#L is very spidery

[grimalkinmessor]

L's Inner Monster doesn't Loom. It Hangs.

A companion piece to Light's

[victorluvsalice]

-->And then it was down to the barn for the grand awakening of Smiler’s Servo! Because, obviously, I had to get that done for the party. I managed to get everyone in there and looking in the right direction for one good picture, but by the time Smiler actually ACTIVATED the Servo, Alice had managed to slip my leash and gone outside to shower in the rain. *sigh* Why isn't the creation of a Servo something Sims are compelled to watch? I think it's a pretty big deal! *shakehead* Anyway, Smiler pulled the big lever, and after a bright flash, the Servo came to life, stumbling off its creation station –

Already terrified of the NEW thunderstorm revving up outside. *sigh* Oh, and without any eyes on its faceplate for some reason (possibly the “Scared” emotion doesn’t show correctly? Or my game was just glitching out a little, which is entirely possible...) Somewhat concerned, I made a note to have Alice change the weather to clear skies once she was done showering, then started working on customizing the Servo (vaguely noticing Victor running off into the rain to clean up some puddles as I did). I gave him (as I'd initialized him as male) the name Marm L. Iser (geddit? :p), then checked the traits he'd had been initialized with. For some reason, his starting aspiration was the one from Home Chef Hustle about mastering small appliances (I had Alice switch to that recently off one of the Wellness ones, and thanks to her running off to shower in the rain again I’d clicked on her right before Marm woke up, so maybe that had something to do with it?), so he had the Essence of Flavor trait from starting with one of the Culinary aspirations –

And his other three traits were Lazy, Loyal, and Loner. XD Oh cripes, what a combination! Especially since I made this thing to try and help out with the chores and the store… To my annoyance, though, Marm had also spawned with a dislike of Funny Sims (how?? Your creator is SMILER), so I decided to try and change that in CAS –

Only to discover I couldn’t. Because the game WILL NOT LET YOU. Probably because you’re not supposed to be able to change a Servo’s traits in CAS, and the likes/dislikes thing is linked to that. *huffs* Well, that sucks! And makes me a little nervous about how I'm going to customize any Wheatley servo I may make/download for any future Tiny Town challenge saves...

-->Anyway – with no way to change Marm’s likes and dislikes on my own (I tried seeing if having him reprogram his own traits would do the trick, but that’s literally just traits, not likes/dislikes), I settled for making him gold so he’d be the right color for a Smiler-related Servo, then breathed a sigh of relief as his mood changed to happy and his eyes finally properly appeared on his faceplate. Hooray! I set about having him and Smiler get to know each other while Alice got on changing the weather before the party and Victor started running back to the barn to join the conversation at my direction –

ONLY TO GET STRUCK BY LIGHTNING. O.O Not fatally, the first time’s always free in The Sims 4, but that was a frankly terrifying moment! D: The poor guy ended up heavily scorched and dazed –

And immediately went “I deserve a cupcake after that” and headed to the greenhouse mini-fridge to get one. XD Which I happily let him do, because he DID deserve a cupcake after that. Damn. Only do that if you’re gonna give him the cool lighting powers, game!

[bugs1nmybrain]

Fem!L Lawliet x Fem!Reader Headcanons

i, myself, have chosen violence

Warnings: wlw/lesbian relationship, fem L w/ female anatomy, autistic L headcanons, some of these apply to canon L, too,, mentions of periods, nsfw+ (18+), subject to receiving a pt. 2

Minors Don't Interact

L would be 5'5" (and a half!). I average this by the fact that for many countries, the average female height is about 5 inches shorter than the male height. L is 5'10 (and a half!) for reference

About a B cup in the chest and has noticeable hips in comparison to how small her waist is, but she's still very slim like Canon L is

She's very frail feeling but her hugs feel nice

soft skin and still has spidery fingers, but smaller and more delicate

her hair is thicker and wavier than Canon L's

sometimes paints her toenails and fingernails but not often

Distant and very introverted. Will likely go hours or days before she speaks to you at first, but she's secretly testing how you react to her indifference

She'll likely approach you first, though, with strong af eye contact

Will ask a bizarre and invasive question. "Is your birthday in *insert your birth month?" "how'd you know??" "I could just tell."

Is surprisingly invasive and clingy. When she likes you she'll follow you around like a cat

And if you somehow have left her while she was unaware, she's right on the cameras looking for you

She'll ask you on cute dates, like out to themed restaurants and bakeries. She'll go shopping with you, but will mostly just spoil you because she wears the same clothes every day

Doesn't like how makeup feels but she'll let you do some mascara on her if you want

She already has her own natural eyeshadow going on lmao

Flirtatious once you've been together for a while, and will blatantly embarrass you and make you flustered because she loves seeing it!!

Liar liar plants for hire

Just as much of a liar as canon L. She'll likely use her girlish charm to her advantage when the situation allows her to

She's what I'd consider a bittersweet liar. She'll deny any grudges that she holds towards you even if she has a list going. "Why would I think that?"

But she also lies "for your own good." She'll lie to you about your abilities to boost your confidence and (she hopes) your efficiency, even if you're bad at what you're doing. She also withholds information that she knows will upset you

She's not emotional herself and is just as blunted as canon L, but she's prone to blushing when she thinks you're especially cute

She is emotionally intuitive, though. She can sense the slightest disturbance in your mood and will likely ask about it

Becomes your personal therapist unintentionally (it is intentional. Everything with L is intentional)

Fem L is gender ambiguous to an extent, because she has what some may consider a "masculine" demeanor.

She has a deep monotone voice and would probably be a low alto if she sang. Could reach tenor notes. Her voice has a sing-song undertone to it, even with it being monotone. Canon dub L, pretty much, just a tiny bit higher

She's actually quite affectionate when she's comfortable with you, but prefers to come to you rather than the other way around. Likes hand holding and playing with your hair

If you ask her for physical affection she'll likely say yes, she just doesn't like sudden touches. Will give you a death stare if you touch her with no warning, but because it's you she'll let it slide with a reminder "please ask next time."

has the softest lips you'll ever know

Uses pet names, endearing ones like "love," "darling," and "sweetheart." I hc canon L doing this, too, but I think fem L would be a bit more generous about it

Her personality isn't very different than canon L's

Likes baggy clothes that fit comfortably and lends her clothes if you'd like!! She wears loose sports bras if she's out of the house because cup bras are very uncomfortable for her. Inside she's almost always braless, though.

Her periods are a breeze for her because she's always on top of the ibuprofen and knows exactly when it's going to start. She may even be on birth control solely for period management because her work cannot risk sitting in bed from excruciating pain

nsfw time

checks you out when you're not looking and finds herself looking at your ass a lot, but she loves your breasts just as equally

she can get very wet accidentally because if she's not working or she's doing a tedious task she finds herself daydreaming about you

she feels very smooth and soft, but also firm

adores eating you out and fingering you because she feels so much pride from making you cum, though she'd never admit it

Praise kink!!

Definitely a soft dom

Communicates effectively during sex, especially those first few times

she's touched herself so she knows where and how to pleasure you, but will still ask you what you enjoy if you know. "What parts of your body are the most sensitive, darling?"

Loves using dildos to penetrate you, too. She also likes you doing the same to her

This is so out of pocket, but I think she has a little bit of lip happening down there

Doesn't shave constantly but maybe every now and then

She's so good at making you horny, and will do it subtly, too. She engages in "foreplay incognito." She'll touch you throughout the day, give you compliments, look at you softer, and then once you actually start making love it feels amazing

A tiny bit of a romantic, I blame it on her Italian side (i'm Italian too leave me be)

chivalry is not dead

secretly wears cute panties!!

(loves if you do, too. But watch out, because she WILL steal them from your dirty laundry)

[readercognito]

A Wicked Spell

Palladium x Reader

I was rather shocked to see two students fly into my infirmary, not walk. Fly. If students were using their Winx on campus, that meant only one thing. Someone was hurt, badly.

Staying calm, I quickly gather my portable medic kit. Holding up a hand to quiet their nervous rambling.

"We don't have time for explanations, just take me to them." I said, urgently.

If someone is seriously hurt I don't have the time to translate flustered teenager babble. They mean well of course, but first year students don't do very well under pressure.

I followed the girls to the courtyard where my blood ran cold upon seeing who the poor soul was. 

Professor Athos Palladium. He looked pale, and was moaning quietly. With a worried Faragonda kneeling beside him. 

I rushed over to his side, using one of my physical diagnosis spells. Nothing, no poison, or any lesions of the body, no deep brushing either. That wasn't good, that meant there was a problem with his magic. Which for an elf, whose magic runs through their own veins just as their blood could be deadly. "This isn't good," I mutter.  

Faragonda and I looked to the two students who were still hovering nearby. 

"Alright girls, help Ms. (L/n) get Professor Palladium to the infirmary! Time is of the essence!" Faragonda commanded.

The girls and I quickly picked Palladium up and carried him to the infirmary. The girls helped me get him on to one of the sterile white beds. A loud groan escapes him as I settle him in. Dismissing the girls back to their classes. Using my strongest magic diagnosis spell I discovered there was a large corruption on his left shoulder. While it hasn't gone too deep yet, if it goes beneath the skin and gets into his bloodstream it could reach his heart and could do one of two things. It would destroy him from the inside out, or he would be transformed into something monstrous.

Acting quickly I take off his shirt, pausing for only a second to whisper an apology that he certainly wouldn't hear. 

There was a blackish-purple, spidery, mark on his left shoulder. It was spreading visibly down his torso and up his neck. This just went from bad to worse, I'm going to need a cleansing ritual, a strong one. I won't be able to do it myself.

"Oh Palladium, what did they do to you?" I whispered, stroking his cheek wistfully. 

After a call to Faragonda, who gathered a few of the other professors and Flora. Even though she was a student she was always a fantastic healer, and her natural affinity for nature based magic would help in this specific case. The ritual was long, and hard. The corruption fought tooth and nail, but we were finally able to confine it and eliminate it from his system.

Unfortunately, due to how far the corruption got in the first place Palladium was too weak to be moved. He would have to rest in the infirmary until his magic regenerates. The professors retired to their beds, naturally the process of cleansing dark magic is exhausting, I was tired myself.

"Is there anything else I can do Ms. (L/n)?" Flora asked, in her sweet gentle way. 

"Oh no Flora, you've done more than enough! Go get some rest, I can handle everything from here sweetie." I said.

Flora floated back to her dorm, I simply smiled and shook my head.

“I swear that girl is from a whole other plane of existence…” I laughed quietly to myself.

I looked down at Palladium, he hadn’t really moved since we finished the cleansing. But the mark on his shoulder was gone, only a faint paleness was still there. He would be in a magically induced healing coma for the next three days, and probably have to remain in the infirmary for at least one week.

My face grew warm at the thought of spending that much time alone with the handsome professor. Shaking that thought out of my head quickly I moved to set up the required monitors. Settling in for a long night of caretaking.

It was only two in the morning when I was woken up by Palladium groaning. I scrambled to check the monitors, but everything was stable. Palladium seemed just as still as before. Until he shifted letting out another groan and what sounded like a whisper, but it wasn't intelligible. So I leaned closer, trying to make out if he was having a nightmare or not. Palladium spoke again after a moment with a furrowed brow.

"Ugh- (Y/n) I- no, no…" He murmured to himself.

So it was a nightmare… And it had something to do with me. I leaned back again, and without thinking much about it. I started to stroke his cheek, tenderly. His brow softened and his frown settled into a gentle smile. A smile I had grown to adore from afar. Then he spoke again this time a little louder and more distinct.

"I think I love you (Y/n)…" 

I halted in my movements, my very thoughts stuttered.

"What?" I ended up whispering to myself. So in a state of shock I was completely numb to Palladium turning to his other side with a contented sigh.

I shook it off sure I was only dreaming, or at least that his whispered confession meant nothing. So I resumed my night watch.

It had been  a week since then. Palladium is wide awake and is finally able to feed himself without aid. He also has grown more talkative, making small talk with me during check ups and food deliveries. Though one morning during his breakfast he asked me something I hoped he wouldn't.

"(Y/n)?" He said. 

I turned to him from the monitor I was checking over.

"Yes, Athos?" I replied. We had long since been on a first name basis. He had requested my first name and to use his fairly recently after he woke up.

"Did I say anything while I was asleep?" He asked, fingering the bed sheet nervously.

I froze for a moment thinking back to that first night…

"A-ah, umm… well. You said that- you said you loved me at one point." I said trying to sound casual, and failing miserably.

Athos went red, stuttering out a simple "o-oh, well… Oh d-dear." 

I scrambled to retrieve the ease that had fled the room.

"Well I'm sure it didn't mean anything. You were deep in a medical coma and fresh off of a dark magic infection! I wasn't bothered by it." I said, lying through my teeth.

Athos didn't brush it off and resume our jovial atmosphere like I thought he would. Instead he looked me directly in the eye. While still a little flushed, he looked more serious than I had seen him in quite some time. 

"But what if it was- it is true?" He said

"What?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

"I do love you (Y/n), I'm not quite sure when it happened. But I have been in love with you for quite some time…" He said, looking me directly in the eye.

His sudden confidence seemed to waiver then, and he turned down the bed. Staring intently at the light blue sheets, though if his ears were anything to go by he was hiding a furious blush. One which I’m sure I was mirroring to some extent, judging by the heat of my own cheeks. Then I decided to do something, something I wasn’t very sure of.

I sat down on the chair by his bed, gently taking his burning face in my hands. Turning him towards me I leaned forward and kissed him. 

I felt him stiffen with a bit of shock and a mix of nervousness, then I got a soft but stalwart response.

It was wonderful, honestly I think it was the best kiss of my entire life. His lips were soft, and gentle, sparking a rush of adoration down my spine. I could feel myself smile into the kiss, his hand moved to my cheek. The tender brush sending fireworks across my skin, both taste and smell wrapped around me. Orange with a hint of mint, when we broke apart it was like he had taken a piece with him. So I chased him to get it back, but to my surprise he got to me first. It was fireworks, and gentle caresses all over again. Then we broke away for the final time, panting a bit to get our lungs filled again. I couldn’t help but laugh, I was so incandescently happy.

“So if you didn’t catch my meaning, I love you too Athos..” I giggled with a sigh.

He let out a mirthful chuckle of his own. Then his eyes with a deep affection, and softness touched his forehead to mine and said.

“I’m sure now, more than ever…”

[starrystarryknights]

More headcanons: hands

Light has very Normal Sized hands, but his fingers are a bit thick. His palms are always a bit calloused from working out, and none of the skin is soft despite his attempts.

Misa has smaller hands, even small for a girl. She uses lotion every night on them to make them soft. She spends a ton of time on her nails, getting a new set every week, alternating on lengths and shapes. She's partial to getting almonds, though.

L has normal sized palms but his fingers are long and a bit spidery. They are naturally soft from not doing work with his hands. He paints his nails black every few months, although sometimes Misa paints them rainbow for him

[butevrythinggoesaway]

Felicia's his crime mom headcanons

He stays at the Black Cat whenever he runs away from home, which is often. After the prison stuff, she eventually runs into him and lets him stay full time

She teaches him new tips and tricks for evading law enforcement

She will refer to him as her son if anyone even thinks of insulting him

When the future spideys come over and explain gender fluid, she helps Benj get some nice dresses for more female feeling days. She tells Benj that she always wanted a daughter, and now she sometimes does

She doesn't understand it at all she's just happy to see Benj smile and twirl around in a skirt.

Seriously Benj is like. Depression extreme

Felicia will literally kiss anyone who can get him to smile

Unless they're a kid, they get chocolate

The fedora is Lippy's. There, I've acknowledged it, happy?

She calls him Honey and Sweetheart whenever she's kind of at her wit's end with him

She doesn't like yelling at him. Lippy yelled once and Benj was just. Frozen. Couldn't speak for the next few weeks. She refuses to see that happen again

He does something vaguely spidery and all she can say is "i love you honey, but sometimes you are beyond me"

The club staff are very familiar with Benj, L. Thompson Lincoln likes having Benj at the bar while he works, he likes talking with him. Having a heavily scarred teenager next to the heavily scarred, albino, tank of a bartender doesn't really help the business, but Black Cat patrons are nothing if not ballsy.

Someone once harassed another patron so Benj and Lincoln dragged him outside and beat the shit out of him.

Half the staff have vigilante/criminal side identities so it's a well known fact that the cocky mess of a kid over there is the Spider, yes the Spider

Fel's cats like sleeping on him, if he's staying over and leaves his door even slightly open they will crowd onto his bed.

Benj meddled in Fixit's business one two many times, so Fixit carried him back to the club by the back of his vest. When Felicia and Lippy answered the door, Fixit said, "is this one of yours?"

He feels responsible for her injury, the run-up to that being different than the comics because guys??? He apologises constantly

Sometimes she helps him as the White Widow.

She's about this close to adopting the other spiders kids (fingers are touching)

She will kick people out if she has to, just to make room for the kids.

[unicyclehippo]

one word prompt: brush

The varnish spread across the canvas with each long, gentle stroke of her brush. The first time she did this, the lines had shivered, her hands trembling with anxiety—what if she had done it wrong, what if she was trapping her mistakes beneath the gloss, what if the next expert came along and found the painting eating itself from the inside out trapped beneath the hard shell of the varnish. Those voices were not so loud anymore; her lines were steady and smooth.

Laudna had been working on this portrait for several months now. It had been damaged quite severely—fire had caught the frame and it had smouldered for some time. Her experts had examined and catalogued and photographed it—more information for a team interested in the time period, the mercenaries that had pillaged and put to flame so much of central Marquet—and then she had been allowed to repair it, as best she could.

This was what she loved. Mistress Seshadri may have hired her to design tours and speeches, and Treshi wanted her to be some event planner, but this—this was what Laudna loved, this was her purpose. To recreate the faces of history. To give a face, a smile, a voice to those long dead.

The portrait was of a large man, square-jawed and clad in the finery of that era. His brown skin had been almost green, the varnish turning a sickly shade with the help of soot and time, and as she had carefully stripped away the altered colours and mended what could be mended of the charred corner, Laudna met a man made awkward by the process—his pose stiff, even with the grace of a talented artist—but with deeply kind eyes. Scarred fingers wrapped the head of a powerful, black cane, and over his heart laid a brooch, almost lost forever in the fire. Laudna dragged the varnish across it and watched the opal she had meticulously recreated shine. Lord Eshteross, lifted into nobility by his predecessor, Lady Prudaj. What did it mean, Laudna had wondered in the hours spent at his side, that he wore her brooch above his heart? What did it mean, that she had entrusted her estate, her home, her servants and standing to him? The brush trailed across his face, up to the very corners of the canvas. All covered, all enclosed. Laudna scrawled a note in her spidery lettering and set it beside the finished portrait. Restoration by Dr. L. Bradbury.

[lightyakami]

Agnus Dei: A L/B Fic

Written for Day 21 of @dnkinktober: Hierophilia Read on AO3 4.5k words Rated E Content notes: includes blasphemy, metaphorical depictions of gore, a fun oral event and melancholy about being an adult still trapped in your childhood home When L comes to visit the Wammy House, Backup is not surprised to be led directly to the church; L has always liked it in there, albeit in ways that are not entirely chaste. He is, however, startled when L heads straight for the church's most sacred object. Thank you so much to the genius @lightyaoigami for talking all of this through with me & massively helping with the editing -- it is as always very fun to write with you <3

The tabernacle is in an alcove along the wall. It is small, unassuming as tabernacles go but glorious by the standards of ordinary objects — a gold box, a little larger than a hand with fingers outspread, with a cross atop and an angel carved into the door. Backup has never paid it all that much attention. Sometimes the priest whisks the consecrated Host into it after mass and sometimes he whisks it out again; he’s fairly certain there are some catechismic rules being bent here, but that hasn’t got anything to do with him. Now and again he has frittered around the edges of the room because L has hung back to watch the priest preform this task but he’d paid more attention to L than the activities themselves. When L looks he looks with wide, bright eyes, his face carefully slack but the spidery movements of his fingers belaying the extent of his interest. Oftentimes if he follows L around afterwards he’ll get a kiss or, once, two hands skittering up the sides of his ribs until L pulled abruptly away, face flushed dark and looking uncharacteristically embarrassed.

[meg-online]

show notes: drug church

November 16, 2024

who: drug church where: the brooklyn monarch when: thursday, october 24, 2024

venue: i like the monarch because it’s a venue that feels familiar to me. points for having food, of course. although this time, i’m docking points because the bathroom was out of service and the coat check was closed. sound was loud as fuck, as usual. this is one of the only venues that makes me feel like i need stronger loops to protect my ears. i do not know how people survive at the brooklyn monarch without ear plugs. also, have they always taken credit cards at the bar there? i feel like i have a distinct memory of trying to scrounge up enough cash for a single bottle of water. am i losing it, or did that change? i guess i don’t remember the last time i bought something there. 

merch: the merch was good, but i wish the drug church hat wasn’t a flat brim. i would have gotten it if it weren’t. i love a good baseball cap. and i was not going to spend $60 on another black sweatshirt (even though the stars drug church logo is my favorite).

bev: an orange fanta ($4.36) 

opener: first of all, do people not know soul blind??? i thought soul blind was at least moderately popular. (although i feel like i saw something on reddit a while back about them having some controversy or other. what else is new in the scene.) there was not a lot of hype for soul blind – i didn’t see any stage diving, really, and i didn’t even see much of a pit. to be honest, i guess i didn’t think they sounded that great live, even for “stuck in a loop.” when they played in brooklyn a few months ago i had considered getting tickets, and i’m kind of glad i didn’t. modern color was fine, but i probably won’t listen again. between soul blind and modern color they played a taylor swift song on the speakers. i can’t recall what song. swifties, don’t hate me. sometimes all taylor swift songs kind of blend into one giant song in my head. they all sound a little bit the same (the new ones, at least). 

merch spotted: 10/10 mix of merch. i saw: gorillaz, joyce manor, goo goo dolls, idles, militarie gun, circle jerks, nails (like, a LOT of nails??), siouxsie and the banshees, drug church (duh), modern color (duh), yankees, sixpoint brewery, crossfit sunset park, pity sex, stone pony (like, okay, damn), some metal band i couldn’t read because it was the spidery branches font, mystic pizza (nice), wawa (lol), alexisonfire, and also a guy from modern color was wearing a fiddlehead shirt (at least i think – i was kind of far back during their set)

crowd diversity: 0/10 i saw like one asian dude and one latina chick. there was actually a good amount of women though. i sometimes think of crowds as “tall crowds” or “short crowds,” and this was a VERY tall crowd. why are hardcore fans always so tall??? this was also an older crowd. i saw some white hair and definitely some graying heads in the crowd. 

setlist: solid. i’m emotionally attached to “tillary.”

notes: i arrived at the venue just as soul blind went on. on the L, it was easy to identify who else was going to the show. sometimes that’s a game i play – trying to figure out who, if anyone else in my train car, is going to get off at the same stop and make the same trek past warehouses and parked vans to get to the venue. 

i really like drug church live. before i saw them for the first time, i used to watch youtube videos of their live performances. their audiotree live session, kexp, ieperfest 2019, et cetera. they just kill it every time. and i love that there’s always an emphasis on safety, constant reminders from kindlon to fill in the gaps in front of the stage. he asked the crowd at one point to fill in on vocals for him and people absolutely fucking brought it, especially during “bliss out.” 

if i’m being honest, this was an average show. drug church is always fun, and i think this was my fourth time seeing them. but sometimes i really think the openers make the show, and soul blind and modern color weren’t really for me, and i don’t feel like they really connected with the crowd that well. but i had an orange fanta, so all was well. all in all, a pleasant night at the show.

[evanthenerd83]

5

“Young man, come down right this instant!”

Damien shook his head. Shaggy black hair whipped about, very much like tendrils.

“NoOoOoOoOo~”

Holly put one hand on her hip, then pointed at the ground.

“Come down, or else!”

Damien cackled.

His voice was no longer his own. It would sag in some places, stretch in others.

It also echoed with multitudes. Numerous yells accompanied every word. Deep growls and serpentine hisses slipped past a few.

“Or ElSe WhAt, YoU bLoOdSuCkInG sOw~”

The demon winced.

Holly frowned. “What did you call me, mister?!”

“A bLoOdSuCkInG sOw~”

Damien snickered.

He scuttled across the ceiling. His bones made sounds Holly had never heard before, creaking and groaning.

Against her worse nature, she feared for him.

This was a kid. The prophesied harbinger of the Apocalypse, sure, but a kid nonetheless. Kids were easily injured or killed.

She knew this from experience. Not firsthand, of course. Regardless of what Dem believed, she wouldn’t kill a kid.

Not directly.

She had no qualms about setting an orphanage on fire. If a survivor ducks inside one, she couldn’t spare an hour to search for him. For one #$@&ing guy.

She could just as easily justify ramming a family van off the road to evade police. Accidents happen.

Tough luck.

Especially when survival was on the line. Living took precedence over everything, and everyone, else. Her parents taught her as much.

But actually slashing a little girl’s neck?

Bashing a newborn baby’s head into paste?

No.

Absolutely not. Never.

Leave them as orphans. Let them suffer from mental trauma. Make them fend for themselves in the wreckage of a motel.

But don’t harm children.

Damien’s bones would break. Human bones weren’t meant to be twisted around, not like that.

The demon cleared Its throat. Holly turned towards It, and It instantly shrunk from her burning glare.

She took momentary glee at Its fear.

“What?”

It shook. “Can we please leave?”

“That depends. Do you know how to get him,” she pointed at the spidery figure crouched upside down. “Down from there?”

It shut Its mouth.

She smirked. Good.

She turned back.

Damien was no longer burning holes through her. He’d seen something far more fascinating, or entertaining.

He darted towards a dark corner, then vanished. Melting into the shadows almost instantaneously.

Blind panic, or what approximated blind panic, flared up within seconds of losing sight of him.

“Damien? Damien, what’re you doing?”

“NoThInG~”

She recognized that tone. So many of her charges had tried using it, with varying degrees of failure.

“Damien?”

The demon stumbled forwards, positively drenched. Its shirt stuck to Its torso.

Patches of fabric were steaming. Skin became visible. Its scales gleamed like seashells long buried in sand.

But neither of them noticed this.

Because the slurping began. It came from the corner, sheer enough to cut.

It grew louder and louder. Loud enough to wake the dead. And Holly already had her hands full with…

The demon whined.

The slurping became nastier, wetter, interlaced with choking. Sounds of a throat turning inside out. Rather violently.

Disgustingly violent.

…

The demon gagged.

It knelt down, claw over mouth. Droplets of acid spilled between Its fingers.

This was too much. The way Holly was acting, the fact that they were in the presence of pure evil, the sounds assaulting Its ears.

It wished for silence. Nonexistence would be a mercy compared to everything.

“Damien, what are you eating?”

She spoke sharply. There was no longer any hint of warmth in her voice. Negotiations were off the table. The boy would tell her, or there will be consequences.

The slurping stopped.

For just a brief second.

“I fOuNd A sPiDeRwEb~”

Then the nightmare symphony resumed.

That did it.

It jumped up, fast enough to make Holly flinch.

“De—”

It darted inside the bathroom.

It slammed the door.

It went towards—

Too late.

The demon collapsed.

It grabbed Its stomach, claws digging. It fell forward until Its horns met the cool tile floor. They rang out.

Rang long.

And the vomit came. Far too fast. It was a stream, a geyser of burning junk. Melting junk. Its jaws unhinged.

It cried.

It could feel nothing.

It could taste everything though.

…

Holly ignored the sound of running water.

“Damien. I just fed you.”

“I wAs StIlL hUnGrY~”

She sighed. Her patience was running thin.

No matter what she said, Damien would only slurp up the supposed spiderweb. He went to town on it.

It was honestly… a little impressive. She’d seen Dem devour eighty-nine LargeJacks in under fifty seconds. And It still ate one hundred-and-seventy-eight orders of fries.

Demon stomachs were black holes.

Unstoppable. Insatiable.

All consuming.

It reminded her of someone. Her father.

Holly’s father could eat.

On more than one occasion, the family had been thrown out of an all-you-can-eat buffet after a couple hours. Nothing ever survived his appetite. Not even sauces.

Every family outing was an exercise in destruction.

Each dinner, a wholesale slaughter.

A warcrime against starving children.

Holly was too deep in thought, reliving the shame of being yelled at by waiters, to notice that the slurping had stopped.

Until…

“MiSs SlAuGhTeR~”

“Hm?”

“MiSs SlAuGhTeR~”

She snapped out of it.

Her eyes shifted back into focus. They found the corner again, as something slowly emerged from its cave. A pale face.

“What?”

Damien stared.

His cheeks were puffy. She could see something poking out of his mouth. White and stringy. A spider’s webbing.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

Damien blushed. “I aTe~”

It took a second for the words to hit. But when they did, they hit.

Her mind immediately sprang into action.

She wrangled up her remaining patience. Enough remained to last, at most, fifty minutes or so.

But that would be enough. Surely. He must be sleepy. In her experience, almost every child would fall asleep at some point.

She took a deep breath.

She smiled.

“Damien. I think you should go to bed no—”

“BuT I DoN’t WaNt Tooooo~”

Her smile faltered.

“Bu—”

Damien retreated into his nest. “I dOn’T wAnT tOoOoOoOoOoO~”

His voice shook the house. Holly stood stock still, her hands clasped before her. A vein faintly pulsed.

“I dOoOoOnNnNnNn’TtTtTtTtTtT wAaAaAaAaNnNnNnNnNnNaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaA~”

The vein pulsed harder.

In his voice, people were screaming. Begging for help. Praying for last minute salvation from the eternal agony of Hell.

“U-um,” Holly muttered. “D-Damien? Why don’t we—?”

Her patience died.

Her eyes went dull. The predator took a moment to think.

Apathy held a public forum. It presented a question to Holly’s Psyche, and waited for an answer. Wrath whispered; Paranoia agreed; Lust remained silent. Vindictiveness high-fived Sadism. Irreverence groped Immorality. Hatred rubbed its hands together with conspiratorial enthusiasm.

Empathy laid in a pool of blood. Reason wiped off a bloody knife.

Apathy tapped a microphone, and nodded at Wrath.

Wrath nodded at Paranoia, and Paranoia nodded at Lust. Lust subtly nodded at Vindictiveness. Vindictiveness nudged Sadism. Sadism kicked Irreverence in the shin. Irreverence winked at Immorality. Immorality ignored Hatred. Hatred spat on the corpse of Empathy.

Reason whistled as it took money from a shadowy figure clad in robes.

Wrath cleared its throat.

It stood up.

But before it could speak, swift movement. A resounding thunk. Wrath went cross-eyed, dropping to the floor.

Sympathy was standing behind it, holding a broken wine bottle. Morality shrugged off the chains that were previously smothering it.

Hands went up. White flags pitifully wavered.

Apathy sighed.

It struck its gavel.

A decision was made.

The predator growled lowly. Disappointed.

Holly took a deep breath. “Damien, sweetheart, do you want to watch television?”

The house instantly stopped shaking. Silence dropped, a cloak. A pale face peered out from the shadows.

It blinked.

“T-T-TeLeViSiOn~”

Holly nodded.

“There’s a movie on right now, or something. A horror movie… I think. Can’t you hear it?”

More of Damien returned. He leaned into the light, upper torso visible.

His ears twitched.

From the living room came the sounds of utter devastation: screaming, yelling, gunfire, flesh tearing off of bone, insane laughter. She didn’t know what was playing. It sure sounded like a horror movie.

Damien looked interested too.

“C-CaN i?~”

Holly nodded again. “But if you do, you’ll have to go to bed. Deal?”

Fire flared up in his eyes. His jaw fell open, and piglike squeals came spilling out. His neck rolled back.

Before…

“DeAl~”

“Holly And The Demon Play House”

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

1

“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.

[heyheydidjaknow]

And here I was thinking that writing something on L was niche; who even read the LA BB Murder Case book? If you look up B X reader Google assumed you’re illiterate and meant to ask for L, but I can’t just not write anything after reading that. So, if you are the 1 person who was waiting for this, then I’m sorry that the only thing here is this, but here it is.

Eyes

“Can I ask you something?”

You scanned the last of his items, seriously considering quitting this stupid job where you had to deal with this anemic disgrace to humanity every other day. “What?”

“What do you think I do with all these?”

You closed your eyes. Rue Ryuzaki, the worst part of your job, had very little going for him; he was a twenty-something private investigator with no friends in a town where neither quality was becoming. He was gangly, smelled like freezer and drug-store makeup, and was just generally odd. If you had to compare him to something, you would agree with the other cashier, who charitably described him as “spidery”.

But these were not egregious sins. No, the worst thing about him was his ritual. Every two days, he would come in— no cart— walk to the back of the store, grab an armful of strawberry jam jars and start up a conversation about a seemingly random topic as you checked him out. For whatever reason, much to your dismay, he seemed to only be interested in bothering you, in making your skin crawl; nobody else had to check him out. And every time, he would take his jarm and stuff all but one of the jars into his backpack. The remaining jar, of course, needed to be accounted for. This jar, the worst jar, was popped open, its contents scooped out with his free hand and slurped off his fingers.

You were not a clean freak. If you were a clean freak, you would have quit. Still, you dreaded every time he came in, dreaded the conversations, and dreaded, most of all, his assault on both human decency and jelly. This song and dance the two of you did while you were facilitating his borderline criminality was just a preamble; he did it, you were sure, to mess with you.

“Honestly?” You sighed. “I don’t know.”

He smiled. “I’m sure you have a theory or two.”

You glared up at him. “Rue, if I seriously considered what you were doing with seven— six, discounting the one you go through— jars of jelly you go through every other day then I would have to quit. I don’t have another job lined up, so I can’t quit, so I don’t think about it.”

“I don’t believe you.” If he was at all uncomfortable, he was great at hiding it. “I think you’re saying that so you don’t have to tell me and be wrong.”

“If I don’t answer will this conversation be over?”

“Nope.” He took one of the scanned jars. “If you don’t answer I just won’t pay until you do.”

You eyed the container, heart jumping to your throat at the prospect of being so close to him as he defiled it. “Do you bake?”

“Nope.”

“That’s my guess. Pay.”

His smile only grew. “You know what?” He leaned against the counter. “The store closes in twenty minutes, right? No customers come in around now?”

“There are security cameras.” You straightened up, broadening your shoulders; in a fight, you were fairly sure you could take him. “If you try anything they’ll catch you on the cameras.”

“The suspicion is appreciated but unnecessary.” He hopped onto the counter, sitting with his legs dangling on your side. “I just want you to keep guessing.”

“What the hell—“

“Actually,” he cut you off, “I change my mind.” He pointed at you, giving what might have been a charming smile on anyone other than him. “I want you to date me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I want you—“ he read your name tag— “to date me.”

You took a step back. “What do you mean, date? Because going out to dinner and entering a relationship are two different levels of commitment.”

He crossed his legs. “Will my answer change your answer?”

“It will affect the forcefulness of my rejection, yes.”

“Come on,” he whined. “You don’t have much time left anyway; live a little.”

“Is that a threat?”

He shook his head. “Just the facts; you’ve only got another two months before you’re gone.”

You considered running away. You were unsure if he was like a rabid dog who might follow you if you did. “That’s very specific.”

“It is.” He set his hands between his legs. “And yet I would bet my bottom dollar on it.”

“Because you’d rig the race and kill me?”

“There’s no legal way for me to answer that.”

You backed away another step. He did not follow you. “I want terms.”

“Terms?”

“Yeah,” you nodded quickly. “I want to know every detail of your great date plan before I so much as consider going anywhere with you; I’m not about to die because I went out with the jelly man.”

“Lame, but sure.” He stuck his tongue out in concentration. “Let’s see… Do you like coffee?”

You raised your eyebrows. “Coffee?”

“You’re the one that’s so suspicious!” He crossed his arms. “I suggest a perfectly normal date and you scoff at me!”

”It’s not that I don’t appreciate the effort, but I don’t trust that you’re that normal.”

“That’s just not fair.” He sighed, sitting up straighter. “But that’s okay. You’re just being tsundere; I can be the Tamaki to your Haruhi.”

“You’re just saying words now.” You rolled your eyes. “I get it now, why you’re so weird; you’re a fucking weeb.”

“Are you insinuating that Ōran Kōkō Hosuto Kurabu is a niche manga series?”

You gestured with your hand. “That’s one. What’re the other two?”

“Escape room.”

“Absolutely not.”

He looked genuinely surprised by your answer. “Why not?”

“It’s you and I locked in a room together. I’d rather die.”

“Well, there goes my third date plan.”

Your face reddened. “You are the worst.”

He shrugged. “It was worth a shot.” He spun around, hopping off the counter. “How much is it?”

You straighter out your jacket, checking the register. “Twenty-four fourth-eight,” you read. “Same as always. Cash or card?”

“Cash.” He dug into his back pocket for his bundle of twenty-dollar bills; it was a wonder to you how he was not robbed. “Can you break a fifty?”

“I can.” You started counting the difference. “If you eat out of your jar in front of me I’ll kick you.”

He sighed. “We live in a very judgemental world. Never forget that.”

“We do.” You set the change on the counter. “Scram.”

He took the money, stuffing it into his pocket. To your relief he respected your threat. “Can I ask you something else before I go?”

You checked your watch. “Sure. Make it quick.”

“When do you know when you’ve gone too far?”

You paused. “I need more context than that.”

He leaned against the counter. “I’ve been here for a while, right?”

“Sure.”

“And I moved here for a reason; because I want to be the greatest at what I do.”

You closed the register. “Sure.”

“I don’t know if what I’m doing is worth it.”

You crossed your arms. “And why’s that?”

“I’m doing something very difficult out of spite of someone else, someone I’ve dedicated my whole life to, and now that my project is almost done…” he sighed. “Now that my project is almost done, I don’t know if I’ll have anything left after it’s all over. My spite will runneth empty and I’ll be left as a meat puppet without a master.”

Your answer was simple and direct. “Then do something else.”

He chuckled. “I can’t stop,” he shook his head. “I barely remember my own name, let alone a time before this; I can’t just quit.”

“Then be a meat doll.”

“You’re mean, you know that?”

“I get to be out of work in not that long.” You pointed at him. “You’re keeping me from my freedom. You can take my advice or leave it, but I’m giving you an answer.”

He stared at you for a moment, smiled, laughed. “I know why I like you.” He leaned forward, pressing his hands against the counter. “You’re a pistol. I thought you were, but I wasn’t sure before.”

His eyes were strange. You had never noticed it before, never looked him in the eye, but now that he was so close to you, now that you were forced to, you noticed how odd his irises were. They were not round like they should be; rather, they were almost octangular, outlined in a sharp line of blood red, no thicker than a strand of hair. Never in your life had you heard of eyes having such a thing. Maybe, you supposed, that was why he bothered you so much.

“But,” he shrugged, grabbing his jars, “I won’t force you. If you aren’t interested, then you aren’t interested.”

You had no interest in him. He was not attractive in any way. But he sparked a morbid curiosity in you, a morbid curiosity that you had to indulge.

And so, at three o’clock, you met him.

[grimalkinmessor]

Your inner monster is Looming, Light...

[see-arcane]

MAG 196 Points My Brain is Still Chewing On

- “Hey guys, we’re going to have to cancel Web!Martin. Logistical issues.”

(thousands of disappointed spiders put back their tiny suitcases)

Also, bravo to Annabelle for that description of exactly how she intended to do it. I thought my molting idea was bad, but her method really yikes my Nikes

- Okay, what? Did she mean by giving Jon ‘a final push??’ All I got was:

1. Take 1 Martin, fill with spiders

2. Send back to Jon, Jon sees his boyfriend is made of spiders, despairs

3. ???

4. Profit 

What does that accomplish?? A push to what, Annabelle??? t e l l  m e

- Spidery soundscape shift was A+++

- “When Jon gets here he is going to kill you!”

“As long as he listens to me first, it won’t matter.” 

Provided this isn’t her just playing it up, I think this speaks to Annabelle being either fully enamored with or fully controlled by the Mother of Puppets. Yes, she’d like some personal perks, but if she has to die to get the Web’s goal accomplished, so be it. It’s a willingness for self destruction you rarely see in the mastermind archetype and it’s done especially well here.

And doubly eerie because, again, there’s no telling how much of Annabelle is her ‘free will’ and how much is just her giving into the puppet strings.

Even putting that aside, the notion that this is going down one of my favorite roads in eldritch horror--the Learning of Forbidden, Maddening Knowledge--is extremely exciting and very, very bad news for Jonathan ‘I Have to Know’ Sims.

- “A fine material to spin a web with, don’t you think?” ;;;;)

me: Oh, so the tapes were the Web the whole time, I guess that tracks--

“Oh, Martin. You have no idea who’s listening, do you?” ::::)

me:

me: -sweats in audience participation-

[elataan]

                                                     SCARS.

         the   movies   are   really   good   with   their   inconsistencies,   so   i’m   here   to   clean   up   one   of   them,   and   that’s   peter’s   regenerative   healing   /   superhuman   durability   and   his   scars.   in   the   first   movie,   peter   tells   drax   about   two   scars   he   got   from   ex - lovers   who   stabbed   him   as   he   tried   to   skip   out   on   them.   that   would   make   sense,   but   then   by   the   end   of   the   movie,   he   doesn’t   scar   from   holding   the   infinity   stone   for   a   lengthy   amount   of   time,   which   doesn’t   make   sense.   therefore,   I   have   decided   that   peter   will   scar   ---   but   only   from   traumatic   injuries,   not   minor   scarring   /    injuries    he    gains.    he    won’t    have    any    scars    from    ex - lovers    or    minor    scuffles,    but    will    have    two    major    scars,    as    listed    below.

scarring from holding the power stone for a short time.

peter held that stone for a decent amount of time, long enough for his skin to burn and start peeling away. he was only saved due to his celestial nature and the fact that the other guardians burdened some of the power of the stone. however, peter did not remain unscathed by that event. significant scarring occurred on the palm of his left hand, where the power stone rested against his skin for approximately ten minutes, and then there is scarring that jaggedly runs up his left arm and creeps up his neck from the power of the infinity stone flowing through his veins. it’s not significantly noticeable, but noticeable if you’re standing pretty close to him. it will look similar to a Lichtenberg figure or fractal scar. tw for scarring so proceed with caution ! definitely lighter than this picture, but similar in nature to appearance. also, sometimes, when peter's close to big energy sources, or he's on a planet and it's storming outside, the scars on his arm will sometimes glow, similar to this. (ty pulsar for the idea!)

scarring from ego stabbing him with energy spear in order to use him as a battery.

when peter found out what his father did to his mother and ego decided that peter was to be a battery for the next thousand or so years, by ego’s logic, ego manifested a tendril of energy that stabbed peter in the back and began to suck the celestial energy from him, charging ego’s power. while it was made apparent that this action wasn’t ever going to be fatal to peter, even when ego stopped (peter even got up and fought a bunch afterwards), it left pretty significant scarring on peter’s back, localized in the middle and shooting outwards in all directions in a spidery thin line pattern. the scar tissue is white and sometimes if peter moves a certain way he’ll still get a painful twang from it. after the adrenaline of the fight wore off, peter had to rest for a very long time so that his healing could take over and he could heal from that traumatic energy.

so far, those two are the only scars peter has on his person. any other scars he’s spoken of in canon will not be acknowledged on this blog.

[chershare]

Snippet from Discord 34

(On Ao3)

Someone was playing the guqin, and the deep tones were shivering through Xuanyu's aching glass meridians.

The cold burn of remembered fear and pain was slowly receding, the heavy dark of repression and memory pressing down on his lungs less and less. Each breath wasn't as much of a strain on him, didn't take nearly so much energy to complete. His heart wasn’t crushed under the weight of a desire for the end but held aloft by sweet tones and gentle notes.

Xuanyu was tired, body heavy and soul weary, yet he didn't dream of the horrors of future's passed. Instead, each plucked string hummed through the marrow of his bones and shivered in his aching golden core, rejuvenating.

As if someone was washing a wound that had been left to fester for so long, he’d nearly had to remove the limb, like Xue Yang had been forced to so long ago.

Sometimes, he could feel his little Yuan curled up in his arms, patting softly at his cheeks and telling him about all the things he did, and he held him as tightly as his frail body could. Sometimes, he could feel the safety of Wei Wuxian's arms around him and leaned into it, soaking up that comfort and kindness.

Always, there was the guqin, a spring water well in an otherwise barren landscape, feeding water into a long dried out desert.

This was… oasis.

He wasn't aware that his eyes were open until he saw the flutter of gauzy white and blue, the glimmer of a fine silver hairpiece in midnight dark hair. The beauty of a man unbent by the trials given to him by a war not long won, with a steady and clear gaze, stalwart heart.

Oh.

Blinking slowly, heavily, he sank further into the bedding as he ran his gaze over the pale wood of the cultivation tool. This guqin was the most beautiful instrument that he'd ever seen so close, not having been permitted around Zewu-Jun and his xiao because of his half-brother. Each elegant movement sent sound and qi fluttering across his senses in a similar way to Wen Qing's acupuncture.

It took a moment of focusing through syrup and fog, but he eventually saw it, the disparity of color amongst the ethereal display.

Red.

Tiny droplets from long elegant fingers that bore musician's calluses, the tips splitting from the strain of continuous play. Hanguang-Jun had been playing nonstop for who knew how long, soothing the roiling mess inside Mo Xuanyu's meridians, inside his cracked mind. He was hurting himself for Xuanyu's sake – no, probably for Wei Wuxian, who fretted and cared so much – and he didn't want that.

He didn’t deserve that.

"Nn," words were beyond him, but he could reach out to set a shaking hand over one of those large, pale ones.

Despite what they looked like, cold and untouchable like the Jade he was likened to, Hanguang-Jun's hands were... Surprisingly warm. Xuanyu was trembling bodily as the Lan stopped playing, stilled beneath his touch.

His breathing felt loud in the sudden quiet.

The ache slid slow back into his joints, but he didn’t pull his weak, dirty hand back despite the wetness in his tired eyes.

"Mo Xuanyu," Lan Wangji's voice was cultured and low, hints of concern in his stern tone. "Alright?"

"You," a laborious breath as he dragged open eyes he hadn't realized closed to look up into concerned gold, a line of heat drifting from the corner of one eye. "H-hurt..."

His voice sounded rasped and thin, like old paper crumbling into ash in fire. As if he’d been screaming, but Mo Xuanyu had long ago learned how to be quiet in the face of suffering.

Screaming didn’t do anything.

No one would come.

Hanguang-Jun looked suddenly quite alarmed, his hand twisting to cover Mo Xuanyu's where he'd forgotten it sat. Oh, he really was warm. His calluses were rough, but his hold was gentle and the qi that filtered through him cool and sweet like the Cold Springs of his home were said to be.

"I did not – "

"Lan Zhan!" The beloved voice of Wei Wuxian called out, drawing that heat into his chest. "Is Mo Xuanyu awake?"

There was no time for the man to answer, seeing as the boisterous immediately bundled Xuanyu's too thin frame into his lap. Ah, he didn't deserve such kindness, such care, but he selfishly soaked in the protective affection of his Yiling Laozu. The mixture of resentment and echoing pure cultivation energy was a heady sensation that Xuanyu could gladly drown himself in.

"Pretty stranger~ pretty, pretty stranger~" was singsonged as one of those familiar ink stained hands tilted Xuanyu's face up to smile down at him with red warmed eyes. "Are you better now? I gobbled up the bad man and no one gets to hurt my Xuanyu," a thumb slid over his cheekbone, gentle and sweet. “And our Lan Zhan played you pretty songs to give you sweet sleep! Oh, A-Yuan has missed his lessons with his Yu-ge, we have so many knew things to learn!”

One trembling hand lifted towards a smiling mouth, and he felt his nearly numb face try to copy the expression, feeling brittle and shivery. Ah, he wasn't suited for smiling anymore, not as cracked and broken as he’d become, as a shadow of existence. Xuanyu hoped he didn't look too horrifying, trying to pretend to be a person.

"Hello, my Xuanyu," Wei Wuxian leaned into his thin, scarred palm, cradling it with his own hand as he smiled, that sharp, comforting thing. "Did you like our Lan Zhan's playing for you? He’s very talented, isn’t he?"

"H-he... Hurt..."

Red and gray eyes blinked in surprise before Wei Wuxian’s gaze was drawn to the little bit of blood smeared on Xuanyu's hand. Blood he hadn’t even realized was there until the Yiling Patriarch looked at it on his thin, spidery fingers and palm. Realization had those bright eyes turning to look at Hanguang-Jun, who shifted in discomfort, face almost pinched.

There was – regret?

Why was Hanguang-Jun upset?

"I – I did not intend –"

"Lan Zhan," the Yiling Patriarch interrupted with a smile and a free, clear laugh. "Lan Zhan! He doesn't mean you hurt him, but that you're hurt. Look at your hands, silly!"

As the man did as instructed, he seemed startled at the sight of his own blood; as if he hadn’t felt the skin splitting and nails cracking. Wei Wuxian turned back to Xuanyu with a fond roll of his eyes and that lovely cutting smile that only cut other people.

One of his Wei Wuxian’s hands was a comfortable weight against his side, the other still holding Xuanyu's as he smiled down at him warmly.

When he looked at him so fondly, Mo Xuanyu couldn't help but want for the impossible. Hanguang-Jun was right there, glancing between Xuanyu and his bloody fingertips with something softening in his shoulders.

Relief?

"Even when you aren't feeling well, you think of others," his Laozu commented warmly. "That's my pretty stranger."

And then, as always, Wei Wuxian did the unthinkable.

He felt his eyes widen as a hot wet tongue slid out of that smiling mouth to slide over the blood on Xuanyu's hand. Breath caught in heavy lungs as he felt his fingers twitch at the sensation, heart suddenly pounding hard in his throat. Wei Wuxian's hot breath felt cool against the wet lines he left behind as he cleaned Lan Wangji's blood from Xuanyu's skin.

Red eyes slid slyly to the side to meet startled wide gold, and qi shivered through the air like promise.

When the blood was all gone from Xuanyu's hand, Wei Wuxian simply breathed against his flesh for a long moment. Those bright eyes turned back to Xuanyu's and his friend – his – his – what even was he anymore – smiled against his skin, warmth and fondness and something – something else in his gaze.

"Wei Ying."

As if in a daze, he watched the Yiling Patriarch turn towards Hanguang-Jun and take one of his long fingered elegant hands in his own ink stained ones. The Lan looked as if he'd taken a blow to the head, face and ears flushed and pupils dilated as Wei Wuxian leaned forward to press his lips to cracked fingertips, tongue flickering out to taste.

He wasn't sure which one of them had made that punched out noise at the sight of it, but Mo Xuanyu felt hunger coil in his stomach. That was…

He could – he could still feel that?

What was... What was happening? Was Xuanyu having an especially pleasant dream that would ache like a cracked tooth when he woke up? Would he forget when he opened his eyes?

Was this real?

It couldn't possibly be real. Mo Xuanyu didn't deserve things like this, and as such never received them. There was nothing he’d done to deserve this, to have earned the regard of two such powerful, honorable people as this.

He'd never been wanted by people who he desired in turn.

Wei Wuxian's wicked tongue curled around one bloody fingertip, making Lan Wangji's hand twitch and Xuanyu's heart jump to his throat. Heat pooled in Hanguang-Jun's molten gold eyes and they traveled from the Yiling Patriarch down to where Xuanyu was still situated in his lap.

Like he was also –

"Wei Wuxian!" The familiar cutting voice of Wen Qing sliced through the tension like a battering ram through rice paper. "Come here!"

The feared, infamous Yiling Laozu yelped like a kicked dog and suddenly Xuanyu was in a very different lap. Well-muscled arms wrapped around him hurriedly and carefully, soft white silk a jarring difference from dark cloth.

Wei Wuxian scrambled to his feet and rushed out to the doctor's demand.

Swallowing thickly as his equilibrium struggled to find itself, he blinked rapidly, heart a heavy beat in his chest and throat. Without thought, he glanced up at Hanguang-Jun, meeting his stunned gaze with one of his own, uncertain as to what actually just happened.

It was automatic to duck his head against a broad chest in embarrassment to hide his face from the brazen eye contact, a familiar action with Wei Wuxian and his shamelessness.

His hair brushed against his cheek and for the first time he wondered just how dressed down he was.

Oh no.

Was he...

He was. He was in his simple sleeping robe, his favorite light blue one that Wei Wuxian had forced on him. His hair was improperly loose around his face and he was in Hanguang-Jun's lap like a - like -

"... Shall I play?"

Words seemed to difficult, so instead he shakily grabbed that powerful, graceful hand one again and shook his head negatively against that broad chest. Mo Xuanyu had long given up dignity, so there was little point in trying to extricate himself from the lap he’d so abruptly been deposited into.

Besides, Lan Wangji’s qi was… soothing.

“Then…”

A moment of silence, before that hand twisted in his once again and he was gently resituated in that wide lap into a more comfortable position. Cool, jasmine scented hair slid down against Xuanyu’s forehead, silkier and darker than his own wavy hair.

He kept his eyes closed and then –

Hanguang-Jun began to sing.

It was low and quiet, but it immediately settled into his meridians with a similar weight of cool consideration, even if the tune was different. His chest rumbled nicely, and Xuanyu relaxed the jittery tension he’d held in his too weak limbs at the sensation, familiarizing himself with different arms and sweeter qi.

If this was a dream… Mo Xuanyu didn’t want to wake up.

[callumturncr]

A Different Path [Sirius Black AU] - Part 6

Summary: Post-graduation AU in which the reader, Lily and The Marauders have just joined the Order of the Phoenix. As tensions are at its highest in the First Wizarding War, the reader, who likes Sirius Black more than she would like to admit, is framed for the murder of Marlene McKinnon.

Parts:  1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8

Author’s Note: Sorry for the looonngg wait but here it is, slightly longer than usual :) I had to start this about four times before I got anywhere decent with it so I hope you like it!! Feel free to ask if you want to be added to the taglist.

Gif is not mine. Words: 3.2k

It was a cool Saturday, with the sun running in and out of the clouds and a light breeze floating through the streets. Y/N walked slowly. There was no rush to get home today so she took her time, noticing the little things. How hot of a summer June had brought about, the spidery little cracks in the pavement, King’s Cross station and the bustle of passengers rushing to board the trains, the high pitch of a child’s laughter. Azkaban had made her forget these things; forget what it felt like to be surrounded by life.

On some days though, she was overwhelmed.

It was either too loud that she wanted to shut herself away again or too quiet that she wanted to scream and fill the silence. As much as Y/N had yearned for an escape from Azkaban and its desolate cold, she was dismayed to find that she didn’t completely belong in the world outside of it either, a world that had once been so familiar. She cherished her freedom but at times, the myriads of colour swirling in her vision were such a stark contrast to what she’d grown accustomed to; the greens too lively, yellows too bright and blues too fresh.

Her new apartment was bizarrely, situated in a Muggle street that was usually very busy. Dumbledore had insisted this was safer, in case there were still any lurking Death Eaters waiting to attack. After her release three weeks ago, it had been distributed by the Daily Prophet that Y/N Y/L/N was a key element to Voldemort’s downfall. Only through her information had the Potters been safe and so all of a sudden, everyone regarded her as the hero. Some people even stopped her on the streets, people who had not so long ago been convinced that she was the traitor. Now, they sang her praises.

Y/N wanted none of it.

Over the past three weeks, the visitors had been many – Dedalus Diggle being the first, to Y/N’s surprise. She’d opened her door to find his eyes red and before the shock even registered on her face, he’d pulled her into a hug, not noticing the way she flinched.

Full of apologies, Dedalus had stayed to help her unpack some of her things. After Y/N had assured him that her imprisonment was by no means his fault and that Crouch Jr. was an immensely talented wizard whose Forgetfulness charm would’ve been impossible to deflect, he had told her everything regarding the Ministry after the Dark Lord’s downfall. The last of the Death Eaters had been rounded up although a couple, namely Lucius Malfoy, had gotten away with some plea of being under the influence of the Imperius curse.

Y/N knew it was a lie – Malfoy had been a topic of great discussion in Azkaban, among the first few Death Eaters caught after the fall; Y/N knew many of them despised him for lying and taking the easy way out. It made her uncomfortable that she would be seeing him around the Ministry from now on.

Moody was the second visitor. Never one for small talk, he’d come to check on her, grumble about Crouch and his knack for holding long trials before going on his way. More members from the Order had visited too, some bearing small gifts, intended to be housewarming. Y/N smiled at them politely, accepted their condolences and spoke only when necessary. It was foreign to have to pretend in front of them, wizards and witches she’d known and been friends with once but Y/N didn’t know how else to act.

Today, her visitor was none other than Lily Evans.

Potter, Y/N corrected herself. Spotting the redhead sitting on the steps to her apartment, she stopped in her tracks. Lily wasn’t the only one there either. She had brought a different sort of gift – an infant who was seated in her lap, his head resting against her shoulder. With untidy tufts of black hair, his likeness was his father’s but his eyes, so blue that Y/N could see them from where she stood, were Lily’s entirely.

It was Harry Potter.

Lily sprang up once she noticed Y/N. Walking slowly forward with Harry peering curiously at the newcomer, a small smile broke out on her face.

“Hi.”

Y/N took a moment to respond.

“Hey.”

None of them said anything after that, using the time to take in each other’s appearances. Y/N looked incredibly haggard, thought Lily. While her old friend had spent the first week of her release in St. Mungo’s (she knew this because Moody had told her), Azkaban’s traces were still fresh on her face. There was a slight tremor in her voice too, and her shoulders were stiff with tension. Lily’s face fell a little – this visit was perhaps doing Y/N more harm than good.

On the contrary, Y/N didn’t think she’d ever seen Lily look healthier, happier. Though those two things weren’t out of the ordinary for Lily, she knew that much of her newfound radiance was due to the little boy in her arms, who was now cooing softly at his mother. Dumbledore had informed her that the Potters were safe the minute she’d gotten out of Azkaban but seeing them in person made Y/N feel a little better.

“Do you want to come in?”

Lily looked relieved and nodded eagerly. She was grateful Y/N hadn’t brushed her off; Lily had much to thank her for.

Her new apartment was sparsely decorated. A few plants here and there, Y/N’s favourite coat flung over the nearest sofa, beams of sunlight filtering through the windows. Lily followed Y/N into the kitchen and took a seat on the dining table, opposite her friend. After a few minutes, she broke the silence.

“Oh! I forgot – here,” she rummaged in her bag and pulled out a wand. Y/N froze.

Confiscated ever since she’d gone to Azkaban and now lying in front of her, was the wand that had killed Marlene McKinnon. It was a miserable reminder and Y/N wanted to snap it in half and throw it as far as she could. Instead, she picked it up gingerly and thanked Lily, knowing full well Moody could’ve brought it when he’d come last week.

“Did Dumbledore ask you to bring it?”

“I offered actually,” Lily’s voice was small. “I… I wanted to see you.” After a beat she continued although quite hesitantly. “Sirius wanted to come too.” Stopping once she saw Y/N’s face fall further, Lily cursed softly and rushed to amend herself. “I told him you might not… that you might–”

“Not want to see him?” Y/N finished for her, finally meeting her gaze. Her voice had a stiffness to it like Lily had never heard before. It was so unfamiliar, so unlike the girl she knew that Lily could only nod. Y/N said nothing more, keeping her gaze on Harry. He stared back, the curiosity still lingering on his face.

“How are you?”

The minute she’d said it, Lily wanted to snatch the words back. It was such a stupid question to ask, after everything that she opened her mouth to apologize but Y/N beat her to it.

“Fine,” she replied quickly. The mask she’d donned in front of all her old friends from the Order when they’d come to visit was slipping back on. It pained Y/N to have to pretend in front of even Lily, but there was no other way about it. “Everyone still stares though.”

“Do they say anything to you? Anything rude?” Lily asked. “Because if they do you can tell Dumbledore. He’ll shut Rita Skeeter up.”

“That’s okay. The last thing I need is Rita writing that I’m incapable of handling things myself.”

Lily’s voice was quiet once again. “You’ve gone through more than enough, they would understand.”

“No they wouldn’t,” replied Y/N, her voice equally soft. Lily had always been extraordinarily kind, always seeing the absolute best qualities people had to offer but it still amazed Y/N how she could be so trusting, so understanding after all that had happened.

Harry had grown desperate for some form of entertainment and was reaching eagerly for the flowers in the centre of the table. Without saying anything, Y/N moved a small blossom out of the vase and it floated in the air momentarily before drifting over. Harry, with his eyes alight in excitement and mouth open in awe, happily clapped his hands and let out a tiny shriek as it tickled him on the nose, apparently out of its own accord.

A small shadow of a smile peeked out of Y/N.

“Do you want to hold him?”

Without waiting for a reply, Lily reached over to place him in Y/N’s arms. He was very small and soft, the warmth radiating off him seeping into her too. He wriggled around a bit to make himself more comfortable before turning back to the enchanted flower, still twirling in the air. It slipped out of reach of his tiny fingers as he tried to grab it, making him squeal again.

“I heard you defied Voldemort three times,” Y/N said, changing track. “Did you?”

There was a small spark of triumph in Lily’s eyes as she replied. “Yeah. Only made him more desperate to come after us.”

“Didn’t succeed though, Harry’s still here.”

Her face darkened a little. “Because the Longbottoms paid the price.”

This was news. Lily saw the confusion on Y/N’s face and continued.

“Voldemort knew who the prophecy referred to but he had no hope of getting to us because Sirius was Secret Keeper,” she exhaled slowly and her voice shook when she spoke again. “Dorcas was the Longbottom’s, she was the closest to Alice.”

“She was captured a week before it happened. Voldemort personally killed her after he’d tortured out what she knew. He… he thought even if Harry was the boy in the prophecy, he would eliminate Alice’s son from the equation all together just to be sure and take us later.”

Y/N held her breath, dread sinking into her bones.

“He told Alice she could live if she surrendered her son.” Her eyes were downcast and shrouded with pain as she talked of Alice Longbottom. Lily too, it seemed, had ghosts of her own. “She refused.”

“Granting the son sacrificial protection,” murmured Y/N.

“Yes. The curse rebounded and Voldemort was destroyed.”

Lily watched Y/N’s brow furrow, nonplussed.

“That can’t be.”

“What do you mean? You’re saying he didn’t die?”

“He couldn’t have. Not if Harry is the chosen one like you say. The curse only rebounded because of Alice’s sacrifice, not because of the son.”

“The chosen one,” Lily repeated. She shook her head. “But he still vanished.”

“He was the most powerful Dark wizard, knew all sorts of magic. Probably knew of ways to preserve yourself even if your body was destroyed.” At Lily’s stare, she shrugged. “They talked in their cells a lot, his supporters. Never shut up about how great he was.”

Silence enveloped them for a while.

“What about Frank Longbottom?”

Lily’s face contorted again. “We thought he was safe,” her voice was barely above a whisper. “Then they got him and tortured him until he went insane.”

Y/N knew exactly who Lily was talking about. She remembered all too well the effects of the Torture curse and the blinding agony that accompanied it. She also remembered the day Bellatrix had been brought in to the cell adjacent to hers, face devoid of the triumphant smile she’d worn that day. It haunted Y/N more than she liked to admit, that smile.

“Bellatrix?” Y/N asked. Lily gave her that look again. “Her cell was next to mine after they brought her in.”

“Oh.”

Sirius had told her about what he’d seen in the Pensieve. Chest heaving with sobs, he’d described the night Marlene had died in excruciating detail, as if reliving the experience. Lily had felt sorry for him then but it was nothing compared to how she felt now as she imagined Y/N’s sorrow.

“What of the boy?” asked Y/N.

“Neville lives with his grandmother now. Frank doesn’t remember him,” Lily’s voice was thick. “He doesn’t remember his son.”

There was nothing to say to that. Y/N could sense that Lily had never openly talked of this before, how much it had affected her. This little boy, who could’ve so easily been Harry, would grow up an orphan, grow up alone. Even if Y/N had managed to save the Potters, she’d been of no use to the Longbottoms. She had never known Alice and Frank that well but it was enough to let loose the tears gathering in her eyes.

“You blame yourself,” Y/N said. “I get that. Above everyone else I get that. But it wasn’t your fault.”

Reaching out across the length of the table, Lily clasped Y/N’s hand. It broke her heart to see the girl flinch a little before squeezing back.

“I should be saying that to you. I don’t deserve your sympathy,” she said. “It’s only that I never thought I’d lose all four of them. First Marlene, then you, then Dorcas and Alice.”

“That’s not true,” whispered Y/N. “I’m still here.”

It was more of a reminder to herself than anything else but a relieved gasp escaped Lily. She reached over the table and pulled her old friend into an embrace. It was slightly awkward, with the table and Harry in the way but Y/N appreciated the gesture all the same. Lily knew it wasn’t forgiveness but it was more than she could’ve hoped for. Pulling back, she tried to smile despite her watery eyes.

“I came to thank you. For everything you did. I know you gave up your memory for Harry, to protect him. I can’t ever repay that but just know how grateful and how sorry I am,” she seemed to reconsider and added on. “We should’ve done something sooner. All of us, to get you out.”

Y/N didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure her voice would hold. Lily didn’t push her for one either.

“It’s Harry birthday soon. I wanted to ask if you would come.”

At that, Y/N protested. There was no way she could face a room full of people, people she’d once worked with, all of whom would spend half the time goggling at her. Not to mention she’d have to see Sirius and James too.

“I don’t think that’s–”

“You are the reason my son is alive. The reason I’m alive,” interjected Lily. She was nearly pleading. “Please come. It would make James and I so happy. It would make Harry so happy.”

Y/N looked down at the child in her arms once again, now fast asleep. Lily’s son, who’s existence had made her last days in Azkaban somewhat bearable. She’d dreamt of him sometimes, when Marlene’s dead body didn’t plague her nightmares. This boy, who she had never known then, had been a light at the end of the tunnel, an escape from her cloaked jailers.

Y/N was sure that there was nothing she wouldn’t do for Harry Potter.

“Alright,” she answered. Lily’s smile was as radiant as the sun beams shining through the panes of glass in the kitchen. “Only for a bit though.”

-

By the time Lily had left, the sky was a patchwork of pale pink and violet, the sun long gone. Y/N sat at the dining table still, running her fingers down the length of her wand. In truth, she had avoided using magic at all costs, preferring to walk instead of Apparate and do everything by hand. The Priori Incantatem version of Marlene sprouting from her wand tip was still a fresh reminder and having it back only made the burden heavier. She placed it away and out of sight.

Ready to start working on dinner, Y/N was about to unpack the groceries she’d brought earlier when the doorbell rang. Frowning, she walked to open the door but no sooner than she had done so, felt the overwhelming urge to slam it shut.

The very person Y/N had not wanted to see stood in the hallway. Sirius Black took her in with wide eyes, moving a few steps forward but she was glaring at him with such intensity, he felt as though he would shatter.

“I thought Lily told you not to come.” Y/N’s voice had taken on that cold edge again.

“Lily was here?”

“Just left.”

Sirius opened and closed his mouth, lost for words. She still hadn’t moved from the doorway; it was obvious he wouldn’t be let in.

“Is it fine if we talk?” His voice was shaky, the confidence that Y/N was used to nowhere to be found.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Her gut should not have wrenched the way it did as his face fell but Y/N ignored it. She owed him nothing.

“Y/N please,” she flinched as her name escaped his mouth. “I’ll just be a few minutes, I swear–”

“I want you to leave.”

“Please listen–”

“Listen?” Y/N hissed. It was his turn to wince. How ironic it was that he was begging her to listen when he’d turned her away when she’d come to him, imploring him to do the same. Sirius gave her a pained glance before continuing, spewing words desperately now.

“You have every right to be angry, I don’t blame you for it at all but I just want you to know that I’m so, so sorry,” he stopped for breath, reaching out a hand. Y/N moved out of his grasp, face set in indifference. “I saw you in the Pensieve.”

“And now you believe me,” she said. “It took you three years and seeing it with your own eyes to believe me because my word wasn’t enough.”

She said it with no particular malice, but Sirius felt the words pierce him. His eyes had glossed over and Y/N, for a fleeting instant, faltered in her stance. Her hesitation disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“He was my friend,” his voice broke. “I didn’t think he was capable–”

“But I was?” It was the smallest slip in her demeanor but Sirius heard the anguish in her voice all the same. He shook his head fiercely but his words had escaped him again – what was there to say? How could he even begin to apologise?

“I was wrong. I made a mistake,” he was pleading now. “Please let me talk to you–”

“I want you to leave,” she repeated. Y/N held his gaze, waiting for him to do so but when he didn’t, she stepped back. Sirius let out a choked sob and moved to follow her but she shut the door with a firm thud.

For the longest time she stood there, rooted to the spot and as unmoving as still water. On the other side, Sirius seemed to be doing the same. She thought she heard him sniff a few times and at last, there was a pop, signaling he’d Apparated away.

Heart heavy and hating the remorse filling her insides, Y/N trudged back to the kitchen. You owe him nothing, she told herself again. She moved about blindly, barely noticing what she was making and all the while, her mind kept wandering back to him and the crestfallen look on his face. Seeing Sirius again had undoubtedly opened a fresh wound that she’d never given a chance to heal in the first place.

It was only halfway through eating her dinner that Y/N realised she too, was crying.

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