#a poor one as threats should never be made while crying

[satosugusandwich]

𝔏𝔢𝔱 𝔐𝔢 𝔖𝔢𝔢 𝔜𝔬𝔲’𝔯𝔢 𝔐𝔢𝔞𝔫…

True Form!Sukuna x Fem!Afab!Reader (This is an AU!!! Sukuna is not a homicidal maniac cannibalistic murderer! I think he’s sexy and my morals say no dick from crazy murderer BUT dick from crazy 😍)

CW: violence in this chapter, threats, bloodiness, implied sexual violence and objectification

Description: You've been friends with Yuji Itadori for some time now and have seen the best, the worst, and the strange in all your years of knowing him. You've never thought he was one to have any crazy secrets and well... you were wrong. And now the demon bound to Yuji is bound to you too! How fun! Good thing that you aren't stupid and won't fall for a being that by no means should you have ever interacted with! Right? Right...?

*despite this being an aged up version of yuji, there will be no sexual stuff involving him, also the violence is only in the first chapter with a few mentions after that!!! Cross posted on Ao3 under Spicycrunchroll! THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT LATER ON!*

Chapter 1: Never Again.

Poor you, stuck with a gay best friend and his gay boyfriend and exclusively terrible, gross men. The struggle of getting a good man was hard enough, let alone getting some good dick. Even gay men will tell you how bad some dudes are. Its one thing to finish in 2 minutes and cry after, at least there's sympathy, but a whole other thing to just be kicked out of the guy's house immediately and left wearing d r y panties with cum on your shorts. Yeah, never hooking up again, you tell yourself each time. Now, you found yourself wiping the oil off your face with a clammy hand while dialing Yuji's number, having just been booted out this guys house in the middle of the night. It rang only about twice before he picked up.

"Please don't tell me something bad happened." He said on the other line.

You sighed, walking to the end of your date's driveway and sitting on the ground. "Worse than usual. Can you pick me up? I'll send you the address." Your head hung low and your eyes felt heavy, wanting to cry but not having the energy to do so. At this point, you're never fucking anyone again. Let alone agreeing to suck them off before you get off. "I should've known that all his talk were lies."

You could hear him breathe in. "Yeah, I'm coming. Wanna stay over?" He asked jubilantly, as if to raise your spirits.

You smiled softly. "Could you stay at my place instead?"

"Hell yeah!"

You said your goodbyes and opened your phone, aimlessly scrolling on social media while looking for something to distract you from the disappointment of being used up and left to the corner, dehumanized again by a shitty man with a big ego. God, it made you sick. It wouldn't take long for Yuji to get to you, but it wasn't fun waiting either. Each minute ticked on by as if an hour had passed and all you wanted to do was throw away your shorts and shower off the stench of vape juice and alcohol. You didn't want to get in his car and start sobbing about how you wished you never did what you did, not because Yuji wouldn't listen, but because of your own embarrassment. Itadori has always been kind and much more level-headed (at least with this, he's usually just as stupid as you) so its extra embarrassing to have to tell him you sucked off a guy who didn't even get you wet. At least he was clean, you tell yourself, deleting Tinder from your phone for the last time. Never again will you take subpar dick from grown men who act like children! No, from now on, your body only allows worthy men, men that would worship you like you'd worship them!

After sulking for another five minutes, the engine of a car in the distance rumbled in your ear. Straightening your back, your head turned in the direction of where it’s approaching. It’s approaching way too fast for a regular suburban neighborhood. Rising to your feet to take a step back, it already turned down the street you happened to be on and you could hear sirens go off in your head, especially as you noticed that none of their lights were on and they definitely didn’t have tags. The van sped past you but they started to slow down before they reached the end of the street. You felt your heart rate surge when you realized they came to a complete stop. At that moment you realized that they were turning around.

Quickly, your legs brought you to the house you had just left and you banged on the door for a few seconds and screamed.

“Hey! Let me back in!!! It’s not safe!” The roar of the car started again and your intuition told you to run so that’s what you did.

Fuck, who knows who these mother fuckers are! Your mind is racing thinking about what they could potentially do if they caught you. Did they know you were here? Did they just happen to see you? Or… did the motherfucker inside of that house tell them you were here? Oh fuck… that’s why he kicked you out.

Tears started falling from your eyes as you ran through these people’s yards, you could see lights coming on in some houses, but it was no use because the car behind you stopped and three men came out the side door. You prayed that your human survival instincts would kick in and catapult you to go faster than you were, but they were bigger than you and right on your tail. Your legs ached and burned, practically sprinting and trying not to trip in the road. You didn’t dare look behind you, scared to slow yourself down, and scared of them. You kept on running and running until you reached the end of the road and saw headlights.

“Yuji!” You screamed, recognizing the shape and color of his car. With you out in the road, he stopped abruptly and you could see his body jerk with the impact. The men behind you cursed themselves but you felt hands on you faster than Yuji could process what was going on.

“Get her now! He’s coming behind us we’ll throw her in!” The man lifted you and you screamed again, but a hand swiftly covered your mouth. Yuji was out of the car and lunged at the guy holding you captive but was quickly stopped and apprehended by the other two.

“The kid has some fucking balls!” The biggest of the guys holding Yuji shouted, earning a strong blow to the chin. You thrashed against the man’s body as the large van from earlier came up right behind you.

Yuji looked at you as blood dripped from his nose. “Y/n! I got it, I promise!”

You held out hope and believed him even as you were thrown inside the van and the driver pulled away from the scene, leaving the two men with Yuji and you with a man wearing all black pressing you into the floor of the van. Tears spilled from your eyes, angered and terrified at the same time.

“Looks like we got a real good catch!” The driver harrumphed. “Bet she’ll go for a pretty penny.”

Your mind practically stopped when you heard those words. You were going to be sold, like an object, like a slave. The horror of it all made your body go numb and eyes go wide and then you closed them.

“Please.” You begged. “Please let me go.” Your voice was hoarse and you could taste your own tears as your mouth opened.

“No can do. We were told that you’d fetch a high price with your skills. Don’t worry, some girls get a good owner.” His voice was menacing and cold, but he spoke as though he actually fucking believed it. He didn’t even laugh at your pain like a monster would, he was just indifferent, emotionless.

“Please.” You begged again. “I can’t do it, please let me out!” This time your voice raised. “Help!” Your mouth was stuffed with cloth and your face was buried more into the floor as he bound your wrists.

The driver started to chastise the other man. “Why didn’t you gag her right away, the dumb bitch is louder than a dying cat!”

The other man cussed back. “Shut the fuck up, there isn’t nobody coming after us!”

The van stopped so fast you and the man were flung to the front of the car, colliding with the back of the front seats.

“What the fuck!” The man that was holding you down swore. His arms were now off you and the bindings he attempted were loose enough that you released your wrists and went for your gag. “No you don’t!” He reached for your clothes, yanking you back. Before you were held against your will again, the entire van split down the middle, from door to door. The back half of the van was flung off to the side before it became a cut up mess in the middle of the road.

Then you saw him. His hair was the same color as Yuji’s but was much less controlled. You could see what looked like four arms and a giant smiling mouth in the middle of his stomach. Every single person in the van went still and silent, staring at him. The creature looked inside and dead at you, bright red eyes gleaming in the moonlight. All four of them. Even the two on the side of his face that looked almost like a mask. He can’t be real. The tattoos all over his body were arranged in such a pattern that it was beautiful but something that scared you even more.

The creature spoke. “Now.” His gaze shifted from you to the man holding you. “I prefer it when I can get a good fight out of my opponents, but you lot are pathetic.” He looked disappointed. “Normal humans…”

No one spoke and he pouted. “Not a single retort? None of you pathetic excuses of flesh can say a word? You had a lot to say about selling the woman, can’t you entertain me? Or are your brains so simple you can’t think outside of making money off selling one of your own?”

Their own? Did he mean… humans?

The man behind you was shaking. And you could definitely feel his pants getting wet.

The creature before you sucked his teeth. “Boooring.” He narrowed his eyes. “And pathetic.” The vehicle was slashed once again, this time cutting into thirds, leaving you and the man holding you isolated in the middle while the other two thirds, including the driver collapsed around you. You heard squelches of flesh from the front and gasping. “You said she sounded like a dying cat, hm? Since you prefer the quiet so much, I thought I’d help you.” The creature chuckled.

The man holding you finally let you go, and he turned around to see the driver. You didn’t look. You knew what the creature did. Scurrying away, you realized headlights were approaching again and… it was Yuji!

“Ahhh, the brats already here. Well, I can’t kill you lot so how about I leave the piss-soaked one with a lesson.”

You didn’t know if you should thank the monster or run from him. You decided to run toward Yuji’s car.

Another crack resounded in your ears and then a gut-chortling scream resounded from behind you. “There we are. Something nice and fast. I hope they don’t find you until the morning.” You didn’t want to know what he did, you didn’t want to dare to turn around, all you cared about was the car door opening for you and Yuji’s comforting presence.

He looked so relieved to see you. “Y/n. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. Don’t worry about those guys. I got you now. Sukuna won’t kill them, he can’t, but they’ll never ever do anything like that again to anyone.” Those were the first words to meet your ears. You didn’t say anything, all you did was sob in the seat next to him as he drove off and away from the scene. You didn’t ask anything. You didn’t want to. All that mattered was getting the fuck away from this and home and into a clean bed.

You could care about this later.

“I would’ve killed them if it wasn’t for this contract.” Your heart jumped out of your chest as the monster’s voice resounded in the backseat. “Sorry you don’t get the pleasure of knowing they’re dead.”

[delopsia]

Thinking about all the things Rhett had to deal with while growing up on the Abbott ranch and how his world tips on its head when you come into his life.

He's forever conscious of how Perry was born out of love, and he was born because Royal realized that it would be cheaper to have his kids working than it was to hire help. Poor Cecelia was so blindsided by her baby fever that she didn't realize why Royal went back on his "I only want one kid" statement until after Royal hauled five-year-old Rhett out to work on the ranch for the third day in a row. An entire two years younger than Perry had been when he started working.

And the problem with Royal, is that arguing with him only makes him dig his heels into the dirt, refusing to sway on his decision.

Most of the kids in his school worked and had their responsibilities to help keep the household running, but Rhett was the only one who had to do his homework on the bus because otherwise, he wouldn't have time to do it until he went to bed. Just like he was the only kid to miss every single field trip, because why should he go to the zoo with his class when he could be working with Royal?

He doesn't understand why his dad snaps at him for crying over his injuries but soon comes a time when he doesn't care about the bruises littering his arms. Gets annoyed when Perry cries about crushing his hand. Nothing's broken; there's no reason to get worked up over it.

That exact thinking keeps him quiet the first time he gets hurt bullriding. So focused on chasing the same small-town glory as his father that he doesn't mind the sprained ankle. Getting on again and again because, for a few fleeting seconds, the crowd cheers his name, and the sound of their applause is the thing he's grown to crave.

There was some point when the workload in the house started shifting. When Perry was starting to reach the end of his high school days, started to fight a little harder against Royal's iron fist. And with an explosive temper that nearly dulls Royal's, it only made sense that he started getting his way. Enjoying days off, weekends spent touring colleges, and venturing out into the real world, because of how his explosive demeanor always devolved into threats that shook his momma to her core.

But one less pair of hands on the ranch meant that the others had to take on more work, and with Royal's old bull riding injuries coming back to bite him, Rhett was the only one capable of taking it on. But just because you can doesn't mean you should.

Hiring just one ranch hand would have made all the difference, but the prospect of losing money is something Royal's always disagreed with. Slowly, Rhett's work days grow longer. Dinner time no longer makes the end of his work, having to go back out to finish up while everyone else showers and settles in for the night. Waking up before school to get a head start on chores, hoping he'll be done early tonight.

It never happens. Where he finds free time, Royal finds things he could be doing, and Rhett starts learning that lying about needing to do store runs is the only way he'll get a break.

The way Royal refused to let him and Perry have cellphones until they turned eighteen and could buy them with their own money. The result of a privilege revoked after a thirteen-year-old Perry got caught on his phone at two in the morning ended with a smashed phone and a brutal reminder of where the eldest son gets his anger from.

A rule that was forced to be overturned when Rhett was sixteen. All because something in the west pasture spooked his horse; she'd run him clean over in her attempt to get away from it, and he never saw her coming. He still doesn't remember hitting the ground, but he does recall the splitting ache in his skull when his eyes finally reopened.

With no cell phone, he had no way to call for help, forced to limp home on foot. He didn't get home until after dusk because Royal had written his absence off as teenage rebellion. A hospital visit later, Cecelia went behind her husband's back to buy new phones for both of her boys, but even the justification of keeping her boys safe wasn't enough for Royal. Because Rhett had made it home and was fine at the end of the day.

Then Rhett's eighteen, and he's just barely maintained his grades to graduate. He's got it in his head that he's going to move out, get out of this stuffy old town, and pave his own way, doing something, anything. But now Perry and Rebecca are moving into the house with their daughter, and Rhett's being asked to put off his plans until they get settled in.

He's nineteen when he gives up on trying to leave because something always needs him to stay home a little longer. He's twenty when he figures out why Royal drinks so much beer, gets hooked on the way the bitter liquid makes the ache in his shoulders disappear, and for the first time in a while, he's happy. Because you can't remember your sorrows when you're drunk.

Rhett's twenty-one when he can start wandering into bars, and he's twenty-one when he learns that there's a group of girls who come to rodeos, hoping to catch a steamy night with a bull rider, no strings attached. It's strange to kiss a girl you don't know the name of, waking up alone in a hotel bed with hardly any memory of what happened the night before. But for a few splitting seconds, he doesn't feel so alone in this big world, and he's clinging to it with every fiber of his being.

Until that's not enough, either. The scream of the crowd, the electric touch of those pretty girls that cheer his name, no longer make his days easier. Beer quits chasing away the pain in his joints, the prescription painkiller for an old injury in his wrist had might as well be candy, and he can only escape it by blacking out. He doesn't remember getting that DUI, but Officer Joy tells him that he was muttering about how Royal wanted him to chase down a cow that broke through the fence. He's in such rough shape that she intentionally forgets to discharge him, hoping the day of rest will do something to get rid of the bags under his eyes.

She isn't quite sure what to think when she learns that he's practically been running the Abbott ranch for the past few years. Royal always fails to mention his youngest son when he brags about his ranch.

Then you come along.

A fresh new face, one of the only people to move into Wabang rather than out of it because your new job led you all the way out here. It was Sherrif Joy who suggested you visit the Amelia County rodeo once or twice, and you'd only gone because there was nothing else to do. Rhett didn't notice you until Joy came to congratulate him on his ride, with you glued to her side. He hasn't stumbled through a hello in years, but he can hardly get it out of his mouth.

Your face sticks in his head while he works, and God, he doesn't even know your name, but his heart is jumping in his chest when you run into him at the store, time and time again. Until he finally cracks and starts a conversation with you while waiting in line, and somehow that ends in the two of you standing in the parking lot, talking until the store closes. An invitation to get drinks turns into dinner dates, and he's got something to look forward to again.

All of a sudden, you're massaging his overworked hands and cradling his scruffy face like he's made of glass. Whispering about how he needs rest and deserves all the love you shower him with, and he's not sure what to make of that. Can never figure out why his eyes water that first time he lays his head on your chest, listening to the pitter-patter of your heart while you play with his hair.

His momma is the only one whose ever done that; she stopped when he was fourteen.

He doesn't know how to tell you that he loves you. Those words choke in his throat every time he tries to utter them, stifling him into a painful silence that he can't escape. Instead, he does the only thing he knows how to do.

He works.

Replaces the busted locks in your doors, changes the oil in your car, he builds the porch you say you wanted, and he tinkers away at the little household annoyances. You want a fence? He's got it; he just needs to get up earlier to have time to build it. You're telling him that he doesn't have to do all these things for you, but work is the only thing he knows how to do. If he stops, then what else can he give you?

He doesn't understand what you see in him; he's not as energetic and fun as those other rodeo guys who eye you up every time they see you. They have more money, they're stronger, don't have the aches and pains of an old man, and they haven't got the reputation of being the town casanova.

He doesn't understand how you look at him like he's something precious—some priceless thing that deserves the world and more. There will come a day when you realize you deserve better, more than he could ever hope to give you, and he knows it'll break him, but he lets you love on him anyway. Because a few months spent with you is the best thing he could ever ask for, even if you walk away in the end.

But you're not walking away. Fuck, he's probably given you more opportunities than the Lord can count, but for some reason, you stay. And you're spending your first Christmas together, he's buying you too many sweets for Valentine's Day and he's spoiling you on your birthday, only to get confused when you surprise him with cake on his own birthday. Can't remember the last time he blew out candles, only realizes he was supposed to make a wish three days later.

Selfishly, he wishes that you'll be with him forever.

You're taking him to the zoo for one of your dates, and for the first time in his life, he's looking back at a tiger, and it's so, so different from the pictures. There are otters, bears, cheetahs, and wait, wait! Why are there goats in a zoo? Hasn't everyone met a goat before? What's so special about these ones? And how the fuck are giraffes so tall?

Royal says the red-panda plush Rhett hauls home is a waste of money. He could have saved that money to invest in land or a future, but all Rhett can think of is how, when he squeezes it to his chest at night, he can almost deceive himself into thinking it's you instead.

But then comes that big argument; he forgets what its about midway through, because he's realized that this is it. This is when you realize that he can't give you what you deserve. He can't blame you, but that still doesn't stop him from breaking when you walk out to your car.

He doesn't know what the hell to think when he realizes you're in the room with him. Couldn't hear the squeal of the door over the choked noises coming from his own mouth, eyes so clouded with tears that he can't even see you. But he can feel your arms around him, and he doesn't want to hug you out of fear of this being a dream. Yet you're still there, and you're not promising you're never leaving him, and he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand. And it scares him so bad that he shakes with it.

You don't know if you'll ever be able to let go of him because he clings to you with this fear that you've never seen before. Words aren't enough to convince his broken heart that you're not going anywhere, and for the first time since you met him, he talks. Spills every fear and thought he's ever had through his hiccups, confirms your suspicions of how much he hurts, and unveils the sources of his insecurities.

Your big cowboy falls asleep with his face buried in your neck, and he's still there when you wake up. It's the third time he's stayed in bed and didn't go to work, but it's the first time he's chosen to stay. Usually, it's a physical injury that forces him to stay down, but this is an injury you can't see. A fracture in who he is, broken after a lifetime of increasing pressure that he never stood a chance against.

He follows you into the kitchen, no longer trying to conceal the limp in his left foot as he tries his best to help you cook breakfast. You don't know where his appetite came from, but you've never seen him meekly ask if he can make himself more fried eggs.

It's only after that he remembers the argument about how you got a job offer that would take you a few states away. Out of Wyoming and away from him. But it's your dream job, and it hurts to see Rhett's bottom lip wobble as he weakly tells you to go for it. Dreams come first, after all.

Like many things, he doesn't know what to think when you tell him your dream has changed. You want him to come with you. Leave this flyover town, find a job that doesn't ask the world of him, and share a cute little house with you somewhere in the countryside. He doesn't get why you'd want it with him, but fuck if that isn't the one thing he's always wanted.

Royal thinks that Rhett's lighter attitude is because of his recent decision to move in with you. Cecelia already knows what Rhett's up to without needing to be told.

It takes a year for you to move. Just after you lock your front door for the last time, Cecelia's car appears in the driveway. Neither of you can figure out how she knew you two were moving out today, but she's brought a box of things that her youngest deserves to have. Pictures, his first belt buckle, that first cellphone that got drowned in the kitchen sink, and a freshly knitted blanket. A housewarming gift. She says it's good luck for a couple to have one and to not hesitate to call if you need anything.

That blanket sits on the back of the couch in your new living room. Rhett only curls up with it when he's feeling homesick, which had might as well be the entirety of the first six months in this new house. He finds a job at a local ranch, is lucky enough to have his beloved horse shipped out to stay there, and slowly, his true colors start to bleed through.

Or maybe they were always there, simply dulled by the exhaustion that once seemed to permanently sit in his weary bones.

Because his smile reaches his eyes more often, and his prescription painkillers have long since expired. His body a touch softer, the result of a rediscovered appetite, and he reaches for you more than he does a can of beer. Gripings about his father are replaced by laughter that echoes down the hall. He's still got that limp, but he chases you up the stairs quicker than he used to. Those gaudy belt buckles never leave, and never do you. Always there when he comes home from work, ready to meet him for his favorite welcome-home kiss.

Rhett will never be the son Royal asked for, but he will always be the man you've dreamed of.

And he's more than enough.

[blut-s]

Ghost x punk!Soap

part 1

It happened. Ghost - no - Simon had to live as a civilian and it was not an easy task. He never took longer breaks, not since he got his revenge on Roba. A night out with Gaz and Price was as far as he allowed himself to get, still leaving the pub early. Now, however, he can’t just go back to the barracks, sleep, and start work again in the morning. Not after the last mission.

He was shot. Bullet right through his right forearm, shattering a part of bone and damaging his nerves. You can’t always avoid injuries happening, especially in his line of work, but he wasn’t even sure if it’s gonna be his work after that. His arm wasn’t cut off, but at this point it might as well have been. His hand is so weak it’s basically useless. He couldn’t even hold a pen right, having to clumsily sign his leave documents with his left side. It all made him feel like a stupid, little kid again. John and Kyle have been trying to help him with everything they could before he left the base. They carried his bag and backpack for him to the car, which he couldn’t even fucking drive. Captain had to talk with MacMillan to make some poor, young sod drive him to the London’s train station, where he could get a train back to Manchester.

He didn’t talk to anyone during the trip. Not in the car and not on the train. He had no reason to. After around 5 hours he reached the target city and oh boy, wasn’t it a depressing sight. The place on its own? Not so bad. It was the memories connected to it that caused discomfort. He didn't have time to think about it too much. Not now. He still had to get to his flat.

After an awkward cab ride and with 35 pounds less in his pocket Simon was finally in front of the building. Bags were hanging uncomfortably from his shoulder while he looked for his keycard and keys in the left pocket of his jacket. And then the bags fell loudly to the ground and he wanted to start crying from all the frustration. Instead, he (very bravely I might add) opened the main door and started walking upstairs until he reached his flat's entrance. Finding the right key wasn't difficult and he could finally get in, setting his baggage aside.

There sure was some cleaning up to do there. Dust covered almost every surface reminding him of how long he has been away. Few years, wasn't it? He should have just sold the place, not botering with legal stuff connected to owning an apartment he doesn't even live in. Okay, maybe he's the tiniest bit happy that he doesn't have to stay in a hotel right now, it for sure would be more annoying. Simon told himself that he'll just start cleaning and get some basic groceries tomorrow, exhaustion getting more to him. He threw himself on the stiff couch and quickly fell asleep.

… . . … … . … … ..

As he promised himself, the next day was full of cleaning every surface he was able to get. For a soldier he had poor coordination in his left arm, so it took a bit longer, but in the afternoon everything was shining. Groceries he did earlier were unpacked in the fridge and shelves, consisting mostly of microwavable meals and instant noodles, but it sure was better than starving. He's not gonna cook for himself. It's not that he wasn't capable of it, he just didn't think it was necessary. Okay, maybe he wasn't so capable right now, not being able to hold a knife well, but he didn't lack cooking skills! First one to go was a store brand fish pie. As the microwave was humming, Simon started zoning out. He couldn’t imagine his life outside of the military and the threat of a medical discharge was hanging right next to his head. Of course, he’ll get physical therapy after his arm heals a bit, but what if the nerves don’t start working well again? Not being able to even just hold things - he would be useless there. He would be useless overall. Not even civilian jobs would take him. What if he landed around sketchy people? Gave up on life and started using, chasing some nonexistent pleasure? What if he ended up like Tommy did, before he went to rehab? Simon would never do drugs, right? He is too proud for that. Then why is he stressing over it so much? Why the fuck can’t he stop thinking about-

DING

Sound of the finished microwave cycle was a blessing. It stopped him from spiraling even deeper down the anxious hole. Simon took out his food, hissing at the hot temperature of the packaging. He put on a news channel on the telly and got to eating. The fish pie for sure wasn’t the best thing he has ever eaten, but it had to be enough for now. He wasn’t poor by any means. His military salary was definitely not the lowest and you don’t really spend a lot of money when you’re at work almost all the time, but he really didn’t want to order takeout right now. Having to talk to a stranger while receiving his order really did seem like too much for now. Maybe another day. Now he opted for having a short nap on the couch.

As short naps usually do, Simon woke up a few hours later, news still playing in the background. What disturbed his sleep were sounds from outside the window. He checked the time - 02:13. Who in the bloody hell (being of course Manchester) thought it would be fun just yelling at the streets in the middle of the night? Although with every second it sounded less and less like someone having fun and more like someone was in big trouble. Despite his better judgment and with the knowledge that he won’t do much with the condition his arm is in, Simon, maybe because of some work instincts, foolishly rushed through the corridor, down the stairs and through the main door until he ended up on the pavement in front of his apartment block. From the right he heard a grunt and looked to see a figure illuminated by the lights coming from a repulsive pub.

A/n i apologize for any mistakes its my first time writing anything.

[stareiiez]

𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 --- four

simon ( ghost ) riley x female reader.

content : dark?? ghost. fingering. orgasming. voyeurism. modern settings. mentions of stalking. gore. death. gun violence. graphic descriptions of gore. torture. obsession. drinking. sex. female genitals. unhealthy attachments. violence. blood. implied death. blood. smut in later chapters. dark topics. this is just my version of haunting adeline but for ghost. adult cis female reader. MDNI. 3.8k words. proof read to the best of my tired eyes.

note: another late night update <3 if you're triggered by death/ torture pls don't read! if you do, don't say i didnt warn you! as always, reblogs, comments, and notes are loved and appreciated!!!!

To say soundproofing a basement was a blessing for Simon was a blessing is a severe understatement. Without it, the patrons who were upstairs drinking and being merry in crude ways would be able to hear the gut-wrenching screams and manly grunts over the pain-filled noises that were caused by several weapons of torture and destruction. His favorite had been the cheese grater. A little corny, sure, but god did it do the job to make a man piss himself like a little bitch when it was dragged up the valley of his tender throat. The meaty thwack of blunt force meeting wet skin echoes in the darkened basement. Musty air and traces of liquor tingle upon a twice-broken nose. Bloody knuckles wreak havoc upon the blistered and fileted skin of poor Graves. It's been like this for nearly an hour, the need for releasing pent-up steam and broiling over anger made Simon pull out the big guns and turn the pretty boy into nothing but a bloody sack of crying meat.

Graves was unrecognizable. Both of his once beautiful blue eyes, that you stared at so dreamy-like, were swollen shut. Puffy and purple turning with threats of black eyes and bloodshot irises. Cigarette burns, stab wounds, cuts, and barely forming bruises were littering the bare upper body of the poor suffering sap Simon was torturing half to death. Kidnapping and planned manslaughter were not in his plans tonight, far from it. His plans were innocent. He wanted to watch you and your nightly routine, memorize your little rituals before bed. He wanted to see what you would look like when you were dreaming so peacefully under his watchful eyes that would be at your bedside. He wanted to know what your sheets smelled like, felt like under his rough palms, and get the first touch of pure warmth that radiated off your little body while it was oblivious to his touch.

Now Graves just had to come over on the night Simon planned to. How unfortunate. Truly. If he was any better mate he would apologize for every scream and plea that tumbled out of that broken jaw that once purred into your ear in front of Simon's eyes. It didn't have to be like this, but he had a point to make. He tells himself this when his broad back turns, grabbing at an already stained towel painted red with thick ruby ichor. You were his girl. His pretty baby should be fingered by him and him only. This was only an example for every other son of a bitch you decided that was better to fuck than Simon Riley himself.

"She never even told me she had a boyfriend." cried Graves when he was still pure and fresh-skinned. His eyes flicked down to the dull butcher knife that Simon had been tossing up and down lazily; brown eyes watching the frustration and unease that crept on the other man's face underneath the bleached bone mask of his. "Wouldn't even have thought to touch her, unless she wanted it, and she did want it." Wrong set of words. Yikes.

Rusted metal meets the muscle of Graves' right thigh in one effortless swing of Simon, buried to the hilt. Dark cherry starts to bubble around the plastic handle. Strong metal and even stronger cries of the pretty boy. His head throws back with a growl and a colorful string of curses. Not a very Southern gentlemanly thing of him to do. Very different from the southern hospitality Graves was giving you before Simon got his hands on him. Overly whitened teeth bare out between a grimace and snarl given to the brit. All bark and very little bite. Cute. He'd have fun with this. He always had fun with this type of work, it's why his group always gave him the nitty gritty bloody work. Their hands would be a little cleaner than his, and he could enjoy watching even the toughest get unnerved when they caught the sick glint in Simon's eyes when he brought out new ' toys ' to try out.

Now Graves was on the receiving end of that sick look. Emotionless eyes but smiling lips that peeled a bit too wide under the suffocating balaclava that covered his head and mouth. Bottomless dark pools of his irises reflected the mess of carved-away fatty tissue and the sharp ends of broken bones stretching past the elasticity of human skin. A dead man's masterpiece. Picasso eat your fucking heart out.

The saving grace was the end of a smoking barrel that pressed to Grave's forehead. Hot iron and metal singed away at damp baby hairs and smoothed away the wrinkles of distraught so cruelly. Simon was growing bored of this torture now, he was wasting too much time here messing with a man who had one foot in the grave and the other trying to wedge itself in the doorway of life. He had to make a call and see if his pretty girl was distraught enough for a comforting hand or two to reel her into the snare of his adoration.

"Have we learned our lesson for the evenin' then, mate?" Simon's dark timber of a voice growled into the stale air. The end of his gun prodded at glistening skin for an answer almost immediately. He doesn't have all night.

Grave's jaws couldn't click together enough to help form the bleeding nub of a tongue to form a coherent enough answer to please him. That tongue was cut off with a clean swipe of Simon's blade when Graves still had his energy and was making threats about getting out of there and getting his men to show the Brit how torture worked; then maybe he'd celebrate by fucking 'his' girl all in memorium for his tries. Shame that tongue had to go, he preferred the curses and slew of half-baked 'go to hell's ' Graves let bolster out in the first thirty minutes down here.

He'll settle for a silent answer then. Broken bones popped socket arms and kneecaps would just have to be an affirmative' yes sir ' to Simon. If Dead men can't come crawling back out of their half-dug graves to come to eat some pussy; then mangled ruined bodies of desperate mutts of men can fuck to save their fading souls from descending into the depths of hell.

Thumb cocking back the hammer of his sidearm, pointer finger pressing a little bit too eagerly. The kickback of gunpowder and fire didn't make Simon miss the satisfying spray of pink brain matter, hot blood, and tiny pieces of flying skull shrapnel painting the grungey floor behind Graves.

A mess of gory artistry the man behind the painting would just have to miss being cleaned up and taken out back to be thrown away in a dumpster where all other trash goes to rot away in a marked landfill. The gun of his was tossed next to Grave's bound cooling corpse. He'll get an earful about doing this during working hours of the bar, but he would be damned if he didn't get to release his demons onto Graves before it was too late and his anger chilled to a icy tundra in his chest.

Another cup of coffee, perhaps your fourth of the night cools in your palms again. The caffeine does little to soothe the growing migraine that pounds behind your eye sockets with every microsecond your patience wanes into threads. Angry hornets fester inside your skull, and a jack rabbit's heart inside your chest. Your night is taking years off your life, you can feel it with every monotonous droning of the same questions one of the cops repeats every ten minutes or so. It feels like you're getting nowhere, running on a hamster wheel that'll lead to nowhere and you getting winded in the process. The police make you feel stupid. The moment two cop cars arrived at your residence to investigate the lack of evidence they found from your supposed potential serial killer. They condescended and ridiculed every detail you gave them till your face ran blue and the air in your lungs was nearly gone.

The bloody handprint that was smeared on the greenhouse's wall was already washed away; more than likely absorbed into the greedy grass like a man sucking down water after being in the desert for months. Other than the scratched ' S ' on your porch step there was little to believe you and your cracked-out story. They thought you called just for attention, just to waste gas that was paid for too high taxes. It's been like this for two hours now, repetitive questions and police pulling only yours and Graves' prints off your things and his abandoned truck that was sitting in your drive. Their idiotic conclusion? He was simply lost in the ever-expansive woods. Lost among the shrubbery and shadows, a victim to the unusually cruel predatory gazes of wildlife that watched his every move; ready to strike him down and feast like royalty till their bellies almost popped.

"What did the sheriff make the call on for tonight?"

The cop, who had been interrogating you, turned to address another policeman who was examining your small living room with boredom written all over his young features.

Before the way too young-looking man could answer, an older British voice called out "Why don't you ask 'im yourself, deputy?" The smell of strong cigar smoke suddenly started to assault your senses.

An older gentleman, with ashy brown hair and a thick jungle of facial hair, strode into your home. One of his hands supported the straps of his bulletproof vest, the other held the burning cigar that stunk up the small interior of your home in a matter of seconds. A plume of smoke exhaled out of his nostrils when his beady eyes swept over your kitchenette till they landed on your inquisitive expression. He pressed his cigar to his full lips for another inhale as if he had all the time in the world to stink up your home and trigger your body to sneeze at such an offending smell. "Sorry, sir. " The deputy uttered apologetically, eyes dropping low in embarrassment he was intimidated by such a commanding presence of his superior.

With another exhale of thick grey smoke that makes your nose wrinkle the sheriff approaches you. His right hand extended out for you to shake while he introduced himself to you as if his last name wasn't sewn so neatly into the black fabric of his uniform. "Officer, or sheriff John Price. I don't think we've met." His glove was rough against your skin, but his grasp was gentle while he shook your hand. His free hand plucked the cigar from his lips, teeth leaving bite marks over the damp end he had been sucking on. " Boys couldn't find anything here, miss except for disturbed gravel and prints from the wet grass out back. We can't pull anything significant off those marks, unfortunately. Could have just been a bad attempt of some break-in just to scare a young woman and her guy friend."

Your eyebrows creased, hand slipping out his light hold quickly. Angry hornets in your skull turned into a full-on battalion of those large Asian wasps that had excellent memory. They were banging around against hard bone, buzzing so loud and pissed that they threatened to burst out of your ears and sting every single cop here. Especially Price, they'd sting him right on his stupid gruff face. "But whoever was here, didn't steal anything they just left --"

"The flower behind, yes. The lads at the lab will run it to see if there's any DNA on the stem or even petals. Any clothing fibers or hair strands will be alerted to us right away, but there's nothing we can do. You know how rowdy teens these days are, they'd do anything to scare the grown adults into a heart attack for fun." Price quipped, finishing your sentence.

Your eyes rolled, frustration growing rampant like a disease over your face. An infection that Sherriff Price wasn't so susceptible to being a victim of. One bushy brow rose at your childish irritation from the denial he and his men had rubbed into your face time and time again. "Rowdy teens just don't make a grown-ass man disappear without a trace. Rowdy teens aren't capable of breaking cleanly into my home and not stealing anything of value." Your voice raised, brows pitching up and causing frown lines to crack along your smooth features.

"And rowdy teens don't scare the fuck out of me and make me want to look over my shoulder from now on after tonight. There's someone out there who is taunting me, and I want him or she or them to leave me alone." You're standing by this point. Chair kicked out behind you, your hands slammed down onto your table. Hot black caffeine spills over the dark marble of your dining room table. You're glaring daggers into the older man's eyes and he gobbles it all up without even a reaction to your worked-up outburst. He's not afraid of little girls screaming and trying to embarrass him, he's dealt with all of this before. Not this scenario, but high and haughty women who thought they were number one.

Price blinks, takes a step back silently, and turns his head to address another policeman loitering around; unsure what to do. "Have one of the guys do a stake out for twenty-four hours around her home, if anything is outta place you call me right away." Then he turns his gaze back to you, smiles that forced smile one makes when they're uncomfortable. Eyes crinkled with a lack of warmth that only manages to irk you further than comfort you. Temporary support does little to quell the ball of a bundle of nerves that is your nervous system right now.

"Have a good night, miss." Price dismisses himself. That awful cigar of his shoved back into his mouth and steps back out the front door. His men follow that were lingering inside your space, all except for the deputy that had been interrogating you. That's supposed to be your rough and rugged surveillance system for the next twenty-four hours until you can justify scraping enough money aside to get your surveillance just for this place.

Price exhales a continuous cloud of smokey grey into the night air. His head tipped back enough to trace out a few major constellations in the sky with curiosity, all while the other two cop cars that were parked out front drove off nonchalantly.

Bright teeth, stained slightly yellow from tobacco clamp further into the cigar's end while he fishes out of his many pockets a cell phone. Pretty outdated, the screen is cracked and the little processor moves at a snail's pace. A real piece of shit technology that holds a few private numbers that aren't saved under any typical name.

His gloved thumb jams against the screen a few times on one of those particular contacts and he holds the cell to his ear whilst unlocking the driver's side of his car and climbing inside. Cigar stamped out into the ever-growing ashes of his ashtray, he taps his fingers against the steering wheel in wait. The line rings once, twice, and on the third ring the call is picked up and a deeper British voice answers in a grunt of a ' hello ' to Price.

"You've got one hell of a firecracker there, Riley." Price cracks out, tone joking. "You've worked the little bird up into a tizzy, she seemed ready to jump 'cross the table for me."

The other voice only gives out a scoff, a monotone 'really?' . Price can only picture the hint of a cruel smile curling on the ends of Simon's lips now. "Boys' are none the wiser, I'll tell 'em it was just a bad prank gone wrong. The station will be none the wiser. Poor blokes." He chuffs. The engine of his car starts, and he reverses out of the drive. The silhouettes of his deputy and you awkwardly standing in your living room window bring another good-humored huff out of his ash-riddled lungs. "Don't make me bury your girl under missing person reports if you're too rough with 'er." Price mutters low over the line. Simon only scoffs on the receiving end, like he'd never hurt his precious girl. He'd be damned if you were taken from him by his own hands.

"Jus' keep an eye on her when I can't. " His voice rumbles like thunder in Price's ear, then hangs up the call with a sullen click.

Price sighs, tossing the backup cell in his passenger seat. His dark eyes focus on the lonely road back into the city. His radio in the car is buzzing with life of officer chatter, but he's not paying much attention. He's got to figure out how to stuff this darker piece of work underneath a rug without leaving wrinkles of his involvement behind. The old man was never one for the double life. A charming foreigner passed for a white-collared American who was there for the people at every righteous beck and call of his name. Then a grimy soldier for the kind of men that worked on setting the bastards that cops or other forces of power were too busy or pussy to end the right way; with a bullet in the head and their name smeared in blood as a warning for other bastards to behave or else.

A kind of work he did far before the ' never do no wrong' persona of his was adopted onto him. Now juggling both for one of his boys? Someone that he even dared to be considered as close as family to him? What had he gotten himself into, all for the sake of some weird iteration of what Simon called infatuation and obsession for a pretty little thing he only saw for one night and wouldn't stop planning on when to see her next. Price wanted to call him crazy when Simon opened his mouth and asked if he could do him a favor. Lie. Lie and cover his white English ass as much as he could just till Simon could convince his new obsession to think about him in the same way he thought about her. Convincing was putting it lightly, but Price didn't second guess or even ask. He knew what it was like when the parasitic love bug decided to rear its ugly head and bite you clear on the ass when it wanted to. Back when he was a younger man, back in his prime he had a sweetie. Soft and curvy, supple and sweet under his lips and to his heart. A fond memory he likes to include when he thinks about family from time to time. Something of his past he's left behind for a new rendition of a family that was strong men, sweat, blood, near-death experiences, and bonding over strong liquor after their work.

Anything for them, he supposes while he turns the car towards the station for the biggest sack of shit he could regurgitate out of his aging vocal cords and lets it spill in sticky white lies to doe-eyed men and women who wouldn't think twice to clean record Sheriff John Price.

"If you need anything, here's a walkie. Can't give out personal cells to citizens, but I'll be in range for us to talk." Deputy Dipshit tells you when the loud slam of car doors and the starting of engines signal the squad's retreat along with the Sheriff's.

You frown down at the cold chunk of plastic that was pressed into your smooth palm by the male. You feel immature even to be using this thing. But you don't argue, or say how stupid it is not just to use cell phones for this one dire situation. You accept the stupid walkie with little dignity that was now washed away by telling the police what exactly you and Graves were doing before he was attacked and taken away.

The walkie is tossed onto your neatly made mattress, weariness makes your eyes droop and your hands rub at your face. At least you're alone now, your crappy watchdog is settled inside his vehicle, protected by his sidearm and tazer. Your feet blindly patter against the dark cherry oak of your bedroom floor a ragged breath of exhaustion leaks out of your lungs like a deflating balloon. You pray to whatever gods or goddesses up there in the cosmos, watching over every single little thing with sadistic eyes, that they are protecting Graves. You could never stomach the fact that somehow you managed to get him killed for even touching you or being in your presence. You're not that special or even have that much power to illicit someone to commit manslaughter just because they were jealous or overprotective.

That's something from a fucked up dark romance novel that has mentally ill women squirting over the tall morally grey character that would do anything for their love interest.

Your phone screen buzzes from your bedside table, the obnoxious vibrations and chirpy ringtone of ' Kim Possibles ' phone ringtone blares into the short-lived silence and the even shorter prayer you were making for a man you barely even knew.

" Give me a break!" you groan out between clenched teeth that temporarily bore in a snarl to your lit-up screen. You shouldn't act like that, what if it was your friends reaching out to check in on you? They knew Graves was coming over to visit you and to ' catch up ' in more ways than one, maybe this was them poking their noses into your business and wondering how good Graves managed to fuck you silly five ways from Sunday. If only.

Another deflated-like balloon sigh and you snatch up your phone to see who texted you. Yet as much as you would kill for the spam of messages that would spew from Izzy and Veronica about how well-endowed and lickable Graves was in all his glory, it was far from their girlish text messages. An unknown number glared up at you. The notification on your locked phone screen, which was a picture of you and your childhood dog in your old home smiling at the camera, showed that the random number had texted you.

"Guess the police actually can text you, who knew." You mumbled under your breath, your tone still acidic on your tongue while you unlocked your phone and tapped on your message app to open the chat and read the text without even hesitating to check over the number thoroughly.

"Hello there, pretty girl." the text read.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Screen Demons

Giggles echoed through the empty halls. Unhinged and static-y. Everything smelled of copper and viscera. Stale air and fear. The final moments of these poor souls, had not been kind ones. Somewhere, not far from where I was trapped, I could hear dripping. Unsteady. I hoped... I prayed... it was water.

I had already smashed every screen in this room. Ripped out every reflective surface. Security cameras, shards of glass, bottles. Every single thing the average person forgets, when warned against "reflection" based threats. There were more then you'd think.

Even your own eyes could be a problem, depend on how powerful they were. You may have to fight blind. There were specialists. I, however, was no such individual. I was a CONSULTANT. Company wanted to both keep compliance and cut costs. I'd been requesting a team for over a year. Getting denied. "We'll look into it." And "gotta check the budget".

All while they go on another yacht vacation.

Well, now? NOW the inevitable happened. I had been stretched too thin. Couldn't check all the sites in a timely enough manner. Someone, somewhere, got DISGRUNTLED. Started listening to a little voice they shouldn't have. One that PROMISED them things. Love, power, revenge. Just do this oooone little thing.

THEY'RE not like those OTHER Demons! Promise!

Ha!

I got here too late. Far, far too late. Everyone was already dead. Whole satellite facility overrun. Didn't even REALIZE until I found the first body. And by then? I was too far from the door.

They sealed me in.

The only, ONLY, reason I survived those first few hours? Was because of my safety suit. It got SHREDDED. But? They have my patronage for LIFE. I counted no less then fifteen blows that SHOULD have killed me. Claws, fangs, curses, the WORKS. I used every single off hand trick my professors ever mentioned. Plan to buy them all flowers... assuming I live.

Fell back to a defensible position. Like you're supposed too. Set up a camp. Armed myself. Took stock of supplies. Risked my life, nearly lost a LIMB, to get to the emergency communications system. The warded one.

Fucking IDIOTS had kept it in a SAFE. Yeah, it's expensive. Really expensive. But that wasn't were it goes! For a REASON. This! SPECIFICALLY! Is the reason! This happening RIGHT HERE! But did I get it? Fuck YEAH I got it. Will have the scars to PROVE that for the rest of my life.

And? It worked like a CHAMP. I could kiss it. Make sweet, sweet, sloppy love to it. Inanimate object be damned. We would have a spring wedding, honeymoon in the fall, go fuckin apple picking. It would be BEAUTIFUL. Is that the blood loss talking? MAYBE! There are A LOT of wards to set up! I'm fucking terrified!

But Cental Supernatural Suppression is ON THE FUCKING LINE. And the C.S.S. does NOT fuck around. I've never called their emergency line before. Never wanted to be in a situation where I HAD too. But the calming voice on the other end? Helps. Walks me through ward set up I NEVER would have been able to do on my own.

There is a rescue team being sourced to get me out and back up to put this thing back where it belongs.

And... and if I cry? When they tell me I'm going to be okay? That's between me and the blood stained walls.

All the while, that THING laughs and coos. It can feel my fear. My desperation. And? The most fucked up thing? Is that it looks like a fucking "waifu". Some vampire e-girl I think, from a show. Whoever had unleashed this thing had... they had been lonely. Wanted connection. And I want to say ugly, UGLY things because I am scared.

But that is how THEY fucking win.

So I won't. I will not judge. I will not sneer. Won't let my fear turn to anger. Lash out at the dead. Someone who was hurting. Who made a terrible, fatal, mistake. They just... just wanted CONNECTION. Someone to listen. And this THING preyed on that. Fed on it.

"Muuu~, don't be like thaaat~! I was just giving them what they WANTED! They SAID they wanted to be Together Forever~! Now~. We~. Are~!" Coos a cutesy voice from speakers throughout the building. My room is the only room without them. "You're being so MEAN. I just want to LOVE yooou~! Don't you want to LOVE me? You've lasted so LONG! So COOL~☆ I should give you a biiiiig kiss! He he~"

Kiss. Right. Says the Demon pretending to be a vampire girl.

She never STOPS. It's been hours. And still she's trying to convince me to leave my bunker of wards. Compliments. Threats. Mimicry. For the last six? She pretended there was another survivor. You know... one she was torturing. Classic "I'll STOP if you come get them. Don't you want to STOP me? Save them?" Shtick.

Ha! As though life sign detectors aren't the FIRST thing we're told to make, once a safe zone is established. There's no one in this building but me. I have a week's work of rations from smashing vending machines in the break room. Would have had more, but my flare died faster then anticipated thanks to her constant direct attacks.

"Aaaaw, are you ignoring me? You're making Kimi-tan SAD~! You big MEANIE! Why you got to be like that? Some~Thing~ I~ diiiiiiid~?" She continues, before breaking off into cackles. The sound discordant and rapidly changing pitch. Distant speakers whining and crackling with the strain of it. "It's not like they didn't deserve it. They ALWAYS deserve it~! They summoned ME!!"

Yeah. After you fed off them. Called to them. Built up their loneliness and pain, until it actually seemed reasonable. Try your lies on someone who didn't SPECIFICALLY go to school for this, you hellfire shit.

"Well, that's not nice."

I choke on the scream I know won't save me. Scramble back. Away, away, AWAY! There, in the doorway. Stands a glitching manifest of the Demon herself. Pale, wrong, and impossible. She's-! She was-! IS a reflection demon! The sort of power MANIFESTATION costs?? Oh god. What have I walked INTO?!

"I wonder, Dar~ling~," she muses, eyes unblinking as she stares me down. "How long you can survive me? I bet it's REAL long. Bet you'd be FUN to break. You know~? If you're cute enough? I might just KEEP you! Like a little pet. Bet I could make you a demon, easy!"

A hand comes up, single finger out, to lazily trace the air between us. Holy light violently rejecting her. BURNING her. Yet it clearly doesn't bother her, even as the tip of her finger sizzles and cooks. Instead, she lazily traces shapes in the light. Watching me. Contemplating. Deciding if it's worth it.

"Thoooough? I DO like you like this. You're like a little mouse in a cage. All terrified and alone. It's cute. I never did get why the others got so obsessed over hunting you guys." Pulling back her finger, she smiles.

It splits her face farther then it should.

"I think I get it now."

[humongouspeachinternet]

Little siren part 3!

Tw: a little blood! Maybe some mild violence?

With news of her existence swarming the city you live in after your harrowing rescue from the water, the little siren lays at the bottom of the pond, unmoving even as playful fish tried to nudge her to get her up. It had been days and days of endless voices overlapping each other on the shore of her pond, chattering away about some ‘monster’ lurking in the depths of the water.

Was she really a monster? Words hurt, you know!

Knowing that she was more than likely never going to see you again, she didn’t really feel that there was a point to doing much nowadays. Sure, shiny things were being dropped into her pond on a daily basis now, wriggling worms typically hooked to the end of them, but what was the point of collecting them if she had no one to give them to?

Wiping at her eyes, golden tears dissipate into the water around her, wondering what she’d do with herself now. It took a while, but eventually, the shiny objects began to disappear as the sun began to set, fishermen hoping to catch the creature packing up for the day. The reporters had left hours ago and also had most of the nosy locals if the lack of voices was anything to go by. Looking up toward the surface, a quiet whine slips from her, unsure if anything would ever feel the same again now that your glowing presence was missing from her pond.

It would take you weeks to regain the courage to go anywhere near the pond after nearly meeting your maker in a freak accident. The creature from before was most definitely real, having been given an incredibly dramatic retelling by your friend who helped get you home afterwards.

It was a blue creature covered in luminous scales with eyes that resembled huge black marbles and sharp teeth that looked as if they could rip a small canoe in half if the thing wanted to. It had a long bifurcated tail, so it obviously wasn’t human, but it was nearly as long as you were tall. Not a fish, not a human, but a strange transition between the two.

As scary as the description may have sounded… why would such a nightmarish-sounding creature save you instead of pulling you to your watery demise? It had to be the same creature that you’d startled away before, right? And to think the poor thing was threatened with a rock for pulling you from the water?

After lightly scolding your friend for her threats against your savior a few weeks later and sending her home, you couldn’t get your mind off of the little siren. Sure, she’d been a little bit frightening, but she surely didn’t mean to scare you.

Should you perhaps go and try to apologize to it? Bring it something as a token of your appreciation? You halfway remembered it crying in relief as it brought you ashore and saw you breathing, surely you could spare something as a gift for it caring so much.

By the time you made up your mind, the sun was already beginning to set, but your pace was leisurely, trying not to draw any extra attention to the little pond. It had been plastered all over the news as of late, rewards being put up for catching the blue, blurry creature that someone had hastily snapped a picture of during your rescue. It seemed cruel to hunt something that was just trying to help.

Clutching a little paper box in your hands, you hoped that the creature liked sourdough and turkey, figuring that bringing it a bit of food may ease its mind a little. With all the attention and fishing going on, it must have been hard for it to catch anything for itself the last few weeks. Guilt churned your stomach at the thought. This poor thing, could you-

You wouldn’t get to finish your thought, however, as a shrill shriek filled the shadows of the little park surrounding the pond. It was incredibly high-pitched and squeaky, sounding nothing like a human cry, but then again… there could be an awful explanation for that.

Unfortunately, while she was trying her best to ignore the lonely life she led, the little siren had somehow gotten hooked by the last fisherman of the day. His hook had been trawling the waters and just so happened to catch onto her gills. She thought nothing of the feeling at first, figuring that it was just another fish trying to unearth her from the sand on the bottom of the pond, having not moved in about a week or so. As the tugging grew harder, however, and began pulling her up towards the surface rather quickly, she knew that something was wrong.

With how the past couple of weeks had been going, she almost decided to let herself get dragged up to the surface, but found that she’d rather not become someone’s meal, pulling back against the line. However, the week or so of little to no food had done quite a number on her strength, the siren cursing herself for letting it get this bad as the strong fisherman continued the fight. With the hook lodged firmly in her gills, the pain wasn’t helping her to fight at all either, fighting a losing battle it seemed.

Eventually, the fisherman won, reeling her up to the surface just for her to hang painfully by her gills over the water for a few moments, causing the pained shriek that you’d heard. Gravity really wasn’t her friend in this moment, her body wriggling one way but her gills being pulled the opposite way, blue blood seeping out from around the hook as the man began to pull her to the shore.

You had broken into a sprint towards the pond upon hearing the cry, the sandwich being tossed around quite viciously in its box as you ran to find the creature. Had someone else found it before you? Was it hurt? A cold rush overtook you at the thought of your savior in pain, chopped up for some measly reward money. Was the cash really worth killing an innocent creature?

You’d soon stumble upon the dock where this whole mess started, but find that the pained whimpers were coming from a little further in the brush to your right. It definitely sounded like the creature, but a man’s triumphant laugh echoed out after the noises.

You quietly made your way closer to the sources of the noise, soon finding a tall man with a weighed down fishing pole. On the end of it was the creature from before, now much skinnier and weaker than you remember. You were very much right to bring food it seemed. The man had tugged it… or rather, her, onto the sand, ignoring the way she panted for breath, her gills straining from the lack of water. Pulling out his phone instead, he stood over her, nudging her a little with his boot as he spoke to someone excitedly, very much wanting the prize money he was promised for such a catch. You watched the man kneel down beside the creature, your blood boiling as he tugged on the hook in her neck just to make her cry out again as if she wasn’t already suffering enough.

The man’s mistake, however, came as he stood laughing and turned to go pack up, leaving the backs of his ankles just in reach of a certain fanged creature who wasn’t done quite yet. Within a moment, the man was on the ground, confused for a second before a searing pain shot up both of his legs. You gasp as you watch it all unfold, his Achilles’ tendons easily taken out by the scrawny little creature before she digs her talons into the sand to crawl up and remove a more vital part of him. You turn away and cover your ears as best you can to avoid seeing and hearing what violence she was capable of, but when the muffled noises die down, you find yourself peeking back to see if she was alright.

Covered in her blood and the blood of another, the little siren collapses on the sand a few feet away from the unmoving fisherman, safe but unable to breathe and too weak to pull herself back into the water. What a horrible way to go, she thought, whimpering with her head against the sand. Gold tears pooled in the sand beneath her head, wishing that she’d gotten to see you at least one more time.

Oh.

Wait.

What was that noise?

Sand crunched under quiet feet, trying your best to avoid getting any of the bloody mess on your clothes. The sound alerted her to a presence beside her, but she could hardly pick her head up to see who it was, instead giving a weak warning hiss to try and ward away any more hunters. Surely the blood would deter anyone else from messing with her, right? But as worn out sneakers and faded jeans filled her vision, gentle hands moving to remove the hook from her gills as carefully as possible, she couldn’t find it in her to hiss again, too tired to fight off anyone else. It wasn’t until you began whispering quiet reassurances to her that she recognized just who had come to her aid, quickly pushing herself up in a daze to look at you before falling back into the sand with a whimper.

You came back? For her? Why? You can’t swim, you shouldn’t be anywhere around here, she thought, her hazy brain focusing more on your well-being than her own as she began to close her eyes. The lack of water and the exertion of taking down the man had done her in, her limbs heavy and her head heavier, almost too heavy to feel that she was being pulled back into the water. It wasn’t easy, she was still rather heavy, but with how much weight she’d lost from her weeks of not eating, you were able to slowly get her into the water. You waded in with her until you were about thigh deep, holding her just under the water and waiting on bated breath for her to start coming back to you.

Were you too late? You chewed nervously on your bottom lip as you waited for what felt like an eternity for her gills to start moving again, letting out a relieved sigh when a little bit of her color began to return to her face. Was she still bleeding? Yes, but was she at least able to breathe again? Also yes!

The little siren would wake with a start moments later, gasping under the water and immediately meeting your worried eyes, confusion setting in rather quickly. You shouldn’t be in the water, you’ll drown! However… your hands cradling her head were almost enough to distract her from her concern, still as dizzy as can be from the drama of it all. All that would meet your ears was a muffled whimper of worry, black eyes looking up to you and pleading with you to get out of the water. If you didn’t drown, you’d certainly catch a cold… or get that vile man’s blood on you.

Looking down at her, you carefully smoothed a hand over her face, hoping to relax her a bit in the wake of such a scary encounter. The poor thing, what if this happened again and you weren’t around to help the next time? Smoothing her floating hair from her face, you can’t help but worry for her safety in this little pond. People would find out what she’d done and it would be a witch-hunt until they found her, a thought you could hardly bear.

And that, my friends, is how you ended up with a siren living in your bathtub. A guest needs to use the bathroom in your apartment? Sorry! It’s broken (a.k.a occupied by your darling little siren girlfriend)! Landlords were such an easy scapegoat sometimes. It took some getting used to, sleeping on the cold tile beside the tub to be near her, but you found a way to make it comfortable after a while! Now, she was safe and sound, well-fed and taken care of with no worries of hunters coming near her ever again, and you gained a loving companion for life!

[fetishfairytales2]

Happy Birthday Sissy! Pt. 4 (Story)

Heather and Brandon are original characters created by @wittlesissyb4by in his fantastic series “Besties”, which this blog expands on. Please support him through his Tumblr and his SubscribeStar. ——————————————

The party was bumping by the time our first guests showed up. Lyndsey and Kylie were gossiping like old friends by the pool, probably plotting ways to humiliate poor little Brandi. And I was busy telling Kelsey, Rachel, and Maddie the story of the first time I let Connor fuck me while Brandi was forced to watch from the foot of the bed. 

“I swear to God,” I laughed, “she was fucking crying the whole time!” The sun was shining, the drinks were flowing, and to any unsuspecting bystander, it may have seemed like a normal pool party - except for the fact that there was a grown man prancing around in a frilly pink dress and an absurd amount of penis-themed decorations. Lyndsey did great with the decor. It was all pink and dicks. It looked like she had reused old bachelorette party decorations. Such a classy sissy birthday. 

Our boyfriends were all huddled together, drinking beer and probably boasting about the amount of sex they were promised for showing up and not asking too many questions.  They didn't seem to mind their girlfriends parading around half-naked in front of Brandi. It's funny how much of a threat someone isn't when they're wearing a frilly dress and a diaper! Poor Brandi, I don't think any of these alphas were worried about losing the girlfriends today.

"Hey Connor, Shawn, come here!" I called out, waving them over. Rolling their eyes, they made their way across the back yard. Shawn was Lyndsey’s long time boyfriend. The five of us had all known each other forever. But he, just like Connor, was a victim of Brandon’s bullying in school. "Would you mind turning Brandi towards the sun for us?" I pouted, making sure to push the girls up in my bikini top and flashing a smile. “Yeah,” Lyndsey giggled from the pool, “the poor girl isn’t getting enough color today. You big strong boys should help her out! She looks a little pale!” With my helpless sissy bound at the wrists and ankles in her oversized stroller, she was powerless to stop her latest humiliation.

The two hunks lifted her, stroller and all, in the air and faced her toward the pool. The little sissy would surely suffer in her heavy lace and polyester party dress, not to mention the inevitable diaper rash. Too bad, some sissies just have bad luck! Maddie and I sat on either side of the stroller, playfully dipping our toes in the pool, and giving Brandi innocent smiles. "Hello girly!" Maddie laughed, playfully poking her on the nose. Brandi could only grunt behind the pacifier gag. "Mommy and Aunt Maddie are ready to have some fun!" 

"Aww, don't be such a downer Miss Grumpy," Lyndsey teased, splashing Brandi from the pool. "It's your first sissy birthday and you've got gorgeous women all around you. What more could you want?" I winked and nodded at my friends - God, they were the best. Maddie and I snuggled closer in the stroller while Kylie and Lyndsey leaned over the pool, giving Brandi a perfect view of their cleavage. “What a fucking loser!” Shawn laughed. “You’re fucking drooling over her tits! Dude, she’s never going to fuck you! Later, when I’m fucking her though? I’ll put my massive cock in between those tits, just for you!” Lyndsey winked up at her boyfriend; “mmm, sounds like fun!”

Connor shook his head; “He was always such an asshole. Now he’s a fucking loser. Who the hell would let this happen to him?” The water works were already starting and I wanted to be the one that made Brandi cry! “Aww,” I teased my cuckold, “did the big mean men make sissy cry? They are just having a little fun sissy, they didn’t mean to hurt your feelings!” I smiled up at Connor; “thank you Daddy for helping your sweet sissy! I’ll make sure to thank you tonight.” The boys shrugged and headed back; “oh and boys? There’s three more cases of beer in the fridge, help yourself!” I winked at Lyndsey; “nice and drunk,” she mouthed quietly. I nodded and crossed my fingers.

"Oops!" giggled Kylie as she pulled her wet top down, flashing Brandi not at all subtly, "my silly bikini." She moaned like she was faking an orgasm, making us all giggle; "I'm just so wet!" I could hear muffled groans of what could only be a itsy bitsy sissy clitty trying to burst out of a spiked chastity cage. I playfully traced my nails along Brandi's exposed inner thigh, causing her to jump. "Oops!" I taunted with a smirk, sticking my tongue out. "My bad, baby. My hand slipped." 

Maddie got up and began clumsily adjusting Brandi's collar, leaving the gagged sweetheart confused. As Maddie took her time, her movements brought her closer and closer to the stroller. Much to Brandi's dismay, this meant my sister's Double Ds were pressed against her face. Maddie teasedly stuck her tongue out at me as I counted silently on my fingers. "Just a sec, girly!" she exclaimed dramatically. "I'm just trying to... it looks like something is caught. If I just..." Without a word, I started rubbing Brandi's chastity cage through her diaper while Maddie rocked back and forth, nearly motorboating the poor trapped sissy. 

"It's been three whole months," I whispered in Brandi's ear, “since you made cummies. And something tells me that’s not what you’re getting for her birthday…” As I continued to tease the birthday girl’s caged cock, Maddie leaned back and grinned at our plaything triumphantly. "Got it!" Brandi must have realized by now she was in for some unwanted birthday "surprises" from us girls. "Oh, no, no!" I chuckled as I caught her trying to squirm away. "Stay put!" I firmly slapped her face.

Lyndsey grinned as she leaned on the edge of the pool, her eyes fixed on the helpless loser in front of her. "You want to know something out Brandi?" she said, her tone playful. "While I was watching her that one time, I found out something interesting about her..." She smirked. "Oh really? Do tell, babes," I giggled, playing along with her. "Turns out, Brandi is a huge fan of ass," Lyndsey said, a wicked look in her eye. "I swear, you should have seen how big the pile of loser goo was that she made! It was when she watched that video of you getting fucked from behind by Connor." 

Maddie laughed, "I've known this pathetic loser, for years and, trust me, she’s definitely more into boobs." We all turned to look at Brandi, waiting for her answer. "Well?" I prodded, "Don't make us wait! What gets your sissy stick harder?" But Brandi could only glance between us and try to speak through the four-inch cock filling her mouth.

"Spill it, girl!" Kylie exclaimed with a giggle, turning around and glancing over her shoulder, proudly flaunting her curvy backside in a tight bikini. "Whatcha think?" she asked, pulling her bikini further up her ass. "Is it this amazing booty?" Lyndsey chimed in, giving a spank. "Don't you just wish you could make this slut get down on her knees and shake that ass for you, Brandi?" Lyndsey pulled on Kylie's hair and humped her. "Too bad you'll never get a chance to do that to a woman again," Maddie whispered in Brandi's ear, watching as she squirmed in her chastity cage. "Oh Brandon!" Kylie moaned, "you sexy stud! My ass is completely yours, don't you just love it?"

The spikes were probably hurting Brandi's cock by now because tears were rolling down her cheeks and her mascara was smudged. "Come on girls!" I chuckled. "You know the poor thing is stuck with such a tiny, pathetic penis. And Maddie is right! Brandi can't resist a good pair of tits." On cue, Maddie got up and spread out a towel. "It's really a shame," she sighed as she untied her top and laid down to tan, and tease the sissy. "All these hot girls around and all you can do is look." 

Kylie and Lyndsey followed Maddie's lead and removed their bikini tops before laying down topless for Brandi to ogle at helplessly. I quickly checked the time on my watch - only 1 hour until the other guests arrived, which meant 30 minutes to get the guys drunk enough for Brandi's special celebration. "Hey honey?" Lyndsey called out to Shawn, "would you ever let Brandi give you a blowjob?" The guys all laughed and nodded in agreement with Shawn’s drunken and slurred response; "a blowjob is a blowjob!" Lyndsey and I shared a knowing smile. Perfect...

[confusionocturne]

Something wrong

Hazbin Hotel | 1.2k words

Warnings: Mental health issues, canon violence.

Authors' notes: Sooo... I wanted to write something for this fandom for a long time and finally got the time/motivation/ideas to write this down! I plan on doing a part two, if anyone here is interested. Also- Please do not hesitate to tell me if something seems wrong (especially surrounding Lucifer's mental health) or too OOC. That being said- Enjoy your reading!

There was something wrong with Lucifer. Alastor narrowed his eyes in thought, staring at the fallen angel. Well, it wasn’t something to worry about, per say, but there was definitely something… Odd, something that wasn’t there before the last extermination. It was this look he sometimes had in his eyes while looking at the sky… Most of the times, he would immediately come back to Hell when someone approached him, but there were also times where Lucifer’s mind seemed to take a few more seconds to realize where he was, and this look would fall on the person intruding. The first time that Alastor was behind that look, he couldn’t help but freeze in his step for a second before continuing as if nothing happened. In his state, he doubted the King would have noticed, anyway. However, each time this faraway and angry look crossed his own, the Radio demon would feel uneasy, on edge. Seeing the light coming back to his eyes each time was a relief for his nerves, even if he would never admit it to anyone. This time should have been the same.

Alastor was entering the freshly created balcony when he saw Lucifer seated against the wall, looking forward. He sensed instantly that something was off with the king, as he didn’t react at all at his presence. The demon cleared his throat before walking in front of him. “What a pitiful sight, your highness! Do you not have anything better to accomplish today?” Lucifer continued to stare unseeingly, which made Alastor’s eye twitch in displeasure. He forced his smile to grow bigger, tilting his head in a menacing manner. “Deciding to ignore me, I see! How mature of you, your majesty, but it does fit well with your height!” He waited a beat, but only silence answered his provocations. Alastor swallowed down the uneasiness, masking it as annoyance. He will get a reaction out of the king, one way or another. He let his body elongate and twists. His antlers grew as the radio static becoming heavy in the air. “I strongly suggest that you stop this charade, Lucifer. Otherwise, I might just be convinced to do something… Regrettable.” One clawed hand approached the fallen angel’s throat, nearly touching it. “Surely you would not want that to happen, your majesty. What would poor Charlie do, losing her other parent…” The demon’s claws encircled the pale throat in threat. However, there was still no visible reaction from Lucifer. Alastor inhaled sharply, his uneasiness transforming in some kind of panic that he didn’t recognize. “You are asking for it, now, are you not? Well, it would be rude of me to refuse this!” With a vicious snarl, he closed his hand, his claws breaking the tender skin and drawing golden blood out. He squeezed more and more into the moveless body. If the king wanted to act dead to the world, he might as well be, for all the Radio demon cared! Until, finally, a gasp shook his victim, eyes growing wide and meeting Alastor’s gaze. A shaking hand came to rest on the sinner arm that was chocking him. Watching the life come back to Lucifer’s face caused a wave of relief in the demon, but it was quickly override with pure rage. Acting on instinct, he threw the king on the other side of the balcony, pursuing him instantly. “HoW dArE yOu?!” He didn’t even truly know himself what he was accusing Lucifer of, but the anger inside of him was uncontrollable. “SoMeOnE aS mEdIoCrE aS yOu ShOuLd PeR-” He stopped himself in shock, staring at the shaking mass at his feet that started crying silently. A small chuckle escaped the king’s mouth. “Thank you,” he said, looking straight at Alastor. Regaining his normal form, the demon looked back, eyebrows raised. “That is certainly an unexpected reaction, your highness. Do you truly wish to die?” For reasons unknown to him, Lucifer simply broke into laughter. Loud, miserable, laughter. The sinner’s ears winced at the sudden sound, his constant smile straining. After a while, the king sighed, looking at the sky, before answering the earlier question. “You have no idea.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes. “Why, if I may ask?” He couldn’t guess what the king reasoning was, and it annoyed him. Yellow eyes met his own again, a tired smile on his face. “Sometimes, Al, you’re just broken beyond repairs. No matter how much you try to glue all your parts together…” He sighed, closing his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what you try to do it with, really, if the base is constantly crumbling under its own weight.” Opening them once more, Lucifer looked at the stars. “You can only add layers upon layers to not show the void you became.” Alastor frowned as his smile struggled to find a way to express what he was feeling. For once, the sinner didn’t know what to say. After a second of silence, however, the angel continued. “But the layers crack. They always do. And you’re stuck in the void. That’s why I thanked you.” He smiled weakly at the demon, moving his eyes on him. “For getting me out of my own head.” The Radio demon tilted slightly his head while one of his closed a bit in confusion. “You do not seem too worried about the situation.” The king hummed.

“Well, it’s started to happen a long time ago… Gotten quite used to it, by now.” He shrugged, not knowing what to add and well aware that the sinner wouldn’t understand his view. To his defence, Alastor seemed genuinely astonished. “And you did not find anything more efficient than… Riding it out, waiting for someone else to take advantage of the situation?” Lucifer shifted, uncomfortable, and looked away. “Eh… Looks like it, doesn’t it? But, eh, hum… It wasn’t always so bad, you know, most of the times it’s pretty easy to get out of! When Lilith was here, it was definitely easier, but… I can’t ask any of you to replace her, so, yeah, sometimes I get stuck, but it’s okay! Really!” He didn’t even realize that he started rambling until the demon cleared his throat, causing him to freeze in embarrassment. “What did Lilith do that helped? Charlie would be happy to keep you grounded when needed, I am sure.” The angel deflated. “Yeah, but… She has already so much on her plate. I can’t just come back and be another burden! Asking her to touch me all the time, it won’t do-” As he kept muttering, Alastor thoughts about what he said. Touch helped, then. If he didn’t want to involve his daughter, then he will have to keep the king’s mind in the present. As much as he despised touch from others, that wasn’t what the king implied. Nodding his head once in determination, the Radio demon took Lucifer’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “Alright, your highness. However, if you truly want to keep your situation a secret from dear Charlie, you probably should rest in order to be in top shape tomorrow!” His smile had since regained his natural confidence.

The fallen angel blinked at him a few times. “Yeah… That’s probably better…” As he took a step in the direction of the door, he stumbled a bit before regaining his balance. However, before entering the building, he stopped to look back at Alastor, thoughtful. Lucifer opened his mouth to say something but seemed to think better of it as he closed it and stepped through the door, leaving the Radio demon alone on the balcony.

[matan4il]

Hi I read your post about the fallen victims and I had to stop at 5 year old Ido Avigal and just cry. If he was still with us he would've been my nephew's age today (and my nephew is my entire world). And his adorable smile looks like my nephew's so it's even more painful. I can't imagine what his family feels or his friends. Poor thing. I hate all of the pain and suffering in the world I truly hate it.

I'm not Jewish but I will pray for these people and their loved ones. I hope their loved ones have a strong support system and that pain will probably never go away but I hope their loved ones find strength and peace and courage to continue living.

Idk I'm rambly and emotional.

Sending you hugs too. 🫂

Hi Nonnie!

Thank you so much for your very humane response! I have a nephew as well, I know exactly what you mean. I've always loved and adored kids, but there was something about accompanying my sister on her motherhood journey that made me realize just how much more it is to be a parent. And in that sense, an uncle or aunt, too. What it means to raise a child, and love them before they're even born, and be so invested in every single second for years, things I might have known as an idea, but have such a more profound impact when you actually experience them...

Ido Avigal specifically is someone who I remembered even before my sis got pregnant. Like you said, that sweet smile! The contrast before the first pic of him that was shared, in which he's seen in a Purim costume (such a joyous occasion, and you take it in while trying to process such a tragedy). The fact that the family did everything right... When Hamas fired their rocket, the warning siren went off, the family heard it in time, they all got into the bomb shelter, they closed the door and the window... they did everything right. And still, the rocket hit the next door building, a splinter of the rocket flew off and hit their window at such an angle, that it went through the shut metal covers on the window. Ido passed away a few hours later, in a hospital, but the family had to watch him get hit with a lethal strike right in front of their eyes.

How did it happen? Because when the decision was made on how thick the metal covers over the windows in every bomb shelter had to be, Hamas' rockets were less advanced than they are now. Even with all of the effort Israel invests in it, it's simply not possible to keep "updating" our bomb shelters at the same speed Hamas get rocket upgrades from Iran. That's the tragedy. That defense systems, no matter how good, are always bound to fail eventually. And we can talk about statistics (Iron Dome did succeed in intercepting 97% of rocket threats in May 2021), for that one family, nothing is going to ever fix what happened, and bring their kid back.

If Israel hadn't left Gaza in 2005, our soldiers could have done more to intercept what Hamas is getting from Iran, to make sure they can't upgrade their rockets, and become more lethal. But we didn't want to rule over Gaza anymore, we wanted to try giving it to the Palestinians, give them autonomy, give them something to develop and invest in, give them something to lose if they choose terrorism, so that hopefully they wouldn't... So here we are, realizing we have to sacrifice our 18 and 19 year old children in order to protect our 5 year old kids, the kind of choice that no nation, that no parent and family, should have to make.

And you know what's even worse? Since Ido was killed, in May 2021, I've seen his pic more than once, used in anti-Israel propaganda, presenting him as if he was a Palestinian kid (along with Nadine Awad, a 14 years old Israeli Arab Muslim Bedouine girl, who was also killed by Hamas during the same time). Ido's mom publicly spoke out against them doing this, BTW. They're literally appropriating our dead, and using them against us, to de-legitimize our self-defense, and bring about more murdered Israelis. I can't understand that kind of moral failure other than in terms of antisemitism.

I can tell you that Ido's dad wrote and published a song in his son's memory, called "measured hope," and an article from two days ago stated that Ido's mom has been giving interview to explain Israelis better to the world, since Oct 7.

Thank you again for the very kind words and hugs! Sending you big hugs and much love right back! xoxox

(for more of my posts regarding Israel, click here)

[paarthurnax59]

Little Sparrow

warning: swearing, violence, MOCDean, angst, breakup.

Chapter 1

    Never in your life have you seen Dean this angry. You knew that it was all directed at you. Charlie had been killed by the Steins while trying to find the Book of the Damned. It was the key to help Dean get rid of the Mark on his arm. You volunteered to go and protect the book after she received death threats from the Stein family and wanted to throw them off the scent. Charlie wasn’t having it. She told you that she would protect the book in a secluded cabin after she found it. She told you both that she would be safe and so would the book. 

Turns out you were wrong. 

  You and the boys try as hard as you could to get to Charlie on time. Dean practical rushed to the cabin that Charlie was hiding out in. You nearly threw up when you saw Charlie’s body in that tub covered in her own blood. She had been brutally murdered by the Steins.

Now, y0u all watched as Charlie’s body burn on the pyre and heard Sam say a few words about your friend making you cry. You wanted to say a few of your own, feeling somewhat at fault for what happened to Charlie.

 “Charlie, I’m sorry f-”

“Don’t!” Dean barked at you, stopping you from talking about Charlie, making both you and Sam look at him with your jaw dropped when he shouted at you.

“Dean, knock it off.” Sam chastised him for telling you to stop talking about Charlie, but Dean was not letting up.

“No, Sam! This is her fault! If she hadn’t lied to me about the book, Charlie would be here right now! (Name) has no right to be talking about her! Her body wouldn’t be burning on that pyre right now if (Name) would have just told me the truth!” Dean yelled and then turned to you, aiming all his ire on you. Noticing Dean looking at you with the most rage-filled snare. “You just had to let her take the fall. You knew what was coming after her, and you just let her take the fall. Now she’s gone and she’s not coming back!” 

“Baby, I’m sorry. I tried-”

“SHUT UP! THIS IS YOUR FAULT! YOU DON’T GET TO TALK OUT OF THIS ONE! YOU LIED TO ME!” He shouted and made you flinch when Dean’s booming voice now terrified you. All of a sudden, Dean then picked you up by the neck, as he started to cut off your air supply. Sam, dismayed by his actions tried to get Dean off of you. 

“DEAN! STOP IT! LET HER GO! YOU’RE GOING TO KILL HER!!!” Sam yelled as he tried to pull Dean away from you, but Dean was not budging. Sam wasn’t strong enough to gt Dean to put you down, and he threw his own brother back to the ground making him groan in pain. 

“Sam!” You choked out while you watched poor Sam being thrown the ground trying to get up.

“Look what you made me do! Sam’s hurt trying to protect you! Just like Charlie! You’re not worth protecting! Charlie didn’t deserve to die! She was an innocent civilian If anyone deserved to be on that pyre having their flesh burn to a crisp, IT’S YOU!!!” Dean finally dropped you the ground, and you groaned in pain, chanting out apologies repeatedly. Dean spat at you and just glared at you with nothing but pure hatred. Your eyes brimming with tears looking up at your boyfriend. What has happened to him? Was this because of the Mark of Cain?

“Dean, just leave her alone!” Sam tried to get up from where Dean had thrown him and tried to steady himself while holding his arm. “It’s not her fault! Charlie knew the risks, she volunteered for this! We all loved her, including (Name)! and she wouldn’t want you to be attacking her!”

“It should have been (Name), not Charlie. She is a hunter, and she was supposed to protect people.” Dean spat back from behind him, not even taking Sam’s words into consideration and then turned to you with a very blood thirsty look on his face. “I want you gone.”

“What?!” Both you and Sam yelled with wide eyes at Dean as he turned away from you. 

“I don’t need a liar for a girlfriend, especially one that lets her friends get brutally murdered. You are a sad sorry excuse for a hunter and friend.” Dean’s words made your heart crack in two. You could believe what you were hearing. this had to be a dream. A bad one. “I don’t know why I ever wasted my time on you. You are weak, (Name). I just wish it didn’t take me losing a good friend to see that. I wish I had never met you.” He nailed your heart to the coffin as Dean slowly walked away from the site, without looking back at you. Sam, with his mouth open wide looking at his brother, was silent. He got up from the ground and rubbed his head, trying to rub the pain away. He looked at you as you cried on the ground and walked over to you.

 “Are you okay, (Name)?” Sam asked as looked at your shaking form. He never seen you looking so heart broken and distraught. 

“No, I’m not.” You answered honestly while Sam tried to reach out to you with his hand extended. Looking up at the taller brother and shook your head. “I don’t need help getting up, Sam.” You swat away his hand, making Sam jump. 

“(Name), you were nearly choked to death by Dean. Your face was so blue, you would have been gone in a couple of seconds. Let me help you.” Sam pleaded with you still leaving his hand out to you. You sighed and accepted Sam’s hand and he lifted you up with ease. “He didn’t mean it, (Name). He still loves you deep down. It’s the Mark. You know he hasn’t been himself since he’s got it.  You know the kind of person he is without it. He always cared about you. You have to-”

“Just…Stop it, Sam!” You cried loudly as Sam shut up. It made him take a step away from you when you snapped at him. You looked up at him and the feeling of guilt starts to sink in. “I’m Sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to yell at you.” You sobbed softly while trying to wipe away your tears. “I think it’s best if I leave right now. I am not safe around Dean and me staying here would only make it worse. All his ire is focused on me and I think I need to be away from here for a while. If Dean still wants me around after he gets that mark off.” You admitted. “I know what’s going on, Sam. The mark is getting stronger and it’s desire to kill is slowly making Dean lose control. I have seen it time and time again, the mark taking control and he ends up with someone’s blood staining his clothes. When Dean killed Claire’s foster dad, it broke my heart seeing her sobbed. I don’t wish that on anyone.”

“You know Dean wants you. You have to understand that this isn’t him, (Name).” Sam argued, his heart breaking at your story. 

“I don’t know if I am so sure anymore, Sam.” You say as you walk away and back to the bunker, as Sam looked at you with tear filled eyes.

….

   A week had gone by, and you were now staying at Jody’s until you can figure out where you were to go from here. Sam had tried one more attempt at telling you to stay, but you just wouldn’t have it. In your heart, you want to believe him. You truly wanted to. However, after the way Dean had not only blamed you for Charlie’s death, but also tried to kill you. Like your life was disposable. Like Charlie’s death matter more to him then your possible demise screamed something.  Not that Charlie deserved what she got. In fact, she deserved way better than being brutally murdered by the Steins. You will never forget the sight of her body covered in her own blood. That will haunt you for the rest of your days. 

   After a week of Dean not contacting you, you figured that he didn’t want to talk to you. You kept thinking over what he said about you being weak. It hurt to hear that Dean thought you were not capable of defending yourself and others. It hurt to no end knowing that the man you loved, Mark of Cane of not, didn’t want you around. As you were leaving the bunker, he looked at you with a smirk on his face. It showed he was glad you were leaving and possibly not coming back. Like he was happy to be rid of you. If this really was the Mark’s intention, to drive you away, then it succeeded.

Dean's hand print still lingers onto your neck, making you have to resort to using excessive amounts of makeup. You wore turtle neck sweaters so that the bruises seemed less noticable. It faded even as you try to hide it. Just barely, though. Everyday, when you look at yourself in the mirror, you see that dark red hand print made by Dean, reminding you of who made that mark.

“Hey, (Name). Dinners almost ready, you hungry?” Jody asked you still unpacking some of your stuff. 

“Yeah, I’m starving. Thanks again Jody. For letting me stay here.” You thank the kind policewoman with a small smile. 

“It’s no problem, honey. I love having you here.” She said as she left the doorway and down the stairs to finish dinner. You continued to go through your stuff when suddenly a blond-haired teenager came to invade your alone time by plopping her form on her bed.

“Claire! You are on my stuff!” You chastised her but all she did was shrug at you with not a care in the world. 

“Good to see you too, (Last name).” She said sarcastically said as she got up from your bed. “So, Jody told me that you and Dean had a falling out? Can you tell me more?” You stopped what you were doing after Claire mentioned yours and Dean’s break up. 

“It’s complicated, Claire. I rather not talk about it.” You denied her the conversation as you continued to put clothes away in the closet. She huffed as she got up from her bed, but still not have left your room. 

“He dumped you right?” She asked abruptly, which made you stop unpacking your clothes. 

“Yes, but it’s more than that, Claire. A friend of ours died and…” You leaned against the dresser. You sighed deeply while trying not to think back that day that you saw Charlie’s body lying dead in that bathtub. 

“He blamed you?” She inquired, not really liking how she was being too nosy with your personal life with the older Winchester. “(Name)…” She sighed sadly, you were about to tell her to stop talking when suddenly your phone went off. You looked to your dresser and grabbed the phone that was only used for emergency cases. You looked at the caller ID and saw it was all the way from Rome. 

“No way…” You answered in a whisper with the feeling that you knew where the phone call was from. You quickly answered and pulled the phone to your ear. “Hello, (Name) (Last Name) speaking.”

“Buongiorno, Paressa.” Said the male voice on the other line with a strong Italian accent. You looked to Claire and told her that she needed to step out of your room and she does. 

“Cardinal Jinette.” You uttered, not believing you would be hearing from him again. “It’s good to hear from you.” 

“And you, (Name). I’m glad to be able to speak with you. However, we don’t have much time for chatting as of now.”  Said the elderly man over the phone. Cardinal Jinette was the leader of the Holy Order, an old Organization formed in Europe during the medieval era. Your history with him goes back far into your early teen years. “I am afraid that we need your help. We need you to come back to Vatican City. Immediately.”  He said so abruptly making your eyes wide.

“Cardinal, Are you sure? There are others that you can call. What about…”

“He is the reason I am calling, Paressa. He is missing and we need your tracking skills to find him.”  He debated with you. He knew exactly who you were talking about, and you gasped with dread starting to seep into your thoughts. So, without a second thought or any further need of persuasion.

“Okay, I will be there as soon as I can.”

Chapter 2

Please like, comment and share! thank you so much for reading!

[nikofortuna]

JTTW Chapter 15 Thoughts

Chapter 15 for the @journeythroughjourneytothewest Reading Group!

Yes, dragon is very snake-like! Swallows prey whole.

Honestly I am good with Sun Wukong putting Tang Sanzang in his place here. Especially when he started crying at the mere prospect of walking. If anything he should have cried at the life of the poor horsie lost! Not because it inconveniences him a little.

Truly he encounters a problem and goes ‘Oh, woe me!’ right away! Instead of trying to figure something out he basically gives up, it really is no wonder that the largely self-sufficient Sun Wukong who has encountered far greater trouble in his life already gets annoyed with him.

There’s a little typo in the Anthony C. Yu version! The first line of the combat poem reads “The dragon extending sharp daws” when it should be sharp claws!

In the German translation Sun Wukong specifies that if the dragon doesn’t give the horse back he will kill him to avenge the horse’s death, which I find to be a very sweet addition. Horsegirl Wukong all the way!

A longer bit about writing ahead. I played a game with lovely worldbuilding and lore which has been given out very naturally, so my eye easily fell on this detail.

Hm, I don’t know but some of the infodumping about the lore of locations just doesn’t feel very natural. In this instance I have various ideas on how to better it.

Perhaps they could have just mentioned the name of the river and Sun Wukong in his boundless curiosity could have asked why it’s called that.

Or they could have just mentioned that there has been nothing evil about this stream and then the name of it upon which Sun Wukong could have asked something along the lines of ‘If there was never anything evil about it, why is it called that?’.

It could have also been established beforehand that he likes to know a bit of history behind locations and their names specifically and note that others know about this. Then they may tell him these things right away as they know he’ll want to know anyway.

Or is it actually that local spirits have a habit of dishing out info about the location they inhabit with this much detail? On the off-chance that this might be so, it would be good to mention in a footnote at least.

Though even just restructuring it a little would have worked as I found in the German translation, which summarize the history behind the name in one sentence. Roughly translated it says “There was nothing to complain about this stream, it is merely very deep and broad and the water is so crystal clear that birds of prey, when they look down while flying over it, mistake their mirror image for members of their own species and plunge themselves into the water. Hence the name Eagle Grief Stream.” Flows far better in my opinion, pun intended.

Back to the story at hand jumping straight to killing instead of negotiating how else the dragon could pay them back like say get a new horse is a little hasty. He’s a dragon, he could probably get a new one somehow. A lot of this conflict could have been solved through proper communication as is literally explained during the conflict resolution.

Human form Ao Lie! With fashionable pearl jewellery I see! Why did Guanyin take those I wonder? Perhaps it was to make the new harness.

Horsegirl Wukong strikes again! This time making sure the horse gets good quality gear only.

And Tang Sanzang falls off the horse again. There will probably be two types of falling of the horse. One is getting knocked off somehow during tense moments and one is just sliding off the horse in a silly manner during more light hearted and comedic moments like this one.

Ehm… Why are Muslims listed with minor threats? I don’t like that, I don’t like that at all. This was omitted from the J. F. Jenner translation. The German translation kind of kept it, but used the specific groups mentioned in the original text, which isn’t all that much better.

This chapter made me really consider how nice it might be to get a remake of the story, which sticks as close to the original as possible while ironing out plotholes and contradicting parts as well as all these less than stellar outdated details. It’s a great story with a ton of intricate details and much if it holds up to this day, but it has flaws that just don’t need to be there.

[phoenixduelist]

An almost top secret level headcanon: Rozália has a twin brother called András Farkas.

Only four people knew of the twins' existence: Gemma who shortly died from blood loss after birth, Bulcsú the father whose decision was to separate them to ensure the bloodline's survival, Marcell who hid the child and his sister Julianna who watched over him.

Bulcsú picked Rozália despite the gender because she was a large, healthy baby and her cry reminded him of a lion. While András was...peaceful, quiet. Small compared to his sister. He only trusted Marcell with his secret, the boy should not know his origin unless absolutely necessary.

András also has green eyes, although with much more blue undertones than Rozália's almost otherworldly emerald green spiked with golden. Due to the massive difference of life and mental state, his features, his face is more gentle, his gaze is brimming with kindness, so does his heart. András knows Julianna as his mother, he was told his father died in a late Ottoman attack. He was raised to be a good man, and Julianna definitely succeeded even with the guilt slowly eating her. Now he is married to a golden hearted lady of his dreams, not of status but the daughter of the village's tailor. His family grew with five children, three daughters and two sons.

With how Rozália has turned out, changed for the worse after the dungeon, Marcell is content with taking this secret to the grave. As much as he loves Rozália like she was his own, he isn't blind to her ruthless ambition and demonic cruelty. He knows if she ever finds out, blood will flow, lives will be snuffed out without mercy and no second thoughts.

And Marcell is right. Especially if she learns this in her Queen verse, a brief interlude of madness spiked breakdown. Because this for Rozália would mean:

Two men, one her actual, the other her sworn father lied to her in their entire lives

If her father picked András instead of her, none of her suffering would've happened. She could've lived a happy, quiet life. Could've had a family she doesn't have to protect with all of wit, strength, rage, skill.

His existence is a threat to everything she's achieved. The knowledge of him could erase all of her hard work even if he wants to stay away from politics and continue being a happy farmer. He's threat no matter what because he's a man and inexperienced regarding ruling, not the cunning chess player she is. And she is both smart and ruthless enough to know that.

Therefore he must be gone as if he never existed, no matter how good the cover is. She's been found multiple times on the seas, the chance increases significantly in a relatively small kingdom. Along with everyone who knew him. She is incapable of killing Marcell; the morning shift would find the captain of the guards in his room with a blade in his heart and his own hand still tight around the grip.

The Devil would visit her brother when he's returning from the market a little later than usual, searching for his wife's favorite flowers. András would learn his true ancestry and no matter how he swears he has no intentions of going near her throne, Rozália's mind is long made up. He would try to reason he has a family. The last thing he'd hear is not to worry, they will join him soon. And they will, the wife, the children; all corpses found after the fire of their house had died down. Julianna? Poor old thing's heart probably gave up when she learned. As a broken windpipe isn't too noticeable.

[blue-jester]

Hey, I'm wondering what's the whole deal with your oc Magiajam? What are they like?

Oh! Ok so

Magia is a lot.. Different from others that are considered divine, I'll explain their backstory first to make this more coherrent [and to give tumblr a better explaination because I realize I don't tell you guys enough about anyone other than Bast]

So! They were born of the magic of paradise, a god formed from the very energies of the most divine and holy place in the universe, on the younger end of the pantheon too. They started out as a small ball of flame that grew with their element [magic]-

Though while they remember paradise as being this perfect, unimaginably peaceful place... They did have one person who'd always, ALWAYS ruin their day. Raver.

[Raver is my evilest oc and I have ABBADON]

Anyhow, Ravers the god of chaos and trickery and as a kid the only one who he could pick on was Magia because they were the only one younger and thus not a threat. So he'd constantly steal their food, trap them somehow and dunk them in the water or pick them up with his tail hand and just generally bully the poor thing. This.. Caused Magiajam to be somewhat of a recluse, hiding in burrows instead of socializing with the other gods which made them crave attention, but they were scared to look for it for a time.

So they would do things for the other gods, they gave Aradite her wings, they gave Faye a sword, they were just... The guy you go to to get things, really. That's all anyone ever visited them for, anyways... But don't be fooled, they were egotistical even despite all this- all gods were. They thought themself the strongest greatest thing in the entire universe and that they should be recognized goddamnit! [and they they should be allowed to maul Raver to death- wait what]

So, after some planning, they thought up the best way to get the recognition [and love] they deserved!

They'd challenge the matter gods.

Now.. The matter gods, they're the strongest beings to ever have sentiance, stronger than the one they were spawned from... Void Termina. The very embodiments of their element, the matters which make up every single thing in the universe... Nothing can fight them. Nothing except maybe a Kirby and the power of friendship and Love [and an incredibly pissed off catboy who dragged his kirby to beat their asses but that's way far in the future- and in an au]

So Magiajam, drunk on their own power thought THEY could take them down. They didn't want to take over- they didn't wanna shake things up.. They just wanted attention. In that fight, they made one fatal error- they wanted to win so badly they went all out in the battle and accidentally destroyed a bit of paradise and disturbed the peace- waking souls and scarring the land.

This is considered an unforgivable sin, to disturb the peace in the holy land of bliss. And so,

The matter gods went all out as well. Taking control of the poor things body and slamming it hard to the ground, spearing them with hundreds or thousands of heart spears so they could torment the mind until Magia physically could not fight back and even until they were crying and pleading for them to stop, they would not. They tore off their wings and said let it be a lesson to the rest of the pantheon. Do NOT cross the four matter gods.

Then, Magia was banished from paradise, thrown far across space, far far until they landed on a hellscape planet known now as Halcandra, there they cried and cried, their flames burning cold and small under the weight and despair of their situation- they had just been banished from their home. The birthplace of a god is perhaps the most holy place one could have, without it... They're not whole. They were separated from their origin- like a small child ripped away from their mother. A hole in their aching heart that could never be filled.

However, when their divine tears hit the boiling surface of the planet, they formed into the first halcandrians, who mewed for their gods attention and pulled them out of their hysteric state.

The god had no idea what to do with them- why they couldn't look after a whole species- they didn't deserve to raise one anyways.. They were a monster. only monsters were banished from paradise.... But, they wanted these little cats to have the best chance possible at life, so they taught them about how to live, how to survive.. How to use magic.

Their heart hurt too badly for them to stay long, and they ached to return home, to paradise... They didn't want their creation following them in their metaphorical pawsteps though, so they did something they thought would stop the pain... They tore out their heart, and threw it into a volcano, which turned their heart into a mortal halcandrian known as King Jorrolor, the first king of Halcandra. They'd put him in charge of leading the species, a good leader who would protect and nurture them- then, they left "to find paradise" and redeem themself

They tried. And tried. And tried to reach paradise again- but when they finally found the gates they were turned away and harshly talked down to- they could never return, they could never redeem themself.. And now, the paradise gods lead by Raver would decide it easiest to take their anger out on them, harass them- over all the banished god would become the others punching bag and take the title of the "evil god" by the rest.

From then, they'd drift across the universe, granting any mortal who could find them a single good natured wish- because if they made all that effort to find them, they deserved something in return...

Magia doesn't want to be seen as a god. Not by the halcandrians that worship them, not by anyone. They don't deserve it and honestly? They just want.. A friend. To be treated normally and as an equal- not lesser like the gods see them, not some untouchable divine force like mortals view them- as just another person who is alive.

As for their personality now, I'd say they're very sweet if not a little bashful and anxious, they have panic attacks and suffer ptsd from the beatdown the matter gods gave them but if you can get past that they're kind, gentle and warm, they find comfort and fun in mundane tasks- they can be sarcastic at times though or irritable depending on circumstance. They're a lot nicer than any other gods you'll meet I can promise you that!

Also by warm I mean both personality wise and literal. In mortal form this fucker is basically a living space heater- or an ultra fluffy cat that's been sleeping in front of a heater for seven hours. God form is made out of literal magic flame so don't touch that though unless they're sad [they're cold when they're sad]

Uhh, got anymore questions! I'd love to hear em!

[banished-god-of-magic]

Welp I made a poll asking who you'd wanna see get an ask blog, and the winner was Magia here! So here's their ask blog, feel free to send in anons!!!

Explanation on who this character is and refs under the cut

Magia is a lot.. Different from others that are considered divine, I'll explain their backstory first to make this more coherrent [and to give tumblr a better explaination because I realize I don't tell you guys enough about anyone other than Bast]

So! They were born of the magic of paradise, a god formed from the very energies of the most divine and holy place in the universe, on the younger end of the pantheon too. They started out as a small ball of flame that grew with their element [magic]-

Though while they remember paradise as being this perfect, unimaginably peaceful place... They did have one person who'd always, ALWAYS ruin their day. Raver.

[Raver is my evilest oc and I have ABBADON]

Anyhow, Ravers the god of chaos and trickery and as a kid the only one who he could pick on was Magia because they were the only one younger and thus not a threat. So he'd constantly steal their food, trap them somehow and dunk them in the water or pick them up with his tail hand and just generally bully the poor thing. This.. Caused Magiajam to be somewhat of a recluse, hiding in burrows instead of socializing with the other gods which made them crave attention, but they were scared to look for it for a time.

So they would do things for the other gods, they gave Aradite her wings, they gave Faye a sword, they were just... The guy you go to to get things, really. That's all anyone ever visited them for, anyways... But don't be fooled, they were egotistical even despite all this- all gods were. They thought themself the strongest greatest thing in the entire universe and that they should be recognized goddamnit! [and they they should be allowed to maul Raver to death- wait what]

So, after some planning, they thought up the best way to get the recognition [and love] they deserved!

They'd challenge the matter gods.

Now.. The matter gods, they're the strongest beings to ever have sentiance, stronger than the one they were spawned from... Void Termina. The very embodiments of their element, the matters which make up every single thing in the universe... Nothing can fight them. Nothing except maybe a Kirby and the power of friendship and Love [and an incredibly pissed off catboy who dragged his kirby to beat their asses but that's way far in the future- and in an au]

So Magiajam, drunk on their own power thought THEY could take them down. They didn't want to take over- they didn't wanna shake things up.. They just wanted attention. In that fight, they made one fatal error- they wanted to win so badly they went all out in the battle and accidentally destroyed a bit of paradise and disturbed the peace- waking souls and scarring the land.

This is considered an unforgivable sin, to disturb the peace in the holy land of bliss. And so,

The matter gods went all out as well. Taking control of the poor things body and slamming it hard to the ground, spearing them with hundreds or thousands of heart spears so they could torment the mind until Magia physically could not fight back and even until they were crying and pleading for them to stop, they would not. They tore off their wings and said let it be a lesson to the rest of the pantheon. Do NOT cross the four matter gods.

Then, Magia was banished from paradise, thrown far across space, far far until they landed on a hellscape planet known now as Halcandra, there they cried and cried, their flames burning cold and small under the weight and despair of their situation- they had just been banished from their home. The birthplace of a god is perhaps the most holy place one could have, without it... They're not whole. They were separated from their origin- like a small child ripped away from their mother. A hole in their aching heart that could never be filled.

However, when their divine tears hit the boiling surface of the planet, they formed into the first halcandrians, who mewed for their gods attention and pulled them out of their hysteric state.

The god had no idea what to do with them- why they couldn't look after a whole species- they didn't deserve to raise one anyways.. They were a monster. only monsters were banished from paradise.... But, they wanted these little cats to have the best chance possible at life, so they taught them about how to live, how to survive.. How to use magic.

Their heart hurt too badly for them to stay long, and they ached to return home, to paradise... They didn't want their creation following them in their metaphorical pawsteps though, so they did something they thought would stop the pain... They tore out their heart, and threw it into a volcano, which turned their heart into a mortal halcandrian known as King Jorrolor, the first king of Halcandra. They'd put him in charge of leading the species, a good leader who would protect and nurture them- then, they left "to find paradise" and redeem themself

They tried. And tried. And tried to reach paradise again- but when they finally found the gates they were turned away and harshly talked down to- they could never return, they could never redeem themself.. And now, the paradise gods lead by Raver would decide it easiest to take their anger out on them, harass them- over all the banished god would become the others punching bag and take the title of the "evil god" by the rest.

From then, they'd drift across the universe, granting any mortal who could find them a single good natured wish- because if they made all that effort to find them, they deserved something in return...

Magia doesn't want to be seen as a god. Not by the halcandrians that worship them, not by anyone. They don't deserve it and honestly? They just want.. A friend. To be treated normally and as an equal- not lesser like the gods see them, not some untouchable divine force like mortals view them- as just another person who is alive.

As for their personality now, I'd say they're very sweet if not a little bashful and anxious, they have panic attacks and suffer ptsd from the beatdown the matter gods gave them but if you can get past that they're kind, gentle and warm, they find comfort and fun in mundane tasks- they can be sarcastic at times though or irritable depending on circumstance. They're a lot nicer than any other gods you'll meet I can promise you that!

Also by warm I mean both personality wise and literal. In mortal form this fucker is basically a living space heater- or an ultra fluffy cat that's been sleeping in front of a heater for seven hours. God form is made out of literal magic flame so don't touch that though unless they're sad [they're cold when they're sad]

Now, this Magia would eventually meet @opal-owl-flight's Magolor, become friends and fall in love, so currently they're in a much happier place than just a few years ago..

Uhh, got anymore questions! I'd love to hear em!

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Okay, so in order to accurately read my review: first imagine a good 15 minutes of incoherent screaming/babbling/gesticulating while I tried to calm my brain down enough to explain why it was reacting like that.

Then imagine me carefully selecting "the best lines" only to realize I'd "selected" a good 90% of the fic.

Now:

"He was quiet and still for a moment, and Matthew thought that particular enough to frown.

"'What's the matter?'

"'I forgot my question.' Jack gave a sheepish grin. 'Sorry.'"

I love them, your honor. Poor Matt's just trying to sleep off a migraine, but Jack Has A Question and will be satisfied... oh, nope, he forgot. And "Jack sitting still is weird enough that something's wrong" is just... it's this little touch of knowing his brother, and also the lead in to "he forgot his very important question," and I love it.

"'Where's Father?'

"'Drunk,' Zee chirped, and Matthew startled. She had appeared in the doorway without him even hearing when the swish of her skirts should have been as loud enough to alert him, but he really was out of it. Oh God, were both of them on the same mission? He sat up. Jack could be distracted but Zee? She was a bloodhound. And she never forgot anything."

Again, I love them. Zee's matter of fact statement (Arthur, quit getting drunk in front of your weans), and "oh shit, I can't get out of this if she's on the case." The little juxtaposition between his reaction to both of their appearances and how he thinks of them... I love it, I love it so much.

"'Oh, right! That's what I wanted to ask. Olly's head.' said Jack. 'The one that Father says he keeps up on the mantle in that fancy box,' He pointed at the carved mahogany box on the mantel, etched with what he'd bet was Uncle Rhys spell work, but they didn't talk about that."

Okay, so to insert my own question, because Jack and I are kindred spirits in that regard: if the skull was in a glass case before the house was Jack-proofed, does that mean the box was made recently? Did the previous display include any spell work, or was there a reason to add it for the box specifically? Either "it's been warded since the day it came off" or "it was added well over a century later" would be fascinating looks into Arthur's mindset around the thing. Also, the image of Arthur asking his big brother to help him with magic... I'm so obsessed with the moments when, even at the height of the Empire, Arthur leans on his brothers.

"She lifted her chin and stared right back. 'You've seen it. So if it isn't in the box, show us the box.'"

This is such a small thing - I loved Matt trying to lie to get out of it and immediately getting outsmarted by Zee. Do not lie to the small child, Matt, she can best you.

"Arthur had made him look at it. Back then, before the house had been Jack-proofed, it had been displayed behind glass. The horrible shrunken skull with tight, parchment-mummified skin and a grinning jaw that wiggled when the display cloche over its base moved at all. It was a French flag over his land back then. Arthur had only closed one hand over his neck and made him look. The implication had been clear. That's where you'll end up, too, my boy, if you're not careful."

Aaaaaaand I am immediately snapped out of the cute sibling interaction and into the fucked-up-ness of their "family" and its existence. I just... fuck. Arthur deciding to threaten the small child under his care, and Matt understanding the threat... And the way you worded it absolutely drives the terror and the... power? Control? home. I can see it happening and feel the emotional tension between Matt and Arthur in that moment. And you did it in three sentences.

"At home… the head is powerful." She said carefully, as if translating a concept she'd never spoken about into English was difficult. Perhaps it was. Matthew didn't know what to say to that.

Once again crying over Zee. She's part English, sure, and in many ways the most like Arthur - but there's this whole other side to her that she can't talk about or represent the way she wants. Something about this bit is really driving home what she, Jack, and Matt are and the inherent fucked-up-ness of their existence.

"'Then why's Father got it?', Zee asked. They drew nearer, and Matthew stood, pulling them with him, needing out of that room, away from that box and its half-forgotten contents. He walked them to the door, remembering a day when he had been the problem, the opponent, the obstacle in father's way.

"'Because he made father his enemy.'"

[Cue my brain bursting into flames trying to process the emotions]

It's a lot. Like, Zee and Jack are just after "ooh, the creepy skull!" (with some cultural hesitation on Zee's part), but Matt's thinking about "the skull the man who calls himself our father used to communicate that I need to watch my step or I WILL be removed from the equation." But at the same time - sure it hasn't been said to the other two because they've been under the English flag since birth (well... legally), but they live under that same threat. The dichotomy of them being kids after something creepy their dad has, but also colonial holdings asking about the proof that the empire is vindictive and will end an enemy no matter where he finds it... it's doing things to my brain.

This fic was both extremely entertaining and gave me a LOT to think about, thank you so much for sharing it!

My brain just screams joy at me for like two days straight every time you comment I can't even express how happy it makes me. Everything I'm trying to do comes through to someone and it... it works???? A miracle. And god, yeah, Arthur in all likelihood wouldn't have hurt Matt because generally children are the one thing that can stay his hand in most contexts but if he'd been an obstacle threatening Alfred in a way that Arthur could tangibly see, it would have been done. He's generally more interested in protecting his children even before he properly claims them but they are possessions before they're people in so, so very many ways. Collected like the stuffed birds and the contents of the green house. Zee is trying so hard to articulate these concepts that have no English translation, unite these aspects of her that are utterly at odds and Jack's still young enough his questions don't have bitter unsatisfying answers yet and Matt already knows what they'll grow up to understand someday. There's just so much bullshit that lives in my brain and I'm so happy it got out on paper!

Okay, so to insert my own question, because Jack and I are kindred spirits in that regard: if the skull was in a glass case before the house was Jack-proofed, does that mean the box was made recently? Did the previous display include any spell work, or was there a reason to add it for the box specifically?

So this is something I'm kind of adding into established works because I audited a course on the history of magic and folklore to make a reference collection for those students to use and I got drop kicked back into my teenage pagan phase so now the hard core realism I've always liked sticking too is more and more turning into a very annoying attempt at magical realism I am so sorry lmao.

So I actually had 3 versions of the Cromwell head. One where it was as somewhat recorded in history. Just dried out, spooky, and sitting on the mantel. The second was that Arthur actually fused Cromwell's soul in there and actually talked to the thing sometimes. But that felt weird so I went with the third. That the skull, as was often thought of skulls through early European history acts as a kind of conduit. Arthur needs it because of all his siblings I think might actually be the weakest in whatever kind of magical ability there may be, I haven't decided how far I want to go in that direction. But being the youngest, he learned the least from their mother and didn't much care to learn much later. So the spell-work he did on the glass and cloche started wearing off about a century or so after Cromwell lost his head. It was keeping in the bad vibes from Cromwell's skull and keeping out the curious (like Jack) so Alasdair made a box and Rhys enchanted the thing to contain Cromwell and keep the curious (Jack) out. When the weans got older and Arthur no longer has servants and what not it just sits on the mantel. Zee puts an elf hat and fairy lights on it at Christmas and bunny eared headband at Easter just for maximum disrespect.

Rhys really just put so much overtime in when the kids are young, carving and enchanting various hex traps and witch boxes to keep shit contained. Wales and Scotland were among the first victims of English imperialism but also certainly participated it in it. So while Arthur quite literally probably has skeletons in the closet, they all are a part of this fucked up imperial mess.

[excuse-me-why-am-i-sad]

testimony part 3

I cried uncontrollably that night and had school the following day. For ten days, I contemplated telling adults and was constantly crying without control. Then, after 20 days of retrieving the evidence, I finally told my mom. I asked Marguerite to distract Papa, to which they made a TikTok video while me Monique, and Michie pulled aside Mama, and I told her to be prepared in all aspects, yet I should have known she wasn’t. She lashed out at papa almost immediately that night. She loved him. Love is such an annoying thing. Later in the morning, while I was sleeping, I was woken up by Papa, and he kept hugging me and saying sorry; I pretended to be confused, that I did not know anything, but then my mother told me that he knew. I tried my best to control my emotions but to no avail. Later, Monique and Marguerite woken up, and were also brought to speak with them. The initial thought I had "I should have killed myself yesterday" Monique had a difficult time breathing, and Marguerite kept crying; both of them we're never good at expressing or explaining their emotions, so all the pain and suppressed sadness poured out all at once. The rest of what happened after was just a mess: constantly crying, my grades falling, and my failing quizzes. I could not focus. And then, while also looking at the text messages, I found out that Papa even showed my pictures to the girl, and that girl kept saying in capital letters.

“ANAK MO PUROS ANAK MO NALANG PALAGI”

Oh? Who else would be more important? The girl? That conniving, overweight, vile, and pretentious anesthesiologist? I wouldn't want my anesthesiologist to be immoral. Who would want a doctor who isn't morally upright? Isn't it required for a doctor to have morals? What would happen to the world if our doctors were corrupt and deceiving? The ones who benefit are the perpetrators, and the ones who suffer are the victims. Where is the law? Wasn't the law created to bring order and justice? Where is the justice? My sleepless nights, the times when I had a breakdown in public? The times when I cried uncontrollably in school? What about when I attempted to jump off the 4th floor at my school? The threats to my own life due to their immoral actions. Not only me but my sisters. My poor sister, Monique, who can't sleep, blames herself as she is the one who found out first. Marguerite isolates herself and throws herself at her studies to avoid thinking about what Papa and that vile woman did. Michie, who found out late, cried herself to sleep, even refusing to sleep with Papa and sleeping in a separate room. Thank goodness, Michael, my brother cannot comprehend what is happening to this family. My heart wouldn't be able to take it. You're telling me when we finally have a boy in the family, this infidelity has to happen? What is this? After a wish is granted, calamity and tragedies are supposed to occur soon after. Why would you do this to your only family? Why would you do this to my siblings?