#SHE IS MY HEART MY SOUL MY LIFE ITSELF I WAS BORN TO BE WITH HER AND ID JUST DIE WITHOUT HER<3HELL ID BE DEAD BY NOW IF I NEVER MET HER

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 20

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"You poor thing, sweet, mourning lamb. There's nothing you can do."

summary: negan show you his true colors

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 20

masterlist!

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next | chapter 21

The chill seeped into your bones, spreading slowly through your veins until you felt almost numb, the dampness clinging to you like despair itself.

Every heartbeat was a labor, each breath a painful reminder of the ache that pulsed through you, but worse than the physical pain was the yawning emptiness in your chest—the thought that you might never see Joel again.

It was a raw, hollow ache, a sharp pang of grief you couldn’t push away. You knew that you were on the edge, slipping closer to oblivion, but there was one last thing you needed to do, one final message that could reach him if somehow, in a miracle, it found its way.

Weakly, you took a scrap of paper you’d found buried under debris, your shaking hand struggling to hold onto the pen as you pressed it to the paper.

With every ounce of strength left in you, you began to write, letting your soul spill out in those last, broken words. Each line held the weight of the love you’d carried, a love too big, too deep, to die even in this place.

You thought back to that very first meeting, back when his voice was a gentle lull that wrapped around you, soothing away years of pain. He had been your only light, your guiding star in a night that had grown so, so dark.

You loved him fiercely, with a loyalty born of survival, a love that had grown in the cracks of your brokenness. And even now, at the end of it all, that love was unbreakable.

"To my love, Joel," you began, words blurring as tears welled up, spilling over the edges of your bruised eyes.

 "I don’t know if you’ll ever see this, but if you do, know that you have been everything to me. You gave me life in a way no one else ever did. For every moment, every touch, every look, I thank you. You loved me with a love I had never known, a love that carried me through this world when I didn’t know how to stand on my own."

You paused, gathering strength, your chest rising in shallow breaths, and continued, letting the words flow with the quiet intensity of a prayer.

"I never blamed you, Joel, not for anything. I know about the things you did, the choices you made. And I want you to know that it's okay—I understand. You were trying to protect me, even if it meant walking through the fire. You did what you had to do to keep me safe, and I could never judge you for that. If anything, I thank you for it. You are my protector, my guardian, my love."

The memory of him, every part of him—the way he’d pull you close, the warmth of his hand on yours, the steady beat of his heart as you lay together in the quiet—flashed through your mind.

"I pray for you, Joel. Every night, every moment I have left, I pray. I pray for your peace, for your strength, that God may keep you safe and lead you out of this darkness. I know I’m not there to hold your hand, but you have my heart, and it’s with you always, no matter what."

You could feel your own heartbeat slowing, your strength fading, but you forced your fingers to keep moving across the paper, etching the last of your soul into each word, a final testament to a love that would outlast even this.

"If you read this now it means I found you. I found you just to tell you that I made it real far, Joel. I never blamed you for loving me the way that you did. And while you were torn apart, I would still wait with you there, no matter the cost."

The weight of your words pressed down on you as you neared the end, each sentence a painful goodbye.

"Don’t think about it too hard, honey. Or you’ll never sleep a wink at night again. Don’t worry about me or these green eyes, baby. Just know that I love you. And I’ll see you when you get here."

A single tear slipped down, leaving a trail on the ink as it dried, forever a mark of the sorrow you’d carried for him, even here, even now.

"I love you forever, Joel," you scrawled at the end, closing the letter as if it were a prayer sealed with your own heart’s blood.

You looked at it for a moment, each word a testament of your devotion, the truest thing you had ever written. And as you pressed it close to your chest, you whispered a quiet vow, hoping he could somehow feel it—wherever he was, wherever you were.

"You’ll always have me with you, Joel. In your heart, in your soul. Every breath you take, I'll always be with you. Don’t ever blame yourself. You were my savior, my love. I forgive you, and I love you. I love you. I will always love you. Always."

"Good night, my love. I'll see you soon."

you whisper as you wrote, voice trembling, as if even the air itself could carry those words to him, beyond the walls of this hell, across the endless miles between you.

It hurts, knowing this letter is a goodbye, your last way of leaving a piece of yourself with him, in case you can’t make it.

You’ve always been afraid of dying, a fear so deeply rooted that it seemed impossible to unearth. But now, lying here, battered and bruised, it isn’t death that scares you—it’s the thought of never seeing him again, of leaving this world without his arms around you one last time.

Your mind drifts back to the memories of him, the warmth of his steady embrace that felt like home, his hands worn yet gentle, holding you with a kind of care you’d never known.

Joel, with his brown eyes that looked at you like you were his whole world, like you were something worth saving, worth loving. His voice echoes in your mind, gravelly and low, calming in a way that made you feel safe no matter how dark the world seemed.

You think of the way he’d call you his "doll," "babygirl," a name that melted the armor around your heart every time.

The pain in your body fades, giving way to a softness as you sink into memories. You can feel the ghost of his touch, his arms wrapped around you, as though his warmth could chase away even this darkness.

His laughter fills your mind, and in its sound, you find a strange peace, a comfort that holds you like his arms once did.

In the silence, you let yourself feel the depth of your love for him, a love so fierce it made you feel like you could rise again, like every wound, every hurt could be forgotten if it meant one more chance to see him.

You think of the nights spent curled beside him, his breathing soft and steady beside you, each rise and fall like a lullaby just for you.

His love was the one beautiful thing in a broken world, a light that shone even now, against all odds.

Your body aches, each breath heavy, but as you let yourself fall deeper into his memory, you feel something like calm. The shadows around you blur, your mind slipping into that in-between place where pain and peace blend.

Joel is still there, in your thoughts, his face the last thing you hold onto as the darkness begins to take you. You feel yourself slipping, surrendering to the pull of exhaustion.

And with that, you let go, letting yourself drift into that soft, you need a sleep for a while, you feel his warmth surround you one last time.

***

Emma stumbled back into her apartment, her hands shaking as she slammed the door shut behind her. Panic thundered in her chest, her breaths coming too fast, her mind racing through everything she’d just seen—your face, your desperate plea, the bruises darkening your skin. She could barely process it all.

“What happened?” Jim’s voice broke through, his brow furrowing as he stepped toward her.

She searched for her phone, fingers clumsy as she threw aside bags, tossed papers, looking. “Jim, I—I found her. I found her,” she whispered, her words barely more than a gasp.

“Who?” Jim asked, reaching out to steady her. “Emma, who did you find?”

“Her, Jim. Get my fucking phone!” she demanded, desperate. She couldn’t stop now—not when she was this close. Jim didn’t ask questions, immediately helping her search through the mess scattered across the counter.

The moment her hand closed around her phone, she pulled up Tommy’s number, dialing so fast her thumb nearly missed the button. The first call went to voicemail, and she cursed under her breath. “Pick up,” she hissed, “please, just pick up…”

On the second ring, Tommy answered. “Emma?”

“Tommy.” Her voice broke, raw with relief and desperation. “I found her. I found her.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Tommy asked, voice thick with confusion. “Is Joel with you?” Emma asked. "No, where is she?"

"She’s in California. You need to get here, now, both of you. She’s… worse, Tommy, she’s in real bad shape. I don't know how long she can make it.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Tommy stammered, trying to catch up. “She’s in California? How the hell did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she snapped, cutting him off. “The man who took her is Negan Smith. Me and Jim are getting his address now. We’re going to look for her, but she told me to tell you—tell Joel she’s waiting. Please, Tommy, don’t waste time, just get your fucking ass here!”

The line went silent, and she held her breath, hoping Tommy could understand the urgency. Finally, he spoke, steady but heavy with something like relief and terror all at once. “We’re coming.”

Tommy clicked off the call, his hands still clenched around the phone, trying to wrap his mind around Emma’s words. California. So far away.

He dialed Joel, only for it to go to voicemail. “Dammit, Joel, where are you?” He tried Frank next, desperate, hoping he’d find him there, but no answer.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Joel paced another faceless motel, this one in Arizona. He felt lost, like he was sinking deeper and deeper into a void where every day took him farther from you.

Each motel, each new face at the reception, each empty hallway echoed with his failure. His whole body ached with the weight of it, the guilt that clawed at his heart every time he looked around and realized you weren’t there.

The reception bell jingled as he approached the counter. He didn’t even know what he was hoping to find anymore—just some scrap, any hint of you he could hold onto.

But then his phone buzzed, and Tommy’s name flashed across the screen. Joel felt his pulse spike, something instinctive telling him this was it, that there was news. He picked up, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Hello?”

“Joel, I know where she is.”

The words struck him like a blow to the chest. His heart plummeted, hope surging painfully against the fear that threatened to choke him. “What? Is she… Is she alive?”

“Yes, Joel,” Tommy’s voice was thick, strained. “Emma found her, she’s in California. She saw her, talked to her. She’s with a man named Negan Smith.”

Negan.

That name seared through him like a brand, snapping everything into painful clarity. Negan. He remembered you talking about him, the creepy guy, the shadow he’d ignored.

Rage bubbled up, fierce and raw, as he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. For missing it when you’d been right there, telling him about this man.

Without another word, Joel bolted from the lobby and strode across the parking lot, his mind consumed with the drive to reach you, to finally bring you home.

He’d torn the world apart already, but now it felt like nothing would be enough until you were safe, back in his arms.

“Where are you?” Tommy asked, voice taut.

“Arizona. It’s a nine-hour drive to California.” He heard Tommy’s exasperated sigh through the line.

“That’s too long, Joel. You need to get there fast. Emma’s working on getting his address.”

“I’ll book a flight tonight,” Joel replied, his tone fierce, unwavering. “You call the cops, Tommy. I don’t fucking care what you have to do, just get them there. I need to get her.”

He hung up, his pulse hammering as he strode into the night.

Joel drove through the night, his heart pounding in rhythm with the steady hum of the engine. The world outside was a blur of dark shadows and streaked lights, but his mind—his mind was full of you.

Images of you flooded his thoughts: your laughter echoing softly like a melody he’d heard a lifetime ago, the way your eyes lit up when you looked at him, the warmth of your touch, gentle and steady, grounding him like nothing else could.

And now, knowing you were out there, alone, with that monster… the thought tore him apart.

Anger rose like a firestorm within him, burning hot and consuming, and it took every ounce of control not to press down on the accelerator, not to tear through the night faster, harder. He needed to be there now, not hours from now.

Every second felt like an eternity wasted. The image of Negan’s face—the face he’d missed, ignored—came to him, filling him with a fury he didn’t know he was capable of.

The man who’d stolen you, who’d dared to lay a hand on you… Joel’s hands clenched tightly around the wheel, his knuckles white with the force of his grip.

He thought of you and the memories that had kept him going this far: the nights you’d whispered your fears to him, the way you’d leaned into him when things got tough, and that look in your eyes when you told him you loved him.

The love you’d shown him was like light pouring through the cracks in his broken heart, filling him with a warmth he hadn’t felt in years. And he’d failed you—he’d let you slip away into darkness when he should have known, should have seen.

In between the flashes of rage and regret, fear twisted through him like a silent, cold shadow. What if he was too late? The thought clawed at his chest, each passing mile stretching that possibility, and he cursed himself for every second he hadn’t realized the danger.

The thought of seeing you again both terrified and thrilled him—he feared the pain in your eyes, the hurt that would linger, yet he longed to hold you close, to know you were safe and back in his arms where he’d vowed to protect you.

Joel’s mind raced back to that promise he’d made himself—to shield you from harm, to give you the love, all the love you deserves. Now, he’d tear through hell and back for you, for a chance to fulfill it.

The streets stretched on before him, dark and endless, but his heart held one single, unbreakable truth: he would find you, he would take down anyone who stood in his way, and he would bring you back into his world—safe, whole, and loved.

***

Emma's nerves were already frayed as she and Jim pushed through the dim alleys and streets of Los Angeles, searching for any scrap of information on Negan Smith.

The city felt different tonight—empty and strange, almost like it was holding its breath. Los Angeles was supposed to be bustling, noisy, alive. But tonight, everything seemed quiet. Almost too quiet.

Emma gripped the flyer tighter, her eyes tracing over the worn, printed face—the photo of you that Joel’s friend Frank must’ve spread around the city.

Seeing your face printed on thin paper only made it all the more real, and the desperation clawed at her chest. She and Jim decided to split up, covering more ground quickly. Jim went downtown, and she pushed her way into a nearby bar.

The bar was a haze of dim lights and smoke, and Emma moved through it, flashing the flyer to anyone who would look her way. She repeated herself like a prayer, "Have you seen this girl? She’s missing—please, any information."

But most people ignored her or shook their heads. She was about to turn away when a voice broke through the noise.

"I saw her before,"

Emma spun around to find the speaker. A man in his fifties, dressed in a black leather jacket, his hair slicked back, eyes sharp. He gave her a slight, knowing smile, and it sparked something in her—a spark of hope or maybe just a flicker of relief. She approached him quickly, holding up the flyer.

“You’ve seen her?” she asked, her voice trembling.

He nodded, eyes flicking over the flyer with feigned casualness. “Yeah, I saw her working at a strip club downtown.” His voice was gravelly, the sort of voice that had seen a few lifetimes and wasn’t surprised by much.

Emma’s heart jolted at his words. “A strip club? Where? Please, I need to know where she is.”

“Relax,” he said, his voice a slow drawl. He waved a hand, motioning for her to follow. “It’s just a few blocks from here. Just follow me." He turned and began walking, a calm confidence in his stride.

Emma hesitated, glancing around the quiet bar. The shadows felt heavier, deeper, and she forced herself to push down the strange unease that was growing in her.

She had to follow him.

This was the first real lead she’d had. Taking a deep breath, she slipped her phone into her pocket, her hands clenching into fists as she trailed behind him.

They turned down narrow alleys and side streets, the noise of the city seeming to fade with every step. He moved with a steady purpose, leading her farther from the lights and crowds.

She could feel the sweat building on her palms, her pulse quickening as the buildings around them grew taller and more isolated. This didn’t feel right.

She looked over her shoulder once or twice, but there was no one else around. The sense of being followed lingered, like an itch she couldn’t shake.

"Where are we going?” she asked, her voice sharper than she’d intended.

“Just a little farther,” he replied smoothly, barely glancing back. “It’s right up ahead. Just around the corner.”

Emma hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to stop, to turn around, but she pushed the fear aside. She was so close. She couldn’t give up now.

They rounded another corner, and she stopped dead. The alley was empty, an eerie silence pressing in. She took a shaky step back.

“Where’s the club?” she whispered, her voice tight with fear.

The man turned slowly to face her, a small, sinister smile spreading across his face. He took a step forward, the shadows casting his face in sharp, menacing angles.

“You said you're looking for a guy name Negan too right?" "Look, this is your lucky day, sweetheart, I'm Negan."

Emma’s heart dropped as the realization hit her. She took a step back, eyes darting around for any escape route, she's trying to run, before anything else, Negan capture her and bang her head to the wall till she unconscious.

Meanwhile, Jim was scouring the downtown area, his heart pounding as he asked strangers, bartenders, shopkeepers if they’d seen you.

The emptiness of the streets gnawed at him, a chill creeping down his spine as he moved from one place to the next. There was something off about tonight, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He kept glancing around, feeling as if someone was watching him.

He checked his phone, hoping Emma had found something. Nothing. His heart hammered, a sense of dread building with each passing minute. He took a deep breath, shoving down the unease. He had to find you. Emma had to be okay.

Then, as he turned into another side street, something cold and sharp pressed against his back. Jim froze, his stomach dropping as a rough voice whispered into his ear.

“You should have kept out of this.”

And then, in an instant Negan snap his neck, everything went black.

***

A hazy fog clung to your senses as you opened your eyes, your vision flickering, swimming in and out as you tried to grasp onto reality. Pain throbbed in your temples, like distant thunder echoing in your head.

Slowly, the room around you settled into shape, and you took in the familiar darkness, the cold, damp walls of the basement—the place you had been trapped for what felt like forever.

Then, like a sharp, jarring note that shattered the silence, you heard it—a scream. It was high-pitched, frantic, echoing in the room. A woman’s voice, raw with terror, but somehow familiar.

And then Negan’s low, mocking laugh cut through the air, making your heart slam against your chest.

“Wake up, princess,” he drawled, his voice laced with twisted amusement. “Look who I got for you.”

You blinked, forcing the blurriness to subside as you pushed yourself up, still dizzy, still groggy. When your gaze finally focused, a sick, cold dread washed over you.

Tied to one of the basement’s support beams, her hands bound cruelly behind her, her ankles tied together, was Emma.

A dirty cloth gag was tied around her mouth, stifling her desperate pleas, her eyes wide and red-rimmed with terror as she looked at you.

“No, no, no…” you choked out, the word falling from your lips like a shattered promise. Emma—Negan had her.

A wave of nausea twisted in your stomach as you struggled against your own bindings, but they were unyielding. It was all your fault. Emma had come looking for you, and now she was trapped here, in this dark hell.

Negan crouched beside her, a smug, dark glint in his eyes as he watched your horror unfold. “Got you your best friend,” he sneered, his lips pulling back in a twisted smile. “Seems like little Miss Detective here thought she could play hero. Isn’t that cute?”

Your voice cracked as you struggled to find words. “Let her go,” you managed to say, your voice wavering but resolute, despite the terror coursing through your veins. “Please… let her go.”

Negan chuckled, ignoring your plea as he grabbed a fistful of Emma’s hair, yanking her head back so she was forced to look up at him. The cruel grip made her wince, but her gaze flicked to you, desperate, pleading.

It was like a dagger twisting in your chest, knowing that you were helpless to protect her, that she was suffering because of you.

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t get to make demands here,” Negan said, his tone mocking, dripping with venom. He dragged Emma’s head to the side, making sure she could see you, as if enjoying the torment on both your faces.

“This one? She came looking for you. Sniffing around like a lost puppy. Now she gets to stay a while.”

Emma’s gaze locked onto yours, her eyes wild with fear, and in them, you could see all the questions she couldn’t ask aloud, all the pain she was enduring. Tears pricked at your own eyes as guilt crashed over you like a wave, suffocating and cold.

“You… you don’t have to do this,” you pleaded, your voice shaking, but Negan merely chuckled, shaking his head with a look of cruel amusement.

“Oh, but I want to,” he murmured, his hand still tangled in Emma’s hair. His fingers tightened, making her gasp in pain. “She thought she was clever, thought she could outsmart me. So I think it’s only fair she learns the consequences of getting involved in things she doesn’t understand.”

The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in as panic clawed at you. Your heart pounded painfully, and you could feel every beat echoing in your ribs like a warning, a reminder of how fragile this moment was, how everything could break in an instant.

Your mind raced, every thought a frantic, spiraling whirlwind of despair and helplessness. How had it come to this? How had you become so powerless, so trapped, that even trying to save a friend only brought them harm?

You couldn’t breathe. The thought of Negan turning his sadistic focus on Emma was unbearable. She didn’t deserve this—none of it. She’d come to help, risking everything just to find you, and now… now she was here, locked in this nightmare with you.

“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking as you looked up at Negan, hating the vulnerability in your eyes, the tears you couldn’t hold back. “Please… just let her go. She doesn’t deserve this. None of this is her fault.”

Negan laughed softly, a sound that seemed to crawl up the walls, filling every shadowed corner. “Fault?” he echoed mockingly. “Oh, princess, I don’t care about who’s at fault. This isn’t about fairness. It’s about reminding you that you belong to me now. And she’s just the price of your little rebellion.”

You could feel the desperation clawing at you, suffocating, as if your lungs were filling with ice. Every fiber of your being ached to scream, to fight, to do anything to break free and protect Emma, but you were trapped, chained by the twisted, nightmarish rules of this place, this man.

Negan knelt down beside Emma, his hand still gripping her hair as he leaned in close, his voice soft but dripping with malice. “Now, don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll have plenty of time to talk things over with your friend here. It’s going to be a long night.” His smirk widened as he released Emma, standing up and dusting his hands off with mock satisfaction.

Your voice cracked as you begged, desperation spilling out of you like blood from an open wound. “Don’t touch her! Please, Negan, I beg you. I’ll do anything—just please let her go. Please.”

But he only smirked, a twisted, satisfied glint in his eyes. “Oh, now you’re begging? Did you already forget you killed my child?” His voice was venomous, laced with resentment that had simmered far too long.

And then his fist met your stomach with brutal force, and you doubled over, gasping as pain radiated through your body, so sharp and consuming it left you breathless.

Emma’s muffled scream echoed through the darkened basement, desperate and broken as she watched you suffer. She was struggling against her bindings, but there was nothing she could do, no way to stop what was happening.

Negan only laughed, his voice mocking, cruel. “You didn’t think your actions would have consequences, huh?” He punctuated his words with another savage kick, sending a fresh surge of agony through you.

“You… need to be taught a lesson. Acting like a fucking brat,” he sneered, grabbing your hair and yanking your head up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes gleamed with sadistic satisfaction as he added, “You know what happens to those who try to defy me?”

And then he threw you across the room like you were nothing, his rage boiling over as he stormed out, his footsteps echoing up the stairs. You lay there, every nerve in your body alight with pain, each breath a struggle.

But as soon as the door closed, you forced yourself to move, to drag your broken, battered body across the floor to Emma. You could hear her desperate, panicked breaths as you reached her and pulled the cloth from her mouth.

“Oh my god, oh my god…” Emma whispered, her voice shaking as she looked at you, eyes wide and glistening with tears. “We need to get out of here. Grab my phone. Call Tommy, now!”

With trembling hands, you grabbed her phone from her pocket, your heart racing as you dialed. Every second felt like a lifetime, each beat of your heart thundering louder in your ears.

And then, as the call began to connect, your breath hitched—a new call was coming in. An unknown number.

You answered without thinking, and your heart nearly stopped at the sound on the other end. That voice, the voice you’d dreamt of, longed for. A voice you had feared you’d never hear again.

“Emma? It’s Joel. Where are you? I’m heading to California tonight, I—”

“Joel.” Your voice broke as you whispered his name, and on the other end, he fell silent.

Time itself seemed to stop as Joel processed the sound of your voice. For so long, he had feared this moment, had dreaded that he’d never hear you again, never have the chance to hold you, protect you.

And now, hearing your voice—shaken, scared, but alive—struck him to his core. You were his heart, his soul, the person he’d die for without a second thought. Every ounce of guilt, every sleepless night, every sacrifice was for you.

“Doll,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Doll, where are you?”

Tears poured down your face as you choked out, “Joel, please, please… come now. I need you, Joel. Please, I need you.” Your words were desperate, trembling, but somehow, they made him feel stronger, more determined. He couldn’t lose you—not now, not ever.

“Baby,” Joel’s voice softened, his own panic barely masked as he struggled to stay calm for you. “Tell me, where are you? Do you know?”

“He got Emma,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “He has us both, Joel, please… he’s hurting her, he’s… Joel, I need you.”

His voice was tender but firm, a quiet strength weaving through each word as he spoke. “I’m coming to save you, darlin’. I won’t let anything happen to you, I swear it. I’ll never let you go again. Just… just hang on for me, alright? Stay strong, baby. You’re gonna be okay. I promise you, I’ll save you.”

You could hear the worry threading his voice, but his words wrapped around you, a fragile shield against the darkness that threatened to consume you.

“I’m scared, Joel,” you sobbed, unable to hold back the fear anymore, the terror clawing its way up your throat. “I’m so scared.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispered, voice breaking slightly as he struggled to hold it together. “But you’re strong, remember? You’re stronger than anyone I know. Just hold on, okay? I’ll be there before you know it. Don’t be afraid. I love you, baby. Just… hold on for me.”

You clutched the phone, drawing strength from his words, the promise of his love steadying you. You closed your eyes, holding onto his voice like a lifeline, but then—Negan’s footsteps thundered back down the stairs.

Before you could react, he wrenched the phone from your hand, tearing Joel’s voice from your ear.

“NO!” you screamed, reaching out, but Negan shoved you back with a cruel laugh, bringing the phone to his ear.

“Well, well, well… look who it is.” His voice was dripping with malice, savoring every second. Joel’s voice, faint but seething with fury, crackled through the line. “I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill you, you bastard. You lay a hand on her, and I swear—”

Negan grinned, his eyes glinting with dark satisfaction. “Oh, you’ve got a mouth on you. I’ll be sure to let her know how much you care, right before I break her. You’re too late, Miller.”

Negan’s laugh echoed through the dimly lit basement, twisting around you like thick smoke, suffocating and inescapable. He tossed Emma's phone onto the floor with a careless flick, then turned his gaze to you, eyes gleaming with a sick thrill as he dragged you closer, his grip merciless.

Fist after brutal fist connected with your ribs, your cheek, your stomach, each strike dulling your senses as you felt yourself sinking into a haze of pain, your breaths shallow and gasping.

Emma’s voice cracked through the brutality, a desperate, pleading cry. “No! Stop it! Stop it!” Her words barely seemed to reach him, her voice like a whisper lost in a hurricane as he continued to beat you, his face contorted with a twisted, frustrated rage.

“Can you just stop disobeying me, for god’s sake?” Negan’s voice was vicious, laced with a fury that seemed to have no end. “You were so fucking good this year!”

You could barely hold yourself upright as he finally threw you back, the cold, hard floor against your bruised skin like ice on a burn.

You crawled toward Emma, each movement a struggle, forcing yourself to meet her terrified eyes as you tried to breathe through the pain. Negan’s voice brought you both back to the nightmare at hand.

“Oh, I kept this for a long time, as souvenir when I found them,” he drawled, hauling a large, worn burlap sack into view, his eyes dancing with a twisted delight.

“Wanted to show you something. You might recognize them… thought they looked good in my freezer.”

Your body tensed, dread crawling up your spine as he reached into the sack, the slow, sick satisfaction on his face a silent promise of horror.

He pulled something out, the shape grotesque and heavy, and when he turned to show you, the sight struck you like lightning.

In his right hand dangled Pastor Ben’s head, eyes frozen in a lifeless, glassy stare, his mouth twisted into a grotesque half-scream. And in his left, Jamie’s head, his delicate features now haunting, locked in an expression of terror.

Blood, dark and coagulated, clung to their severed necks like rust, framing their faces in a sick parody of halos.

“Say hello to your little friends!” Negan taunted, waving the heads before you with a triumphant smirk.

You felt bile rise in your throat, the world spinning around you as nausea crashed over you in waves.

Emma’s scream shattered the silence, a piercing, helpless cry, and her eyes were wide with pure horror, her skin pale as she trembled beside you.

Negan grinned, savoring your reactions as if they were the finest applause. “I took their heads! Isn’t it lovely?” He leaned in closer, eyes boring into yours. “This is what you’ll end up as if you don’t learn to obey.”

His words cut through the haze, sharp and venomous, and you felt a surge of disgust, a sick revulsion that clawed at your insides. You barely had time to process it before Negan’s gaze shifted to you, a dark smirk twisting his lips.

“Oh, and sweetheart… how was the meat?”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. No. No, it can’t be. Panic flared in your mind, snapping puzzle pieces together in a grotesque image you couldn’t bear to look at, and yet it was inescapable.

Every bite you’d taken, every piece of flesh that had crossed your lips—all of it now made sense in the most horrifying way.

Negan chuckled, watching the dawning horror spread across your face. “Oh, please, don’t look so shocked. The meat wasn’t them.” He smirked. “They were from some other girls… from Chicago, West Virginia. They tasted good, right?”

Emma’s face turned green as she doubled over, retching. You felt yourself recoil, the taste of bile in your mouth as every meal, every bite you’d ever taken under Negan’s watch replayed in your mind with sickening clarity.

The horror of it seeped into your bones, an all-consuming violation that made your skin crawl, like you could never be clean again.

“You’re… you’re sick,” you managed, voice trembling with disgust as you glared at him, the fury in your eyes a tiny flicker of defiance. “YOU ARE FUCKING SICK!"

Negan’s laugh filled the air, his amusement bright and mocking. “Oh, come on now—is that any way to speak to the man who’s fed you so well? You liked it, didn’t you?” His eyes glittered with a dark, twisted joy as he leaned closer, his voice a low, mocking whisper. “Every bite. You loved it.”

Your skin crawled, your mind reeling as you tried to comprehend the depth of his depravity. He was more than a monster—he was something far darker, something that defied words, something that preyed on the most innocent parts of you, staining them with his cruelty.

The basement had never felt darker. It swallowed you both, thick with the scent of rust and damp cement, as if the room itself was bleeding along with you.

Every word that left Negan’s mouth was poison, each syllable seeping into your skin, weighing down on you like the very air around you was suffocating, pressing you down with an invisible force that you couldn’t escape.

His laughter was hollow and sharp, echoing through the space like broken glass—each jagged shard settling into your bones.

Then, you felt something brush against your fingers: small, cool, metal. Emma’s trembling hand nudged a pair of scissors into yours. You didn’t know how she had managed to get hold of them, her hands bound and body weakened, but the feel of it, sharp and hidden between the two of you.

She was guiding them into your hand as Negan continued, his voice oily with satisfaction, oblivious.

His monologue washed over you like filth, each word sinking deeper into your mind, tainting you with his delusions. He was recounting the first time he had seen you, the twisted way he had painted your innocence into something dark and sick, a figure molded just for him.

 “When I saw you on that porch,” he whispered, his voice dropping lower, almost tender, “I knew you’d be the one to take care of me, in ways you didn’t even know you could…”

"I'll kill them all just for you, your parents, I was the one who saved you, not Joel fucking miller!"

The cold edge of the scissors grounded you, your grip tightening around them as you worked to free Emma’s wrists. She remained silent, her eyes locked on his, fear mingling with a fragile resolve as you both waited, breaths quiet, slow.

Negan’s smile widened, his eyes narrowing as he continued, his words punctuated by a grotesque sincerity. “We could start a family, sweetheart. I could give you a chance.” He leaned in, his voice now almost a whisper. “A daughter, maybe. She could take care of me… when you’re gone.”

Your stomach lurched, bile rising as his sick fantasy unveiled itself. Emma’s eyes met yours, wide and pleading, her lips forming the barest of a silent Now.

With a surge of adrenaline, you both lunged. Emma’s hands flew to his shoulders, pinning him with all the strength she could muster. Your arms were shaking, but you held the scissors steady and drove them toward his chest—but he twisted, and the blade sunk deep into his hand instead.

"FUCKKK" Negan howled, a guttural sound, and shoved you both off with a violent rage. Emma crashed against the wall with a sickening thud, and you were thrown to the cold floor, the wind knocked out of you. You struggled to sit up, gasping, as Negan looked at his bleeding hand with a snarl of disbelief.

“You… bitch!” he screamed, fury twisting his face into something inhuman, his eyes burning with hate as he yanked the scissors from his flesh, blood dripping thickly to the floor.

He stalked toward you, his face a mask of unbridled rage. He grabbed you by the hair, hauling you up, and slammed your head against the wall, once, twice—each impact sending a sickening jolt through your skull, blurring your vision as spots danced in the dim light.

His words were coming in snarls, disjointed and raw with anger. “I’m fucking done with this! You wanna learn the hard way? I'll fucking show you the hard way so you’ll fucking learn.”

He threw you to the ground, your body limp and battered, as he turned to Emma, the cruelty in his gaze sharpening. She tried to crawl back, gasping, but his hand wrapped around her throat, lifting her off the ground with a terrifying ease.

You pushed yourself up, weak and dizzy, desperation clawing at your chest as you reached for him. “No! Let her go!”

He only laughed, his grip tightening around Emma’s neck as her face turned red, her mouth gasping soundlessly. He looked into her eyes with sick satisfaction, a mockery of tenderness as he whispered, “Any last words, brat?”

Through her labored breaths, her gaze defiant, Emma spat out her final words. “Go to hell.”

In a swift, brutal motion, Negan drove the blade into her chest. The world shattered around you, your scream tearing through the air as you watched the life drain from her eyes, her face contorting in pain before stillness claimed her.

"EMMA!"

It felt as if your very soul had been ripped out, leaving you hollow, raw, a vessel of pure agony.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, as you stared at Emma’s lifeless form, her body crumpled on the floor. Every part of you screamed, your insides twisting as though poisoned, the horror and grief coursing through you like venom.

The shadows around you seemed to stretch, swallowing you in their merciless embrace, as though the darkness itself was feeding off the horror.

Negan turned to you, his eyes dark, gleaming with a satisfaction that was worse than any nightmare. “See what happens when you disobey?” he sneered, his words twisting into the broken pieces of your mind.

You didn’t feel human anymore, nothing but a body suspended in suffering, consumed by terror and grief. Emma’s last breath echoed in your mind, a sound that would haunt you forever.

This was a hell you could never have imagined. And you were trapped, completely and utterly, with no light left to guide you out.

The tears streamed down your face, hot and relentless, each sob tearing at your throat like jagged glass. It was your fault—Emma was dead because of you.

The weight of guilt settled heavily on your chest, crushing the air from your lungs. You curled in on yourself, the reality of her lifeless body lodged in your mind, echoing endlessly, a reminder of your failure to protect her.

“I will kill you,” you rasped, your voice breaking as you glared at Negan. He still held Emma by her neck, her body dangling lifelessly, an object of his amusement.

He stepped closer, a wicked grin spreading across his face, mocking you with every slow movement.

“What did you say?” he taunted, his voice a sickly sweet whisper as he leaned in, pretending to strain to hear your words.

“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!” you screamed, the sound raw and desperate, echoing off the cold walls. His laughter was a dark melody, wrapping around you like a noose.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he chuckled, his tone dripping with condescension, “you’re not brave enough for that. Just a scared little girl, always waiting for someone to save you.” He tilted his head, eyes glinting with malice.

“See you had so many chances to fight back, to break free, but you never did, did you? You’re just a kid—a broken one. Nobody wants you, nobody loves you. Nobody but me.”

His words sliced through you, a cruel reminder of your isolation, your vulnerability. He leaned in closer, the stench of his twisted satisfaction wrapping around you like smoke, suffocating.

“You think your precious Joel will save you? I’ll kill him before you even know it.”

A wave of rage surged through you, boiling over as you shouted,“Just kill me, Negan! Just fucking kill me!”

He advanced, a grotesque puppeteer, toying with the strings of your desperation. Emma’s body dangled from his grip, lifeless and haunting, a cruel reminder of what he could take from you.

The image of her crushed spirit seeped into your heart, and you felt your resolve waver.

“There’s no fun in that, is there?” Negan mused, glancing at Emma’s still form.

“Why would I want to end it quickly when I can keep you around? Besides…” His voice dipped lower, darkly playful. “You’re already dead, aren’t you?”

"You're dead inside."

The words wrapped around you, twisting like barbed wire, leaving you gasping for breath. He crushed a piece of paper beneath his boot, then picked it up, chuckling as he read.

“Oh, look what we have here,” he said, eyes sparkling with sadistic joy. “It’s your letter to Joel. A goodbye letter. How sweet. So you’ve been preparing, huh?”

He tucked the crumpled paper into his pocket, an act so cruelly casual it made your skin crawl. “I assure you, you will never see him again.”

"Now, excuse me miss, I got a dinner to prepare," he said then walking away with Emma's body.

“YOU’RE A FUCKING COWARD, NEGAN! WHY DON’T YOU JUST KILL ME? FUCKING KILL ME YOU FUCKING COWARD!” you screamed, fury boiling over. But he simply ignored you, his grin never faltering.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he turned and shut the basement door behind him, sealing you in darkness. The finality of it sent a chill through your veins, a cold that seeped into your bones.

You were left alone with the grotesque trophies of his madness—Ben and Jamie’s heads, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at you, accusing you, mocking you.

The basement felt like a tomb, the air thick and suffocating, heavy with despair. You curled up on the cold floor, the dampness seeping into your skin, a reminder of the hopelessness that surrounded you.

Your mind spiraled, trapped in a whirlpool of horror and grief, each thought crashing against the next until you were drowning in your own anguish.

The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded. You pressed your palms against your ears, trying to block out the memories of Emma’s screams, of Negan’s taunts, but it was no use.

They echoed in the recesses of your mind, a relentless reminder of your powerlessness.

You felt hollowed out, like a shell abandoned on the shore, waiting for the tide to reclaim you. The darkness around you was alive, pulsing with the shadows of what could have been—what should have been.

Hope was a fragile thing, and in this hell, it felt like a distant memory, a whisper that barely reached you.

But as despair threatened to consume you whole, a flicker of defiance ignited within. If you were still breathing, still alive, there was a chance—a chance to escape this nightmare, a chance to honor Emma’s memory.

You wouldn’t let Negan win.

You pressed your back against the cold wall, forcing yourself to breathe, to think. There had to be a way out of this hell. You had to find the strength to fight back.

Emma wouldn’t want you to give in, to let the darkness swallow you whole. You would find a way, no matter what it took.

And with that thought, you began to plot your escape, feeling the embers of resolve ignite within the abyss of your despair.

***

The hum of the airport was a chaotic symphony of voices and footsteps, but all Joel could hear was the steady thrum of his own heartbeat, echoing like a war drum in his ears. He had just landed at LAX, adrenaline surging through his veins, a desperate urgency propelling him forward. He fumbled for his phone, his fingers shaking as he dialed Tommy's number, praying for the answers he so desperately needed.

“Tommy, I need Emma's address now!” Joel's voice was a low growl, laced with anxiety.

“What? Are you in California now?” Tommy’s voice crackled through the line, confusion apparent.

"He's got Emma too, Tommy. I--I spoke to her. I fucking spoke to her, I--I need to save her, I got no fucking time, I have to be quick," Tommy can hear Joel's voice trembling as he mentioned you.

Tommy then spelled out Emma's address, "Okay, I'll look to her place first. Have you told the cops?" Joel asked Tommy.

"I did, but Joel if they--" before Tommy can answer Joe cut him off, "I don't give a shit, Tommy, just fucking get them here to back me up"

Without waiting for a response, Joel hung up, his mind racing faster than his feet as he rushed to catch a taxi, the city blurring around him in a haze of panic and dread.

When he finally reaches her apartment, he bounds up the stairs, knocking hard on the door. Nothing. Not a sound. He knocks again, harder this time, his fist meeting the wood with mounting fury.

He can feel it, that something terrible, lingering in the stillness like the silence itself is holding its breath. Another knock, louder—and at last, a door down the hall creaks open, and a middle-aged woman peers out.

“Are you looking for the Parksons?” she asks, eyeing him with concern.

Joel’s voice is a rasp. “Yes. They’re not answering.”

“Oh, I’m the landlord. Sometimes, those two… newlyweds, you know,” she says with a weak smile, her tone teetering between nervousness and sympathy.

“Can you open the door for me?” His voice cracks with urgency. “I’m Emma's uncle. I need to see her.”

Reluctantly, she nods, fumbling with her keys as she reaches the door. But as she turns the lock, Joel catches a sickly, metallic odor seeping out. The unmistakable stench of blood. His stomach clenches, but he swallows hard, steeling himself.

The door swings open, and the sight waiting within is a nightmare come to life. The room is in complete disarray, shattered glass and scattered furniture telling of a struggle that couldn’t have gone quietly.

And to the horror.

Jim stands—or rather, he’s been arranged to stand, stripped of flesh, skin turned into a macabre canvas, his body held upright on a broom handle speared through him from his base to his throat. He’s frozen in a ghastly semblance of life, his hollow eye sockets staring blankly ahead, his mouth agape, still stretched around a piece of paper lodged between his teeth. Blood pools beneath him, glistening under the dim light, each drop a fresh echo of brutality.

The landlord lets out a piercing scream, stumbling back in horror, and Joel, teeth clenched and trembling, growls, “Call the fucking cops.”

The woman ran back to her apartment to call the cops, Joel’s jaw tightens, his expression hard as iron. This is no crime of passion, no ordinary act of violence. This is a message.

He steps forward, tearing his gaze from Jim’s body only to focus on the note lodged in his mouth. He reaches up, his fingers brushing the edge of the paper. His heart is racing, each beat a heavy thud echoing through his chest. He’s seen violence. He’s waded through blood and death and destruction, but this… this is personal, a wound carved directly into his soul.

With a deep breath, he pulls the note free, his eyes darting across the letters scrawled in familiar handwriting. 

Your handwriting.

"To my love, Joel,  I don’t know if you’ll ever see this, but if you do, know that you have been everything to me. You gave me life in a way no one else ever did. For every moment, every touch, every look, I thank you. You loved me with a love I had never known, a love that carried me through this world when I didn’t know how to stand on my own. I never blamed you, Joel, not for anything. I know about the things you did, the choices you made. And I want you to know that it's okay—I understand. You were trying to protect me, even if it meant walking through the fire. You did what you had to do to keep me safe, and I could never judge you for that. If anything, I thank you for it. You are my protector, my guardian, my love. I pray for you, Joel. Every night, every moment I have left, I pray. I pray for your peace, for your strength, that God may keep you safe and lead you out of this darkness. I know I’m not there to hold your hand, but you have my heart, and it’s with you always, no matter what. If you read this now it means I found you. I found you just to tell you that I made it real far, Joel. I never blamed you for loving me the way that you did. And while you were torn apart, I would still wait with you there, no matter the cost. Don’t think about it too hard, honey. Or you’ll never sleep a wink at night again. Don’t worry about me or these green eyes, baby. Just know that I love you. And I’ll see you when you get here. I love you forever, Joel You’ll always have me with you, Joel. In your heart, in your soul. Every breath you take, I'll always be with you. Don’t ever blame yourself. You were my savior, my love. I forgive you, and I love you. I love you. I will always love you. Always. Good night, my love. I'll see you soon."

The words blur in his vision, his fingers trembling as he clutches the note. It’s like a knife twisting in his chest, the blade digging deeper with each word, carving into his mind, into his heart.

No, it can't be, no, you can't be gone, no.

“No…” he mutters, his voice strangled. “No, no, no…” 

He feels his stomach drop, the words blurring as his heart races, his chest burning with every shaky breath. Rage, heartbreak, a helpless desperation—it all crashes down on him, layer by suffocating layer, the letter slipping from his hands as he chokes out

"NO! NO! NO!"

His roar echoes through the room, rattling through his entire body, as if he’s trying to break open some hidden door to whatever darkness holds you now. The weight of loss is unbearable. You are gone—or so he thinks.

Then, in the stillness, his eyes catch something else. A second note, hastily pinned to the wall. The writing is hurried, yet taunting, every stroke sharp, every word a threat.

If you want her body, come to this address. P.S. Negan xoxo.

Joel’s fists tighten, rage flooding through his veins, cold and unyielding. He knows it’s a trap, knows Negan is luring him in like a lamb to slaughter.

But he doesn’t care. Because if there’s a chance—even the smallest, faintest chance—you’re alive, he will take it. He will hunt Negan to the ends of the earth.

His pulse pounds in his ears, driven not by fear, but by a brutal, vengeful need that has now taken the place of hope.

In his mind, he sees flashes of all he’s lost, the faces of everyone he’s ever failed. This time, he won’t let go. He can’t.

This isn’t just about vengeance; it’s survival—the survival of what little humanity he has left, and you, the last spark of it he’ll ever know. And if that spark is gone?

Then he’ll burn the world with Negan’s ashes.

[arlemoon]

venus, planet of love, has one moon.

contains: established relationships, implied character death, implied murder, bittersweet endings, angst.

arlecchino’s mind could be equated as a pond. within it contained a diverse body of aquatic creatures festering about. these could be called both her memories and emotions. some lived by feasting upon the seagrass and algae, creating harmonious and symbiotic relationships with those it coexisted with. others, the more ravenous ones, persisted through much more barbaric means akin to invasive creatures. without natural predators, they’re destined to overwhelm the rest of the pond like conquistadors.

it is a cherished skill to be able to create those said predators. or, perhaps, is it but a mere pitiable circumstance in which the mind has forced itself to find ways to cope with trauma? whatever the case was, arlecchino is no novice at containing her invasive creatures, though a hefty sum of her ability to do so was attributable to none other than the one she called her lover. her darling, darling lover.

ironically, the one that nearly sent the effectiveness of all of arlecchino’s developed coping mechanisms down the drain.

it was all too characteristic of life and fate itself that things would twist and turn into such a grotesque ending. what was even more grotesque was how bright the moon reflected against the ocean’s still currents. what was more grotesque was how nothing else seemed amiss in the world. the cliff wasn’t crumbling, the forest wasn’t wilted, and the crickets still played their otherwise comforting melodies as if arlecchino’s mental anguish meant nothing.

what was most grotesque of all was the disgustingly content and gentle smile decorating your face. the face that arlecchino couldn’t bear sparing more than a glance at lest she let anger or sorrow consume her.

she of all people stressed to her children that anger causes impulsivity, and that sorrow causes wavering, and she was an avid practitioner of what she preached. arlecchino tries not to give in and break the silence, but she can’t stop the small utter of your name, weak and defeated.

your response is adeptly timed—elegant and poise as always, she takes note of.

“never in my life could i fathom the idea of hearing my name slip from your tongue with such vulnerability lacing it, my dearest, arlecchino. does this gentle breeze not quell your heart?” you reply, said gentle breeze nearly drowning out the quiet whisper of your voice without exertion. thankfully, arlecchino’s unknowingly trained herself to cling onto every word you say like it was gospel or words of the divine.

her throat is too parched to reply, and it’s as if her pyro vision has snaked its way up to her throat and burnt it up until it shriveled like a plant. still, these moments with you are too precious to let her own mind stop her from talking with you.

“you are such a foolish lover of mine. you of all must know that something as minute as a gust of wind could never hope to pacify something as immense as my unrest,” she slowly starts, finally bringing her gaze onto you for longer than a short glimpse. it was shattering to see how full of life you appeared—flushed skin, hair that was tamed and very clearly tended to.. it all served as a stark juxtaposition to what schemed within your very being and soul.

“we both are foolish lovers, then,” you reply, no beats missed. “the two of us both made mistakes. yours, falling in love with me, and mine, being born.”

arlecchino uncharacteristically bristles at that.

“do not say such ill words about yourself. in fact, do not call what has happened in the past a mistake. mistakes are something to be regretted, and i do not regret and have not once regretted falling in love with you,” she sternly replies, and you have to refrain from letting your slight amusement show.

“pardon my insensitivity, my love. i forget you’d scold anyone who talked ill of me, myself included.”

“you particularly, actually. you mustn’t forget.”

“hm? that wounds me, my love.”

a few seconds may not have summed up to much, but those few seconds of lighthearted banter were heaven itself to arlecchino. after all, small moments like these rarely came. after all, small moments like these would never occur again at all. after all, to arlecchino, these last moments were all she had.

because arlecchino was fair.

she always looked at the grander design—the big picture, and in this case, it was the world at stake. all seven regions were at risk because of this one predicament: you. more specifically, the tumor that grew within your soul, leeching onto your energy until it grew big enough to leave your vessel and infect the world with its curse.

contrary to what some people may assume, arlecchino did not want the world to burn. arlecchino was no villain or antagonist, but she was no saint either. she was somewhere in limbo—an anti-hero of the sort. she wished not for the world to crumble, but rather for it to simply exist.

though, in no foreseeable future could her desires align with you keeping your life.

“arlecchino, my dear? i worry when you fall silent. i cannot help but wonder what goes on inside that mind of yours,” you start, a bittersweet smile coming to your face once more when you hear the sound of materializing metal.

“oh, my love.. how i will always forgive you.”

venus, planet of love, had one moon.

© arlemoon 2024. plagiarize at your own will, but i will be very sad to find any of my uncredited work elsewhere. thank you.

[cleopheanne]

Bharani : the birth of Venus.

Part 1

Let's talk about ancient godesses of love and Bharani nakshatra.

I will base my research on the legend of the dead and resurrected god present in many religious myths coming from the middle east (ps : i'm sorry in advance for the grammar, syntax or spelling mistakes that you may find in this post, english is not my first language)

Bharani, situated in the heart of the rashi of aries is governed by Shukr: Venus but also by Yami and Yama in vedic mythology who are twins and gods respectfully of life and death.

Yama, the main deity of Bharani is said to be one of "8 celestial gatekeepers, who guards eight directional doorways or exits through which souls travel from an earthly plane to other planes of existence" making him the lord of Dharma since at one's death, he decides basing on his actions in what plane should one reincarnate.

Since Yama is responsible for directing the flow of life on Earth the association between bharani and the yoni becomes evident: the female reproducting system serves as a portal for souls to take on a physical form. So bharani as Claire Nakti perfectly described it relates to the feminine ability to receive, hold, nurture and ultimately transform through the womb.

Because Bharani aligns itself with all the feminine qualities by excellence it makes sense as to why Venus is it's ruler.

Venus is the roman name for the goddess Aphrodite: in greek mythology. She is said to be the goddess of love and beauty at large but also the goddess of war and sexuality. First because the ancient greeks saw the duality that links love to war and how they seem to come together through sex.

Also, Aphrodite is said to be born from the sperm of Ouranos when his testicules got cut by his son Saturn as he was always feconding Gaia, the Earth and causing her distress: he was acting cruel regarding their children. The sperm of Ouranus got mixed up with the foam of the Ocean creating Aphrodite which means "risen from the foam". So it was interesting to see that as Shukr also means sperm in sanskrit and it shows the origin of Venus as a fertility goddess too.

This conception of Aphrodite directly links her to ancient goddesses of love such as Ishtar or Inana in Mesopotamian/summerian mythology or Isis in egyptian mythology. Most of the time, these goddesses are the female counterpart of a god that was once mortal, got cursed, died and then came back to life for them to form an immortal couple.

In the case of Ishtar, her consort is Dumuzi or Tammuz and Osiris is the consort of Isis.

In Mesopotamian mythology :

Ishtar or Inana in sumerian is the goddess of love and sexuality, beauty, fertility as well as war because of her status as a " bloody goddess" mostly refering to her character in plenty of myths.

For example: in one story, she became infatuated with the king Gilgamesh, but the latter knowing her fierce reputation, refused her advances. As a result she got furious and unleashed the celestial Bull on Earth which resulted in 7 years of plagues. This celestial bull was later defeated by Gilgamesh and Endiku, and its corpse was throwed in front of Inana. Blinded by rage, she decided that as a punition Enkidu must die and sad at the death of his bestfriend Gilgamesh began his journey to find a cure to Death.

Bharani is a fierce or Ugra nakshatra meaning that its nature is agressive, bold and assertive in pursuing their goals. They are ruthless in the process of accompling what they desire the most and are inclined to extreme mood swings that can result in them to be "blinded" by their extreme emotions perfectly expressing the passionate character of Venus and her other equivalents in differents pantheons of antiquity.

Inana/ Ishtar's story with Dumuzi/Tammur begins as she was convinced to chose him by her brother Utu. Then she got married with the shepphard Dumuzi instead of whom she prefered the farmer: Enkinmdou. During the courtship, Inana prefered the fine textile of the farmer and his beer rather than the thick wool and milk of Dumuzi. The preference for the shepphard illustrates that at the time the Mesopotamian civilisation was known for their proliferent agriculture with the egyptians in the region, so this myth encapsulate the opposition between nomads and sendatary people at this specifific time period.

By the way, another symbol of Bharani is the cave and traditionnaly, the cave was used as a storage room for food. Also Bharani's purpose is Artha so these individuals are motivated to accumalate resources and provide safety and security, so Bharani can be linked to the exploitation of natural ressources like the soil illustrating the preference of Ishtar for the farmer. This is reinforced also by its Earth element.

So coming back to the myth, in a mesopotamian text called Inana's Descent to the Underworld, the goddess goes to Kur (hell) with the intent of conquering it, and her sister Ereshkigal who rules the Underworld, kills her. She learns that she can escape if she finds a sacrifice to replace her, in her search, she encounters servants who were mourning her death however she finds Dumuzi relaxing on a throne being entertained by enslaved girls. Enraged by his disloyalty she selects him as a sacrifice and he is dragged to the Underworld by demons.

He is eventually resurrected by Inana and they become an "immortal couple" as he may only come back to life for half of the year, being replaced by his son (?) who is also his reincarnation for the other half of the same years, so describing the cycle of regeneration of life.

Other mythologycal stories of goddesses in the near east describe a similar patterns:

The goddess Asherah is described as being the mother and the lover of her son Adonis.

The goddess Cybele in the phrygian pantheon takes the form of an old woman as she described as the mother of everything and of all. And at the same time she is the consort of Attis who his her own son (wtf ?)

Also, Yama and Yami are implicated in a incestuous entanglement where his sister Yama wanted to lay with him however he refused establishing himself as a god with an infaillible moral campus.

All of these representations illustrate the relation between the masculine and the feminine, life and regenration which are all topics related to Bharani nakshatra. Women by their capacity to give life are seen as the source of life and therefore are eternal as they are able to regenarate themselves through daughters which are identical to them whereas man who is unable to reproduce by himself, is therefore mortal feels the need to associate with her to resurrect through a son who is identical to him. Bharani exiting as the embodiment of the link between "the father and the offspring" which is the feminine vessel.

So this is certainly part 1, I think that these ancient myths are where Claire Nakti found her inspiration for her series on Bharani.

[sadcoms]

timepetals thoughts i keep having:

i know that the assumption is “she is my s-” means soulmate but i always think he just thinks of rose as his soul. less that she completes him or is his other half and more that she just is his conscience and any goodness he may have is hers. he was born out of love for her, she is such an integral part of him, she is his soul itself.

i know everyone has taken permanent damage from the “how long are you going to stay with me” and why the general focus is on the doctor’s reaction but the way rose says forever gets to me. she’s not giddy or girlish when she says it, in some ways she almost sounds resigned to it, which has wonderfully angsty connotations in the timeline of s2. but it’s why it really works for me, she is so dead serious and committed when she says it, because she understands everything it means (and therefore part of her feels solemn about it). it has a lot of weight to it. even the first time donna says she’s going to travel with the doctor forever to martha at the end of the doctor’s daughter she sounds a lot more fanciful.

every time i hear the doctor scream when rose loses her grip in doomsday i just think that he would absolutely not have survived her actually being sucked into the void.

i always think the vocals in doomsday are similar to the doctor’s theme so to me the angry rock music is rose’s side and the vocals are his, rather than the howling wolf idea i’ve heard some people compare it to. how the doctor’s theme is lonely and mournful with its sparse instruments but calm, everything the ninth doctor was, while doomsday is heartbroken and angry and an entire orchestra because it’s two people overcome with grief together. how doomsday becomes such a motif for both characters individually, even when they're separated.

i still struggle to comprehend that the doctor wearing floral ties in s3 is canon and NOT a fanfic trope like you're telling the doctor said "i need a floral motif as close to my two hearts as possible" and you're describing him as something other than a grieving widower???

the doctor really could not go anywhere in s3 without running into some kind of couple but i never see people talk about the parallels in 42. “we chose this ship together / he keeps me honest so i don’t want false hope” and the way the doctor literally gives mcdonnell his condolences through gritted teeth?? the fact that she would rather die with korwin than be without him and have it be her fault

that the doctor, king of self-loathing, saw rose dressed as his ninth self and carrying a giant weapon and he not only RAN to her but then deliberately protected her from the trauma of seeing him change again. and then tentoo immediately picks a blue suit to be like now i’m matchey matchey with rose 🥰 the universe was ending and he’d seen rose again for two actual minutes but the doctor was so utterly focused on her.

how tentoo truly is rose's doctor, especially as he's got that little bit of nine in him. he's born out of the same love and protection of his previous incarnations but he loses a heart and the curse of the timelords and goes oh, this is rose's heart. and then he wears the blue mourning suit and yes, there is still mourning, but there is also the start of the rest of their lives together.

how the doctor’s hair most noticeably changed after school reunion to become spikier and less boyish. how that coincides with him using mickey to put distance between himself and rose now that he’s been reminded of rose’s mortality.

how wild the doctor and jack’s conversation in utopia is. the way the doctor says “rose” like it’s an entire explanation in itself because even before she absorbed the time vortex she fundamentally changed the life of everyone she met. the way he says “everything she did was so human” and the way he accepts jack’s sorry to him because there’s no trying to deny his feelings from jack, not when he saw his ninth self. the way jack has BARELY finished his sentence about watching rose grow up when the doctor casually asks him if he wants to die, the almost playful way he says it. one semi suicidal immortal who spent half of the season trying to get himself killed to another, both of them still kind of toying with the idea. both of them trying to have hope even though they've lost so much.

[cissa-calls]

Rewatching Crimson Peak & Things of Focus and Notice:

As a child at her mothers funeral, Edith wears butterfly/moth earrings

Is the pen her father gifts her the one she later uses to stab Lucille? He describes the importance of having “The right tool for the job,” is that foreshadowing for gifting her the tool to begin her escape from Crimson Peak?

Is Edith wearing a butterfly hair clip when she dances the waltz with Thomas?

Lucille’s iconic crimson red gown is so detailed, so beautiful. It represents the skeletal ghosts with its spinal column along the back, crimson peak itself in color, the carapace of a bug on the sleeves and structure, and the upper bodice has trim that blooms outward (present similarly in her blue gown) but is bisected by buttons…creating a familiar shape…a moth?

The candle they hold during the waltz is held at the same level Edith holds her iconic candelabra, a subtle parallel

The trim on the collar of Lucille’s black dress references the spikes and trims of gothic architecture - which is very heavily featured in Allerdale Hall

Lucille says that: “At home we only have Black moths, formidable creatures but they lack beauty.” Knowing the parallel between her and moths, it implies that she sees herself as a survivor and powerful, but something no longer beautiful because of it

Lucille places the butterfly she holds directly into the ants, an action that’s brutal but quick. Is it foreshadowing to her execution of Edith’s death? Something quick for such a beautiful thing, done by her hand?

The LOOK Lucille gives Thomas when they realize Edith’s father knows their past. THE LOOK (JESSICA CHASTAIN YOUR ACTING)

“You seem the more collected one my dear” Lucille is called this. She always holds the mission undetered in her mind, as opposed to Thomas who seems more easily swayed by emotions

When Thomas breaks Edith’s heart by ripping apart her book. He says: “What do you dream of? A kind man? A pure soul to be redeemed? A wounded bird to be nourished?” He is telling her exactly what he is. None of those things, none of the dreams she has built of him in her mind. Not with a past and life such as his.

The significance of gramophones and wax cylinders: it is what plays when Edith’s father is murdered, it is also what saves her from meeting the same fate

I want to know more about Lucille!! Her character is so rich, so so complex, she needs more screen time!!

Need a prop replica of the ring NOW

[the house] “is a privilege we were born into, one we can never relinquish” METAPHOR ALERT METAPHOR ALERT metaphor for the cycles of abuse and trauma they could not break

HOW THE FRICK did I MISS the fact that Thomas’ workshop is in the attic when that was where him and Lucille were locked up as children. SO MANY IMPORTANT SCENES HAPPEN THERE. So many significant to their past we never see, so many ghosts not visible but are so real and present to have caused this

The trail of smoke like red essence that emanates from the ghosts as they walk, like they are still bleeding

Lucille’s hair looks black in darker lighting, but a dark brunette in others. It’s provides a black, dark shroud when she’s in America, and catches more light when she’s in Allerdale Hall

“I like to think she can see us from up there. I don’t want her to miss a single thing we do.” UM MA’AM

“…in time, everything will be right” LUCILLE QUEEN OF FINAL OMINOUS STATEMENTS IN SCENES

The amount I WISH to explore this set. To pry apart each detail and pick apart each piece, so much of it had to be handcrafted pieces for the movie or vintage pieces sourced for it. LET ME IN

THE LIGHTING MUAH

The ghost in the hallway has a rope dragging behind her…is this a gory detail, or an allusion to how she may have died (if not by poison)?

The ghost in Edith’s dream is pointing, though it is never shown to what. Is it to the exit, her warning to leave as all the other ghosts try to do?

The children’s laughter after the presumed scream of their mother’s ghost as she is stabbed, is it just for creepy effect, or did Lucille and Thomas actually laugh after they murdered her?

The scar on Lucille’s lip? Never noticed it before!

Not the first time I’ve noticed it, but the act of her clutching hot steaming food with her bare hands is chilling every single time

Were the bodies of Thomas’s wives left in the vats of clay? I don’t know HOW I didn’t make that connection before, originally i thought it was merely for creepy effect.

Many people villainize Lucille and try to make Thomas out to be solely a victim. But as stated in the wax cylinder, he was fueled by his desire to pay for and make his machine. Him and Lucille are both complacent in using their victims money for their own gain

We need to bring Chatelaine’s back into fashion. That is all.

The scrape of the spoon over the porcelain cup, it screeches and is a subtle way that shows Lucille act of caring has a harshness to it, an unpleasant sound resulting from an otherwise pleasant action: tending to Edith

Such an interesting camera choice to have the camera focus in a circular inwards and outwards

also also Lucille has a temple scar on her forehead?

The small amount of glee Lucille takes saying Edith “thought [she] was a writer” as she throws the pages to her novel in the fire.

The absolute deadpan, matter-of-fact-ness Lucille has to Edith when she signs the papers “you have nothing to live for” & “mercy killings.” This is a familiar repeated cycle

“Sign your name! Sign your bloody name!” Bloody is not just for emphasis. Edith’s name is soon to be nothing but blood

Lucille’s night gown sleeves as she flies down the stairs in pursuit - like a moths wings fluttering towards its prey

Lucille and Edith fought each other with bare feet on the stone and in the snow

Lucille is the only one of the two who knows how to start Thomas’s machine, because she was the one who witnessed it working

It is only the stab wound on Thomas’ face that bleeds and smokes when he is a ghost, perhaps because it is the wound that bears his betrayal by Lucille, reminiscent of tears of his lingering pain

Edith now has a facial scar, gifted to her by Lucille, who bore ones of her own. It is a passage, a continuing of the cycle, but it is its finale. It is Edith’s souvenir from Lucille, who took her own souvenir (her hair) from the other like a prize

[rubikqiub]

Secrets of the Heart

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Part [ 1 / ? ]

Warning : +18 + a bit incestuous(?

____ was born as Rhanyera Targaryen's second daughter… Which was a privilege itself but also a fact that complicated the things, as she held affections towards Aemond Targaryen.

From a young age, she always reproached her brothers and her uncle Aegon about their treatment and teasing towards Aemond.

As for Aemond, he always had a kind of love for her. Always so gentle and protective of him.

Though there were times when he imagined a life with ____, soon a feeling of resentment and hatred reminded him that it was the princess's brothers, the ones who mistreated and mocked him all his childhood. If he were to marry her, he would have to deal with the existence of his brothers-in-law….

In any case, such feelings were not usually enough to make him feel less for the princess. Even if it was silent, it was clear the affection they had for each other. No matter the inter-family conflicts, ____ would always contemplate her uncle as that little boy who suffered the attitudes, words, and actions of cold and apathetic people who only sought the power of the throne. And that weirdly would just make her love him more. The very idea of someday being able to give him the love he never had tickled her soul.

At parties and feasts, the two of them would try to stay together, trying not to be obvious. They would brush their fingers in soft caresses condemned to remain hidden.

They would exchange glances whenever they kept each other company in the castle library. Aemond would accompany her on her usual walks in the garden, hinting more than once how ungraceful the flowers looked compared to her.

____ would practice with sword and bow in secret, as she really longed to be a woman capable of defending herself. Aemond would discover her and fall even more madly in love with her. He loved knowing how strong and bold his princess could be.

Secretly they would meet to practice the arts of combat. ____, more than once, finding herself defeated. But that would not discourage her.

While Aemond well enjoyed their practice meetings, the truth was that he enjoyed them more for the pleasure of being able to spend time with her. Watching her be competitive and fierce, yet persistent and strong. He saw her in what he wanted to believe was her purest side. One that didn't hesitate to present herself as genuinely as she really was. One who seemed to completely forget her titles and her education as a “miss”. One that Aemond was beginning to suspect might perhaps be attracted to him.

—You seem to see me less as a lady by every passing day, my prince— she said amused as she remained on the floor and vaguely wiped her dirty hands against her clothes.

—On the contrary, princess, as far as I'm concerned, you look more and more like one with every day we spend together— he said with a sly smile as he bent down to sit next to her.

—"Silly"— she mumbled with a pout that she undid as she felt a stinging pain on her lower lip. And Aemond noticed.

With a frown he leaned down careful as he gently stroke his thumb over the small bleeding cut on her skin.

—I'm sorry my princess, I didn't mean to hurt you….

As he continued to caress gently, with his gaze fixed on what he had caused; ____ could only watch him.

How was it possible that a entire kingdom saw his uncle as a cold-hearted man that should be feared?

He knew very well that this was the truth. He would never be a friendly and gentle prince…. but for ____…. Aemond was determined to be a different man. One who was worthy of his niece's affection. One who could show compassion and affection. He was bent on building a version of himself that was reserved solely and exclusively for ____.

The tension was palpable even in the silence. Their breaths still hitched from the recent combat they had. Aemond squeezed ____'s lip lightly, managing to get a small trickle of blood to drip out. She frowned a little from the pain. But it faded away as soon as she felt Aemond's warm lips on hers.

A shaky sigh escaping her lips as soon as she felt the touch of his tongue against her wound. ____ felt herself melt.

Her reaction only encouraged Aemond to finally show his feelings openly. If she did hate him, she would have turned away by now.

Gently, he lifted her enough to place her on his lap. His hand sliding to her cheek to deepen the kiss. A tangible smile across his lips each time ____ let out a gasp.

____ wrapped his neck to pull him even closer. She gave a little prance as soon as Aemond's cool fingers began to fumble with the straps of her corset. She too set about untying the prince's clothes. He gasped in despair as he hurried to completely undo the bindings. When his shirt was completely unfastened he slipped it over his head.

____ traced tenderly each of the small scars that adorned the exposed skin. Aemond felt himself melt under the girl's affection and care. With a hand on her lower back, he made her lie down on the cold rock of the cave they were in.

____ rubbed her thighs in a gesture that made Aemond let out a giggle. She looked cute being so desperate for him. But Aemond wouldn't rush something he had been wanting for so long. No…he would do it as slow as he could to memorize every second of the act.

He leaned in to bring their lips together again, this time deepening the contact with gentle nibbles on the wounded lip. Savoring in between the taste of rust that the sparse blood from earlier had left behind. His hand still rested on her face, while the other rested on her lower back. Tortuously he set about sliding the corset down to reveal her skin. ____ moaned with a tiny bit of pain as Aemond squeezed one of her breasts.

The contact of their lips broke momentarily as Aemond began a trail of wet kisses that went from her neck to stop at the valley of her breasts.

Aemond was gentle with every caress. His adoration for the girl palpable with every touch. ____ squirmed under the touch of the lips that toyed with her nip.

As she writhed under the prince's nibbles, he began to slide his hand down, feeling the wetness beginning to form on the princess's clothing. Gently, he moved the fabric out of the way, brushing his fingers over her skin.

—A-Aemond….—

The noticeable desperation in ____'s voice, made Aemond smile. Carefully he began to slide his fingers, his gaze fixed on the princess's expressions as to whether or not he should stop. ____ clung even tighter to his back, trying to find the support her legs could no longer provide. She hid her face between the valley of the prince' neck, trying to contain her gasps. Aemond planted a little kiss on her neck.

—No one would hear us, princess….

—Mjum— a mumbled hum was the only thing the girl managed to formulate as soon as Aemond's fingers went deeper.

His fingers, which at first were gentle and considerate, began to move with more fervor. ____ muffled her gasps against the prince' neck, while he planted little kisses on her shoulder to soothe her.

It didn't take long for ____ to reach her climax and get all dizzy by the overwhelming sensations her body was experiencing. Aemond laughed softly as he stroked her back affectionately.

The woman, still in small spasms cradled Aemond's face, fixating on the violet eye that watched her so adoringly. Instinctively, the prince' face leaned down seeking more of the soft contact.

Her free hand slid behind the prince, seeking the binding of the cloth covering the eye that had so long ago been pierced by Luke's dagger.

As soon as Aemond sensed her intentions, he stopped her by grabbing her suddenly by the wrist.

____ flinched with a little fear of messing things up, but if she was going to do this she wanted to do it well. Seeing him as he was. Scars and all.

Lovingly and a little hesitantly, she reached over to leave a little kiss on his eyelid. Then on his cheek and finally on his lips.

Aemond felt himself melt under the gesture, making him surrender to the girl's silent insistence to remove the cloth that hid what had once been his eye. Though still reluctant, he loosened his grip on ____'s wrist, puckering slightly as soon as he was fully exposed before her. He avoided her gaze, expecting to meet the same pity with which his mother the Queen would give him.

But when ____'s touch brought him to see her face to face, he found anything but pity.

—I'm so sorry about this my prince…I should have been there…—she said with affection and a hint of guilt.

He smiled softly. ____ was as warm and gentle as ever.

How had he spent so much time refraining from expressing his feelings for such a lovely person?

—It doesn't matter anymore… I have you now…—

The girl filled the scarred area with kisses and caresses, and Aemond couldn't lose his mind much more. Between caresses and kisses full of desire and repressed affection, both spent the rest of the afternoon exploring each part from their bodies. With prolonged silences in which words were superfluous. The friction and touch of the other expressed more than anything else.

Aemond loved her madly, and now he understood that it was reciprocated.

What happened between them since that afternoon only fueled his passion and affection for the princess; who little by little began to repair his soul which was once broken.

₊ ︵︵︵﹒໒·͜:)𑇓ㅤ﹒︵︵︵ ₊˚⊹

This is the first time I write something so “graphic” jsjsjs. Do I feel embarrassed? Yep. Did I enjoyed it? Eeeeem ^^;

The good thing is that everything I write under this user is basically anonymous. So if anyone asks, nope, it wasn't me.

( I was thinking of making a 2nd part for this shot so if you guys are interested let me know Uwu)

[noctxj]

the reaper | part i

as far back as human memory can recall, the origin of flower marks remains unknown. if perhaps they came during or after the birth of humanity, or are benevolent gifts from the gods to aid ones navigation in life— milestones to remember and learn from, a north point on a compass lest you stray from your path. regardless, they have always been. and while flower marks remain an important aspect of ones journey, there is none other more significant than the soul flower mark. wherein the moment someone is born, this mark blooms above ones heart, as it is considered a pure reflection of who that person is and will be.

part i / part ii

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

so it was no wonder that during a gloomy winter evening, stricken screams of hysteria and the shrill wailings of a newborn baby echoed off the walls of the cold estate in a coalescing manner. the head midwife having no choice but to hurriedly pass the tiny squirming bundle to a reluctant nurse and focus on trying to placate the madam’s delirium— 

"that is no child of mine! keep that accursed child away from me! nurse--!" 

flower marks are a language all on its own, one that humans do not need to learn. rather, it is an inbuilt knowledge and understanding. and in the case for this newborn child, their soul flower mark had already predetermined their fate as forsaken.

as amidst the turbulent mess of bloodied towels and blankets, death had just been born. 

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

initially mesmerising in its opulent visage, its only when the mind catches up and registers its meaning that its beauty is quickly replaced with fear and alarm. 

a blooming grandiflora rose of black petals mixed with subtle hues of reds and haunting purples rests above the girls heart, with bramble-like stems arching up across her frail collarbones to ensure it is there to stay.

a black rose, promising the bearer as the omen of death.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

even at such a young age, the cruelty of fate had already determined that little flora would not be given mercy or reprieve from the reality that is her cursed existence. a forsaken trail of purple anemones had lightly entangled itself amongst the thorny stems of her soul flower, almost as if to placate its loneliness. 

a swath of lilies of the valley sprawl from her left shoulder over and down her shoulder blade, the burning trail of pain and suffering almost numb to her senses. 

and then upon the delicate skin of her left wrist lay a singular bloom— a moonflower, reflecting little flora’s most earnest thoughts, dreaming of love from her own mother.

all these marks permanently etching themselves into little flora’s skin before her third birthday.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

despite living under the same roof as her mother, rarely did little flora see her; instead following in her late grandfathers footsteps as a ruthless businesswoman, silver spoon in her mouth and all. instead she herself was always surrounded by staff always heeding to her mother’s orders, to "always have that child within your sights", with an ever rotating door of tutors and nannies.

“madam, miss flora is an intellectually gifted child, it is quite remarkable! she has just—", 

"… so?" her mother had sharply interrupted, “a high level of intelligence is a common trait within this family. i expect you to provide the girl with more difficult material to not only accomplish but also excel in; anything less than perfect and dare i say failure to meet my— this family's standards, will not be tolerated. or are you stating that you are not competent enough to fulfil your tutor roles' duties and responsibilities?"

"i— no— my apologies madam, of course there is no problem. if you would allow me, i have colleagues who would be thrilled to assist in miss flora’s academic—"

"do as you please. now, i have an important meeting with a gentlemen flying in from st. petersburg. a mr. z it appears… the estate staff will assist with your queries about the girl. so do refrain from contacting me any further-"

so as determined as a young child her age could be, she promised she'd keep being good to strive for her mothers praise, be an obedient and perfect daughter that her mother would realise is worthy to be loved— despite her soul flower.

“a curse that should never be shown to anyone lest she receive punishment,” her mother would often remind her.

a punishment that envelopes the expanse of her back as raised scars. milestones just as permanent as her flower marks. more lilies of the valley creeping down her back. 

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

little flora never knew who her father was, had asked her mother once and received a harsh slap across her cheek, her small body whipping to the carpeted floor from the force. 

the silent burning of nightshade on her right pointer finger ironically mocking the hush motion.

she never cared to ask again. 

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

little flora remembers the day she believed her mother had finally saw value in loving her. barely eight years old and still holding onto that naive hope— and she foolishly believed she finally did.

waking up early in the morning as per her routine, only to see her mother sitting in the chair beside her bed, happiness written across her usually severe expression, looking at little flora herself. blinking once— twice— then rubbing her hands across her eyes to make sure what she is seeing is real and not a dream.

“good morning flora,” what is going on— “you and i have an agenda for today, so please come downstairs for breakfast once you’re ready.”

is today the day? did she finally do it? is her mother finally learning to love her—

“as it is a special occasion, i’ve taken the liberty of selecting your attire. now, off you go to wash up.”

little flora had been ecstatic, her heart thrumming like a hummingbird out of excitement to prove that her mother would not regret placing value on her. 

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

little flora’s only ever seen her mother’s soul flower once, only by chance of course. her evening robe slightly loose across her shoulders, her motions lax from the glass of wine she was nursing— a far cry from her usually sharp and elegant appearance. 

a beautifully victorious gladiolus cradled upon her chest. she envied it, a blessing to be born with. unlike herself. however, it wasn’t until later that she understood why her mother despised her existence so much.

as victory and death are eternal enemies— always on opposing sides. 

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

“it is the perfect place for you to grow in flora, a place for you to finally thrive in,” her mother’s words had echoed in flora’s ears.

she doesn’t know how long ago that was.

she didn’t even feel alive.

flora’s small body strapped down to a cold metal table, no longer wearing the attire her mother had especially picked out for her. instead wearing a customised medical gown, allowing an unobstructed view of her accursed soul flower mark to the blurry shapes her dull gaze had tried to focus on.

the harsh clinical smell of the room burning her nose, and the glaring overhead lights further disorienting her senses. flora couldn’t move her head if she tried, a strap also tightly bound across her forehead attached to the metal table. 

what is this place? why would mother send me here? this is wrong, they must of got it wrong, i shouldn’t be here, i—

flora could feel the burning of a new mark directly below her soul flower. almost the same in size she guesses, if only she could move her head.

the agonising pain of a broken heart flourishing as a vibrant yellow rose.

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.✦ . ˳

tric’s notes

this highkey spawned from my hanahaki disease fic. flower meanings/symbolism was a bit difficult to grasp (ie. countries, cultures, time periods), so don't take this too seriously lol. 

i was hoping to make this a oneshot but it just kept going ugh. this is unedited. part ii may be more backstory, part iii the boys will appear (no promises though, just a rough idea).

i recommend listening to “my flower” by ladies code. it’s a korean song but i think it matches the mood of this piece - so i encourage listening to it.

thanks for stopping by!! ♡︎

crossposted on ao3 (same username)

[cakerybakery]

Cain was not born alive. Adam took his body to bury but found he could not bury his son.

Sorrow that seeped into his bones turned to rage seeing his son in that hole. It was a punishment from the heavens for eating the apple. The child was innocent but they punished him anyways. He’d never even had a breath of air before God took him from them.

Something primal tear from his throat and he hoped the heaven could hear his rage.

Sore and tired he crumbled to the ground to sob some more.

He heard the hiss before he saw the snake. Black as night the creature twisted itself up his leg. Adam froze.

Was this to be his punishment for blaming God and screaming at the heavens for Cain’s death? Being bit by a snake not unlike the one Lucifer turned into in Eden? Would his death be slow and painful? Would he have time to say good bye to Eve at least?

Or would she stumble upon his corpse next to that of their stillborn son?

How cruel were the heavens today?

It slithered around and up his thigh under the length of woven fabric Eve made for him to wear. Adam shivered as its head crossed against his cock. ‘Bit me anywhere but there. Please, God. Not there.’

It continued on its way up his hip.

Another hiss and a second snake, identical in breed started up his other leg.

The first made its way up his back, coiling itself around his neck, its flicking tongue licking at his ear.

The second snake took a different path. Its body rubbing itself as it slithered under his ball and up his ass before crossing at his hips to go up his chest. The scales rubbing along a nipple as it went. It entwined itself with the other snake around his neck and hiss in his other ear.

Together they spoke.

“I heard your screams even down here, First of Mankind. What pains you thus?” The snakes slithered around each other, always writing and moving.

“Is that a baby I see?” One head nearly twisting all the way around to look closer as the tongue of the other flicked against Adam’s lips.

“It sleeps to still. Why have you placed it in a hole?” The one licking Adam’s mouth with its tongue asked.

“He’s dead.” Adam muttered out, trying not to open his mouth, but at was nigh impossible and the forked tongue slipped in, tasting him.

It moved on back to his ear, flicking against the rim of his ear and asking, “would you like him back?”

Adam’s heart nearly stopped.

“I still contain the breathe of life in my lungs, my dear sweet apple.” One of the snakes, Adam had lost track of which was which, spoke as it grazed Adam’s throat and the lump within. Where the half eaten bite was contained. “But I’ll need a seed from the bite you took to for it to take root in your boy.”

“Yes, I would do anything to have him back.”

Anything at all.

If it cost him his soul he would pay the price.

“Then open your mouth and let me in.”

Adam did as he was told and the snake entered him easily. The head filled his mouth and pushed down to his throat. He gagged, his body trying to rid itself of the intrusion. His hands flew to his mouth to pull Lucifer’s snake out but the other slithering beast bound his hands and he could only double over onto his hands and knees. His bodied tried to expel the monster from his throat. It contracted around it and he heaved but in further it slid. Tears sprung from his eyes and his lungs demanded air.

At last the snake withdrew and Adam was left gasping. He threw up into the dirt as a hand grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head up painfully.

“Was it as good for you as it was for me, my sweet apple?” Lucifer smiled cruelly down, as naked as Adam had been in Eden. A single seed held between his fingers. “Perhaps once I’m done with your son, you’ll thank me by letting me use that mouth of yours again.”

“Never.” Adam spat the last of the bile in his mouth at Lucifer’s bare hooves.

“Never say never, apple of my eye. I’ll add you to my collection yet.” He let Adam go and the snakes released Adam’s hands.

They slithered up their master’s body until they settled in his hair like a crown, or fallen halo.

“My price for this gift of life is a soul.”

Adam knew that would be the price he paid, it would be worth it he decided that already. He looked at the body of his baby. He would pay any price to have him back. “Anything.”

“The soul of the first human to die.”

Lucifer’s words stole Adam’s breathe away. Cain’s soul? No! Not his son!

Adam looked up from his hands and knees. Desperately he grabbed at Lucifer’s legs. He buried his face into Lucifer’s thighs and wailed, “no, no! Please. Take my soul instead! Not my son’s! Please! Even you can’t be so cruel.”

“Hmm, as much as I like you in this position, who said I would be taking your son’s soul?”

Shaking and still crying, Adam looked up into Lucifer’s yellow and red eyes. “But you said-“

“I said, ‘the soul of the first human to die’, your son never lived. He never drew his first breath. He grew in Eve’s belly but he had no soul yet. You are right, even I am not as cruel as the heavens to damn a babe before it lives. My deal is fair. A breath of life in exchange for whoever’s soul dies first. Keep your children safe until your passing and then you’ll be the one I collect.”

There was hope then.

“Unless you’re going to use that mouth, release me so I might finish my task.”

Adam pushed himself away, suddenly more aware than he wanted to be of how close his face had been to Lucifer’s dick.

Lucifer’s laugh was never this harsh in Eden, Adam hated it. He couldn’t look at the monster that had once been his friend.

A hand grabbed Adam’s face and jerked it up. “Keep those pretty eyes on me.” The thumb slipped into Adam’s mouth and tugged at the corner, ran along the inside to open his mouth further before running along his teeth.

Adam bit down and could taste the damned golden blood of the fallen angel.

Lucifer moaned, “harder, my apple blossom. Maybe later I’ll give you the privilege of getting to taste more than my blood as I spilled into that toothy mouth of yours.”

He did as Lucifer said and dug his teeth into the bone, then tore his mouth away. He spat the blood onto the ground.

“Get it over with you sick freak.”

“Such sweet nothings from my pretty little temptation. Never forget, even if you do make it to heaven, part of you will always belong to me and I’ll have it back one day.”

Lucifer turned from Adam and squatted down by Cain’s stiff body. He twirled the seed between his fingers, holding it to the light, inspecting it. “You kept it save these last few years. I could grow a whole new tree from this. Fill hell with all sorts of monsters. We never did shake on it.” He turned that wicked grin of his onto Adam’s stricken face. “Poor sapling. I’m teasing you.”

With an in take of breath, Lucifer turned back to the seed and Cain’s body. Lucifer held his breath, he held his bleeding hand over the seed and let a single droplet of blood coat the seed, then he exhaled onto the seed. It glowed and turned translucent gold.

“A soul.” Lucifer grinned, then crushed the seed.

Adam’s heart leapt into his throat and he couldn’t scream for the blockage.

Lucifer pulled the crushed seed with his hands into two gloops. He rolled them between his fingertips, one in each hand, then placed one in his mouth and swallowed. “I’ll keep that for later.”

The second he pushed into Cain’s mouth. Closing the mouth with one hand, Lucifer pressed down with two fingers of his other hand onto Cain’s tiny chest. He pinched Cain’s nose closed and his lungs filled with the soul that had been placed in his mouth. Lucifer released the babe and Cain cried out for the first time.

Adam snatched the boy up. He needed to get him to Eve. Their son was alive!

“Don’t forget, Adam. If you don’t want to damn an innocent soul, hurry up and die.”

[bethelighthalazia]

Chapter 1 - A journey´s beginning

Summary:  Y/n witnesses a fight on the village´s market and things start to get stirred up in her life. Who are these strangers and why does she feel that something about them will decide her fate?

Genre: adventure, fluff

Pairing:  ?? x fem!half-siren!reader

Additional Characters: ATEEZ, Stray Kids

Word Count:  2014

Warnings: mentions of violence, mentions of weapons, fighting

Networks: @mirohs-aurora-society

Notes: There might be an explanation ‘chapter’ for some things, only if you all want/need it. As for now, ‘mother rain’ is just a name that y/n has given her parent. The being itself does use any pronouns, but is feminine appearance wise, which is why y/n calls them mother.

additional links: << PrevCh Masterpost Next Ch >>

© by bethelighthalazia. Do not repost, copy or translate. Unless stated otherwise, those works are mine and born from my own ideas. I don't have any claim on the mentioned real existing Idols whatsoever.

“When the red moon rises, And paints the land in its fiery shade. A child shall be born to land and sea, Its’ heart's voice with the power to unite. The path will be torn,  But a heart's melody will lead. Clawed embraces like a thorn, The one eyed’s Illusion offers a home. When the child gains powers,  Land and sea their witness and friend. Deep ocean's bell calling home all sirens, To gather under one heart's voice. A new queen will be raised to her throne,  Her call heard far and near. Friends won't shy, fighting for her to rise, When blood is against her, seeking demise.”

It had been eons since the last red moon hung in the night sky, so the excitement rose high when the birth of y/n fell on the day of this very rare lunar event. Highly anticipated amongst the sirens of this clan, since the child born on this day would become the ruler of their entire species, even though y/n was only the outcome of her mother being bedded by a human pirate. Excitement was replaced with disappointment the moment y/n took the first breath of air and water, because even though she looked as if screaming from the depths of her lungs, no sound was heard. The girl was born without a voice. How could this thing become their queen one day? This had to be kept a secret, the child disposed of very quickly. So, in the dead of night, one chosen of the clan's warriors was sent to bring the child to the highest mountain of the nearest island, so it would not be able to touch the sea and soon starve and dry out. 

Fate had different plans for this half siren though, and even if left for its death, the child survived thirteen days without food or water before she was found by none other than the soul of the sea itself. Disguised as a human being, they took her in and raised y/n, naming her after a mythical remedy that had long been forgotten. The child's youth was filled with warmth, wonders and love, protected and sheltered by the incarnation of the sea itself, yet living in a small hut on land.

Years went by and the little rainbow scaled half-siren rose into a beautiful young woman, her white hair shimmering in all the colors of the light when swimming in the water. While growing older, she learnt to hide her scales from human eyes, so she could walk through the nearby village, sirens have always been feared and often hunted. Every time she'd leave home to visit the market, y/n had been told to be careful. “Remember, my child. The wolves control these lands, do not cross the crescent moon pack.” The sea always told her and, once again, the young woman nodded with a smile. Y/n had heard these words often enough that they have carved itself into her mind by now. The basket for goods from the market in hand, her flute and a bag with some coin attached to her belt, the young half siren walked over to her parent, kissing their forehead.

‘Do not worry, mother rain. I will not stray from my path. My friend will accompany me again.’ Y/n communicates, using her hands and a language without words for this. Not many people understand her, nor do they want to, most of them call her way of communicating a work of magic and don't want anything to do with it. At the name y/n had given them, the sea let out a melodic laugh, shaking his head. “You have yet to explain to me why you call me that, my little tadpole,” they hum, cupping the girl's cheek for a moment before sending her off to the market. 

Why does y/n call them mother rain? She doesn't quite know herself. Mother, because they always have been there for her as far as she could remember. They're her mother, it's that easy. Rain, because - well, why? Walking down the dirt path to the village, y/n kept thinking about an explanation and before entering the market, she found it. The falling rain always has been soothing for y/n, the feeling on her scales, the sound it makes when hitting the ground, it just made her feel safe and calm. Mother rain had the same effect for the young woman. And she never learned her parent’s real name, nor is she aware that they are the sea itself.

“Y/n! Over here,” a familiar voice called out when y/n neared the village, drawing her attention to the young male, who's crouched on a boulder. His ashen brown hair falling into his face didn't hide a new scar under his eye. Her eyes wide and brows furrowed in worry, y/n pointed at the scar when she came closer, causing the young man to chuckle. “This? Oh, it's fine, don't worry.” He hummed, jumped off the boulder and stepped closer to y/n, so she could inspect the scar. “Wolves do cry sometimes. I just had to be reminded of it.” Now that y/n was able to see it up close, the scar reminded her of tears trailing down the man's face, causing her to huff out some air. “Don't be upset, please. It didn't hurt…well, not badly at least-” His words drew another huff from y/n, who shook her head. Her best friend often misjudged the gravity of some of his actions, so he got into trouble a lot and therefore got punished by - well, she's not sure by whom. Although, now that she thought about it - he usually referred to himself as one of the wolves. Y/n always downplayed this as him joking around, but what if he really is one of the feared pack controlling these lands?

A tap on her nose pulled her out of her thoughts, causing her to look up at the face of her friend. Jeongin never judged her, nor did he ever harm her or get her into dangerous situations, so why should she judge him? Even if he was one of the pack, she would never want to lose him as her best friend, one of the only people in this village who liked her and talked to her. “Did Rain send you to the market again?” The young man asked, gesturing towards the empty basket and when y/n nodded, he took her hand to walk with her to the village. Jeongin never cared or minded that she was mute, he didn't need to hear her talk to understand her. Being dragged after the young male, y/n gave a silent chuckle, but then stopped, holding Jeongin back from walking further. She could sense something familiar, something that sent a shudder down her spine; she felt the presence of another siren. 

“Huh? What's wrong, y/n? Are you not feeling well? I can bring you back to Rain, if you like-” Jeongin stopped, his head snapped towards the market, because sudden shouting and other noises came from there. Both of them looked at each other before the young male started running towards the commotion, y/n stumbling after her best friend. It only took them a few moments to reach the market and both could see what caused the noises. People hurriedly put away their wares and tried to get their market stands out of the way, while others were standing around the entry to the tavern.

Eyes wide, y/n let go of Jeongin's hand when the young male hurried towards the commotion to talk to one of the people around. The young half siren also stepped forward, freezing in place when she saw what's happening. A young man with dark hair and one eye covered by a bandage was fighting with someone else. 

“Hyung! What happened?” y/n could hear Jeongin's voice and she walked over to him, grasping the young man's arm with a frightened expression. “Jisung, why is your mate fighting that man?” The one Jeongin spoke to was trembling slightly, looking worried to the fighting people before turning to the younger male. “This man shoved me, I- I accidentally bumped into that man's friend-” Y/n could sense that the man Jeongin called Jisung was nervous, maybe even scared, so she put a hand on his arm gently, trying to calm him down.

A collective gasp drew the young woman's attention, her hands going up to her mouth when she saw what happened to cause this. The black haired one, who was wearing the same clothes like Jisung, had managed to cut, or rather claw, the other's chest. However, the other didn't seem to give up, despite the begging of his friend, a white haired male. “Hongjoong, please! Stop it, or this wolf will kill you!” The man pleaded, causing y/n to freeze, her eyes widened in realization. That white haired person was the siren she sensed, another half siren! 

“Minho, stop!” Another man walked onto the marketplace, but he didn't seem in a hurry. He looked intimidating, a scar across his face and the fur vest not covering much of his torso, which also was scattered with old and some seemingly newer scars. His voice actually made the fighting male stop, it had something like an echo to it, as if he wasn't the only one speaking, yet no one else had opened his mouth. What seemed off to her, was that Jeongin and Jisung also cowered at this voice. “Chan, he attacked Ji-” “Stop! We do not start fights with guests of the village, Minho!” The man, Chan, hushed the other quickly, none of them noticing the movement from the one eyed one called Hongjoong.

Y/n did notice though and before he could attack the others again, she rushed between them, stomping on the ground hard once, which sent a little shockwave of water across the area, a faint ring of a bell sounding through the water. This not only calmed the people in the area, but also revealed the rainbow scales on her legs for a split second. Despite that, Jeongin and his friends, as well as the white-haired one and Hongjoong saw it before y/n was able to hide them from view. “Seonghwa, she’s-” Hongjoong gasped and looked at his friend, the white haired guy, but the friend just shook his head. When the young woman looked at Jeongin, she got a glimpse of his shocked expression, but even though he was surprised about this revelation, he spoke up quickly, approaching the injured Hongjoong with y/n. 

“We have to bring him to Rain, they can help.” Jeongin spoke calmly and helped the white haired guy to pick up Hongjoong and support him. Chan watched the scene cautiously, gesturing to Minho to follow their youngest. “You go with him and make sure he comes home in one piece. I'll clean up your mess here, Minho,” the oldest of the wolves hissed, wondering how none of them had noticed a siren living close by. Minho already wanted to protest, but one look from Chan silenced him. 

Leading them down the path to Rain's hut, y/n was thinking about what happened, how shocked the ones who saw her scales were. “Y/nie, Stop worrying-” Jeongin's voice got cut by Seonghwa, who sounded curious rather than upset or scared. “You're a half siren, aren't you?” He asked in a calm manner, still supporting his friend while walking. Y/n merely nodded, her head hanging low. She remembered her parent's words, that most people despise sirens and are afraid of them. The group stayed silent the rest of the way, only when they reached the small hut, y/n got more lively again, hurrying inside and dragging the others with her. The only one who stayed outside the hut was Minho, who was very suspicious of the whole situation around this young woman.

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[downtherabbithole-tumbleedition]

Sorry for the late reply.

But can I request a playtonic yandere Alduin x daughter Dragon Born reader

Like the reader Dragon soul is his daughter that died years ago but got reborn as a Dragon born dark elf. And when he realized it his daughter reborn he trys to trun her down a dark path and make him Join his side. Please.

And if you can't do it I can think of something else. This just been on my mind lately

Mockingbird

(Yandere! Platonic! Father! Alduin x Dragonborn! Reader)

“And if you ask me to

Daddy’s gonna buy you a mockingbird, I’ma give you the world

I’ma buy a diamond ring for you, I’ma sing for you

I’ll do anything for you to see you smile.

And if that mockingbird don’t sing

And that ring don’t shine

I’d go back to the jeweller who sold it to ya

And make him eat every carat, don’t fuck with dad.”

- Mockingbird, Eminem.

Dragons did not love. Love was for mortals, for lesser beings who lived only a short life where they could freely give their heart to another with no thought of what eternity meant.

Alduin was as old as time itself, the all mighty world eater who cared only for the power he held. Nothing could sway his cold, black heart - not his brothers, the female dovah he laid with, of the endless amount of mortals he devoured.

But you were so tiny, so fragile - one of his nails would have been enough to end your vulnerable little life. And yet, he found himself not desiring your death, perhaps even feeling sick at the thought of it.

The mortal form was an ancient secret among dragon kind, often used to communicate with dragon priests and blend in among mortals when necessary. Alduin despised to use it and thought dragons who used it often to be weak. However, a benefit of such a form was an easier and faster birth for female dragons, perhaps safer as well.

In dragon form, the female would pass the egg as soon as her body allowed, forcing her to guard her offspring for as long as it took to hatch. It could be an especially daunting time, even more so when the female and male hadn’t mated for life. As distasteful as it was, pregnancy was a far safer process for both the mother and offspring if she stayed in her mortal form until the young could leave the womb.

Alduin had never found a dovah worthy enough to be deemed his life partner, but it was awfully satisfying to see how many would throw themselves at his feet just to be mounted by him. Your mother had been one of those - just another female Alduin had fucked and discarded, most likely not even bothering to satisfy her. He had done it countless times, nothing should have been different.

And yet, somehow, his seed had taken root in her womb and made you.

When she came again at his feet, she was foolish enough to believe the seed in her womb would force Alduin to make her his mate.

“Your young is inside me!” She had exclaimed, clutching her stomach, still in her distasteful mortal form. “You and I shall be bound for life!”

He had laughed her at then, a cruel and malicious sound that had snuffed any hope from her eyes, leaving only fear. Alduin did not tolerate insubordination, planning to kill her and the infernal young that grew inside her.

Odahviing, his general and right hand man, had stopped him - much to Alduin’s rage. The general had claimed that killing her would be foolish when Alduin needed an heir, and she seemed the only dovah that had ever been able to carry Alduin’s young successfully.

Alduin was not convinced, countering that he would never cease to exist and, therefore, no heir was needed. Odahviing had his reply, however, stating something along the lines of the bloodline needing to spread if Alduin wanted to rule other worlds.

Although he found it suspicious that Odahviing was fighting so hard to keep the offspring alive, Alduin humoured him - both from the begrudging urge to have young, and morbid curiosity to see if the female would even survive carrying the world eater’s child.

Just as Alduin had suspected, the female did not survive the birth. How could she when you carved your way out from her insides, leaving only a bloody and mangled mess in her place? Begrudgingly, Alduin felt the prick of pride of his young being entering the world with blood on her hands.

He’d planned to kill you, he truly had… but then you looked at him with eyes as red as his own, your cries calming immediately at his touch. So delicate, so trusting.

Every mortal disgusted him but, there you were, born in your mortal form and… disgustingly adorable.

Tomorrow, he told himself every day when the sun set, failing once again to rid you from the earth. Tomorrow the girl will die. But you never did and, before he knew it, you were talking, walking on your own two feet and hanging off the world eaters wings and horns as if he couldn’t kill you in a breath.

“Can we fly now?” You’d always ask him, picking up the ancient language easily from constant interactions with Odahviing and Parthunax. They were the only other living souls he trusted around you, and even that had very quick limits.

“Entitled girl,” he’d grumble, annoyed at your constant requests at him. But, by the end of the day, you were on his back and he was gliding through the air. “I will throw you off if you do not hold on,” he’d threaten. That did not affect you, however, continuously throwing your arms in the air.

Supposedly, you grew bored of “tame” flights in the air, wanting to find your own wings. Alduin’s heart was in his throat when he no longer felt the tiny wait on his back, watching with wide eyes as you plummeted to the ground.

He roared, loud enough to disturb the mountains, chasing after you as fast as his wings would allow. Thank Akatosh he had caught you before you hit the ground. Alduin doubted the world wanted to know what he’d do if he had lost you.

“Are you a FOOL?!” He’d yelled in anger as soon as you arrived home, smoke coming from his mouth due to the rage that rang through him.

“I just wanted to fly, like you,” you replied, far too calm for someone who had practically been on death’s doorstep.

Initially, Alduin had been enraged and frustrated that you had never turned to your dovah form - your true form. The world eater found himself constantly questioning what value you held if you remained in a lesser mortal form ever, wondering if he should kill you and try again.

However, he very quickly became thankful that you seemed unable to become a dragon - after all, you couldn’t leave him if you were entirely reliant on his protection, right? When you grew up and no longer desired to stay by his side at all times, he could simply lock you up in the highest point of the world, away from the all the dangers and unknowns of the world. Your only visitor and protection being Alduin.

After your little jumping stunt, he pondered locking you away from the world early.

“I’m sorry,” you had told him that night, hiding under his wing as you always did when you were scared or sad. “I won’t do it again.”

No, his plan would wait; you weren’t even trying to get away from him yet, why should he make you hate him so soon?

Alduin did not know gentleness or love or affection but he tried his very best to be those things with you, because you relied on him and were the only thing in this world that wasn’t afraid of him. If dragons loved one thing aside from themselves, it was their treasure, and you were the most precious treasure in the world.

But all good things come to an end and any remorse Alduin had inside him was ripped out when the mortals rebelled.

When they took you from him.

He had been so distracted with their rebelling - forcing his hand to the point of anger - that he left his largest vulnerability opened. Someone among Alduin had betrayed him and you were stolen from him. His blood turning to ice when he realised his most precious treasure was gone.

Relentlessly, Alduin and his army had searched the earth for you, burning cities and devouring armies in his unbridled rage. Until you were returned to him, the mortals would know fear like never before.

But when he found you, your head had been stuck on a pike, hanging up like a trophy in one of the mortal camps.

The world burned.

By the time the elder scroll had been used, most of the world had already been destroyed - abolished and devoured by Alduin’s sorrowful rampage, the dragon king running entirely on revenge.

A small part of him wished the mortals had just killed him so he could once again see his precious treasure.

———

About 5000 years later…

They called you a cursed child.

About ten years ago, you had been found by a mercenary, wandering around in the snow in one of Skyrim’s most isolated and dangerous places. Thankfully, he had been one of those honourable mercenaries (as opposed to those who would have sold you) and took you to an orphanage.

You couldn’t have been any older than eight. It wasn’t exactly out of the norm for the people of Skyrim to abandon their children at an orphanage, but a child surviving the harsh dangers of the mountains for divines knew how long… now that was strange. Stranger when you held no memories of your life or family, not even a name.

What really set you aside from the others, however, were your blood red eyes.

Perhaps the mercenary - having seen all sorts of strange things across Skyrim - thought nothing of them but the people at the orphanage certainly had opinions.

“She’s a demon!” One caretaker had exclaimed, pointing at you with a trembling finger and wide fearful, eyes.

“Kill the vampire!” Another had demanded, believing whole-heartedly you were a blood sucker.

It wasn’t long before the guards had been called, many wanting to see you hung for being a “demonic child”. Luckily, the mercenary had vouched for you, explaining that he had traveled with you for weeks and you hadn’t harmed him. As it was, the guards wrote off the caretakers as “emotional women” and left you unharmed - not without some searing glares, however.

Even if they couldn’t have you burned at the stake, the orphanage wouldn’t accept you and they were under no legal obligation to. So, the mercenary took you to Riften at the temple of Mara - where everyone was reasonably tolerable - and the two of you parted ways.

Priest Maramal was nice enough, being a Redguard in Skyrim he was more than used to jeers and harassment thrown his way. You couldn’t complain about the temple, not when you were given shelter, food, and a bed - which was a lot more than some of the people in Skyrim - but you couldn’t sit still, something in your bones told you to explore, to conquer.

By thirteen, you had pickpocketed earned enough money to leave the temple of Mara.

Skyrim was rough, but you adapted fairly easily. You’d always been strong, even as a child, fast too. Due to your sharp tongue (that Maramal often said you needed to hold if you didn’t want to end up dead), you wound up in a lot of scrapes. If you couldn’t fight your way out of them, you could usually run away.

You circled back to Riften soon enough, gaining entry to the Thieve’s Guild due to light feet and quick fingers. You thought you had found a family within the guild but when you were partnered with Vex and there was a spiky situation… she left you for dead. You got out alive - because you always did - but there was an anger towards the Thieve’s Guild you couldn’t contain. You didn’t go back but, one day, you planned to get you revenge.

At sixteen, you’d somehow stumbled your way to getting Astrid’s attention, granting you entry into the Dark Brotherhood family.

It was different from the guild - somehow warmer, more like a family. Astrid was like an older sister, Nazir like an uncle, Veezera like a cranky grandpa. You’d never felt so loved.

But Astrid set you up and, before you knew it, you were in a wagon trailing to the execution block. It didn’t matter; two families had betrayed you (three if you count the first one that abandoned you) and you had nothing left in your heart.

You witnessed something scarier than death that day, however - fear incarnate. Dragons had always been legends but you never believed you’d see one so close. So angry.

Death wasn’t ready for you, it seemed, because you got away.

Not long after, you killed a dragon and absorbed its soul, the myth of the Dragonborn reviving with the dragons. How amusing it was, to watch those nords be outraged at the thought of the “cursed child” being the living version of their most worshipped legend.

They all wished to be the Dragonborn, and yet that honour was given to a girl with blood red eyes and hatred in her heart.

The Greybeards were boring and the Blades were annoying but Parthunax, well, he piqued your interest. Often times, he spoke to you like you were an old friend rather than a naive Dragonborn he had never met before.

It only became clear when Alduin attacked you and Parthunax on the throat of the world, his teeth and flames out for blood.

“Your arrogance will get you killed,” Maramal had often said, when you thought you could do anything. Maybe you should have listened more.

Stupidly, you thought you could defeat Alduin easily. You were, after all, the one thing that could kill him, right? That’s what was foretold so what did you have to be afraid of?

You had used the Dragonrend shout on Alduin, forcing the world eater to the ground. Parthunax had yelled at you to stop but you ran at the black dragon anyways, sword at the ready to slash his throat. It seemed Alduin had adapted much quicker to the shout, though, catching your sword in his teeth and flying up into the sky.

He dropped you.

Honestly, it was a little humiliating that he didn’t even have to use fire or anything of significance… all he had to do was render you useless by dropping you.

Your helmet fell from your face as you fell, unfortunately giving Alduin a perfect view of your helpless and fearful face.

His eyes are red, like mine, you thought, mind trying to escape the thoughts of death. You wanted to scold yourself for being pathetic when a tear fell down your face, realising your life was over before you did anything significant.

Or so you thought.

———

You woke up with a pounding headache, which was strange considering you didn’t recall falling asleep. You groaned with grogginess, snuggling into the comfortable bed.

Wait… I don’t have a comfortable bed.

You bolted upright, heart pumping with fear as you took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The room was huge, larger than courtroom in the Palace of Kings, made entirely of stone and gold. There were books, furniture, decor but it was all extremely mismatched and unfamiliar. As if from an ancient and unknown time.

The oddest thing, however, was that there were only three walls. There was no wall in front of her bed, only a hole big enough for a dragon to fit through.

Why did Alduin save me? You wondered. What could he gain from bringing me here?

You held back a gasp when you heard a noise and saw a man sitting in one of the chairs, staring at you with eyes as red as blood. He stood when your eyes met, taller than anyone else you had ever seen, armour pitch black and spiky.

He looked oddly familiar.

Idly, he looked around the large room with an almost reminiscent gaze. “I should have locked you in here from the beginning,” he muttered with an impossibly deep voice, barley loud enough for her to hear.

You didn’t know what he was talking about but you knew you needed to get out of there. On your left, you spied a gold dagger - not extremely sharp but it should have been enough to injure him.

“Do not try that,” he rumbled when you made the slightest movement, making you whip your head back to him. “Even if you could hurt me, you are far too high up to ever escape safely, little one.”

“Why am I here?” You demanded.

He looked at you then, and you realised, without a doubt, that he was Alduin. That only made the situation even more confusing.

“You are safe here,” he said, as if it was nothing less than a fact. “You can despise me but I will not risk your safety for your happiness ever again.”

“Aren’t you the one who wants me dead?” You questioned dryly, still internally gawking at the fact you were having a conversation with the world eater.

The bastard chuckled. “You really have no idea, do you?”

You only have him a confused look.

“Why would I ever kill my only child?”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, blood turning to ice at his words.

“You’re lying.

“An immortal being has no reason to lie.”

You raced to the gold dagger, gripping it in your hand and throwing at Alduin. He barley needed to move to dodge it, the puny attack having no affect on him.

He left after that, claiming you needed to “calm yourself”. You spent hours exploring the place, restlessly searching for a way out that wouldn’t leave you plastered on the ground.

You didn’t know how long you had been there but eventually, he had come back and you attacked him once more, making him leave again. That cycle repeated itself until you were tired, disheartened by how unaffected he was.

“What do you want from me?” You asked him one day, when you had curled into yourself out of pure exhaustion. He had no answer.

Your numbing limbo changed one day, though. Your armour, light as it was, was stiffening your joints. You stripped out of it, leaving you in the simple clothes you had underneath.

Alduin visited you, like normal, but when you turned your back to him, he roared in anger and his eyes glowed red.

“Who did this to you?” He demanded, voice deeper and louder in his dragon form.

You were confused for a moment, having sported no knee injuries since being abducted. But then you remembered the deep, numerous scars on your back - a reminder of Astrid’s intense training. She once said it was necessary if you were to become strong and you thought she cared about you… but now you wondered if she just always hated you.

Despite yourself, you told Alduin. He was the world eater - evil and deadly, the very thing you were supposed to kill… but he was also the only being who had ever looked upon your wounds, your suffering, and given a damn. And, if he was to he believe?d, he was your father, why shouldn’t you tell him?

It was a strange relief to tell someone else your woes, to unleash the many stories of sufferings and betrayal you had faced. By the end of it, you had tears down your face.

Alduin said nothing, oddly calm. Perhaps, he didn’t care.

“Get on.”

You looked up at him with wide eyes, confused as to what he meant.

“Get on my back.”

Still confused, you listened to him, hauling yourself up onto his back and grasping at his spikes so you didn’t fall.

Flying was exhilarating, freedom like you had never known it. You had the urge to spread your arms and feel the wind but Alduin snapped at you when you did.

“Where are we going?” You asked, having to yell so you could be heard over the wind.

“To get revenge.”

When you had told him what had happened to you, it wasn’t your intention for him to burn down Riften. And by all accounts, you should’ve climbed off his back and fought him, made him stop. But… no one in Riften gave a half damn about you. They saw you as the cursed child, a blight on Skyrim.

There was terrible feeling of glee as you watched the wooden houses burn.

You hunted down the Dark Brotherhood after that, adorning your armour and sword, taking a great joy in watching Astrid choke on her own blood.

You knew this wasn’t what the Dragonborn was made more, quite the opposite, but could you be considered the hero of Skyrim when Skyrim hated you? When all you had been given was betrayal and suffering?

You didn’t just let Alduin get away with drowning the cities in fire and blood, you helped him.

The Blades watched in horror as their noble hero was tainted with the blood of the innocent, the Greybeards mourning the prodigy that never was.

Maybe you should have felt guilt but you didn’t really give a damn.

Your blood told you to conquer, so that’s what you did.

———

Alduin feared his daughter would forever be corrupted with ideas of killing him, that she had been manipulated to the point of no return.

Perhaps he should have thanked Skyrim for being so horrible to her - what was it they said? The child that is not embraced by the village will burn it down Yo feel it’s warmth.

The world eater was filled with pride as he watched you slaughter the mortals, the lesser beings who should have known better than to lay a finger on you. If his pride allowed him, he would have thanked Odahviing for making him keep you alive.

Alduin savoured these moments of rage and fire, devouring with his daughter at his side…. Because it would never happen again.

When you had had your revenge and Skyrim had paid the price for disrespecting you, he’d take you back to that tower and ensure you never left.

Perhaps you’d go back to hating him but how could he risk it? How could he risk losing you after he just got you back? Akatosh had given him a gift of mercy in bringing you back to life, and it was not a gift Alduin would waste.

Perhaps in a few centuries, when you were strong enough to defend yourself and smart enough not to be betrayed, you could go free.

No. Alduin truly didn’t believe he could willingly let you back to those wolves in such a vulnerable state. When you could leave on your own, when you had completed your transformation into a dovah, Alduin would do nothing to stop you from conquering the world yourself.

Of course, Alduin prayed to Akatosh that day would never come.

——

I don’t know how that was but I hope you enjoyed. I feel like I rushed the ending a bit lol.

I took some creative liberty with your suggestion so sorry about that.

[demensrage]

Immortal whispers ⚊ chapter one

── summary: When the god Morax sees a mortal that capture his interest, he comes to realize that there is still so much of human nature that he has no experience of. For his lust for life through her he starts doubting himself and everything that makes an entity eternal. This is the story about a man, who finds out, what the essence of life is, as he will learn that love and death are two greatest gifts of life.

warning: Zhongli!morax x reader, angust, fluff, eventual smut but nothing explicit?

wordcount: 2.5k

go back

chapter two

note: english is not my firts lenguage so please forgive me for the grammatical errors I may commit.

The life of a god can be more or less pleasant; it all depends on the times. But it is true that immortality becomes boring at some point. It's all jokes and laughter, moments of seriousness in which wise decisions must be made. However, when the same situation presents itself over and over, with years of distance and different people, you already know how to act. You don’t have to think. The story has repeated itself so many times that, by inertia, you know the answer.

Thus lived Morax, the great god of contracts, immersed in an endless routine. On the cold nights of Liyue, where the stars twinkled like small beacons of hope, he watched from a distance, his immense and powerful figure camouflaged among the shadows of the mountains. His gaze, always attentive, focused on the lives unfolding before him—ephemeral beings filled with dreams and ambitions, and yet so vulnerable. It was easy to get lost in the flow of time, in the repetition of stories he knew by heart.

But tonight, something was different. The great rite of the Archon's Descent was to take place today, an event that drew thousands of mortals to the squares of Liyue, where devotion mingled with longing. The floating lanterns, made of delicate paper and soft light, ascended to the sky, illuminating the darkness with their warm glow. Each balloon carried a wish, a prayer, rising to the gods like small stars born from human hands.

Morax watched from a distance, feeling the palpable energy in the air. The rituals were meant to honor the gods, to remind mortals that their existence was not in vain. The voices of the believers resonated in hymns, and the offerings were presented with fervor, each gesture imbued with reverence. However, in his chest, a void grew, a reminder that, although surrounded by devotion, he felt increasingly distant.

As the ceremony progressed, the wind brought with it laughter and whispers, blending with the echo of the chants.

"Just like every year, but somehow, their energetic devotions continue to stir my soul," Morax murmured to himself as he walked among them, observing with the same monotony that had invaded him since times he could no longer remember. Although the festivities repeated with the same devotion as always, something in the fervor of the mortals still moved him deep within, as if there remained a spark of hidden emotion behind his serene and distant appearance.

The humans cheered, laughed, and embraced each other, wishing prosperity in their businesses and future contracts. Some drank, others conversed, exchanging stories of success and dreams yet to be fulfilled. It was such a familiar scene, a living painting of the eternal essence of Liyue, where tradition and the human spirit intertwined in perfect harmony.

And then, amid the bustle and music, Morax saw her. She danced with a natural grace, moving through the tumult of singers who raised their voices to exalt the god who dwelled in their hearts. With her skirts gathered in her fists, she twirled and glided around the circle with a unique fluidity. Her feet followed the vibrant rhythm of the music, while her lips never stopped smiling, reflecting a pure and contagious joy.

There was something magnetic about the way she moved; an energy that emanated not just from her body but also from her spirit. She laughed, completely immersed in the moment, and with every step, she conveyed a sense of freedom that the god had almost forgotten existed. She was not just dancing; she was alive, completely alive, and that vitality made everything around her pale in comparison.

Morax, who had witnessed countless rituals and festivities, found himself mesmerized by the simplicity of her happiness. She did not dance to worship a god, nor to be seen by others; she did it for herself, because in that moment, amid all the commotion and the lights of the floating lanterns, she felt whole. That sparkle in her eyes, that laughter rising above the music, was a reminder of what it truly meant to live.

A pang of nostalgia coursed through Morax's heart. Watching her, he felt that unknown impulse awaken within him once more. He wondered what it would feel like to be part of that ephemeral and fleeting world, where moments like this were the true eternity for mortals. And it was in that precise instant, as she laughed and twirled among the lights and the songs, that Morax understood his desire to know her was not mere curiosity. It was the yearning of a god weary of his immortality, seeking in the spark of a mortal the promise of something he had forgotten: the joy of living.

The beauty of that ephemeral being lay in what emanated from her soul. That was what he wished to believe, that was all he wanted to think about, but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t so. She was a woman as beautiful as her soul; the way her smile contrasted with her lovely face, how her skin seemed to be kissed by the sun itself, and her hair, though dark as night, cascaded from the heavens over her shoulders.

To him, humans were not perfect, they never would be, because they were human, and their very nature led them to make mistakes. Morax knew this well; he had seen them fall, rise, and make the same mistake throughout the centuries. It was always repetitive cycles, time and again, with different faces and names, but the same underlying story.

In that instant, when his body moved towards the circle on impulse, and that dancing soul, for a moment as brief as a blink, immersed her body alongside his, he thought the exact opposite. At first glance, even seeing the fire of her soul shine so vibrantly, he found no flaw in her. It was not just her dance that enchanted him; it was the purity of every movement, the honesty of every laugh that escaped her lips.

Morax, invisible and unnoticed, allowed himself to be enveloped by the music and the songs, his energies brushing against the presence of that woman who radiated life in every turn. She danced without worrying about perfection, without seeking the approval of others, and that was what made her different. She moved because she felt it, because each step was an expression of her own essence, something so genuine and simple that Morax, the great god of contracts, found himself completely fascinated.

For the first time, he felt that a mortal could be more than just a fleeting being, and in that brief connection, Morax understood that perhaps mortality held a beauty that even millennia of divine wisdom could not reach.

The music reached its climax, and with it, the beautiful dance he was witnessing. The drums resonated powerfully, lifting the spirits of the crowd as the chants of the devoted filled the night air. The woman spun one last time, her skirts swirling around her like a flash of light in the gloom. Each step seemed synchronized with the very heartbeat of the earth, and her laughter intertwined with the choruses, creating a unique melody that captured the spirit of Liyue.

Morax watched her, his golden eyes fixed on every movement, every gesture, as if he were trying to decipher the enigma she represented. Now, with a curiosity burning in him like never before, he longed to know what offerings she had left him. Would they be as genuine as her smiles? As bright as the being emanating from her own essence? He wanted to know, he needed to know. But beyond simple curiosity, he felt an urgency to understand why his thoughts had strayed toward this particular mortal.

It was not natural for him to feel such curiosity about humanity; he had stopped feeling it years ago when his purpose as a protector and guide began to fade into the monotony of the centuries. He knew them all, had guided them through their worst moments, had fought for them and watched them thrive under his tutelage. Humans were predictable, their lives fleeting, and their actions so repetitive that Morax had ceased to be surprised by their gestures, their rites, their prayers.

“It's just a momentary attachment,” he told himself, trying to rationalize the fascination that overwhelmed him. “And like everything in this life, that feeling will fade away.”

However, as she stepped away from the circle of dancers, still smiling and with flushed cheeks from the effort, Morax could not take his eyes off her. There was something in her laughter, in her freedom, that challenged him to keep watching.

The god of contracts, who had always known every answer before it was even formulated, found himself for the first time without a clear explanation. And as the figure of the woman faded into the crowd, he realized that this time, his curiosity would not be so easily satisfied.

Longing to know more about her, he followed. His steps, though meticulous and silent, could not conceal his divine presence. She could feel it; that imposing and demanding energy sent shivers down her spine, but instead of feeling unsettled, she reveled in it. It was the same sensation that had engulfed her when the chant was coming to an end, that deep vibration in her soul connecting her to something beyond the earthly.

She approached a group of children who, with laughter full of joy, flew silk kites under the soft light of the Chinese lanterns. Their giggles mingled with the wind, and upon seeing her approach, the little ones quickly called out to her.

“Leilani, come! Join us!” they exclaimed, their voices brimming with enthusiasm.

“Leilani…” the god pronounced, savoring her name on his lips like a divine delicacy. The warmth of the sound, the sweetness and the meaning behind her name blossomed in his mind. “Leilani, celestial flower,” he repeated, this time more firmly, enjoying the sensation of knowing something so intimate and delicate about her.

But something unexpected happened. She stopped dead in her tracks. She hadn’t just heard her name once but twice, spoken with a voice that did not belong to any of those present. Leilani looked around, searching for the source of those words. Yet, she found no one. The children continued to play, the wind gently stirred the kites, but that voice, deep and laden with meaning, had no visible owner.

Confusion crossed her face for a moment, and in the depths of her mind, the same sensation of that powerful energy resurfaced. Her heart raced, and though she tried to dismiss the experience as a mere illusion, something inside her told her there was more behind those words. That there was something—or someone—watching her from a place she could not comprehend.

Morax, satisfied yet intrigued, watched calmly from his ethereal form. He savored the confusion in her eyes, but also the spark of curiosity now igniting within her. The connection between them had begun to weave itself, invisible and powerful, like the threads of a spider's web waiting for the moment to envelop them completely.

Ready to return to his divine realm, he decided on a hasty course of action, to walk alongside that young woman, brushing his skin against hers. “Warm, just as I thought,” he said to himself, noticing how she stopped short again when she felt his touch.

She shivered at the electric charge coursing through her body once more. It was gentle, as soft as a warm breeze in spring.

Ready to return to his divine kingdom, Morax chose to make an unexpected, almost impulsive decision, which was strange for someone of his nature. Driven by the curiosity that the young woman had awakened in his immortal soul, he walked beside her, so close that their energies intertwined, brushing her skin with his, like an intangible whisper that shouldn’t be felt but somehow was.

“Warm... just as I thought,” he murmured to himself, pleased to confirm the perception he had held since the very first moment. Not only did her soul shine with intensity, but even her physical presence, though limited by mortal nature, radiated that warmth he longed to touch.

Leilani, unaware of the nature of the being walking beside her, stopped again. This time, it wasn't her name that had paralyzed her, but the palpable sensation of something—or someone—that had brushed against her skin. Her body involuntarily shuddered, a small tremor coursing down her spine and traveling to the tips of her fingers, leaving an electric trace in its wake. It was gentle, as delicate as a warm breeze in the midst of spring, barely perceptible but powerful enough for her heart to beat faster.

Not fully understanding what was happening, Leilani brought a hand to her arm, where she had felt that touch, as if she wanted to make sure it hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. But had it? She stood still for a moment, looking around, hoping to find a logical explanation, some indication of what had transpired. However, the night continued, the lanterns illuminated the sky, and the laughter of the children echoed around her, as if the world had not changed at all.

But for her, something had changed. That sensation, that energy, lingered in the air, wrapping around her almost imperceptibly. It was neither painful nor bothersome, but it was disconcerting, as if a part of her was being watched, or worse yet, touched by something she could not see.

Morax, for his part, watched her reaction with interest. He had anticipated that shiver, that spark of surprise in her eyes. It was the natural result of such intimate and ethereal contact, something no mortal could fully comprehend. Yet, far from satiating his curiosity, that brief brush had awakened in him a deeper desire to know her. This was only the beginning.

“We shall meet again, sweet soul,” Morax whispered, letting his voice fade away like an echo in the night wind before ascending to the place to which he belonged, enveloped in the divine energy that characterized him.

Leilani held her breath. Something in that whisper had touched the depths of her being, but before she could process what had happened or even ask for an explanation, she felt the small, cheerful arms of the children wrap around her. Their laughter pulled her back to the reality of the present, momentarily dispelling the confusion she felt.

“What are you waiting for? Come on, we’ll let you use our kites!” they exclaimed with the same joy she had shared moments before during the dance.

Smiling, though with a slight confusion still lingering in her gaze, Leilani let the children's laughter guide her back to the festive surroundings. The sensation on her skin, the voice that had resonated in her mind—all seemed to fade away, but a part of her knew that something had changed. Unbeknownst to her, she had caught the attention of an immortal being.

© 2024 demensrage. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

[burningcheese-merchant]

2 QUESTIONS.

2: short stories WHEN!? -nf

3: any more facts about them? id love to hear more about these blorbos

Short stories soon! I have several in mind already, I just want to post a few more Spice/Golden-centric ones before them. We gotta continue along Spice's accidental redemption lol. But there will be stories, I promise

Don't want to spoil everything immediately (that's for when I post the official character sheets lol), so eat these bits of trivia about both of them:

Pepper Jack:

While he's not outright claustrophobic, he does still get kind of anxious/wary in small or enclosed spaces. Rule of thumb for him is that he needs whatever room he's in to have at least one door, or one window that he can fly through (the window is more important tbh. He just... needs some sort of view of the sky). Have that and he's all good

He has a HUGE sweet tooth. He goes nuts over candy and cake and chocolate and all those things. (The best part of Aunt Hollyberry's visits is that she always bring him and his sister sweets from her kingdom. He loves Hollyberrian desserts, they sure know how to make them over there!)

He loves flying with all of his heart. Up in the air is where he feels the most free and at peace. He'll go on long solo flights when he wants to be alone or clear his head, as no one can reach him up in the clouds (besides his mom, but she tries to respect his need for space when it shows itself)

He also likes to sit/perch atop trees and just watch the world go by (he has a few "bird" habits, as you can see lol)

BONUS TO THE ABOVE: A game he likes to play with his father (and his sister, too, after she's born) is flying up and hiding in the treetops while they try to spot him from down on the ground within a certain time frame. No jumping up or climbing the trees or shaking them so he falls out, that's cheating! (Mom doesn't usually play because it's inherently unfair. She can fly just like he can, thus she'd find him instantly)

Matar Paneer:

She is OBSESSED with getting tattoos. She was drawn to her father's almost literally from the moment she opened her eyes and they registered in her mind. Whenever he held her as a baby, she'd try to reach for them and grab at them (and at the Light of Destruction, too. She was, like... hypnotized by the Soul Jam as a baby). Every single time her birthday rolls around, she tells people she wants tattoos just like her papa (the answer is "no, you're too young" for most of her life. She gets Very Big Mad every time). She's been caught drawing and painting on herself multiple times, trying to make her own (Golden scolded her if she got her clothes dirty, but otherwise, she and Spice just thought it was adorable). She WILL get her tattoos someday, there's no doubt about that. (But what they'll look like remains to be seen...)

She loves all of her "extended family" (all of her parents' friends lol), but her #1 favorite person is Mozzarella. She and Auntie Mozzarella are two peas in a pod, partners in crime. The same way Smoked Cheese mentors and indulges Pepper Jack, Mozzarella mentors and indulges Matar Paneer. When she feels like she's struggling, and like she can't turn to her brother or her parents, she goes straight to Mozzarella for comfort and advice

Her katar were gifts from Cilantro Cobra (who is alive and well in my canon don't @ me). They were a labor of love from her and the other cobras, crafted and sharpened with the utmost care and precision. She even went the extra mile and had symbols carved into them: Golden Cheese Kingdom hieroglyphs in one, Wild Spice symbols and patterns in the other. They are some of Paneer's most prized possessions

She's very particular and fussy about her hair, and would prefer that nobody touches it lol. Her dad is the only one with 100% free reign, as they have literally the exact same hair, color and texture and everything; the only difference is hers is somewhat shorter and she wears it in a low ponytail. She thinks he's the only one who "understands" her hair lol.

BONUS TO ABOVE: She and Spice have a cute little daddy/daughter bonding thing where they'll brush each other's hair. He does hers first, then he lets her do his next. He has to sit on the floor and hunch over/bow his head so she can reach properly because she's so much smaller than him, but he doesn't mind. She babbles at him about random things while she works and tries extra hard to do a good job, and it just melts his manly man heart lol

[oceanlipgloss]

LUNCHBOX

MEPHISTOPHELES.

+ no warnings.

+ my mc is the heroine, so the pronouns are feminine.

Nobles didn’t need lunchboxes. They didn’t share lunches on school benches.

Nobles indulged in fancy luncheons and had luxurious dinners. That was how he had always lived; not for decades and not for centuries, but for millennia. Yet, the next thing he knew, this pretty and horribly fragile creature had come along and spoiled the whole rhythm.

That did not merely mean his lunching habits, of course, or the traditional noble programme, or anything else like that—for the little butterfly had let her wings move a bit too fast, fly a little too far. She had let herself land on his velvet fingertip, twirl around in his brain, then sneak her way into his heart.

Do you understand what it was like for him?

She was messing with his mind and troubling his heart, spreading the nectar from part to part until the entire organ was contracting with his red admiration, and all her own.

He was a demon. Holy scripts of all kinds and in all languages told of how those like him are damned before their creation, and born damned still.

Goddamn it though, wasn’t she a demon too? She made disliking her hard, altered the rhythm of his heart; it pounded faster when she was there. Made him think about her so much, all the time, even when he had better things to do—more important things, like taking down a fallen angel, for instance.

Goodness...was this not an alarmingly strange phenomenon all around? That is why, for the first time in his seemingly endless life he actually and genuinely thought, ‘I am damned.’

How could he not? Was there even a sliver of probability to think otherwise?

After all, he was willingly seated next to a commoner on a school bench. So much like a silly school crush...

The cherry on top, though? The icing on the cake? The sugar rush to his bafflement? How he was heartily eating the weird stuff in her lunchbox. The flavours were very good.

Oh, dear.

Scratch that.

It was worse.

So much worse.

He was so, so, dangerously close to a human, a mortal woman whom he had not been very fond of—if at all—in the beginning, and for quite a long time. Their shoulders were touching. She was very warm. He could feel the mellow heat through the fabric of her uniform.

Were all humans this warm, or was it just her?

He would have to study that later.

For now...well.

It wasn’t just mere material proximity; it was not their bodies that were close only. The romantic tales and legends did not quite get it right, and many poets did not pen it properly.

How to put it...

You see, he could almost feel a quaint connection in their souls, as though mystic hands were tugging at the enchanted thread by which their spirits were tied. It was a thread impossible to see with the eye, but easy to feel in the heart.

And he had no way of truly knowing, but perhaps their hearts, too, were pulsating to the same song playing within them.

Unsettling as it were, the feeling and the sensations it brought remained quite nice.

Routine is a curious matter; it arranges days and nights, organises time itself—and yet, should they choose to, one can change it however they like.

Before this lunchbox ordeal, his hours had constantly resembled one another and looked nearly identical. They were too much alike.

He had followed a certain pattern, but now he had chosen to paint for himself a new excitement—an unprecedented event with an unexpected person—in that redundant schedule.

In truth, she was well aware that he did not hate her, so she was the one who had been incessant on spending this time with him. She was the one who had begun their little journey of sweet fortune.

She taught him new things. Sometimes she talked about profound matters. Sometimes she made meaningless small talk. Eventually, she made him think about how he would love to visit the twisted realm of humans with her.

With her, he realised that solitude disappears. Relations could be blessings. He was happier eating common simplicity packed into a plastic box more than he had ever been stabbing silverware into fine gourmet meals laid on exquisite china.

Never once had he imagined he would find spiritual pleasure in the company of this particular creature, this—truth be told—lovely lady. It appeared that fate had wished to prove him wrong in this subject, and so it was.

But when it had never before crossed his mind that he would one day come to enjoy her presence and bask in her warmth, how could he ever have predicted that he would long for that same warmth to be by his side?

Perhaps it was true that ignorance is bliss.

Who could know whether their soul will ever bind itself to someone or not?

Who could ever know the destined one that will rob them of their heart?

There is no need to do so.

Walking through time with an unknowing mind that cannot form any predictions and blind eyes that cannot make out a picture of the future could be pleasant.

What one cannot expect may very well turn out to be a great surprise, an absolute delight...or their sweetest demise.

+note: sort of word-vomited this one and wanted to put it up. [9.11.2024: did someone from NTT read this fic in reverse or smth 'cause glue ur eyeballs to the screenshot for a minute intimacy bar WHEN]

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

[onestepbackwards]

Had a funny idea involving Giratina in a self aware Hisui. So in Heart Gold and Soul Silver if you an Arceus there's a special event in the game. Basically in the event you meet up with Cynthia funny enough, and she tells you that Arceus has the ability to create newborn Pokémon. And by newborn Pokémon she means Arceus will straight up create a new god of your choice for you to have. You can make Dialga, Palkia, or more important to this thought you can make Giratina. Like it truly is a newborn too. Straight up comes out of an egg at level 1. It's kind of a trippy event. I suggest looking it up on Youtube, cause its a trip. Anyway, while Arceus made them you are the one who choses who will be born. You are the one who chose to give them life. So to me I think that sort of makes you the parent of whatever legendary you chose. So imagine choosing to create this little baby Giratina. It's level 1 so weak and will take a lot of work for it to reach its full potential, but you are willing to put in the work. You spend time with it, you spoil it with poke blocks/Poke Beans/whatever treat is in the game it's in, you use items to boost its stats, you battle with it, and you take it into each new game so it can always be with you on your adventures. You baby it a bit, but hey this little Giratina is your baby. And this Giratina loves you. You are its parent. You are the reason it exists, and the second it was born you gave it love and kindness. To say Giratina is protective of you would probably be putting it very lightly. So imagine you bring it into Legends right before you fight Volo. Volo pulls out his Giratina you just smile and say "Oh, you have a Giratina? So do I." And you let out your own Giratina. Your powerful level 100 Giratina that is not happy that someone threatened their parent. Volo doesn't stand a chance. That whole moment would be a mind screw for Volo (and probably for Volo's Giratina as well). You have a Giratina. Why? How? if he had any belief that there could only be one Giratina that thought has been broken. If Volo ever finds out that you chose to create your Giratina Volo's delusions will be set in stone. You must be a god. You have to be a god. You made a god Pokémon. You made Arceus itself make you a god. What else could you be other then a god? So good luck dealing with that. On a sweet/funny note I can only imagine the clans and the villages reactions to your Giratina. Here's this dangerous legendary that can rip holes into the very fabric of realty. Yet, it's acting like a baby Pokémon with you. It follows your avatar around like a baby Teddiursa following its mother. It gently nuzzles your avatar, and begs for pets and treats. It will snuggle you whenever you will let it. It's sweet, but a bit of a mind screw for them. It's equally funny if you chose to make Palkia or Dialga. For the clans they see their Almighty Sinnoh snuggling you, begging for treats, and being very affectionate. If they find out you made the Pokémon I think a lot of them will need a lot of time to process that.

Oh i remember this event!!! I remember the trippy transitioning effect for the creation of the pokemon you chose too djjdjsjd

Just,,, imagining showing them your Giratina like: “This is my tiny son. I love him.”

And Giratina is as big as a house happily eating a berry as you pet it.

It really isn’t just Volo who think you are a god after that.

[highlordofkrypton]

SUMMARY: A short drabble about a vision that saved young Amarantha's life, and gave her purpose.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Ahh, my first entry into @sjmvillainweek! I want to give special thanks to @watcherintheweyr for the amazing poetry provided to use for the prophecy. You are leagues better than I am, and I am honoured that you trust me with your writing!

TW: Blood and Violence, Near Death Experiences, Child Abuse

RUBIES

I am dying.

Blood pools around her head, and dribbles from her lips. It frames her head, like a crown bleeding into the dirt. She could have been great; she could have been horrible. None of it matters now. Just a girl, her life is snuffed out beneath a mountain where all children are born. She rejects her weak body; too young, too delicate, too pretty and too weak.

The only ones who know of her are her sister, an even younger girl who emerged from her ruby cocoon shortly after her, and her killers. To live is to survive. To live is to fight tooth and nail for food, resources, and warmth. 

Her eyes flutter shut—so desperately willing to go. 

She has only ever known darkness, save for that chamber with a kaleidoscope of gems encrusted in the walls. Inside each one, a living being curls upon itself and grows, grows, grows until the gem cannot contain it anymore. Sapphires, emeralds and onyxes—each one imbuing the children with properties to make them better than the others. There have only ever been two rubies. 

There has only ever been one diamond, and his skin glimmers beneath the single sliver of light that filters in through a crack in the stone when he presides over all of them. His eyes are made of black, and his crown… his crown is made of gold . She had wanted it, once upon a time, but now… now she is so tired.

There’s no point.

Her sister shakes and begs her to get up. The chaos of fighting fades, more and more, into nothing. What is there to fight for? What is there to wake up for? Her sister will have one less mouth to feed; her sister is just as clever and cruel as she is. (But is she just as tired ?) Only a handful of them will make it out, such is the King’s will. Only the strongest, and the most vicious will earn their survival.

(And then what?)

Her head lulls, and she runs willingly to the light.

It comes as a whisper, a hot breath against her cooling skin.

It slips into her mind, and drowns out everything.

The world goes quiet, but purpose—purpose comes to her like a roar.

Listen now and heed to me, each word, a punch through her chest to keep her fading heart beating.

Listen now and heed to me,

for only this will set the red queen free.

The crown, the crown, oh how it weighs on her head. It glows against the red of her hair. Her joy at the thought makes her feel so light . Death is a gift, it is a fantasy that she has earned through tooth and claw. She has never felt so warm in her life, surrounded by people. They do not need to love her, only yield—they do not need to love her, only feed her hungering belly. She picks at her teeth; she wants a taste for it all.

Most of all, she wants to be free.

Beside her, beside her—

Soul of beast 

and heart’s song bold 

will put an end to stone’s cold hold.

The answer sets her ablaze . She must find him —her beast; he will free her.

A prophecy, she has seen a prophecy.

Her black eyes flick open.

[doublekanble]

sibling

Lucifer-reader (gnc)

platonic

word count: 3.5k

the reason i dont write for women is because i would die doing so, anyway, im celebrating my first non-al fic with sleeping on time.

You have a brother. Not by blood. No. Never. You’re not Adam, nor are you Lilith, with skin the tone of light ivory and body defined by the dust  of earth and dirt. You two are not bound by blood, nor are you bound by the particles that encapsulate the vast universe beyond the haven you both resides in. Not even to the vessels you were born into, or the similar structure of your souls, the basis for all angels. None of those means will ever be enough to define the bond you have.

(“Hey! Over here!” He laugh and called out your name, you laugh and follow his voice.)

Lucifer is a dreamer, an idealist and a mischievous soul. All in heaven knows of his name, and almost all of them have less than beautiful word about the tiny Archangel. Looked down and frowned upon, Lucifer’s jokes and games are less than entertainment to most. No matter how many duty he filled out by hands, they will never look at him as anything more than a simple trouble-maker (let alone the fact the duty itself is utterly useless in your eyes, but you digressed).

His voice too loud, too grating on one’s ears. His jokes too immature and too brazen to another. His handwritten letters crinkled at the corner, his smiles too bright and wide. His footstep too loud, his eating too messy, his stand too proud and his ideals too dangerous and downright blasphemous.

At some point, your brother’s face, molded, heated, sculpted and paint by Father’s hands himself, once so bright and perfect, one that supposed to never aged, aged.

(He pulls you by the wrist and guide you both from Heaven, down and down to the Garden itself. Lucifer is the fastest angel (Archangel) you know, but you also know he like flying by your side, so you pull yourself forward a bit and take your time despite your own circumstance.

“What are you trying to show me brother?” you smile, pretending to be exasperated by his antics. “We’ve already seen the four corners of this endless place. What ever is there to be excited about?”

“Oh-ho-ho. You’ll see when we get there~!” )

In everyone else’s eyes, your brother is nothing but a blight at worst, an annoyance at best. But to you, he’s your older brother, who took you by the hand and shows you magic tricks and sing silly songs to you when you first met; determined to distract you from your crooked left wing bleeding gold (that too, he fixed for you). Ever since then, the once-dutiful you spent your free days floating by his side, and before anyone can say anything about it, you two were inseparable.

If someone finds you by a tree somewhere, they would find you with a lyre in your lap, strumming away a tune you knew by heart while your brother sang a song with no rhythm. If they were to find him by a once-white wall, they’ll find that you’re right there with him holding paint and brushes in your hand as he drew crude and unrecognized shapes. He walks and you follow. Where you can find one, it’ll never be without the other.

Those songs, the makeshift pieces of art, your good papers that he kept stealing and his paint that always stained the corner of each and every single one of your robes. Those are the happiest days you have and will ever live in your eternal life.

-

“Is this the surprise...?” You look around the breathtaking space you’re standing in, trying to sound as casual as you can while Lucifer blanched and turns from one end to the other. Sunlight streaming through the leaves as distant chirps of birds reverberate. Heaven is beautiful, but Eden is perfect. If only you can spend more time here right now, but you need to be back by Sera’s side in thirty minutes, like it or not. “I mean, this is always a welcoming sight, but-“

“Wait please hold on! This was NOT supposed to play out like this, she should’ve been here- Imeanuhhhhh nothing um I was not supposed to say that-“ he groaned and run his free hand over his face. “Just- Lemme go look for her- you hold on right there I promised it won’t be long I’ll-”

Patting the hand that was still holding onto your wrist gently, you smile. “Luci, it’s no problem to me, really.” It is, but you’re not going to let him know, “Whatever it is you want to show me, it’ll be perfect. You just tripped a little, that’s-oof!”

He all but crushed you in his arms, six wings encasing you in a hug so tight, you feel like being wedged in between the crust of the earth and the sea. But you still try to pat his back before he pulls away and fly off with a quick “Just a sec!” and then you’re left alone, still processing whatever he was saying. Whoever this “she” can be, you trusted Lucifer, if only he could be a bit faster. You pull a watch from your right front pocket and flip its casing open.

He have twenty-five minutes, you sigh, whatever the new surprise maybe, it’s surely giving him a run for his life. Just then, a bird suddenly came into view, it’s beautiful long feathers dance in the air as it pranced over to you, graceful and poised.

“Hello there friend…What a delightful little thing like you doing here?” lowering onto your knees, you hastily shove your watch back into its place and open your arms to the bird. The thing settled in your embrace, right at home as you rock it back and forth and sing it’s praises. “Such a friendly thing…”

He have about eighteen minutes to show you whatever he wants to. You really hope you can go back soon. But as you’re recounting a story to the bird about a problem the Elders were fighting over, some silly dispute about making another human for one of the first, you hear a faraway voice calling your name. Quickly, he closed the distance.

“There you are!” looking beyond disheveled, your brother re-emerges behind a bush at the twelve-minute mark – smiles akin to the sun as he collected his breath, “Ok, so before we do this, you’ll need to promise me something first. You have to keep this a secret. For now. I think…” you raised an eyebrow as you swept his hair back into place, he sputtered “-It’s not anything bad! I swear! Butttt I’m pretty sure we’ll get intotroubleifanyoneelsefoundoutsoplease-“

“Brother, I promise.” You laugh, bouncing the bird a bit, you hope whoever it is, they’ll get along well. “Now, what was it you wanted to show me so badly you pulled me from lunch break and then came back to me looking like this?”

He hissed with a slightly embarrassed smile, but quickly recovered. As he straighten up, Lucifer waves his hand over the tree next to the bush he just came from, calling out to it in a tone you’ve never heard from him before, calling out to her. The bird suddenly stir in your arms as it fling itself to the sky and pulled your attention from them, your eyes following the bird in dismayed. And when you turn back, you feel the air leaving your lungs as you stare at the most beautiful person you’ll ever see.

“Ta-da! Surprise! Wha-za!” Lucifer struck several ridiculous poses as she laugh gently, covering her mouth. But her attention quickly turns back to you, who stand frozen like a new born fawn with mouth half open. When she smile at you, you immediately understand just why Lilith the human was so beloved by Father despite her rebellious attitude, and wondered if Adam also is as breath-taking as her.

“…”

“Um, Heaven to you? You there~?” He knows what’s going on in your head. You know he knows, so you hit his arm and almost growl at him for the first time.

“Hello there. You must be Lucifer’s sibling.” Her voice like the wind. Her eyes the color of light violet. You immediately recalled the beautiful Chrysanthemums you took from the garden some days back, petals just as lovely, if not less, than hers.

“…Hi…” you breathe, and then jolted back awake. “I mean- uh- greetings. Miss Lilith. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you face to face.”

Her expression change just a bit, and you kick yourself down for it. “Please don’t be so courteous. Lilith is fine!” She walks forward and held onto your hands; you feel faint. “Lucifer told me so much about you. I’m glad I finally get to put a face to the name.”

“I hoped I’m fitted to your expectations, miss-“ she glares at you, you’re convinced the beating of your own heart weakened your resolve. “Lilith. Lilith.”

At this, she gives you a pleasant smile. “That would take time for me to know, now wouldn’t it?”

Lilith was merciful enough to let go of your right hand as she calls to Lucifer, who was smiling with utter glee in his eyes. But you can’t properly register anything at the time, completely defenseless and left to the mercy of Lilith as your brother ignores your bewitched state. You wondered just why does people also look down on Lilith. Everything about her screams utter beauty and grace. That is, until you came to and realizing they were both grinning at each other.

Lilith expression, though still fair and utterly lovely, was foreign to you. Your brother’s, however, help you realizing there’s no way in Father’s name you can go back to Sera with the time you have left.

Only ever seeing her from afar, you now find yourself drawn to her in the same way your brother was. As beauty is to the beholder, you would be more than glad to say that Lilith is the pinnacle of beauty. No, not just that, she must be the definition.

“-I don’t know how long I can hold this-“

“You’ll be fine Luci~” he groaned as Lilith turns to you and whispered “How long did you say he can stay like that for?”

You know he can hear you both despite her effort, so you look at him in the eyes and pretend to ponders.

“Hm~ At least two hours is needed for me to made the paint-“ you can do it in seconds if you choose to, “and my hands are so unsteady…” you can draw a circle, not perfect, but you don’t need perfection in your work, until today that is, “So… my dearest, strongest, most wonderful and amazing brother can stay like that until we’re done.”

She pulls you into her arms, laughing and aggreging with you as Lucifer seethes and curse under his breath. It wouldn’t take as long as he dreaded, he gives up half way through and opted to show you two some trick he learned instead. But it certainly was enough for him to weaponized it for the next 6 days. Lilith distracted you two from your sibling rivalry all the while.

You would’ve love to gawk and hand-pick each and every trait she have to write songs and poems about, but were you to truly do that, you’ll have to pick all of dear Lilith apart. Father’s skills and love truly shines through her appearance in every way. And yet, so distinctly, she’s not the same as everything else Father made.

As you observed the way Lilith would dance with Lucifer, you realized just how similar their souls are, despite being made from different molds and materials. Lilith brough to Lucifer a certain charm, a place for him to hang about as he falls. Lucifer in turns, brought a wave of chaos to her, one that she handled with utter grace and would indulge in. Her towering figure holding onto him as she brings him from the river they fell into, her lyre playing the oddest of tunes that somehow compliments his terrible singing. The faces he painted on the rocks in the garden are followed right behind with her own piece of art, just as terrible as his and just as lovely. All a lovely and gentle and beloved kind of love, but one where you suddenly feels like the garden isn’t a place for you anymore, despite them always calling your name and laughing with you.

And in the midst of it, you soon realized you can’t find the trace of paint handmade by your brother on your robes anymore, and none of your good papers ever disappeared with a mischievous grin hiding behind it. But as always, you followed after him when he offers his hand. And then one day Sera gives you an off-handed praise about finally distancing yourself from Lucifer, and suddenly, it hit you that it’s been a month since he draped himself across your desk and pull you away to play some games he came up with that day. Time passes quickly for those who do not live, and it passed by even quicker for dreamers living in happy days.

Unbecoming of yourself, you would fallen ill for three days and two night, not the kind where you would lie in bed and barely move. It’s the kind where you move with a fervor, unable to think for anything except from tearing everything in your room open and breaking every other thing that can’t be torn. Immortal beings cannot handled the concept of non-eternal love. It hurts all the more that the two souls you want to direct this anger at is the two you will readily die for. You grappled with the possibility of feeling betrayed and abandoned by people who never leave in the first place by punching at the walls until your knuckles tore open to the bones. How do you mourn people who never die. You do not know. So for those three days and two nights, you learned how to.

But jealousy is an unsightly trait of an angel, and honestly is applauded. So afterward, you turn to Sera and asked her for guidance, seeking the inner peace and order she and the Elders have been preaching all this time before you can let yourself find out what happened to angels who let the unsightly takes them. So that you wouldn’t ever know what happened to angels who let the unsightly into their room, yours was cleaned of all the broken and torn.

But forever, your heart still turned towards your older brother and his new love. Every time you open your eyes after a restful sleep, your thoughts are filled with them. And despite Sera’s advices, you would still seek them out just to listen to their songs, and as they dance across the Garden, you learned and made peace with simply watching on. Soon, a small seed, like that of an apple tree was planted in your heart and it grows every time they smile, with or without you, and slowly you find in you a sense of tranquility. Because by Lilith side, your brother’s once tired visage soon grow a new life, one better than you can ever hope to give him. And by Lucifer side, she glows with something you can’t ever put a finger on, as if being born anew every moment. So one day, you held onto her hand while Lucifer flies off to catch a duck by the pond.

“Are you happy by Lucifer’s side?”

Her graceful and sharp expression broke with a smile, so bright and gentle, just like your brother.

“As happy as I can ever be.”

Your own face, reflecting in her light violet eyes, akin to beautiful blooming Chrysanthemums, is one filled to the brim with mirth. You would embrace her in your arms for the last time as you bid the two goodbye and leave. From then on, you forbid yourself from ever entering Eden, even as your brother would beg you at times. You only send Lilith gifts and letters you wrote by hand, afraid of encroaching onto their garden, it’s no longer a space that belongs to you.

Far until the day you woke up and wondering what you’ll have for dessert. It hits you that life have returns to its state of normalcy, one where you think about Lilith and Lucifer having fun and one where you hoped they're laughing as loud as they can; for Lucifer is your dearest older brother, and Lilith your beloved older sister, not bounded by blood, not tied by soul. You hope he can get Lilith and himself out of Heaven’s grasp one day. Such a rigid place can never be enough for them.

-

Their yelling was so, so loud. Half of you hope to be anywhere else at all, and the other half hope you can go back to being a speck of dust in the galaxy. But you’re standing in the court of the Elders as they fought over your life, unable to wish and pray yourself away from here (it’s unbecoming for an angel to wish) and unable to process a single word they’re saying as you poured over the details.

(“Surely it knows! You can’t see it by anyone else’s side except from him!” “You’re the closest to that vile snake! You must’ve plotted together with him?!”

“Throw it down too! We can’t risk another one!”)

Your eyes flitting across the documents and fucking transcripts that was made over the days of the event and what happened after. Although their every motion finally written in clear ink, you can’t help but focus on one thing.

They took from the apple tree and dare gave it to Eve, Adam’s new bride. More-or-less tricking her and causing the downfall of humanity, the papers all-but stated.

(“I begged of you, they surely do not. For all this time, they have been by my side! For the past week, they haven’t even saw him!”

“How are you so sure?!”

“Are you saying I’m blind, Elder?”

“How dare you talk back! You wretched-“

A hand reach out, silencing the court. A single Elder stand with their eyes watching your hunched form. You were a particularly hard-working angel, despite your association and your actions at time.)

It was unanimously agreed that Lucifer and Lilith will be cast down to Hell, a palace made of misery just for them. Their thought crimes might've turned to outright blasphemy, but there is mercy in the arms of Father. Eve’s fate however, remained unknown. They’ll have a court session about her tomorrow, to be entice or to let yourself be enticed, a rock and a hard place. There’s talk and whispers in the walls, of casting her to the same fate as your brother and his lover the moment her soul leave her newly-made body. Your grief is with Lucifer and Lilith, fully aware of the real punishment.

(“Then will you, Oh Honored Seraphim, swear with your eternal life that this one won’t fall like he did?”)

Being able to escaped Heaven and the judging eyes of others would’ve been a dream for them. Somewhere where white and black rules and golden rigid structures won’t tie down their dreams of freedom and love. What better ways to break them than to let them watch the consequences of their blasted dreams.

“…”

She held onto your hand, as you finally collapsed on the stand and weep openly for all to see. They turn and discussed amongst themselves as you feel your breath gets taken away all over again.

“Honored Seraphim?”

“I swear to our Father, and to my eternal life.”

Sera grips on you is strong and firm even as she leads you from the court and back to your room, all cozy and warm and so unlike your burning heart and freezing body. She sat on your bed and held onto your shivering form, wide-eye and as terrified as the day you were born.

“From now on, their eyes are on you.”

You catches the glimpse on her face, miserable and heavy, masked behind a tough front. You wondered whether she knew this would’ve happened. You wondered if she’s doubting herself for trusting you. Your life now tied to her hand.

“From now on, you have no brother. You must stay strong.”

From now on, you both have no sibling. As you cry yourself into the dark, you briefly remembers Lilith gentle hand holding onto yours when you doze off, Lucifer sing a lullaby you can’t recalled, his voice normal and lovely. Now so far away from them, you wondered if there’s any meaning at all to dreams.

-

You once had a brother and a sister, not by blood, if only you could be bound to them by blood. Unlike the blessed humans, your regrets and sorrow cannot end in a single night and nothing in the world can ever take your ghastly form away. Your soul is made by hand, plucked from the infinite of the world; body melts in mold, sculpted from stardust instead of dirt. If only you too, were made of dirt. Instead, you now watch over the misshapen sculpted clays and dirt that made it to the pearly gates and take care of them as best you could. Jealousy is unbecoming of an angel, but you no longer care about knowing what happened to the one that fell.

You once had a brother and a sister, once. And ever since you haven’t, you’ve been dutifully and restlessly waiting until they can come back home.