve chosen for the day. She snatches it out of my hands before I can put it on and comes back with something cobalt instead. “-do they have on you?”

“I don’t follow?”

“What are they using against you to get you to do this for them?” She fusses over the loose fabric, lining the seams up along my shoulders, tucking in loose bits of cloth here and there, slipping other strands through a golden belt around my waist. 

“You think they have some kind of leverage on me?”

“I think this is unlike you. I think you’ve been a shell of a person locked in a dark house for months and months and suddenly now you care about parties and parades and those gods-awful Games. It is strange. I think I should send for a Healer to look at your head.”

I let her fidget and fuss so she has something to take the edge off her anxiety. “I went to plenty of parties and parades… before…” I can’t bring myself to say it out loud. 

“You went for her, because she forced you too, this is different. You keep insisting there is nothing sexual happening, yet you drink the tea and sneak into their rooms and won’t tell me what’s going on.”

I turn away from the mirror to look at her, reaching for her gnarled hands. “They’re good males, I just want to help them, is all. Father doesn’t exactly smile on simple favors.”

She huffs, “Your heart has always been bigger than your head.”

“I feel… kind of like I’ve been asleep for a long time and when I woke up I didn’t recognize who I was in the mirror. I’m just trying to find myself again.” It’s the closest to the truth as I can get. “I’m sorry that I’ve worried you.”

She frees herself from my grip to touch my cheek gently. “Just promise me that you will be careful. If anything were to happen to you…”

“I promise.”

She nods then takes my shoulders and spins me back to face the mirror. “Good, then let’s fix this awful hair of yours!”

Better to have her focusing on making me presentable than all the possible dangers we have to face just by leaving the room. I feel terrible, leaving her in the dark about it all, but I can’t tell her the truth, not yet. It is too soon; it leaves too much to chance. I still have hope that I can find a way by the end of the day to convince them to get on that boat and then she will never have to think about it again. The worst will be behind us.

--

I may have underestimated just how bad this was going to be.

For one thing, I didn’t anticipate Amarantha showing up at the front gates before I had a chance to slip into the Illyrians’ room. Let alone bring a whole entourage of slaves and guards, all painted in her colors and dressed for the parade. The sight of her in my sanctum makes me want to start hurling things at her head, but I manage to keep a poker face as she dismounts from her chariot, pulled by a white horse with a speckle of gray across its glossy coat. One of Father’s prized war horses; a gift from a battle years ago. 

“General, you honor me with this surprise visit,” the words taste like bile. Why is she here in my place of refuge? She’s never bothered to venture this far away from the Capitol before. 

She glances around warily, like something might pop out of the sprawling gardens and bite her. “I came to check on your progress.”

“How kind of you.” I intentionally don’t draw attention to the path that leads to the guest house. “Would you like some refreshments? You must be tired from your journey.” The last thing I need is her poking around. 

“No. We need to be on our way. I assumed you’d need help leading your new pets out.”

“Not at all. I have everything under control.” Bitch.

She grins but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Good, then let’s get moving, shall we? Don’t want to keep your Father waiting.”

This is all happening a lot faster than I anticipated, but I will have to make the most of it. Her being here means they were right last night, I really had thrown Father off his game. Now he’s trying to compensate by sending her to feel out how I’ve managed this far. I keep my shoulders back as I tell one of the guards to bring the males out. I must remain in control. 

I must keep my well-trained mask of courtly manners in place.

That’s a lot harder when the second curveball of the day comes hurling my way: I’d sent my tailor with an order to find my mates suitable pants, boots, and tunics. We weren’t going to have the time for anything fancy. With a few more hours I might have been able to find armor suitable for a Gladiator to wear out in public. A moot point one way or the other, because they wouldn’t have worn it. Not one of them is wearing the outfit I selected. In fact, I’d barely call the swatch of fabric adorning their bronze skin clothing. It’s closer to a toga, one half of the beige fabric pinned over their left shoulders, draping down in gentle waves down their waists, where it eventually falls to their upper thighs, one side slit nearly all the way open. It leaves half their tattooed chests bare, the swirls of tattoos on stark display. There’s so much open across Rhysand’s ensemble that I can very clearly see the curvature of his ass if he’s standing in any direction that’s not looking at me directly. 

It is an effort to keep my jaw off the floor. What the fuck are they doing?

I don’t know if the guards attached leashes to the gorsian collars around their throats or if they did that themselves; at this point, it wouldn’t surprise me.

“I’ve underestimated you, Highness,” Amarantha says.

The words might as well have been spoken by a fly, they don’t even register. I can’t stop staring at them, at the miles of bare skin and muscle on display. Ember did a good job putting them back together last night, the bruises fading, the smaller cuts and scrapes nothing more than a swatch of fresh skin. Rhysand’s arm is still bandaged, as are Azriel’s wings, but they do not drape on the floor today. They all stand ready, heads high. The posture feels like a challenge; they should be defeated, they lost the battle, they’re chained here to me, but they don’t look it. They command the space around them.

I feel a flash of pride when I look at them. Even with all my training, I’d never be able to be this confident. Despite all their losses, they haven’t given up.

“I might have to challenge your claim on them,” Amarantha says, her gaze lingering too long on Rhysand for my liking.

Something ugly and possessive rears its head inside me and all I see is red. My hands ball into fists at my sides as my powers flare in my palms. Keep it together! Keep it together!

“And miss the parade in your honor?” I say as sweetly as I can. “My Father would be so disappointed.”

She sneers at me, perfectly white teeth flashing, “Wouldn’t be much of a challenge for me, would it, Highness?”

I’ve never shown anyone the full extent of what I’m capable of; it would be too dangerous to unleash that much power on the world. It won’t do me any good now to try and boast about what I keep hidden beneath my skin. “You’ve done enough fighting, save the challenges for your Attor.”

She huffs as she climbs back into her golden chariot. 

It’s not really a victory, but it is the best I can hope for. Time will be the only thing keeping her in check today. If it wasn’t for the parade, she might be tempted to keep pushing the issue, and as much as I’d love an opportunity to shove a blast of obsidian power through her chest, I have bigger issues to deal with. I can’t let her get in the way of the plan. 

My mates watch the exchange closely. Azriel hovers a little closer than someone supposed to be shackled to me should. His shadows are missing. Hidden somewhere, maybe behind his wings to avoid detection, or the sunlight, but the intensity in his gaze reminds me that there isn’t anything happening he isn’t aware of. 

Rhysand gives me the subtlest of nods as the stable boy brings my own horse out. Anise must have sent them for me; she’s undoubtedly watching from the window. I have never been more keenly aware of how many sets of eyes are watching my every move, which is saying something, considering I’ve never left this house without a squadron of guards or some form of chaperone. Every breath I take feels like it’s being monitored, which is unfortunate, because the next issue of the day becomes the moment I realize the guards left with the wagon yesterday and I don’t have any other horses. How am I supposed to get them all the way across the Capitol?

I’m out of my element. It’s one thing to freeze in front of some guards who don’t know me well enough to see the panic in my eyes, it’s entirely another to in front of Amarantha, who can smell fear like a fucking bloodhound. She won’t stop grinning at me either, like she’s a cat watching a mouse creep slowly up to a baited trap. We’ve just started this, I can’t already fail!

The invisible force that is Rhysand slips right into my mind again as panic freezes me in place. My body moves for me, tethering the leashes in my hand to the saddle of my horse. 

Amarantha’s grin falters.

I am not making my mates walk behind me the entire time! This, somehow, feels worse than the brand!

 But I can’t fight his grip on me. My shields were low enough, I’d forgotten to enforce them, he’d slipped right in and taken control just like he had yesterday. I can’t do this!

“You can,” that silky smooth voice is like a caress against the inside of my skull as he moves me into the saddle of my horse. 

I can feel Cassian’s glare between my shoulderblades, as if he’s imagining exactly where he’d drive his sword. The tether that links us feels even more frayed than it had yesterday, as if someone is taking a knife and swaying it away fiber by fiber. Worse, that someone is me. 

Rhysand brushes a mental hand down my spine and my whole body trembles as if it had been physical. “It’s all right. You’re just doing what we asked you too.”

Amarantha starts moving, the grin now a full scowl. This is not at all how she thought this morning would go. I’m grateful she’s so distracted by the failure that she isn’t paying attention to the tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. This is beyond cruel and unfair!

“We’ve endured a lot worse than this,” he explains as he uses me to get my horse moving. 

The collars around their throat rattle as they get yanked along behind me and I think I might never get that godsdamned sound out of my head as long as I live.

“When we lost that battle in Illyria, they kept all of my soldiers chained together, naked and bleeding in the snow. They made them watch as they burned our cities to the ground, with their families locked inside the Temple.”

Revulsion rolls its way through my stomach, as I flick my gaze to Amarantha; she’s always been a monster, she’s never bothered to hide it, but I’d never known the gory details. Father praised her for doing whatever was necessary to win, I knew that involved a lot of shed blood, but I’d never seen the true cost of her victories.

Maybe I’d never wanted to see. It had been easier to just keep my head down and accept that this was how the world I lived in worked. I’d been too terrified of what might happen if I challenged it; hell, I’d been too terrified of what would happen to even look at it. It had always been easier to turn and hide from it, withdrawing into myself where the monsters couldn’t reach me. How many people have I hurt by turning a blind eye?

“Amarantha made Cassian pick which of his men would live. Five out of every group of ten to be taken as slaves. The other five to be crucified. She did it in waves, five for every city we stopped at for supplies. Five to be a warning to the other Courts. Until we came to the Arena; then the question became which of us would fight and die. He chose us, so that, at least, the rest of his men may find a chance to escape.”

Rhysand won’t loosen his grip on me enough to let me turn in the saddle to look at them. He probably thinks I’ll lose my nerve if I do. My chest aches for them and what they’ve had to endure on the way here.

“If you hadn’t stepped in yesterday, Hybern would have killed Cassian and Azriel.”

“But not you?” His hold on me is not so strong that I can’t, at the very least, talk back to him. The connection soon becomes soothing, instead of like fighting against adamant. As time goes on, I can begin to feel the distinction in the tethers that link our souls. While they are still thin, and tangled in the heart of it, there is a glittering, starlight lined piece that leads me to him, and the connection feels like it builds on top of itself little by little as we go. Maybe the bond is not, totally, unsalvageable.

“I caught a glimpse in Hybern’s head. He was too far away for a good look, but I saw enough. At least for a little while, he wants me alive. I don’t know why. I assume to make a bigger display of my failure than Amarantha has already made, but I can’t be sure. I think that he might have let me live yesterday and killed them as punishment for speaking out. Judging by the way Amarantha’s acting today, I think that she expected to get me as a prize afterwards.”

My teeth clench involuntarily at the thought.

“I know that what I’ve asked of you is uncomfortable. It will be a hard role to play, but it is not without advantages.” Despite Cassian’s misgivings during their argument last night, him and Azriel had seemed to be in agreement that they needed me for this. If I cannot spare them entirely from pain, at least I can keep them out of Amarantha’s claws. A tiny victory, but still a victory. 

The road ahead of us is long, physically speaking the trek into the city is several miles, and figuratively because there’s a lot of hoops to jump through and masks to wear and angles to work. This will not be an overnight endeavor. That ship with their freedom quickly feels like its slipping out of my reach. 

“But are there not advantages to leaving while you have the chance?” There is nothing but a long, winding road lined with hills of rolling wheat between us and the outskirts of the city, I might as well make my attempt now.

“Not if it means abandoning my people.”

Stubborn male. 

“This will be your Empire one day, do you not feel responsible for the people within it?”

As the sun continues to climb, so does the temperature. Sweat begins to bead its way across my hairline.

“It will not be my Empire,” I counter; especially considering what I had bargained to ensure their freedom. “My Father doesn’t think I know it, but he added a clause to his will that states, in the event of his death, my husband will take the throne.”

Through the mental connection, I feel him stiffen behind me.

And maybe because I’m desperate for any possible chance to push them towards that ship, I add, “And make no mistake, my Father has already chosen which male to pawn me off to.”

Anger flashes its way across the bond. A sign, I should think, that he at least knows there’s something there. 

“He would leave you no choice?”

The question is laughable. For all the terrible things my Father has done, he truly thinks he’d still care about my consent in any aspect of my life? “He pretended for a while that I did, but his displeasure was always made clear. Not that it matters, now. I’ve already agreed to marry whoever he wishes.”

A growl works its way down the bond between us. “Why?”

“Did you think he would spare your lives for free?” A low blow and I know it, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how Cassian had called me a spoiled little princess who’d never felt the effects of this Empire. My suffering has been nothing compared to theirs. No life time could ever compensate for that kind of torture. There is no contest here. But I am not immune to my Father’s whims either and I need them to understand that this is not the better option. They need to be on that ship. And if they feel the bond at all, if there is any push to be near me, I need to use it to get them to see how dangerous it is to be around me. I can shield them a little bit. I can stand between Amarantha. I can stay my Father’s hand on occasion. But it will not last. Nothing lasts long against them. 

Rhysand is silent for a long time. Long enough that I feel his grip on me slip away, allowing me to turn my head and watch the three of them. They’re keeping pace easy enough, even with the bandage around Cassian’s thigh and the added weight of the bandages around Azriel’s wings. But it’s their eyes that catch my attention: Glazed over like they’re not seeing me at all. I’ve seen that look before, when the twins reach into someone’s head. The collar must limit his ability to reach out to more than one person at the time. He’s withdrawn to speak with them instead.

I keep my shields down, waiting for him to come back, praying to the Mother that it worked, that they’re at least, reconsidering this foolhardy notion of theirs. 

Amarantha’s men must have cleared the streets on their way down here, usually, the twisting pathways of hard packed earth are crowded with carts and beasts of burden as they tend to the budding wheat stalks, but there are none. It is a strange silence, there are usually workers singing in between the rows as they weed and water and remove pests from the grounds. No birds sing. It’s as if the whole area knows a red-headed predator walks among them.

I find myself studying her, careful not to let the rage I feel at the thought of what she’d done to my mate’s rises back to the surface. Silence has always been dangerous for me, it gives me too long to think. And right now, all I can think about is how easy it would be to blast her in the back of the head with the dark ether that prowls beneath my skin. One of her slaves carries her helmet, the dark horse hair plume billowing in the warm summer breeze. None of her guards rides close enough to block the blow. Sure they’ll be an issue afterwards, but they won’t be able to save her.  She’d be nothing more than a blood stain in the rode.

And then what? What would it help? It can’t erase what she’s already done to them. Even if I could take out the guards and we all made a break for that ship, Father would never let it go. He’d blame them, probably lie to the people and say I’d been kidnapped or brainwashed into doing it, and then he and everyone in the Empire would hunt us down until we were dragged back or killed. They’d never have any rest. No, I need to get them to get that ship and I need to find a way to make sure that no one comes looking. 

My head hurts. This is a lot more complicated than I thought it would be. There’s a lot more pieces to play than just moving them onto a ship. I resist the urge to rub my temples. How could someone’s life become so incredibly complex in less than 24 hours? 

Rhysand finally returns, his arrival a brush of night kissed shadow that contrasts the summer heat. “Why did you agree to help us?” His voice sounds farther away, it must be a tremendous effort to keep this up for so long around that collar.

“Because I didn’t want to be like him.” That is as close to the truth as I will allow myself to admit to anyone. 

His mental hand brushes down my spine, caressing, soothing. I close my eyes for the briefest of moments to savor it. I should not let myself indulge it. I should push it away before he has time to understand why it means so much, but I can’t. I really am a broken, selfish thing, but I can’t push him away like I should.

“Has he given you a time frame for the marriage?”

“No, but I’m sure he will soon.”

As we crest a hill, the walled edges of the capitol finally come into view, Father’s crimson banner billowing from the parapets. As we draw closer, I can start to see another banner hanging from the great, stone walls: Amarantha’s familial crest, emblazoned on a black banner, the great beast in the center, edged in crimson. The shape of the crest always bothered me. The edges were never smooth and even, like someone had put too much ink on the pen, letting it bleed. Maybe that was the point. Amarantha’s whole family line had clawed its way to power by shedding someone else’s blood. 

It’s jarring to see her banner hang next to my Father’s. No one has that kind of power in the Empire. Not even my Mother had the sway to earn a banner in her name, no matter the exploits she’d brought within the Capitol’s walls.

My stomach twists. 

“Then we may need to rush our plans a little.”

I pretend to fiddle with something in the saddle so I can look back at him. Sweat drips down his forehead, trailing lines down his exposed chest. There is nothing short of sheer determination etched into every line of his face.

Beside him, Azriel keeps pace, shadows peeking out from behind his wings in agitated waves. A look that would be intimidating on its own, but only worsened by the promise of violence in his eyes.

So much for making the ship.

“Don’t be rash and do something stupid,” I retort, as the sound of trumpets draws my attention off of them. There’s a cluster of horses and people waiting up ahead. As we draw nearer, I can start to make out the familiar faces of Father’s Praetorian Guards. Then Brannagh and Dagdan, atop their auburn steeds, bought at a hefty price from the Autumn Court. And finally, in his own golden chariot, pulled by a prized war horse, a golden laurel wreath atop his salt and pepper hair, stands my Father.

I swallow the lump in my throat. 

“I mean it, Rhysand,” I snarl when he doesn’t answer me. “If you do something stupid now he’ll kill all of you. No pleading on my part will save you.” 

I’m suddenly not sitting on the horse anymore, the world around me spinning and twisting and the trumpets and horns starting to play along the roadside sound like execution bells. My stomach rises in my throat; heart echoing to an octave that sounds like beating drums. I can’t see them, I can’t see the parade of people assembling all I can see is my Mother in those awful, dull gray robes, stripped of all the finery she always adorned herself, walking right to the executioner's block in chains.

“Breathe.” I must have been holding my breath because the memory comes to a grinding halt before I can rewatch her head roll off her shoulders and Rhysand is back in my head, gently shaking the memory from my grip. 

“It’s over. You’re all right. Take another deep breath for me.”

My horse won’t stop moving and I swear my Father doesn’t blink the entire time he watches us approach. That slate gray gaze, so similar to my own, is empty and cold and it pierces through me like an ice pick. 

“We’re not doing anything today, remember? Just observing. We need to see what we’re up against.”

I have to fight every instinct not to turn and look at him. I need to keep my head up, I need to not look like I’m going to throw up all over the floor. I cannot ruin this. 

Father’s mood shifts when he turns his attention to Amarantha, and smiles. “General,” he calls out, the horde of people surrounding him parting so he can move to greet her. “I see you had no issues on your way here.”

“Dick,” Rhysand hisses as I sit there getting ignored. 

“Please, just stick to observing. I can’t…” I shake off the memory as best I can, embarrassed that I showed him in the first place. “I can’t lose anyone else.”

The bond flickers with understanding, a moment of shared grief passing between us. I don’t know what else he has lost, but the emotion that flits between us is enough to show me it’s not mere pity. “Don’t worry, there’s not going to be room to do anything in this crowd,” he assures. 

And he’s right, starting at the open gates is a whole crowd of people, all waving flags and streamers and cheering. The whole city is packed against the main road, held back by a thin barrier or red tinted magic. Every house in the Capitol has to be empty. Someone has thrown roses down onto the road, the perfume so strong I can smell it from here.

Behind us, more beings begin to arrive. I note some of Amarantha’s commanding officers and a few Senators. A couple of the Lords who have bent the knee and submitted to Father’s reign follow. 

Amarantha stands a little straighter as they approach, preening under all the attention. 

A steward with a very long scroll shuffles around in the chaos, trying to organize everybody into rows, his shrill voice echoing above the crowd with a little help from some lesser magic. Drummond has been in the service of the Empire since my great-grandfather was Emperor, he’s gotten pretty good at getting people to listen to him. 

We’re quickly organized into sections, with Father and Amarantha in the front and everyone following in line behind them by rank and station. There is a large gap in between where Father and Amarantha ride and where I sit with my mates, just ahead of the other nobility. My birthright keeps me close to the front, but the gap between me and them is noticeable. I am not a part of their inner circle, I’ve only ended up ahead of they’re favored elites because I have the face of the Illyrian rebellion chained to my horse. It is not as if I want to be close to them, in fact, the distance helps me breathe a little easier, but the space between my Father and I has never felt so visible. We are two ships on opposite sides of an ocean. Mother used to whisper, when she thought I couldn’t hear, that the Goddess had cursed him by giving him me. Not only was I not the son he’d prayed for, I was not even a daughter he could benefit from having. He’d tried to hide that from his closest confidants, it’s why he allowed the River House. It kept me close enough to not become a problem, and far enough away to hide his shame. It used to bother me, now I can’t help but wonder if perhaps there was a reason I’d never belonged here. Maybe the distance had given me the eyes I’d needed to see my mates for what they were. If I had been born different, if I had become someone like Brannagh or Amarantha, would I have ended up here?

My musings are interrupted by Dummond as he side-steps Cassian, giving the General a far wider berth than necessary as he looks back and forth between his scroll and us. “Hmmm, should be a enough room I suppose?” He mutters, pen furiously scratching in the margins of what looks to be a very well filled out list. 

Cassian’s wings suddenly unfurl behind him, as if he’s stretching his arms, the great, leathery membrane catching the early afternoon sun, as the spiked tip catches Dummond in the back of the head hard enough to make him drop the scroll.

The aging elf gives a yelp of surprise as he skitters after it like it’s made of gold. “Gods-damned Illyrian brute!” 

“Cass,” Rhysand warns as the guards shift in our direction.

“What? My wings were cramping,” Cassian counters, looking smug, even as he snaps his wings shut behind his large body. I could watch him do that all day. If I’d had the supplies, I’d attempt to paint the way the sunlight reflects the hints of red and blue, highlighting all the scars that map their way across his wings. How many battles do you have to fight to have scars like that?

Dummond scurries past us to intercept a caravan of wagons, keeping his precious scroll clutched tight to his chest this time. He’s always been a little skittish--who isn’t around my Father?--but today looks like it’s worn down his nerves. I can practically hear his knees shaking as he directs the wagons down the little path that converges on the mainroad. The closer it gets, the louder the sound of rattling chains becomes.

Grief consumes me, so hot and heavy the three of them might as well have screamed themselves hoarse down the bond simultaneously. It is an effort not to grasp at my chest, as if they’re pain is a physical wound I can hold in my hands. I don’t need to see what comes our way to know what it is, but their arrival plays out in slow motion ahead of us. The wagons are all built to be moveable cages, walls of gorsian stone bars holding in too many bodies to count. There’s a padlocked door at the back of each and when a guard swings it open, a jumble of winged bodies tumble outward. Chains clank and rattle and male after winged male gets shoved into even lines ahead of us. They’re all a mess of blood soaked bandages and dirt; the number of wings more twisted than Azriel’s had been is too high to number. Once a wagon is empty it is directed out of the way and another takes its place, just as full as the last. There has to be at least a hundred Illyrians, all shackled and beaten ahead of us.

Dummond stays a healthy distance from them, counting down the numbers on his list to ensure they’re all in place. Not that it would be necessary, none of them fight it. Most stand with their heads to their bare chests--gods above half of them are still naked! 

Rhysand has withdrawn himself from my head again, but I can still feel his pain down the bond just as well. These are his people, and he can’t save them from this.

Cassian’s pain soon turns sharp as a blade, rage pulsing down the bond. 

I wish I had the words to comfort them; the power to make this all stop, but I am as helpless as I always have been. No words will soothe this offense.

How could Father do this? 

Dummond carries on as if he is organizing cattle. The guards use the butts of their spears to keep any male that moves too far from the group back in line. Their force is excessive. The blow knocks the already beaten males into each other, causing a domino effect that brings a third of the Illyrians down into the dirt. I can’t make out the words, but I can hear the whimpers of pain; hear the coughing and wheezing that comes from untreated injuries and illnesses that only come when too many people are crammed together for too long.

There isn’t enough time to process the full scope of what’s happening before a set of trumpets starts blowing from the city’s outer walls. Shit it’s starting!

It’s like a bad dream as the procession begins to move, Father and Amarantha first. There are mages positioned down the fairway, their hands outstretched towards the sky as they weave colorful ribbons of magic like streamers above our heads. The bands move in time to the music, flashing in Amarantha’s colors first, then Father’s. Small children throw more roses into the street as the Emperor and esteemed General make their way into the city.

“All hail the Emperor!” Roars the crowd. “All hail Amarantha the Conqueror!” 

Conqueror. The Illyrian captives are forced to follow after them, shuffling on bare feet and boots that are falling apart across cobblestones that have to be burning as the sun continues to rise across the cloudless sky.

There are small children in attendance, sitting on their parents shoulders, waving miniature versions of Amarantha’s crest. This feels like the most heinous part of the whole ordeal; are we to encourage this brutality in our children? They let their toddlers throw roses and dance along to the music, enthralled by the light show that flashes overhead as the procession moves through the city. 

Dummond makes sure to leave plenty of room between the last row of Ilyrians and us, as if they’re scared to let them get too close to Rhysand. As if, the mere proximity of him might incite an uproar all over again. 

At this point I’d welcome it. I’d happily watch the whole procession go up in flames.

Power rumbles through my veins and I’m forced to tear my gaze away from the crowd to keep anything from escaping out of my skin.

“Steady,” Rhysand warns as we inch closer to the front gates. The crowd continues to cheer and celebrate ahead of us as the procession follows the path to the Imperial Palace several miles into the city. It will be a long road ahead of us, yet it feels like it’s been happening for ages.

“I’m sorry.” Sorry is not strong enough an emotion. No sorry’s will ever be enough.

“Do you see why we need your help?” He counters as a wisp of Azriel’s shadow crawls up my shoulder and dives beneath my hair. The little ether of power slithers like a snake up around my ear, hidden under my hair, observing with a gentle hiss. I wonder if he’s using it to see what’s coming ahead of us.

The road up ahead makes me wish he wasn’t here to see any of it at all. Being on the horse gives me a vantage point, lets me see around the corner we take to get to the heart of the capitol. The crowd has thickened even further here, bodies pushing up against the magic barriers, chanting and shouting to be heard. Except, the closer we get, the clearer the jumbled words become. As Amarantha’s chariot passes through, the noise soon turns from cheers and celebration to boos and curses. It’s the first hint that something is about to go terribly wrong and I feel my powers once again flair in defence.

The shift in the crowd is not the worst of it, even when they start hurling rotting vegetables and rocks at their captive entertainment. Blood splatters as someone gets hit in the head, nearly knocking down a whole row of males in the chaos.

I don’t even have time to flinch before Rhysand is once again holding me in place in the saddle. This time I’m not sure if it’s my nerves or his. The bond bleeds like an open wound between us, agony dripping into my consciousness.

More of Azriel’s shadows cluster beneath my hair, sitting like a snake, coiled and hissing as we go deeper into the city. This crowd will easily become a mob given the slightest provocation.

“Traitors!” The crowd shouts. “Send the Illyrian dogs back where they belong!”

The guards keeping the Illyrians in line don’t do anything to quell the crowd, letting rotting tomatoes and hearts of moldy lettuce get hurled like projectiles at a group of wounded males too beaten to fight back.

My stomach sits like a rock in my throat.

The deeper we get into the city, the worse it gets, and not just because there are more people here, but because, as we draw up to the center of town, there are crosses along the walkway, all holding a male with wings nailed to the cross beams. 

The males in the front of the line freeze at the sight. One of them wails and falls to his knees, only to be forceable hauled up by the Praetorian. 

“Crucify the lot of them!” The crowd roars.

“Send the bastards back to the arena!”

A rock comes hurtling towards my head so fast I don’t even have time to shield, my only saving grace Azriel’s shadow that goes flying out in front of me to catch it and let it fall to the ground beside me. Rhysand won’t turn to let me thank him; won’t let me do anything but keep my eyes straight ahead of me. Not even when I hear the sound of something hitting one of them.

I’d cry if I had the ability, but he seems to have locked that away from me too. I feel like a statue as we continue forward, slowly crawling towards the Imperial Palace, unable to move or react. Even as we pass closer to the bodies, blood still dripping from open gashes across their tattooed chests. Some of the males are, mercifully, already dead, but the street is long and the number of them soon becomes hard to track when you can just make out the ones still gasping for air. This is by far the worst thing I’ve ever seen the Empire do.

I tear my gaze away from the carnage to find my Father, waving cheerfully to the crowd ahead of us, as if this is some sort of game. How could one man be so cruel? 

“Remember how I said you could ask me about that boat today?” Rhysand says, but his voice is strained. I can feel his pain as if it is my own and I don’t know how he, or any of them, is even upright. It’s debilitating. I feel it crawl into every crevice of my being. My muscles fight the hold he has on me to try and curl up into a ball to avoid it. 

“Still think it’s a good idea?”

Like he can feel my gaze, the Emperor turns to catch my eye, one brow furrowed as if in question. For the first time in my life, I don’t shy away from the appraisal. Pain has walked alongside me my whole life, it has been a companion I have learned to hold hands with. But this? Having to live with the knowledge that these are wounds inflicted on my mates because no one has stood up to the Empire?

I’ve accepted a lot of shitty things in my life. I looked the other way when I couldn’t. But no more.

This ends. 

And it ends with me.

“No. I don’t.” I snarl.

I can feel Rhysand’s grin through the bond. “Then welcome to the Rebellion, Princess.”

--------

Tag List:

@sirenpearldust, @saltedcoffeescotch, @littlemissfix-itfic, @waka-babe, @raisam

//

@anainkandpaper, @rafeecameronsbitch, @whothehelliskayleigh, @lifetobeareader, @blimpintime

//

@hjgdhghoe, @krowiathemythologynerd, @urfunnyvalentin3, @mack234-blog1, @kissesfromnovalie

//

@marrass, @lia-h-r, @celestialzdiviner, @daughterofthemoons-stuff

Thank you all for your patience I know this chapter took me a little longer than usual to write! <3 As always, if you want to be added to the tag list let me know =)

[soon-palestine]

Can you recognize these faces? All these leaders made profound sacrifices for their people, and the artist who created this powerful drawing must be considered one of them. Kevin “Rashid” Johnson, who is extensively quoted in this shocking article, is one of them, one of the men being tortured 24/7 at Red Onion State Prison. Next to Mumia Abu Jamal, Rashid is the most read and respected prisoner in the U.S. Red Onion is a super-maximum security prison designed and built to be torturous in every way, just like Pelican Bay State Prison in California, where prisoners surmounted impossible odds in 2011-2013 to stage a series of three mass hunger strikes joined by 30,000 prisoners at their peak. To offer your help and support to the prisoners at Red Onion, use the contact information at the end of this article. – Art: Kevin “Rashid” Johnson

by Phil Wilayto

Just how bad are things at Virginia’s Red Onion supermax prison?

On May 24, 2023, DeAndre Gordon deliberately started a fire in his cell that caused a third-degree burn on his leg. Gordon, who is Black, said he had been badly beaten by guards at the prison and feared for his life.

“I didn’t know any other way that I could get out of their custody besides to set myself on fire,” Gordon told a reporter with Radio IQ. “Because they don’t have a burn center in Southwest Virginia, I knew that I would be going to Richmond.”

According to the American Burn Association, Virginia has just three facilities capable of dealing with severe burns. Two are in Richmond: the Evans-Haynes Burn Center at VCU Health, a state institution, and the Wound Healing Center at Doctors Hospital, a private hospital. The third is at the Eastern Virginia Medical School in Norfolk.

Red Onion, in Wise County, is about 375 miles west of Richmond.

On Aug. 23 of this year, Demetrius Wallace, 27, also Black, says he set fire to his leg to force a transfer out of Red Onion.

The Defender spoke with Wallace on Nov. 1.

“I did actually set my foot on fire,” Wallace said. “I got the charge that shows it. They came to my cell door and saw the flames on the side of my leg. They took me to medical, they assessed me right there that night, told me they don’t deal with burns, they would have to talk with the nurse practitioner, and that I would have to be taken off the mountain.

“That was Friday, Aug. 23 … so Monday around 2 in the afternoon, they drove me seven hours away to the VCU burn unit. As soon as the doctor sees me, he said, ‘When did this happen?’ I said, ‘Friday.’ He said, ‘Why haven’t you been here?’ I said, ‘I’m not trying to be funny, but I can’t drive myself from the prison.’

“He said to the COs [correction officers], ‘You see this foot? You tell your major I can’t treat him immediately, I have to put him on antibiotics’ to treat the infection.

“I stayed in the hospital for 14 days. They had to do an allograft [a temporary graft using skin from a skin bank] and a skin graft. After 14 days I was sent back to Red Onion state prison. Harassed me, everything is still the same, stuck me in the hole, still being denied access to my JPay [a commercial email service for prisoners] or my actual phone.”

Asked why he had set himself on fire, Wallace said, “I got a lawsuit in because I was assaulted and sprayed by the COs twice while I was handcuffed. So as soon as I filed the lawsuit, they started retaliation. They denied my fiance access to the prison, for no reason; you had COs and a lieutenant looking at her Facebook; they messaged her … She has screenshots.”

Wallace also said he wasn’t the only prisoner who has recently set himself on fire.

“I was in medical, and I witnessed five other offenders who came back there. They had burned their legs or arms. There are still two or three there now.”

On or about Sept. 15, Ekong Eshiet, a 28-year-old African-born prisoner at Red Onion, says he also set fire to his leg.

On Oct. 25, he gave an interview to Prison Riot Radio, a Philadelphia-based online program that provides a platform for prisoners to speak out about prison conditions and other issues.

In the interview, Eshiet said that, two days before, on Oct. 23, he had begun a hunger strike.

“I’m trying to get off of here. I’m doing my best, I’m going about this the right way, I guess, with the hunger strike way. But if I have to, I don’t mind setting myself on fire again, and this time I’ll set my whole body on fire.

“Before I have to stay up here and do the rest of my time up here, I would rather die before I stay up here, because every day I’m dealing with discrimination, whether it’s behind my race, my last name or my religion.”

The Defender has been in touch with Kevin Rashid Johnson, a longtime prisoner activist and author who last December went on a 71-day hunger strike, demanding to be transferred from Red Onion because he said there were no medical facilities in that area equipped to deal with his several severe medical issues. He eventually was sent to VCU Health, then transferred to Greensville Correctional Center, and is now back at Red Onion.

Rashid wrote the Defender that he was in the medical unit at the prison when Eshiet was brought in for treatment, and Rashid said he saw for himself the severe burns on the man’s leg.

“He had been placed in a cell next to me in the prison’s medical department, where I overheard him talking with others about a series of prisoners including himself setting fire to themselves. I could not help asking him what was going on.

“He told me simply that the racism, the horrid and inhumane conditions at the prison, were so intolerable that he and others were setting themselves on fire in desperate attempts to get transferred. These were not protests, he made clear, but acts of desperation hoping to get out of an insufferable situation.”

Rashid, at great risk to himself, wrote a report that he sent to outside news media and support groups. The report was picked up by Prison Riot Radio, the Arlington-based Interfaith Action for Human Rights and The Virginia Defender, among others.

On Oct. 25, this reporter called Red Onion and spoke with the warden, David Anderson. I explained that we had received a report that as many as a dozen prisoners at Red Onion had recently set themselves on fire, and asked if the report was correct.

“No, it’s not true,” Anderson said.

After a pause, he added, “I really shouldn’t be commenting on this.”

“So you’re saying that no one has set themselves on fire?” I asked.

“I can’t speak any further about that,” Anderson answered.

I told Anderson I would send him an email, with further questions. He said he would forward the email to the proper department for a response.

These are the questions sent on Oct. 25:

Over the last two months, did one or more prisoners at Red Onion set themselves on fire, as claimed by the letter writer?

If so, what are the names and prison ID numbers of the men?

What is now the location of each of the men?

What is the medical condition of each of the men?

Have any of the men been charged with institutional or criminal offenses as a result of these alleged actions?

As of this writing, on Nov. 4, there has been no response.

Meanwhile, we have been trying to find corroboration on the reports. undefined

In addition to speaking directly with Demetrius Wallace, we called Marsha Prichett, Eshiet’s mother, on Oct. 25. She said her son has had a very hard time since being sent to Red Onion in June.

“There’s been name calling, they call him Eat-Shit, they spit in his food. After he hurt himself, they treated him for minor burn wounds. “Then the hospital called us to let us know Ekong was in the hospital, but they said we couldn’t visit with him or talk to him because the warden said he was a danger to himself or others. So we couldn’t visit because of what the warden said.”

On Nov. 1, a Friday, the Defender reached out to VCU Health to ask if any Red Onion prisoners had been treated there recently for severe burns. At first we were told the hospital was not allowed to give us that information because of the issue of patient privacy. We hadn’t asked about any particular patient.

On Nov. 4, a Monday, we received a call from Danielle Pierce with VCU Public Relations. We asked if, from Aug. 1 until the present, any Red Onion prisoners had been brought to VCU Health for treatment for severe burns.

“I’m happy to look into it for you,” Pierce said.

Since our press deadline was the next morning, we didn’t expect to receive an answer in time for this story, but we will post any response on this newspaper’s website: virginiadefender.org. [Post-press update: As of Friday, Nov. 8, there has been no response.]

On Nov. 1, the Defender also called and left messages at the offices of Virginia General Assembly Delegate Don Scott, a former prisoner who is now Speaker of the House. We will report any response we get on our website.

We also have been trying to get various Virginia media to cover this story. What is Red Onion? red-onion-supermax-in-isolated-wise-county-va-by-google-earth, Conditions so bad that prisoners set themselves on fire: Crisis and cover-up at Red Onion super-max , Featured World News & Views This Google Earth map gives some idea of how isolated the Red Onion super-max prison is, situated on top of Red Onion Mountain in rural Wise County, far from the famiies of most of the men confined there.

The Justice Policy Center of the Urban Institute describes a supermaximum prison, or “super-max,” as “designed to hold the putatively most violent and disruptive inmates in single cell confinement for 23 hours per day, often for an indefinite period of time.”

Red Onion is a super-max prison. It opened in 1998 in the midst of a big right-wing and media scare about a new crime wave that supposedly was coming, but somehow never did.

Red Onion was supposed to house around 800 of “the worst of the worst” Virginia prisoners. As it turned out, there weren’t enough “worst” prisoners to fill the cells, so Virginia began taking in prisoners from other states – for a price. Further, many of the Virginia prisoners who wound up there were transferred from lower-level security prisons simply for breaking rules, not for committing violent crimes.

Red Onion quickly gained a reputation for extreme repression, cruelty and racism.

A 1999 report by Human Rights Watch stated that the “Virginia Department of Corrections has failed to embrace basic tenets of sound correctional practice and laws protecting inmates from abusive, degrading or cruel treatment” and claimed that “racism, excessive violence and inhumane conditions reign inside.”

In 2001, Amnesty International released a report citing human rights violations at the prison.

The 2016 HBO documentary film “Solitary: Inside Red Onion State Prison” focused on the use and effects of solitary confinement.

In one particularly notorious case, Nicolas Reyes, a Salvadoran immigrant, was kept in solitary confinement for 13 years because he couldn’t complete the mostly English-language Step-Down Program required to be released.

Reyes only spoke Spanish and couldn’t read or write in any language.

With support from the ACLU and other organizations, Reyes was finally released and received a monetary award of $115,000 – which works out to about a dollar for every day he suffered in extreme physical, social, cultural and linguistic isolation.

This is what Rashid has recently written about the prison:

“Red Onion and its sister supermax Wallens Ridge State Prison, are both located in the mountains of the far southwestern corner of Virginia in rural, segregated white communities, while their prisoner populations are near totally Brown and Black.

“Since opening in 1998 and 1999, respectively, both prisons have operated without oversight in regions where the local populations are culturally conditioned to secrecy and hostility to outside scrutiny. Which makes for prisons shielded by a curtain of secrecy, inhumane abuse and racism.

“And while Virginia has been closing down many of its predominantly Black staffed prisons across the state, it has shifted resources and focused new prison construction projects in favor of opening and operating prisons in remote, racially segregated regions of the state like where Red Onion and Wallens Ridge are located.

“The strongest public exposure and protest needs to be directed at these expensive, inhumane and unneeded human warehouses. They must be opened up to broad public scrutiny and accountability, and closed down.

“This exposure and protest should be continually directed against the Virginia governor, Virginia Department of Corrections Director Chadwick Dotson and the state’s General Assembly.

“Every effort must be made to share this information and increase public awareness about these places, their inhumane conditions and the desperate extremes they are driving fellow humans to in their pleas for relief.

“Dare to Struggle Dare to Win!

“All Power to the People!”

Interfaith Action for Human Rights has started an online petition urging change at Red Onion. To sign, log onto change.org and search for “Investigate Self-Harm Episodes and Improve Inhumane Conditions at Red Onion Prison.”

As we go to press, Kevin Rashid Johnson, Ekong Eshiet and Demetrius Wallace are all being held in solitary confinement – what the prison calls “restrictive housing.” All three men have reason to fear for their lives.

Rashid, who has been targeted because of his outspoken condemnation of the whole Virginia prison system, has outside attorneys working to try to get him transferred out of Red Onion.

Note: Both Rashid and Demetrius Wallace have given the Defender permission to quote them for this story. We haven’t spoken directly with Ekong Eshiet.

Conclusion

At this point, we are confident in reporting that at least two men held at the Red Onion State Prison – Demetrius Wallace and Ekong Eshiet, and possibly others, have taken the desperate step of setting themselves on fire to try to force the prison officials to transfer them out of that notorious hellhole.

And the prison system is not only denying that these events ever happened, but have taken steps to isolate the men involved in order to keep the public from knowing about it.

The Virginia Defenders are calling for an immediate, independent, impartial, outside investigation of the conditions of these three men, as well as the general conditions at Red Onion. We will be sending copies of this story to Gov. Glenn Youngkin, Virginia Attorney General Jason Miyares, all members of the Virginia General Assembly, U.S. Senators Tim Kaine and Mark Warner, Virginia Department of Corrections Director Chadwick Dotson and all our contacts in the Virginia media.

[asterias-record-shop]

Can I get a song filled with a switch Ethan Landry and a reader femdom? I just love the idea of him being a psychotic killer but also a softie. So like he gets soft from praise and anything sensual but will go feral if you tease or try to control him or if he doesn’t get what he wants. I like to think that he’s always getting punished (cause he’s kinda bratty)and constantly using the safe word because he’s so sensitive. Or also he always finishes without being told. This doesn’t have to be BDSM you don’t need that to have a dominant female, although it would be nice. Just no pegging or anything having to do with anal please 🙏🙏Ethan’s just like my fav fictional boyfriend

╭════• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •═══╮

       — naughty, naughty

╰════• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •═══��

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪

You and Ethan had rules. The first rule was simple; Ethan was not allowed to touch himself without your permission.

Today, Ethan broke that rule. Maybe it was the vibrating cock ring you had been controlling all day because the night before he came without your permission, but tonight, tonight would be even worse — you had promised him that before you hung up on him and left your practice to go back home.

He had been taking advantage of your kindness way too much these past few days, and you were not going to let him think it was going to stay that way.

You don't even have to knock or unlock the door, Ethan's usual routine of opening the door as soon as you set foot on the mat in front. "Are you trying to make up for it, baby?" You asked him, even though he doesn't respond as he slipped off your heels and pressed a firm kiss to your ankle. "Ethan, speak."

"I-I... I'm just trying to do good for you, mistress. Be a-"

"A what? A good boy after being naughty?" You lean down, catching his jaw with a raised brow. "Naughty, naughty Ethan."

"I'm sorry, I-I am so sorry, mistress-"

"You don't sound sorry," you responded, looking down at the wet patch on his jeans. You never allowed him to change out of them, that way he could see what would get him punished later on. "You sound... like a slut."

"No, no! I'm not a slut, please, I just- I couldn't help myself," he whimpered, end of his sentence going high as you pressed your foot against the bulge of his cock. "Pl-Please!"

"No, that sounds exactly like what a slut is." You hummed as you dig in your blazer pocket, grabbing the remote of the vibrating cock ring and shaking it in his face. "I would torture you more with this, but I think you would disobey me and cum again."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" He started to sob as you looked to the side, smiling.

"If you're going to act like a bitch in heat, I might as well treat you like one."

It wasn't long until you had him on his back, the collar around his neck attached to the chain in your hand, the vibrating fleshlight milking his cock until every last drop made a mess on his thighs. He was making your body hot and your pussy ache — his loud moans that bounced off the walls, his sobs and pleads for you to take the toy off of him because of how overstimulated he was, the rattling of the handcuffs as he tugged against them — for fucks sake, you really wanted to jump his bones right now.

You couldn’t, though. He wanted to act like a bitch in heat and cum without your permission, he was going to be treated like one.

“What’s wrong, honey? Doesn’t it feel good? I thought sluts liked to cum as much as they wanted?” You teased him, pressing your finger to his nose with a slight tilt of your head. “I thought you wanted to cum? Mistress is even being nice and not having you ask for permission.”

“N-No! No, mistress, I’m sorry! I-I’m so sorry, f-fuck!” He screamed out his apologies as his eyes rolled back, cumming once again inside of the toy.

“Hey,” you say it loudly, full of assertiveness as you tugged on the chain making his mouth fall open. “You better watch that mouth, Landry, before I put it to better use.”

For fucks sake, would you please?

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry mistress! F-Fuck, it just feels so fucking good — fucking this toy like it was your pussy, fuck.” He was cursing as you rolled your eyes, sitting up to slip off your slacks and fix the skimpy underwear you had put on after your shower.

“For fucks sake, I think you like being punished, Ethan,” you crawled up his body, tugging on the chain to get his attention as you looked down at him, tilting your head to the side. “Do you like being punished like a pussy-whipped whore?”

“Y-Yes! Yes, by you, yes mistress,” he groaned as you hovered over his face, the wet patch on your underwear making his eyes roll back. “I’ll do anything you want, mistress, I promise!”

He lets out a loud groan when you release your weight, his mouth going up to meet your cunt and easily slip your underwear to the side to push his tongue inside of you. “Well then, get to work Landry. You need to make it up to your mistress.”

Your punishment for Ethan was cut short whenever the vibrating fleshlight died from dead batteries. You had planned it to go on for longer, but it was probably a good thing it stopped before Ethan passed out from overstimulation.

You pulled it off his cock, his tip bright red and it flopping down covered in his own cum as it made a mess all over his thighs. He was so fucked out from pleasure, barely able to speak as you pressed a soft kiss to his tip, only a whine coming from his mouth as you softly pumped him.

“Will you get hard again for your mistress, Ethan? You didn’t think I was done, right? You were very bad, and I need to make sure you don’t do it again.” You could feel his cock twitch as he shook his head, whimpering.

“I-I’ll try, mistress, I promise- I just don’t know if I can.” He sobbed as you pulled your hand away, slipping his soft cock inside of your cunt as you laid on his chest, exhaling in contentment as you undo his cuffs and take off the collar. “Thank you mistress, thank you for making me feel good.”

“You’re welcome, darling, you okay? I’ll clean you up later, your mistress is tired and thinks you need to be in your mess for a while longer as a punishment.”

“Wh-Whatever mistress thinks is a good punishment,” he whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple. “Thank you mistress.”

You giggled slightly, pushing a hand through his sweaty curls. “You’re welcome, darling.”

Taglist: 𓆩[@lem0ns77]𓆪 𓆩[@cecepop15]𓆪 𓆩[@memeorydotcom]𓆪   𓆩[@your-favorite-god]𓆪   𓆩[@xyzstar]𓆪  𓆩[@just-my-shit]𓆪   𓆩[@your-mom21]𓆪   𓆩[@c78r]𓆪   𓆩[@dizscreams]𓆪   𓆩[@asrt5]𓆪   𓆩[@xoxomoonlightbabe]𓆪   𓆩[@wenvierismycomfort]𓆪   𓆩[@copypastedaphne]𓆪   𓆩[@f-aggotry]𓆪

© asterias-record-shop

[zebulontheplanet]

Let’s talk about my masking, since it’s been a topic I’ve been avoiding talking about.

I’m medium masking. I can mask SOME. I used to be low masking due to my autism catatonia, but thanks to the medication I’m on, I was SLOWLY gaining masking skills back. But now starting to lose it again. It’s one of the few things I was getting back. And this is also your reminder. IF YOU BELIEVE YOU HAVE AUTISM CATATONIA, REACH OUT TO A DOCTOR. Plain text: if you believe you have autism catatonia, reach out to a doctor.

Why? Because Autism Catatonia IS treatable.

I used to be VERY visibly autistic. Stimming constantly, running around, just having that *look* to me. It caused harassment ALL the time. Like literally all the time.

Now, I can mask some. Stimming being the biggest thing that I could mask. However, it did, and still caused me to be constantly overwhelmed, and constantly on the brink of a meltdown. The constant suppression of stims is and was harmful to me, and I am slowly letting go of my masking ability that I have gained back because it’s harmful to me, and I’m just causing myself more harm by doing so. And I’m losing it already and just causing myself more harm by pretending I’m not and trying to hold onto it. I don’t think people realize just how heartbreaking it was to not be able to mask much at all, to being able to mask some, and then realizing that even the small amount of masking you are doing is being extremely harmful to yourself. I’ve also noticed that it’s been detrimental on my mental health, and even physical health as it is causing me to have more catatonic episodes. Why? I don’t know. But I cannot deny that my catatonic episodes, constantly being on the brink of a meltdown or having multiple meltdowns a week, and being constantly overwhelmed, didn’t happen until I started suppressing some of my stims and autistic behaviors.

I am EXTREMELY privileged to even be able to suppress some of my stims. Does this mean I’m not perceived as autistic? Absolutely not. I’m still autistic, and very much perceived as being autistic because of the fact that I’m nonverbal, constantly not alone and with people assumed to be my caregivers, constantly chewing on things, wearing ear defenders, in a wheelchair, and so on.

However, I’ve noticed a drastic change between me as someone who once stimmed very outwardly, then someone who did stim more passively. I haven’t talked about my masking in a HOT minute, because I was like “great! Finally getting some masking abilities back, let’s see where this goes” and then the second I started gaining it back, it started going down the drain again.

Today, I’m laying in my bed. Under a weighted blanket, feeling my skin crawl and having to kick my partner out because I felt like I was going to have a meltdown because I didn’t wear my ear defenders all week even though I needed them. And knew I needed them.

I’ve been so focused on how others perceive me, how they look at me, how they treat me, that I’ve completely forgot about what is best for ME. What is best for MY health. Yes, for awhile I was gaining some masking skills back, and even now, I’m more masked than I was, but I’m losing that again, and it is the most terrifying feeling. The feeling of losing your masking skills AGAIN is terrifying. Because the last time I did, I was struck with so much catatonia that I couldn’t get out of bed and needed help with almost every bADL and lost my speech completely. Now, I know that this hopefully won’t be the case, and the more I accept that I’m losing my masking skills and try not to force it, I will be ok hopefully and not fall back into that.

Autism Catatonia has taken everything from me before, and it’s continuing to take so much from me again. However, I cannot justify continuing to put myself through the literal torture of masking, putting my health at risk with more catatonic episodes, and the like. I know, it’s an extreme privilege to even start unmasking, yet I don’t feel like I have a choice, or even a say in the matter. The more days that go by, I’m losing the ability whether I like it or not. I’m not going through my “silly little unmasking journey”, I’m losing a vital skill that is made to protect autistic people against my will. And the more I fight against it, the more I’ll just cause myself harm. I cannot risk falling back into more catatonic episodes. I’m in college. I cannot risk that.

For all my autism catatonia baddies out there losing their ability to mask and in a complicated relationship with it, I see you, and you aren’t alone in this.

Autism Catatonia is so complicated, and I feel like the more I try and fit myself into the box that I used to be, the more harm I’m causing myself. So, here’s to a new chapter. A new chapter of accepting that I shouldn’t mask so I don’t have catatonia. A new chapter of accepting that I’m losing my masking skills again. A new chapter of being my autistic self again, and not worrying what other people think of me.

[abbu0414]

Comfort (Soapxf!reader)

Hi guys! This ones kinda for me because I feel like I've been overworking myself and getting overwhelmed at small things, and I am just WATING for my huge breakdown (I'm due for one in like 2 days I can feel it). And also in honor of the new CoD season coming out yesterday, I bought the battlepass as a little treat for myself. Anyways, please enjoy :)

Word count: 634

♪Song to Listen To: House Song by Searows♪

This had been the 8th night in a row that you had come back late from work. It wasn’t unusual for you to work extra, or to come home late but Johnny knew what was going on. I mean come on he was your boyfriend, he’s always up to date on these things. But he knew that this meant you were trying to distance yourself from your emotions, or something that you were thinking about. The only way you would stay sane, was if you overworked yourself to exhaustion. If you were constantly working, this meant that at night you would sleep peacefully. And this meant as a boyfriend, he needed to do small things to make your life easier, like wiping off counters after you made dinner for the two of you, or folding the blankets that scattered the couch after one of Johnny’s after work naps. 

After night 11 of working in a row AND working late, he had enough of you torturing yourself. And in all honesty, you have had enough of it too.  You came home and softly closed the door to your shared apartment. Your work backpack feeling heavier than usual as your tired, sore feet carried you down your long hallway. 

“Bonnie, is that you?” Johnny calls out from the couch

And suddenly soft tears begin to spill.

All of those pent up emotions, all of those days where customers just bitched and yelled at you, all of those days you wanted to hide in the back and cry, all of those coworkers that made you do all the hard work just for them to get all the credit. You couldn’t take much more of it.

You don’t even make it to your door as you crumble in the hallway, letting out silent tears. You hear footsteps approaching you, but don’t look up. A figure removes your backpack off of your heavy and tired shoulders. It sits on the hallway floor right in front of you and lifts your chin to meet its eyes. 

“Just because you can carry heavy things, doesn’t mean I can’t help lift. I’m here to help carry the heavy stuff too.” And just like that, you explode. 

“I-I don’t w-want to carry all the heavy stuff Johnny.” Your sobs echo in the empty hallway as you bring your body closer to his until he has you with your legs wrapped around his waist and and he has his nose in the crook of your neck. 

“I know Bonnie, I know.” 15 minutes later you’ve calmed down and your breathing softens, Johnny peppers your neck and face softly with kisses as he takes in your smell that he loves so much. He realizes that you’ve cried yourself to sleep and he gives a light chuckle. As he gets up off the floor, he takes you with him and carries you to your shared bedroom. 

Changing you into your favorite t-shirt and shorts combo, he takes in your sleeping face. With your eyes and nose red from crying so hard, it breaks his heart into a million pieces. He tucks you into bed and climbs in with you (him being the big spoon obviously) his hand snakes around your waist and up your chest to give you something to hold onto while you sleep. You nestle your cheek into his hand as you take a big sigh of relief from letting all your emotions out and taking in Johnny’s cologne and touch. He always knew how to calm you down and after a long couple of days, this is exactly what you needed. 

Maybe calling out of work wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. (Johnny was gonna do it for you while you were asleep anyways to force you to take a break.)

[justanechoflower]

.. Hey, do you want anything?

She still stays sitting, tilting her head in curiosity but her face clearly etched with worry.

You know, something that could cheer you up.

She shrugs, fidgeting with her scarf a little.

I.. admittedly-

She looks away when she says that, slightly cringing.

-don't know much when it comes to comforting people. Or.. specifically, you, for that matter. So..

Her eyes trail back to his, hesitant.

Do you want anything? Anything at all.

How familiar. Just the same at Pressure, hm?

((decided to change the format bc of lore hehe))

Asriel: No one knows who I am besides Frisk and Papyrus. Papyrus surprisingly took it pretty well. He still treats me the same and never told anyone, which is rare if we’re talking secrets with him. But I know not everyone is the same.

They’ll make a big fuss, try to get me back, ask everything and I’ll have to lie about all I did as a flower which is a secret that will weigh on me forever because I know they’d hate me and their hopes would be crushed so I’ll have to lie and then they’ll want me to be the prince of the underground again with all the responsibility of being the “hope for all monsters” put back on my shoulders but I don’t know how to help them any better than dad.

I’ve had this evil, horrible plan to use frisk on their perfect runs to become a god. I was going to take everyone’s souls plus the human souls, getting them from Asgore through Frisk and then torture them for eternity and reshape the world how I want it. I couldn’t do that now. Even if I don’t hurt Frisk and I use that power to break the barrier, won’t everyone still hate me for tricking them and manipulating their souls like that?

Or I could stay here, at the flower bed, hiding my face for however much longer. I don’t know what to do. It feels nice to build this new perfect life, but it’s fake, isn’t it? I’m not Flowey. You aren’t my real family. But I want it so bad. I love it here, but I shouldn’t.

I don't know. I should go back into reality. How do even I do that? I don't know how to reintroduce myself, and I don't want leave you all behind but it feels like I'm betraying my real family if I keep replacing them. I know what that feels like. And I'm sorry.

[atopvisenyashill]

Ive seen lot of discourse about it esp pre season 2 so i wanna know your thoughts on the Driftmark scene .

💀💀

i think the most too blame people are the adults. in fact i don’t really blame the children at all. i think it’s stupid to get up in arms about luke using a knife on aemond when like, in the book, it’s not even treated as weird that this five year old is walking around with a dagger. i think the fact that luke only uses the dagger once jacaerys starts losing the fight against aemond shows that luke has a child’s understanding of violence; he goes for the eye to stop the fight, and doesn’t grasp that maiming aemond is a very serious thing that he can’t undo. i think both aemond and jacaerys think the best thing, The Dutiful Thing is to deal with this situation themselves, because they’re Almost A Man Grown, and they’re too angry (and too childish bc they’re literal children) to realize that the mature thing to do is to LEAVE THE SITUATION and GO GET A GROWNUP and of course, it escalates to a horrific degree (they’re both doing this for different reasons, but it amounts to the same sort of “the right thing to do is to be a man and handle this silly fight myself” line of thinking). we can have a lot of conversations about people’s tempers and who started the fight, and what the addition of a rock or the girlsdoes to the dynamic but i just feel that ultimately, this fight went on for too long bc they were not being supervised correctly. i have a really hard time blaming a five year old who was given a dagger for using that dagger nor do i think it’s on aemond to anticipate that the toddler he picked a fight with would bring both a wooden sword AND a dagger to a fistfight. also i’m sorry but it is darkly funny that a twelve year old got jumped by two toddlers, sue me. the blame doesn’t lie with them, i don’t think any of the three of them realized it would escalate so quickly, and then everyone around them acted INSANE afterwards.

now when we get into the fallout of it. first of all, i think people are purposefully obtuse about why rhaenyra goes on the offensive. i cannot stress enough that part of the issue here is that she’s committing treason which is punishable by death. does she help the situation at all? no. but “she’s mad they said the truth” is like saying cersei is only mad at ned bc he said the truth; they’re mad bc someone knowing the truth means they could die. i think both rhaenyra & alicent start acting crazy bc now this issue between them has spilled out between their kids in like a REAL in your face way and they’re both looking for viserys to like, DO SOMETHING do anything, and when they feel like he’s not doing enough they decide “fuck it time to show him EYE can cross the line if i have to” and viserys responds by making it worse 😭

secondly, laying out how viserys just completely fucks this. he’s the one who makes this disastrous decision to make it illegal to talk about his grandsons, confines his heir away from court, and then refuses to acknowledge that like, it was pretty fucked up thing that just happened to his son, so everyone walks away with some sort of righteous fury over the event and once again digs in their heels to make the dumb, violent decisions that help escalate this entire thing into war. and it’s not even that viserys is trying to do the right thing and just failing, like say, egg & the issues he has with succession, viserys is trying to do the easiest thing, the thing that gets everyone to stop yelling at him & do what he says. bro they are taking eyes out and threatening to torture each other. this is so far beyond something that can be fixed with a kiss on the cheek. these are two opposing sides CONVINCED the other is going to kill them, it’s not like him & rhaenys or him & daemon. but he just says “it’s fixed it’s fine” and goes home. why are dads like this.

[writingjourney]

ziplocked love pt. 4 | dew x fem!reader

summary: you spend more time with the ghouls and ghoulettes on tour, find a solution to your problem – and decide that eternity maybe isn't so bad :)

content: ~4k words, soft, needy, love-sick dew, banter with the other ghouls, suggestive at times but no smut, this is pure fluff and cheese really.

This is sickening but I wanted to give you this conclusion I've been sitting on for months now bc I felt weird not finishing it.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4/Final Part | Read on Ao3

✦ ✧ ✦ 

“I swear to Satan, one more comment and I’ll murder all of you.”

You feel right at home. All morning the ghouls have been teasing Dew for the bright hickeys on his neck, very visible on the pale human-appearing skin and distinctly mouth-shaped. You sit in a diner, getting breakfast on the road, the ghouls surprisingly well-behaved apart from their bickering. You’re sipping your coffee and watch how Dew furiously blushes every time Swiss flicks against his neck, asking if it hurts.

“Like you had a chance,” Sunshine comments over the rim of her own mug.

“I absolutely have a chance,” Dew grumbles.

You lean into him, still tired, head resting safely on his shoulder, and he immediately softens. His hand finds your thigh and he gives it a gentle squeeze, letting you know he’s there. Last night, you slept on the bus for the first time, tightly wrapped in Dew’s arms but not really finding any restful sleep. You won’t have enough time to get used to the movements and the tiny space. You’re only here for another full day tomorrow. Two nights.

“The coffee didn’t help?” he asks.

“Hm, not really, still feeling tired.”

He kisses your hair, wrapping his arm around your shoulder now. “You can always try napping again later.”

“God you are so sickeningly sweet,” Cirrus says. “Maybe I need to go find myself a human as well.”

“Have fun finding one who’s willing to deal with that attitude,” Dew says.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Swiss comments.

Dew shrugs. “I found someone.”

“Only because you somehow found the only human who was willing to deal with your weirdness.”

“Weirdness?”

You sigh against his shoulder. “You’re all weird – that’s part of the charm. And you’re also underestimating how weird humans are. We’re not that different.”

“She has a point,” Aether says.

“Mhm,” Rain mumbles.

Back on the bus, you do need to take another nap because you barely manage to keep your eyes open. Dew joins you, scrolling on his phone as you rest on his chest, face buried in his neck. With his even breathing and gentle warmth surrounding you, you easily manage to doze off. Time passes, how long is only a vague estimate, but you’re roused by repeated movements underneath you. When you open your eyes, you notice that Dew has wriggled free, trying to get out of your little bunk.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you ask and he chuckles at your accusatory tone.

“I’m going to ask Papa if we can find a way for you to stay,” he explains. “I know, you’re worried you’ll be treated differently at home and all of that. But I don’t want you to go back.”

“We can do it, Dew. I don’t want you to think I need babysitting or something.”

“I know we can do it, that you can do it,” he snaps. “We did it already. But why torture ourselves when we don’t have to?”

You sigh, rolling onto your back. “I don’t know. They’re going to think I’m getting favours.”

“Well, you do, you’re my girlfriend. That’s just how it is.”

“You know there are so many siblings who would kill to be on tour with all of you.”

“So what? If anyone gives you shit I will give them twice as much shit back.”

You smile. “I know.”

“Come on, you don’t really want to go back.”

“No, I don’t. The thought of being alone again makes me nauseous.”

“Fine.” He purses his lips. “You want me to say it I’ll say it. I won’t let you go. I’ll throw the worst tantrum you’ve ever seen, worse than the time I almost murdered that guy who hit on you at the old man’s birthday party.”

You can barely hide your smirk. “Worse than that? I thought you’d burn the abbey down.”

“Don’t believe me?”

“Who are you gonna murder, then?”

“Whoever says I can’t keep you here.”

“Papa? Sister?”

“Whoever,” he repeats with a deadly serious stare. “But I don’t have to resolve to murder right away. I think a wise starting point would be arson, then I’ll work myself up.”

“You act like you’d be methodical when we both know you’d just scream and punch a whole in a wall until they’re so annoyed they let you have anything.”

He gapes at you indignantly. “I would never do that.”

“You did it before.”

“No?”

“When you wanted them to allow me to basically half-move into your room because you got frustrated of me leaving all the time?”

He shrugs. “Okay, maybe.”

You smirk. “Just admit you’re clingy and needy and that it’s easy to push your buttons and that–“

He roughly grabs your hips before you can go on, pulling you so close you struggle to breathe. “Hey, watch it, you little minx.”

“It’s all stuff that I love about.” You smile as you wrap your hands around his neck. “I wouldn’t want you to be any different.”

That lures an almost shy smile out of him. He kisses you before you can tease him, slow, languid, the kind of drawn-out kiss that you usually share when you’re snuggled up in bed. After a while he presses in harder, tongue sliding into your mouth. You sink into his arms, relent to his efforts. It’s clear that he’s trying to make you so dizzyingly kiss-drunk that you forget your sass.

“Please,” he says once you break away. “Just stay here with me. We can do this all day, baby, we can do even better things.”

“Liar. Not all day.”

“Well, when I’m not on stage.”

“Hmmmmm. Maybe I need another to be fully convinced.”

He playfully rolls his eyes, but indulges you, giving you another slow kiss. “So insatiable. How do you want to go another month without this, huh?”

“I don’t. But what if we can’t?”

“Did you listen to anything I just said?”

“Yes, but you can’t actually burn something down.”

He raises his brows and you smack his shoulder. “Dew.”

“Fine. But I’m asking and I will do whatever… legal… things I can do to convince them.”

“Okay, I can live with that.”

You lean into him, face against his neck, his hair tickling your skin in the way that makes your heart flutter without fail. He holds you so tight that you’re almost convinced anyone trying to separate you would have to use a crowbar. Not that they would be able to use one inside the narrow bunk bed.

You’re not sure how exactly you fell asleep, even less sure how you managed to stay asleep, but you wake up to Dew being gone. At first your immensely confused as to your surroundings, then you recognise the weird shaky movements as the driving of the bus. You feel like you’ve been hit by a brick – the kind of nap that makes you reconsider several life choices. But you climb out of bed, making your way down the hall to the seating area on wobbly legs.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

Half an hour of intense bickering, mostly on Dew’s part.

You’re tempted to just squeeze our ears shut because of course everyone on the bus has an intense opinion on you staying here on tour with them. The public opinion right now is that you should just stay, fuck Sister’s opinion and do what you want. sPapa is the voice of reason, making phone calls to the abbey, trying to reach Sister who seems to be so busy today that you’ve been left hanging in the line for minutes now.

“She can’t make you go back if you don’t want to, you have free will,” Dew says. “And even more importantly I have free will and what I want is the law.”

“That’s exactly how it works,” Sunshine says, grinning at you.

Papa who sits at the other end of the bus, trying to reach some semblance of quiet for his calls, suddenly speaks up and everyone stops in their tracks. “Yes, yes, hi? Oh, okay, eh… sì, sì. I will let them know, yes. Thank you, sis. Yes, of course. See ya, yeah. Stay well, okie-dokie?”

He hangs up and jumps from his seat. “Good news, little lovebirds.”

“Good news?” Dew half-yells.

“Sister said your little amore can stay. Let me speak–” Papa says, stopping Dew who was about to jump on you in his tracks, then he turns to you. “She wants you to document what’s going on for the clergy newsletter. Like a… remote work kind of situation. She says you can’t think she will grant you a month-long holiday distracting the ghouls without some contribution to the… eh, success of the project.”

“But they already have real photographers here,” you argue. You have been taking photos for the clergy newsletter at home sometimes, writing a few articles here and there, but on tour they had the professionals.

“Behind the scenes kind of thing,” he explains. “The stuff the public doesn’t get. For ministry use only so the other Siblings feel like it makes sense that you are here and it’s not just a favor.”

“Oh okay,” you say, finally grasping what this means. “Yeah, sure. That works.”

Dew is already on you, restraint all but used, his mouth crashing onto yours before you can ask any more questions. You’re half-startled but kiss him back quickly, the other ghouls cheering around you as he fiercely continues to move his lips against yours. When you break away, you’re dizzy, everyone’s hand on your arms, trying to hug you. You do your best to reciprocate their affection, the reality of it all slowly settling. You can stay with Dew, you won’t have to go back and wait for him again.

“See, I told you I always get what I want,” Dew whispers, pulling you into his lap on one of the seats.

You smile. “And without arsen nor murder!”

“Murder?” Papas asks, then shakes his head. “You know what? I don’t even want to know. Now I can finally go play games on my phone and you leave me in peace, yes? We stop by a mall later so everyone make sure you have a partner to go with and NO, no one gets an exception. I won’t lose one of you again only to find you naked in a fountain with people making tiky-toky videos of you trying to eat the fish.”

“Rain, he means you–” Aether whispers, earning him a nudge to the ribs that makes him hiss.

Papa just sighs and rolls his eyes, bringing one hand up to massage his temples. “By Satan, why do I keep doing this to myself?”

✦ ✧ ✦ 

A few hours later, on your way to yet another hotel, you stop by the huge mall just as primed. It’s not as much a fun trip as a necessity for you at this point, considering you only packed for five days and not a whole month. But the ghouls are hyped up anyway, like kids on a field trip, and pile out of the bus in their human glamour with so much excitement that it’s catching.

The thing is, you and Dew have never been anywhere together outside of the abbey. Staying in a hotel and getting breakfast in a diner have already been special. But now, walking around a mall with him, hand in hand, his now very clawless fingers laced with yours, is so domestic, so beautifully normal, that it makes your heart beat twice as fast.

As it turns out, Dew is not scared of PDA even outside of the abbey because he simply does not care what any of the humans around you think. He is also not very concentrated on completing the list of necessities you’ve written beforehand but gets distracted by anything that catches his interest. Most of all, though, he’s really focused on you, pointing out things in shop windows, kissing you randomly, so very clearly showing you he’s happy you’re there.

Eventually, you manage to grab all the toiletries and a few basic clothing articles you need. 

Then you pass an absolutely exaggerated candy store and Dew gets you all his favorites that he discovered while on tour. As you explore more of the mall, you munch on sweet and crunchy treats, taking in all the new things you would never find at home. 

Several stores later, Dew suddenly stops, nearly making you stumble.

“What?”

“You haven’t kissed me in two minutes,” he complains.

“I kissed you like ten seconds ago.”

“No, you didn’t?”

“I didn’t?”

“No that one was too short, doesn’t count.”

“It totally counts.”

“No. You said you love how clingy and needy I am, deal with it.”

“Ohhh.” You smirk and let him pull you close, wrap your arms around his neck. “We should have just stayed in and skipped the mall.”

His hands find your ass. “Well, you needed to get clothes. Even though I’m still not sure what for.”

“Because you’re so obsessed with me you won’t let me go back.”

At that he smirks. “Ah, yea, I’m absolutely the only obsessed one here. Not the needy woman who woke me up in the middle of the night to fuck for the fourth time.”

“Because you kept rubbing against me in your sleep.”

“Keep telling yourself that, baby. It’s fine.” 

“Awww, I’m sure it was horrible for you.”

He whimpers. “It was awful. I suffered for you.”

You smack his shoulder and he laughs, finally leaning in to kiss you. It’s not the most glamorous location to make out in, but you deepen the kiss anyway, too enamoured with him and his beautiful smile. He still tastes like candy but it’s odd not to feel his forked tongue or his fangs on your lips, no tail wrapping around your leg. You slide your hands down to his butt and into the back pockets of his jeans, pulling him closer. He moans.

When you eventually break away, you can’t help but grin.

Dew does too when he takes your hand and pulls you with him, walking down another row of stores you haven’t heard of. You definitely have to get more underwear and it’s a struggle not to let the ghoul by your side convince you to get some of the fancy lingerie. But you’re out for necessities, so you go for the simple multi-packs and look for ones that don’t cost a fortune.

In the end, you get a set of red lace lingerie anyway after having him whisper in your ear how he’s going to take it off of you in exquisite detail. Once you’re out of the store, you’re ready for lunch and so you go looking for something to eat.

On your way, you pass by a seating area with a bunch of rides for kids. There’s no one there apart from a mother with her little son who’s having the time of his life on a coin operated horse that’s neighing every few seconds. You also pass a bunch of vending machines for toys and sweets. You don’t really care about them but then you spot a gumball machine at the very end.

You stop in your tracks, effectively stopping Dew with you. “Aw, look, there’s rings inside!”

He furrows his brow. “Rings? Why is that exciting?”

“People get their loved one a ring like that. It’s a cheesy thing, really, but kinda sweet.”

“Should I get you one?”

“A ring?”

“Yes?”

You frown. “Dew… you know why they get those rings?”

“As a promise to love them forever. Because rings are eternal, right?”

He’s not looking at you but scanning the contents of the machine. One of his hands is lifted, finger moving up and down as he counts how many of the plastic balls he’d have to get for the desired content. His words ring in your ears, echo in your mind. As a promise to love them forever.

You struggle to speak normally, voice threatening to quiver any second. “Yes. I mean, usually to propose and marry but I guess that’s the… the idea behind it. To be together forever.”

“Cool, so, should I get you one, then? I don’t know how marrying works, but I think being together forever sounds neat.” He looks from the machine to your red, puffy eyes that are trying to hold back tears. “What’s up?”

The lump in your throat makes it hard to answer. “You want to… you want to love me forever?”

“Of course I do.” He furrows his brow, lifts his hands up to cup your face. “What’s the issue? You look like you’re about to cry.”

“I don’t know,” you lie. In fact, you’re overwhelmed by how easy this comes to him, by how naturally he assumes you’re going to be together for so long. For eternity.

He smiles like he’s seeing right through you. “What, you still think I’m just messing around with you? That I don’t mean it?”

You shrug, face all scrunched up in emotion. Dew just lets out an aw and then he pulls you into his arms, holding you close as he gently runs his hand over your back. He feels perfect, like he always does, and it’s the type of hug you never want to end. But the real issue is that this whole conversation stirred something inside of you that you can’t quite place, an intense, all-consuming feeling.

“Baby, when I say I love you, you need to know that I mean it,” he says. “You’re my everything. To me you’re it, my favorite person, and of course I want you forever.”

“You know forever for you means something different than for me?” you whisper into his neck, barely able to face the words.

„Do you think I won’t find your soul in the afterlife?“

Your heart shatters and puts itself back together at those words. You haven’t really thought too much about that before but now you have an idea why this feels like such a heavy admission. It makes you sob, cry like a baby.

“Oh, hey.” Dew tries to break away, to take a look at you, but you hold onto to him with all your strength. “Baby.”

You fight him and he relents, lets you cling to him and hide the mess on your face.

His voice is soft when he speaks. “Did I say something wrong?” 

“No.”

“So, good tears?”

“Yes, very good.”

“Okay.” He strokes your back, one of his hands sliding under your shirt for some skin contact. His fingertips feel hot against your spine, tickling your skin. But it grounds you, slowly drying the tears. When you break away, Dew wipes your cheeks, cradling your face in his slender hands.

“You okay?” he asks, worry written on his face. “I haven’t seen you cry so much ever. Are you sure this is all what you want?”

“Dew. I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby. So much. But it’s okay if…. I don’t know, if this is too much. Forever is a lot, especially for a human, I get it.”

“No, it’s… it’s all I could ever want. I just… I didn’t think I’d ever have it.”

He smiles softly, leans in for a gentle but firm kiss. “Well, you do. I won’t go anywhere, better get used to my pesky ass.” That makes you smile and as always, he grins at that. “My pretty girl.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true, you are.” He kisses your forehead, lips lingering for just a second longer than usual. “Imma get you that ring now.” 

He takes your hand in his and places a coin in the machine with the other, turning the lever around. It takes him three tries to get the ring out that he wants. It’s a gold one with a red stone, obviously, and he adjusts it to your size until it fits snuggly onto your ring finger.

Then he looks at it, runs his finger over the plastic stone. “So, this is cheap as fuck.”

You laugh. “Yeah, but it’s cute.”

“Why do people get them if they suck?” 

“Well…” You shrug. “It shows that it’s not about the material value. But the meaning behind it.”

Dew scoffs. “But it won’t last long. Not forever, at least.”

You take his hand in yours, letting them hang loosely between your bodies. “It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t want you to get me an expensive one for the gesture alone.”

“Wouldn’t be fore the gesture,” he says. “It would show everyone you’re mine. Isn’t that the purpose? Everyone sees you’re spoken for?”

“I think they’re aware I’m yours by now.” You laugh, thinking about all the times he nearly bit someone’s head off for flirting with you. “But we can think about it. You’d have to wear one, too.”

“Oh, really?”

You falter. “I mean… only if you want, obviously. It’s not like we’re really getting married, so it’s more symbolic.”

Dew frowns. “I don’t really get that.”

“It would only be a legal thing humans do, which… I don’t think would work with a ghoul. But I don’t really care about it,” you explain. “We can do our promises just to ourselves. I think I would like that.”

“Sweet.” He smiles. “So we’ll just swear to love each other forever and wear matching rings?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think there’s a store here somewhere that sells better ones?”

You smile to yourself. “I bet.”

✦ ✧ ✦ 

Half an hour later, sweaty, tired and feet aching but so incredibly happy, you climb back onto the bus. Almost everyone is already back, opening bags to assess all their new possessions. You’re barely fully inside before you’re cornered and pulled onto a seat right next to the ghoulettes. Sunshine holds up a new top that she bough but you don’t have any time to admire it before your attention is directed to Cirrus, who grabs your arm and lifts it up high.

“Hey, what’s that on your finger?”

“A ring.”

She squints. “That’s new.”

“Yea, um… we just got them.”

“We?” Swiss asks, joining in.

“Dew got one, too.”

The multi ghoul whistles at Dew who just joined you as well. “So, what? You got married in a mall? We’re not even in Vegas.”

“Not married, we just got matching rings,” you explain. “As a promise.”

“Ohhh, look at our little fire ghoul, he’s gone all soft,” Swiss teases. “He’s a little softie now. A sweet little marshmallow. I bet I can squish you between my fingers.”

Dew scowls, eyes narrowed to slits. “Say that again.”

“What if I do?”

“I’ll–“

“Stop it. I have an important question, “Aether interrupts. Everyone turns to look at him. “Can I be the best man?”

Dew sighs. “We’re not getting married. Can everyone calm down?”

“Well, now that you’re wearing rings you’re practically married, right?” Cumulus asks.

“I agree,” Sunshine says. “I think that counts. You put rings on each other’s fingers, that’s practically all humans do as well.”

“Congrats.” Aether takes Dew’s hand and shakes it exaggeratedly. “I’m so proud. I mean, technically, I think I was the one who got you two together. So really, you should thank me.”

“Hey, I gave him super helpful advice too,” Swiss says. “So I think I deserve a thanks as well.”

“You deserve a headbutt,” Dew says. “You gave the worst advice ever. It’s a surprise she chose to date me at all.”

“That says more about you than me, though,” Swiss argues.

You sigh, leaning back in your seat. Dew notices and flips Swiss off before squeezing himself between Cirrus and you. With his arm wrapped around you, you start to feel the exhaustion of today finally settling in your bones. So much happened and yet you feel oddly at peace. The next few weeks will be stressful and exciting, tour always is according to Dew, but you can’t wait to finally experience it all with him, eat red velvet donuts, buy stupid things in stores, share snacks and hotel beds and just… be with the ghoul you love more than anything.

“I love you, you little menace,” you whisper against his shirt collar, pressing a kiss to his neck.

He shudders at the contact, squeezing you closer. “I love you, too, little minx. Can’t wait to spend the rest of forever with you.”

✦ ✧ ✦ 

Thanks for reading! This concludes that little series. I’m sorry it took me so long to write for these two again. I really didn’t want to leave this out in the open for so long. In any case, I hope you enjoyed ♡

[tojiscumdumpster]

CHAPTER SEVEN - TOJI

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀✧ summary page

Within the next few minutes, I’ll be dead. I knew this the moment I saw that blue-eyed freak reappear after when I thought I killed him. Fucking sorcerers and their cursed technique bullshit. Maybe I was too confident thinking I would win the second time. I doubted myself at first, but then I calmed down… No. 

 I was just too confident.

 A world like this wasn’t meant for a monkey like me. I was born into a fucked up family that treated me like shit because I didn’t have any cursed technique. The scar on my lip reminds me of it every day. I got over it, though. I accepted this was my faith. I served my purpose, and it was time for me to go.

 Still, I can’t help but wish I made it out alive. That I had a little bit more time. 

 “Nah,” I replied, vaguely. 

 How am I supposed to answer some cliché question like that? 

 Any last words?

 Why would I tell him that? 

 Tell him about the thoughts and images that’s in my head.

 Tell him that I had a wife who I actually saw some good in me. Good enough to get pregnant and raise a kid together. Tch, me? Toji Fushiguro? A husband and father? I never thought I would live to see the day. And of course, it didn’t last long. 

 My wife died because of an incurable sickness. I never felt pain before. Not when I’m standing here with half my body blown off. Not when my family tortured me. But the day she died, I felt pain. I didn’t cry. I just felt empty. Felt like I had no reason to be decent anymore. How was I supposed to raise a kid by myself? 

 She told me I was going to be okay. 

 I wasn’t okay. 

 I’m a fucked a person.

 A fucked up father.

 . . . I was never made to be a fucking dad. Me selling my son to my family is better than what I could’ve done for him. It wouldn’t make any difference if I was or was not in his life because I would never be good enough to be a father. . . A person. . . But I met. . . Her.

 In my final moments, I think of my late wife, my son, and—

“Dad!” Megumi’s deafening voice wakes me up. “It’s almost five. We have to go to the store.”

  What the…

 What the fuck was that? 

 Lately my mind has been clogged with thoughts and what feels like memories I used to have. Could never decipher them, but that dream was probably the clearest I had. 

 Me being on the verge of death (wouldn’t be the first time), apparently being killed by some blue-eyed fuck. Giving Megumi away to the Zen’in Family? Like fucking hell. I would endure the shit they put me through every day for the rest of my life knowing it would keep my kid safe. I just don’t understand these dreams I’ve been having.

 Are they signs? Is my judgment day coming where I would have to atone to my sins? Some bad shit about to happen to me? Megumi? I don’t fucking know. 

 I don’t care for karma. I don’t care for faith, destiny, or any of that manifestation bullshit. But I do believe in purpose, and sometimes I feel like I don’t have any. That there isn’t any.

 I’m a dad. For what? To fail my son. I was a husband, had my flaws but shit, I tried. And for what? To lose her only after being parents together for eight years? It was unexpected. Nature calling, and at the moment, I never hated whatever fucking god above so much because they took her away from me. 

 From me and Megumi.

 Please take care of Megumi.

 It’s like I can hear her lecturing me about all the times I had our kid eating take out or having him walk home alone from school. 

 Take care of Megumi. . . Yeah, I’m trying.

 I have to do better.

 I need to.

 The little purpose I have is left for him.

 “If you can’t go anymore, can you at least give me the money so I can go by my-”

 “No,” I interrupted, clearing my throat. “No, let’s go. Sorry, kid. Your old man was dozing off.”

 Here’s another thing about being a parent. Being around other parents who force small talk while their kids go off and buy shit. Because we’re parents, that means we have to share funny stories and randomly show baby photos to people you don’t even fucking know. Why? I don’t know, but I bet the mom next to me that has been talking my ears out for the past fifteen minutes could tell you.

 Having Megumi as my kid means he’s going to have most, if not some, of my traits. One of them being how much of a loner I am that appreciates his space. After my failed attempt to walk around with the kid to maybe have some father-son bonding, I figured I just stand at a comfortable distance and let him do his own thing. 

 No pressure. I’m on his time. Not the other way around.

 Still, me standing alone was not a fucking invitation to talk to me.

 I respect women. I do, but I’m two seconds away from telling her to fuck off in the nicest way possible. 

 Though, I have a reason why she approached me to begin with. 

 How she’s invading my space, trying her hardest for me to look at her tits. The extra pout she gives her lips while talking to me. How she’s still asking me one off questions, despite my vague one word answers.

 She’s looking to get fucked, but she’s just too shy to say it. 

 Attractive for most part. Probably five-foot-ten, maybe in her late thirties. Strong perfume. Hair drops right below her jaw. 

 Hm, not my type. 

 “So, here’s another photo-”

 “Sorry, why are you showing me these again?” I abruptly asked. 

 “I—” she stumbles over her words, pushing her hair back while giving me a timid smile.

 “Seems like you had other reasons.”

 “Like?”

 I shrug. “To get fucked.” I can tell that my brute honesty throws her off a bit, but she gathers herself. 

 “Are you offering?”

 “No.”

 She’s probably taken back by my response. I wouldn’t know because I casually walked away to the next aisle. 

 Back in Tokyo, I gained attention, but in America? The women here look at me like I’m a fucking piece of meat. Not that I don’t mind, but shit. 

 What would help if they didn’t waste both our time with trivial chit chat and just cut straight to the chase. 

 Anyways. 

 Told the kid I’ll be walking around the store if he needs me, and of course he replies with whatever . Like I should be surprised. 

 He’s my son, after all. 

 Pretty packed for a Tuesday night at the store. Guess all the parents are out buying their kids shit, too. While Megumi is getting his supplies together, figured I could go to the meat section to make dinner tonight. Probably hot pot for the kid and offal for me. 

  Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing this parenting shit right. You know, letting Megumi be by himself to buy things while I roam around. Probably not because I see families throughout the store and they look happy, for the most part. 

 The look on their faces, the light conversations they’re having about who knows what. . . I can tell this is going to be one of those fucking nights for me. 

 Remember there was a point in my life where I was content with the small family I created. My wife. Megumi. Living in the shittiest apartment building back in Tokyo and barely making ends meet. 

 I came from a wealthy family. One of the wealthiest in Japan. I was supposed to be a silver spooned brat that was grateful to be born into money, only later to be beaten and emotionally abused, which eventually left me in the streets. 

 And you know after all the shit those Zen’in fucks put me through regardless of the amount of money I had access to, I’d always choose what I had with my wife and my strained relationship with Megumi. 

 But of course, any good that happens to me is only temporary. Can only imagine how long I have left with Megumi until he turns eighteen and moves far away from me if he decides to go to college. 

 Is it wrong for me to wish my kid would cut me some slack? Probably, but that’s not something I would ever ask him. Though, I can fucking admit that it stings how he addresses me has changed over time. 

 Daddy to Papa, now to Dad. Soon he’ll start being formal and shit by calling me father or even my first name. I guess I should be grateful he’s calling me anything at all. 

 Damn, if I liked alcohol, I would’ve said I need a drink right now. Maybe a few. Being in family settings makes me feel the emotion I hate feeling the most. Vulnerability . 

 It makes me feel weak, like I’m pitying myself. I don’t care for pity. I don't care to say I didn’t deserve to experience trauma. It happened. There’s shit I can do about it. No point for me to keep thinking about it. 

 It’s just hard when your son doesn’t even want to be seen with you in public to go school supply shopping. 

 I need to clear my head. 

 Already worked out twice today, and clearly that’s not working. Maybe some pussy. It’s been a while since I last had sex. Maybe I need…

 Y/N .

 Here I am again thinking about her at the most random fucking times. I said I need her. Would I ever tell her that?  Most likely not. 

 How can I tell a woman that I don’t know that I need her? To be around her and have her bubbly personality overshadow my grumpiness. To stare at her in dead silence and think how fucking pretty she is. How good she smells. How can I tell Y/N that? 

 She’s good company. 

 That’s all she is…

 Soon she’ll see I’m no good. 

  “Miss L /N told me you’ve been doing good in class, kid.”

 Been home with Megumi for about two hours now. School shopping is not fucking cheap, to say the least. My job pays well, but the cost of shit in America is still something I’m trying to adjust to, especially in comparison to Japan. 

 Megumi is the only reason why I haven’t gotten broke yet. 

 “Yeah,” he responds flatly.

 I stuff my mouth with a piece of meat. “Want to talk about it?”

 “Not really.”

 “Alright.”

 There goes that loud silence. 

 I continue, trying to keep conversation. “Food's good?” He nods. “Think you got everything you needed for school?”

 “Yes, Dad.” Annoyance fills his voice, making it very clear that I’m bothering him. 

 “Everything’s okay?” I asked. 

 “Can’t we just eat in silence? Why are you forcing conversation?”

 Oh.

 “Sorry, kid. Just trying-”

 Megumi pushes back his chair, standing up with his plate in his hand. “I’m going to my room. Thanks for dinner.”

 What the fuck am I doing wrong?

 I talk, he’s annoyed with me. I don’t talk, I feel like he’s being neglected again. Not sure if I’m giving Megumi too much space or just enough space, but it’s kind of fucking hard when I don’t how he feels. 

 When you come from an abusive family that doesn't know how to give or receive love, it passes onto you and potentially it’ll pass onto your child. 

 That’s what I’m trying to prevent. 

 I was scared as shit when my wife first told me she was pregnant. I mean, how the fuck was I supposed to be a dad? I don't know what it feels like to have one. But I knew I was going to be okay if I had her by my side.

  I’m a fucked up person. . . A fucked up father. 

 “Fuck, I need to take a walk,” I say to myself. 

 I get up to put the leftovers in the oven so I can finish later. Before I walk out the door, I tell Megumi I’m stepping out for a while and guess what he says? 

 Whatever. 

  Patience, Fushiguro. Patience.

  Be kind to yourself, Toji . That’s what Y/N told me the other day. I have messaged or contacted her at all since I got her number yesterday. Maybe I need to talk to her… see her… just for a little bit. 

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

discussion question #3 — the more we see toji and megumi's relationship, struggles are shown between them. more so, on toji's part. do you think he should continue making small talk or allow megumi to come around whenever he's ready? looks like toji is afraid to let that happen because he doesn't want megumi to feel neglected. thoughts?

[inuhalfdemon]

DisPOsable (5/?)

Explicit (tw: language, aftermath of violence and torture)

Word Count: 2,861 Words

Chapter 5: The Writing

The demon’s ears were turning and rotating in odd movements; his eyes focused on the quill and the paper in a strange way.

“I apologize, Rosie, the day got away from me I’m afraid,” Lucifer explained, finding her bustling about her Emporium.

“We did just fine, your grace. No need to fret,” Rosie told him, leading him to the stairs that ran back up to her studio.

“You…left him alone up there? Do you think that’s wise?” Lucifer questioned her, uncertainly.

“Of course! He’s right where I left him, I can guarantee it,” Rosie assured him, pausing before heading up the stairs. “What did you learn from your visit with Abaddon this morning?”

“Not much…he’s not a Disposable that was tagged by Abaddon himself, but there’s so many others involved in the market now, it will be difficult finding out who did.”

“I wondered at that,” Rosie nodded. “The Vees have turned Disposable demons into an outright business…selling them and the products they’ve created for others to control and torment them with…it’s disgusting.”

“Abaddon suggested I contact Voxtech, see if I can narrow down a list of buyers, but…I’m not sure I want to do that quite yet. I’m still curious to see if anyone is actually looking for him.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Rosie told him. “I’d hate to see him have to go back, Lucifer…I really would.”   

“He won’t, Rosie. I can promise you that.”

She smiled, happy to hear him say it.

“Now then,” she turned, heading up the stairs, “while you were away, I took it upon myself to see to a few things. He wasn’t confident in choosing his own clothes; but I do have some things that might work that will be arriving to your mansion later this evening.”

Clothes...of course.

“Thank you, Rosie…I hadn’t even considered that. After meeting with Abaddon, I made sure to find and buy other things he might need: some groceries, a toothbrush, stuff for his hooves and his hair…”

“Ah yes, the hair…I hope you won’t be too put out with me, but I saw to that one as well.” Rosie said, opening the door to the studio and stepping inside.

The Disposable demon was seated on the loveseat again, leaning over the far armrest and staring happily out the window. He was looking interestedly at the goings-on of Cannibal Town below. When Rosie and Lucifer entered, he turned, and his tail swished gently at seeing them both. He blinked back at them, then when they made no motion or word of needing him, he turned his attention back toward the window.

“Oh, you gave him a haircut. It looks, uh…hm.” Lucifer made a face, trying to find the words.

The demon’s hair was cut in an inverted-bob style, his red bangs and ear tufts left long. The hair on top was swept stylishly across his head and his black ends – cut shorter now - hung well above and off his shoulders. The invert of the bob at the back was heavily exaggerated, sharply styled to go upward and with a shaved undercut underneath.

Rosie laughed. “I called in a favor of a friend who owns the barber shop here in town. She brought a book of samples and he picked the look himself. She is both talented and discreet; so I trusted her to do it. It’s a queer choice, I agree, but it suits him, I think.”

 The DiPO demon’s attention piqued at something outside and his head turned; smiling gently. His ears were turning and twitching happily.

“He picked that out himself!?” Lucifer wondered. “He hasn’t said one word to me since we left here last night.”

“Well…maybe if you treated him less like a feral dog about to turn rabid…he’d offer to talk more around you,” Rosie blatantly told him. “I am only half-teasing, by the way,” she sniffed.

“What all has he said to you?” Lucifer asked her, brushing past the comment.

“Not much, really. He converses, but only in small doses and very infrequently. The words get jumbled and mixed around sometimes and he shuts down easily. He told me today that you have been very kind to him.”

Lucifer watched the Disposable still looking at the window. “You said he had talked with you last night, what did he say then?”

“It was all politeness, really.” Rosie almost laughed, remembering the circumstance. “I managed to bring him up here; he was shivering from the cold and the rain; bleeding all over himself and some started dripping onto the floor; he rambled off apologies and not wanting to be of any nuisance…I assumed his broken speech was affected by the shock of everything going on that I hadn’t considered the oddness of it really before I realized he was wearing the tag.”

“Has he shown any interest in wanting to leave or go outside?” Lucifer asked her.

“No, not really. Like I said, he’s right where I left him earlier when I had to run downstairs and see to a few things.”

“I think it best if we keep him out of the public’s eye. For now, at least.”

“I agree, yes,” Rosie told him. “Oh! I did manage to find something that he likes! To eat, I mean.” She turned and went to a cooler that was set nearby and Lucifer followed her with interest.

“A cannibal after my own heart, I’ve discovered,” she announced, smiling. Lifting the lid to the cooler, she slid her hand in and pulled out a bundle of meat that was wrapped tightly in butcher paper and twine. “He’s partial to a variety of meats and cuts but this, this was especially a favorite of his. I will send you with some. Raw is best,” she told Lucifer, tossing the package to him.

Lucifer caught the package, looking at it strangely.

“What is it?” he asked her, nervously.

“Deer meat,” Rosie told him, grinning widely.

The next few days passed very strangely for Lucifer.

“Looks like you and I are roommates,” he told the DiPO demon, getting him all set up with his own bathroom and wardrobe within another spare room down the hall. Lucifer picked one that had wide windows that looked out across all of the city and the demon spent hours upon hours, just sitting there and staring out at the Pride Ring.

Lucifer walked him through the mansion; showing him rooms and places he may frequent if he wished: the kitchens, the studies, the parlors and personal bars, a music room, the library, Lucifer’s own personal workroom and office, the sunroom and pool.

The property, too, had a beautiful botanical garden that Lucifer enjoyed walking through in the mornings and evenings and he got into the habit of inviting the Disposable to go with him. The DiPO always stared in a quiet and open wonder at all the strange and unique flora - and fauna - that he would find there, but never did he move to touch or venture to say anything.

 Nights were always the strangest.

Lucifer had taken care to encourage the Disposable to remain in his room – to utilize the bed that was in there for him to use – each night. He had brought in Rosie’s blankets, folded them and left them on the duvet for the demon. He even left the door unlocked; hoping the DiPO would feel less confined; but also, not finding a point in locking it if the demon could mysteriously let himself out anyway.

Each morning, however, Lucifer would wake and step out from his own room to find the Disposable just outside his door; curled into the blankets that were from Rosie and asleep on the floor, wearing only the black pair of boxers. He couldn’t make sense of it.

The DiPO seemed to be adjusting, only, very slowly. He was completely indifferent to the clothing that Rosie had sent, and Lucifer took pangs in taking time to work through the options; hoping to find a style that interested him. He still hadn’t uttered a word since coming to the mansion and Lucifer, too, noted that he still wasn’t eating.

“Look,” Lucifer sighed, bringing the Disposable with him into the kitchen and opening the fridge. “I’ll show you this to you again. See these? See all of these? These are for you,” he told him, gesturing to the pile of meat packages that were stuffed onto the shelf.

The Disposable slowly leant back, sinking down onto his haunches in a submissive sitting position.

“I’m not mad at you,” Lucifer huffed. “Even if I was, you don’t have to do that. I’m just trying to show you that this is yours, ok.” Lucifer reached in and pulled out one of the packages labeled as venison. The DiPO remained sitting, just looking blankly back at him.

“Rosie told me you liked this stuff,” Lucifer was unwrapping the package. “Maybe you don’t have to eat every day but, you’ve gotta be feeling a little hungry by now.” The paper and plastic wrap came away and the Disposable’s ears went straight, eyes sharply on the meat.

Lucifer saw the change and without thinking, he took the cold hunk of meat from the wrappings and held it out.

The DiPO shifted, leaning forward and staring hungrily at the raw venison; but, still he remained sitting – waiting.

“Here, take it,” Lucifer told him, still offering him the meat.

Rather than standing back up, the Disposable leaned further forward from where he was sitting and slowly – purposefully – moved toward the meat. His eyes shifted to Lucifer; wide and calculating as his face neared his outstretched hand. Opening his mouth; his long tongue slid wet and warm into Lucifer’s hand – causing him to shudder – as the DiPO used it to pull the meat into his mouth. His sharp teeth sank deeply into the raw muscle and Lucifer’s stomach clenched at the soft, sucking sound of it. The demon pulled back, sitting back onto his haunches again – just holding the meat between his teeth and staring at Lucifer.

Ugh, just…enjoy it, you freaky ass creep. Lucifer thought, turning away to toss the bloody wrappings and wash his hands.

Feeling frustrated, Lucifer buried himself in his work. He had begun reflecting on his visit with Abaddon; replaying the conversation over and over again in his head and remembering the things that were said – the memory of it was grating on him.

Seated at the desk in his office, he tore through piles and piles of paperwork – reviewing documents of varying importance in his governing of all of Hell. His eyes wandered briefly to the tabloid and small stack of newspapers; news discussing the infamous Radio Demon and how the horrific screams that had been continuously broadcasting all throughout Hell had suddenly ceased playing. It reminded him of how he had somehow missed the change… how Abaddon had berated him for becoming distracted and letting things fall apart around him.

Then his eyes drifted to his phone; briefly considering picking it up and calling Charlie…or even Lilith. How did things between them all get so bad?

All Lucifer ever wanted was peace: peace for his family and peace for his people. When Heaven demanded a meeting and announced to him that they would be holding annual exterminations as a means to control the ever-growing population in Hell…what was he to say? What was he to do? Declare war, there at the table? He was lucky enough even to somehow land protection from the attacks for himself, his family, and all of the Hellborn…better that than certain destruction.

Lilith didn’t see it that way though. She told him he was a coward and that he was weak for not choosing to stand against them. She loved her people, and she would die fighting before she stood back and watched them be slaughtered. Charlie, his daughter, maintained that Heaven had it wrong, that each of these wicked, tormented souls still had some good in them; that they were worth saving.

Lucifer had fought with both of them; they didn’t understand Heaven’s ways, nor had they ever seen what a war or a battle looked like between realms. The costs were never worth the effort and, more often than not; both sides ended up losing.

Abaddon – more than anyone- had a right to be angry with him. All Abaddon wanted for any soul was for them to have their right to their own free will. It’s why they stood beside Lucifer and Lilith’s decision to offer it to humanity in the very beginning and why they fell with them when Heaven responded. Abaddon loved their family…but, they also held a deep regret and resentment for Lucifer’s carelessness.

Lucifer didn’t have the foresight to know that all of this would happen; that they would end up here. He recognized now that it was terribly cruel of him, to force Abaddon’s hand; to ask them to pass judgement on souls that he himself had deemed unworthy – incapable - of finding any form of redemption for themselves; to ask them to do all of that…then to go to them now, questioning whether it had all been the right choice…

Sighing and still feeling frustrated, Lucifer flicked his eyes to the side and groaned. The Disposable demon sat comfortably with crossed legs on the floor – just staring at him. Lucifer had been at it for hours now and the demon just stayed there the entirety of the time…watching him.

“You could go and find your own things to do, you know. You don’t have to sit here all day and watch me work,” Lucifer told him.

The DiPO flicked an ear but made no move to leave or shift position.

“Do what you want then, I suppose.” Lucifer pulled a sheet of paper to him; reaching for a quill, he began scratching into the page with ink.

The demon’s head sharply tilted; his ears twitching at the noise. Lucifer tried to ignore him, but he could see the Disposable’s head turning and tilting - back and forth - as he continued to write across the page. He managed to get nearly half-way done before setting the quill down and groaning again.

“That is entirely too distracting,” Lucifer told him sharply and the demon straightened. “If you’re so curious of what I’m doing, just come over here then.”

The DiPO’s ears straightened and he shifted forward – hesitating.

“Come on, it’s fine,” Lucifer told him, gently now.

The demon smoothly stood from where he was sitting on the floor and slowly approached the desk. Lucifer scooted his chair aside to give him room. The Disposable paused beside him; eyes widely watching Lucifer and then flashing to the desk with interest.

“Look, see…” Lucifer lifted the quill again and quickly scribbled out a sentence. “That’s all that I’m doing, it’s not so interesting.”

But, the demon’s ears were turning and rotating in odd movements; his eyes focused on the quill and the paper in a strange way.

“Here.” Lucifer reached over and dug around in his drawer for a clipboard. Reaching into a small trash bin, he pulled out a sheet of something he had tossed away earlier. Flipping the page to a blank surface, Lucifer stuck it into the clip. Grabbing a pen, he stood up from his chair and led the demon to the nook beside his office window. “Entertain yourself with these for a while,” Lucifer told him, inviting him to sit in the nook and handing him the clipboard and pen. “I’ve still got more to do.”

Returning to his desk, Lucifer sat back down and pulled the sheet he had been working on back to him. Lifting the quill and glancing briefly up from the page, he saw that the DiPO demon was looking from the pen that he held in his own hand to the blank sheet of paper upon the clipboard that he was holding in his other. Concentrating, he lifted the pen to the paper and began scratching at the page. After a moment, he stopped – eyes wide and ears straight as he stared at the marks he had made. Forgetting all about Lucifer, the demon focused harder on what he was doing and continued to scribble away with the pen.

Nodding his head, Lucifer bent himself back over his own work.

Later, Lucifer’s mind was wandering again, and his hand had begun to cramp. Lifting his wrist, he flexed it and his fingers and decided that he had had enough of that today. Pushing back from the desk, he stretched himself and yawned. He needed a drink.

Standing, he stretched himself again before going to where the Disposable demon sat, tucked away in the nook, still very focused on what he was doing.

“It’s getting late, you wanna call it a night?” Lucifer asked him.

The DiPO jerked his head up, surprised at seeing Lucifer there.

“What have you been working on over here that’s got you so absorbed?” Lucifer reached for the clipboard.

The Disposable readily handed it to him; offering the pen back as well, but Lucifer had forgotten it.

All across the sheet of paper were letters…letters forming into a name that repeated itself over and over all across the page:

ALASTOR

Chapter 6

[kit-kat-katie]

one last time, for us

A/N: I'm late on my once-a-month upload, but I have the final chapter of Our Time for you to enjoy! ❤️ I loved writing this series, and I hope everyone enjoyed playing it!

TW: Canon-levels of violence and abuse, main character death, angst from beginning to end with a bit of a sweet side

Pairing: Finnick x GN! Reader (Romantic)

Summary: After the revelations that come from freeing the Victors in the Capitol, everything in your world comes crashing down. You have to find a way to fight through the present, even if it means trudging through memories of the past.

(<- Previous Part | Series Masterlist)

“Annie?” Your voice rings out among the waves that crash against the shore.

She mumbles something into her hair as you take a seat next to her.

“I find the waves to be relaxing, especially on nights like this.” You say before turning to Annie.

She bows her head in response while continuing to mutter to herself.

You realize that you’ve interrupted her moment of solace - a moment where her mind is silent, and peace settles over her whole being.

“I’m sorry. I’m bothering you, aren’t I?”

You go to stand up, only for Annie to stop you with a hand on your arm.

“Stay. Please stay.” Her eyes are distant as she looks at you.

“Of course.” You sit back down and silently stare at the waves with Annie.

That would be the last conversation you would ever have with her.

~

You didn’t get out of bed for two days. Better than Finnick, who lasted three days in bed.

To say that morale was damper in District 13 would be an understatement. When you left your bed, everyone had their heads held low as you passed them. 

You had gotten back the victors that were captured, but what else did you lose? The hope that you once had for your fellow District 4 victors?

Johanna was irreversibly changed - of course she was, days upon days of torture would do that to you - but it felt like she was the only person you could talk to.

“I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever cared about, so President Snow,” She says in a mocking tone, “hurt the only person I have left - myself.”

“I couldn’t imagine-” You start as she shakes her head and sits up in bed.

“-Don’t waste your breath, Sunny. I don’t need your empathy, neither does Katniss.” Johanna scoffs. 

“What do we do now?”

“We wait, we prepare, and then we give them hell.”

~

Mags smiles as you enter her home in the Victors’ Village. She offers you a baked treat that you gladly take.

You follow her eyes to the window, where she stares at Finnick and Annie talking outside.

“Thank you for inviting me inside of your home. I could use the distraction.”

Mags turns away and lightly grabs your shoulder.

“No, I’m alright, I’ve just been having nightmares again. Nothing I can’t deal with.” You try to give a convincing smile, but it doesn’t persuade Mags in the slightest.

She gently guides you to her dining room as you take a seat in one of her chairs. She sits opposite of you as you place your hands on the table.

“It’s the same nightmares as usual, about the ones I…” You pause, before remembering a mentor’s advice, “killed. But I didn’t have a choice, and I didn’t want to-”

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes, but you quickly bat them away with a weak smile.

“There’s nothing I can change about that now. I can only face the present and hope that the future will be better.”

Mags reaches over and grabs your arm as an undistinguishable expression falls onto her face.

As you look into her eyes, you can tell what she’s feeling.

Pride. Hope. Anticipation.

And a spark, the tiniest spark, of happiness.

~

“I’m not hungry.” Katniss pushes the plate of food away from you as you sigh.

“I know you don’t want to deal with me, I get it, but Plutarch and Haymitch made me do this. It’s easier for both of us if you eat, or at least, pretend to.” You gruffly say as she looks at you in surprise.

“What happened to Sunny?” She asks you.

“They got a harsh reminder of where we are, and what we’ve done.” You solemnly say as you hold the spoon out for her to grab. “Eat. Please.”

You’re expecting more of a fight, but she grabs the spoon and starts eating the food in front of her.

You smile, a rarity for these days. For once, you feel in control of your destiny, as if you have a chance to impact things again.

Just a moment, before things spiral out of your control.

~

“You should go.” You struggle to put your knee brace on before Finnick comes to your aid.

“You need me here, and I can’t leave you, not after-”

“-I can handle myself, despite what it looks like.” You watch as Finnick finishes putting on the brace. “They need fighters, like you.”

“What about you, Sunny?” He tilts his head at you as you lean back in the chair.

“My fighting days are over. The best thing I can do for the revolution is stay hopeful and help where I can.” You extend your hand, which Finnick grabs. “I’ll be fine. I should be worried about you, instead of the other way around.”

Silence engulfs you both as you pull his hand to your lips and give it a quick kiss.

“I can see how much you need this. You stare longingly at the tridents that Beetee has made, just as you did when we were in District Four.”

Finnick smiles as he takes his other hand and grabs your arm.

“You noticed that?”

“Of course I did!” You softly laugh. “You refused to go fishing with a pole or net - you always had to use a trident.”

“It was just… easier that way.” He shrugs before he sadly looks away. “I don’t know if I can fight again, not after-”

“-They would want you to fight, as do I.” You lightly squeeze his hand. “Do it for Annie. For Mags. For every victor and child whose life was changed or ended too soon.”

“For you?” He tilts his head at you.

“I thought that was implied.” You smile at him before leaning in and giving him a kiss. “Go on the next cargo ship over. They’re leaving in a few hours to bring supplies to the front lines.”

He stands up, but doesn’t let go of your hand.

“I love you.”

It’s quiet, soft, and sweet - just the way you imagined those words falling from his lips.

“I love you too.”

He kisses you again - with more passion this time, before letting go of your hand and exiting your shared living quarters.

A silent tear falls down your face, as if you knew the future before it happened.

You wanted your last moment with him to be happy, and it was.

~

“Where will you go?” Johanna asks as you sit on the stairs of the President’s Mansion.

You all have done it. Snow was to be executed, and a new government to be put in place. But what about those you had lost?

You bite your lip before tears fall down your cheeks.

“Home. I’m going to arrange a service for Annie, Mags,” You bow your head before a sob breaks from your throat, “and Finnick.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” 

You’d normally tease Johanna for her genuine concern for you at this moment, but you didn’t have it in you. You were tired, you were angry, and you were mourning.

“That’d be nice. I could use someone to help pick up the pieces.” You pull your jacket over your shoulders as a light breeze glides into the area. “What about you?”

“I don’t know yet.” She shrugs before looking at everything around you. “There’s no family for me to go back to, so it doesn’t make sense to go back to District 7. District 13 certainly doesn’t feel like home, not with those doctors and their needles-” She shudders as you do the same.

“-You can stay with me, if you’d like.” Her eyes widen as you nervously bite your lip. “I’ll make sure that we’re far away from the ocean or any body of water.”

“Sounds nice.” She mutters as you fall into a comfortable silence.

“Do you…” You pause before Johanna looks over at you. “Do you think it was wrong of me to tell Finnick to fight?”

“We both know that he would’ve found his way to the frontlines of the fight. It’s not like him to sit back and watch,” She looks over at you with pity, “and you shouldn’t blame yourself for this. For anything that’s happened.”

“Thanks, Johanna.” You say as you look up at the sky.

If you weren’t having such a shitty day, you’d say that the sky looked prettier than it ever did.

~

As expected, the Victor’s Village in District 4 was a mess. Windows were smashed, doors were torn off their hinges, and furniture was thrown out of homes and into gardens and walkways.

There must’ve been a mad rush from Capitol forces to find the victors who had escaped, and to take the ones who hadn’t. You were lucky to be gone from this place, and it crushed you to see it in such disarray.

As you approach Finnick’s home, Johanna lingers behind you.

“You go first. I think it’s better if you poke around there first.” She says as you place your hand on the door frame, where the door once was.

“Afraid of something in there?” You joke as she rolls her eyes.

“Very funny, Sunny,” She leans against a nearby building as a smile appears on her face, “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Me too.” You mumble before stepping inside.

Everything that was once orderly and neat was now a complete mess. A hurricane going through Finnick’s house would cause less damage than this. 

With the beating that the walls appeared to have taken, you’re surprised that the house is still standing.

I should be quick, just in case.

Finnick wasn’t much for sentimental items, so there was little decor in the house besides what you and the other Victors had given him. There was one item in particular you were looking for - a seashell you had given him when you had arrived back in District 4 after winning your first Hunger Games. 

He said he had still kept it, years later, but where was it? You had checked downstairs, in every cabinet and drawer, and the upstairs didn’t look too promising as you approached the last room you needed to search - his bedroom.

You opened the doors to his room, and his scent washes over you. Despite the ruin downstairs and the minor damage upstairs, this room seemed to be untouched.

Odd.

Your eyes look over his dresser, the closet, and his desk before you notice that the drawer by his nightstand was open.

You rush over to it, and you sigh in relief as you find the seashell.

You hold the seashell to your chest as a soft tear makes its way down your cheek - one of the last things you had to remind you of Finnick. A happy memory, nonetheless.

The drawer isn’t completely empty, though - a note sits in there, tucked into a pretty envelope.

It’s addressed to me.

~

Finnick wasn’t a wordsmith, not in the slightest, but he had to get these thoughts out of his mind and onto a piece of paper. If not for the sake of his sleep schedule, but for his sanity as well.

He looks over at the seashell you gave him, and he smiles fondly. This note was for you, it had to be special.

Like a gentle stream, the words came easy to him when Finnick started writing. He wrote to you about your first meeting, about how proud he was of you, and everything he loved about you.

Love? Was that too strong of any emotion, too soon?

It wasn’t like you were going to read this letter - it was for him to look back and admire when he had a nightmare and needed some comfort. 

You could always come and knock on his door when he needed comfort, but he felt guilty doing the same thing - he was your mentor, after all, and that dynamic still stuck with him. 

He was supposed to watch out for you, but somehow, it evolved into something more.

He stares at the letter in front of him - it was supposed to be one page, but had quickly become three instead. Finnick chuckles to himself before grabbing an envelope - you had a way of making him push himself further, past what he thought was possible.

The letter is neatly tucked into the envelope as Finnick looks out over the rest of the Victors’ Village. It was pitch-black outside, and he should be sleeping.

You’d probably scold him for looking so tired in the morning.

He’d probably enjoy it, just as he did every day.

The pen wrote your name on the envelope before he thought to stop his own hand, but he didn't scratch it out or grab another envelope.

Perhaps he’d give it to you, someday.

A day where you both had time to spend with each other.

tagging ->@yokolesbianism , @avoxrising, @honethatty12, @sweetybuzz25, @catvader101, @sollum, @emerald-valkyrie, @randomgurl2326, @caitsymichelle13, @bcbci, @iris1587, @hi-im-fan-trash (thank you all for your support on this series!)

[shadowqueenjude]

Eris Vanserra

“This can end with you going under, begging me to get you out once that ice instantly refreezes. Or this can end with you agreeing to take my hand. But either way, you will be coming with me.”

“I’d forgotten why I was so relieved when our bargain fell apart the last time.”

“You didn’t think that I knew your shadowsinger would come sniffing around to see if I’d told my father about your … powers? Especially after my brothers so mysteriously forgot about them, too. I knew it was a matter of time before one of you arrived to take care of my memory as well. Too bad for you, I learned a thing or two about daemati. Too bad for my brothers that I never bothered to teach them.”

“There were forces at work that you have never considered. And I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. Believe what you want about me.”

“I’m surprised you still can’t control yourself around him. You had every emotion written right on that pretty face of yours.”

“I wouldn’t have touched you. But when you fucked that other bastard—I knew why you did it. So I gave you your freedom, ending the betrothal in no uncertain terms.”

“Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.”

“Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.”

“Stick to fighting battles, General. Leave the ruling to those capable of playing the game.”

“Why shouldn’t I flatter myself with such thoughts? You flatter yourself, thinking you’re more than a mongrel bastard.”

“Are you talking about me, or the brute beside you?”

“Let’s not lie to ourselves. You only bothered to contain two, by the time your brute bloodlust ebbed away.”

“There were certainly more than that, and you could have easily spared more than two. But I don’t know why I’d expect someone like you to have done any better.”

“Did you even try to spare the others, or did you just launch right into a massacre?”

“You’re a pretty little treat. I’d be happy to play any manner of game with you, Nesta Archeron.”

“When you get tired of the animal, come find me. I’ll show you how a future High Lord plays.”

“And as riveting as it was to see you send Tamlin scrambling off with his tail between his legs, I didn’t see this side of you. The time since the war has changed you.”

“Certainly for the more interesting. It seems you came to play the game tonight after all.”

“Don’t believe the lies they tell you about me.”

“Indeed it is. Especially one who can both dance and tear the King of Hybern’s head from his shoulders.”

“You’re wasted at the Night Court. Absolutely wasted.”

“Go sit at your master’s feet, dog.”

“We’ll play later, Nesta Archeron.”

“Always mix truth and lies, General. Didn’t those warrior-brutes teach you about how to withstand an enemy’s torture?”

Eris Vanserra, High Lord of Autumn? More like High Lord of my bed.

[analogwriting]

quick disclaimer, this is the first fic I've written in YEARS but it's been consuming my brain. this was a series of dreams i had when i was rewatching one piece and i just kind of stitched them together. it's gonna be an agonizing slowburn too bc i love to torture myself and others frfr. I'm going to try to make this as gender neutral as possible.

It Comes in Waves

Prologue: Deep Water Waves

Trafalgar Law x gn!reader word count: 1.9k next

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

“You’re actually the first person who hasn’t treated him like a monster.” A weak laugh came from a young man whose face resembles somewhat of a jester type and a feathery, dark coat. He shook his head, patting the head of the small boy in the hospital bed. The small child said nothing, just stared at the window. Despite the somewhat gloomy atmosphere around the child, it was a bright and sunny day. As it typically was on this particular island.

They had turned up on this island by chance, the young man having misplaced the map they did have. The weather and ambiance was tropical, the land itself - small. The people were as warm as its atmosphere. It was also an island that wasn’t exactly on the map. The young man traveling with the child just happened upon it anyhow. He had misplaced his map and they ended up just sailing to the next island they saw. It wasn’t until they arrived that they realized it was an uncharted island.

The people were surprised to see them. The young child stuck close with the man he was with. And this man was tall. Easily towered over everyone in the village almost two times. They all seemed more weary of him than the child with spots. Despite all that, they were still greeted warmly and without prejudice. They were quickly led to the island’s hospital which wasn’t as much a hospital as it was just a small hut. It consisted of only one doctor, after all.

“Well, everyone deserves a chance, don’t you think? Besides, it’s my duty as our island’s doctor to aid anyone who needs it.” Another man spoke. He was on the older side, graying hair pulled into a bun on the top of his head. Glasses donned the edge of his nose. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can really do. We hardly get support from the outside world as is, so whatever research that’s been made about the disease hasn’t made its way to us. Even if it did, our medicine isn’t as far advanced as some other places.  All I can do is lend some local mixtures and medicines to lessen the pain.” A long sigh came from the doctor. It hurt him to not be able to help the pair more. It was obvious he cared about each of his patients, no matter if they were from the island or not.

“Anything you have would be of great help, doctor.” The younger man smiled and nodded, patting the head of the child who was sitting on the bed. 

“Keiki.” A small squeak came from outside of the door, causing the two guests to turn their heads towards the source of the noise. The doctor sighed, chuckling. “I knew you were eavesdropping, my child.” A young child, about the age of the one currently in the hospital bed, peeked from around the corner. The doctor turned to the two guests. “I apologize for my child. They wish  to also be a doctor when they grow older, so I frequently catch them eavesdropping.” He looked at them and they immediately looked to the floor, inclining their head.

“Sorry, papa.” The child frowned, their cheeks turning pink as they looked down at their shoes, unable to make eye contact.

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

Another small squeak came from the child, who quickly bowed to the two visitors. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” 

The young man couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head. “No need. Children are curious.” He was honestly just relieved that the people on this island were so kind. They had been to so many places that treated the child in the bed like he was some kind of monster. He had started to lose his hope in humanity. More than he already had. 

“Alright, run along now, keiki. And I mean it. No more eavesdropping.”

“Yes sir!” The child bowed and turned to run off before the young man spoke up. “Hold on.” 

The child turned back around, looking at him with wide eyes, somewhat worried about what was to come. They knew it wouldn’t be that easy to get away. There was probably going to be some kind of punishment, right? They already knew that their father was going to scold them later. It happened every time. But they couldn’t help it! How could they learn if they didn’t know everything!

However, the young man wasn’t looking at them, but to the one on the bed. “Why don’t you go with them? I have more to discuss with the doctor and I’m sure you don’t want to hear this.” The small child near the doorway blinked, confused on the request. They nodded, not about to argue. Could’ve been worse, honestly. The small boy on the bed opened his mouth as if to argue before the man cut him off. “Go.”

The small boy grumbled but obeyed, following the other child out of the door as the two adults resumed their conversation.

Outside, the sun was shining and the air was warm, accompanied by a nice, cool ocean breeze. The doctor’s child was tending to the garden, pulling some weeds as the other child finally joined them. They sat on the edge of the porch, watching them. “What are you doing?”

“I’m pulling all the weeds out!” A large, warm smile came from the child de-weeding the garden and the boy on the porch felt a weird feeling in his chest. “Why are you doing that? Aren’t they all just plants?” He couldn’t see why it mattered.

“Well, if you don’t get rid of the weeds, they can overpower the flowers and kill them.” They put a handful of weeds in the bucket not far from them. “Like a disease?” The boy looked at them, watching their movements.

The child paused, looking at him. “I…suppose so. Like a disease. You have to take out the bad so that it doesn’t get worse and hurt what’s healthy.” They shrugged, going back to what they were doing.

Silence fell upon the two of them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. All that was heard was the sound of weeds being ripped out of the ground and the breeze through the trees. The hospital was further from the center of town, so there weren’t many people around.

The doctor’s child finished up their task, setting the bucket next to the house to be disposed of later. They tugged off the gloves and moved to the porch, sitting next to the visitor. The boy watched their every movement, leaning away as they sat next to him. Before they could ask what they were doing, the other spoke up. “So, what’s your name?”

“What you didn’t find out when you were eavesdropping?” A roll of the eyes.

“Well, I missed that part of the conversation.” They didn’t seem ashamed in the slightest that they had been caught listening - completely different from how they were acting before.

The boy looked at them for a long moment, a frown on his face. Then he scoffed and looked away. “What does it matter anyway? I’ll be dead and gone soon enough anyway.” It was clear he didn’t have high hopes on his health. He didn’t see the point in making friends when he was getting ready to leave anyway. And probably dying soon enough.

“Who is supposed to remember you when you’re gone?”

“What?” The boy looked at her with confusion. What did that have to do with anything?

“Here on our island, we believe that no one truly dies until they’re forgotten. We keep photos and mementos of those departed to keep them alive in our memories. They continue to live in our hearts.” They shrugged as if it was the most common of knowledge. 

The boy looked at them incredulously, stunned into silence. Then he scoffed once more, grumbling. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You’re an idiot for believing it.” The child shrugged, unbothered by what he said. “No one really knows what happens after we die, so why not think that something so warm happens?” He looked at them again, unable to think of what to even say.

“So?” The boy looked at the other child as they spoke. “So what?”

“Who is going to remember you when you’re gone?”

The boy blinked but he couldn’t help but think for a moment. All of his family and friends were dead. The pirate crew he was with was more than happy to forget him. That just left…

“Corazon…” His name left his lips before he even thought about it. Then his face warmed up, pale flesh turning pink.

“Is that the name of the man you’re with?” The child asked, looking at him.

“Uh…” He looked uneasy, as if he wasn’t supposed to say it.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell.” The child winked, smiling at him once more. Again, the boy felt something weird stir within him. He squirmed, looking away.

“Now, I just need your name.” Another wide smile and another weird feeling.

“Why do you need my name so bad? You gonna forget that easily?”

“Well, not exactly. It’s not every day we get visitors. Especially not someone as tall as Corazon or as grumpy as you.” The boy’s jaw dropped open and he sputtered, trying to find something to say. The child next to him just laughed, filling the air around them with warmth. “I’m just messing with you, geez.” 

“You’re stupid,” he mumbled, folding his arms once more and staring at the flowers below. Silence overcame them again; once more, not an uncomfortable one. It wasn’t long before sniffles could be heard. They were coming from the boy. 

The other looked at him. “Hey, are you alright?” They scooted closer and the boy looked away, wiping his face. “I-I’m fine. Just something in my eye is all.” He sniffled again. “Don’t lie to me. It’s okay to cry. You’re not exactly going through something easy.” The boy looked at the other child with him, his eyes wide. Sure, he heard Corazon say that but it was different when he heard someone else say it. 

It was like a damn broke loose. He just started crying and couldn’t seem to be able to stop. The other child took him in their arms, holding him while he let it all out. They didn’t judge him or think anything else of it. All they saw was someone going through a lot and it was finally bubbling over. They rubbed his back, letting him cry as much as he needed.

Some time later, the crying died down, becoming just sniffles once more. He wiped his eyes, looking at the other. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry, it’s not your mistake.”

The boy blinked, looking at them in confusion. Not his mistake? What did that even mean?

The other smiled wide. “Want to go into town? There should be an open market today! They have the coolest stuff.” They stood up, heading off the porch, acting as if what had just happened didn’t happen. 

“W-Wait!” The boy stood up, running to catch up. “I need to let Corazon know where I’m going.” He headed back to the hut, turning around. “By the way, my name is-”

[justallihere]

A bit late to this chapter since i've been traveling but it was a TREAT when you dropped it.

Not sure why I found Dain and Cam pummeling each other was attractive to me but I'm rolling with it.

Is there a potential Tessa and Cam pairing I see 👀. I am DYING to know what plans you have for Cam, does he want to be a rider now that he has the freedom??? or is he going to continue assisting in different ways.

After IF, I understood what RY meant that Dain was going to have a redemption arc and I am HERE for your version too (though I was initially hesitant with RY lmao)

As the eldest daughter in an immigrant family, I relate to Mira on a spiritual level, this line 😭. Someone hug Mira PLEASE

I believed in everything they told us. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was making a difference. I thought that I could make my brother’s death mean something by protecting our sister, the only person we both ever loved more than each other, but I couldn’t even fucking do that, Brennan. He told us that having a little sister was the most important thing in the world. There wasn’t a better or bigger job than being a big sister and a big brother.

Xaden really told Brennan, fuck around and find out in regards to his wife and how they make her feel.

I love all the hugs and physical touch that is happening between these two. The slow burn was WORTH IT

Tairn being such a girl dad to Violet, I AM SOBBING. He probably felt so much anger when he couldn't do anything for Vi when she was being tortured.

Brennan telling Vi that she has to finish her education is so older sibling coded. He's trying to pull the older brother giving his younger sibling advice card but Vi is like Im the goddamn queen and your superior officer LMAO.

Vi wanting everyone to love Aretia as much as she does was so gut-wrenching and idk why 😭 (and Mira being extremely uncomfortable in Aretia and Vi being sad about that made ME sad)

My only thought for this line was "whipped"

Xaden only shrugged. “Anything for you.”

Hope you got to enjoy your weekend and relax a bit <3 Thank you for gifting us this chapter, it made my week

The Dain & Cam fight almost involved Sloane and Tessa “watching for technique” 💀

“Staring is rude,” Violet noted mildly as she approached.

Sloane’s face lit up, but she said evenly, “We’re not staring.”

“We’re. . . watching for technique,” Tessa added with a smile.

Liam coughed pointedly.

“Technique,” Sloane agreed unconvincingly.

I’m keeping my Cam plans to myself!! My man isn’t done causing problems yet though

Mira deserves THE WORLD. She is just doing her best to be the best big sister. She needs so many hugs

Xaden was like “I don’t care if we’re friends, I don’t care if she’s your sister, she’s my wife, upset her again and you die” and Brennan took that shit seriously

Tairn!! I felt a lil bad leaving Andarna out of that moment but there’s just something about the Violet & Tairn bond that demanded that needed to be only for them

Brennan: “you should—“

Violet: “no”

Violet finally has a home she’s happy and safe and comfortable in when she’s never had that her whole life and she just wants everyone else to feel the same and get to experience it with her 🥺

Xaden is, in fact, whipped

Thank you!! 🩷🩷

[asirensrage]

Saudade - Chapter 17

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Mikey x OC, Hanma x OC, Ran x OC, Mikey x OC x Draken Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Warnings: swearing, violence, threats of violence, murder, smoking, sex, consensual sex between teenagers, alcohol, recreational drug use, mention of trafficking, torture, family neglect, mentions of sexual violence. isekai OC. memory loss. unbeta’d **warnings are not exhaustive** Summary: No one seems to realize she doesn’t belong until she finally runs into her “new” brother, Hanagaki Takemichi. Now, hearing his story, Takara makes the choice to help him and hopefully find her way home, but faking it til you make it only lasts so long when you start losing the memories of the life you had before. As Takemichi becomes the only family she’s ever known, how far will she go to protect him?

notes: Thank you all for the comments and the likes on this one. I hope you continue to enjoy it. I have a busy weekend laid out so we’re celebrating my bday with another fic update. Enjoy!

also on ao3

fic masterlist - prev chapter

Takara's problems don't end with her brother and his muleheaded-ness. She's out shopping for very late presents for a holiday she's not even sure her family celebrates when she finds herself face to face with the Haitanis. Again.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, looking up at them. She’s not wearing skates this time since she actually planned to go into a store and they seem so much taller now. 

“You see how I’m treated?” Ran asks, head tilting towards his brother. “Like I didn’t make her cum…how many times?” 

Takara slams her hand over his mouth, pressing herself up on her toes to reach. “What the fuck?” she hisses at him, glancing around to see if anyone was paying attention. 

His eyes glint and he steps closer to her. Her breath catches in her chest and she feels her cheeks heat at the way he’s looking at her. It’s similar to before; when he laid her down in his bed and promised to take care of her. 

“Told you he’d be pissed,” Rindou says, looking between them. 

“That doesn’t mean you can say this shit,” she says. She eyes Ran carefully before she removes her hand from his mouth. He grabs her wrist before she can retract it too far and presses a kiss to the centre of her palm. 

Rindou sighs. “I’ll be…over there…” he motions before walking away, leaving her with his older brother who still hasn’t let go of her. This isn’t like when Hanma grabs her and refuses to let go. Ran has proven repeatedly that the moment she asks, he’ll listen. 

“You left,” Ran says, looking down at her. The expression on his face has faded into something more serious. 

She shifts, uncomfortable with the change. “Way to state the obvious.”

“Not even a text back…” he says, voice sounding light but she can hear the hurt under it. 

“I know,” she admits it easily because it’s nothing but the truth. “Sorry. I just–”

“I get it.” His fingers slide up her arm as he lowers her hand and traces their path up before removing them completely. They leave goosebumps in their wake. “You didn’t have to run though. I would have at least taken you home myself. Could have woken me.”

“And let you convince me to stay?”

He grins at her like she’s caught him.  

Takara sighs. “What are you doing here?”

“Not stalking you, if that’s what you're worried about. We were in the area visiting someone. Just caught sight of you as we passed by.” 

“And you had to come say hi and try to embarrass me?”

His jaw tightens. “No, I wanted to see you. I just…I had been expecting to wake up with you next to me. Then you were gone, I got told Toman had been in the area and you didn’t…you didn’t text me back.” 

“It wasn’t supposed to be…anything. And I’m sorry about Toman. My brother freaked out when he couldn’t reach me after they got wind of what happened at my school.”

“For someone who says they’re remaining unaffiliated with gangs…you seem to be affiliated with a lot of them.”

“Including you?” she asks dryly. 

“I think I win in that round,” he says, leaning down slightly to get closer to her. “Unless you sleep with all of them.”

“No,” she snaps. “It’s only…” Takara swallows tightly, not wanting to explain in the middle of a store. 

His eyes brighten. “Good.”

“Ran…”

“Just means I don’t have any competition yet.” He shifts closer to brush his lips against her cheek and one of his braids hits her shoulder. “You should come by again. Or let me take you out this time. Properly.” 

“I can’t.”

“Hmm?” He pulls back just enough to look her in the eyes. “Can’t or don’t want to? Because there’s a big difference between them, darling.”

 She wishes it was that simple. “...both,” she eventually says. It’s easier if he thinks she doesn’t find solace in his care. If he thinks she doesn’t want him. It wouldn’t be fair to use him the way she could, especially when she knows her end goal doesn’t currently involve him. 

His gaze hardens slightly before he pulls back a little more. “Both, huh?” He stares at her for a moment. “Now why don’t I believe you?”

She shifts and looks away, trying to figure out how to respond. 

Ran’s fingers touch her chin gently, tilting her head up to look up at him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing you can help me with.” 

“So there is something.”

“Shit.”

“This have anything to do with the guy who tried to pick you up that time? The one who called you his?”

She makes a face at that before she can stop herself. “He’s a fucking nuisance,” she says, glaring at the reminder that he waits for her in her future. At least, she’s planning on it. She still needs to talk to Takemichi and find out what he’s not telling her. She was so wrapped up in how terrible their plan was that she completely forgot about it. 

“Rin and I will take care of him if you need someone to. Keep him out of your hair.”

She smiles at that. He’s the second person to offer to deal with Hanma for her. “I can handle him, don’t worry.”

“Oh, I don’t, beautiful. Not after the last time I saw you.” He pulls back just a bit to glance down at her. “Though…I gotta ask…what are you wearing?” 

She frowns, looking down. “What?”

“I can’t decide if it’s a good thing you have no fashion sense or not, because while no one will see you the way I have with what you got on… it also hurts to look at.”

“Hey!” 

He grins at her. “Gonna tell me I’m wrong?”

“I don’t care what I wear, Ran. As long as I can move in it and I’m comfortable.” 

“You can still do that and look good.” His eyes trail down her body. “Come on. We got time, lemme show you what I mean.” He takes her hand again and turns to lead her further into the store.

“I’m shopping for Christmas presents!”

He pauses and looks at her. “For who?”

“My brother.”

He stares at her for a minute before nodding. “We’ll do both. What’s he like?”

“I don’t know, he’s 14 and an idiot.” 

He laces his fingers with hers and leads her into the store, listening as she ends up rambling about her brother. It takes Takara 15 minutes before she realizes she has her hands full with things to try on and Ran is ushering her to the change room. Rindou is nowhere in sight.

⛸️  

She doesn’t plan on buying anything aside from the puzzle and planner she gets for Takemichi, but when Hina texts her that her brother broke up with her…Takara finds herself leaving with her hands full. 

“Ran, this is too much.”

“Take it,” he tells her. “Or it’s going in the trash. I’m not returning it.”

Her lips press together as her jaw clenches. “Why are you doing this? We slept together once, that’s it. It doesn’t warrant a…all of this,” she lifts her hands holding the bags that he pressed into them. She doesn’t even remember when he bought it, but she assumes it’s when she was looking for the gifts for Take. If he did buy it. He didn’t hand anything over until they were out of the store and even then she noticed how the bags seemed to get more full every time they passed by Rindou.

“Stop complaining,” Ran says. “Just take the bags and go solve whatever shit you need to. I just want you to answer next time I call, yeah?”

“Ran...”

He grins at her. “I know, I know. Can’t and won’t, right?” He leans down so his face is closer. “Next time maybe I’ll believe you.” He presses his lips to hers, kissing her gently before nipping at her lip and deepening it. When he pulls back, his pupils are wide and all she can focus on is what he tastes like as she drags her bottom lip between her teeth. His eyes drop down to her mouth and he groans. “If we didn’t have to go…”

“I do,” she reminds him. 

“Yeah yeah,” he kisses her quickly again. “Call me, beautiful.” He grins before leaving her this time. She watches as Rindou waves to her when Ran catches up to him and they leave her standing there, wishing for a moment that things were different. 

She shoves the thought out of her mind. She has to go knock some sense into her brother. 

⛸️  

It takes five minutes for Takara to be reminded that her brother is an idiot. 

She dropped the bags Ran gave her at home before strapping on her skates and making her way to Hinata. She calls Takemichi on the way but her brother doesn’t answer. When he refuses her call more than twice, she knows he’s either in trouble or ignoring her. The two are not mutually exclusive. 

Takara finds her in the arms of Emma, not exactly crying but clearly upset. 

“What did my idiot brother do now?”

“He broke up with her!” Emma says, sounding more angry about it than Hinata did. 

“Okay but why?” Takara asks, shifting in place. 

“He said…he said he fell for another girl!”

Takara stares at her for a moment. “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

“What?!” both of the younger girls exclaim. 

Takara sighs and crosses her arms over her chest. “He’s not seeing anyone else. My brother is just being an idiot and making choices again without fucking thinking.”

“Takara!” Hinata says, sounding slightly scandalized. 

“It’s true!” Takara smiles at them. “Look, I’ll talk to him. He’s just freaking out because of the Black Dragon thing whi–” Takara stops. “SHIT.”

She races out of Hinata’s house, shoving her skates back on. Hinata and Emma run after her. 

“What?” Emma asks. “What’s wrong?” 

“Where’s your brother?” Takara asks as she ties her skates. 

“He’s out riding with Draken. He always does on Christmas Eve.” 

“Shit.” 

“What’s wrong?” Hinata asks again. 

Takara stands, testing the balance of her skates and how tight they are. “Take’s about to do something stupid and I got so wrapped up in running into Ran today and now this, I gotta run.” 

“Who’s Ran?” Emma asks, eyes glinting. 

“Not the time!” Hinata says before looking back at Takara. “Go!” 

“Thanks! I’ll call you!” Takara heads for the stairs. 

“Wait! You’re on wheels! How are you–” Emma stops, watching as Takara slides down backwards and out of sight. “...did she just-?”

“...I think so?” Hinata says. They look at each other before racing for the stairs in their socks. Takara is nowhere in sight. 

⛸️  

Chifuyu also doesn’t answer his phone and Takara curses both of them under her breath as she races to figure out where her brother is and if she’s too late. Mikey and Draken’s phones go to voicemail, so she browses through her contacts until she finds the next best choice. 

“Hello?”

“Mitsuya! Thank fucking god.” 

“Takara? What’s wrong?” She can practically hear the way he focuses on her, shushing a voice on his end. 

“It’s Takemichi. And Chifuyu! They’re going to the church to stop Hakkai from killing Taiju!”

“What?” 

“I need help! He went with Kisaki and Hanma but I don’t fucking trust them with my brother. I can’t reach them or Mikey or Draken!” She hears him swear. “Please, Mitsuya! He’s going to get himself killed!” 

“I know.” 

Takara pauses, hearing him shuffling and running around before calling out to someone that he has to go. “What?”

“I already know, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” 

“What!? Don’t you fucking leave me! You better pick me-” He hangs up on her. Takara stares at her phone in shock. “Motherfucker!” 

It’s purely spite and anger that fuel her enough to attempt to rollerblade through the snow. She runs a couple of times, using the skills she has to be able to do it before she can glide again. If she had any less experience on ice and wheels, she’d never be able to do it. She sticks to the road, gliding between cars and ignoring the way they honk at her. She’s definitely going to get herself in trouble if the cops catch her, but right now all she can consider is the fact that she needs to get to her brother. 

tag list: @raith-way @zeleniafic @veetlegeuse @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse

@themaradwrites @kingsmakers @thatmagickjuju @awkwardchick87 @hayatoseyepatch

tr tag: @mitsuwuyaa @blackfire2013 @bleach-your-panties @reiners-milkbiddies

saudade tag: @thisbicc @scythegal @maraya-007

network tag: @pixelcafe-network