#all of his disappointment and fear and resignation and horror

[lightwise]

Y’all…I am…this is….just incredible.

[cuffmeinblack]

Smile In Your Sleep

Sebastian Sallow x f!MC (she/her)

Tags: explicit | non-con | somnophilia | dark!Sebastian | delusional thoughts

3.1k words

Summary: Sebastian watches her when she sleeps, safe in his arms as she seeks comfort from her nightmares. Beautiful, perfect, and utterly irresistible; who could blame him for indulging?

A/n: *sweats* I'm so sorry, Seb. I made him completely delulu and predatory, this boy is fucked up.

When had merely watching her sleep become not enough? Sebastian pondered the question as he lay in bed, willing her to crawl in with him through some hitherto unheard of telepathy; a cruel thought, as she only ever did so when suffering from particularly horrendous nightmares. He missed her warmth, particularly on these cold Winter nights, though he was restless when she did make an appearance.

He closed his eyes, picturing her laying next to him—eyes shut, her dark eyelashes fluttering as she dreamed, cheeks flushed from the heat under the heavy duvet and those kissable lips just barely parted to aid soft breaths. His memory conjured images of the slow rise and fall of her chest beneath those gorgeous breasts that regularly featured in his own dreams. Sebastian gripped his aching length, his clothes long banished as he lay in the confines of his bed. He lingered on the thought of pushing himself into her mouth, parting those lips further as he slid down her throat. In his fantasies, she didn't react; merely lay still, statuesque, perfect as he violated her.

"F-fuck…," he stuttered as he came hard, spilling over his hand and stomach.

The shame that so usually flooded his mind had gradually dulled over the weeks, making way for a resignation that this was no passing phase. What bothered Sebastian now wasn't the activities he conducted in private—that was his own business, after all—it was the desire to act out his fantasies, growing ever stronger each time she made his way to him during those hard nights. That spurred his guilt, more so because she was particularly vulnerable in those moments, being subjected to horrors she begged him to be able to forget.

He cleaned himself up with a sigh before heading to the shower for a more thorough cleanse, though it did nothing to wash away the unease settling in his stomach. Once dressed, he walked down to the common room with Ominis, spotting her leaning casually by the window and prompting his insides to squirm. She greeted them cheerily as they approached, running her fingers through her hair to sweep it out of her face, like some sort of temptress meant only to torture Sebastian. It was no secret that he found her attractive, except maybe to the woman herself, but not a living soul knew the depths of his depravity when it came to his lustful thoughts.

As she sat across the table from him at breakfast, he felt as if she could read his mind the way her eyes seemed to scrutinise everything he did, and he silently prayed to Merlin that she wasn't a secret legilimens.

"You okay, Seb?" she asked.

Sebastian smiled and nodded, heaping porridge into his bowl and shovelling it into his mouth to avoid speaking. He was far too distracted for small talk, and besides that, he could barely look at her these days without imagining his cock in her mouth.

"How did you sleep?" Ominis asked.

"Better," she smiled with a sigh of relief. "Maybe my nightmares have stopped."

Well, that wouldn't do.

Sebastian peered over his bowl and caught her watching him, her piercing eyes seeming to want to communicate something. Would she be disappointed, too? Would she lament the fact that she no longer had an excuse to sleep next to him?

"That’s good," Sebastian remarked whilst idly stirring more honey into his breakfast.

She hummed in assent, never taking her eyes off him.

-

Not three days later, her presumption was proven false—her nightmares were far from finished tormenting her. She slid into his bed once again, shaking slightly, whether from the cold, shock or fear he couldn't tell. He bundled her into his arms as soon as she hit the mattress, curling into a fetal position as he enveloped her back in a blanket of warmth and calm.

"Are you okay?" he asked gently.

"Yes, I'll be alright. It wasn't as bad as…"

She couldn't finish her sentence, instead lapsing into silence as Sebastian stroked her hair and the last of her sobs subsided. He knew the nightmares she had alluded to; he had them too, sometimes.

She drifted off to sleep quickly, leaving Sebastian once again in an internal struggle between giving into the temptation that roared behind his ribcage, a beast waiting to be sated, and the simple duty of respecting his dearest friend. He told himself that he was disgusting, depraved, a monster, but the words meant nothing as he gazed down at her sleeping form in the dim light, noticing the gentle swell of her breasts underneath her cotton chemise. Her nipple had slipped, tantalisingly close to being exposed by the smallest of shuffles. Once again, Sebastian rationalised his actions, downplaying their gravity—he simply wanted to hasten the inevitable.

Propped on his elbow as he leaned over her, he delicately peeled the fabric down, revealing her soft, pink nipple. Saliva pooled in the well of his mouth as his cock twitched against her perky cheeks, and Sebastian suppressed a groan that would surely wake her. Just a quick touch, then he'd stop. His thumb brushed her nipple, her body responding even in unconsciousness as it formed a stiff peak at his touch. Fuck, he wanted to take it into his mouth, swirl his tongue over that perfect little mound. The thought sent blood rushing away from his head—and whatever part of his brain that was responsible for his self restraint—and straight to his cock.

Sebastian slid a hand under the chemise to gently cup her breast, her flesh perfectly filling his palm. His dark eyes flickered shut as he felt the weight, brushed the silken skin and gently pinched her nipple. Perfect. He was impossibly aroused now, his cock swelling at an alarming rate in his pyjama trousers. The only relief lay in her warm body nestled against him, and the temptation was simply too strong. His eyes opened again to watch her face, for any indication that she was waking as he rolled his hips into her backside.

She was so fucking soft. Her perfect arse moulding around his erection like it was meant for him. Still she slept as he palmed her breast, growing bolder every second with a firmer grip and a harder push of his hips. He wanted to moan into her ear, tell her she was such a good girl, but of course he couldn't; his game was one of stealth and silence. He couldn't stop his heavy breath or involuntary hitches as he grinded gently against her, but it soon became apparent that this gentle caress wouldn't be enough to rid him of his painfully throbbing desire.

Sebastian shuffled back slightly, taking the arm trapped under his body and wrapping his hand around his length with a shudder, whilst his other stayed firmly glued to her breast. He massaged her in rhythm to the strokes he gave his cock, his orgasm building so quickly from just how fucking wrong this was. Still he pumped himself, smearing the slick that dribbled from the tip down his entire length, filling the canopy with wet slapping sounds that were far too loud—but he couldn't stop, he was so close. He looked down at her face once more, eyes fixed on those plump lips so ready for the taking, and she moaned. A gentle sound, almost a breath, as she shuffled on the mattress slightly, bringing her knee higher and face pressed into the pillow.

No, Sebastian couldn't stop the inevitable, not even if he'd tried, which he didn't. He shot his load all over her clothed back, fucking his hand furiously as cum spurted in thick ropes across her pretty cotton chemise. His head was spinning, barely able to breathe from the intensity of his release. It was fucking incredible. It could have been seconds, minutes, or hours as he gasped quietly through the pleasure, but eventually he was empty, oversensitive and completely spent. He slumped back on the pillow, looking down at the mess he'd made of his hand and the sheet beneath them, his post-orgasm clarity ruining the perfect moment.

Shit. He removed his hand gently from her breast, pulling the top up to cover her still stiff nipple and groped around outside of the curtain for his wand, trying not to move too much. After an agonising few seconds of patting his nightstand, he finally found it, casting a non-verbal cleaning charm to vanish the soaking mess. It wasn't quite perfect, but he daren't utter the incantation aloud. This was his bed, as such, the slightly crusted layer on his sheet wasn't too much of a problem, but the same couldn't be said of her pyjamas. As she started to stir and the light began filtering through the gap she'd made in the curtain, Sebastian hoped against all odds that she wouldn't notice his shame smeared across her back.

-

Sebastian watched her over breakfast for any indication that she knew what he'd done, but she was apparently none the wiser, her usual self. He thought she may have lingered a little longer on his eyes as she looked at him that morning, her face a tad more flushed than usual, but she said nothing. If she had known, she had decided to allow it, which made Sebastian all the more bolder.

Night after night, she told him her nightmares had returned, though he noted the absence of any tears after a while. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking, or a desperate need to justify his actions by telling himself that she wanted this, but he had almost convinced himself that it was true. He'd held back from doing what he really wanted, from truly claiming her whilst she slept, but his apprehension was melting away with every night she willingly found herself in his bed.

"Are you okay?" he asked once again as she lay curled up in his arms.

"Yeah. I'm better now."

Better with me.

She offered herself so willingly, such that the flickering flame of guilt was extinguished the moment her soft snores met his ears. Too beautiful to resist, and so responsive to his touch. His breath ghosted her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps prickling her flesh. Over her shoulder his gaze roamed and his fingers followed, the featherlight touch he employed barely registering to her nerves.

Sebastian’s ear was pricked for any variation in her breathing as he delved under her top, this time a less attractive buttoned shirt; but no matter, it was what lay underneath that counted. His hands provided and her body responded just as he’d hoped. This, he was used to now. This, was safe. He could caress her breasts and barely satisfy himself with his hand, but the allure of what lay next to his throbbing length was what kept him awake even on the nights he spent alone.

He dared to go further even as the bile rose in his throat, planting a kiss on her neck whilst his eyes stayed fixed on her peacefully resting visage. Illuminated by the strip of moonlight cascading through the gently rippling waters, she looked almost ethereal. There could be no snarky comments or irritating little habits; in stillness and silence she was captivating, absolutely perfect.

Another kiss, and another, until his brain was no longer capable of rational thought amongst the onslaught of hormones, and he licked the skin at the crook of her neck. Not a tentative dab with the tip of his tongue but a thick, wet stripe. She tasted of the tang of her perfume and partially of the sweat brought on by her night terrors; so enticingly forbidden. There was no stopping now—he was bordering on crazed, his mind addled with lust and a reckless disregard for any consequences.

His hand slid down her clothed back as he ignored his straining erection; there would be time for that soon. With gentle tugs, he worked on shimmying her pyjama trousers down, the soft skin of her cheeks that brushed his knuckles sending his head spinning. Faster he moved until she was exposed to him, and he took a moment to drink in the soft curves before cupping her behind with both hands.

What he wouldn’t give to dig his fingertips into her flesh, to leave bruises and indents along her hips. His fingers flexed involuntarily at the thought, barely pulling himself back before he acted on the impulse. He needed to be gentle, just like the steady breaths she continued to exhale. His hand glided down, slipping between her thighs where he was greeted by her slick entrance.

Sebastian could have spilled just then, messing his pyjamas from simply feeling her arousal. He took a deep breath as his middle finger gently stroked his prize before slowly pressing inside her. She had no reaction, none whatsoever—both reassuring and deeply disappointing. He was up to his knuckle, teasing her open with strokes of his finger. In the near-silence every squelch was audible, and deliciously obscene.

"So fucking wet for me," he whispered, barely audibly.

She shuddered, and Sebastian flinched and stilled his hand as his heart almost leapt out of his chest. That had been a sudden reaction to his words, not his slow and steady movements. He waited, but her eyes stayed shut and breath remained steady as she appeared to sleep on. Resuming his rhythm, he had the sneaking suspicion that she was at least partially lucid. She was letting this happen.

He slipped another finger inside her, growing steadily more reckless as he felt himself lose control over his desire. The minutes spent preparing her felt like an eternity, but once he was finally satisfied she could handle him, Sebastian was barely holding it together. As his hand wrapped around his cock to guide his way, a tiny moan fell from his lips before he could stop himself. Still she didn't stir, an invitation to continue.

He pressed his head against her dripping entrance and pushed, stopping as just the tip was enveloped in her warmth. So fucking perfect. All Sebastian could think of was filling her up completely, letting her drip his seed onto the sheets as she slept on, completely oblivious. The thought was almost enough to end him, and he willed himself to move, screwing his eyes shut in some pathetic attempt to delay his release.

He was doomed as soon as she began to stir at the first thrust. He moved slowly, gently, but he hit her deep, and those soft, rhythmic breaths became quicker and uneven. And then she moaned. Not a breathy sigh but an exclamation of pleasure that his roommates would no doubt have heard. He wished then that he could delve into her thoughts, to see what her unconscious mind had conjured in response to his intrusion. He was sure that he would see himself, pleasuring her as he did now.

"I'm so fucking close, please let me come," Sebastian whispered in her ear.

He didn't expect a response, at least not a lucid one—even if she'd given him one, he was too far gone to have processed it. The flutter of her walls around his cock was almost too much, and a confirmation that she was enjoying this just as much as he was. Every heavy breath against her neck and every shunt across the mattress brought her further out of her deep sleep. At that point, Sebastian cared very little about what might happen if she did wake, clinging to the belief that she would welcome his advances with open arms.

"Oh…wha-…?"

A confused and hoarse whisper escaped her throat, her eyes still glued shut.

Fuck.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Please say no.

"Don't…don't stop…"

Sebastian willed himself to last just a little longer, not merely seeking his own gratification but determined to have her fall apart by his touch.

"Come on, beautiful…," he encouraged with the smallest whispers.

She was so tight, her muscles gripping his cock as her abdomen clenched under his palm before she reached her climax. She writhed against him with heavy breaths and involuntary moans, the pulsing around his length enough to tip him over the edge with her. Sebastian groaned as he stilled, allowing the grip of her slick cunt to tease every drop of cum from him. The light was too dim to see clearly, but his finger found where they joined and his vision faded to black at the utter euphoria of the feel of his seed dripping from her.

Once the ringing in his ears subsided and he propped himself up on his elbow, he'd half expected her to greet him with a dozy smile, but her eyes were screwed tightly shut. Her body still twitched against him, but her breath was slowing once again, her limbs limp against the mattress. She was still asleep, and whatever words she'd uttered had been a product of her unconcious mind.

Shame washed over him once more, tempered by the knowledge that she'd been dreaming of him. He'd told himself this was the last time, now he'd been satisfied, though she looked even more angelic now that he'd had his way with her—she had a slight sheen of sweat across her deeply blushing skin that glistened tantalisingly in the light from the celestial bodies. Reining in the desire to taste her again, he let her rest, performing his cleanup ritual in silence. His spells were much more effective now, though he hesitated when he pointed his wand at the pool of cum dripping from her violated cunt. He rubbed his fingers into the damp fabric, carving the memory into his brain before it vanished.

Sebastian slept soundly that night, holding her tightly as he waited eagerly for morning.

-

She looked positively elated, if slightly abashed, and Sebastian knew why. She must remember the dream, the mind-blowing orgasm he'd given her—he could practically feel the heat coming off of her.

"What's got you smiling this morning?" Sebastian asked over the breakfast table.

"I had a strange dream, that's all," she said, barely suppressing a smirk as a blush crossed her cheeks.

"Oh? What about?"

She lowered her voice to barely a whisper, casting furtive glances around the table for anyone listening in.

"It was quite scandalous..."

Sebastian looked up at her from his dipped head with a knowing smirk, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"Yeah? And who, pray tell, did this dream involve?"

"Garreth Weasley," she giggled.

The colour drained from Sebastian's face and a burning rage coursed through his veins. His mouth formed a hard line as he looked back down at the table and hoped she hadn't noticed his reaction. Oh, last night wouldn't be the last time, not by a fucking long shot—Sebastian's pride wouldn't allow it. He would have her dreams reflecting reality, until she moaned his name in her slumber.

[blissfulip]

—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: Handjob

Words: 2k

[A/N: Happy Easter Sunday lmao, also whoever picks up all of the 'easter eggs' (get it wink wink) gets a kith and hug from me (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

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III. 

Viktor stood frozen, the voice that whispered those words echoing against the walls of his head as he gazed upon the creature before him, a figure blindingly bright yet of simultaneously all-consuming darkness. The sight obscured his thoughts and left him adrift in a sea of terror. How could he have been so blind as to believe that he could command such power without consequence? Or rather, was it the naivete of believing nothing would come of it that turned against him? 

The very essence of his faith fractured—that earth-shattering feeling that had become all too common for him that day—threatened by this insidious presence. What had he unleashed upon the world? What horrors awaited him in the wake of his hubris? Viktor trembled, and his soul lay bare before the abyss, but something sinister took him out of this blossoming meltdown; she, the creature, looked familiar.

And achingly so, yet her form eluded him like a half-remembered dream. Faces swirled in the depths of his memory, merging and shifting like shadows cast by a flickering flame, but he was unable to put a finger on them.

"Do you not recognize me, Viktor?" Her voice cut through the air, eerily sweet.

Viktor recoiled in horror at the sound of his own name coming out of her mouth, the weight of her words crashing down upon him. 

“I manifest to you as a reflection of your own desires, an amalgamation of every soul you have ever yearned for, sweet human.” She hissed as she offered Viktor a hand to help him stand, her touch oddly warm as they both sat on the bed. “Do you not see it? That young woman from the bakery, or the one you always look at for a tad too long while you buy turnips? You don’t even like turnips,” she smiled slightly. “What about that woman who comes to confess every week? The one with the slightly hoarse voice that you love, even that tan young man with the green eyes,. Yes, yes, I know about him too; I am him too.”

“Who…what are you?” He asked amidst a short-lived surge of bravery.

“My name is Legion,” she said with an off-putting tone of irony, “for we are many... or however that verse goes. Mawkishly sentimental if you ask me.” She chuckled and seemed to deflate in disappointment at her attempt at humor not being acknowledged. She sighed in oddly human-like resignation, “I don’t have a name, Viktor, but I know yours , and you know what I am.”

"I seek nothing from the likes of you, Demon, you don’t know me." he declared, though doubt gnawed at him.

"You do, and it is the truth that I know you; your biggest fear is to remain ignorant and blind to the truths that lie beyond the veil of your mortal existence; I can feel it. " She whispered against his ear. 

"You are but a trick of the darkness; I will not succumb to your temptations."

"Oh, but Viktor, you already have ," she purred. "You summoned me here, drawn by your own curiosity. Your anger simmers beneath that stoic surface, against the silence of the heavens and the absence of answers to your prayers. But I answered, so why direct your anger at me ?"

“I have faith in Him; God will intercede in my favor.” He said, covering his face ith both hands, afraid his expression would betray something that confirmed her accusations.

“Yet you question his wisdom and his justice. You resent his silence, you doubt .”

“I love Him, and I will repent; I will.”

“Why? Faith without cynicism is a hollow shell. Will you let yourself be domesticated like a beast? A man of science like yourself?”

The spark of courage grew into embers inside Viktor’s chest at the mention of his work. Although he remained silent, not wanting to concede, she saw it in him, just like she experienced every emotion that grew within the transparent exterior that contained his soul.

“Embrace this fire, and you will obtain what you seek.” She said, gently laying a hand over Viktor’s. 

His shoulders slumped in resignation, but even as he acquiesced to her demands, a seed of guilt still remained. What would God think of him now for consorting with a creature of darkness? Would he be cast aside and condemned for eternity for his folly?

"What do you fear, judgement?” Viktor nodded.

“Your god is nothing but an egregore," she declared, her voice a whisper. "A figment of mortal imagination, born from the collective beliefs of humanity, he only has power over you if you allow it."

“God is my shepherd, He…” He started to recite, but his voice betrayed him.

“Yahweh, Tetragrammaton, Adonai, El, Elohim, Shaddai, Tzevaot… it does not matter who you so fervently pray to! Ancient egregores hold no power over the ancient gods.” She started saying in a firm tone, her volume high in affront. “And you, my sweet, are so unfortunately Christ hunted…a lot of work to be done.” She continued, her voice tuning back down to her previously silky tone.

Viktor's breath caught in his throat, but simultaneously, the weight of her words lifted a heavy chain that had previously hung around his neck. Although this—his God’s identity and how much power He held—seemed to be a point of contention between him and his conscience, every word she uttered seemed to confirm things he had been long thinking about. But the smell of culpability Viktor emanated was pungent, and what she saw in his heart was a whirlwind.

She was proud that he had let himself be guided by his urges, that he had, even if only for a small moment, felt true freedom in pleasure. She felt his fear when he remembered he would need to face father Isidore and then she felt his rage. He felt so strongly against him that for a second she imagined he would be nothing short of a monster, his robust yet sweet face was an interesting sight to find framed in Viktor’s memory. 

She felt sympathy and sadness and confusion, she felt worried for the young girl with the twin braids just like Viktor had, and felt intrigued as to how she had come in possession of her coin, but what mattered most to her in that moment was one problematic sensation; despondency. Viktor was close to giving up, he had nearly decided rage was useless and so was science.

“Let’s begin by working on the heavy guilt you carry.” She said, after a long silence. Viktor noticed an unsettling tenderness in her eyes when he, for the first time, looked directly into them. 

“I made a vow.” He answered, his voice breaking as it turned into a whisper.

"Do not let the chains of guilt bind you, Viktor," she murmured. "The church may preach of purity and righteousness, but it is built upon a foundation of hypocrisy, and you don’t need me to tell you as much.”

“I know of the behavior of some members of the clergy, but why should...”

“I don’t speak of individual transgressions; the church as an institution seeks to negate eroticism and sexuality, yet it embraces them in its most sacred rites.”

The deeply puzzled expression in Viktor’s face prompted her to elaborate.

“Think about the things you do during sacrament; think of the smell of incense, the touching of beads, the kissing of sacred objects, the rubbing of oils... Think about consuming the physical body of the idol you adore, and think about what it makes you feel—enlightenment, apotheosis. Remember the deep pleasure you extracted from the pain of self-penitence? It’s nearly devine, is it not? That necessity to envelop all senses?” 

Viktor nodded.

“And that feeling you get of being close to god in a way that nothing else will get you to—that sensation of being outside the perception of time and space—have you experienced it?”

“I have, in prayer.”

“Can I show you what true ecstasy feels like? One that starts and culminates in yourself without any divine intervention? 

And once again, Viktor simply nodded. The air crackled with a tension thick enough to suffocate him, his breath shallow and rapid. A rush of anticipation surged through him, mingling with a primal curiosity that threatened to consume him whole as she slithered behind him. The shift of weight on the mattress gave him a strange awareness of the materiality of what was taking place, and the hot breath on the left side of his neck caused the last string of sanity holding him together to loosen. 

For a second, he wondered if she was nothing but a very sly yet human woman that had somehow found a way into his room, but that idea was quickly quenched as both of her hands slowly glided along the sides of his still-clothed thighs, emanating that unnatural white glow that was clearly not of mortal nature. 

Her touch was delicate and warm, her nails slowly creeping up to the hem of his cassock as she pulled it up to reveal the trousers underneath. If Viktor had any idea of what she planned on doing, he would have been of more help, adjusting to make his clothing easier to remove, but unaware of what awaited him, he sat there immobile. 

After some mild struggle, she managed to get to the stubborn clasp, and the slight accidental touches ignited a fire within Viktor's veins, sending tendrils of heat coursing through his body. Soon enough, there was nothing in between them, and the cold air that came into contact with the streak of viscosity that had dampened his underpants sent goosebumps across his arms. 

She hadn’t even made her way to his cock yet, but with each gentle caress around his stomach and thighs, Viktor's senses were heightened to a fever pitch, his body aflame with a hunger that burned brighter than any candle. With the first feather touch along his shaft, he felt as if he were teetering on the edge of a precipice, poised on the brink of a pleasure so exquisite it bordered on agony. 

And then, with a slow and deliberate motion, her hand closed around him, sending shockwaves of ecstasy racing through every fiber of his being. A guttural moan escaped his lips as she began to move, her rhythm mechanic and intoxicating. With every teasing stroke, Viktor's breath hitched, his body responding eagerly to her touch. 

"Ah…God!" he gasped, his voice a hoarse whisper of longing. 

She froze on her tracks, drawing out a protesting whine from Viktor. “Do not call upon his name now; at this moment, you belong to me .” She spoke, her voice still sweet but laced with a tinge of resentment.

Viktor's mind swam in a haze, his thoughts fragmented and disjointed as he desperately nodded in agreement, before she resumed the pace of her moment. And then Viktor felt himself hurtling his head back onto her shoulder, his world reduced to nothing. She gently removed the sweat-drenched pieces of hair from his forehead and whispered words in a language he could not understand while her hand continued its path down to his neck and back. 

 For a second, he felt a reminder of the stinging pain on his shoulder blades, and then it faded. As he reached the climax of his arousal, he cried out desperate pleas, only this time to her and himself, finally surrendering to this intoxicating embrace. After letting him breathe for a while, she took one of his hands in hers and placed the copper coin on it. Viktor knew he was bound to her now.

And in that moment, there was no room for guilt or shame, only the unquenchable thirst for more.

[penny00dreadful]

Spies AU - Part 10

Part 1 Part 11 AO3

28th October 2015

Steve awoke to a cold spot on the other side of the bed, the sheets rumpled and askew but… cold.

Eddie had to have been gone long enough for his warmth to also leave.

Steve sighed through the disappointment and hurt curling through his stomach, keeping his head buried in his pillow, hoping to block out the morning for just a little longer.

It was inevitable, he supposed. Eddie seemed to be flighty by nature, but he had hoped the softness from last night would have extended over into the morning.

He shuffled over blindly, hoping to catch some lingering scent on Eddie’s pillow or something but he felt something before he got far.

Paper of some kind. 

Or card. 

Scattered bits of glossy card that almost felt like photographs-

Steve snapped his eyes open, his heart in his throat, horror coursing through every vein in his body. 

There, sitting on the side of the bed that Eddie had vacated, were the surveillance photos of Wayne, Grant, Jeff and Gareth going about their days. 

Wayne’s trailer, the nurse coming and going, the plant, Grants studio, Jeff in the staffroom at the school or in his music room, Gareth’s garage, yearbook photos of the Hellfire Club, the park bench Eddie used to deal at.

Steve shot up, gripping the photos in his lap, trying to regulate his breathing, trying to calm down, trying to stop his heart thumping through his chest, trying not to fucking cry.

“You’re very good, sweetheart.” Eddie’s voice carried across the room to where Steve was still staring down at the photos in horror, the word sweetheart being spat out with a vicious venom. 

Steve whipped his head up.

Eddie was sitting in the armchair of his little cosy nook where Steve liked to look out at the city. 

He had elbows on his knees and fingers steepled in front of his face.

He looked remarkably put together.

The cuts and bruises littering his body were still there, but hidden now. Tucked away underneath Eddie’s freshly washed clothes, his boots back on and his hair piled high on his head.

All that warm openness that had existed the night before was long gone now. 

Eddie was closed off again, cold and hard and fuming.

Fear, apprehension, panic, devastation and dread were lighting up Steve’s bones, swirling through his blood making him feel sick. 

He wanted to reach out, he wanted to touch and comfort and assure Eddie that there was nothing malicious in what he’d done. Implore him to understand that it wasn’t whatever Eddie clearly thought it was, but he suspected Eddie would sooner break his arm than listen to him.

Steve watched Eddie shift in the chair, pressing his two pointer fingers against his lips, his movements fluid and trained, betraying years of being able to hide the pain of the injuries he must be feeling right now. 

If looks could kill, Steve would be dead ten times over by now.

Eddie was glaring at him, staring him down with a terrible fire in his eyes, not the gentle and syrupy softness they had held last night, sweet and open, but with anger, resignation and defensiveness.

Steve thought he could sense a little bit of hurt in there too, knowing Eddie that little bit more now. Hurt and some disappointment. 

Like this had been inevitable.

Eddie’s whole body was coiled tense like a spring, predatory and deadly, ready to strike like a viper in a pit.

“I never would have suspected.” He moved his fingers away from his lips, sitting up and relaxing himself back into the armchair with his legs crossed, not a single hitch in breath or groan of pain passing his lips. 

If Steve hadn’t seen or washed the evidence last night, he never would have known just how injured Eddie was. 

“I’m almost impressed.” He drawled, almost bored, above it all. He was anything but. “No one he’s sent has ever managed to get so close before.”

Steve blinked, trying to slow down his breathing and slow down his heart that was thundering away in his chest. 

His very naked chest. 

The only barrier between the two of them was the bed covers that were pooling around his waist as he stared, trying to find the words to speak, to explain, the photos still clutched in his hands.

The only thing he was able to croak out was, “Who?”

Eddie nodded like Steve had answered his question, tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair. 

“I should have killed you the second I found those photos.” He swept his gaze lazily around Steve’s room, as though seeing it for the first time, as though Steve himself was no threat to him, almost an inconvenience. He brought his eyes back down, brown meeting brown. “I almost did too. You had no guard up, no safety measures. Fucking naive.” He spat.

Steve did have safety measures. 

He had knives and loaded guns hidden in the headboard of his bed and the locker just within arms reach. 

There’d be no guarantee that he could get to them before Eddie could strike or that Eddie hadn’t found them already and disarmed them.

But he didn’t want to reach for them. He didn’t want to hurt Eddie, no matter what that might mean for his own safety. 

He couldn’t hurt him. 

He wouldn’t.

“So what is it this time?” Eddie asked with an arched eyebrow. “Remind me who I belong to? What happens if I ‘go rogue’ again? Gareth hasn’t been able to play drums since, do you understand that? It nearly destroyed him. It was a fucking miracle he was able to keep his job. Are you good with something else like that happening? Because you fed information back?” He shook his head. “If you answer nothing else, answer me this. Have you been working for him the whole time, or did he get to you at some point in the middle?”

“I-” Steve opened and closed his mouth, still lost for words, feeling like he’d never be able to speak around the way his throat was closing up and his heart was seizing. “Nobody got to me. This was my own investig-”

“Spare me.” Eddie snapped, the sound like a whip cracking through the room. “I’ve heard it all before. Give me my answers and I’ll make it quick. How did you find them?” 

His eyes were almost black, dark and dangerous. Not the dilated black full of arousal, smouldering heat and intrigue that they had been before. Now they were enraged, almost otherworldly. 

“Do you even know who you’ve been sent to spy on?” He growled. “Do you even know who you’re fucking with right now?”

Steve gave a short, sharp nod, the only thing he could really get his body to do at that moment. “I do.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to bite back but Steve cut him off, taking his chance, what might be his last chance, before it was too late.

“I know you’re Kas.”

Silence followed.

Eddie didn’t move. 

Steve wasn’t even sure if he was breathing, his entire body had gone stock still, his fingers gripping tight against the fabric of the chair.

“And you still agreed to be Creel’s lackey, knowing who I am?”

“Baby,” Steve almost whispered and Eddie’s jaw tensed. A minute movement but Steve caught it anyway and it hurt. “I’m not working for Creel.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Eddie sneered. “Huh? Sweetheart.”

“Yes, I do. Because it’s the truth.” Steve raised the crumpled photos in his hand, watching Eddie tense at the slightest movement. “I didn’t take these to threaten you or them. I would never. They're your… your people."

He tried to slow his breathing down, tried to get his head in order, tried to find the right words that might keep him alive, but more importantly, would help Eddie to understand.

“I took them because I was upset that you had managed to trick me. You made me believe you were just some low drug dealing nobody who’d never touched this side of the world. I was… embarrassed. That you had been able to outmanoeuvre me so well. Wrap me around your little finger without really trying. Because you have. You’ve- I feel bewitched by you.”

He looked down at the photos and then back up, feeling the heat of tears gathering behind his eyes as Eddie continued to watch him impassively. Completely unmoved.

“And I didn’t see it. I couldn’t tell. You’re fucking enemy number one and I had missed it. I wanted to know how I’d missed it. I thought if I could find out about your past I might be able to understand more and make sure it never happened to me again.”

Eddie hummed, his whole body still tense and his once wide, sweet eyes were now narrow and cold. “And what did you learn?”

Steve ran his hand through his hair. “I learned that you went to live with your uncle when you were thirteen. Your father was arrested for meth and your mother was… a casualty of his. You were in the foster system for a while before they found Wayne. You ran the D&D club in school, used to take in the outcasts. Your grades suggest you weren’t the best student but your work was good, if a little bit odd. You went to prison for a suspiciously short amount of time. You’re still friends with your band mates from back then, Wayne means a lot to you, you pay for all of his medical bills-”

Steve’s shaky inhale stopped his words before he could consciously do it himself.

He swallowed around that ever growing lump in his throat. “I’m not out to hurt you. I would never hurt you. I’m not working for Creel, I’m not some kind of double agent or sent out to like… fucking��� honeytrap you or whatever the fuck. I’m not here to threaten you to stay in his service I-”

Well.

It was now or never.

“I want you to leave.”

Eddie leaned forward again, his gaze never once wavering, still as sharp and as cold as ever.

“You want me to leave what?”

Steve dug his fingers into the bedsheets. 

“I want you to leave Creel’s service. I don’t like… I don’t want…” He scrunched his eyes closed, raising his hands and pressing the heels into his eye sockets. “Look what they did to you!” He shouted, feeling the wetness on his palms as he wrenched his hands away, jumping in surprise.

Eddie had moved.

Quick as a flash and quiet as a shadow he was now at Steve’s bedside, looming over him like some kind of predatory animal.

“You’re very bad at this.” He rumbled, low and dangerous. “You keep blocking me from your eyeline. I’ve had so many opportunities to kill you, do you understand that? And you think that telling me you want me to leave Creel’s service is going to convince me you’re not working for him? Those are the exact kinds of games he plays.”

Eddie continued to glare down at him and it was only for the fact that he’d gotten closer that Steve could see the slight shake to his hands, fisted as they were at his sides. 

“I thought about it, you know. In the bath last night, I thought, fuck he's perfect. He's perfect.” Eddie almost sighed. “And then I thought, maybe a little too perfect but I put it out of my mind like a fucking idiot. And look where we are now.”

Steve’s fingers twitched in Eddie’s direction. 

A tiny, microscopic movement, but the two of them were so wired they caught it anyway. He had wanted to reach out, he just wanted to touch. Like a touch would make this all better.

But Eddie snatched his hand away like he’d been burned, taking a step back. It wasn’t aggressive but it was incredibly, incredibly defensive. 

And it stung.

Steve was nearly at his wits end.

“I don’t know what kind of fucking games he plays because I’ve never met him! I’m supposed to be hunting him down! That’s my job!” He was running his hand freely through his hair now, gripping the strands tight and he was a little surprised that Eddie hadn’t attacked him over it.

“I’m not here to trick you, I don’t want that I would never want that. I care about you. So fucking much it hurts. So much fucking more than I should because we’re on opposite sides and this isn’t fucking Shakespear!”

Steve stared up at him, begging, pleading with him to understand that he would never do anything to hurt him.

Eddie regarded him with closed off eyes. “Why should I believe you?”

“I don’t- I don’t know, I don’t know if there’s anything I could say or do that would make you believe me but I am not working for Creel.”

“I’ll be the one to decide that.” He snapped, leaning over him and putting Steve under his shadow.

It was at this moment that Steve realised he had never truly been in danger from Eddie before.

He’d been accosted and tied up and they’d grappled and thrown barbs, but Eddie had never intended to harm him.

That much was clear now as the raw dangerous energy was radiating off of him. Eddie could slit his throat in a second and probably not lose a minute of sleep over it. 

It was what Steve believed because it was what Eddie wanted him to believe.

And believe it he did because Steve was fucking scared in that moment.

“I’m leaving now and you are not going to stop me. You are not going to follow me. You are not going to tell anyone I was here.” Eddie hissed at him, almost like he wanted his words to inject poison into Steve’s blood. “And if anything,” he continued, his voice starting to shake,  “anything happens to Wayne or my boys in the meantime, I’ll fucking kill you. And I won’t wait this time. You’ll never see me coming. I know where you live, I know how to get in,” Eddie leaned down close, bringing their faces so close together they were almost nose to nose, “and I know where you fucking sleep.”

“I would never…” Steve shook his head, his eyes wide. “I would never do anything to them.”

Eddie glared at him, not seeming to be swayed or believe him in the slightest. 

His fuming stare stayed constant, met by Steve's heartbroken one, not betraying anything going on inside.

“I’m taking something with me before I go.”

Steve swallowed. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Anything you want-”

He was cut off as Eddie surged forward, crushing their lips together harsh and urgent and hurt and angry.  

Steve felt himself being pushed down, a hand at the back of his head, fisted in his hair, holding him close. Eddie’s body splayed over him, settling all of his weight down, sinking Steve into the mattress below. His mouth was moving, hungry, desperate and greedy, nipping at his lips, licking against him, trying to find a way in. 

Steve snapped his hands up to Eddie’s hips before winding his arms around his back, trying to find a balance between holding him close and holding him gently.

It must have fucking hurt, Eddie’s body and especially his face must be aching with the force he was pressing into him, but he didn’t seem to care. 

Eddie was devouring him like a starving man and Steve was just happy to be along for the ride, trying to give as good as he got, failing to keep up.

If this was the first and last chance he ever got to kiss Eddie, he wasn’t going to let a second of it go to waste. He was going to make sure it was burned into his own memory, there to keep forever.

He was on fire, it was electric and shocking and melting all at once. 

He never wanted it to end, wanted it to go on forever even as he felt all coherent thoughts slip away, his senses only surrounded by Eddie. 

Smell, taste, touch, sound, all Eddie, and Steve needed it with him for the rest of his life.

The hand at the back of his head tightened in his hair and Eddie’s tongue forced itself into Steve’s mouth, pulling a terrible, pitiful noise from his throat that Eddie refused to let escape, swallowing it down with renewed vigour, his other hand coming up to rest shockingly gentle against the side of Steve’s face.

He couldn’t get enough, it would never be enough.

But just as fast as it had started, it was over. 

Eddie wrenched himself back, panting and flushed, his eyes a little shinier than they had been before.

He only paused for a second to dart his gaze all over Steve’s face, looking for something, maybe just committing it to memory.

Then he was rolling off the bed and out of the room by the time Steve was able to catch his bearings, still dazed and half hard from the thrill of the best kiss of his god damned life.

The echo of the door slamming rang through the apartment and hit Steve right in the heart.

Part 1 Part 11 AO3

@geekymagicalpotato @estrellami-1

Big thanks as always to @hbyrde36 for the magnificent beta work and to the STWG for their motivation

[ipsen]

etoken, 001

rubs my silly wittle hands togethew

when I started shipping it if I did

i've always shipped it on the downlow since the re scene (The One), but i started hardcore shipping at the start of last year, when I did a reread then happened upon an old eto meta post. after actually internalizing their similarities and why they were so naturally drawn to/rejecting of each other, i caved.

my thoughts:

they hate themselves, but when it comes to the other, they can never fully hate them, and that scares them. it leaves them at a sort of crossroads where they can either pursue this fear and conquer it, or succumb to it. the former requires a lot of wingmanning, but is worth it, while the latter will simply leave them giving odd stares at each other every now and then. i just want them to be happy together because that would be nice and they would be whole :]

What makes me happy about them:

they're flexible! it's possible to have an arc about them learning to reconcile and love the worst parts of themselves by loving each other. kaneki rekindles eto's empathy, and eto teaches kaneki how to make choices. on the flipside, it can end really badly. a breakup between these two probably ends up with one of them dead (or multiple uninvolved parties dead (or both)), if not both. they have a tendency to cling (cling) to things that love them, to the point that having one more rejection will push them off the edge.

What makes me sad about them:

their interactions are so few :( i wanted to see them talk more, even if it was just in cochlea. i wonder if eto ever sought out reaperneki during the six month timeskip

things done in fanfic that annoys me:

an annoyingly high portion of the etoken fics on ao3 are just multiships ft. kaneki’s harem and i despise it. it’s just disappointing. also there are some bad eto’s in some of the fics and it’s even more disappointing.

things I look for in fanfic:

character studies of eto and kaneki that utilize the other. fics that explore their pain on some level, or their resignation to death, or even a bucket list are interesting.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: that sounds illegal :(

My happily ever after for them:

a quiet, anonymous life in society where they have regular contact with their loved ones (of which they have plenty). a place where kaneki can cook for eto, and eto can provide kaneki with a little snack in peace ;]

who is the big spoon/little spoon:

eto is the little spoon. she gets a power trip out of being clung to like she matters, and also it keeps her grounded when her thoughts wander to the bad places. kaneki needs something to hold onto because he wants to be the reason that someone stays (despite often allowing them to do otherwise). holding onto eto and knowing she enjoys it means that he's needed, and that's all he's ever wanted.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity:

sexually charged book discussions, often about tragedy, mystery, or horror. there are actually slight differences in their analyses despite their similarities. kaneki analyzes more emotionally and like a reader in the truest sense. he approaches the scales local to the narrative and what is in the text itself + his own experiences ("death of the author", if you will). meanwhile, eto is more macro-scale in terms of thought, approaching the narratives as an author would and accounting for cultural, temporal, and author-specific influences. she effectively tries to distill the author's intention when discussing, and why that's important. it complements kaneki, both because it fills gaps in his knowledge and because there's finally someone who can actually keep up and engage with him.

——-

thanks for the ask <3

[samethyst01]

A Mother's Love: Chapter Six

After the previous night, Coraline was eager to forget her fear and focus on being brave. It wouldn’t be easy, as if she wasn’t being stalked by old memories – old horrors – but if there was one thing she knew about being brave, it’s that it was never easy. Crossing into the waking world, she looked around for any signs of the Cat, but he was long gone. She decided not to rely on him, and instead sent Wybie a text before heading downstairs for breakfast. She wasn’t sure if he had his phone on him, how much he’d recovered, but she hoped he’d see it. She missed that old jerkwad so badly already.

Downstairs, her father was making coffee, already dressed in his work clothes. When he caught her eye, she felt inclined to look away and pretend everything was alright, but there was something in his gaze that urged her to acknowledge everything. So, with trepidation, she did.

“Dad… about yesterday—”

“It’s okay, Coraline…”

Her father sighed and ran a hand through his greasy hair.

“Your mom and I talked about it last night. No matter what we remember about this place, there’s clearly something that you went through… something you haven’t told us about. I’m not asking you to, if you’re not ready. I just want you to know that… that…”

He approached her and gently took her hand in his. She looked up at him nervously. In his eyes was that same mixture of confusion, disappointment and hope, and he was beginning to show how much he was afraid for her.

“I forgive you for not calling. I love you, dearly, and all that matters is that you’re here and you’re alright.”

Coraline began to smile, and she immediately pulled her father into a hug, one that he matched silently. There needn’t have been any more words between them. The gesture already spoke volumes. The two stayed like that for several more seconds before they parted, and as Coraline looked up at her father, she felt a sudden and overpowering urge to tell him everything, from the door to the Other World to the Beldam. However, she heard her mother’s footsteps approaching and instead moved past her father to grab a bowl for cereal.

Charlie saw that look in his daughter’s eyes, and he had been hopeful that she would tell him everything he knew she had been hiding. It seemed, however, that the time wasn’t right. He inhaled slowly before looking over at Mel, who entered a second later. The two shared a silent look that spoke a million words. She sighed in resignation and nodded, and a moment later plastered on a smile before talking to Coraline about her night and how she was settling in. Charlie retrieved a protein bar from the cupboard and unwrapped it, listening in on the conversation.

“—and I think I’m gonna go see the neighbours today. Spink, Forcible, Bobinsky… which reminds me, have you guys talked to them much recently?”

“Oh, not since you moved out, actually. I think they’ve probably passed by this point…”

At her mother’s words, Coraline’s eyes widened and her expression changed to one of shock.

“Wait— you haven’t even gone to check in on them?? Mom, they were so nice to us!”

Charlie sat down next to them and did his best to diffuse the tension.

“It’s not like we never checked up on them, honey. We did, but eventually they stopped answering the door. We can’t just go barging in and—”

Coraline cut him off as she stood up suddenly, finishing her bowl of cereal as she moved around the kitchen.

“Well— if you’re not gonna go talk to them— I will.”

As she washed up her now empty bowl, Mel shrugged and opened up her laptop.

“Suit yourself… just be careful out there, it’s still super muddy from yesterday.”

By that point Coraline had already headed upstairs. Charlie and Mel shared another of those looks, only this time, the former managed to break the silence after a few seconds.

“She still won’t tell me.”

“No… me neither. I just don’t get it… did we do something wrong?”

At his wife’s words, Charlie looked outside into the mist, congealing around the edges of the Pink Palace, fancying for a moment that he could see distant spectres looming and watching them, forever just out of sight.

“I don’t think it’s us she’s wary of…”

******

Her mother was right. It was extremely muddy, and so Coraline slipped on her winter boots and a puffy jacket, opening the front door when she was ready. Beside the door was a familiar hat lying on the floor. She picked it up and dusted it off, waves of memories both pleasant and horrific flooding back to her. It made her smile shakily, and she put the hat on her head after a moment. Then, she stepped out onto the porch, letting out a long sigh. She watched it form into mist, and then disappear into the rest of itself that surrounded the Pink Palace.

Shivering slightly, she turned back to look at the house. She still felt it. That calling. That hunger. It wouldn’t relent, not until the task was finished. Steeling her nerves, Coraline closed the front door and headed down the steps. She turned a corner and suddenly felt something beneath her boot, causing her to stumble. She looked down and nearly screamed at the sight of a large, dirty rat. It shrieked at her and scuttled away into the mist. Consumed with both fright and hatred, she blew a raspberry in the general direction of the escaping rodent.

After a moment, she chuckled at herself. She hadn’t done that in years – usually she’d give something or someone antagonising her a passionate middle finger – not since she was last at the Pink Palace. Perhaps it was fate, or history repeating itself, or her mind instinctually reacting to those memories and forming what it knew to be the only logical response. Coraline shrugged at nothing and no one and began walking towards the stairs that led down to Spink and Forcible’s place.

Every step triggered a memory. Over there, she thought to herself, she and Wybie had gone slug-hunting with the Cat, over there was a large pile of leaves the two had hidden in together once, and over there—

She stopped mid-thought. In that general direction, where her eyes stared, was Mrs Lovat’s house. She had only been to it a few times – Wybie preferred not to take visitors back there, or perhaps his grandmother did – but she remembered it in vivid detail. It was rustic, simple, almost a little unfortunate in comparison to the majesty of the Pink Palace. What it lacked in grandiosity, however, it more than made up for in comfort and security. Not due to any fancy chaise longue or expensive security systems, but due to a distinct and reassuring lack of other places.

Coraline had taken to using the word a little flippantly to describe locations or even things that defied explanation. She had grown up with the internet and seen it expand and evolve throughout the years, and as such, found communities of those who, like her, had experienced things they labelled impossibilities. Not just that, but actual scientists and biologists and respected people who made it their life’s goal to uncover the mystery of these entities, these cryptids. Mothman, Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, the chupacabra and the jackalope, creatures from a realm beyond the one mere mortals inhabited; the other place.

She had even become engrossed in online horror-writing communities like SCP and creepypasta, a fact that confused Wybie due to Coraline’s trauma, but she knew why she loved these stories. She loved them because they were, somehow, comforting to her. She knew they were all fictional – as much as Marble Hornets had given her nightmares – and such a thing made them safe terrors, ones that wrapped her in a warm blanket of deniability, through which she could continue to pretend that everything that had happened to her was just a horrid memory that didn’t need to exist anymore.

But now here she was, at the literal mother of all other places.

Coraline looked down the stairs to Spink and Forcible’s place and felt something cold. Of course, it was freezing outside, but a different kind of cold. Something about the staircase was off. It was deeper, darker, reflective of the far more insidious and aggressive nature of the Pink Palace. Taking a quick look around her, Coraline steeled her nerves and made her way down the stairs, and when she reached the bottom she took a deep breath. She held it for a couple of seconds before exhaling slowly. It calmed her to a degree, but her nerves were still on edge. What was she going to find behind that door? Spink and Forcible couldn’t be dead… right?

Before she had time to ponder the question further, her body had moved independently of her mind, and she had already knocked on the door. She expected, momentarily, to be surprised by a pack of rowdy but well-meaning Scottish terriers, but there was nothing. The only reply to her greeting was silence. As if recreating that moment from thirteen years ago, Coraline pressed her face to the glass of the door, her hands cupping her eyes so she could squint, but all she saw was darkness. Not even a hint of life beyond the window, no sign of dog or human or even furniture. It was just… nothing.

And then a wrinkled, decrepit face abruptly filled the space where nothing once sat. Coraline yelled in shock and fell backwards onto the stairs, sharp pain shooting through her back as she had landed on the edge of one of the steps. She groaned and slowly sat up, as the door began to open, and she was met with a very elderly, very sluggish Ms Spink. Her once vibrant pink hair – like candyfloss – had practically all fallen out save for a few loose strings that fell about her head, thick glasses perched on her nose which made her eyes bulge out cartoonishly. Spink had never needed glasses before – it was always Forcible who was blind as a bat.

Coraline could barely believe her eyes. Of course it made sense, having been six years since last she last saw her, and thirteen years in total since their last proper meeting, but the change was startling. This Spink could barely move, not that the one from before was agile in any way, often chained to her walker, but it was like watching a snail in action. Modern day Spink squinted, having trouble comprehending what she was seeing, before her bug-like eyes widened and she let out a raspy laugh. Coraline laughed too, but nervously and awkwardly, still in a bit of pain from her fall.

“I thought perhaps I was going mad!”

Her voice was the same, just muffled by phlegm and tea leaves. Coraline picked herself up and slowly approached the old woman, afraid to touch her in case she crumbled. Despite her age, Spink eagerly pulled her into a tight embrace, one that made Coraline strain a little to breathe. It reminded her of the way Mrs Lovat gave hugs, rare though they were.

“What a surprise to see you here, Coraline…”

Awkwardly, Coraline reciprocated the hug and gently patted Spink’s back. She was still warm to the touch, thankfully, but she was considerably stiffer than she used to be. For a moment, there was a stillness between the two that neither wanted to break, but after that moment ended, Coraline realised something she hadn’t picked up on. She pulled back slightly and stared at the old woman, who smiled blankly back at her.

“Ms Spink… you always used to call me Caroline.”

Spink’s face twisted in confusion for a second before she began laughing. It was an ancient, dry sound, though some faint memory of the person she was in her younger years poked through.

“How silly of me. You must come inside, it’s freezing out here.”

Before Coraline knew it, Spink was pulling her by the hand into the apartment. Immediately, the smell hit her. It wasn’t wholly unpleasant, but it was overpowering – a smell of mildew and unknown spices, perhaps tarragon or paprika, she couldn’t say for sure. The place wasn’t all that different from she last she visited, old matinee posters tacked to the walls, chairs strewn haphazardly about the place as if an AA meeting had happened mere hours before, and of course, the taxidermized dogs.

Spink waddled awkwardly to the kitchen, and Coraline took a seat in the chaise lounge beneath the shelves of stuffed canines. They’d all retained their former forms, stitched-shut eyes and garbed in angelic robes, but they were all covered in fine layers of dust. Spink was far too short to clean up there. Coraline supposed Forcible would be tall enough, but— but that’s when it hit her. Where was Forcible? She felt a lump in her stomach and feared the worst, looking around for any sign of the short-sighted woman, but found none. Her imagination ran wild. If she really was gone, was it just old age that took her? A heart attack, a stroke? Or…

Before she could scare herself any further, Spink emerged from the kitchen with a steaming cup of tea. Coraline sighed in relief – though tried to do so subtly – that the old woman was still capable of taking care of herself somewhat. Spink handed it to Coraline, and she thanked her with a polite nod. She took a sip… and resisted the urge to gag. She took back what she said – there was definitely something wrong with Spink’s faculties. The milk had probably gone bad, or she’d mistaken the tea leaves for cabbage or something. To avoid looking rude, she forced herself to drink at least a third of it.

As soon as Spink had settled in her armchair, she leant forward slightly and gave Coraline a yellow-toothed smile.

“So, what has it been like living in Pontiac again? You and that young man Wyborne must be getting along well.”

Coraline laughed softly.

“It’s just Wybie, Ms Spink. We’re doing fine, mostly. Well, Wybie did have an accident a couple days ago.”

Spink’s eyes widened and she placed a hand to her chest in shock, gasping as she did.

“Oh, good grief! Is he alright? Why aren’t you with him?”

Coraline was momentarily stung by the latter question. It was a fair one to ask – why wasn’t she with him? But the reality was that she could not possibly explain it to Spink in a way that would either make sense or not portray her as a complete lunatic. ‘Well, you see, Ms Spink, I’m not with Wybie right now because I had to come back home and kill the evil witch living in the other version of the Pink Palace before she gets out into the real world and starts eating the souls of every child on Earth!’ She couldn’t embarrass herself like that.

“I had to have closure, Ms Spink… I wanted to stay with Wybie but he insisted I go ahead with my plans. He didn’t want me to worry too much.”

That answer would probably suffice. Spink titled her head in confusion.

“Closure? What do you mean, dear?”

Now came the trickier part. How was she to explain, justify or entirely fabricate this so-called ‘closure’? It was closure, of course, but the horrors of thirteen years prior couldn’t exactly be condensed into something bite-sized. For a moment, Coraline wondered if perhaps the Cat’s presence would make everything alright. Maybe Spink was open-minded or eccentric enough to believe her eyes, and listen to the talking feline and his many stories of the Other World. She imagined he’d be insulted at the idea of being considered a mere convenience.

“Coraline?”

She snapped out of her daze, realising that Spink had called her name. She laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of her neck.

“I… I saw some things when we first moved in here, thirteen years ago. Things I can’t really explain, but they affected me… deeply.”

All that was true, just extremely understated. Spink nodded in understanding as she listened.

“Wybie knows what this means to me. I’ve been to therapy about it, and I’ve tried to forget it over the years. But… but you can’t forget this stuff. It stays with you. It’s like when you lose someone in your life, the grief never goes away. It just gets smaller over time. I guess this was the opposite of that.”

It felt good to vocalise it to another person, especially Spink. As strange as she was, she was still a good listener, and Coraline felt safe in her company. She could see something in the old woman’s eyes that indicated deep empathy, subtle at first but quickly blooming outwards with her guest’s continued confession. Spink leant forward in her armchair and sipped her tea.

“Oh, Coraline… I know exactly what you mean.”

“You do…?”

“Oh, yes. Miriam was never susceptible to these sorts of things – it was one of the many ways we differed. But she understood what it meant to me.”

Spink leant forward again, and Coraline worried she might fall out of her chair.

“I’ve seen things just like that, my dear – ghosts, spirits, maybe even demons. They go by many names across many cultures, you see, but they all ultimately mean the same thing…”

And then she drifted off, her gaze falling into the middle distance. Coraline sat there in silence, waiting expectantly for Spink to finish her sentence. She never did, instead simply staring, glassy-eyed, into space. She cleared her throat and the old woman snapped back to the same spot in the universe. She chuckled at herself and sipped her tea.

“I miss her, Coraline…”

Coraline’s heart sank further.

“I’m so sorry, Ms Spink… how did she pass?”

“In her sleep, thank God. It was the only time she ever went anywhere quietly.”

She laughed, and Coraline couldn’t help but laugh too. The little bit of humour lifted the sorrowful weight slightly.

“And she joined our boys, just over there.”

Spink pointed towards the taxidermized dogs and Coraline gasped, genuinely suspecting for a moment that the crazy old woman had actually had her best friend stuffed and mounted on the wall. She turned, and upon seeing no sign of such a horror, heard Spink break out in hoarse, crackly laughter. She turned again, back to the old woman, who was slapping her knee and wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. Coraline let out another awkward, slightly more nervous laugh, and felt relief wash over her that Spink was just as mischievous as she used to be. She was glad she hadn’t lost that quality.

“Oh… oh, I’m so sorry, my dear. I couldn’t resist.”

She paused to catch her breath.

“We had her cremated back in England, and we spread her ashes in Lynmouth. Have you ever been to Lynmouth?”

Coraline shook her head, and Spink returned momentarily to that in-between place.

“It’s a beautiful town. We used to holiday there before we moved to America…”

Before Spink could completely disappear, Coraline spoke up again to alert her, reminding herself of another reason why she wanted to see the old woman. It was a long shot, but she believed it might turn out to be exactly what she needed.

“Ms Spink, would you mind reading my tea leaves?”

At the young woman’s words, Spink’s eyes lit up and she grinned. Before Coraline could react, the old woman was rifling around in a nearby pile, and she soon retrieved that old fortune teller hat that she had donned the first time she read the leaves. Coraline smiled at the action and, doing her best not to retch, drank most of her tea before handing it over to Spink. She held her hands together in her lap and waited, excitedly, for what she might learn. She supposed it would have something to do with the door, or the well, or maybe another dark hand clawing at her soul.

But it was nothing like that.

Spink gently shook the cup, looked inside, and let out a piercing scream. Coraline jumped back at the sound, watching as the old woman, eyes wide with horror, began to hyperventilate and clutch her chest. She made a terrible choking sound before falling to the floor, thrashing uncontrollably as the veins in her neck bulged like wriggling worms. Coraline rushed to her side and panickily tried to resuscitate her, the old woman’s mouth beginning to fill with froth. All she could do was clumsily pull out her phone and dial 911.

She could barely hear the voice on the other end. All her focus was on Spink as she lay there on the floor, her twitching slowly subsiding, the life in her eyes beginning to fade. Tears streamed down Coraline’s face as she gently shook the old woman, desperately pleading with her to hold out a little longer, just for a few more minutes. It was too late, though. Not a moment later, her thrashing subsided and she lied still on the floor, her terrified eyes locked on the ceiling, the cup smashed by her hand, whatever its leaves held having been destroyed. Coraline would come to know that this was merciful.

Her entire body shaking, she slowly sat back and stared down at Spink, whose hand had gone limp in Coraline’s grip. It was hard to think, hard to process what had just happened, but there was no denying it: she was dead. The young woman buried her face in her hands and began to sob, a mixture of sadness, anger and dread spreading throughout her. Spink had died. Spink was gone. Spink…

…had been murdered.

[scnsualforalphas]

Connor knew he had lost this fight. His deepest desires, the carnal needs that went beyond all reason, had won out. At least for now - but did it make a difference? Even if his suppressed consciousness, the part of him that was able to form enough proper thoughts to see Alexander for what he was and what he'd done, was to regain enough strength to take back over - a line had been crossed that he couldn't come back from. He had given himself up, had allowed a monster, a psychopath to claim him, to use and take his body and turn him from an abstract object of desire into a very real 'lover', for lack of a better term. In Alexander's twisted mind, Connor surely was exactly that. And in the boy's subconsciousness that had been pulled to the forefront? This man wasn't a psychopath, not a murderer. He was a protector, the one he needed to submit and devote himself to, because that would equate pure bliss. No worries, no fears. No thoughts. The only need he felt was to be taken by Alexander, to be fucked, and while his own body convulsed and came, he felt his only true need fulfilled in the same moment. Alexander's seed filling him, pushing his struggling consciousness once again way back into the locked away parts of his psyche.

His fear, his terror, his disgust - not at Alexander, but himself - was drowned out by bliss, the endorphines flooding his system making Connor push away the horror he should feel at the fact that he'd just had climaxed to the gigantic cock of his friends' murderer pounding him like a living sex doll. Alex's words echoed in his brain like a mantra - no thoughts, no worries. Only the other man. Only being made to feel this ecstatic bliss, only being kissed. Connor did not respond, only smiling softly with his gaze feeling absent, only a whimper coming from the brunette when the larger man pulled out of him. An anxious young man like Connor wasn't exactly having a lot of sex these days, and certainly not with a man as hung and virile as the therapist, leaving the student feel rather empty, almost disappointed at the sensation of the other's seed spilling out of his tightness, clenching his entrance not to lose Alexander's gift, eagerly licking every last drop off of the man's fingers when he fed the cum to him.

He heard every word Alexander said, although seeming rather absent-minded upon the madman's monologue about finding them a proper home. Connor's instinctive urge to flee, to run from the other and go to the police, had resigned for the moment, barely struggling to even come to the forefront of the young man's mind. Instead, he smiled with oddly empty eyes, happy that all his reasons for worry and anxiety were gone. He let Alexander dress him, still feeling the warmth of the man's cum inside him, and internalized the sociopath's words as he repeated them like he was being indoctrinated. "Nothing else matters except being a good boy for Master." Humming happily, he nodded as Alex said it was time to go - not that Connor had any clue where they were going. That wasn't for him to worry about. Master would take care of it.

As Connor seemed to fight the greatest of internal battles between mind, body and spirit; Alex seemed happier and at more peace than he'd possibly ever been. His wildest dreams were literally coming true as he made love to the object of his darkest desires. He'd never felt so powerful and animalistic as he did right now- even when he'd quite literally hunted and killed his prey like some cold-blooded beast; this was a different kind of feral feeling, it was warm and hot and addictive. It made him feel things which was a lot considering he had multiple qualifications in understanding emotions and feelings but had never had any of his own outside of those most primal to his nature. He'd become so good at faking it that now that he actually got to feel something it was overwhelming. He fucked Connor ruthlessly, pounding harder and deeper with every passing minute as he chased this sublime experience; the experience of feeling truly alive.

The younger boy's cries were sublime, the erotic moans and yelps of pleasure only spurred him on more. Then, the other's tone changed, to his most impassioned sounding moan yet and something in Alex knew that meant the other was close and he felt a thrill of excitement as he was close too. They were perfectly in-synch. Of course they were, he reminded himself- they were destined to be lovers. He'd known that from the second he'd laid his sociopathic gaze on the other. He leaned down to kiss the other, wanting to taste his lips and feel his heartbeat against his own as they shared their first mutual climax together. Right before their lips met, the moment right before they both came, he heard the other's final moan and then there was a heartbeat of silence and then the crescendo of their orgasms hit and the world flooded back into his senses as he kissed the other and released pump after pump of his white, hot seed inside of the other.

It felt like emerging out of the deepest waters and taking that first gasp of air for Alex. He felt so connected, so alive with the other. He kissed Alex passionately, "I love you too," he breathed with a wide smile; the smile of a man who had been given the greatest gift and also the smile of a man who knew that he had won. His power had won over Connor's resistance- the other could try to rationalize his logical mind as much as he wanted but his body had now proved without a doubt that it wanted Alex, that he deep down and in his subconscious, yearned for his stalker and the man with his classmate's blood on his hands as much as he did in return.

"I'm going to make you so happy," Alex cooed between kisses, "You're going to be my beautiful, brainless cum dump- no thoughts and no worries, only me," he said gleefully, "I'll take care of everything for us, you never have to make a decision ever again," he said with a few more final kisses before he straightened up and eased himself out of Connor, "And your hole will never go without my seed," he added swiping some which dripped free from the other's entrance and feeding it to him, softly pressed the finger into the boy's mouth to lick and suck clean. "Now that we're finally together we can leave this shitty hell-hole and find a real home for us," he smiled, once he'd readjusted himself, managing to wrangle his horse-like cock back into his pants and zipping up, he gently began dressing the other, almost like a doll, "All you have to worry about from now on is serving me," he coaxed as he got all of Connor's clothes back on, the other now standing before him, "Look at me and repeat," he held Connor's chin and they locked eyes, "Nothing else matters except being a good boy for Master."

He kissed Connor sweetly, "Now let's go- say goodbye to this old life."

[wolken-himmel]

In which (Y/n) punishes Azul with the silent treatment after he roped Ace and Deuce into a contract.

Of course, Azul won't let that sit with him and hangs (Y/n) above a shark tank.

Request by anon.

"Talk to me, or I'll feed you to the sharks."

You were currently hovering above a water tank that about three large sharks called their home. The predators swam in a neat circle beneath you, their upper fins peeking out from beneath the crystal-clear surface. And the only thing preventing you from falling right into their middle was the rope wrapped around your body and arms, preventing you from most movement. Right in front of you, the feared Octavinelle trio gazed at you intently, everything else within the closed off Mostro Lounge fading into darkness.

How it had come to this?

Oh yeah— you had ignored any of Azul's attempts to speak or interact with you after he had upset you by making your friends sign a shady contract. The silent treatment was harsh but effective, so much that Azul had been driven to such drastic measures such as tying you up above a shark tank to make you talk to him again.

But it wasn't working, much to his dismay.

"So you're really gonna play coy with me, prefect?" Azul grumbled under his breath and let the rope in his hand slip through his palm a little bit, causing you to dip a little bit deeper towards the surface.

Despite your little flinch, you still wouldn't let a single word escape your lips.

"Wow, Shrimpy is so brave! Those other guppies would have fainted by now already," Floyd exclaimed and clapped his hands together. "That's why playing with you is always so much fun, Shrimpy."

Unlike Floyd, Azul didn't look happy at all by your defiance, and merely furrowed his eyebrows in desperation. "Come on. I told you I'm sorry! But you still ignore all these presents and cards I sent you." His grip on the rope tightened, so much that his hand began shaking in frustration. "What more can I do? If sincerity and fear do not make you talk to me, what else will?"

Jade quirked an eyebrow. "I've never seen the boss so desperate."

"Your friends won't come to save you, (Y/n)," Azul continued with newfound confidence. "So will you still choose the sharks over me? Surely, you cannot hate me this much..." He looked at you expectantly, a hopeful shimmer to his gleaming eyes.

Still, you kept your lips sealed shut.

Floyd couldn't control his laughter anymore and broke out into a fit. "Oh, Shrimpy is cold..."

By then, the dormleader's shoulders were slumped forward, and a pitiful frown decorated his pale face. His grasp around the rope loosened as he croaked out in disappointment, "I... need some time for myself. Get the prefect away from the tank and untie them." His final act of resignation was handing the rope over to Floyd, who took it from him eagerly.

"Okie dokie!" The excited grin on the eel's face soon morphed into feigned shock when he lost his grasp on the rope. "Or... not so okie dokie..." he mumbled sheepishly as he watched the rope shoot up to the ceiling.

In return, you crashed down into the shark tank.

Upon making contact with the cold water, a scream escaped your lips, and your limbs began thrashing around violently. The vigour of your movement was further amplified by the fact that your arms were still restrained to your body, only leaving your legs to make sure you could keep your head above the water.

"(Y/n)! Don't thrash around!" Azul cried out, a look of horror and genuine worry plastered over his face. "Moving around too much will attract the sharks!"

Your legs tired from the frantic kicking to keep you afloat, and the sight of grey fins circling you didn't calm you down either. Eventually, you yelled out, "I— I can't hold out much longer!" Your head was already starting to dip dangerously deep into the water, and the kicking of your legs weakened, too.

"Hold on, I'm coming!" Without hesitating, Azul dove head-first into the tank and swam over to you as fast as he could, considering the heavy clothing that slowed him down. Blank concern occupied his face as he entered the circle of sharks and grabbed you by your shoulders.

Jade, watching idly, tilted his head to the side in fascination. "Wow, I've never seen Azul swim so fast."

"Get away from (Y/n), you guys," Azul growled while pushing his way past the sharks, on his way to the rim of the water tank again. And indeed, they seemed to respect him with the way they suddenly dashed away into the depths of the tank, away from you.

As he pulled you out onto the dry floor again, your face was a ghostly pale shade, and your eyes were ripped wide open in shock. "Wow... that was a close call..." you breathed out slowly, the water still dripping off your hair and clothes.

"Are you alright?" Azul fussed and looked you up and down. "Did you swallow any water? Did any of them bite you?"

You shot him a weak smile. "No... No, I'm fine. Thanks to you, Azul," you assured while he helped you out of your bonds. As you breathed in and out again, your face slowly regained its usual colour, and you calmed down again. Your weak smile soon turned into a little grin. "Honestly, I wasn't scared because I knew you would never drop me into that shark tank."

"You're right... I would have never dropped you into that tank." At the speed of light, Azul whipped around to point his finger at his fellow dorm member accusingly. "Unlike Floyd!"

"Hey, my hands were slippery because of the moisturiser I use."

The hand landing on his shoulder allowed him to calm down again, especially when you gave it a soft squeeze. "It's alright, Azul. I forgive you—" Your smile soon turned serious again as you continued, "But only if you promise to never rope Ace and Deuce, or any other friends of mine, into such horrible contracts again."

"Fine... I guess I can do that." Azul's chest still heaved up and down, but at least a weight seemed to have been lifted off his shoulders.

At once, you began laughing airily— in such a carefree manner as if none of this has fazed you. "See? That wasn't so hard. The whole drowning and getting eaten by sharks incident could have been avoided," you joked and wrapped your arms around him in satisfaction.

"But seeing Crabby and Little Mackerel in maid outfits was funny!"

"These maid outfits scarred Ace and Deuce for life!"

[streets-in-paradise]

Birthday Wishes

Requested by @losersclubisms​

Masterlist

Word Count 2.5K

Characters: Andy Barclay (main), Junior Wheeler (main), Jake Wheeler (main), Kyle Simpson, Karen Barclay, Glen Ray Tilly, Nica Pierce, Glenda Ray Tilly, Devon Evans, Lexy Cross. 

Relationships: Barclay Wheeler Family AU ( AU where Andy adopts Jake and Junior), some implicit Andy x Nica. 

Warnings: No proofreading. Birthday fic, AU ( canon? what’s canon?), Andy being a parental figure for the Wheeler boys. They call him mom sometimes while the reason for that nickname isn’t explained. 

Summary: Andy hasn’t have a happy birthday on decades, but Jake and Junior want to change that. 

Notes: This fic is a found family love letter of happy birthday for Andy. I was going to post it sooner, but i had no internet connection for a couple of hours. 

The kitchen was absolute chaos with the two cousins working on it that morning. It was a special yet hard day that needed to start in the best way, but that wouldn't mean that the Wheeler kids would stop bringing mischief while messing with each other. Jake dragged Junior out of bed earlier and his morning crankiness manifested in tons of little practical jokes while cooking breakfast together. The result was unfortunately affected by the distractions on their games and some outside distractions happening on the process. 

" I can't believe you just burned the pancakes!!!" Jake complained to his cousin, witnessing with horror the biggest mistake of all. " JUNIOR, YOU HAD ONE JOB!" 

" IT'S NOT MY FAULT THAT YOU LEFT THE FIRE TOO HIGH!!" The boy defended himself. " It wouldn't have burned so fast at a normal temperature." 

He had a point, but not a valid reason. 

" I was talking with Glen! They are getting the gifts. Whatever you were texting with Lexy, I don't think it was what matters today. " 

Junior felt called out because he was either discovered by a peek at his phone screen or, worse... By his enamored reactions when receiving the texts. 

" I was convincing her to come to the party... you know, just in case Devon didn't yet. We know it's not gonna be like the sort of parties she likes and for the most Andy creeps her when being himself but it would be nice if she would come ... " 

" Just because YOU want to see her. " Jake concluded for him. " Listen, I understand how you feel but you can't lose focus today. Andy hasn't had a decent birthday in decades, we can't screw this one up too. He is not expecting anything, but that doesn't mean we can't still disappoint him." 

Jake really didn't mean to trigger him, but the automatic setting on Junior's mind to fear disappointment from parental figures got activated to the nagging.

Suddenly he felt awful, freaking out to the realization that the big day was going to start with a nearly burned breakfast but there was not much time to completely fix everything. 

" SHIT!! What do we do now?" 

" Carry on and hope for the best." His cousin added, in resignation. " I'm gonna make some french toast to put at the side in case he wouldn't want to eat this shit. " 

Junior's mischievousness faded a bit, scared to face such simple failure. Even if Andy wouldn't mind, he did. 

" ... Maybe I should keep focusing on the party plans. " 

Jake still had a not so little objection to add.

" I know you wanna help but, for fucks sake, we are not gonna hang the garlands you made. " 

" But I know Andy is going to love it." Junior protested while still cooperating bringing out more stuff from the fridge. " You are so full of shit, Jake, I swear. When you take a pile of ugly dolls and make a sculpture that's art, but when i do is disgusting." 

" Excuse me, Junior Sawyer, but someone has to protect Glen from your artistic sense... THAT'S THEIR FREAKING FATHER!!!" 

Junior wasn't touched in the slightest with the reaffirmation of an obvious fact. 

" So what? They aren't on good terms with Chucky." 

" That's it? That's your excuse?" Jake followed, desperately trying to make him see the point. " Think about this: How would you feel if Glenda would make a welcome mat of Logan's skin?

Realizing he had used a terrible example, Jake released a groan of frustration while going back to the cooking and Junior self declared the winner of the altercate.

" From you and I... Whose the one that thought first on making art out of Chucky? "

Some of the yelling going on reached Andy, but he was asleep and way too used to the boy's bickering to pay attention. He could tell that the noise was approaching, but didn't guess why. All he thought before rolling on bed was that, whatever chaos that was going on, he would deal with that later. 

Ignoring his conscience for the rest of the day was already going to be hard, so he didn't want to make the kids participants of his inner hell. They didn't deserve having to stand his terrible humor on the worst day of the year. He was not okay, but he was their caretaker and it was not their responsibility to deal with that. 

The door was opened just as he was falling back asleep. Andy didn't react quickly, unusual for a light sleeper. It was a ' just leave me alone' sort of indirect sign, but the wheelers weren't going to give up.

" Good morning, Andy! It's your big day!!" Jake saluted him first, obtaining only some groans of protest. 

Junior didn't hesitate in becoming the goofier echo of his cousin. While Jake was holding the tray standing at one side of the bed, he rushed to the opposite and began to shake Andy. 

" C'mon, mom! Wake up!!!" 

Andy opened his eyes to the excessively energical call, feeling that nickname that the boys gave him a bit stronger than usual because he found Junior covered in flour stains looking like a toddler in mother's day.

" What time is it?" 

" 10 am, but you weren't waking up so we got worried."

Andy chuckled, holding his impulse of making a dark joke about how he didn't have will to get up.

" For how long have you been up to annoy each other?" 

" Since forever!" Junior complained, a dramatical mock to Jake and the morning schedule he settled on. " We are that much excited." 

Andy tried to calm him down sweetly reminding both of them that there was nothing to cheer about. 

" You don't have to make it a big deal. It's not ... I appreciate, but." 

" We made you breakfast." Jake cutted him off, ruining his way for any objection. 

The man glanced at the teenage boy carrying a tray that seemed a complete mess. The mug on it was splattered with coffee and Jake himself had his clothes stained with something wet. 

" Shit... Are you alright?" 

" Yeah, the coffee fell on the ground. Those are eggs that Junior threw at me, that's why he is full of flour." 

Junior smiled innocently from his spot. 

" Happy birthday, Andy!!" He changed the topic. " You are gonna celebrate with us at least. " 

" We love to have you in our lives. Junior and I have always been related ..." 

"But what truly made both of us a family was to find you. We are not gonna let Chucky steal the spotlight on your birthday. You matter more than the anniversary of his first death." 

Andy sat on the bed and the boys observed him attentively, looking forward his reaction yet he found himself unable to pronounce a single word because he was in the purest awe trying to process the amount of love they were giving him.

Then, he picked the tray and got to see what they made for him. It was messier than what it looked like from afar, splatted coffee and partíally burned pancakes with some orange juice and french toast to the side put there as compensation.

" It's horrible, you don't have to eat it.." Junior apologized ahead, confusing his silence with disappointment. " It's my fault, I let it burn. I can't do anything ríght." 

Andy began to cry and both cousins were completely clueless about that. Of course, they couldn't possibly know about the last happy memory of his childhood: the burned toasts that he carried to his mom's bedroom early on the morning of that fatidic day. He was then in her place, those were his children even if they weren't little kids anymore. 

" I KNOW WE RUINED IT BUT, PLEASE. DON'T CRY!" Jake begged, feeling unable to do anything else. " I CAN'T SEE YOU CRY." 

Junior was already sobbing and then, with their evident sorrow, Andy remembered that they indeed didn't know anything about that. 

"... It's perfect, more than perfect." He quickly clarified in a cheerful tone. " This isn't sadness, ok? I cry because i love you both so much." 

He cleared his throat, trying to sound his best despite the crying. 

" Jake, Junior. You weren't born from me, but that doesn't matter. You are my boys and I love you. I ran out of birthday wishes because you are the best thing happening in my life and you don't have to do anything to make it better." 

The tray ended up on the nightstand because both boys rushed to hug him, tears of happiness flowing everywhere. 

" Happy birthday. " Jake followed. " We are going to make this the best day of your life, I promise. " 

It was, Andy didn't remember a happier day. With surprises happening all the time, it could only have ended on the highest note: a party where all of his loved ones were present. The lonely six year old kid was then an adult surrounded by people who wanted to celebrate with him. Most of them were kids, but there was also his amazing sister who brought his mom for the occasion, and some unexpected surprise guests. 

Nica arrived with Glen and Glenda, what was a pleasant surprise for many reasons. To say that he developed a crush on that woman was an obvious fact that he tried to hide in vain at that point. If he once pointed a gun at her to take his shot on killing Chucky, he went to hell and back searching for a way to help her later. He had direct responsibility for the situation that led her back into a free and full body and the twins saw it. Glen adored him and he got Glenda's respects through that. 

They brought two beautifully packaged gifts with them, but one of those was quite concerning due to the size. A big, rectangular package that was too suspicious and Glenda's mischievous stares everytime Andy would look at it from afar were making it worse. They were probably just messing with him, but he was thrilled and finding it hard to focus on his surroundings. 

" The garlands are a symbol." He heard Junior explaining himself to Glen, making up excuses for what was pretty much the birthday version of his typical creepy decorations made of scratches from various copies of Chucky that he killed. That time, only pieces of clothing were used." When Andy was little he had those at the birthday party your dad crashed at, so it's about healing.`` 

" Well, you will have to refresh me on that part because I did the shopping and don't remember anything like this. " His mom was adding. " We didn't have those garlands."  

 Jake, Kyle, Devon and Lexy were too aware to avoid laughing, what made an unaware Glen smile because they seemed happy. 

" I think my boy is thinking of another birthday tradition. " Karen pointed out at Andy's distraction. " Gifts first, honey?" 

Andy smiled for her before justifying himself. 

" The big one, I just HAVE to know what's inside there. "

Nica made a ' my lips are sealed' gesture, joking around while keeping the secret that the children of Chucky trusted her with. Her sweet silliness got a smile out of him even despite he was mildly panicking. 

" Ohh, yes! That's perfect! Open ours before the cake!" Glen cheered with sparkling excitement. 

"... You would feel better with no knives around." Glenda followed, their grimm joke resembling Junior's trauma based humor. 

Before Andy could pick up the box Glen did it for him, then rushed beside him holding the two packages. Although the man promised he would open the smaller one later, he practically tore the wrap of the bigger. 

It was what he suspected, but not quite exactly what he thought. 

A doll, pale and red haired, but not a Good Guy. 

" A little bit of me for you." Glen sweetly explained. " I can't technically gift it because Is not mine to give, I share it with Glenda. They agreed to let me give it to you for the party." 

Andy stared at them, unable to understand what was going on but guessing that the answer was going to be cavity-inducing sweet just because it came from them. 

" Is this what I think it is?... Glen, are you giving me the doll where you were born?" 

" It's a borrow, but yes. " They continued their explanation. " Many, many years ago my dad harmed you so deeply as your birthday gift doll, so I want my doll to be your gift." 

Andy had a bright smile on his face and had to restrain his own emotions a bit to avoid tearing up in front of everyone. 

" We also got you clothes.." Glenda followed. " You need some help with your wardrobe.." 

A possessed doll and new clothes; the exact replication of his birthday gifts that year. No one else noticed the irony, but it was a happy one for once. 

" Is this doll... safe?" Karen asked, evidently weirded and as concerned, perhaps even more, than Andy was. " How does it work?" 

" It's them, as harmless as Glen is. Trust me, they are an angel." Nica explained. " They agreed that Glen keeps control for today, so they are gonna be pretty much like a kid running around. The doll that your son deserved." 

Andy approached it hesitantly. Since their doll form hadn't meet him before he felt the need of introducing himself. 

" Hi, Glen! I am Andy... I am friends with human Glen." 

The doll blinked its eyes, as if it was waking up from a long nap, then replied. 

" It's so nice to meet you! Hi, Andy! And Happy birthday, by the way." 

The Barclays stared at each other as if they were contemplating the universe's biggest irony, then laughed. 

" Really, Glen? Your doll?" Junior complained, showing a bit of jealousy because the gesture was impressive. " Nothing here can compete with that. What am supposed to do now? That's the nice doll of his childhood dreams!" 

" We are not brainwashing more dolls, don't even think about it. " Devon commented. " They have the best gift. Get over it." 

" Are you gonna fight over Andy? Right here and now?" Lexy joked. " I can't believe it." 

" Of course not!" Jake added in what seemed to bring maturity into the discussion, but wasn't mature at all. " We don't have to, Andy is our mom."

" Alright, people. I'm gonna get the cake." Kyle announced. " Is anyone going to give me a hand with that?" 

The doll spoke once more.

" I can help." 

" Anyone that isn't the doll? No offense to you, Glen, I just don't know them." 

They smiled and followed as their human persona, to what Junior followed as well just so he wouldn't be less. 

At their return everyone began to sing while Andy stared at his cake and the little candles on top of it. For the first time ever he had no idea of what he was going to wish for, since nothing felt missing in his life.

[mysria]

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ IF  YOU  ARE  TO  DIE,  THEN  DIE  FIGHTING.  DO  NOT  GO  INTO  BATTLE  RESIGNED  TO  A  VISION  THAT  COULD  BE  A  LIE.  ❞  She  hates  this  beyond  words,  his  acceptance  of  this  supposed  fate  of  his.  Is  this  how  worn  he  has  become,  that  he  will  not  fight  against  it?  She  wants  him  to.  She  wants  him  to  rage  against  it  all,  to  deny  it  with  clenched  teeth  and  all  the  infernal  defiance  the  man  she  has  loved  all  these  years  carries  in  his  bones.  But  what  do  her  wishes  matter,  when  she  can  see  how  tired  he  is  in  his  eyes?  He  is  a  ghost  of  himself  in  her  eyes  for  those  few  seconds  she  backs  away,  but  soon  enough  his  touch  reclaims  her,  and  he  becomes  real  again  in  that  moment.  Mysaria  breathes  deep,  unsure  if  this  is  denial  or  acceptance  that  coils  within  her  chest;  this  bitter,  melancholy  feeling  tinged  with  fear  and  the  shock  of  it  all.  The  indescribable  emotion  one  feels  before  a  limb  is  severed.

ㅤㅤㅤBut  there  is  something  else  that  settles  in  as  it  dawns  upon  her  what  he  is  asking,  all  of  the  horror  in  her  face  subsiding,  replaced  by  softened  edges  and  a  look  of  half  disbelief,  half  catharsis  in  her  eyes.  She  knows  what  her  answer  is.  Mysaria  has  always  known; she  knew  from  the  first  day  their  eyes  locked  in  the  brothel.  She  is  his.  Yet  silence  fills  the  air,  and  it  takes  her  a  long  moment  before  she  can  bring  herself  to  speak  again,  letting  the  heaviness  of  it  all  wash  over  her  like  a  wave.  ❝ First  you  tell  me  that  you're  going  to  die,  and  now  you  ask  me  to  marry  you?  ❞  It's  whispered  lightly,  more  a  jest  than  anything,  the  rest  of  her  features  softening  fully.  Of course he would do such a thing. He has never been a conventional man. All  she  can  do  is  look  into  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  she  tells  herself,  it's  real  this  time.  This  is  not  a  lost  dream,  nor  a  futile  wish.  Another  deep  breath  is  taken,  some  invisible  weight  leaving  her  shoulders.  Nothing  else  matters  right  now.  There  is  only  them.

ㅤㅤㅤHer  eyes  linger  upon  his,  and  she  begins  to  nod,  pressing  her  palms  against  the  underside  of  his  jaw.  ❝ Yes,  ❞  Mysaria  exhales  a  whisper,  then  repeats  more  assuredly,  ❝ Yes.  ❞  Arms  snake  around  his  neck,  pushing  up  slightly  onto  the  front  of  her  feet  to  let  her  lips  meet  his;  a  kiss  that  starts to melt  away  twenty  years  of  shattered  dreams  and  disappointments.  It  will  be  different  this  time,  she  tells  herself,  it  has  to  be.  Hope  is  a  rare  thing  for  Mysaria,  but  she  feels  it  then,  the  tiniest  spark  amidst  this  castle  of  death  and  ruin.  How  fickle  and  fragile  it  is,  remembering  what  he  told  her  of  his  supposed  fate.  She  takes  hold  of  his  face  again,  locking  their  gazes  once  more.  ❝ But  you  cannot  wed  me  if  you  are  dead,  ❞  she  looks  at  him  with  desperate,  pleading  eyes.  ❝ You  have  to  stay  alive  for  me,  Daemon.  For  as  long  as  you  can.  Please.  ❞

"But   the   court   is   not   what   it   was   then.   Nor   is   our   ruler."   The   Queen   is   is   wife   and   of   Old   Valyria,   wed   in   the   tradition   of   their   house   and   per   their   tradition,   she   can   take   another   wife   if   he   desired.   Once,   he   thought   he   could   have   Laena   and   Rhaenyra   by   himself,   his   two   Valyrian   brides   who   thought   themselves   as   sisters.   "If   I   am   to   die,   I   would   rather   die   with   a   sword   in   my   hand   fighting   for   Rhaenyra's   throne."   He   is   King   Consort   too   but   there   seems   to   be   a   lack   of   trust   on   him   on   this   matter,   they   think   he   wants   it   by   himself   but   he   will   prove   it   by   actions.   Taking   Harrenhal   and   then   taking   the   Riverlands,   having   the   great   houses   in   their   favor.   As   she   pulls   away   he   follows   her   back,   his   hands   coming   to   hold   her   head   to   steady   her   to   him   and   pull   him   closer,   forehead   pressed   upon   her   own.

  "Perhaps,   perhaps   not.   But   I   have   spent   my   life   doing   duty   upon   duty   to   my   House   and   family   and   I   was   punished   for   it."   He   does   not   mind   death   of   a   knight,   it   is   an   honor   to   die   in   battle,   and   perhaps   Caraxes   shall   live,   he   would   take   him   to   Old   Valyria   to   be   upon   his   fire   and   blood.   But   now   he   holds   another   thin   he   was   denied   in   his   life.   A   wife   of   his   choosing,   who   had   more   fire   in   her   blood   than   the   bronze   woman   he   was   forced   to   wed   and   sent   away.   A   Prince,   forced   to   live   among   the   sheeps   and   cattle.   Not   anymore.   "Be   my   wife   and   let   me   forget   bad   freams.   Rhaenyra   and   I   are   of   the   blood   of   Valyria   and   so   are   you   and   we   wed   per   the   tradition   of   our   House."  

He   will   not   be   like   Aegon   the   Conqueror   who   favored   one   wife   over   the   other.   Daemon's   heart   was   once   said   to   be   too   small   to   love   anything   beyond   himself   but   marriage   is   not   something   taken   lightly   to   him.   He   does   it   only   when   he   wants.   He   brings   his   lips   closer   to   her   own,   so   the   ghosts   of   the   haunted   castle   do   not   listen.   "dīnagon   nyke."

[fanficshiddles]

Tear You To Pieces, Chapter 11 (Final Chapter)

The following morning, Kelly woke up after a horrible sleep trapped in Loki’s arms, it had been laden with nightmares. But when she woke, she wished she had been back in one of those nightmares, as the one she was living was much worse.

Loki had kept her prisoner in his bed for a while that morning, petting her and toying with her body. He made her cum a few times and then took her again. Now he was just chatting away to her as if nothing was wrong while he got dressed, she lay shaking in his bed still. Curled up.

She wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that he had raped her or the fact he was acting as if it was all normal, that they were a happy couple. It made her feel sick to think about either way.

Loki turned to face her and frowned. ‘Come on, get up. I’ve got a job I need to do, to let the world know exactly who is in charge. And you are coming with me.’ He snapped his fingers impatiently.

When she got out of bed, she wrapped her arms around herself and stood there awkwardly. She didn’t know what she was supposed to be doing. Loki opened the door, then looked at her expectantly.

‘Let’s go. Don’t think you’re getting clothes, if that’s what you’re waiting for.’ He said firmly, making her stomach drop.

Kelly knew there was no point fighting or trying to get away, so she submissively followed Loki to his throne room as he called it.

‘Get under my desk and use that pretty mouth of yours to keep me satisfied.’ Loki pointed towards said desk that was on front of his throne-like-chair. The desk was pretty big, so Kelly was a little relieved that at least she wouldn’t be too cramped.

She was resigning herself to being Loki’s slave. It was her own fault, after all. She blamed herself, and would every single day.

Before Kelly went over to the desk, Loki gripped her chin and had her look at him for a moment. He studied her closely, then smirked and brushed his thumb up over her lower lip.

‘Mmm, yes. You are going to make this job much more exciting.’ He purred, his smirk growing larger. ‘Now be a good girl and get into position.’

Kelly meekly crossed the room and crawled underneath the desk. Loki sat down on his throne, legs spread wide and he looked down, grinning at the sight of her down there.

‘Get started, darling. I have some business to attend to.’ He urged her.

Wanting to get it over and done with, Kelly began the difficult task of getting his cock free. It wasn’t easy with his armour that he was so adamant on wearing all the time. But she eventually got his cock out and reluctantly started stroking him.

‘Use that mouth of yours, pet. Don’t disappoint me.’ He growled with a quick glance under to her.

She really didn’t want to, but she knew she had no option. So she leaned in closer, hands on his thighs and she wrapped her lips around the tip of him, then slowly began sucking.

Loki let out a sigh of pleasure, but he was still able to focus. Only just. Her mouth felt so warm and lovely around him. He cleared his throat and clicked his fingers, a screen appeared up on front of him. It was recording him, broadcasting to every single TV in the world and appearing on everyone’s smartphone in an emergency video.

Kelly paused when she realised what was happening, Loki began a big speech about being ruler of the world. How many countries he had and which ones were under threat if they didn’t yield to him soon.

She carried on sucking his cock when she felt a sharp pain in her neck, it was Loki using his seidr as it felt like a collar was wrapped around her neck again. Hollowing her cheeks, she tried to work harder to get him to cum sooner than later, to get it over and done with. But Loki seemed to be lasting quite a while…

Then she felt dread run through her veins.

‘But of course, I wouldn’t have been able to be in this position if it wasn’t for this lovely little thing… Let me introduce you all to her.’ He said wickedly and tugged on her invisible collar, dragging her up out from under the desk.

Of course she tried to flee, but Loki kept a tight hold of her and hauled her onto his lap. Forcing her to face the screen, he had her sit over his cock and she felt him at her entrance as he leaned round and gripped her chin, keeping her head in place so she couldn’t look away.

‘Smile for the camera, darling.’ Loki hissed harshly into her ear and he then pulled her down onto him so his cock pressed painfully into her, forcing her body to accommodate him once again. She was mortified to find she was a little bit aroused, enough to make it less painful than last night’s first time.

The entire world could see her naked upper body, and most of them were able to know what was going on from the way her body flushed red in embarrassment and Loki’s breathing deepened.

‘That’s it, my pet. You belong to me just as much as your whole world does now.’ He growled and then winked at the screen before it cut out.

‘Mmm, such a good girl. MY good girl. And now the whole world knows it.’ Loki purred and began toying with her nipples as he thrust up into her, making her mewl.

His praise was making her wetter, Loki could feel her contracting around him hard. He grinned and bit down on her shoulder, chuckling against her.

‘You can deny it all you want, pet. But we both know you’re my good girl and always will be.’

-

That same evening, while Kelly was still reeling after everything that had been happening, she finally had some alone time when Loki went for a bath.  

When Loki disappeared out of the room, she waited a few minutes until she heard the bath water running enough, then she grabbed a blanket to wrap around herself, as there was no sign of her clothes anywhere.

She scurried to the door, but it was still locked as she had expected. So she ran to the large window and felt such relief when it opened and she stepped outside onto the balcony. But then she realised she didn’t know what to do next, it was really high up and all that was down below was the concrete roads and pavements, there was no way she could jump.

‘Come on, think. Use your brain, Kelly!’ She hissed at herself as she stepped back inside.

Looking up, she spotted the smoke alarm. If Loki hadn’t changed much of the initial security system in the building, perhaps she could use that to her advantage. So, with a quick glance around the room, she came up with a plan.

Grabbing one of the pillows off the bed she ran to the fire place and put it in enough to set it alight. She then went underneath where the alarm was and held the pillow up towards it, just as she had hoped, the smoke was enough to go up to the alarm and set it off.

Normally, when the smoke alarms went off in the tower it was set up so all the doors would unlock for people to get out safely, and it would set the sprinklers off.

But not this time. While the sprinklers did go off, wetting everything in the room, when she ran to the door it was still locked. She let out a sob as she banged hard against it in frustration and fear.

A dark chuckle came from behind her, making her jump out of her skin. ‘Did you really think that little plan would work?’

Kelly shook in fear as she slowly turned around to face Loki. She was a little surprised for a moment because he only had a towel wrapped around his hips, his hair was still wet too and dripping down his chest. He smirked when he saw her checking him out, but her eyes quickly shot back up to his face.

‘How stupid do you think I am, pet? That I would allow you to escape so easily? I don’t know whether to be angry that you tried to run away from me, or angry that you thought I’d be so stupid. Not to mention the state of my room now.’ He growled as he started walking towards her formidably.

She attempted to run to the other side of the room, but Loki grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her back into him, making her cry out in pain. He put his arm around her middle and held her tightly to his body as he snarled into her ear. ‘You are going nowhere, pet. You belong to me, like the rest of the world does. And you only have yourself to thank.’

He dragged her back towards the bed and when she was thrown onto it, invisible restraints instantly trapped her, making her immobile and sending her panic levels sky high again.

Loki could clearly see she was distressed and panicky, but he was about to make her worse. He stood at the side of the bed and held his hand out, palm up. A jar formed in his hand and Kelly let out a gasp in horror at what was inside it. It was Thor, but he had been turned into a frog. He was jumping at the glass, trying to escape.

‘If you aren’t careful, I will get you your very own jar.’ He snarled in warning. ‘No more stupid escape stunts. You do as you’re told. Do I make myself clear?’

Tears fell down Kelly’s face as she shook from head to toe. She nodded quickly, feeling a horrible stabbing feeling deep within her at the sight of Thor like that. Though she had thought he was dead too, with the others. Even though there had been no sign of his body.

Loki had the jar with frog Thor vanish, then he prowled onto the bed over the top of her and grinned. ‘Now, now. There’s no need to look so scared, pet.’ He cooed and stroked her cheek gently with the back of his hand. ‘If you’re my good girl, which I know you can be, you will have absolutely nothing to worry about ever again.’

He leaned down and stole a kiss from her lips.

[vex-bittys]

In Your Dreams: A Horrortale Story

Raffle prize for @purplesangel. When your life is a living nightmare, is it any surprise that your dreams are just as bad? Thankfully a dream-walking human has arrived to help, but will she still want to help Axe when she finds out what he’s done to stay alive?

WARNING: character death mention, language, blood mention, some disturbing imagery including cannibalism (no details)

READ ON AO3

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Life in the Underground was an endless nightmare for Axe. During his waking hours, he checked his traps and hunted in the forest, often returning home empty-handed only to see the disappointment and desperation in his brother’s sockets. Supply trains became frantic riots as too many monsters competed for their share of too little food, and the sharp pain of hunger lingered even after the skeleton brothers’ meager meals.

Madness seeped in through the hole in his skull, distorting reality. He clawed at his skull, trying to release the pressure of the frenetic energy that consumed him. He could feel the darkness lurking, waiting for him to make a misstep, some seemingly trivial mistake; that’s when it would strike, shredding his thoughts and shattering his focus. There was no escaping it, and Axe knew that one day it would swallow him up.

Sleep provided no reprieve. In his dreams, Axe continued to suffer. He watched his brother fade away to nothing from starvation. He felt the gnawing emptiness of his own unsatisfied hunger. Feasts appeared before his single working eyelight only to transform into grains of sand that slipped through his fingers when he reached for it. He ran through the shadowed forest outside of Snowdin, fleeing an unknown terror in the night while thorny tendrils of a deeper darkness caught him, slowing his progress, dragging him down, and allowing his madness to suffocate him.

Days dragged on into months, and months melted together into years. Waking life remained bleak with monsters still struggling (and at times failing) to survive. Food sources dwindled, and the gathering of other resources fell by the wayside as every creature in the Underground focused on filling their stomachs as best they could. Everything stagnated in its state of destitution and decay… everything except Axe’s dreams.

Axe’s nightmares repeated themselves night after night until slowly, they began to change. It started with the appearance of a new character- a human that Axe didn’t recognize, though he thought it might be a female. At first the human only observed the horrors that lurked in the sleeping world of Axe’s mind. Gradually, though, she began to interact.

It all started during one of Axe’s nightmares about his brother. Crooks would turn a pleading gaze to his brother, mouthing a soundless plea for food. Axe would fall to his knees, sobbing and pounding his fists into the ground. Crooks slowly collapsed, and the gradual dissolution of his body sent his dust drifting towards his brother, filling Axe’s mouth and nasal cavity until he choked himself awake… usually. This time things turned out differently.

“I’M SO HUNGRY, BROTHER,” Crooks’ voice came from the air around them and not his mouth, the teeth there long since broken or knocked askew from gnawing away at non-edible items simply to assuage the need to chew.

The human appeared, but instead of observing the unfolding scene, this time she glanced around until her eyes fell upon Axe.

-

Since the very first time you’d stumbled across this heart-breaking nightmare scenario, you’d worked hard to return to it. Dream-walking involved focus, practice, and a bit of luck, and in this venture, the fates were on your side. You’d walked this collection of now-familiar nightmare images many times, slowly working out which participant it belonged to and why the skeleton with the broken skull kept replaying these torturous situations in his sleep.

Now, you were ready to interact and hopefully restore some peace to the sleeping world of the monster in front of you. You extended a tentative hand towards him, unsure if he would welcome your touch as a form of physical comfort. He just stared at your outstretched hand as if it would bring some new and unfathomable horror to his disturbingly familiar nightmare. You let your hand drop. Words would have to suffice then.

“It’s not real,” you told the stocky skeleton firmly.

His sockets narrowed suspiciously. “what do ya mean, ‘not real’?”

“This-” you gestured to the vague, nondescript surroundings and very crisp, well-defined figure of the tall, starving skeleton behind you, never breaking eye contact “- is not real.”

The skeleton with the broken skull laughed, a harsh and humorless sound that grated against your ear drums. You sighed, frustrated but determined. It rarely improved a situation to reveal yourself while dream-walking; most dreamers forgot their nightly travels when they returned to the waking world anyway. Those who didn’t merely discarded your presence, along with any advice you might give, as part of a nonexistent scenario that could not influence their waking lives and should thus be ignored.

Normally, you resigned yourself to this and walked through dreams as a silent observer, but this skeleton’s torment tore at your heart and brought forth a tenacity within you to help him in the only way you could: by walking through his nightmares and defeating them, one by one, until nothing remained but peaceful slumber.

The skeleton with the broken skull scoffed. “you don’t know nothin’,” he growled obstinately.

“I know that your most frequent nightmares involve food, madness, and losing this other skeleton-”

“my bro,” the skeptical skeleton clarified.

“Losing your brother,” you amended with an edge to your voice, “to starvation.”

“it’s not like you’re some expert investigator piecin’ together the clues, pal. we’re all starvin’ and dustin’ down here,” he said, dismissing your observations. You frowned. Was there some truth to these nightmares? Often dreams represented thoughts and fears in a metaphoric manner, but maybe this skeleton didn’t have room in his troubled mind for subtlety.

Regardless, you would do what you could for him in the only place that you could reach him.

“I don’t know what your life is like in the waking world,” you conceded softly, “but this? Everything around us now? It isn’t real.” You continued in a rush before the skeleton could interrupt you again. “You’re asleep, and your mind is processing your fears… and your reality… into nightmares.”

The skeleton inhaled, obviously ready to argue again, but you stopped him by making a sweeping gesture towards his brother. Had this nightmare been reality, the taller skeleton would be dust by now. Instead, the image was frozen in place thanks to the stocky skeleton’s change of focus. “Look,” you ordered boldly.

-

Axe begrudgingly allowed his single eyelight to stray from you to his brother. While it was true that nothing had changed in the scene since he had turned his attention to his unexpected visitor, the moment he looked back, the scenario resumed. Flakes of dust drifted loose from his brother’s body, floating away on an unfelt breeze to disappear as they dispersed until nothing remained except the unbearable weight of guilt and his brother’s ghost of a voice whispering “Why?” over and over again in his head.

Why didn’t you save me?

“It’s not real,” you whispered solemnly behind him, but honestly, that didn’t matter. Watching his brother die of starvation that he should have prevented sent jagged pains through his SOUL whether it existed solely inside of his mind or not. Your next words, however, carried a much greater impact: “I can teach you how to change it.”

-

The most frustrating part of dream-walking was the inability to change the contents of people’s dreams or nightmares yourself. While you could view the unfolding events, you possessed no real power over them. Only the dreamer could affect their dreams. Thankfully, unlike dream-walking, lucid dreaming is a skill that can be taught.

As with every teaching experience, some students learn more quickly than others. Axe, as he eventually introduced himself to you, was not one of those students. The most difficult aspect of lucid dreaming for him happened to be the very first step to lucid dreaming at all: accepting that what he experienced while he slept was a dream instead of a warped reality that lived inside of his cracked skull and broken mind.

“These images all come from your thoughts,” you explained again. “You can control them, but first you have to accept that you can control them.” 

You knew that the dreams involving his brother were far too emotionally charged to make good fodder for lucid dreaming practice, and you preferred to steer clear of the choking darkness since you had no idea what effects such a powerful and overwhelming negative force could potentially have on you, even as an observer within someone else’s troubled subconscious. This only left the dreams of an untouchable feast to practice on… and practice was not going well.

As with your many previous attempts to gently guide the stocky skeleton towards seizing control of his nightmares, the lesson had quickly devolved into a squabble. You insisted that Axe could learn to control his subconscious surroundings; Axe stubbornly insisted that he could not. You would point out that this was his dream, and his mind; he would attempt to discredit your existence as just another piece of the complicated web of nightmares that plagued him: a human offering him false hope in a bleak and hopeless world.

It did bother you a little bit that Axe considered you- a (mostly) patient and helpful human- to be nightmare fuel. Only monsters lived in the Underground since the long-forgotten war, so why would Axe’s guilt-riddled dreamscapes include humans?

You decided to save the questions for another time.

“Try again,” you told Axe, who only answered with a weary, frustrated sigh.

-

Irritation swirled through Axe’s excessive magic, though it was aimed more at himself than at you. Every night you tried to help him take control of his dreaming mind, and every night, despite your calm instructions, he failed. You made it sound so easy, so why couldn’t he just grab a stupid spider donut off of the stupid table and shove the stupid thing into his big, stupid mouth?

“Try again,” you told him patiently as he brushed the gritty sand from his finger joints. He uttered a weary, frustrated sigh.

“i am trying,” he grumbled, biting back a deluge of unhelpful comments and curses. He touched another piece of food, a french fry, still steaming though it had been sitting on a pile of its doppelgangers since the nightmare began. The entire fry stack crumbled to sand before he’d even lifted one free; Axe’s patience dissolved along with it.

“if this was as easy as you claim,” he shouted, letting his anger overflow into sharp words, “then i’d be able to pick up these plates and smash them on the floor like i want to!” Without any conscious thought, Axe lifted one of the plates in question and hurled it at the ground. It shattered, leaving silence in its wake as Axe and the dream-walking human stared down at the shards on the ground in awe.

Axe gave an entire stack of plates an experimental shove, sending them cascading over the edge of the table and onto the ground where they created an inharmonious symphony of destruction. You applauded the spontaneous mess and squealed with glee, and Axe swept you up into a quick celebratory hug, spinning you around once before setting you back on your feet. As soon as he set you down, he grabbed a donut and crammed it into his mouth. Chewing, his sockets narrowed in utter bliss, he picked up a second donut and offered it to you. 

Nothing tasted as sweet as victory… except for maybe a spider donut.

-

You didn’t want to dampen the skeleton’s joy by telling him that you wouldn’t be able to taste a donut in his dreams, so you took a bite, your head still spinning from his sudden show of physical affection. With a promise to see him the following night, you stepped out of his nightmares. You felt content that you’d taken the first big step on a journey to giving Axe the power to sleep peacefully without constant, horrific nightmares plaguing him.

The next lesson would be more difficult; you intended to guide Axe through banishing nightmares of his brother’s death. Out of consideration for Axe’s privacy, you had never asked him why he had such specific nightmares about his brother, but nightmares involving a sibling death as vivid as Axe’s hinted at some very dark and complex situations existing in the skeletons’ waking world. Those hints aside, Axe had outright stated that things were terrible in the Underground where he lived. Maybe working through his dream would give him some insight into fixing his real-life situation, at least the one he faced with his brother.

You hoped so. During the nights you’d spent helping Axe learn how to lucid dream, you had come to consider him a friend. You hated the thought of him suffering. You especially hated that you could only reach him during his nightmares. You wished you could do more, but how? Those were thoughts for your own waking world.

Tonight you wanted to focus on Axe’s progress, and once he’d gotten some practice at lucid dreaming, you’d work on changing the heart-breaking nightmare of his brother.

-

Sweat beaded on Axe’s skull as he waited for you to appear. He could feel himself slipping towards darker dreamscapes, and he fought to stay in the safe in-between place like you’d shown him. He told himself that the tremors in his bones were caused by his unstable magic and not by fear. What if his previous successes were a fluke? What if he failed when it mattered the most? 

Thoughts of failure sent him spiraling into the guilty nightmare of his starving brother. After all, his failures in reality led to this, and the dire consequences that he saw unfolding in his subconscious lurked only a step behind him in the waking world. Soon his real life would become this very same nightmare, and he would be left as powerless to stop it there as he felt to stop it here.

Thankfully, you appeared within seconds to chase away the grim meanderings of his mind and help him focus on the task at hand- Crooks.

Axe’s brother loomed in front of him, eyes pleading, begging for something that Axe could not give him. He watched the image of his brother twist and reshape itself, growing alarmingly large, the bones stretching from an influx of magic that still somehow managed to provide almost no nutrition. He whispered his brother’s name, frozen in place and unable to remember what he was supposed to do to stop the scene unfolding in front of him.

A small hand slipped into his; he had forgotten about you as his familiar fears swamped him. You looked up at him with a calm expression and nodded, encouraging him.

“You can do this.” Your words bolstered his courage. He dragged his panic back under control and turned to face Papyrus… or what had become of Papyrus under his inadequate care: the monster now known as Crooks. 

“You know what you need to do,” you whispered.

Axe stepped towards his brother, focusing on Crooks as he had seen him last: tucked into his bed, the blanket no longer quite long enough to cover his lanky frame, wishing Axe a good night and sweet dreams and promising to see him in the morning. Keeping that image locked in his mind, Axe let his lone eyelight travel over his brother’s altered frame. Sure enough, not a single mote of dust rose from the other skeleton. Crooks simply stood there, watching him through sunken sockets.

Though he’d brought his brother’s recurring death to a halt, the words that swirled and echoed around him continued, too faint at first to make out individual words or phrases. His brother’s voice whispered accusations like poisoned arrows that pierced his SOUL. A chorus of questions, all beginning with “Why…?” slowed, sharpened, and gained clarity. Crooks spoke, though his mouth never moved and the words seemed to thrum within his very bones, tangible beyond mere sound.

Normally Crooks’ omnipresent voice asked him why he would allow his brother to starve, but this time the question differed, though it still sent chills to the very marrow of Axe’s bones.

“WHY DID YOU MAKE ME EAT-”

Axe quickly hushed his brother, stealing a glance at you to gauge your reaction. You simply made an encouraging gesture as if to say “Go on, you’re doing great.” He wondered if you’d feel the same way if you knew what Crooks’ next words would have been.

“i couldn’t let ya starve,” Axe spoke softly, tilting his head to maintain eye contact with his much taller brother. “i’d do anything to keep you alive.”

“EVEN-”

Axe nodded, nearly choking on guilt. “yeah. even that.”

“BUT I TOLD YOU I DIDN’T EVER WANT-”

Remorse softened Axe’s expression, and his gravelly voice hitched. “i couldn’t let ya dust. i had no choice. i’m so sorry.”

-

Without warning, Crooks slumped, but he wasn’t collapsing into dust. Instead, he crushed his brother against his ribcage in a tight hug. You sensed a loosening of the guilt and remorse that gripped this particular nightmare so tightly. Things weren’t resolved yet. Nightmares could rarely be banished in a single lucid dreaming session, but you’d given Axe the tools he needed to seize control of his sleeping world. 

Only one challenge awaited you now: fighting the suffocating darkness of the final nightmare. You made plans to tackle that monumental task once Axe felt satisfied that he could manage this current nightmare on his own. Working through the tangle of emotions that his brother’s death awakened would take quite a bit longer than satisfying himself that he could eat his fill of dream donuts, but you were willing to go the distance to help Axe.

You actually wanted to do this, no matter how much the slithering darkness terrified you. Axe just meant that much to you.

-

“I think we’re ready for the final nightmare,” you declared after a dream session in which Axe showed off by summoning various items for his brother to eat.

In the lucid dreams about Crooks, his dream-brother mostly stood or sat nearby providing companionship and support as Axe practiced controlling his consciousness. Axe enjoyed the time with his brother, despite the knowledge that this version of Crooks existed only inside of his mind. It gave him a tentative sensation of hope that perhaps someday he could experience this type of peace with his brother in the waking world, free of the constant mad scramble for survival.

Your words shattered fragile, fleeting calm. Sweat beaded on Axe’s skull. The final nightmare contained his deep, dark fears, his madness, his guilt. Tendrils that reeked of his unspeakable crimes dragged him down into the cesspool that used to be his SOUL. He didn’t want you to see that part of him. He didn’t want you to know what he was truly capable of.

You’d never come back, and he’d be left alone with the echoing, blossoming psychosis that suffocated him. It would be worse now though. You’d shined a light into his life, and now he risked that glimmer of goodness being torn away… torn away because of what he’d done.

The punishment would fit the crime of his continuing survival.

-

You stepped into Axe’s dream world, excited and nervous at the prospect of facing the unknown horrors of this last nightmare that plagued him. The endless grey limbo that surrounded you came as quite a surprise when you expected inky vines of darkness encased in the thorns of Axe’s painful emotions and memories. Axe refused to meet your eyes when you approached him. Something was off about the whole situation.

“Is everything ok?” Maybe Axe wasn’t ready to face the darkness of the upcoming nightmare. You didn’t mind; you weren’t going to push him towards something that he didn’t want to do. You weren’t exactly eager to face it either, and besides, you thought you might enjoy just spending some time with Axe.

When he raised his head to meet your eyes, you couldn’t suppress a gasp of fright. Goosebumps erupted along your arms, and you shivered.

Axe’s single red eyelight… it glowed with an eerie flickering light, seeming to swell until the socket could barely contain the vortex of its power. Axe tilted his head at an unnatural angle and laughed at your reaction. You forced yourself to stand your ground despite your fear. This was not the monster you knew. Axe now embodied the darkness of his own inner turmoil, and it froze the blood in your veins.

“nothing is ok!” Axe’s snarl dissolved into sinister chuckles that made his broad shoulders shake. He lifted a hand, phalanges curved like claws to scrape at the hole in his skull. You lunged forward to pull his hand away before he caused more damage to himself, and he shoved you roughly away.

-

The hurt and confusion in your eyes filled Axe with dark satisfaction. You needed to know just what kind of monster he was. You needed to fear him, to run away and never come back. Instead, you offered him your compassion yet again.

“Let me help you.” Tears filled your eyes. His madness must be breaking your sweet, loving heart, but he drove home his depravity because if he let himself care, you’d find out the truth eventually anyway. Losing you would hurt more if he actually had you first.

This time when you reached out for him, he dodged, letting your momentum carry you to your hands and knees on the floor. He loomed over you, oozing menace like a thick fog.

“help me?” Axe’s scornful laughter echoed around the empty landscape. “and why,” he asked cruelly, “would you help a murderer?”

“Murderer?” You repeated the word as a question, as if you weren’t completely sure you knew what it meant. Your eyes widened in shock as tendrils of darkness climbed Axe’s arm, sliding over his bones like living tattoos until they pooled in his hand, taking on the shape of a huge meat cleaver.

“how do you think i’ve survived so long, little human? i hunt, and i kill.” He grinned, his mouth stretching into a disturbing parody of joy. “humans mostly. honestly, did you think the blood on my hoodie was mine?”

-

You admittedly hadn’t thought much about the blood stains on the hoodie. Maybe they were his. Maybe they were ketchup. Maybe in his dreams he wore the stains of his brother’s imagined death. Dreams and nightmares created their own reality with its own details pulled more from a dreamer’s mindset than accurate memories. It shocked you to think that Axe truly wore a hoodie that had once been soaked with fresh blood.

Human blood.

You trembled. Axe began to circle you like a hungry wolf, casually swinging his gigantic cleaver.

“Do you regret it?” you finally asked in a tiny voice.

-

Those four words penetrated the armor of madness that Axe was using to push you away, and they struck him like a well-timed attack. He reeled, reaching for some lie to keep you from seeing the truth and pitying him.

He found nothing.

The meat cleaver fell from his shaking hand. Axe sank to his haunches, covering his face with his hands, trying to hide from you and your perceptiveness. He wanted to scare you away before you could judge him and abandon him, but you shot your question straight to his SOUL, refusing to believe the worst of him.

“every fucking minute of my life.”

This time, when you tentatively reached for him, undaunted by his previous rejection, he leaned into your touch. He hated himself for his weakness, but every second that you stayed, even if you left eventually, was a second he would cherish until time wore away even the memory of his dust.

With his first admission, however poorly he’d delivered it, out of the way, Axe couldn’t stop himself from confessing even more of his transgressions and regrets. “i lied and told my brother it was meat from an animal in the forest. he didn’t want to eat humans, but i tricked him. i couldn’t let him starve” The words poured out of him; he feared that as soon as things went quiet, you would realize what an irredeemable abomination he was and flee. “i shouldn’t have done it, but i didn’t know what else to do. we were so hungry… and it messed up our magic. there’s no way to hide what we did. no way to undo it.” 

-

Axe’s words stumbled to a halt, and you sat for a moment in the heavy silence of the grey dreamscape, contemplating them. You hated what he had done, but you also understood that his only other option would be watching his brother starve to death. The circumstances didn’t allow for any winners, and Axe suffered with the knowledge of the things he’d done. 

“You were trying to survive.” Your voice nearly cracked on the final word. You could not fathom the desperation that drove Axe to his decision.

You remembered all of the heart-breaking stories that Axe told you about the Underground: the human who’d stolen the SOULs that the monsters had gathered and fled, taking the monsters’ hope with them, the death of their monarchs at the human’s hands, the Royal Guard Captain’s ascension to a throne that she didn’t possess the skills to manage, and the unbearable suffering of monsters starving to death or falling down because of an unshakable despair.

You raised your eyes to meet Axe’s eyelight, expecting to see softness there once more, but instead his horrified expression stared back at you. You didn’t need to puzzle out the cause because a moment later, barbed shadow vines lashed you, wrapping around your legs and dragging you towards a puddle of oozing darkness near your feet. You struggled against the thorny tendrils, and they tightened, driving each wickedly sharp thorn-tip into your flesh.

Pain seared your legs, real physical pain… in someone else’s dream. Panic washed over you, and you fought harder to escape, causing the barbs to rip deeper into you.

You screamed.

-

Shaking off his shock at the sound of your scream, Axe lunged forward. He wrapped both of his arms tightly around you and wrenched you away from the grasping vines. A writhing mass of them rose up behind him, swarming over him like living things. Staggering a few steps forward, Axe set you on an empty bit of space, but the vines quickly pulled him off of his feet and into a kneeling position. More tendrils rose to wrap around him, and the inky darkness of the puddle rose up to meet them, slithering up his body and swallowing him up in the darkness.

“i can’t protect you here… i can’t keep you safe from me, from my mind.” Axe choked out the words through the darkness consuming him. He couldn’t let you come back. He wouldn’t allow you to be in danger because of him.

This had to be good-bye.

He focused his mind.

“don’t come back.”

-

You jolted awake, that one last glimpse of Axe’s red eyelight, brimming with pain and regret burning in your mind. He had kicked you out of his dreams and told you not to come back. You couldn’t dream-walk in a mind that wasn’t open to your presence. Your throat constricted, and you felt tears sting your eyes. What if you never saw Axe again?

When you tossed back your blankets, you half expected to see scratches on your legs where Axe’s negative thoughts and emotions had touched you, but your skin was unbroken. You’d never experienced a nightmare so vivid and intense, but you breathed a sigh of relief that it couldn’t reach you in the waking world. If only Axe would let you come back, you could tell him that despite your panicked reactions, his dreams had no power to harm you.

Instead, he would continue to face the torment of his past mistakes all alone… for now.

Because while you had been helping Axe deal with his nightmares, you hadn’t neglected the appalling circumstances of his reality. If you could make your waking project work, you would be able to truly save the skeleton that you cared for so deeply.

I won’t let you push me away, you vowed.

-

Axe settled himself on the bench of his sentry station, taking a break from prowling the forest for potential meals. The barren snowscape left him all alone with his thoughts, and he hated it. In one bout of unhinged boredom, he’d created a sign for the outpost: “Head dogs, 5G.” It made as much sense as anything else in the Underground. Besides, there was no such thing as a hot dog in this frigid wasteland.

The narrow lines of dead tree trunks shifted if he stared at them too long, and the wind that howled through them carried voices whose words he could not quite arrange into coherency. The windblown whispers rose in volume until the roaring of innumerable voices filled his skull. The blazing white of the snow surrounding him only added to the sensory overload. He couldn’t hear, couldn’t see. 

“shut up, shut up!” Axe chanted, clawing at the hole in his skull. Reality warped, the passage of time quickened and slowed, and nothing made sense anymore…

… and you were standing in front of him.

Axe recoiled in disbelief. How could this be happening? He hadn’t fallen asleep… or had he? Maybe you were a cruel hallucination conjured by his loneliness. He refused to accept the vision of you even when you reached out in that oh-so-familiar way to calm the scrabbling of his phalanges against the jagged edges of the hole in his skull.

Axe’s hand shot out as quickly as a striking snake and grabbed your wrist. He yanked you forward until you were partially bent over the sill of the sentry station. He raised his massive knife high above his head; his eyes held no recognition, no clarity, no sanity.

You held completely still, unflinching. The meat cleaver hovered threateningly above you, but it did not fall. You and Axe were frozen in the moment, but despite the madness that absolutely radiated from him, you trusted him not to hurt you.

“you’re not real,” Axe accused you in a gravelly whisper. You weren’t even sure if he meant to speak aloud at all.

“Are you going to kill me?” Your voice didn’t waver, and you kept your eyes locked with his single eyelight, calm yet firm.

Axe lowered the knife. Real or imagined, starving or not, he would never hurt you. You knew him too well. He released your wrist, hoping he hadn’t hurt you by grabbing you like that. He wanted to ask how you’d gotten here, but other matters demanded a higher priority.

“you aren’t safe here,” the skeleton scolded gruffly. “didn’t you listen? monsters here kill and eat humans!”

“Good thing I found you first then.” You tried to diffuse the tension with bravado, but you had to admit that your choice to come to the Underground was a risky one. Axe’s eyelight travelled over your body, searching for injuries while surreptitiously taking in the sight of you. His obvious concern for your safety filled you with warmth and determination.

“there’s nothing good about this,” Axe growled though he had to admit that seeing you again definitely felt like a good thing to him. That little bit of goodness could be snuffed out in a hurry though if another monster saw you and attacked. “i’ve got to get you out of here.”

Axe lumbered out of his sentry station, glancing furtively around the barren landscape, though it wasn’t entirely clear whether he expected to spot an enemy or an escape route. The skeleton stopped right next to you, attempting to block you from prying eyes. You found his protective stance rather charming, but you weren’t here to be charmed. You were on a mission.

You slipped your backpack from your shoulders, swinging it around into Axe’s line of sight and opening it. Seven clear canisters sat inside, each with a brightly-colored heart shape inside of it. Axe’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“are those…?” Axe sounded almost reverent, and with good reason.

“Human SOULs? Yes. I gathered these from willing donors who wanted to help set the monsters free.” It had taken dedication and time, but you’d meticulously interviewed potential donors until you tracked down all seven SOUL types that you needed. Now, only the path to the Barrier stood in your way.

Without warning, Axe swept you into a crushing hug, then proceeded to spin you around. Your feet actually left the ground, and you laughed softly at the thrill of it.

“you’ve got to meet my brother, then we’ll smuggle you into the Capitol.” For once you heard excitement and hope in Axe’s voice. His eyelight gleamed with resolution as he reached for your hand. You placed your hand in his without hesitation. Axe’s declaration that he knew a shortcut still rang in your ears as the world spun beneath you and everything went dark.

Disoriented, you tried to take in the scene around you. You’d been outside, standing in a forest choked with dead trees and carpeted in snow, but suddenly you found yourself in a house. The loud colors of the bowling alley style carpeting had long since faded, and the couch had obviously seen better days. Everything in the house was touched with the same look of elegant decay: faded colors, worn fabrics, the yellowing of book pages, and the subtle musk of disuse. 

A fine film of the dust of time spoke volumes about the life of two monsters who devoted so much of their lives to simply surviving that they were forced to neglect the basic upkeep of their home. The house looked so long abandoned that the presence of life within it seemed almost surreal. You couldn’t find words to break the silence that permeated the house, soundless echoes of what it had once been.

Movement caught your eye; a lanky figure detached itself from the shadows and stepped in the dust-mote-filled light. Your eyes travelled up and up, an impossible height despite the figure’s hunched posture, until you found facial features that you recognized from Axe’s dream. The vivid colors of Axe’s subconscious bore the same washed-out appearance here that characterized their home, but you knew this must be Papyrus, now known as Crooks due to the effects of his recent tragic diet.

Crooks wrung his hands shyly, awaiting your reaction to his somewhat terrifying appearance. His teeth were crooked and broken, caked with something red that you tried not to think about too much. His nervous actions tugged at your heart, and you offered him a gentle smile which he responded to with a smile of his own.

“I’D OFFER YOU SOME OF MY SIGNATURE SPAGHETTI AND EYEBALLS, BUT WE’RE ALL OUT OF PASTA.” His apologetic tone did little to distract you from the fact that the skeleton brothers were short of pasta but not eyeballs. 

“That’s alright. Really.” You didn’t hold out much hope that Crooks had misspoken considering Axe’s earlier admission. The sooner you got these monsters out of their Underground prison, the sooner they could return to normal healthy eating habits.

“my friend here wants to help us get to the Surface. they’ve got plenty of pasta up there. we just need to talk to ol’ Queen Undyne first,” Axe interjected, using a light tone to dispel the awkwardness of his brother’s offer. 

Crooks perked up at the mention of Undyne. “UNDYNE WILL BE SO RELIEVED. I DON’T THINK SHE LIKES BEING QUEEN VERY MUCH…” You clutched your backpack and its precious cargo of SOULs, unzipping it slightly to show the mingled glow of seven vibrant colors. Crooks peered at them with a mixture of curiosity and delight.

Axe shifted uncomfortably. “yeah, relieved,” he mumbled, refusing to meet your eyes. You didn’t have much time to wonder about the skeletons’ very different reactions to Undyne because Axe extended a hand to you and Crooks. As soon as your fingertips brushed his smooth, warm bones, everything went dark again.

In the few seconds it took your eyes to communicate the view of a once-opulent throne room to your poor confused brain, a glowing blue spear appeared and slammed into the ground so close to you that you felt the force of the impact thrumming up the shaft of the weapon. If Axe hadn’t yanked you backwards, you would’ve been impaled. Where had it even come from?

“UNDYNE WAIT! THIS HUMAN IS A FRIEND!” You followed the direction of Crooks’ voice to see an armor-clad monster with a wild mane of crimson hair. She held another glowing blue spear, and her single yellow eye focused on you with murderous malice. You staggered backwards from the force of her glare. 

“No human is a friend to monsters,” Queen Undyne roared, launching a volley of her spears at you. You resigned yourself to your doom, regretting that your rescue attempt had been such a short-lived failure.

A wall of bones erupted from the tiles of the floor, blocking the attack. Crooks and Axe both stood next to you, arms outstretched to summon the defensive maneuver. More spears struck the bones, causing them to shudder, but they remained standing. You turned wide, panicked eyes to Axe, searching for some explanation or reassurance.

“can you hold her off?” Axe asked Crooks, who nodded somberly. The stocky skeleton grabbed your arm and dragged you down a hallway of soaring pillars coated thickly in cobwebs and floor to ceiling windows of cloudy, cracked glass. Away from the immediate danger, you began to tremble. Tears welled up in your eyes.

Axe pulled you close, wrapping you in the safety of his arms and gently rubbing your back. He made soft shushing sounds, and you realized that your tears had turned into terrified sobs. Your body shook, and you hiccuped, trying to catch your breath. Axe held you until the overwhelming wave of emotion subsided.

“i’m so sorry. i thought maybe we could talk some sense into Undyne. she and my brother used to be really close, but the last human who came through here… well, that human killed a lot of monsters and stole the SOULs that we had collected towards breaking the barrier. they left us with nothing but despair and dust, and Undyne blamed herself for not stopping them. it… affected her.” Once again, Axe looked guilty.

“How can we convince her that I’m trying to help?” You gripped your backpack with determined hands. You didn’t gather these SOULs for nothing, and you didn’t plan to leave the starving monsters in the Underground without at least making an effort to save them.

“you aren’t going to convince her of anything.” You opened your mouth to protest, but Axe laid a phalange against your lips to silence you. “i want you to get out of here. it’s not safe, and i would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“What about breaking the Barrier?”

Loud crashes sounded from the Throne Room. Axe shot a quick glance over his shoulder before pushing you further down the hallway. “i need to go help my brother. if we can convince Undyne to trust you, i’ll meet you at the Barrier to break it and free the monsters.”

“What if you can’t?” More sounds of destruction threatened to drown out your whispered words, but Axe was close enough to hear you over the cacophony. Sorrow filled his single eyelight.

“i won’t put you in danger.”

“That doesn’t answer my question!” Actually, it did answer your question, and the implications left you frantic with worry for him. You wanted to explain how you felt about him, why his plan tore your heart to pieces, that you couldn’t just leave him behind, but the sounds of battle were approaching quickly. 

Crooks slid backwards into the pillar-lined hallway, kicking up dirt. He held bone attacks in his gloved hands, and he used them to deflect wave after wave of spear attacks. The barrage of attacks drove him backwards again, closer to you and his brother. Axe stepped between you and the sound of Undyne’s war cries.

Turning, he cupped your cheek in one large, bony hand. His eyelight drank you in as if to memorize every feature of your tear-streaked face. He leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “go,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours.

Then he was gone, teleporting to the entrance of the hallway to join Crooks with bone attacks flying. 

If you stayed, it would only distract him. He wanted you to go, to be safe. It took every bit of willpower in your body to walk away, to step through the Barrier without him, knowing that he never would’ve fought Undyne if it wasn’t for your meddling.

You waited.

And waited.

The seconds stretched out, each one lasting a thousand excruciating years.

You waited.

-

Axe curled up on the couch, full to bursting from a delicious dinner prepared by his brother. Yawning, he rested his skull in your lap, and you gently stroked his scapulae, smiling as he began to doze. He no longer feared nightmares. In fact, he rarely dreamed at all anymore. After all, what would be the point in dreaming?

Life on the Surface far surpassed anything that his subconscious could fabricate, and he already lived that dream every single day, with you.

INDEX

[cassiabaggins]

Understanding

A/N: This is my first Fili x reader fic, so please be nice! It’s adapted from a scene between Fili and my oc that I never used in my original story but still wanted to share. I hope you all enjoy and please reblog and leave a comment if you can!

Warnings: descriptions of an approaching meltdown that never happens

Wordcount: 1395  | Pairing: Fili x Autistic Fem!Reader

Summary: The Company stops at an inn one night, and you find it exhausting and overwhelming

Tags: @beenovel @rowandor @claraofthepen @annkdarar @curiosityunsated @myrin1234 @guardianofrivendell @frogmuttforever @swillowraven @lexdrillo @clownkid246 @classynerdchick @anjhope1 @legolaslovely 

"There's a town about three miles ahead," Balin says, peering at his map. "We could stop there for the night, resupply."

Thorin strokes his beard. "Aye, that sounds good." He calls the change of plans back to the Company, and you frown. You aren't the biggest fan of towns, they always end up being exhausting and loud. Overwhelming. But the plans are final, and everyone else seems delighted by the turn of events. You sigh, and resign yourself to an exhausting evening.

.

The town is just as bustling and loud as you feared, carts and people and horses rushing here and there, shouts ringing out from a marketplace. A dog sprints through the legs of your mount, causing her to startle. You steady her, the suddenness of the event causing your heart to race. You can't wait to get inside the inn… but inside turns out to be just as bad. The cacophony coming from the bar area is physical to you, slamming against your ears, and once the fifteen of you venture into the crowd, it quickly becomes too much. You clap your hands over your ears and let out a panicked little sound as some stranger jostles you. You aren't paying attention to the others as Thorin negotiates for room and board, just concentrating on staying calm. 

You all sit down at a corner table, waiting for the rooms to be readied. You rest your head on the cool wood, trying to relax. A warm hand lands on your elbow and you look over at Fili. His lips are moving, but you really can't hear him. You glance briefly up at his eyes, look back down at his chin, and shrug to show you haven't a clue what he's said. His lips curve into a frown. He turns to Thorin and they exchange words and a small object, and then Fili takes your elbow and gives a little tug. He leads you out of the crowd and up the stairwell to the second floor of the inn, out of the crowd and noise. He stops before a door and turns to you and you take your hands off your ears. "Sure was loud down there," he says, holding up a key and unlocking the door. "I suppose you want to turn in early?"

Your heart warms at his kindness. "I do. I dislike crowds."

He grins at you. "Me too. They make my skin crawl."

"So many people, all yelling? Please no!" You say with exaggerated horror. Fili laughs and holds out the key. 

"Here. Turn in for the night. The barmaid said they drew us all baths, as well. She said it was all ready for you. I also asked for them to bring you up a meal."

You open your mouth to reply but are interrupted by the rest of the Company trooping past. Kili comes over and slings his arm around Fili's neck.

"Fili! After cleaning up Uncle said we could have some fun! The bar is open all night!"

Fili pushes off Kili's arm. "Stop," he says bluntly. "I don't want to be touched right now."

Kili takes the command with grace. "Sorry," he says. "But will you come down and have a drink with me? You're invited as well, Y/N!" He adds with a grin to you. 

"Not tonight, Kili," you reply. "I think I'll just turn in." You can feel your exhaustion making everything around you feel overwhelming, but are trying to stay civil. It's not his fault. 

Kili looks disappointed, but turns his attention to his brother as you slip into your room and shut the door. 

It's dark and quiet inside, a peaceful respite from the rest of the world. You survey the room, getting your bearings before entering further. An oil lamp burns on a low table near the bed immediately across from you, a window above the headboard. A chest of drawers is pushed against the wall to the left of the door with a small mirror hanging above it. A room divider separates a corner of the room, near a crackling fireplace. You can see the edge of a bathing tub around the three sectioned divider. You quickly lock the door and drop the key on the dresser, placing your pack on the bed and peeking around the divider. The bath is full to the brim with clean, steaming water, a bar of soap and a bottle of hair oil on a low table beside it, along with a pitcher, a clean cloth, and a towel. 

Your companions will either have to use the city's public cold baths or take turns for a warm one but you… you get the luxury immediately. You strip down quickly and hop into the tub, sinking down into the warm water. 

You take your time getting clean, relaxing in the silence, before the water begins to go cold. You step out of the tub, dry off, and dress. The bed looks beyond inviting, the soft sheets, the plush pillows… you're mere seconds away from diving in and falling asleep, when a knock sounds on your door. 

It's a polite knock, but somehow the most grating noise you've ever heard, like a thunderclap in the quiet room. You grit your teeth against the urge to scream "go away!" and move to the door. Upon opening it, you're immediately grateful you didn't yell, as Fili is standing outside with a tray of food. 

"Sorry to bother you," he says immediately. "I was just bringing you supper."

You look down at the tray. It's piled high with food, seeming to be two of everything. "I can't eat all that," you say. 

"I know," he replies. "Half of its mine. Can I hide from Kili with you?"

"Why?" 

"He's trying to get me to come down to the tavern and I really, really don't want to. It's so loud and exhausting down there and all I really want right now is a quiet night. He even likes the commotion and doesn't understand that I just need to get away from it right now!"

He sounds genuinely distressed and you get the feeling this is a common argument between the brothers. While you too want a quiet night, you take pity on Fili and open the door wider. "Come in."

The smile he responds with his blinding. 

Luckily, Fili is probably the least exhausting person to spend time with. He's quiet and predictable and doesn't ask exhausting questions as most of the Company tends to do. He doesn't say much, setting the food out on the rug before the fire as you sit on a pillow and watch him. Finally he sits down and holds a buttered roll out to you. You take it gratefully and you eat together in relative silence, broken only by the occasional "can you pass that?" There's a quiet camaraderie in the activity. 

"Kili can be exhausting," you say between sips of wine at the very end of the meal. Fili nods in agreement, tugging absently on one of his mustache braids.

"He can."

"They all can," you add. 

Fili nods again. "It's hard to make people understand when I need quiet time," he says. "When I was younger I would always cry and scream when it got too overwhelming."

"Me too!" You say enthusiastically, sitting up straighter. "Sometimes it's as if everything is too much and I just need to yell! But I can't because I'm an adult."

He looks over at you. "Exactly! I know exactly what you mean!"

"Sometimes, things are hard for me to handle," you continue, "even little things. And then I cry about them. Do you ever feel like that?"

He nods. "Yes. I do." He meets your eyes. "I've never… I've never told anyone that before," he admits.

"Not even Kili?"

Fili waves his hand dismissively. "He already knows. But he doesn't understand. You do."

You smile and scoot closer to him. "I do. I suppose we're more alike than we thought." Suddenly overwhelmed with affection for him, you lean over and press your head against his shoulder in affection. He presses back, seeming to understand. "I like you, Fili," you say.

"I like you, too," he replies happily and the two of you lapse into a peaceful silence, secure and happy in your understanding of each other.

[after-witch]

Birthday Gift Part 2 (Yandere Overhaul x Reader)

Title: Birthday Gift (Part 2) (Yandere Overhaul x Reader)

Synopsis: You finally get up the nerve to ask your captor for a special gift--a birthday gift. Continuation of Birthday Gift Part 1.

Word Count: 3053

Notes: Yandere, emotional manipulation

“Kai, there’s…” You struggle to find the words. You hadn’t exactly felt confident about your request before, but faced with his deceptively impassive gaze, it is difficult to muster the courage to even ask.

He raises his eyebrows, and waits for you to collect yourself.  

You take a deep breath and fold your hands neatly in your lap. You start to feel prim, good–deserving, even, of what you’re about to ask for.

“I wanted to ask about my birthday…”

His expression brightens--well, you think it does. You like to think that you’ve gotten good at reading his face over the past few months, and it’s helped you navigate your more… difficult moments. Emboldened, you continue.

“I want to see my mom.”

The words come out fast and unsteady. You wish your tone had been stronger, but maybe he’ll like that you don’t seem too demanding.

“Just for a visit, I mean,” you continue, looking to the side. You’re afraid to see his response. “Not forever or anything.” You scrape the bottom of your lip with your teeth, a quick and nervous gesture. “I just want her to know I’m okay?”

You glance back at his face and see that he looks… contemplative. Not angry, which is a plus.

Then, he sighs--in resignation, you think. And the thought is enough to make your heart feel like it’s jumping as you practically chirp at him from across the table. “Oh, thank you thank you! I promise it won’t be for very long, and, and maybe we could--I mean you could meet her, you know? If you want to?” You trip and stumble over your words, because you hadn’t had time to rehearse any farther than your initial request. You never imagined you’d get his approval and--

“Absolutely not.”

Your face falls and a knot develops instantly in your stomach. “Oh.” Your teeth gnaw on your lip again. “I don’t understand?”

You feel your cheeks heat up in humiliation and disappointment and suppressed anger as you watch his face go from impassive to--and you’re sure of it, this time--disappointment.

“I thought you had gotten past this, (Y/N). I really did.”

You swallow, thick and scratchy. “Past what?”

His eyes aren’t cold, but stern. The look he usually gets when he wants to lecture you. You don’t know if you can handle a lecture right now. “Past this silly desire to leave.”

The accusation stings, somehow. You didn’t say you wanted to leave. “That’s not--” you sit up straighter in your chair and force yourself to look him in the eyes. You want to be taken seriously, you want him to take you seriously. “I don’t want to leave.” (But you do, you DO.) “I just--I want to visit my mom.”

Your eyes flick around his face, searching for a sign of something. Compassion, pity even. But he keeps his look as paternalistic as before. Like you’re some silly girl who doesn’t know what she wants or what she needs, like you should know that asking for something like wanting to leave your captor’s fortress and visit your mom who thinks you’re missing or dead already rotting somewhere so she can stop worrying is ridiculous. You feel your carefully suppressed anger bubbling and you clench your fists until your neatly trimmed nails are pinching your skin.

“It’s out of the question,” he says. His voice turns softer. “It’s not safe for you out there. You know that.”

Your breath hitches. “But if you come with me, I’ll be safe, right?”

He smiles. But you know it doesn’t mean anything. “You’re always safe with me, angel. But I can’t risk losing you.”

You smile back, desperate, raising your shoulders up and leaning in across the table. “But you won’t lose me! You’ll be in the car--or in the same room or, or whatever you want! I’ll, I’ll--” your eyes flick to the table, trying to think of things that might appease him, might appeal to him. “I’ll stay by your side the whole time!”

Kai’s smile quirks slightly. It’s a mixture of pity and condescension now. Silly, silly (Y/N), it seems to say.

“(Y/N)… I gave you my answer. Please don’t drag this out any further.” You move to reply, and he cuts you off. “You can have something else for your birthday. New books. Some decorations. Something to start a new hobby, perhaps?”

You swallow again, but the look on his face and his tone tells you what you need to know: he won’t be moved, he won’t change his mind. You really are a silly, silly (Y/N), you think.

The tears that you didn’t know had built up spill over your reddened cheeks, hot and bitter.

“I want my mom,” you say, softly, bitterly. “I want to see my mom on my birthday. That’s what I want for my birthday.”

You wipe away fat tears and stare at him to see his reaction. He doesn’t answer you. He merely watches you, watches your breath hitching, watches the tears spill, silently. His mouth takes on a thin line, a look that says the discussion is over and that you’re being dramatic and ridiculous and childish and--it’s so damn domineering and hurtful that you want to scream.

Then he folds his hands together and rests his chin on them, like he’s waiting for you to stop having a tantrum.

That’s the tipping point. You can’t take it. You stand up, suddenly, and press your nails harder into your palm.

“I fucking hate this,” you spit. You search around blindly, looking for something, anything to release your pent-up anger onto. You settle for your chair, which you push onto the ground. It’s a feeble, ridiculous gesture, and you know this. The realization of how stupid you look makes your cheeks burn in embarrassment and you cover your face with both hands.

“I want my mom,” you force out. Your voice is tight and thin and scratchy. “I want to go--go get a pizza and watch a shitty horror movie in a shitty movie theater, I want to go to work and come home and do the dishes.” You sob into your hands as your knees buckle under you, and you collapse on the ground. “I want to leave.”

You sob uncontrollably until you feel a firm hand on your shoulder. The sudden touch flinches you out of your sobbing fit, and your hands jerk down, only to see Kai crouched in front of you. His gloved hand is on your shoulder, firm and grounding. You immediately begin to tremble as you realize what you just did. You had a fit and you swore and god, worst of all, you admitted that you wanted to leave. You knew what he would do--send you into solitary confinement. You’ll be all alone without books or baths and the fear makes you cry harder.

He shushes you, soft but commanding, and wipes away your tears methodically, until your cheeks are wet and empty.

“I know it hurts, angel. I know. But we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

You quietly tremble until your realize that he wants an answer.

“No,” you whisper.

His hand gently strokes your cheek. You can barely make eye contact.

“I take care of you. I make sure you’re healthy, don’t I?”

You don’t want to say it. But his questions leave no room to argue.

“... Yes, you do.” You can’t manage to bring your voice above a whisper.

“I give you plenty of things to do, ways to occupy yourself, keep you entertained?”

“Yes,” you force out. You want to shut your eyes.

“I’ve never hurt you, have I?”

You look away. The pause is uncomfortable. He hasn’t hit you, no, he hasn’t done the things you saw him do that night in the alleyway. But there’s more than one kind of hurt.

“No,” you finally whisper. You have no energy to argue. And you can’t go back in that room, you just can’t.

His finger lifts your chin until you look at him.

“Then you need to understand that I only do what’s best for you. That’s why you can’t have a visit for your birthday. You understand that, don’t you?”

You’re about to answer when his phone goes off. He swears under his breath and releases your chin before checking the screen. He sighs, clearly annoyed, and you wonder if the sender of the text message will end up in pieces.

“I have to leave, (Y/N). We’ll talk more before your bath tonight. Please finish your meal.” He picks up your chair and sets it upright. Then he holds out his hand, offering to help you up. You stare for a moment before taking it, and he easily hoists you to your feet. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before letting go, and swiftly walking through the door to his office. You hear the lock click behind him.

You sit down in the now-upright chair and stare down at your plate. You hate it. You hate that he calculates your nutrition out as perfectly as possible. You hate that he sometimes gives you a tiny paper cup with less than a dozen M&Ms as a reward for being on your best behavior. You hate the frustrating realization that you do feel healthier, physically, now that you’re not constantly eating junk and have free access to fresh, healthy food.

You shovel the food in your mouth, barely tasting it. Your silent tears mingle with most of the bites, anyway. After finishing every bite, a wave of exhaustion crashes over you. You’re not supposed to take naps after a certain time, but arguing and hopelessness is too tiring to resist; you curl up on your bed and drift into unconsciousness quickly after.

You gasp as you jerk out of a cloudy dream that slips from your mind in seconds. It’s dim in your room, and you quickly realize that someone (Kai, of course, only Kai ever comes in) has turned off your overhead room light. You blink away your sleep and confusion. The bathroom light gives you enough brightness to see something sitting on your desk--an unassuming cream colored envelope.

You slide your legs over the edge of the bed and sit, staring at the note in the low light. In addition to your mind feeling hazy from an unplanned nap that likely went on for too long, you feel confused for another reason: Kai didn’t wake you up to get you ready for your bath. Or for bed. You glance at the clock kept securely high on the wall. It’s after bedtime. Yet instead of freshly cleaned and clothed in whatever nightgown he’d picked out for you, you’re in your day clothes and, you realize, slightly damp from sweat. The break in your routine is surprisingly disorienting.

As you waken up more fully, the dull ache of pain from his rejection of your request resurfaces. You push down thoughts of your mom and home and stand up. You might as well open the note. It’s for you, after all, and it’s something to do--something else new, in addition to the unusual change in routine. Something to distract you.

As you sit at the table, you wonder if you should just go back to bed. You don’t want to read the note, but that doesn’t stop you from carefully opening the little envelope--no spit-seal, of course, Kai would never--and unfold the note inside.

“(Y/N). I know it is difficult to adjust. You are doing so well. You may take your birthday trip next year, if you continue to behave so beautifully. You can do your own bedtime routine tonight. I will see you in the morning.”

You can feel your stomach curdling, the dinner you’d had earlier threatening to make its acidic way back up. Next year… another year here… with him. The realization that he doesn’t even consider that you could escape between now and then scares you. The realization that might continue “behaving so beautifully” scares you even more. You shakily set the note down, and rest your cheek against the cool desk.

You can feel sweat trickle down your back. Stress must have made your warm. You want a bath. He said you could do your own routine tonight, after all. But the idea comes with complications, the number one issue being the water has to be turned on by Kai--so you’ll have to ask him to turn it on when you’re ready. Maybe you could write a note and slip it under the door? But he might not see it, which means you’ll have to knock on the door anyway. The idea of taking your own bath, a bath of your own design, briefly animates you.

You quietly knock on the door to his office. It takes a moment to hear a response, and you briefly wonder if you should be doing this at all. Maybe he’s gone to sleep in his own room. Maybe he decided you were being insufferable and that’s why he didn’t want to do your routine tonight. Maybe he--

The door opens slowly, and you crane your head to get a quicker look at Kai as he comes into view. His mask is back on, and his eyes widen, just a touch. He seems… surprised?

“(Y/N)?” He asks, and you can tell by his tone that he didn’t expect to see you until the next morning.

“I was just wondering if you…” You fidget a little. You can feel your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “I wanted a bath.”

“Ah,” he says. “And you need the water turned on?”

You nod, and bite the inside of your cheek. “And the um, the stuff from the cabinets, too.”

“Of course.”

You hear him walk back into his office and retrieve the keys, which jingle slightly as he comes back to the door. You step out of his way and tentatively follow him as he walks in your bathroom, briefly glancing at the note he’d left on the way. There’s a strange anxious tension in the air that’s making you feel nervous, and you can’t shake the odd feeling that you’re being punished somehow, that Kai is annoyed or mad with you.

Even though he’s said nothing to that effect. He simply inserts the keys into the customized water panel and turns the water on for you. He then crouches down and unlocks the cabinet, taking out the basket of supplies--shampoos and soaps and little balls of bath bombs--and setting them on the countertop.

“You can use the hot or cold taps freely. Let me know when you’re finished and I’ll clean up.”

“Kai--” you say, without realizing it. It feels instinctive.

He looks straight at you, eyes impassive as ever. “Yes?”

His gaze makes you stare at the ground. You fiddle with your shirt sleeve. You don’t know why you say it. But it comes out quickly, softly--helplessly.

“Would you… would you set up my bath, like normal? And pick out my clothes?” You look up at him with what you hope are pleading eyes.

He raises his eyebrows.

“Please?” you say, barely above a whisper. “If you’re not busy?”

He waits another moment before answering you from behind his mask. “You want your normal routine?”

You nod, again chewing your lip. You feel childish, ridiculous, but… the routine has become comforting, and you want to be comforted. You want the dull ache in your heart to go away, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

The sight of Kai reaching up to take off his mask makes you want to cry. As he slips it off, you see he’s wearing a small, but approving, smile.

“Of course, angel. Now you just sit on your bed while I set everything just how you like it.”

You can’t help the weak, relieved smile on your face as you sigh and leave the bathroom, ready to sit on your bed and--as he wrote in his note, behave so beautifully. He wasn’t mad at you, he wasn’t annoyed, and things would slip back into normalcy any minute now.

The sound of the running bath, the promise of the gentle heat and rose-scented shampoo that awaits, covers up the pain in your chest. It makes it all the easier to rebury the awful realization that you’re well and truly trapped in this little world he’s created for you.

[blackofheart]

diagon  alley  is  home  to  many  ,  a  direct  connection  to  the  wizarding  world  ,  right  in  the  centre  of  london  ,  many  people  like  bellatrix black  ,  spend  majority  of  her    time  in  the  busy  alley  ,  people  know  her  as  the  thirty-three year old  who  is  a  past  slytherin  graduate  ,  now  working   as  a  unspeakable,  i  think  the  role  suits  them  perfectly  as  i  think  they  are  ambitious but  also  they  can  be  intolerant,  but  that's  just  my  opinion  .  (faceclaim;  Crystal reed, penned by ; laurie/24/gmt )

&. BASICS

full name: bellatrix walburga black. nicknames: bella. age: 34. sexuality: she has never really labelled her sexuality, but she’s drawn to power. birthday: august 5th. place of birth: 12 grimmauld place, islington, london. gender & species: cis female, human, witch. current location: london, england

&. MORE BASIC INFO

languages: english, french and russian,. religion: non-religious, except for perhaps blood supremacy. education: hogwarts (slytherin) -  OWLs, with 6 Os and 3 Es, and NEWTs, with 4 Os and an E. occupation: unspeakable within the death chamber. drinks, smokes, & drugs: frequently, regularly, occasionally

&. PERSONALITY

zodiac sign: leo. MBTI: ESTJ-A, the executive. fears: the fall of blood purity. four positive traits: intelligent, ambitious, loyal, determined. four negative traits: intolerant, unforgiving, manipulative, arrogant

Tw: Bigotry, Violence and Implied: Murder and Torture

chapter one. childhood: 

An heir. That was all that Cygnus Black III wanted. Everything he had done in his life was for The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and, with his older brother Alphard not even betrothed and sister Walburga married to their second cousin but without her own son, when Druella fell pregnant for the first time it was his duty to ensure that they raised the perfect pureblood boy to secure the family legacy. Imagine his disappointment when Bellatrix Walburga Black was born. Eventually, the new father resigned himself to the truth. He assured everybody that his daughter would be raised just as well as any son would be and that his heir would come with the next. It was years before another Black was added to the infamous family tree. Whispers circulated around high society circles, talk that perhaps this was finally the fall of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Now if Cygnus could help it. No longer were they waiting for the heir apparent, he would simply mould one from his oldest daughter.

By the time the younger two Black sisters were born, Bellatrix was already being transformed from future potential pureblood wife to successor to everything The Blacks held dear. Her childhood was filled with occlumency and legilimency lessons, and she much preferred them to the horror stories of etiquette lessons to become the perfect lady that other daughters of the Sacred Twenty-Eight told. She was permitted access to her father’s office, where they would spend hours at a time talking about the purity of their blood, toujours pur, and the threats that faced their very way of life. On many warm Sunday afternoons she chose to visit her Aunt Walburga, preferring to run her hands along the family tapestry rather than play in the sunshine with her sisters and cousins.

chapter two. hogwarts:

By the time she was at Hogwarts, proudly sorted into Slytherin just like every Black before her, she was everything that family expected her to be. Everything they could have wanted. The perfect son her father had never had.

Bellatrix had never been made to be subtle, even as a mere eleven year old she had been outspoken. After all, she had all the confidence of a girl who had been promised the world because of the blood that ran through her veins. She sneered at blood traitors and did worse to muggleborns, landing herself many a detention and building herself a reputation that made her as feared as any of the Slytherin boys she’d associated herself with. She was a favourite of her Head of House, a powerful witch Horace Slughorn couldn’t ignore her potential, but was ultimately rejected as prefect for her behaviour. Truly the young girl hadn’t been bothered. After all, why would she need a shiny badge and the power to grant detentions when she had hexes and curses to throw in the direction of people she felt were undeserving of their Hogwarts’ space?

chapter three. the war:

The summer after her final year at Hogwarts changed Bellatrix’s life. Now an adult, her mother made clear what was expected of her. She may not have been the lady that Druella had once pictured, but that didn’t stop her mother from parading eligible suitor after eligible suitor under her nose. Bella found the whole thing rather boring. Despite the birth of her younger cousins, effectively dethroning her from her once prized position as heir to their fortunes, she still very much considered herself the true heir - after all, she had done the work while they had merely been born boys over a decade later - and didn’t see why she should have to prove herself worthy of any man. Especially when it seems so clear to her she was leagues above anybody her mother suggested. Those long summer days were filled with arguments with her mother, familiar talks with her father, hiding from her annoying cousins and half-reluctantly spending time with her sisters. A routine began to settle. And then she met him. Tom Riddle.

It didn’t take long from that first meeting, where they spoke of the same things she had with her father years before with the teenager hanging onto every word while Riddle offered up his solutions, for her to become enthralled with the man. They would eradicate the unworthy, be able to break free from their secrecy and take what was rightfully theirs. Wizards would live in the light, heads held high and proud rather than forced into hiding out of fear. He had made it all sound so simple. She didn’t hesitate in joining his army, after all the victory would be so much sweeter when she’d been the one to help win the war.

She is a delighted participant in the war. She considers herself an activist, she is fighting for everything she’s been taught to stand for and is upholding values generations of her family have lived by, if the means she uses should be violent then it so be it. She’s never had a problem with squeamishness before. At her core there is anger, fuelled by a fear that the world she loves will give way to the muggle loving blood traitors and the filthy blood that dared to think they could infiltrate their sacred blood. By the time Sirius joins the blood traitors, officially removed from the tapsry she spent hours of childhood admiring, she is not surprised. Now he’s just another enemy with a target on his back as she rises through Riddle’s ranks and becomes one of The Dark Lord’s most trusted soldiers. One of the deadliest too. For those unlucky enough to run into Bellatrix Black on the battlefield it has become apparent that they are unlikely to survive.

She is exactly who she was raised to be. A proud member of the House of Black, a soldier for all she finds righteous, and with a Lestrange heirloom ring sitting on her left hand she even has the perfect pureblood fiancé. What Bellatrix wants she always gets. And now, she wants to win the war.

[cosmicjoke]

Alright, chapter 133 of SnK!

I’ve got a few things I want to talk about here.

One of the things that always strikes me about Levi as a character, indeed, one of his defining character traits, is his coolness under pressure.  His calm demeanor, no matter the circumstances.  One of the interesting things to go into is WHY Levi is like this.  

We see it particularly exemplified in this chapter, I think, and there’s a few examples.  For one, they’ve all just lost Hange as their friend and Commander, and this loss particularly impacts and affects Levi, since he was closer with Hange than any of them.  But rather than allowing his grief to consume and paralyze him, Levi immediately begins trying to contribute when Armin says he wants to go over the plan, bringing up Hange’s theory about Zeke and how killing him might stop the Rumbling, etc...  Then Eren transports them to Paths, and everyone reacts with shock and awe, except Levi, who’s expression is duly unimpressed and unsurprised.  We see this from Levi throughout the series, of course.  Situations that present themselves, new and frightening circumstances which throw everyone for a loop and send people into panic, Levi reacts to with calm collectedness, a distinct LACK of surprise or fear.  He really does stand in sharp contrast with everyone else in this situation.  Everyone there is a seasoned war veteran, at this point, they’ve all been through and seen some truly horrific things.  But they still react with a kind of frantic uncertainty here.  They then begin to plead with Eren, Armin and the rest trying to convince him through any means possible, to stop the Rumbling.  They try to bargain with him, show him empathy, make promises, etc...  They make their desperation obvious by saying whatever they think will appeal to Eren.  Levi is the only one who, I think, is fully honest here.  He tells Eren that if he stops now, he’ll let him off with JUST an ass-kicking.  Levi doesn’t try to placate Eren, or show him sympathy, or empathy, he doesn’t try to be gentle or handle Eren with kid gloves.  He tells him flat out he’s going to beat his ass for what he’s done, but he’ll show him some leniency for stopping by not killing him outright.  The thing is, I think Levi’s known from the start of this whole disaster that talking to Eren wasn’t going to work.  Everyone else was holding out hope that if they could just speak with Eren, he would stop, that they could convince him through words.  But like I talked about in my last post, Levi is someone who’s just seen and experienced too much of life’s brutality and unfairness to blind himself to bleak reality.  When the 104th goes running off after Eren appears to them, to try and reach him, Levi just sits down in the sand and has that resigned expression once more, and his expression continues to show a total lack of surprise when Eren puts the 104th back where they started, before they could ever even get close. Levi isn’t surprised, or even dismayed, I don’t think, at Eren’s refusal to talk, because I think he always knew he wouldn’t be willing to.  That he wouldn’t be interested in hearing anyone’s pleas or promises.  I think Levi always knew Eren was hellbent on this course of action, and it was more or less hopeless, trying to appeal to him.  And once again, I have to restate, I think it’s because Levi’s just experienced too much hardship in his life to cling to false hopes.  He’s world-weary and in many ways a realist, someone not given to delusion or fancy.  

I feel like Levi probably glimpsed this uncompromising, hellish bent in Eren back in Liberio, his mercenary compulsion to follow through on whatever plan he had, which is why Levi was so disgusted by him on the airship back then.  He saw a lack of mercy in Eren, and it reminded him of the brutes Levi grew up with in the Underground.  Not just a willingness, but a desire to take from others to satisfy himself.  It’s why, when they’re all transported back to the plane, while everyone else looks horrified and in shock at Eren’s refusal to talk, Levi looks as unflustered as ever, and states with a matter of fact tone that negotiations are over, before asking Armin what it is they do now.  None of this is surprising to Levi.

Levi’s look of despair throughout this final arc continues to strike me as his resignation in the ugliness of humanity and the useless, pointless suffering they inflict on one another.  He’s depressed, and disappointed, because everything happening around them is only a confirmation of all the worst things Levi saw and experienced, growing up.

All this ties into another point I want to discuss, which is Levi’s relationship with Jean, actually.  I’ve found the relationship between the two of them really interesting since way back in the Uprising arc, when Jean was the most vocal in condemning Levi for his violence, declaring with certainty that he would never kill another person.  Jean is disabused of his moralistic superiority not long after that, when he learns first hand the consequences of sticking to ones morals uncompromisingly, nearly losing his life, and forcing Armin to take a life for him.  And it’s Jean who we see, again and again from that point on in the series, grappling with and coming to terms with this difficult lesson.  We see Jean’s respect for Levi, and his understanding towards Levi, grow greatly, after this incident, and Jean himself having to grow, to change and accept that sacrifices are inevitable if one wishes to protect the things and people they care about.  That sometimes even one’s own comfort and moral convictions are necessary sacrifices to achieve those things.  

Levi tells everyone that he’ll take care of Zeke, but admits that he’ll need all of their help to get the job done.  I feel like this is Levi, once again, asking if all of them are ready and willing to get their hands dirty, just like he did before they raided the Cavern underneath the Church on the Reiss property.  He knows he can’t do this job by himself (which is just further testament to Levi’s strength of character, an ability to admit to weakness), but he wants to make sure everyone else is alright with plunging in to a situation in which they’re going to be forced to kill.  Jean is the first to answer, telling Levi and all of them that he’s not going to let the sacrifices they’ve already made, the people they’ve killed in order to get where they are, be in vain, and that he’ll do whatever it takes to stop the Rumbling.  This shows incredible character growth on Jean’s part.  He went from someone who claimed that he would, under no circumstances, take another human life, to someone who declares that he’ll do whatever it takes in order to stop the Rumbling, to achieve a greater good.  And I think this growth on Jean’s part ties directly into his relationship with and the influence of Levi.  Levi never judged Jean for being uncomfortable with killing, never criticized or scolded him for it.  He even told Jean that he couldn’t say, one way or the other whether Jean’s beliefs were right or wrong.  That Levi himself didn’t know the answer to that.  He never tried to convince Jean of anything.  He just told him the truth.  That his failure to kill had put the lives of his comrades in danger, including his own, and that it also caused Armin to have to bear the burden of killing another, one which should have been Jean’s own to bear.  All of that is absolutely true.  And it was really through this lack of judgment on Levi’s part that, I think, Jean was able to grow and expand his own views on killing, and adjust and allow for there to be circumstances in his world view which would justify taking another life.  He wasn’t forced by anyone to change his views.  He changed them based on experience and through Levi explaining to him that there is no definitive right or wrong answer to be found, and through Levi’s simply being honest with him.  He was telling Jean that it comes down to what one is willing to sacrifice in order to protect the things and people they value.  And Jean learned about himself that he’s willing and able to sacrifice more than he ever realized.

But it’s still a struggle, and something all of them, even at this point in the story, continue to battle themselves over.  We see Connie struggling in particular this chapter, looking anguished over what he had to do back at the port.  It’s only Levi who accepts that brutal reality of kill or be killed with a calm understanding, and I think this is probably because, unlike the rest of them, who all had peaceful, probably relatively easy and happy childhoods, without any exposure to violence or real cruelty, Levi, I think it can be safely assumed, probably took his first life while he was still a boy.  And doubtless, that was due to desperate circumstances.  Levi’s life has been one filled with uncertainty.  Growing up in extreme poverty, he never could have known with any certainty where his next meal would come from, or when.  Never knew with any certainty whether he could find proper shelter for the night, or a safe place to sleep.  Never knew with any certainty whether he would be assaulted, or robbed, or if someone would attempt to take his life.  Levi’s life has been one of desperation and a true, unforgiving struggle to simply survive.  And so while all of his comrades have seen and experienced the horrors of war with him, none of them can know with the same level of understanding that true kind of desperation of simply trying to live day to day, that kind of awful and overwhelming uncertainty and fear of not knowing if you’ll be alive from one day to the next.  It’s those kinds of experiences in life that really separate Levi from the rest of his comrades, and in a lot of ways, isolate him from them.  It’s why the extremity of their circumstances and the desperation of their situation in this final arc continually shocks and overwhelms them, but Levi regards it all with his usual, if deeply saddened, calm.