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undiscovered-horizon · 2 years ago

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"The night is long and the path is dark" - Matt Murdock x vigilante!Reader

[TW: major injuries, near-death experiences, Matt is a human wreck, explicit language, praying (specifically Catholic)]

SUMMARY: It's not supposed to be like that. Matt believes it's him who should be bleeding his life out, not you - you were too deserving of a normal, peaceful life. While you're toeing the line between New York and Heaven, he has to face the restless night of premature mourning, sunless hours that seem to be endless.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.5k

"Oh, fuck me," you groaned feeling a sharp but unclear pain deep underneath your skin. The unbearable ache was completely unknown to you, never having experienced anything akin to the grave soreness of your weak, bleeding body. It felt odd to be in so much pain and so inexplicably confusing: you were freezing and hot at the same time, fully conscious and yet at your wit's end. Your brain, too sheltered to comprehend the extent of your injuries and agony, made you question whether the ache truly was there; maybe this kind of sensation could exist only in wild imagination. After all, for what horrid reason would the human mind be able to feel this type of pain?

"We'll get to that when you stop bleeding," he said. Humour was a poor attempt at hiding his paralysing fear - no matter how cheesy his line would be, his hands were shaking all the same. "Just lie back and don't move too much. Let me take care of you."

"I always wanted to be a pillow princess." Your words were becoming a bit slurred and so Matt became all the more anxious. He was battling time itself and it wasn't a merciful opponent - its perverse strength only grew with each prayer for the minutes to be a little longer than mere sixty seconds. At any other time, he would have laughed at your confession, gladly considering the enticing suggestion.

Although he knew you were very much against it, Matt ripped apart the tight material wrapped around your torso in hopes of easing your ragged breath and you would've argued against doing so if your mind wasn't drowned in a hazy flux of borderline unconsciousness. His calloused fingers brushed against your flushed skin, each touch to the swollen cuts made you slightly wince. None of them came from his hand or ill will and yet he felt guilty, responsible for your agony. It should've been me, he kept telling himself.

You felt his trembling hands as Matt did his best to dress your wounds, foolishly leaving the deep cuts to be stitched at the end as if your fleeting life could stop terrifying him at some point in time. Yes, Matt managed to fool himself into believing that the soundness of his mind was going to return in the nearest future.

"Don't worry, I'm gonna be fine," you said not without a struggle. The unbearable pain was barely noticeable anymore but so were most sensations of the outside world. "I still have like 200 bones intact."

Maybe it was another surge of adrenaline or the effect of Matt stopping some of your bleedings but for a moment you were back in touch with the present moment, skin pulsating and burning with pain. Straining, you grabbed Matt's trembling hands. He clenched his jaw feeling just how cold your touch was.

"Thank you," you whispered weakly to him. Maybe it was the broken rib or the absolutely pathetic sadness on Matt's face that made your heart ache inside your bruised chest. "For everything you did and didn't do."

"You'll thank me in the morning, alright?" Matt tried to put on a brave face and swallow his tears. He knew you hated to see him cry. Angel tears are too expensive to just pour them out, you told him many times.

However, you didn't get the time to answer him. Right around the end of his question, your world fell into a chasm of silence and darkness, a peaceful limbo for the stubborn sinners who refuse to die quietly.

For a moment, his heart stopped and maybe so did the entire universe, watching the scene in terror no smaller than his own. Matt knew he had to finish dressing and stitching fast - the little grip he had on himself was fading and his panic wouldn't be good for anyone.

When at last he threw away the needle and thread, there was no strength left inside him to keep those salty tears at bay. He fell to his knees, finding himself on eye level with your limp, bloodied body. You looked so... peaceful. Not in pain anymore.

"We fly to thy protection," he began in a shaky voice. Words, although holy and god-fearing, struggled to move past his lips. "O holy Mother of God."

Devout prayers flooded from his mouth until he finished the entire rosary. It was a Tuesday night as it befits Tuesdays, Catholics meditate on Sorrowful Mysteries: how their Lord prayed in the olive garden, how Romans decorated His head with a crown of thorns and how He carried the cross; how bitterly funny of a coincidence it was. When the last Amen left Matt's lips, the night seemed even quieter than before. Cars were no longer passing by his window and for the first time in long months, he felt truly alone in the most desperate and miserable of ways. His knees hurt from kneeling on the hardwood floor but he didn't mind that - it partially took his mind off the even worse pain wreaking havoc in his entire being. Your palm, once cold and dry, was now warm and wet from his feverish prayers and unending tears.

"Don't leave me," he whimpered pathetically against your limp hand, cradling his own face with your fingers. His trembling lips pecked your bruised skin every now and then. "What the fuck am I supposed to do without you here?"

But Matt knew what you would have said, it was as if he could hear your own voice laughing at his misery in the back of his head: You live on, Matthew Murdock! You disown fear and cruelty and you live on. To make matters worse, he knew the real meaning behind your lighthearted words - you just wanted him to be okay, to live a humble life of a loving man. Maybe his pain would have been a little lighter, a little easier to carry, had he not seen through your carefree facade. For a short moment, he swore he nearly hated you for ever telling him to be fine while you're gone; how audacious of you to even suggest that there was anything good left for him in a world you were no longer part of.

He remembered when you made him promise that, in case you die, he wouldn't mourn you. How can I move on if you can't let go?, you asked. Matt agreed, making a half-hearted oath to you that he never truly believed he would have to fulfil. But now, when the night seemed to be nothing short of endless and filled with terrors, he regretted his promise knowing that no force could ever make him complete it.

The night was going to be long; the path ahead was painted in different shades of black, hopeless doom. And he, Matthew Murdock, was just a stubborn man who wasn't exactly on good terms with his God.

Overbearing pain woke you up. Your whole body felt too heavy, too sore, to move it. Straining your neck, you looked to the side, at the all too familiar and beloved sight. Matt was awake, his face was vacant, swollen, red and somehow grey. Most probably, he hadn't slept at all as if his insomnia could be of any help to either of you.

"Hey, handsome." Your voice was raspy and words were still a little slurred.

Momentarily Matt lifted his head from your hand, his heart picking up a truly athletic pace. His breaths became ragged, shallow, painting him somehow scared and excited at the same time.

"You're alive," he said quietly, disbelief seeping from each letter he spoke. He wasn't asking - he was stating a fact. A state of affairs that the more pessimistic part of him couldn't believe at first. Maybe your words were nothing more but a feverish dream, a lover's last goodbye as people often experience in regards to death.

You gave him a weak smile, hopefully easing the burden that had been pressing down on his chest, suffocating him, throughout the whole night.

"Yeah, had a change of heart," you said caressing his tired, tear-stained face. Absentmindedly, Matt leaned into your touch, sighing when your cold fingers brushed against his hot lips. "What's gonna be left of your world if I'm not in it?"

He couldn't quite understand why shaking hands with Death wasn't enough to rid you of your humour. Before he answered, his rough hand grabbed your own and Matt placed a chaste kiss on your wrist:

"Nothing much."

The morning sun always seemed to wash away the fears of a terrible night. And Sun, to Matt's relief, was always shining somewhere - he just had to get there, even if it was half the world away or, as it was so that night, half the death away.

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knottheeonly · 2 years ago

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The Women of House Burke

“If we were to judge every child on the sins of their parents then everyone would be a sinner. But perhaps we should judge their sins, just a little. Was it not the sins of my father that tried to poison me, and the sins of his father that poisoned him? My childhood was spent memorizing my ancestors, and in turn their sins. In the end only a few were worth remembering.”

---0---0---0---

AMALTHEA BURKE (nee Bulstrode): Pureblood, member of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Born to Charlan Bulstrode (nee Yaxley) and Eustace I Bulstrode. Reddish-blonde haired and fair skinned. Forest green eyes, and a round, soft face. Sorted into Slytherin, and made Prefect in her fifth year. She received four O.W.L.s, but did not pursue a career. Married to Rigel Burke II and together they had 3 children. It is said she was wise beyond her years, smarter than any of her companions and fairer, too.

“Some will say that Amalthea never wanted for anything, and that would be true. She had every comfort that money and blood-status could grant a witch. But it would also be a lie. Amalthea wanted companionship, and she didn’t find that in her husband or her friends.”

ELIZABETH BURKE: Pureblood. Member of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Born to Amalthea Burke (nee Bulstrode) and Rigel Burke II. Red haired and brown eyed, with skin lighter than even her mother’s. A rather pointed face left her looking more intimidating than she truly was. Star Slytherin pupil, ending up as Headmistress of Hogwarts sometime before her thirty-fifth birthday. Notoriously horrid towards muggleborn students, and encouraged similar behavior from others in her house. Mother to none, never married. It is rumored her intimidating looks and cruel spirit drove away even the most willful of suitors.

“No one would make the mistake of saying that Elizabeth had a kind heart. In fact some wonder if she had one at all. Perhaps it was her cruelty, however, that drove her ambition and made her legacy a lasting one.”

CASSIOPEIA FLINT (nee Burke): Pureblood. Member of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Second daughter of Amalthea Burke (nee Bulstrode) and Rigel Burke II. Black haired and blue eyed, with the soft face of her mother and the fairer skin of her father. Sorted into Ravenclaw - to her father’s light displeasure - and made Head Girl in her final year. Received only two O.W.L.s, and did not pursue a career. Mother to 2, married to Garrith Flint. Her marriage was one of love, after enough time, much to the shock of their families, who’d thought they rather disliked each other on their wedding day.

“What her sister lacked in kindness, Cassiopeia made up for tenfold. What her mother’s marriage had lacked in love, Cassiopeia’s had in abundance. She was happy and content, and perhaps the luckiest of us all.”

REILLE BURKE (nee Rosier): Pureblood. Member of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Eldest daughter of Alyssane Rosier (nee Greengrass) and Roald Rosier. Blonde haired and blue eyed, fair skinned. Rumored to be part Veela, though the percentage is up for debate. Sorted into Slytherin, made Prefect in fifth year and Head Girl in her last. She earned five O.W.L.s and went on to work at Borgin and Burkes before becoming a professor for a short time. Married to Caractacus Burke. Mother to 5.

“Reille was every bit the outsider. The only Burke of her generation to get a job before marriage, she had ambitions equal to any man. Ambitions she graciously set aside to do her duty to her family.”

LYRA NOTT (nee Burke): Pureblood. Member of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Eldest child of Reille Burke (nee Rosier) and Archold Burke. Black haired and blue eyed. Fair skinned, with a single beauty spot above her left eye. As beautiful as her mother, and equally as cunning, too. Sorted into Slytherin, and received 7 O.W.L.s. Married to Amadeus Nott, mother to 2. Was known to be seen at all times with a book in her hand, her pursuit of knowledge something her husband supported with his whole being.

“It is said that Lyra's greatest ambition was starting a family, and that's why she chose Amadeus. Her sisters would say she only married him for his extensive library, as knowledge was her greatest desire.”

CORINTHE BURKE: Pureblood. Member of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Second daughter of Reille Burke (nee Rosier) and Archold Burke. Blonde haired and gray eyed. Fair skinned, though so often in the sun she seemed naturally tanned. Sorted into Hufflepuff, and only not disowned due to her mother's insistence that it was alright. Achieved 6 O.W.L.s and got a job at a Potions Shop. Engaged to Tibolt Fawley, but fell in love with a muggle-born - with whom she eloped. Was then burned from the family tapestry.

“Corinthe sought happiness above all else, one of the many reasons she was in Hufflepuff. In this pursuit she got herself burned off the family tree. At least she was happy in the end, the many secret letters to her sisters will tell you as much.”

IDELYA YAXLEY (nee Burke): Pureblood. Member of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Youngest daughter of Reille Burke (nee Rosier) and Archold Burke. Black haired and gray eyed. Rumored to be her mother's favorite, and her father's too. Fair skinned and the most ambitious of all her siblings. Sorted into Slytherin, made Prefect in Fifth Year, and Head Girl in her seventh. Achieved 10 O.W.L.s but never got a job. Fell in love with Tibolt Fawley, who she was never able to be with, as Peter Yaxley was deemed a better fit. Gave him 4 children. Wrote secret letters to both her sisters.

“Hers was a sad life, Idelya's, full of denials. Denied a career, denied a loving marriage, and denied her sister's closeness. In the end she denied her husband a long life with her, and in that way she got the last laugh.”

SUZANNE BURKE (nee Selwyn): Pureblood. Member of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Daughter of Marta Selwyn (nee Carrow) and Oliver Selwyn. Brown haired and blue eyed, with fair skin dotted with freckles. A kindred soul, demure and polite, but with a good heart. Sorted into Slytherin and received 2 O.W.L.s. Married to Roger II Burke, to whom she'd been engaged since her birth. Rumored to have been madly in love. Mother to 3. Her children's favorite parent, always around to nurture them.

“Suzanne single handedly achieved what Corinthe could not. It was her quiet defiance of pureblooded beliefs that planted a seed of compassion in the minds of her children. That seed grew with her children, as did a defiant spirit.”

HALLEY MACMILLAN (nee Burke): Pureblood. Member of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Daughter of Suzanne Burke (nee Selwyn) and Roger II Burke. Black haired and blue eyed, fair skinned with the freckles of her mother. Slytherin, achieved 9 O.W.L.s, but did not pursue a career. She had a heart of gold and nerves of steel, which was a perfect defense against her husband's temper. Married unhappily to Arnold Macmillan, mother to 1. Raised in her children the same ideals her mother raised in her.

“Halley was brighter than anyone would have thought possible given the darkness that was always around her. A light in the ever growing darkness of her generation. Darkness that swallowed her whole.”

BELVINA BURKE (nee Black): Pureblood. Member of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Daughter of Ursula Black (nee Flint) and Phineas Nigellus Black. Light brown haired and gray eyed, pale skinned. A perfect example of blood purity in everything she did, perhaps encouraged by her professor and then headmaster of a father during her time at Hogwarts. Slytherin, Prefect in fifth year and Head Girl in her last. Achieved an incredible 11 O.W.L.s but never pursued a career. Married her school sweetheart, Herbert Burke. Had two sons and a daughter.

“Belvina was wicked. She came into the family and she tried to destroy the kindness her husband's mother had fostered in him. Perhaps it was her pushback that only solidified a quiet kindness towards muggleborns in the next generations.”

DIANE LESTRANGE (nee Burke): Pureblood. Member of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Only daughter of Belvina Burke (nee Black) and Herbert Burke. Black haired and gray eyed. Fair skinned. Quiet and cautious, with simple ambitions and a large group of friends. Sorted into Slytherin, but did not get Prefect or Head Girl, to her parent's disappointment. Was smart, but didn't try hard in school. Received 1 O.W.L. and married before she finished school. It is said her husband had more affection for her then was good for him. Especially since she may not have loved him at all.

“Diane was exceptionally strong-willled and smart, though she found school so dull and lacking that she purposefully failed most of her classes. She passed her love for the out of the ordinary to her children, though her kind ideals did not do the same.”

FAWN BURKE (nee Shacklebolt): Pureblooded. Member of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Daughter of Trinity Shacklebolt (maiden name unknown) and Andrew Shacklebolt. Blue eyed and brown haired, with a tan complexion. Loud and bubbly, with an unusual lack of disdain for muggleborns. Sorted into Ravenclaw, made Head Girl in her final year. Awarded all 12 O.W.L.s - a perfect score. Bright eyed and full of kindness, she swept Gregory Burke off his feet for good reason. The two married secretly during their sixth year, though they had an official ceremony a year after graduation. Mother to 2 sons and no daughters.

“She was a breath of fresh air, a sign of spring at the end of a horribly bleak winter. Strong enough to shield her children from the chill, but not strong enough to thaw the cold entirely.”

TARROW BURKE (nee Abbott): Pureblood. Member of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Daughter of Samantha Abbott (nee Fawley) and Henry Abbott. Blonde haired and brown eyed, fair skinned with a light smattering of freckles. Kind as her mother in law and beautiful, too, though more demure than anyone else in her immediate family. Slytherin, made Prefect in fifth year. Received 7 O.W.L.s and pursued a job at a pet store in Diagon Alley. Married Finley Burke, and tried for two decades to give him children. Birthed one son at the age of 43, an age most thought impossible for her to have children at.

“Tarrow's life was an unusual one. Despite his family's disappointment in their lack of an heir for the longest time, her husband was supportive. More than can be said for most men in the family, more than can be said for her son.”

KATHERINE BURKE (nee Travers): Pureblood. Member of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Daughter of Frederique Travers (nee Prewett) and Edward Travers. Black haired and blue eyed, with fair, almost ghostly skin. Sorted into Slytherin. Rumored to have been close to and had a secret relationship with Remus Lupin (unconfirmed.) 9 O.W.L.s though no job, instead staying by her husband's side as the war began. Married to Nigel Burke, mother of 2. Died in childbirth of her second child and only daughter.

“Katherine kept her home organized but warm and nurturing against the war that raged on. She died a few days after the war was won, happy in the knowledge her children would grow up in a better world.”

RHIANNON BURKE: Pureblood. Member of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Only daughter of Katherine Burke (nee Travers) and Nigel Burke. Black haired and gray eyed, with pale yet fair skin. The first of her more recent ancestors to grow up without a mother. Sorted into Slytherin, but friends with people from all different blood statues. Not friends with the Golden Trio, but not unfriendly either. Rather quiet, but confident and ambitious. A life still left to live and history thus unwritten.

“I am the product of all who came before me and thus I have to fight against all the negativity of my past. It's a hard fight but there's no other fight I'd rather be in.”

---0---0---0---

“Some of them were wicked, vile people, but they've left me a lot of lessons to learn. Learn them I have, and I've got more to go. But I'd like to think not all the lessons are negative, and if one thing has been passed down through the darkness it would be empathy. Empathy and Kindness. Perhaps that's worth remembering, even if some of my ancestors aren't.”

#harry potter #family #purebloods #house burke #burke #au #hp #family tree #magic #hogwarts #wizard #witches #oc

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infernal-dominion · 2 years ago

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☕️ + the overlords

“Going to have to be specific on which ones you mean there, darling. Practically every demon that is considered some form of the highest ruling class could be technically considered an Overlord, me most of all. Ah, but I assume you initially meant the ones up in the Pride ring? Well, I won’t talk about all of them, or else we would be here until the heat death of the universe, so I’ll just talk about the ones that currently have the most amassed power under their belts…

“First I suppose is the V trio, as I’ve heard they’re called, though I suppose the Triple V’s are similarly apt. Quite the trio they are. Thick as thieves and twice as cut-throat, enough that were I less than the being I am now, I would be highly cautious about crossing paths with them. But seeing as they pose no threat, I can’t help but find their alliance to be quite impressive, adorable, even. As for the members themselves…Well, let’s just say I find them intriguing for more than a few reasons.”

“Valentino, my my, isn’t he just the absolutely spitting image of a man completely corrupted by sin. Practically drips from his every pore, a horrid soul that commits horrible violence and wicked blasphemy as easily as if it were breathing. Ahhh, it’s almost enough to make my cold dead heart flutter in my chest a little. Of course…There is such a thing as an ego that can grow a bit too fat if it gorges itself too much. And with all of the ways he surrounds himself with nothing but his own riches and boundless hedonism, I dare say it borders on narcissism. And we all know how that tale ends, hm?”

“Vox, now that’s a runner-up I never saw coming. After the events of 1933 came and went, understandably, the whole power structure of sinners within the ring far and wide had all but collapsed, and there was nothing left to fill that void. A total power vacuum, and it was devouring thousands of ambitious, power hungry souls looking to obtain the prestige and privilege of Overlord status as it grew, like a black hole devouring a star whole. One would expect Vox to be swallowed up in the current of backstabbings, gun fights, coups and gang wars that were sweeping through the cities like a plague, and yet the man somehow managed to flourish. I’m not quite sure what had him gain such an edge, exactly. If there’s a tactical genius behind that screen or if his powers of electrical prowess merely gave him an indomitable edge with the power of technology rapidly evolving as it was. Either way, the whole of the Pride Ring has him to thank for their television broadcasts, their lights, their phones, and it is quite the effective choke hold when it comes to keeping lower powers in line. Wouldn’t want to be responsible for mass blackouts and the total collapse of the entire ring’s electrical structure, hm?”

“Velvet, that tricky little thing. I’ll admit, she amuses me more than she should. I don’t know if it’s her harlequin appearance that causes her to win brownie points in my book, or if her bubbly charm reminds me of my own daughter, but I’ve kept an eye on her for a while now. Some say she’s just a puppet, a mere facsimile of a overlord that cozeyed up to the other two V’s with a bat of her eyelashes and a smile, keen on using their attraction to her to bolster herself up to their level like a leech. Some think that she’s secretly the strongest out of all of them and is the one most responsible for running the show behind closed doors. Me? Well. All I know is that she’s quite the sharp one, despite her almost disarming appearance. She dances like a puppet, but really, it’s her who pulls her own strings, and who knows how many others she has within her grasp.”

“Now, onto the other ones that have managed to garner my attention…Rosie. Heheh. Sweet Rosie, leader of her own little private colony of Cannibals within the Pentagram. I have to admit, I applaud her tenacity when it comes to being able to make such a wonderfully self-sufficient little section of an entire city as her own turf, especially one that she rules over with such an air of tact and cunning business acumen. A smile on her face that speaks of how she’s willing to grant you anything of what you may desire, but also one that displays the vicious pleasure she’ll take in tossing you into a bubbling cauldron of stew should you find a way to displease her. Granted, I imagine other sinners that live near the colony don’t exactly feel the same when confronted with the ceaseless agony of having your stomach ripped open and your guts being eaten alive by a swarm of rabid cannibals, but hey, it isn’t like they keep that part of their group a secret, now do they?”

“And finally…Alastor. The Radio Demon. What can I say about him that hasn’t already been said? It’s quite the conundrum, as I’m sure you can imagine. I will, however say that I have had quite the fun time, keeping my eye on him. His power, his way of messing and manipulating and toying with his chosen prey before finding ways to ruin them forever or devouring them alive is quite the spectacle. There’s a certain…delight there, that’s only brought about by those who truly have evil hearts, and it’s enough to make my own interest more than piqued. I enjoy seeing what he may be planning on next. Though I will admit…the thought of him getting anywhere close to my daughter…Well…Let’s just say I’ll be keen on having a discussion with him then.”

#lucifer morningstar #your king has arrived (ic)#ask meme #v trio #valentino #velvet #hazbin vox #alastor #rosie hazbin hotel

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hd-cluefest · 4 years ago

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H/D Clue Fest Masterlist

Cluefest Headquarters are finally unveiling the investigators of our cases. But before we do that, we want to thank each and every one of you that contributed to making this fest such a huge success, be it as a writer, podficcer, reader, listener, or reblogger and reccer. You wrote the most amazing fics, brought fics to life with your voice, and gave our creators lots of love with kudos, comments etc. Fair warning: This post will be very long because we couldn’t control ourselves and made reveal banners. We would say we’re sorry, but we must not tell lies.

0430, T, 8.7k

Author: daughter_of_nemesis/@daughter-of-nemesis

Harry disappears at exactly 04:30 in the morning. Hermione and Ron intend to figure out why. And Pansy's certain has something to do with Draco.

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A Hogwarts Detective Mystery, E, 19.3k

Author: ActorPotter/@actorpotter

Harry returns to Hogwarts for his Eighth Year with Ron and Hermione after defending Draco Malfoy at his trial over the summer. Malfoy has returned too...but he's acting incredibly suspicious. So, naturally, Harry decides to stalk-er-follow him when he leaves the Eighth Year Common Room after hours one evening. It turns out that Malfoy has noticed something is amiss at Hogwarts, and he and Harry must work together to solve a mystery of disappearing portraits, randomly changing house colours on uniforms, and the Gryffindor Common Room suddenly appearing in the dungeons. What is happening to the castle? Will self-appointed detectives Harry and Draco discover what secrets are lying within the walls of Hogwarts...and their hearts?

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A House on Fire, E, 8.4k

Author: p1013/@p1013

For the last five years, Auror Draco Malfoy has walked into his office with hardly a glance at the illusioned window taking up the back wall. It looks out over an imagined London, a perfectly bright and brilliant view of the city that hides the smog and rain and dirt that clings to the city like a patina of time that can never be worn away. It's always a perfect summer's day with soft, white clouds that float through the painfully bright blue sky like a dream. He likes to imagine the gentle breeze that ripples the surface of the Thames brushing across his skin, since he'll never be able to actually feel it. After all, his office is located on the second floor and is, therefore, underground.

Or at least that's what he did before the seventh of October, 2009.

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A Little Bird Told Me, M, 18.6k

Author: Cibee/@cibeewastaken

Harry and his partner are called to investigate a murder that occurred at an exclusive getaway hosted by Muggle patrician Robert Morton in his own house. The surviving six people are now both witnesses and suspects. There is just one problem for Harry: Draco Malfoy is one of them.

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a meeting of minds, M, 8.2k

Author: saltwatergarden

When Harry Potter starts hearing someone else's thoughts for several minutes a day, at first he chalks it up to his own bad luck and he tries to ignore it. But the longer it goes on, the less Harry can ignore it. Whoever it is, the person whose thoughts he's hearing needs help. Harry finds himself indignant at the mistreatment of the man taking up space in his head, and feels a sense of closeness to him that he cannot explain.

How can he find out whose thoughts he's hearing? And what exactly will he do when he finds him?

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Cruel River, T, 67.7k

Author: eleventy7/@tinyhistory

Draco inherits a castle deep in the Scottish highlands, and discovers it’s haunted by more than just ghosts.

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Dear Stranger, T, 22.7k

Author: iero0/@iero0

The one thing more pointless than falling in love with an anonymous wizard over a correspondence is falling in love with Harry Potter when you’re Draco Malfoy.

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Draco Malfoy and the Case of the Smuggled Gossip, T, 6.9k

Author: A_Professional_Protagonist/@aprofessionalprotagonist

It's eighth year and someone is selling gossip about Harry Potter and his friends to the new trashy wizarding tabloid. Can Draco discover how the gossip is getting smuggled out of the castle? Will he and Harry grow closer in the process? Will there be kissing? (Spoilers: yes.)

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For Now, 6.7k, T

Author: Samunderthelights/@samunderthelights

At first when Harry gets sent a mysterious notebook, he thinks it's a gift. But when he starts to write in it, he finds that someone can see what he writes, and the stranger is writing back to him.

Over time he finds himself opening up to the mysterious stranger, but how is he supposed to fully trust him if the stranger won't even tell him his name?

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He makes saints out of sinners, M, 32.8k

Author: miafancies/@miafancies

Harry grows with the turn of the tide. Draco contends with his ghosts.

This is a chronicle of inevitability.

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It might take an army, it might just be me, M, 15.5k

Author: slytherinnbitch/@slytherinnbitch

Five years after the war, Auror Potter goes out on a seemingly routine mission to check up on some pardoned criminals. He doesn’t come back. Immediate suspicions are cast on Draco Malfoy, one of the charges he was to be visiting. But unbeknownst to everyone, the two of them have been in a secret relationship for over six months, and Draco is beside himself with worry and so is Hermione and Ron. Together they try to get their best friend back. But there are surprises on their ways which none of them even expects of.

Can they get their best friend back or is he gone forever?

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Long story short, G, 4.6k

Author: time_streams/@time-streams

Someone's written about Harry's secret raspberry jam recipe. Also, they write fanfiction about him. Obviously, he using his investigative prowess to find them.

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Love's Sake, Evermore, E, 9.6k

Author: wanderingeyre

Someone is doing nice things for Draco and that someone seems to know an awful lot about his habits and favorite things. Draco can't imagine why anyone would do these things for him because he still thinks he has something to prove. Some days he thinks he’s going to spend his entire life spackling over the mistakes of his youth and the sins of his family.

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Memory Lane, T, 9.7k

Author: mortenavida/@mortenavida

Draco Malfoy has been happily living in the Muggle world for nearly a decade, far away from any Wizarding responsibilities they might try to enforce on him. He planned on leaving that world forever, save for making sure his son received a proper education, but things didn’t exactly go to plan. On his doorstep, one night, Harry Potter showed up. Except Harry Potter was supposed to be dead for the last seven years.

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Mine O'Clock, T, 1.2k

Author: PhenomenalAsterisk/@phenomenalasterisk

Harry Potter is missing and Ron and Hermione are going spare.

How can Draco enjoy his lazy weekend with their nonsense cluttering up his front steps?

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[podfic] Potterotica, E, 20min

Podficcer: EvAEleanor/@eva-eleanore

original fic: Potterotica by Elle Gray/@diligent-thunder

The first story, and you could barely call it that, had appeared in the communal bathroom overnight. It was stuck to the mirror, one above each sink, like it was expected people might casually read it while brushing their teeth.

Except, there was nothing casual about reading explicit erotica in a communal bathroom while shoving a lubricated brush in and out of your mouth.Blaise had been the first to find it, or rather, to gleefully admit that he had. He’d burst into the common room in his pants to declare, 'There’s fucking porn in the bathroom!' Someone's writing smut and signing it with Harry's name. Hermione isn't buying it, and she has a plan to expose the true author. She also has her hand in her pants in a wardrobe.

A (ridiculous) response to AO3s (valid) new co-creator rules.

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Repairing his world, M, 34.8k

Author: AhaMarimbas/@mars-bar81

15 years after his father was arrested, Scorpius uncovers his case file at work. Desperate for answers on why his family was torn apart all those years ago, Scorpius looks into what happened. But is he ready for how the new evidence will change his life all over again?

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Reverie in Green, T, 51.7k

Author: dynazty/@dynazty

Draco just wants to get away; Harry just wants his dog back.

There's a small wooden bridge in the middle, somewhere, curved over a stream that never stops flowing. All they have to do is cross it.

-----

Secret Admirer, E, 12.3k

Author: Cassiopeias_shadow

Fresh out of training, Harry discovers that life as an Auror isn’t at all what he’d imagined - it’s much better actually, and there are stickers. As he settles into the team, a case lands quite literally on his doorstep... who keeps sending the Knight Bus to his house?

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Sleight of Hand, E, 15k

Author: TheStarryKnight/@the-starryknight

It’s another one of these horrid Ministry affairs, and the only interesting thing is twinkling from Draco Malfoy’s finger. Can you really blame Harry for being fascinated by the gorgeous emerald ring and those long, elegant hands, especially when he’s certain Malfoy is up to something?

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[podfic] The Lion, The Dragon, and the Broom Cupboard, E, 1h45min

Podficcer: laughingd0g/@jovialobservationanchor

original fic: The Lion, The Dragon, and the Broom Cupboard by tasteofshapes/@tasteofshapes

Draco thinks he’s hallucinating the first time when he opens the door to the office pantry and finds Potter there instead, looming out of the shadows of what appears to be a cupboard like some deformed gargoyle. Things don’t go much better after that.

Or, three broom cupboards, two times they get it on, and one love story.

-----

The Mysterious Case of the Missing Yoghurt, E, 24.5k

Author: manixzen/@manixzen

Newly-hired Flying Professor Harry Potter is happy to return to Hogwarts for a fresh start after several failed careers, but nothing is going as planned. His classes are a mess, he has to find a way to work with Draco Malfoy (annoying git extraordinaire) and now, in an act of villainy and depravity, someone keeps stealing his yoghurt.

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Through the Blur, E, 27.7k

Author: anachronic_mai/@danbrokethesoundbarrier

Sleep doesn't come easy to Harry. Despite taking regular doses of Dreamless Sleep for years, he hasn't managed to get rid of the nightmares. Things can't get any worse for him when Potions Master Draco Malfoy comes to him for help after mysterious attacks to his apothecary.

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[podfic] to heal a fracture (to bind a life), M, 33min

Podficcer: bluedreaming/@porcelainsalt

original fic: to heal a fracture (to bind a life) by glittering_git/ @glittering-git; meandminniemcg/@meandminniemcg

Who you gonna call? Harry has become one of the foremost Spiritual Exterminators in Britain. Draco has a spirit that needs extermination. But what seems like a simple problem ends up becoming far more complicated when the spirit is identified. The secrets that are exposed and the history that is uncovered leads both Harry and Draco into uncharted territory.

-----

To Live & Die in LA, E, 28.8k

Author: fwooshy/@fw00shy

Someone is blackmailing Pansy Parkinson. Pansy's father hires Harry Potter, P.I., to get to the bottom of the scam. But how is Harry's errant ex-boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, involved? And why did Draco run to Los Angeles in the first place?

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Two Hearts Divided, T, 18.6k

Author: iero0/@iero0; Ladderofyears/@ladderofyears

Draco Malfoy, the celebrated Ghost Clearance Expert is in Germany, trying to solve the tricky little matter of a stubborn ghost called Clara von Kellern. Exasperated after trying every spell he knows, Draco sends an owl to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in London, requesting their urgent help.

Little does Draco know that the clerk who willingly grasps his letter is Harry Potter.

Injured in action, Harry enjoys a quiet, deskbound existence and sees Draco’s letters as a bit of excitement to brighten up his dull days. Harry has no idea that investigating Clara’s life, and that of her beau (and potential murderer) Ernst Wernet will lead to the beginnings of a love affair all of his own.

-----

Violent Delights, E, 20.4k

Author: primaveracerezos/@primavera-cerezos

Draco Malfoy's life should be going very well. He's engaged to a wonderful man and in line for the Head Auror job. He's been made lead investigator on a serial murder case, trying to figure out who is killing off the scum of the wizarding world, one by one. So what if he's kind of miserable? Things always get better.

-----

Who Put Bella in the Wych Elm?, E, 15.4k

Author: alittlewicked/@undersummerstars

As sad as it was for a family to come to this point: no one would put it past the others to be able to raise their hand and wand against a cousin, an aunt or even a son.

Merlin knows, it had been happening often enough in the House of Black.

So that left the attendees with one question.

Who put Bella in the Wych Elm?

Harry & Draco are Walburga Black's guests at Number 12 Grimmauld Place to find the one, true heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. What had the potential to go terribly wrong, went one step further and culminated in a dead body and twelve suspects.

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#hd cluefest #drarry #drarry fest #draco/harry #drarry fanfic #drarry podfic #hp fest #hp fanfic #hp podfic #masterlist

108 notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 5 years ago

Text

In Name Only - Part 1

A/N: Ughhh, hi! I’m a whore for Oberyn Martell and cannot be stopped. This is gonna be a little series, only a few parts (at least for now), and I hope you enjoy. This was one of my many shower ideas that I couldn’t let go! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know! xx

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: slight language

IN NAME ONLY SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“I will not marry a man that does not love me,” you cursed the gods for making you a woman. You cursed your mother for being the way she was though it was not her fault that you were her only daughter among six sons. You cursed the laws of men that determined your position in life, “I will not be tied down to man who does not care about me, to a castle that will never be a home, and bear children I do not want.”

“You are an insolent, silly girl,” she hissed at you, and for a moment you feared that she might reached and strike you across the face. She had been prone to doing so when you were younger, but in her older years she had calmed down, softening with the birth of each child after you, each son, each brother you loathed for how easy their lives were, “you should have been married many moons ago.”

“I will not marry a man almost twice my age that openly keeps a lover and already has plenty of children,” a fiery rage set through your bones, one that would probably be perfectly suited in the warm, desert homeland of the husband she insisted you take. In the Reach, your attitude was abhorred, and you were considered the lone deviant of your family, “I will not give up my freedoms because you deem it fit for me to do so.”

“You will marry him and bear him an heir,” she grabbed your hair and roughly yanked it and leaned in so only you could hear, “you are lucky any man will have you. You’re much too old to be unwed and your demeanor makes you almost unbearable.”

“I will not do it,” you gritted your teeth and tried to pull out of grasp, “I will not subject myself to a life of servitude-”

“When I was your age I’d already been long married to your father and had you and two of your brothers,” she reminded, pushing you away with a heavy sigh, “do you think I wanted to get married? I was no more than a child, and you at least are a woman grown. I could have married you off years ago, as I should have. You would have been out of my sight and perhaps tamed.”

“I refuse. I will not bend and break to your whim,” turning away you started to storm off, hoping that some fresh air would calm you down. Perhaps you could ride your horse through the open pastures and fields surrounding the castle.

“And just what do you plan on doing then? Will you wander through the kingdoms on your own, travelling without anything or anyone like a heathen?”

“Perhaps I will,” you shrugged, “it would be better than doing what you ask of me. If you loved me-”

“If you do not marry him, you will be cut off from this family,” her words were enough to cause you turn around and listen to her, “you will lose your name, your worldly possessions, and you will be penniless. Is that really what you desire?”

“All of this because I do not want to take a husband?”

“It is your duty. As it has been the duty of every woman before you.”

“Fuck duty!” your voiced reverberated around the castle’s stone walls as she stared you down, “I will not marry someone I do not love. Father would never make me do so.”

“And your father is dead,” she reminded you with venom lacing her tone, “and what do you even know about love? It is a fiction created to keep little girls happy.”

“I loved him,” your heart felt like it was being ripped out of your chest as you thought of him. Your mother scoffed and dramatically rolled her eyes at you, “I loved him and you sent him away to certain death because you are a monster.”

“That horrid boy? He was a bastard,” she reminded you of the cruel little thing that kept you apart. How you rued the term of bastard; it did not mean anything, it did not determine a person’s character or heart, “he was never good enough for you. And you defiled yourself for him.”

“Because I loved him!” you insisted, “and he loved me! We would have been happy together, we could have built a life together...”

“He was a peasant, he tended stables-”

“That does not matter to me,” you reminded her, “he was kind and gentle and warm. I would have loved to have a life of tending stables if meant I was with him. Because I loved him!”

“You were lost in your girlhood fantasies of what you think love is,” she was cruel, each of her words twisting like a knife in your gut, “he was the first boy to show you attention and you fell for his little trap, and it has left you ruined for other men. You are lucky that Oberyn Martell does not know and he will not care, the one benefit of having a Dornish heathen for a husband.”

“I did love him, mother,” you tried hard to fight off the flood of tears that were pricked the back of your eyes, “and just because you can’t handle that you sent him to the Wall where he will live out his days and die. I never even got to say goodbye.”

“He was a bastard, it did not matter.”

“He was a good man,” your voice broke slightly as you tried to square your shoulders and stare her down, “his only fault in life was loving me. It’s gotten him the most cruel of fates.”

“I have had enough of you,” she steeled herself and strode past you, regal and noble in appearance as ever, “in two weeks time you will travel to Dorne and you will marry Oberyn Martell. You will either oblige and do it, as is your duty or you be expelled from this castle and can live out your days among the bastards that you love so much. It is your choice, whether you bring shame to this family or you disappear into the background as a woman should and become a dutiful wife.”

“Those are both horrible, vile options.”

“That is duty of being born a woman.”

“I wish I was born a man then,” you turned on your heel to walk away, wishing you were stronger, wishing you weren’t on the verge of tears, “maybe then I would not subjected to such a cruel fate, and I wouldn’t let any woman in my care suffer the same.”

“Aren’t you just the martyr,” she mocked you with such a ferocity that you wanted to give her a good whack across her own smug face, “you think you know so much, you know nothing.”

“I know what it means to be a good person, or at least to try,” it was days like that you longed for your father. He had been a kindhearted, generous man, one who did not believe in the stereotypes that divided men and women. He was the reason you had remained unwed for many years, far past the age of anyone of noble blood. He encouraged your wildness, your open heart and free spirit. Your mother had always been the exact opposite. You always wondered how they seemingly got along so well, but you’d come to understand that it was no more than an illusion. The only love they shared was that of their children, and sometimes you wondered how deep that truly ran.

“Enough,” her tone held the cruel finality, the singular word was as sharp as a dagger as she stood in the doorway, the soft light filtering in behind her. She was a handsome woman, and if you hadn’t known better, she appeared almost angelic. But you knew better, much better; she was no more a saint than you were a sinner. You remained steadfast in your spot, trying to channel the ferocity that your father always embodied, “in two weeks time you will travel to Sunspear and you will marry the prince.”

“I would rather die.”

“If you choose your own grave so be it,” she slammed the door to her quarters shut, letting the sound ring through the hall. You had flinched at the noise, but now it only served to anger you. Your whole life, the little joys it still afforded you would be taken away soon, all because of a name. All because you were a woman.

They often called occasions such as these little deaths, but you had a feeling that it would be a lot more than a little pain to make yourself subservient to a husband you did not want.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The journey from the lush green lands of Honeyholt and surrounding lands into the dry, red deserts of Dorne had been...miserable. While you would have relished traveling and seeing the new lands under any other circumstance, you experienced no moments of tranquility or peace. The landscapes meshed into one and the only thing signaling that you were entered the land of the Dornish was the stifling heat. The Reach was temperate, never an extreme in either direction, but Sunspear provided its first test through the scorching heat of the golden sun.

It would take some getting used to but you could understand why the symbol of the house you would soon be joining was a blazing sun. It never seemed to fade, casting its golden light across every inch of the land. The people that you spied in villages and smaller cities as you approached Sunspear looked as if they didn’t mind; perhaps only a lifetime of heat would allow you to get used to it.

Their curious glances were always trained on you, and your small retinue that would depart as soon as you arrived safely. You were an outsider from a strange land that the Dornish were reluctant to trust; it wasn’t common fro one of Northern breeding to step this far south. Not that you had much of a choice in the matter; you hadn’t thrown a fit, or cried, or screamed, not wanting to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you so upset. Instead you had remained silent, speaking only a few words here and there as necessary, your true self hidden behind a thick veneer of steel. Maybe your true self would be hidden forever, dying a little bit day by day as you waited patiently for your death.

There would be no ceremony, no pomp, and most definitely no circumstance when you arrived to your new home and to meet the man who would shortly become your husband. You would be all but abandoned in the palace where you knew no one, trying to fend for yourself. It had been at your mother’s request and you knew exactly why she would treat you in such a manner; each of your brothers, all but the two youngest had been married off already, in a show of great festivities and celebration. You were all but kicked under the carpet, a smudge on the family name that she wished to forget.

Your mother harbored no love for the Dornish, whom she considered savages and uncultured; she must have been desperate to finally see you off if she agreed to a marriage proposal from the Martells. You wondered why they had even asked for you; there were plenty of other families in Dorne that could have produced a worthy daughter, or other Northern families that might have agreed. Perhaps they too realized that it would difficult to marry off a prince nearing middle age that housed a paramour and bragged about his bastard daughters. It did not phase you, or bother you in the slightest; you were pleased rather that they seemed to enjoy life to such a degree. But perhaps even the Martells were smart enough to know that they would need heirs, legitimate ones, to recognized by the Northern countries and carry on their name.

When you arrived at the palace in Sunspear, your jaw dropped slightly in surprise - it was a stunning beauty, a feat of architecture that you were loathe to find anywhere else in the seven kingdoms. It presented a sharp contrast to the home you had known your entire life; there was no bleak grays or beiges that met your eyes, instead colorful, brilliant shades of warm crimsons, oranges, tans, and bronzes met your eyes. it was warm and welcoming, despite the reason for your arrival. If this was to be your home for the remainder of your days, at least it was beautiful.

Your carriage came to a harsh stop and you almost slid off your seat at the sudden force. You groaned lightly as you straightened yourself, looking down at the green dress you were sporting and already wishing you had something cooler to wear. If you had been granted your way, you’d be dressed the same as the men that could spy all around the palace, sporting a pair of trousers and a loose tunic. Your father had never cared what you wore, but the day your mother found out that you had been running around like a boy, she had made you wear only the finest dresses. You’d still sneak off in trousers whenever presented with the opportunity, a small thrill running through your veins, knowing that you were directly defying your mother.

The small door was opened and you stepped out, letting your feet hit the warm the sand. You wiggled your feet about, trying to get a feel for it, bending over and picking up a handful of the small grains. It was a dark bronze color, different than the seasides of the Reach, and softer. You liked it, you immediately decided, it was much more comforting than stone and hard soil.

“Knock it off and put it back,” internally rolling your eyes at the septa you swore you were much too old to still have you, you let the sand trickle out of your hand and back onto the ground, “you’re acting like a child. You must behave and act like a proper woman.”

Sighing lightly, you remained wordless, not wanting to start an argument in the middle of your new home before you’d even made a proper entrance. The few items you’d brought from Honeyholt with you were quickly unloaded and brought into the palace. You hadn’t desired to bring much; you wanted a fresh start, a new one that you could call all your own, even if you weren’t here by choice. It felt like you could hang on to a little bit of autonomy that way.

Your most prized possession hung around your neck: a delicate golden chain that contained a small rose colored gem. It had been given to you by your father on your fourteenth nameday; he’d presented it to you with such joy and excitement, having it made just for you. He had claimed that the rose gem symbolized love and that you would always know how much he loved and adored you whenever you wore it. You hadn’t taken it off since his untimely demise; a small consolation for not having him around anymore.

You’d been so lost in your own thoughts, of your father, of your new life, that you hadn’t seen realized you’d stepped foot inside, until a pair of arms wrapped around you. Your body tensed in defense as you came back to reality and saw a young, dark haired girl grinning at you. She was beautiful, clearly of Dorne with her sunkissed skin and dark features, and animated smile. She was dressed in silks of gold and orange, much like the house she served. Appearing to be only a few years younger than yourself, she had a warm aura about her; it was the most kindness you’d experienced in some time.

“I’m Asha,” she had taken a step back when noticed your hesitation and held her hand out instead. You gave her the best smile you could as you gingerly shook her hand, still wanting to tread lightly as you gave her your name, “I’m your handmaiden. I’ll be helping you with whatever you need.”

“Handmaiden?” surely this must be a joke. Back in Honeyholt you’d had maids and servants, surely, but never one that served you in such a personal manner. Perhaps this was one of the perks of marrying a prince, even if he was one by name only, “I’m quite sure that I can handle myself...I’m sorry, forgive me, I do not mean to be rude. I’ve just never had someone...”

“It’s quite alright,” she insisted, taking your hand and pulling you further into the palace. You tried to get a good look at everything, but there was so much going on all at once that it was hard to keep track of everything, “I’ll be here for whatever you need and should you decide you do not need me at all, then I will remain as your friend, if it pleases you.”

“Friend?” that was the last thing you expected. It something you both had and hadn’t thought much about in the past few weeks. You’d had friends in Honeyholt, less and less the older you became, when they turned into mere acquaintances, tending to the families they were growing, but you’d resigned yourself to a life of solitude in Dorne. You weren’t sure what to expect here; you didn’t think the people would be so welcoming for the stranger that came to marry their favorite prince.

“Yes,” she gave you a dazzling grin, “like I said, if it pleases you. The prince wants to make sure you feel at home and that you’re comfortable.”

“He does?” you’d been there for such a short time, but already you’d experienced more twists and turns than you had expected.

“Of course,” she pulled you up a flight of marbled stairs and down a long hallway, stopping before a grand set of doors. They were beautiful, made of aged wood and intricately carved. You couldn’t stop yourself as you reached up and touched the carvings, letting your fingers glide over them, “ he’s traveled all over the seven kingdoms, the Summer Isles, Essos...so many different places. He understands better than anyone what it is like to be in a new, and often unwelcoming land. He wants you to know that this is your home too. The prince is very happy to have you here and finally meet you.”

“Huh,” you turned to her, searching her eyes for any signs of deception, but you found none. Her dark eyes were wide with excitement as she opened the door and revealed the beautiful interior of your personal quarters. It was a beautiful sight to behold, colorful furniture was strewn about, a large, soft bed with golden cloth over it, and open doors leading to a balcony that housed many plants. A soft breeze ruffled the curtains and rustled the leaves. This space, in the few moments you’d stared at it, felt more like a home than anything you had experienced.

“His quarters are on the opposite end of the hallway,” she explained and nudged her in the direction. Separate quarters, you thought to yourself, how strange, “he wanted to make sure you liked everything. If you’re unhappy with it or require anything else, just say the word and you will have it.”

“It’s beautiful,” you admitted, stepping into the space and taking a closer at everything, “Dorne is beautiful...I had not expected this much beauty in the desert lands. The way the Northern lords make it sound...it should be horrid and ugly. But it’s lovely.”

“There is so much in Dorne that they will never tell you about because they will not allow themselves to see the beauty in front of them. We know they see us as savages and heathens, we know what they say, but we are not as they claim. We are different, surely, but does not make us bad people simply because we do not share the same views and beliefs?” she asked as she started to drag in some of the small trunks containing your items. You shook your head with a small smile; no, surely it did not make them any less human. They were already a warmer people than any of the northerners you’d encountered.

Standing up and helping her, she looked at with you with a curious glance. You just carried on, not wanting to let her do all of the work; why should you?

“I can handle it, my lady,” she insisted, but you refused to back down. You repeated your name and insisted that she call you that, “even if you are to be the princess?”

“I take no joy or pride in hollow titles or unnecessary formalities,” you promised her, “you and I are not different are we? We’re both women, subject to the harsh reality of what that entails and the laws of the gods and men. I insist, please, that you call me by my given name. And I am more than capable of helping to unpack my own items. You musn’t do it all alone.

Asha gave you a big grin as she nodded, surprised by your genial approach. Those she had met from the lands north of Dorne would never dare to renounce a title so freely, or speak so candidly with her. But you did; Oberyn would like you, she thought to herself, “as you wish...I think you will like Dorne, it will suit you well. We do not believe that men hold any superior power over women, nor do we believe that women should be reduced to standing behind a man. Everyone is equal here, just as the gods willed it.”

“And yet here I am, to be married to a man I do not know and that does know me and give him an heir,” there was a slight tone of bitterness to your voice that you hadn’t quite intended. You sighed and shook your head in apology, knowing she had nothing to do with your fortune, “I’m sorry...I should not have lashed out at you.”

“It’s quite alright,” she insisted, “I know how it seems is harsh, but I assure you that not everything is as it seems. It must be shocking to come to a new home and be surrounded by only strangers, but I think you will be just fine; if nothing else you will provide a good wit to match Prince Doran.”

“Prince Doran?” you asked as she nodded, “and he is...”

“I dare they must have kept you quite in the dark about all of this,” you nodded as you allowed yourself to sit on the soft bed, testing it out and finding it just as soft as you liked, “Prince Doran is the ruler of Dorne, his oldest daughter Princess Arianne is his heir and Oberyn is his brother.”

“Oh,” you felt silly, and a bit dumb not being privy to any of this information before. It didn’t surprise you though; your mother did not care for the Martells and it was unlikely that she knew much of this information herself, “I apologize for not being as well versed in your land and people as I should be.”

“There is no need,” she laid out some of your dresses, placing them in the closet that stood against the wall, “one thing you will need to learn is that in Dorne we do not apologize. There is no reason to ever apologize for one’s true self, right? You were not to know this information, so how should you have known? You will learn in time. It is your home now and we are your people.”

“How is that I already feel so much warmer and lighter here than I have in years in my own home, the place I was birthed?” you let out a small laugh in spite of yourself and stood back up, spying some fine silks draped over the chair that was placed in front of the small writing desk, “what are these?”

“Silks,” Asha watched your face turn into a small smile as you touched the delicate fabrics and studied the colors, “they’re a gift from -”

“The prince,” you finished for her and she just nodded with a smile.

“He had a feeling that you wouldn’t be well prepared for the heat and wanted to provide you with something more suitable,” you lifted a few pieces up, holding them against your body. They were lovely, designed and crafted with care and expert stitching, “he asked about your coloring to make sure they’d suit you. And of course, some of the Martell gold and orange had to be included.”

“They are wonderful...absolutely beautiful,” a small sense of satisfaction worked its way into your bones as you realized that your mother would absolutely abhor the clothing, declaring crude and too revealing. But you loved the pieces, knowing they’d be perfect for the hot afternoons and warm evenings you’d come to expect, “this prince...he’s very kind.”

“He can...rough around the edges, but underneath the exterior he presents, he is a most kind and gentle man. His people love him and he loves them as well,” she answered, and you could easily sense the admiration she had for him. Maybe...just maybe, if this prince proved to be as fair and just as Asha made him out to be, things wouldn’t be a complete nightmare, “he wanted to be here to greet you, but unfortunately his duties have kept him away a bit longer than he intended. He will be back in time for your wedding.”

Wedding. Of course. You had somehow forgotten that little detail; this was just some sort of vacation or leisure trip. This was a whole new life you were walking into.

“Oh,” you tried to hide the nervous lilt of voice, but Asha picked up on it anyway. For someone so young, she was very attuned to your emotions. She stood next to you and slowly, as if testing the waters, put an arm around your shoulders. This time, you let her. You let her pull you into a hug and hold onto you tightly as you let your body relax into the comfort of her own. You were almost like clay, melting into her arms; it had been so long since you had experienced the touch of another. She smelled of fresh citrus and spices, a scent you already found comforting, “thank you, Asha. You have been more kind than I could have ever anticipated. It is not lost on me...I should be proud to consider you a friend.”

“And I you,” she insisted, you were quickly interrupted by a loud throat clear from the entrance to your new space. Your oldest brother, now the Lord of Honeyholt in your father’s absence, was standing there, an impatient look on his face. Asha pulled back and bowed her head in reverence, “my lord.”

“Come and make sure your goodbyes, sister,” he completely ignored Asha and turned his cold gaze to yours. Never having been close with any of your brothers, besides the youngest, you harbored no strong feelings for him. He was a fine man, a decent lord, but nothing compared to your father. The halls of Honeyholt were never the same since he sat at the head of the table, “we must leave soon to make it back before our visitors from the Crownlands come.”

“You just mean to leave me here,” it was not a question, but a cold statement of fact, “you do not intend to stay and watch me marry? It is only a short time away.”

“We do not have time,” he insisted already starting to walk away, “besides, what is there to celebrate? You’re married off far too late to...a Martell. Hardly calls for celebration.”

“Goodbye brother,” you called after him, not even bothering to follow and bid anyone else a farewell and a safe journey back, “if that is the way you feel, to leave your only sister thus, then so be it. I wish you, nor our brothers, nor mother any ill will, but I cannot say I will be amiss of any of you.”

“Watch your tongue,” he growled at you from the foot of the stairs, “you are lucky to be my sister or I would have you thrown out long ago. You taint our name and have no respect for decency. You’re just like father; weak and a fool. Always thinking without your brain.”

“So with my heart?” you spat at him, “how dare you take father’s name in vain! He’s more of a man, father, and lord than you will be ever be.”

“And look where that got him,” he reminded you of the harsh reality that your favorite person, the one that you had idolized growing up, was gone, “an early grave.”

“He was ill-”

“It does matter. I am lord now and you will obey me,” he shook his head, “you know, mother was smart to finally marry you off. At least you will be able to take the name of Martell and will stop bringing shame to ours. You are no sister of mine, you can join these...barbarians, become one of them,”

“If I see you again, it will be on your deathbed,” you insisted, feeling a tears of sheer anger roll down your cheeks, as your body trembled with frustration, “I guarantee it. You are no brother of mine.”

He glowered at you before turning around and storming off, his robes trailing behind him. You’d never shared a great appreciation or love for him, but this was a harsh blow nonetheless. Your family, the only one you’d ever know was so content to just cart you off. You wondered how long he had waited for this day - but it didn’t matter. Just like that you had no more home in Honeyholt. Sunspear, and Dorne, was your home now. Even if it was a life you did not desire, at least it would be your own.

“I’m sorry,” Asha appeared at your side, a concerned expression on her face at the heated exchanged. You choked back the few sobs that threatened to bubble up in your throat. You’d essentially just lost the little bit of family you had, “I did not expect such a response. Family means much to Dornishmen, sweet dove. You will never have to feel alone or unloved here.”

“Thank you,” you gave her a small smile, “I hope my family does not dishonor Prince Doran. I have not even meet the man who is to be my brother and already I bring chaos.”

“Prince Doran would never hold the actions of them against you,” she promised, “he shall be glad to meet you and welcome you into his family. As will we all. I can show you around the palace, if you so desire, and the water gardens. They’re most beautiful, especially during the peak of heat, such as this.”

“Will I meet Prince Doran today?” you were curious about meeting your new family, albeit the tiniest bit hopeful. It could be no worse than what you had just experienced.

“I’m afraid both princes will not return until tomorrow,” she explained, “however, they are preparing a feast in your honor for this evening. The Princess is here, and I am sure she will be delighted to meet you. She’s a brilliant combination of her father and uncle, and will surely revel in your company, she grows bored of monotony.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Dinner had been an...interesting affair. You’d gotten to meet the princess, her mother, and many other members of the household and those who worked for and were dear to the Martells - to your family. It was a shocking contrast to the normally reserved and quiet meals that were had in the dreary dining hall of your former home.

The large tables in the garden were laden with delicious foods from all of Dorne, including the famed Dornish wine and everyone sat together, it did not matter their rank, station, or title. They were happy, kind, and jovial, welcoming you with open arms to Sunspear and their family. It was a warmth you had not known before, but not unwelcome. It was a sight to see everyone so happy, joking and laughing, teasing each other until late into the night; they had no reservations, no fears, no inhibitions. And you loved that about them immediately.

Your heart had almost stopped when the princess had presented you with a beautiful golden bracelet, containing the Martell sun entwined with the little dove of your own house. She had gently clasped it around your wrist, before kissing your cheeks gently. You would think of her, her generosity and warmth whenever you wore it.

But even the excitement and relief that the evening had provided was not enough to stave off the tears that found you late in the evening as you sat on the balcony connected to your quarters. You’d been studying the starry night sky, admiring how it glittered over the red dunes of the desert, when you were hit with a wave of sadness that you couldn’t ward of. A few hot, warm, salty tears dripped down your cheeks as you slowly repeated the names of the constellations you could see, stopping only when a small knock came at your door.

You dabbed at your eyes and turned around to see who the visitor was, but Arianne slowly let herself in. You gave her a small smile and she joined you on the balcony, without a word, but a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I am sorry that you must see me in such a state,” you apologized but she shook her head. She was about to open her mouth, but you stopped her with a small smile, already knowing what she was going to say, “do not apologize for being your true self.”

“Yes,” she agreed with a small laugh, rich and musical, “see you’re learning already - you’ll fit in perfectly.”

You remained silent for a moment and let out a long sigh.

“What plagues you so?” she asked gently, “besides the loss of your family?”

“Today has proven it is no real loss,” you admitted, “I am...I do not know if I can do this.”

“Marry my uncle?”

“Yes,” you said quietly, “I vowed to myself that I would never marry someone I did not love, and I know this sounds silly, but my father, before his death, always promised me that he would never send me off to do so unless I desired it. And now...”

“It is not easy.”

“No,” you sighed, a fresh wave of tears rolled down your cheeks, “I cannot bring myself to love someone just because I am required to, nor have a desire to be treated as a sow to be used for heirs. I do not know if I can do this, to myself or your uncle.”

“I realize this is very little consolation, but I do think I might know how you to help, if only a small bit,” she had your attention and you gave her a curious glance, “think of it as a marriage only in name.”

“Only in name?”

“Precisely,” she explained, “you will marry Oberyn, and that will the end of it. You do not owe him an heir and he would never expect one from you. He has eight daughters already, some nearing your age, and he loves them dearly. They keep him busy and if you do not desire children he would never force one on you. You do not have to love him, he knows you likely never will, but just respect him; for outside purposes you will be husband and wife, but behind closed doors, and to those here in Dorne, who not care about such things, it will not matter.”

“Oh?”

“Give it some time and you will find a lover, a man or a woman, or many lovers,” she explained, “love should not be contained so willfully, unless two people desire it. you are free to explore and take as lovers as you want. You give and take love.”

“Oberyn...has a lover,” why you suddenly felt shy, you did not know. Certainly it could not be jealousy? You did not know him nor care for him, and clearly did not love him, but something inside you panged slightly. How strange it would be to be married to a man with a different lover.

“He had a lover, a paramour by the name of Ellaria Sand,” she explained and you found yourself intrigued, “she’s a most kind, generous and lovely woman, and mother to four of his daughters. She is beautiful as she is kind and still comes around often, but she has left his bed sometime ago and has returned to her childhood home in Helholt.”

“Oh?” you wondered if it had anything to do with you, but you had your doubts. What power would you, a mere child compared to his longtime lover hold?

“It was amicable, I believe. They remain friends, and both love their daughters deeply. I think a strong bond and love remains between them, but nothing romantic,” she expanded, but it did not ease your nerves, “I’m sure you will meet her at some point, she comes around not infrequently, but you have nothing to worry about. She will love you, as we already do as well. She will understand what your position as Oberyn’s wife means.”

“Does he take other lovers still?”

“As far as I know,” she shrugged, not deeply concerned with her uncle’s affairs, “anything further than that you will have to discuss among yourselves.”

“I see,” you let out a long sigh and let your shoulders slump, finding little solace in her words. She was trying her best, but it did not chase away all your fears, “still I...”

“Remember,” she said softly, “name only. You will not have be with him, in his presence, any more than you desire. He will grant you many liberties and freedoms. The ways things work between a husband and wife are very different here in Dorne than in the North. You will not be confined to the palace or your husband, you will have your own voice here.”

“Such a strange concept,” you mused as she shrugged, “all my life I’ve been told that my only goal in life is to behave, marry a nobleman, and bear him children. Nothing more and nothing less.”

“Welcome to Dorne, sweet dove,” Arianne pressed a light kiss to the side of your head, before moving to leave your chambers, leaving you alone with your thoughts, “and welcome to House Martell.”

You watched her go without another word, envying her easy going personality and liveliness. She’s known this her whole life, and yet she was so happy; maybe there was something to this Dornish way of life. Maybe you could find some purchase here and make a happy little life for yourself. With or without your husband at your side.

You straightened up and stretched, raising your arms above your head as you looked at the moon, shining among the stars. Maybe...this did not have to be as bad as you had originally thought; maybe Dorne could be your own sanctuary. Your head was swimming with so many thoughts, and you were overwhelmed with a tiredness you had not known in ages. You walked back into your bedchamber, leaving the doors open to let in the warm evening breeze. It was quiet now, a quiet that you’d never really experience. Peaceful.

Oberyn watched you moved back inside from his spot in the courtyard of the palace. He and Doran had returned early, at his behest, but not early enough for a proper introduction. He been curious to meet his bride, the wild girl from the North that refused to be tamed. He had overheard you and Arianne, listening intently to your every word, clinging on to them to try and figure out how to best serve you. He wanted you to be happy, he hoped you would be, and if you wanted nothing to do with him, then he would respect that as well.

Whatever you desired, Oberyn Martell was going to make sure you had it.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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evanthenerd83 · 1 year ago

Text

“Why—“

“We need the money.”

They crossed the street.

Holly squeezed. The demon felt bones breaking, heard them as well, but didn’t resist. It couldn’t.

Her hand might have been cold.

Holding it might have caused hypothermia—or whatever equivalent existed for demons.

But at least it was soft.

“Are you ev—“

The demon winced as Holly increased the pressure.

“Yes, Dem. I am qualified. You may not believe this, but I used to babysit my neighbors’ kids.”

She was right. It didn’t believe her.

It found the image of Holly—violent, temperamental, sadistic Holly—putting a child to bed positively horrifying. Unethical.

What parent would hire her?

Someone who hadn’t wanted kids?

Someone who had given into temptation, lust? Someone who hated their kids, their own flesh and blood?

Someone who knew full well what Holly was capable of?

The demon shuddered.

Humanity… such an awful, horrid species. Its sinfulness knew no bounds. Mortals kept exceeding Its expectations.

Sin really did run deep within their hearts.

It blinked slowly, then looked around. A lazy expression overtook Its features.

Moonlight cast a sickly glow on Bramford Street. An ordinary suburban hellscape revealed itself.

There were houses everywhere. They all looked the same: tiled roofs; wooden porches; driveways; garage doors.

Picket fences segregated neighbors from neighbors. Not that anyone would have cared.

The demon smiled weakly. Something tickled the back of Its brain.

A familiar voice piped up. It sounded like smoke, if smoke could spawn a mouth and several vocal cords. The aftermath of Hell’s corruption. Demonicity.

“you can feel them”

Holly didn’t seem to notice that It had gone loose. She scanned the neighborhood, peering at numbers decorating mailboxes.

She was searching for an address.

“you can taste them”

A specific address.

Probably the one that woman—Ms. Woodhouse—had told her over that poor girl’s cell phone.

“they are here, useless child… as they are everywhere… the sinners… the whores… the blasphemers… the ill and soiled… do you see”

“do you see”

Everything faded away.

Everything other than—

Sins.

All types of sins. They flashed before Its mind, oil stains running down paintings.

Sins that varied in severity and harmfulness. That was an important term for a demon. Harmfulness.

It determined how awful one’s eternity in Hell would be. Sure, Hell was always awful.

Fire consumed all who called it home or prison.

The demon saw them. Those who lived on Bramford Street, populated the houses.

And It saw their sins.

A teenage girl took a drag.

A grown woman listened to her baby’s shrieking.

A teenage boy swiped several bottles of alcohol from his father’s liquor cabinet.

A grown man ducked beneath the covers, mistress giggling.

So many sins were happening. They happened behind closed doors, in marriage beds, backyards, and basements.

The images kept coming in rapid succession.

They bled together, colors mixing and forming new shades. A rainbow of suffering.

A withered old man eyed his old service pistol.

A little boy doused his baby sister in gasoline.

An elderly woman cast a spell, stabbing a stuffed doll.

A little girl held her kitten underwater.

“you may eat, my mistake”

“eat”

The demon ate.

…

Holly snapped her fingers. “Dem?”

It didn’t respond. Nor did It blink.

The demon stared into space, eyes bulging out. A certain look had come over Its face.

“Hey,” Holly snapped again. “Dem. Earth to Dem.”

Its lips parted. Drool started to ooze out, sizzling upon contact with air.

She leaned over. Her ears twitched. They hovered over an expanding puddle of acid.

She didn’t dare get too close.

But curiosity betrayed caution.

What if It said something interesting? Revealed a sweet, sweet secret?

It would be worth the momentary distraction. Ms. Woodhouse could wait a few more minutes.

Ever since their run-in with Lilah, a fact had slowly dawned on Holly. It was a shadow. A parasite.

It’d begun to impair her efficiency.

Not in killing or hiding. But in thinking.

The gears of thought—usually cold and mechanical—grew hurried and panicked.

Her divine temple—her brain—changed. Alien forces beyond comprehension corrupted what made Holly… Well, Holly.

Holly wasn’t feeling like herself.

Holly was feeling like someone else.

Holly was feeling.

Apathy surveilled the situation before it. It promised its restless constituents—wrath and lust—a quick resolution.

A rebuttal to the fact.

The fact that Holly didn’t actually know the demon. She hadn’t been Its childhood friend. They hadn’t grown up together in Hell.

What were Its parents like? Did It have any siblings? Where did It go to school, if It did? With whom?

Did It have a driver’s license? Were Its experiences similar to her own?

These questions occupied valuable real estate.

Holly listened closely. She waited for something, anything.

All she got was—

She leaned backwards. The spittle flew. It struck the old, wooden awning overhead.

Which started to melt.

Holly blinked.

“Right,” she muttered.

This was no time for exposition. They had a job to do.

She ignored It. Her eyes traveled down the length of the front porch, rotten wood mingling with fungus and moss. Several brown pots sat in random spots.

All filled. Cracks allowed some dirt to fall out. Roses and sunflowers were waving lazily.

Gusts of wind sent her hair flapping. Like Medusa’s still growing serpentine braids.

She took a sly step.

Even while creeping, her foot nearly broke through. A worrying groan peeled off the weakened floorboards. This elicited a raised eyebrow.

She didn’t weigh all that much. The demon arguably resembled a twig suffering from malnutrition, and would have sent a scale shrieking for the hills. Half in madness, half in fear, and half in pain.

A smirk crossed Holly’s lips.

She knelt down. Performed a spontaneous potoscopy.

“Damn it.”

No key, just cold dirt.

She pulled out her hands. They were smeared with pot innards, wriggling worms, and a little bit of mud.

Positively brown.

She stood up. Chances were none of the pots held the key. If Ms. Woodhouse was smart, she’d have hidden it somewhere nobody paid any attention to.

Usual choices? In potted plants. Under the doormat. On the doorframe, out of reach.

But Holly didn’t think Ms. Woodhouse was smart.

She never thought anyone was smart.

Especially smarter than her.

Holly had done a few… ahem, “errands” with her mother as a little girl. No babysitters would watch over her or her brother. Payment wasn’t the issue.

Her family was loaded. As loaded as a middle class family could be, of course.

The problem, as always, has been her brother. That asshole. Chaotic ankle-bitter with a talent for ruining good things, making bad things worse, and tipping the metaphysical scale towards absolute chaos.

Holly was mean. She was cruel. But her criminal proclivities ultimately came down to:

Get rid of witnesses.

Or get wetter than the Florida Everglades during monsoon season.

Her brother simply had a mischievous streak. One helluva mischievous streak.

911 calls from their neighborhood ranged two to three each morning. When Theodore turned ten, they increased tenfold.

During her mother’s midnight runs, Holly would sit on the ground. She watched with wide, hollow eyes. Her mother knew better than to scold her.

She was secretly memorizing each flurry of the screwdriver.

The steps were filed away.

Ways to break a lock. To disengage the doorknob. To get inside.

Breaking-in was easy. Routine.

Holly chewed on the inside of her cheek, walking back to the supine Demon. It looked like a suffocated fish. She wondered if It was still breathing.

Eh.

Whatever.

She turned towards the front door. It was big and charcoal gray, ornately carved. Moonlight revealed ghoulish faces screaming in anguish. Winged figures were perched on what looked like ledges. Gargoyles scowling.

How gothic.

A thought sprung. It exploded inside her head like firecrackers, tripwire, Vietnam-style party favors.

She glanced down.

At the gnarled doorknob. Which was staring back up at her, eyes dark and bottomless.

‘Christ. Even the knob.’

She grabbed it.

She twisted it.

And the front door swung open.

…

Pulling the demon inside, Holly surveyed the parlor.

It matched the outside. Old photographs hung on the walls. Their subjects were undetectable, since they’d faded away.

A short dresser sat underneath. Something like a tablecloth—lace, white, almost grandmotherly—covered it.

Dust hovered in the air.

Cobwebs vibrated when Holly slammed the door.

Oddly enough, there were no spiders present.

Or flies.

Holly dragged the demon towards the narrow hallway. It stared into space. It probably saw Hell again.

She carefully avoided the second dresser. It stretched the length of the hallway, midnight dark wood bare.

These pictures weren’t faded.

She glanced.

A middle-aged woman seemed to smile back.

Her hair was brighter than the sun, and she wore a purple shirt with big, black buttons. Sleeves revealed pale skin.

White teeth caught most of the light in the photo. The background couldn’t be seen. Except for a few trees.

Holly nodded.

‘Ms. Woodhouse.’

Her attention fell.

She paused.

‘What the—‘

A young boy stood before Ms. Woodhouse. He clutched at her skirt, but didn’t seem afraid.

He wasn’t looking away. Far from it. He actually seemed to be staring deep into the lens, past the lens.

At the viewer.

A proto-shiver ran down Holly’s spine.

The boy had short black hair. Paler skin than his mother. His eyes were…

… dark. Like midnight.

Not precisely empty. Holly could see light—or what appeared to be light—within them, hiding behind the immediate darkness.

She recognized what she herself lacked.

But this light was muddled. Less emotional than artificial. Something inside her reminded Holly of a bug-zapper.

Another proto-shudder.

She looked away from the duo.

What was up with her?

Why was she feeling?

What was she feeling? Fear? Anxiety?

Recognition?

Before she could rewind the constant mental traffic and subject that particular thought to a personal strip search, someone coughed.

“Holly And The Demon Play House”

CONTENT WARNING: The following story contains harsh language and graphic violence.

“Man… this is hard,” Holly said while she shoveled.

The demon glared at her, pupils supernova hot. It growled.

It sounded like a dog. No. More like a hellhound that had just spotted the soul of some unfortunate sinner.

Holly giggled. She reached over, rustling Its black hair.

“Aw, good doggie.”

A claw swiped. She yelped, drawing back.

Her pale flesh had been slit open. The cut stretched across her hand, barely missing the knuckles and wrist.

A bead of crimson was forming.

Crimson.

“B-bad d-d-doggie.”

The demon rolled Its eyes. “Just keep digging.”

They were standing in what was supposed to be a park. A very small, plastic park.

Fake trees. Fake grass. Fake dirt. Everything within this park had been manufactured by the newest geo-capitalist startup company.

Engineered to look natural, but not offend humanity’s delicate selfishness.

Holly hated it. Almost as much as nature. Being outside, being around animals, wasn’t something she found… let’s say… mentally relaxing.

Nor did it strike a particular chord. There was no chord to be struck.

Animals only made things difficult. Snapping twigs ruined months and months of stalking, observing.

It didn’t help that animals felt the same way. Dogs would bark whenever she’d walk past, nearly choking themselves with their own collars and chains.

Cats hissed. Bugs scuttled away from her traps.

Birds shat themselves.

And yet… Holly found this park disgusting. Whoever had designed it ignored the way the world worked.

The natural order.

She believed in the natural order. It was her guide to living, her so-called “moral code”.

The weak would be eaten.

The strong would eat.

The strongest would prevail.

And to Holly, she was the strongest. Humanity could go suck death’s boney, dry dick for all she cared. Which wasn’t much.

Or even a little.

“Do you think… we should leave her… wallet?”

The demon shot another glare. “What?”

Holly kept on digging, blonde curls plastered to her forehead. Sweat glistened beneath a full moon.

The hem of her skirt was covered with dirt and grime. Her uniform clung.

“We need… money… for like… some extra clothes and stuff… and maybe even food… you said so yourself…”

She stabbed her shovel into the ground. Another heap of dirt.

It quickly joined its brethren. There was so much of it, the demon could hardly see the girl anymore.

A memory flashed.

An awful, vivid memory. Graphic and gratuitous.

The demon screwed Its eyes shut. No such luck.

The image had been burned into Its head. The girl, rearing back; hands half-raised as if to stop—

Holly, turning around; face dead as she aims—

The pistol, barrel flashing; bullet—

The red, spewing out; chunks of brain and shattered skull—

The demon gagged.

It scrambled away from the hole, hooves casting dirt. It disappeared into a nearby bush.

Holly simply rolled her eyes. “Drama queen.”

Ding-a-ring-a-long

Sing-a-song-a-dong

She froze, blade mid-stab. Her ears twitched.

A faint diddy. It wasn’t that complex, just a few repetitive notes played on a keyboard. The vocals were heavily synthesized.

The singer could’ve been a male or a female. It was difficult to tell.

What was easier to ascertain, though, was the source.

Holly stared at the impromptu grave.

“#$@& me.”

She dropped her shovel.

The ringtone suddenly ended. Silence fell upon the park.

Aside from the demon’s breakdown, of course. It was still puking Its guts out. As well as crying.

She kneeled.

Pain. And not the good, pleasurable kind.

The kind reserved for physical activity. A deep, hollow ache.

Holly could feel it in her bones. Each muscle burned. Overuse coupled with stress, making a bastard child.

Burying a body proved to be difficult work.

Unlike in movies, the ground refused to yield. It grew harder the deeper one went. The soil became stone.

They had started working hours ago. It took them several just digging the hole.

Holly despised labor. Exercise would leave her feeling used. Both of her armpits were swamps, and an unpleasant scent clung to her skin.

And exhaustion…

She ignored it. Her hands thrust themselves into the mound.

Cold engulfed them. Squishy dirt gave way. Excess rainwater added to the overall sensation.

Holly smiled.

Like exploring a victim’s body.

She searched.

…

“What are you doing,” the demon groaned.

Holly didn’t respond. She was sitting on the ground, legs crossed.

She seemed to be looking at something. The demon ran a single claw across Its face, knocking globs of leftover vomit from both cheeks.

It stumbled forward.

It felt like crap.

Utter crap.

Its throat was burning. Ribs were being beaten up by Its rogue heart, and something sent shockwaves through Its nerves. Shock.

Shock?

Yes.

Shock. Trauma. It couldn’t have been sick. Its immune system acted as a hellfirewall against invaders.

Nothing got through. Lowly creatures, viruses and bacteria, would find themselves in a world of hurt.

Or worse. Absorbed.

It coughed, peering over Holly’s shoulder.

She had both hands in her lap. They were wrapped around something small.

The demon squinted.

It was incredibly dark. Branches formed a canopy that prevented moonlight from reaching them. Whoever had designed the park deserved eternity in such darkness.

“Uh, Holly?”

“…”

“H-Holly,” It whispered. “What is tha—“

Ding-a-ring-a-long

Sing-a-song-a-dong

A song.

Light.

Bright. Blinding. It cut the dark like a butcher knife.

The demon yelped, falling backwards. It crawled away from the source of this light. On all fours.

It quickly scrambled to Its hooves. “H-Holly—“

A slender finger rose.

An angered hiss broke free. It froze in place, mouth snapping closed.

It stared at Holly with wide eyes.

She simply answered the cell phone. “Y’ello?”

The demon winced.

This wouldn’t work. This couldn’t work.

Holly was a lot of things. A mass murderer. A spree killer. An arsonist. A monster. A sexual deviant.

A sniper. A torturer. A perfect singer.

“Uh huh.”

A fugitive. An excellent cook. A sadist.

“I’m sorry, but she can’t. My… Uh, my sister has fallen ill.”

A survivalist. A master planner. An awful writer.

“No. No. No need! You enjoy your night, Ms. Woodhouse! I’ll…”

Holly eyed the demon, face going blank.

It felt her gaze on Its back. It stopped pacing.

“… you know what? We’ll be there! In about… what’s your address?”

The realization hit.

It instantly paled. Horror liquified Its face, and beads of sweat cascaded down Its cheeks.

Holly smiled as It started to shake Its head. She looked away.

“Perfect! That’s not far at all!”

It darted forward, claws outstretched.

Holly simply raised her pistol, and It froze.

“Hm? Oh. Just my brother.”

A pause. Her smile fell, replaced once again by the emptiness. She blinked a few times.

And then—

She threw her head back.

“Ha! Ha! Hahahahahaha! Of course not, Ms. Woodhouse! That’d be inappropriate!”

The demon cringed. Holly was inappropriate.

Her laughter simmered down. Yet another sneer appeared.

“And don’t worry. You can just pay me, and we—my brother and I—will split the money!”

It glanced at the mound. It gulped when It saw the glazed eye staring back.

“Yes ma’am! Just five more minutes! We’ll be there! Thank you! Thank you! Goodbye!”

Holly hung up.

She allowed the cell phone to fall. It landed in the dirt, face down.

“Um…” the demon backed away. “H-H—“

It cringed. The sound of shattering glass and snapping plastic echoed, joined by crunching leaves. She lifted her shoes.

Debris. Wasted technology.

She looked up, then started walking.

“Holly,” It whimpered. “What—“

She grabbed Its collar, pulling It behind her. It didn’t dare to resist. Resistance was futile.

It had seen enough to understand.

#evanthenerd83's storytime #holly and the demon #short story #black comedy #crime fiction #urban fantasy #horror comedy #creative writing #original writing #june 2023

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ducknotinarow · 3 years ago

Text

Possessive thread with @lust-sinner | From here

All that fakeness of his and Stellas was pretty much a constant routine at this point. Out in the public, the pair of avian demon royals acted like a fine enough couple, though in truth Stella was a far better actor. Stolas often just left to follow her lead, he understand on the one hand to maintain this act. Even if thier marriage was no more than a joke...but he needed to keep up the appearance he supposed. Though Stella did go and give him a good ear full on his horrid acting of a loyal upstanding husband. He had tuned most of the women screeching out at some point. Idly scanning over all that was there, looking at anyone and anything that wasn't Stella. Oh, how he wished to be anywhere but here, at least until he spotted Asmodeus.

A smile took over his face and his eyes nearly lit up from seeing them alone, moving to stand now that the business talk was sorted and done and more idle chit chat could be made. Stolas had lost sight of the other prince during the commotion that smile was quick to fade. Great was he going to be stuck with her all night then? Luck was on the side when he felt someone grab at his hand. His heart lept up into his throat as feathers rose up at the touch quickly turning only for his feathers to go from bristling out of fear to fluffing up out of joy. "Oh, Asmod-" not much chance to speak as he was pulled away by them, being dragged away from the large grouping. Stolas look back over his shoulder seeing how they were moving far away from the road in a dim-lit area not being used to leaving them alone. Normally he would be all for it but something seemed off about them. "Uh Asmodeus is something the matter dear?"

He soon got his answer as the prince of Lust soon pushed him up against the wall. A large handheld around Stolas' waist as the other took his face to tilt it up. Stolas felt his heart rate spike eyes widen at the expression across Asmondeous face right now. He had never seen them wear such an expression before. The low growl in thier tone the burning green glow of thier eyes. He blinked a few times after they spoke letting his eyes look about as he was piecing things together, When a smile crack on to his beak. "Oh are you, oh you can't be" he laughed a little maybe not the time or moment but he couldn't help it "are you actually jealous right now? over Stella of all demons?"

#muse| stolas #lust sinner #[ never had a friend like me lust sinner]#\\closed thread\\#stayed qeued

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ccaptain · 3 years ago

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[ UNSENT ]: a letter written for the recipient, but which the writer ultimately never sends for reasons that the writer conceals, or may reveal within the letter itself.

ah he’s gonna write a literal fuckton. like any of the letters he sends -- @11fatui

my love,

i hope this letter never finds you before my last moments come to being. i will make sure that it does, for it may tear you apart: you don’t know of the curse, and i don’t wish for you to know of it until i can speak to both you and another person about it throughoughly. should you scavenge for this, you’d suffer, and i never want to make you ache.

i am destined to suffer an horrid, slow death while looking for warmth. in my last moments, i know that i will not be coherent -- hence why i have dedicated myself to write you this right now. it may be eons, decades, simple years or even months before the curse spreads further and cripples me of everything i have. i know that it will tarnish my beauty and wits, and you deserve me at my full self. selfishly... i hope that you’re the last person to hold me in my fading, last moments, and i know that i would be selfish enough to inflict this burden on you. when you will find this letter, i’ll be long gone.

ajax, my knight, my harbinger, know that i have loved you.

deeply and with a scorching intensity rivaling the one of the sun. i have loved you with the intensity of the stars in the teyvat's sky. i have loved you sinfully, dreaming of your body day and night even as you laid close to me and i could feel your heartbeat resonating inside my ribcage, beating with mine as one. know that i have desired you beyond simple human wantings, that i have burned myself multiple times on our love and it felt heavenly. that i have never regretted being with you, not even in our worst fights. when you looked at me with light in your eyes, i was human and i enjoyed being such. i drank your gaze on me, you looked at me like the only person who mattered to you and i, selfishly, let it happen.

i believed myself as nothing but the worst sinner, but so were you. we molded together and it seemed to matter little, to weight less.

i will keep loving you from beyond. i am with you, even now: i am with you everytime you sheath your blades, i am in the contentment and excitement you find from battling; i am with you as you let sleep overtake your tired body, sate your exhaustion. i am with you to the moon and back, even now; take the eyepatch only you were allowed to take off me and, selfishly, carry me with you. think about me in such a way to paint me as gracefully as a galaxy, think about me with all the love you can muster. do not let my disappearence slow you down; keep fighting, ajax. keep enjoying yourself, keep striving for improvement. if i was not a placeholder to slow you down, then i am happy to have brought you solace.

from above, i will watch you conquer the world with contentment, knowing that you have let nothing slow you down.

you have made me feel human. you have made me feel tender, able to be loved with simplicity, and i now return the favor by leaving my entrusted weapon to you. may it soothe that your hand will lay where mine once was. aquila favonia will recognize that your heart is pure, i’m sure of it, and it will resonate with you too.

keep fighting, ajax. to the end, keep your footwork steady for the next battles. will you keep this letter too? i hope that you will. as you may have gotten to know, i am a selfish being even from beyond the grave.

yours, kaeya

the letter has been hidden in a drawer of his workdesk at home, locked with a little key -- what he doesn’t know is that it can easily be lockpicked, or jammed open. nobody shall find this letter until kaeya himself wants it... or, well, it’s going to be painful. very much so.

#11fatui #if anyone ever wonders why i do your memes first then everyone elses its bc i take physical damage while doing yours.#now i have to cry for 2394 minutes THEN get to the others #SHOOTS YOU IN THE MIDDLE OF YOUR FOREHEAD WITH THIS #YEAH WHAT IF CHILDE FINDS THE FUCKING LETTER? MAYBE HE'S SNOOPING WHILE KAEYA SLEEPS. HES GONNA TAKE DAMAGE

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sunflowerheartsandstarryskies · 4 years ago

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Ain’t Family Great? ~ Lucifer Morningstar x GenderNeutral!Reader

Summary: You have come from a very religious household, and they don’t take too kindly when they heard that you are dating someone literally named the devil.

Author’s Note: I literally got this idea from seeing a dialogue prompt on Pinterest, and it just spiraled out of control.

Trigger Warning: Curse words, some innuendos, biblical literalism, religious talk (It is Lucifer)

You were a friend and coworker of Chloe Decker, you mostly worked in the background doing research and gathering the data on the criminals and suspects of the cases your unit was working on. That is how you met Lucifer, Chloe asked you to gather information on two main suspects on a case she was working on and Lucifer was lingering on in the background.

When you gave Chloe the information you gathered and she left, Lucifer piped up, “What’s your name? I haven’t seen you before” “That’s because I mostly work on research stuff for cases, so I do a lot of the office work and investigative work that requires me to be in a chair for the whole day. My name’s (Y/N), Chloe’s mentioned you before,” you replied with a small smile. “Ah I hope not all of them are terrible, even if I am the Devil I like to think I have a certain amount of charm,” he said with a smirk.

That’s when you first heard him call himself the devil, and if you were honest with yourself you were always curious about his name: Lucifer Morningstar.

You grew up in an extremely religious household, which at times felt like you were suffocating from the relentless biblical literalism that was upheld in your house. You were always curious about the Devil in the biblical stories and you always found the quote by Mark Twain interesting if read in a certain context otherwise it’ll sound like an angsty emo kid trying to be philosophical.

There was an instance where you were on a case with Chloe and Lucifer, and the killer had said, “Oh, you know that phrase? The devil made me do it? It felt like that”

You let out a light snort at that as you immediately responded, “The devil didn’t make you do anything. Your poor impulse control and anger management, and might I add quite a horrid spectacle of internet history could certainly be a bad combination to make you do something.”

After the case, Lucifer was very curious about your statement towards the killer as you guys headed to a cafe to get some lunch together, he asks, “Why were you so against the man using that phrase? I mean I hate it because it is so demeaning, I’ve got better things to do.”

You shrugged as you sipped your beverage and responded, “I don’t know, maybe it’s partly because of my very religious family which I have realized how much bullshit I was forced to listen to since I was born, so I guess I grew to have sympathy for the devil.” “Oh really?” Lucifer’s small smile grew to a smirk as he leaned forward, Chloe swatted him to move back.

“Not you. I don’t know you, but one of my favorite quotes about the devil is from Mark Twain,” you commented. “I don’t think I have,” he continued to have that smirk on his face. He was very handsome but he was so goddamn annoying, you thought. “Well, it goes: ‘Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?’ Like, there’s this whole thing about redemption in the Bible and catholicism but does the Devil ever get the chance to get his redemption? No, I think God wanted a scapegoat and he got it from a rebel,” you ranted.

Lucifer looked shocked for a moment but gathered his posture and said, “Well, you thought about this quite a bit. I assume because of your family?” You just shrugged at first, took a sip from your drink, then nodded. “Their family is very strict, I thought my family was weird but they got me beat, ” Chloe informed him.

“They stopped talking to me, they didn’t think that I was enough for them. It hurt at first but y’know as time moves on I figured that I have better things to do than wallow in my past, so I realized I needed help so I got therapy and now I’m here,” you surmised. “Family is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? Filling us with traumas and issues since we were created,” Lucifer commented.

Time has passed between that first case with Lucifer and Chloe, now whenever they needed an extra pair of eyes they’d call on you to help with them. It was an interesting dynamic that you and Lucifer had developed over the weeks that you were going with them on cases. You were able to talk about literally anything with Lucifer, he made you feel comfortable which is odd since his persistence on him calling himself the Devil. By him associating himself with it, you thought he was supposed to be like an actual bad guy, but gauging his reaction to your conversation about your first case with them, you made a realization that because of his name people treat like the actual devil.

One day, you went through your mail in the apartment lobby and spotted a letter that was from your hometown, and another one with the return address being your parents’ house. ‘The hell is this?’ you thought.

When you opened the first one you found a wedding invitation that your cousin was inviting you to, you were actually pretty close with this cousin, she was really chill and she understands the conservative and religious household you used to live in. The second one was your parents’ basically condemning you from being at your cousin’s wedding, and that pissed you off. You were a grown adult, you would be damned if you’d let your parents try to control you anymore.

You decided to go out to LUX, because if there is one person who understands controlling parents it was Lucifer and maybe he’d be able to give you the extra courage you need to stand up to your parents. You had on your favorite party outfit, and when you entered the club you could feel the thrum of energy and the bass of the music go straight to your heart. As you walked to the bar you spotted Maze whom you’ve met before when you came here out of Lucifer’s request, you waved her over.

“What can I get for you?” She asked. “I’m sure you know what’s the best drink here, so I’ll leave that to you,” you said. You turned around to just watch the crowd and started to get a little nervous about the idea of going back to your hometown for the wedding, you love your cousin but hate your parents. So, you were at a bit of a crossroads with this. While you were watching the crowd you saw Lucifer come up to you with a big grin on his face.

“Well, hello (Y/N) this is a surprise. What brings you here?” Lucifer beamed.

“I actually came here to see you, to ask for advice,” you replied.

“A horrible decision really,” he smirked.

“My cousin invited me to her wedding but my parents know and basically condemned me from going to the wedding, and I’m unsure of whether to just stay here in L.A. or to go to the wedding and just be resilient against what my parents’ might say to me,” you said crossing your arms and rubbing them back and forth.

“Well, that sounds like quite a situation you got yourself in”

“I know, that’s why I am asking what I should do?”

“You know I’m all about that rebellion against parental figures, so I say go to the wedding and have a good time, your parents be damned. In fact, I would never say no to a party, so I could come up with you,” he added with a wink.

“Would you like to be my plus one? But please don’t start anything with my parents,” you begged him.

“I thought you’d never ask, and I can’t promise you that,” he smirked.

After, that conversation both of you got ready for travelling out to your hometown and you made sure to bring the outfits that gave you the most confidence in yourself because you knew that you’d need that.

You admitted to yourself a while ago that you had a crush on Lucifer, he was hot as hell, always polite with you, and treated you with genuine interest and respect. You also made a promise to not let your feelings get caught in the middle of your mission. You are going to have a good time at this wedding, congratulate your cousin and just have a good time.

Both of you made it one piece to the hotel that Lucifer somehow booked without your knowledge, because you swore you got a cheap motel room but as you tried to convince Lucifer to let you go to your motel room, he just said, “Are you crazy? I’m the devil for a reason, darling, I got connections everywhere and plus this place is much more spacious. We don’t need to sleep in the same bed if that’s what’s making you uncomfortable.”

“I just thought you would probably be looking for hookups or something and would want your own hotel room for that stuff,” you sputtered.

“Well if that comes to it, I’ll go to their room because I wanted to give you the comfiest place to go back to because I know how family can be,” Lucifer answered.

“That’s really nice of you, y’know for someone insisting he’s the devil you can be really sweet.”

The hotel room was really nice, it had two bedrooms and a large tv screen in front of the dining area. As time moved on and you guys decided to decompress and relax on one bed and decided to just mindlessly watch the tv. You fell asleep and Lucifer watched you for a moment as he realized you were asleep, he put you under the covers and fell asleep next to you.

The next day you woke up to the sunlight hitting your eyes, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and as you took a deep breath in you smelled something delicious. You turned around and saw Lucifer cooking breakfast with his shirt half undone and his hair all curled up.

“Good morning (Y/N), how did you sleep?” Lucifer asked.

“Pretty good, actually,” you answered with a yawn still trying to wake up.

As you both ate breakfast in relative comfortable silence, you looked at your phone and noticed the time. “Shit, we should get ready to go to the church and the party afterwards,” you told him as you got up and went to your suitcase to gather your things.

After what seems like hours to both of you, you managed to get out of the hotel room and to the church. Lucifer dropped you off in front of the church as he wanted to find a parking space for his car. As you waited in front of the church you noticed your parents walking to the church and felt your stomach churn as they were inching closer to you. Your mom looked furious and it was like her whole head was on fire how red it was. Your dad had a more quiet anger to him but you saw the clenched fists and the tightened jaw on him. You put out a little prayer to whoever to get Lucifer faster to you.

“What are you doing here? I thought we told you to not come here,” your mother sneered.

“The last time I checked I am a grown adult and (Y/C/N) invited me to their wedding,” you stated.

“Listen here you bitch, you are a disgrace to this family and that is why we didn’t want you here,” your mother hissed.

Before you could get another word in you heard Lucifer, “Oh there you are, love, I was looking for you.” He kissed the side of your head as he wrapped a hand around your waist and looked at your parents as he continued, “You must be (Y/N)’s parents, I’m her boyfriend, a pleasure to meet you.”

You looked at him a bit surprised and your parents’ faces were that of a gulping goldfish. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Lucifer. Lucifer Morningstar,” he stated.

“Like the devil?” your father said with apprehension in his voice, he made your mom step back behind him.

“Oh, I’m not as bad as the books say, you know,” Lucifer spoke with a wink.

“Quiet, evil one,” your dad sneered.

“Oooh, name-calling so fearsome, “ Lucifer scoffed. He looked towards you as you were just staring at the three of them. “C’mon love, we’ve got a wedding to go to, can’t be late.”

After that encounter the wedding reception went quite beautifully, you may or may not have teared up hearing your cousin and their spouse recite their vows. When you both went to the after-party you both stayed away from your parents and they seemed to have lost interest after that conversation earlier.

A slow dance came on while you were at the bar getting a drink when Lucifer appeared next and offered you his hand. You just raised an eyebrow at him in response and just said, “I thought you weren’t the type for slow dancing?” “Only with the right partner I find it enjoyable,” he smirked with a wink.

You hit him on the chest playfully and replied, “How do you know I’d be the right partner?” you asked. “Ooh I’d figure you’d be good at from the first day I saw you” he quipped. “Okay show me your moves, then,” you replied, taking his hand and walking to the dance floor.

He led most of the dances, keeping you close to his chest with his hand on your back. It was nice, the rhythm of his heartbeat in your ear was very soothing as well as him occasionally humming with the song if he knew, which more often than not he did.

You looked at him and you both started to stare at each other’s eyes. You felt your eyes flutter between his eyes and his lips, he was doing the same to you. His hand cupped the back of your head and he engulfed your mouth with his. You kissed back with as much passion, but as soon as he was kissing you it was over. That kiss left you wanting more and you subconsciously leaned in closer to him.

“Wow” you whispered looking at him. Lucifer just smiled at you for a second. “I hope you wouldn’t mind if you became my real girlfriend then a spontaneous fake one?” he asked. “I would love nothing more Lucifer,” you replied with a huge grin. “Let’s get out of here then, love,” he said as he took your hand and led you out of the building and back to your shared hotel room. This time there didn’t need to be any excuses to sleep next to each other, you just did.

#lucifer #lucifer fox imagines #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer fox x reader #gender neutral reader #x reader

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