#but it's like the escalation point so it has to be built carefully

[youre-not-a-cat-youre-a-rat]

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[chaedomi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 ✦ twtptflob

fem!child!reader x the black agriche; minus fontaine (platonic!yan), violence, death, unhealthy relationships, everyone somehow finding a way to terrorize reader, the agriche family as a whole; flowers come in assorted colors and produce sweet nectar. as a result, flowers attract various kinds of butterflies, even the so-called deadly ones. pt. 2 ꨄ — masterlist

YOUR MOTHER was already a laughing stock and a huge disgrace to The Black Agriche. Due to this, she was confined to her room, away from the disgusted eyes that followed her form with every step she took. Her reputation further decreased when word spread in the household that she gave birth to a baby girl… a sickly one at that. Was she trying to ruin the image The Black Agriche carefully built for years!?

When LANTE found out, he was beyond livid. The disdain he held for your mother was very evident as the slightest hint of her has him in a sour mood and heads rolling. Still, he gave her a chance to redeem herself; birth a worthy child was all he commanded. However, the ending result only proved that she was indeed a useless woman.

Nobody could have stopped him from what he did next, not even the wails and desperate pleas of his other wife that knelt helplessly on the ground. Unleashing his bloodlust, your mother was brutally killed. The only ones spared were his other wife and you, as he deemed it foolish to judge you as a newborn. Perhaps your state was only temporary and as you grew older, you would impress him.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Although you weren’t sick, you grew to be a rather fragile individual. The littlest pressure has you crumpling in pain, wheezing breathlessly. A disappointment, really. Nevertheless, he kept giving you another chance to prove yourself. When you fail, he gives another and another, and another, and another-

It was then he realized how lenient he has been with you out of all people. Why he hasn’t diced you into a pile of meat as he claimed each time was beyond him. Every time you made a fault, he found himself scrambling for a reason to excuse your deplorable actions. It was unlikely of him and bothered him to a large extent.

Having enough of the confusing emotions you struck within him, an order was sent out, requesting your presence. Understandably, you were petrified as it was not common for the Head of The Agriche Family to express interest in seeing anyone out of the blue. And with an amused smirk, he watched as you nervously eat the desserts brought by the servants before dismissing you from his private room.

He continued doing this, either inviting you to the room or seeking you outside, the extreme feelings he experienced deepening with every interaction he held with you. Eventually, it escalated to a point where he didn’t want you to leave his side. He soon concluded that he will never understand what aspect of yours drew this uncharacteristic side out of him. And oddly enough… he was at peace with it. Maybe your mother was capable of doing good. Hmm…

Effortlessly, the killer of your mother lifted you from your seat. A touch meant to be comforting caused shockwaves of discomfort and fear to travel up your spine. His expression was unreadable, scrutinizing gaze never leaving your form. Eyes resembling the crimson red of blood, the picture was forever burned into your memory.

“...How strange.”

Unsurprisingly to most, SIERRA was the best friend of your mother. Looking past the horrible rumors that lingered inside the household about your mother, she decided to befriend her. And boy, was she relieved, discovering that your mother was nothing like the rumors had stated, no, your mother was just a sweet, harmless woman. The moments spent were very wholesome and a change of pace from the insanity that lingered in the household.

Though… everything went crashing down when your mother became pregnant with you. Don’t misunderstand Sierra… she was overjoyed over the announcement of you. What frightened her so much was that your mother fell terribly ill and without much reason. When your mother expressed her concerns about your health, Sierra also felt dread, wanting nothing horrible to happen to you. While it’s not related to health, Sierra knew what it’s like to be worried about your child’s well-being; she knew it all too well. Bless her kind-hearted soul, she hoped your mother would never experience the pain she was put through.

But, it appeared as though her prayers and hopes were all for naught as you were born sickly and frail. And aware of the monstrosity that will arise afterward, her heart shattered into a million pieces. Still, her knowledge of this evil pattern will never emotionally nor mentally prepare her for the disastrous event. Oh, she hated how powerless she was. Her screams, wails, and pleas were futile, having to witness the execution of her beloved friend at the hands of her husband. Why must the people she loves suffer so much?

She was left alone in the room, sobbing into her palm. Had it not been for the soft wails of your newborn self, she would have remained there on the ground, allowing the coolness of the tiles to seep onto her skin as she wept to her heart’s content. Frantically leaping to her feet and momentarily pushing her grief aside, she scooped your bundled self in her arms, listening to you calm down as a woeful frown etched itself onto her lips. Blinking away the stray tears in the corner of her eyes, she hugged you closer to her chest, rocking you slowly. She might as well enjoy what was left of her beloved friend.

History surely had its cruel way of repeating itself. As you aged, you developed a lovely personality; innocent and pure, contrasting the sadistic and aggressive personas the rest of your family members owned. Why it destroyed her the way it did was because your traits were on par with her deceased son, Ashil. Just what did she do to relive such a nightmare?

By some miracle, Lante seemed to favor you tremendously. The stress that was lifted from her shoulders was refreshing. …It was especially difficult to ignore how extremely clingy Sierra was toward you. Every hour of the day, every second, Sierra insisted to be by your side, never allowing you a moment of isolation. Even so, her clinginess will never compare to how overprotective she was. God forbid if you got injured in her sight, or somehow managed to sneak away from her watchful eyes for too long. She will fall into hysterics, holding onto the little thread of sanity she possessed as she smothers you with overbearing attention.

You almost screamed in terror at the figure looming above you. Thankfully, your brain reacted quicker as you identified the figure as your stepmother. What mostly unnerved you was not the fact that she most likely might have been watching you sleep, but how… lifeless she looked. You didn’t know she was able to make such a face. Quietly, you called out to her which successfully snapped her out of her trance. Wordlessly, the woman sunk to her knees and wrapped her arms around your small body, stuffing her face in your torso. Regardless of your utter confusion as to why she visited you in the dead of night, you returned the gesture, spurring her to tears. Doesn’t look like she’ll be leaving anytime soon…

“...It could have been you as well…”

When Sierra says she’s going to stay with you, she means that she is staying with you. She does a good job of it as well, much to your dismay. But her whimpers every time you tried to run away always filled you with guilt, grounding you next to her. And thus, due to Sierra’s stubbornness to leave you alone, this is how MARIA met you.

It was a bright and sunny day, the flowers were in season, and birds were chirping merrily… it was the perfect condition to host a tea party! What better way to relax under this glorious weather than to enjoy tea and desserts with her favorite guests? So excitedly, Maria sent invitations.

Sierra was one of the last few to arrive. When Maria went to greet her, what she wasn’t expecting was two instead of one. Honestly speaking… Maria did not care for both you and your mother. Yes, she has heard of the gossip of your mother circulating among the Agriche Wives, and yes, she has heard the talk of your birth. But for someone who has never seen you or your mother before, there was only so much fuel she could add to the fire.

Her eyebrows were raised as Sierra timidly states that she brought someone along. Since Sierra was mostly alone, it was a surprise to her. Though all questions died down in her throat when she caught a glimpse of you.

The umbrella that was tightly grasped in her hand fell to the ground, her jaw slackening as she stared at you with blown eyes. …Was it even possible to be more beautiful than Sierra and her daughter combined!? You were just as pretty as a flower!

Not much explanation was needed, she immediately fell head over heels for you. Forget the fact you came uninvited, come relax and have some tea! Squealing with a skip in her step, she snatched you from Sierra's side, ushering you to a comfortable seat where she and all the ladies present fussed over you. …You left with a stomach bursting from sweets that day…

Unfortunately, gaining Maria's affection means you're subjected to her bizarre actions. If you had Sierra visiting your room in the dead of night, you had Maria visiting your room at the crack of dawn. You've woken up to her beaming face far too many times to count…

Braiding your hair, dressing up, and playing pretend are Maria's favorite activities with you and they always end with her pinching your cheeks and kissing them before she leaves. She really wanted to lock you up for herself, a cute little doll all for her to admire, pamper and cherish.

Maria was very cheerful and a bit eccentric, so you mostly felt at peace in her presence. …But that all changed when you stayed at a party longer than you should have. What you saw was like a wake-up call for you, unless they were Sierra, no matter how sweet they make themselves appear, they were still an Agriche, dehumanized, and evil.

You suddenly felt the dessert you ate creep up your throat as you stared at the servant's corpse... what was left of it, at least. The spoon you used to eat the treat slipped from your fingers, falling onto the table with a loud rattle. Your second stepmother, the murderer, was unbothered by it all, a devilish smile occupying her doll-like features, calming dishing out orders for the servant’s body to be fed to the beastly creatures that resided inside the mansion. At the sight of you, her sadistic smile morphed into one filled with pure adoration. She made her way to you giddily and squeezed you into a hug, uncaring of the evidence of her killing smearing all over your body. Frozen, you just stood there as she lovingly pressed a sweet kiss on your cheek.

"My! Aren't you such a Cutie Pie!"

The first time she saw you, she only gave you a glance… before she almost stumbled over as she did a double take. Once she regained her composure, in quick, long strides, ROXANA closed the distance between you both, firmly placing a gloved hand on your shoulder. You flinched, nearly shooting off the ground. The hallways were pretty much empty, so where the hell did she randomly emerge from?

Her stare intimidated you as her eyes were practically glaring holes into your body. It remained that way for a while, her hand on your shoulder as she stared, you, too scared out of your mind to even breathe properly. Soon, her hard stare turned soft, her reddened lips curling into her iconic smile.

Do you know how long she has waited to see you? The answer, she’s been waiting for years. The Abysmal Flower is a book that was offered to her by a school friend in her previous life… to which she initially detested reading because of the triggering contents the novel entailed… but she got past that. Because of all the dark themes, your character was an abnormality in the novel so to speak, especially when you were a member of The Black Agriche. The Black Agriche was known for its criminal activities… Fraud, Theft, Drugs & Poison, and most importantly murder, taking away lives without batting an eyelid.

You didn't belong with that, choosing peace as a method rather than violence. You were just a poor unfortunate soul inside a den filled with savages. It was a custom tradition in the household to eliminate those who stood outside their reputation as it displayed signs of weakness. But you remained unharmed by their gruesome acts. You see, the book portrayed you as possessing this indescribable charm where people feel more inclined to protect you than to harm you. Clearly, The Black Agriche was under this so-called charm of yours. It also extended to the novel’s heroine, Sylvia, who despite hating The Black Agriche, fell in love with you because of your angelic nature, viewing you as a younger sibling. Sadly, blinded by her rage and sorrow over the news of her brother’s killing, she wiped you out with the rest… falling into deeper despair after realizing she destroyed you as well.

Admittingly, Roxana held a grudge over Sylvia and the authors for that stunt. You were her favorite character by far and had so much potential. So even though the alarms blared loudly as her mind registered that she reincarnated as an Agriche and the trials that come along with the name, she was buzzing from glee now that she had a chance to see you… years after.

But after that ‘incident’ and the daily nuisances, she ought to handle for survival, the thought of you slowly slipped from her mind… until now. While no one will stupidly lay a finger on you inside the household, the same cannot be said for some outside the household. The Black Agriche has made quite the amount of enemies, after all. You being the favored one, including your predicament will make you a big target of these enemies. Thus, Roxana does her best to add extra security to your life.

Whenever she gets the chance, she will constantly check on you. If not, she will simply send one of her butterflies to always be updated about your whereabouts. Don’t you see? Whatever she does, it’s done in your favor… So, please enlighten her as to why you appear to be so antsy around her. She hasn’t done anything wrong, has she? She didn’t know you had a dramatic side… but, oh well, that’s endearing too.

She was nice to you, very very nice. For some reason though, it scared you more than it flattered you. You were unsure of why, but your instincts always screamed at you to avoid the blonde. She hasn’t done anything for you to fear her, only spoiling you with exquisite gifts and jewelry. But after what happened with your second stepmother… you didn’t want to take chances. A gloved thumb distracted you from your thoughts, gently caressing your cheek. Lifting your gaze, you peered into reddened hues, an emotion you were unable to decipher swirling in them. She smiled at you fondly, cooing even. Placing your hands on your lap, you smiled back, ignoring the nauseating churn in your stomach.

“Did I perhaps do something wrong? No? Then you don’t mind staying longer with your Big Sister, right~?”

Roxana’s extreme adoration for you had JEREMY torn between anxiety and anger. It’s already bad enough that he had to share his sister’s attention with the god-forsaken Blue Pedelian but now a whiny baby has come to steal the remainder of his spotlight!? He’s NOT happy. I mean, he was there longer than both you AND him. Though, it seems that his sister favors you more than the horny dog… Not that it makes it any better. It’s still annoying.

Jeremy has mentioned this several times to his sister, mostly about you. It was obvious he was jealous, but his complaints stemmed deeper than jealousy, it was fear that his sister will leave him if she attaches herself to others. Growing up in a loveless household was beyond excruciating and his sister, being the first one to treat him like a human and not a weapon, he continuously yearned for her affection. He didn’t want to return to what it was before, and if denying his sister interactions with others stopped that, he’s all in for it. Reassuring words from his sister, however, washed away the little panic inside him.

Still, it lingered on his mind, you. His sister doesn’t mention anyone just like that; if she does, it certainly isn’t to that extent. She’s always smiling, her eyes glitter in excitement, and she rambles on and on, very unusual for her. At least you make her happy… Nevermind. He’s still bitter about the whole thing.

In time, he finally asks his sister if he can meet the person that caught her eye. It could be anyone, considering the ungodly amount of siblings he had and since she was heading to where you were located, he might as well tag along too. His sister’s hesitation didn’t escape his eye, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. Looks like you held more value to her than he first presumed…

After contemplating her answer for a while, she gave in, beckoning him closer with a finger. As they walked together, she told him you were the shy type, and it's highly advised that he doesn't do something to overwhelm you. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not… but he felt as though there was a subtle threat underlying her words… Soon enough, they arrived at your bedroom doors.

What did you look like? What kind of person truly are you? His sister paints you a good light, going so far saying you were an angel descended from the heavens. But what if there was a dark side you skillfully concealed? That you were just another savage under the disguise of an innocent? It’s not like he doubted his sister’s judgment… just simply concerned for her well-being.

Well, he'll be damned. And slightly ashamed too. Look at you… you were so frail… and gentle too. The way you touched Roxana and spoke with her, (god, your VOICE!) was so soft, musical, and pleasing to the ears. He kind of flinched when the conversation held between you and his sister switched to him, his sister gesturing to him with a hand. His heart warmed, seeing how your big-doe eyes looked at him, the beautiful hue of them twinkling with curiosity.

Most recoil from his touch but, you reached out to him, interlacing your tiny fingers with his. He noticed how your hand trembled, looks like Roxana was correct, you were the shy type. Even so, you overcame your anxiety to greet him! Him! The final blow was the sweet giggle that escaped your lips, swinging your hand in his. Forget Angel, you were Heaven Sent.

It was very silly how easily he fell under your control, but can you blame him? When was the last time someone treated him with genuine kindness and affection other than his sister? He visited you a lot after that, to your surprise. You thought it was a one-time thing, but here he is, bringing spoils and stuffed animals every day. At that point, you had to ask for another room to store your gifts from him… Jokes and banter are common between you two, him doing most of the interaction, pinching your cheeks, and tickling your sides. Jeremy… turns out to be more childish than you, who is a child, and that said something. It amazed you when he’s on the verge of falling onto the ground and crying out whenever you declined his time with you.

Then there were instances that he was similar to a cat, cute and loving to the people he cherishes, pissy and hostile to others when they come near his cherished. What you hated about him was his ugly jealousy streak and the damage he brings with it. It can annoying when someone you like doesn’t spend much time with you as you’d like, but was it really worth bashing their head into the floor?

You walked hand-in-hand with your brother who hummed merrily. As for you, you were in a state of shock, silent as your mind tried to process what had happened prior earlier. Why did he… kill the servant? They were being nice to you were they not? It was just a lovely fresh-picked flower they wanted to gift out of the goodness of their heart. To you, you thought it was the prettiest one you’ve ever seen so far, the vibrant color palette reminding you of yourself. Mesmerized you were very close to taking the pretty thing, your chubby hands reaching to clasp at the plant. In the BLINK of an eye, the servant was no longer in their spot, the flower soaking in a puddle of blood on the ground, and your hands outstretched. The liquid was also splattered on your face, little droplets spluttered on your dress. In front of you was your brother, an enraged face overtaking his features. And underneath his boot was… the servant that offered the flower to you. What just happened…? Shrugging off how your irises dilated as he came closer, he knelt to the ground, scooping the flower from its puddle. And with a beaming smile, he patted your head, giving the bloodied flower to you instead.

“They’re out of their fuckin’ minds if they think I’d allow them to taint you.”

After your encounter with Roxana, she basically took over the role of bodyguard away from Sierra. Then you appreciated Sierra more, for mingling in Roxana’s presence had you stiffer than a board. The evening was a stormy one, the raindrops harshly beating against the roof, the low rumbles of thunder, and the faint flashes of lightning. For some odd reason, Roxana wanted to take a walk with you in this weather. You didn’t want to, but one word of hers led to another, and now you’re here. Too bad you were too scared to speak up.

Suddenly, she told you she had to run a small errand. It won’t take long, she insisted, and just like that, you were left “unsupervised” in the middle of the hallway. When you wanted to be left alone, you didn’t mean it like this. The hallways were eerily vacant and your room was nowhere nearby. The setting didn’t ease your growing anxiety; it was straight out of a horror novel where anything was capable of jumping you at any given moment. So… imagine how your soul left your body when you glanced over your shoulder, only to make eye contact with a face.

Gasping loudly, you spun around and stumbled backward, your small hands clutching at your clothes. Hair dark as the night sky, eyes red as blood… How did your father manage to silence his footsteps…? And most importantly, what could he possibly want from you…?  The deep frown he wore is a bad sign… Did you finally manage to push your father over the edge!?

The distant sound of heels hastily clacking against the floor trickled into your ears. Shortly after Roxana came into view, panting heavily as she shot a firey glare at the figure in front of you followed by a trail of threats. How did she have the courage to do that!? Did she not fear your father’s wrath? More so, why was he not responding? And who is this DION!? Too confused to study your fear of your sister when she lifted you into her arms, you wrapped your arms around her neck staring at a smirk creeping on who you assumed to be your father’s face.

The days continued smoothly (as the routine with Lante, Sierra, Maria, Roxana, and Jeremy occurred too often to be considered strange) and you lived your life as best as possible. But that was just the calm before the storm… 

Jumping from your seat, the porcelain cup slipped from your hands, shattering on the ground and spilling the milk. Your heart was hammering in your chest and your skin grew ice cold. Maria, Sierra, and the women present at the tea party also freaked out, the former rushing to both of your sides as they attempted to soothe your panicking self.

But that was a mistake for as soon as Maria touched you, you broke down into a fit of tears. They were confused, you were fine seconds ago! Was it perhaps the milk you drank with your biscuits that caused this!? Well, that certainly wouldn't slip by!

However, was that the answer to your panic? No. Someone was… watching you. It wasn't a normal glance… but rather one that instilled apprehensiveness in the hearts of numerous, and unfortunately, it was geared toward you. Left, right, and back, you frantically looked around, trying to identify who it was the person that had you so distraught. But, you couldn't, which made you cry harder and flail your arms about.

You knew the situation was very bad that the noise caught the attention of Lante, summoning him inside the greenhouse where the tea party was hosted. He was disgruntled, unsure of what to do. He didn't train himself to be a proper parent, so how should he know how to tame a crying child no less?

The best option he thought of was to carry you to your bed quarters and your stepmothers quickly complied, Maria whispering sweet nothings into your ears as she carried you, and Sierra lurking not too far behind.

There was some fun in isolation, you thought, as you found solace in the confinement of your room. Whenever you tried to stay outside in the company of others, so did the feeling of being watched return, the dread worsening the smaller the crowd gets. The feeling always disappeared when you were alone in your room, or by yourself… hold on, did you just hear your bedroom door lock?

This man was not your father. It made sense now why your sister treated him with disrespect. If he was not your father, could he possibly be one of your siblings? Though he looks like him, a carbon copy you think, he was sure far worse than your father in personality. Dull, apathetic, and very sadistic. He had no regard for life either as he shamelessly killed the maid assigned to you in front of your eyes. Even when the blood splattered on his face, he showed no emotion, maintaining eye contact with you. Could he be the one that was watching you all this time? Why did he wait to approach you when you were alone? Have you upset him in some way? Was he going to slaughter you next? All these questions ran through your head, unknowingly letting the tears gathered in your eyes run down your cheeks. This caught his attention, the smirk you remembered him having on your first encounter spreading on his lips. Kneeling in front of your bed, uncaring of how you trembled in his company, he reached out a hand, rubbing his finger tenderly against your cheek. It was sick how he found satisfaction that he evoked such a reaction from you. A teardrop fell onto his finger and he brought it to his lips, tasting it. What was meant to be salty, the flavor burst with sweetness in his mouth.

“I wonder what other reactions I can get from you.”

Weak… Fragile… Gentle… Pure… Innocent… How are you surviving in this god-forsaken household? It’s even more amusing to witness the same man, her father, protect what he firmly strived to kill. And that’s how GRISELDA formed a great interest in you, the youngest of The Black Agriche. She remembers clearly, a conversation she held with one of her younger half-sisters years ago, the person responsible for knocking her out of her top three rankings. Smiling happily with her fingers interlaced underneath her chin, she promised to show her something that will greatly humor her.

You may not have been the ‘thing’ her sister was referring to, nevertheless, it was not an unwelcomed one. Ah, she wonders, how long has it been since she has had that spark of interest? The day her sibling died in front of her eyes, feelings such as love became foreign to her. But, you? You restored these lost feelings of hers from first sight. She was stupefied when it happened, her body overflowing with spontaneous bursts of energy.

Truth be told, she had an eye on you for the longest while now, aching to meet you in person at least once. But, curse her hectic schedule to hell, leaving her no choice but to satisfy her curiosity about you from the little stories told by her other half-siblings. For the first time, she had felt a sense of ugly envy… Will they know of it though? No.

Fate was cruel to her, she thinks. First, to take away her sibling she loved, and second, to present, oh, such an ethereal gift, just to keep it away from her arm's length having to watch down on you from the villa’s balcony, scurrying about with her other siblings. For now, she’ll keep it that way, looking at you with a sober expression from afar, but still offering you exquisite gifts to make you aware of her existence.

It was another gift that seemed to spawn alive onto your dressing table, probably from your anonymous gift-giver. You had asked your siblings, including your stepmother who would occasionally step inside if they were the ones responsible, to which they all responded with a ‘no.’ You wondered if it were a servant that did it, but after what transpired with the previous one, you doubted anyone outside your family will be willing to take such a risk. This time, the gift was sitting in a glass vase, filled with water. In the vase were the flowers you adored with the lovely aroma. Happily, you whiffed the scent. Picking up the note that came with the gift, it read, ‘These flowers reminded me of you. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do… Sincerely, Griselda.’

“Don’t die on me, Little Sister. I won’t allow it~”

You were very confused to see a red-headed girl on her hands and knees, panting heavily for air. She was shaken too, a sickly color to her pale skin and the cold sweat that ran down the exposed parts of her body. But as you caught the dim red glow in the corner of your eye, as well as the faint sound of wings flapping, you were able to put two-and-two together; the girl was most likely tormented by Roxana’s infamous killer butterflies.

You pitied her, knowing what those butterflies were capable of, one almost biting your finger clean off your hand in one instance. But, that was just a sole butterfly you dealt with, she must have encountered several. And from one victim to another, you approached her shaking form in the hopes of comforting her.

Though… it seems she didn’t appreciate the sentiment… the fiery stare she gave you in response shut you up quickly and almost made you lose your bowels right there. Screaming insults and curses, she sprang to her feet and shoved past you, storming off to where she wanted to go. You just stood there in your spot, wide-eyed with your hands on your chest. Well, that’s what you get for roping yourself into situations that didn’t concern you…

From her outburst, you didn’t anticipate seeing her again, nor do you think she would want to see you. So her interrupting the tea party with yourself in the garden the next day startled you. Overcoming your shock, you smiled at her and invited her to join you and enjoy a couple of biscuits. She stuck her nose into the air and gawked at you as though you’d grown two heads… but still agreed. You did most of the talking, shortly learning her name, CHARLOTTE, and her exchanging haughty remarks here and then. It was a decent event…

If only you knew what exactly your brief display of kindness unconsciously resigned yourself to. Charlotte… was awfully demanding. After the tea party, Charlotte appeared by you very frequently, ordering that you drop whatever it was you were doing, and spend time with her. It could be one of the most important things you had to handle and she would not care. You could be with one of your siblings and she would not care. You could be sick and worn out, she will NOT care. If she wants to be with you, it will be now, no time for discussion. Just TRY to say no, it won’t do you any good. You said yes a lot, mostly because of your fear of what she will do if you deprive her of what she desired. She already made you petrified with a glare, how much worse will it be once she reaches her limit and lashes out? You have no ability to defend yourself when the time comes, so why should you cause trouble? Give in and avoid the unnecessary problem.

She was shaking with fury, hands angrily pulling at her puffy pigtails. How dare they…? HOW DARE THEY!? Are they stupid!? What do you mean you can’t spend time with her!? YOU BOTH ALWAYS SPEND TIME TOGETHER AT THIS TIME! WHY was she and him getting in her way of being with YOU!? They have to be stupid! While she went through an internal crisis, you clutched at your clothes, tears pricking at your eyes. Her green eyes were practically glowing with wrath from the hatred she harbored for your older sister and brother! She was also on the verge of snapping, that you can tell. She was losing all of her morality the longer they denied her what she wanted. You would have excused yourself long ago, but when she’s like this, that’s not the ideal option, for she may do something regrettable to you. Stepping behind your sister, your ears twitched at the sound of a whip cracking, inclusive of a butterflies’ wings, indicating the start of a full-on brawl.

“GO AWAY! Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something!?”

And finally… YOU! How do you feel about your family's attention to you? You never saw how other families interact with their kin… but you knew that what your family was doing was wrong. It was dangerous and obsessive. Would you tell them that? No. Unless you wish to suffer a fate worse than death by confronting them, you will keep your silence until all the odds are in your favor.

They were the butterflies, your mannerisms and kindness as the sweet nectar and color that attracted them, and you, their delicate flower.

©chaedomi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of the works published.

[sergle]

(re: sssniperwolf and jacksfilms) It's laughable that she escalated it that hard. Don't get me wrong, I'm pretty sure stalking him like that is illegal and it's terrifying regardless, but Jack said in a stream (can't remember which one) that he wasn't about bringing up past controversies of hers or cancelling. And now she shows up outside his house (wtf!!!). Like he was willing to only call her out for stealing and freebooting but she's gone and stalked him and Jack doesn't seem like the type of guy to take that shit. Actual WTF moment from her part. wild

omg long post below bc apparently I have opinions: YES!! THAT'S WHAT'S SO INCREDIBLE ABOUT THIS... Jack has been genuinely diligent about keeping things on-topic in his streams, and hasn't brought up any of her other Stuff, or anything Personal. Despite the fact that she kickstarted the whole thing by making it INCREDIBLY personal and attacking his physical appearance... His goal has been to call out and bring attention to content theft, and he's stuck with it. Dude's also cared about this for years, and she's not the first content thief he's criticized. He just hates the way that freebooting has become so accepted-- to the point where youtube praised her for "coming up with such creative video ideas"? Hey! Ew! Dude wasn't trying to get her cancelled though, there was no smear campaign of her character. He's been rallying to get her to CREDIT the creators that she relies on for all of her content. It would set a precedent for all other "react" channels on the platform for one of the biggest channels on youtube to actually give credit where credit is due. Or, god forbid, get permission first? It's not hard. It's already done the job of making some other people who do "react content" self-analyze whether or not their content is transformative, and to maybe care about crediting the creators they rely on for their genre to work. There is a way to make this kind of video that isn't so slimy. And making fun of her lackluster-at-best reactions is so far from even being a big deal. Bc she literally does just sit there and say nothing. Plus, his goal has a clear End built into it: if she started shouting out the creators she takes content from, and put links directly to their pages in her video descriptions, the job would be done! That's what he's asking her to do. Real bare minimum stuff. It legit would have been easy to steer away from the content theft and to also talk about her history of lying to her audience! her ghosting a dying kid with cancer who was a big fan of hers! the fact that she's been arrested for armed robbery! her history of transphobia! He would also get more clicks that way, which is what she claims is his sole goal- to get more clicks. I'll bring it up though! She's been a terrible person the whole time, and has kept a steady course of manipulating her audience of young children and/or, let's be completely honest, simps- into thinking that she's a Wholesome creator. (And now, into thinking she's an innocent victim.) All of the actual effort put in by her has gone toward optics, not the content she puts out. A carefully constructed online persona, for one, but also literal appearances. Jack totally can't say this, bc she already went off the handle and said the only reason he doesn't like her is bc he Hates To See A Woman Be Successful. But I can! That was a cheap shot for her to use that argument when, for once, it's not applicable! Much the opposite, even! Dudes online wouldn't go to bat for her if she didn't look the way she does. And it weakens any case she'd have against him by making baseless claims like that. She banks hugely on being an attractive woman to get her clicks/following. A massive amount of effort is put into her appearance. The makeup, the lip fillers, putting her hair in little pigtails, the chokers and tube tops, the big non-prescription Nerd Glasses, the thumbnails where she has her mouth open in That Expression?

I don't even have to say anything. But making a weird facial expression and putting your hair in pigtails aren't moral failings. Showing up at someone's real life home (whose address you shouldn't even have access to), filming the front of their house at night, doxxing them to your audience of millions of people? Because you were mad at them online? That is fully scary! Yeah girl I'm pretty sure that Jack can press charges! There is absolutely no way to take the moral highground now that she's literally stalked him, and doxxed his home. She tried to goad him and Erin (Jack's wife) out of the house, also, which creeps me out even more-- because what was she planning to do? The fact that she's been arrested for violent crime before does pop into my mind! lmao! Jack was streaming a game at the time that she was outside his home, and these clips of him, his friends, and Erin reacting in real time to what is genuinely a scary situation have been taken down in case he needs to use them in legal action. Shit is legitimately serious!

[jojotier]

working on a couple og fiction projects and i think i'm slowly coming to understand why Hussie shit the bed so hard after cascade like, metatextually

because like [S] Cascade was a full on Culmination right. a good amount of the plotlines up until that point had reached a sufficiently gorgeous climax, there was the possibility of it developing even more, and the stakes had been overcome even though they were at an all-time high.

like they had to destroy two entire universes for this sun! three of the main characters die and come back as Gods! the score is absolutely banging and thematically appropriate, the visuals are stunning, the way the website itself changes is insane. Newgrounds fucking Breaks. homestuck becomes the webcomic that breaks Newgrounds

But the thing is... how do you top that, narratively?

Hussie has already established that death kinda doesn't mean anything. It has now been established that entire universes can be destroyed without the really main core cast being hurt. It's a taste of the 'escape the narrative' end that Homestuck was always building to but the problem is, this time, even when they escape their own narrative-

they're just stuck in another narrative. back to square one. and like, there's something to be said about that! about escaping your narrative (the beta session) and then finding yourself in someone else's (the alpha session)- but that never really gets utilized to its full potential in Act 6.

so like you're Andrew Hussie and you're seeing that everyone is expecting incredible things from you. your little webcomic has somehow attracted legions of fans, ensnared a team of musicians and coders and artists who are in love with what you have built, and changed fandom culture also. that is a Lot Of Pressure. so how do you continue the story after Cascade?

I feel like the impulse of the artist is to escalate. It is always to escalate. And that's all exasperated by the nature of continuous long-form content that has an audience to give its reactions in real time.

It's an impulse I struggle with a hell of a lot, because the thing is, there's a certain expectation you as an artist, you as a writer, have set in place for your audience. You have promised an experience and it is your job to deliver that experience. And it's not that you've promised to give fans the experience they expect, or even want necessarily, but you've promised to give them an experience in line with your vision.

But the thing is, sometimes your vision needs to be reworked along the way. Sometimes your ambitions get the best of you and you aim slightly too high, and when you look to the future every carefully laid plan is a kinked out mess. But you can't share those fears because just as you have given the audience the expectation of what your art is, you have given them an expectation of who you as an artist are, even indirectly.

if you have this veneer of irony and insincerity, people will expect it. if you give the veneer that you know exactly what you're doing and that everything is part of a grand plan, the audience will believe it, at least at first. if you have just created one of the biggest cultural phenomena in recent memory, they will expect you to be the kind of person who would have been able to create such a thing.

I don't want to speculate about what Hussie might've been personally feeling because like, I was 13 when Cascade dropped, nor do I want to speculate on any arrogance or insecurities he might've had, because that's real personal shit that has no place in the conversation.

but I can tell you that when you don't expect something to blow up, and it does, there's a certain fear of the thing you have created. You see the audience reaction as you write and there will always be the question in the back of your mind: where is the point where people lose interest?

so the impulse of the artist is to try and escalate and to keep attention on them at all costs. and thus, the impulse of the writer is to jump straight into finding the next bigger thing- the next white whale- the next thing to top their Cascade- while forgetting the important fact that when telling a story, to reach that higher climax, there has to be trust in the continuity that they're building.

You have to trust that you already have every tool in your box, and that you'll find new, creative ways to use them. You have to step back and look at all the new ideas you're getting and figure out which has something that could be useful and which you're just using to distract yourself from your own story. You have to stymie your own urge to self-sabotage your work with bullshit implicit bias or flights of whimsy.

More than that, have to trust that what you've built is enough for someone to love it, not just for flashy visuals or catchy music but because the story you're telling is one that is resonant to someone.

To have trust in your audience isn't only limited to trusting that they're smart enough to 'get it'. It means trusting that they will experience and continue to want to experience your work. It means putting your faith in the fact that people want to hear you out. It means swallowing your pride when they don't- and it means learning new techniques to tell the story you wanted to tell in a way that will communicate what you want to tell them better. It means trying to meet people where they are in such a way that it doesn't compromise what you want.

Or maybe Hussie just didn't know what the fuck he was doing. Maybe I'm just projecting too hard because I loved Homestuck and now its spectre haunts me with every comic script I write. Maybe I don't even really know what I'm saying.

All I know is that if media is a conversation, we've lost contact with Andrew Hussie years ago.

[mad-hunts]

"I crave the sensation of your blade against my skin."

well, this gave a whole new meaning to 'there's a first time for everything,' barton thought. though that isn't to say that he didn't find something arousing about the current situation they were in. i mean what with barton being dressed in the typical clothes he wore whilst he was 'the dollmaker' and kat just being dressed in normal clothes. barton had entrapped her as well at that moment because she had nearly seen what was inside of the freezer in his workshop; because trust me, when i say that barton had something horrific in there, i truly mean that.

but even barton could acknowledge that the way he went about getting her away from it might've been a little extreme. he had caged her against a wall with his hand placed against it next to her head, essentially trapping her there - and made an explicit effort to not hold her at knife point as the last time that had happened? things didn't go so well for them to put it simply. but barton had to admit, thoughts did begin to run through his head a mile a minute related to his own paranoia (as well as his trust issues) that kat would likely some day betray him.

thus, if that wasn't extreme enough already, he grilled kat quite aggressively as to why she was there and what exactly she was aiming to accomplish by looking into the freezer. but after a few minutes of tense silence that built up the suspense between them... barton realized that she was merely there to try to find him. which, caused him to apologize to her, and lean forward to give her a soft kiss on the lips to show her he meant kat no harm. for he really did feel bad for assuming the worst out of her. but that wasn't the end of their kissing.

due to their close proximity and barton wanting to channel that 'riled up' feeling he had within him in a more acceptable way, he began to kiss kat multiple times. things only seemed to escalate from there as he took the opportunity to try to put down the metacarpal saw he had in one hand in order to pick kat up - but she told him that she craved feeling the blade. that statement was enough to get barton to fling off his mask and carry her to the sofa bed he had in the room.

he then eased her down roughly on there before saying something to kat in between kisses, ❝ ahh, so you are alright with certain types of 'badness' after all, aren't you? and by that i mean you somehow couldn't stand it when i was bratty towards you, but the thought of possibly being cut with a blade now excites you. a blade that has no doubt helped me kill several people, ❞ barton whispered that last part in kat's ear as he trailed the small saw he had in hand carefully down her neck at an angle. a sly smile formed on his lips afterward, which could be seen as he pulled away from her lips.

❝ i certainly had my suspicions that your nature as a vigilante is a bit questionable considering that you want to protect me... but now i know for sure that it is. ❞ he was saying this mostly just to try to get her riled up, in truth, but barton did think that maybe the other wasn't as good as she portrayed herself to be on the outside. not to say that he would ever be the type of person to judge kat if she wasn't.

[praeyrp]

We are not a Cult

Okay maybe we are.

The People's Temple has been a long standing fixture, or at least it's congregation is. A popular place of worship for decades the little Catholic church burned down in an accidental fire eight years ago, leaving its Sunset district neighborhood and congregation without a place of worship. As times became more trying they'd all began to branch off to other churches, though this hole in their lives and in the community was never quite filled. Five years later and several failed attempts to fund-raise by an old tired minister and a secret investor would wipe their deficit and then some, clean. A new temple was built a block from the old, re-branded, renamed, and within its walls its people and their faith in a new youthful minister, grew.

Listen carefully to their words, What they ask, and preach and maybe you'll hear their warnings. Listen to what they ask, and know that your soul won't come out at the end of it.

Find the wanted ad here

Minister Morgan / TAKEN

The Minister: of the order Morgan is the most trusted, and also the face of everything, a puppet who's strings are pulled and yanked by Matthias himself. They've been together for centuries now and are, for people who are just bound by Hellish ties, carefully and wholly wrapped 'round each other. Their trust in one another is never questioned, nor is their seeming obsession with the other. They're no longer lovers but there's no doubt that where one goes, the other is likely looming nearby. Morgan's duties within the order are fairly simple, though also broad; he is quite literally their minister and thus he spreads the word of "God", while peppering prophetic doomsday narrative (that'll be escalated over time.) His flock are his own and he should be protective over them, while also caring little over their actual fate. What's his, is his, a point of fact he learned from his sire.

Sister Minerva / Caitriona Balfe

the social advocate; she's the face the people reach out for help, the one that they meet before they're allowed time with the busy minister. she runs their soup kitchen and schedules all their community outreach programs, as well as manages the other sisters. She is aware of what Matthias is, though she's the only of the sisters that do. Minerva, lovingly known as 'Minny', is the head of the sisters that help the temple. not true nuns, these women aren't sworn to God and they're not required to live chaste and holy lives. they're simply women dedicated to a cause. Minerva herself is the one who coined them as 'sisters' and that people have assumed them nuns, is their own business and one which Minny isn't so quick to correct or mind. Her loyalty is dictated by a sworn promise to make her one of Matthias' own, when the end dawns.

Sister Luci / Anya Taylor-Joy

The Sunday School Teacher; Lucinda (Luci) is an intense-eyed young woman who's as sweet and demure as people think her opposite. Often misunderstood she joined the clergy as their first Sunday school teacher and has thrived in the position to become director of education. She's as close to an actual nun as the sisters have but even she isn't wholly sworn to God, her faith has been wavering as of late and beneath the teachings of Morgan. Luci is not aware of Matthias is or what the order is, she's simply a pure soul looking to fit in and belong somewhere. Matthias himself, tends to dote on her for this and spends more time with her than he does some of the others. There's tension between Luci & Daphne due to this.

Sister Daphne / Samara Weaving

The Wild Child; A secondary Sunday school teacher, Daphne is also head of the choir and the ministry's own loose cannon. She's proven to be someone who easily ensnares those of her own age (wonder why) and easily convinces them to join rank. Daphne also heads a lot of the youth/teen activities within the community and has hosted several silent dances. Whether she was the one who spiked the punch or not, no one will ever know~ Daphne is not aware of what Matthias is, nor the order. She was sent to the church under her mother's demands and stayed after learning it was nothing like a church at all. Matthias and Daphne have a playful relationship in which he supports and encourages her wild, and she looks up to him as a father figure (of sorts). There's some tension between Daphne & Luci because of this.

Deacon Blaise / TAKEN

The Community Governor; a secondary minister, though not as widely accepted, Blaise is mostly and mainly known as the muscle of the group. The one who keeps an eye on the flock and keeps them in line when panic sets in. He's not the best at soothing said panic, but if people overstep, he's sure to be there. There's some playful rivalry between Blaise and Minerva, the sort that picks at one another endlessly, but is largely non-toxic. Blaise does know what and who Matthias is and is trusted among the inner circle, though he tends not to take anything serious enough to be on-par with Morgan. Respected nonetheless.

Director Natasha 

The Holy Ghost; not actually dead, this director is more a secretarial go-between for Matthias and Morgan. Their duty is primarily to watch over the church as a whole and report to Matthias, where Morgan generally only reports what needs to be, this ghost reports everything. A well rounded members of the ministry, they can fill any of the roles as needed, though most often they're back up for the deacon and silent support for the sisters. Respected within the ministry as a figurehead, they can optionally manage the books and the others (or take a more hands-off approach in this field), as well as the other cogs. They're not afraid to slap down or enforce rules, anymore than they are to support their fellow members. Their loyalty lies with Matthias, and can branch out to his other endeavors as well, as they do know who and what he is. His quiet and looming right hand that oils the wheels and makes sure they're all running smoothly for the others.

[sonnenreich]

Shock could not describe what Zeev felt at that moment. Stunned, paralysed and unable to utter a single word, he watched what was happening as if he were having an out-of-body experience in his own nightmare. Even as the first accusations had been spewed in their direction, Zeev had been struck by a feeling so intense that he had never felt in Isaiah's presence—so negative and harsh, it shook him to the core. Zeev had already suspected that his beloved was not in control of his senses, that he was rejecting himself, lost in grief, but now the picture expanded. 

“And you are afraid you're gonna be alone again, oh, what a terrible fate it must be.”

By this point at the latest, Zeev knew that Isaiah had been cursed, and given the spectacle unfolding before them, it was not difficult for him to fathom what was involved. He didn't have time for anger, however, his gaze only going to the blood, as if Isaiah had been inspired by one of the many movies they liked to watch together in front of the fireplace. 

His gaze was fixed on the dark underlined eyes, the otherwise beautiful bright blue only washed out and veiled. When he looked inside him, he was sure Isaiah was looking back, only hidden. He was still there. He would get him out. No matter what the cost.

The witcher didn't react to his words, didn't respond to the sneering comments and insults that were no doubt meant to hurt him and tarnish what he had built. But how could they? He was proud of everything he had achieved. He was proud of the life he led with the love of his life. He was worried about being alone again, but he knew he never would be. The only thing that really scared him was a life without Isaiah. And the only ones who threatened that were the witches. 

Concerned, he looked at his family, Sarah and Richard, who were overwhelmed by the whole situation and couldn't even begin to explain what was going on.

“Hey, so, your son has been cursed by dark magic of witches who aim to hurt me and Isaiah, because of reasons I'm not quite sure yet. By the way, I'm a witch, too and your son knows, he had always known there's magic in the world and things beyond human comprehension, one reason why we even found each other. One reason why it was possible for me to be who I am.” 

It wasn't hard to imagine the looks he would receive and the thought that they both must have lost their marbles. Perhaps they'd even turn to him and realise that he hadn't kept their son safe. That he had failed them all. He might have been able to fix all of this sooner before it could have escalated into this display of utter dark madness. 

Staying level headed was hard, to keep the composure and self-consciousness that he held dear to himself in challenging situations. But Isaiah was a weak spot—and the witches knew. What they didn’t know was that this blonde man, who had changed his life for the better, also was his biggest strength. With that, the feeling in his limbs returned and he placed a gentle hand on Sarah's shoulder for a second, smiling reassuringly at her, the sadness sticking to his eyes. “Do you trust me?” he asked carefully, the question in her eyes moving along her worrisome features. 

“Of course,” she answered without missing a beat. 

“Thank you,” he smiled. “I'll need you both to trust me a bit more than usual and I need your help. He needs our help more than ever.”

“He needs an ambulance…” Richard said justly.

Zeev nodded.  “He does, but… I know this sounds confusing and weird, I want him well more than anything, but an ambulance won't help him right now. Give me some time, please, and then I'll even get him to the hospital myself.” The witcher studied the broken down person who once had been full of life and energy, crushed down to a mere shadow figure himself. Cursed. His mortal body wasn't made to withstand this much pressure and it was obvious how it wore him down. He wouldn't have much time. “Two days, tops.”

Sarah, and he couldn't blame her, winced at the idea of waiting this much longer. 

“Please,” Zeev begged, squeezing her hand he must have taken instinctively. “Please”

Sarah looked at her son, a pain in her eyes that was in line with his, as was the helplessness that Richard threw back at them with similar intensity. Isaiah's father had always been the quiet sort, reserved in the way he communicated his emotions, showing them in other ways; with joint building projects in the workshop, involvement in his ideas about renovations or the simple family shopping together. Acts of service. And Zeev needed those more than ever. 

“Let us first take care of him and then… We’ll talk,” Sarah reluctantly gave in and all her son-in-law could do was nod.

  Despite what had happened a few minutes ago, none of those present were shy about touching Isaiah and carefully moving him to the nearest armchair. He held himself like a wet sack and let himself be led around as if the destination mattered absolutely nothing to him. His gaze was glazed and unfocussed, introspective in a way Zeev could no longer bear. Of course he wanted Isaiah to return, but it was far more important to him that Isaiah could be who he was again. This stunning, intelligent person who looked at the world and its inhabitants with a childlike curiosity and could recognise something beautiful in everything, even when it threw bad things at him.

While Sarah swept the shards off the floor and Richard made up the bed, Zeev took care of the wound on his hand. He had carefully removed the shard of glass, cleaned the blood from his hand and applied an ointment whose greenish colour could only indicate a mixture of various herbs. His lips moved softly as he wrapped the bandage around his weak hand, which would simply fall onto his lap without his help. 

“I'm so sorry, baby,” he whispered a little later, stroking the back of his hand and looking up at him from his kneeling position. With his other hand, he gently stroked his cheek, whose cheekbone nestled far too clearly against his palm. “You'll be alright, I promise. I won't let this happen to you any longer.” He stroked his head, rose and kissed his forehead and just sat beside him on the armrest of the brown armchair for quite a while. The bandage on his hand was rough against his palm. Blood that shouldn't have been spilt. 

“I hope you can hear me, love. You’re doing so good, I’m so sorry this has befallen you. I’m sorry I hadn’t prevented this from happening, but I’ll fix it now. I will. I won’t rest till it is.” Carefully, because he didn't want to cause him any more unnecessary pain, he rested his head against his chest, stroked his hair and kissed his hairline. “You're so strong, Isaiah, you have no idea how strong you are, even if it doesn't feel like it right now, but I need you to keep being strong. Can you do this for me? Just a little bit longer, just a little bit more time. Everything will be well soon.” Perhaps he was lying to himself, perhaps these words were just as important for him to hear as it was for Isaiah to know. And when he felt the shallow, if faint, pressure of his fingers around the witcher’s hand, Zeev knew he was right. Zeev was unspeakably proud of him, yet it broke his heart into a thousand pieces that he had to endure it regardless. 

Together, they guided Isaiah back to bed, trying to relieve his body as best they could. Zeev told Richard to stay with him, if that was okay, and smiled gratefully when he accepted the suggestion without hesitation. 

In the kitchen, the witcher met Sarah again, who was sitting restlessly at the table, kneading her hands until they turned red. Zeev realised that she must have cut herself on the glass and moved to the medicine cabinet without comment, took out a pack of band aids—the ones with little planets and stars on them—and sat down next to her. He gently took her hand in his, squeezed it lightly and wrapped a band aid around her finger. 

“What is happening to my baby boy?” she whispered, her voice so weak and fragile it brought tears to the corners of Zeev's eyes. He held her hand in his. 

“I will take care of this,” he promised her, unable to give her a real answer to her legitimate question. “And I will need both of your help. Do you think you can do that? Isaiah needs us more than anything right now.”

She nodded weakly. “What can I do?”

“First and foremost, I need you to take care of each other, too. Richard needs you and you need him, please don’t abandon your own needs in favour of Isaiah. Which is an impossible task, I know… But there is no use if you neglect yourself. I need you both the strongest you’ve ever been. As much as it hurts to say, but I won’t be around much the next two days and I’m sorry for putting all of this onto you, I’ll make up for it as soon as I can. In the meantime, please make sure he eats, that he moves, even if just the littlest, that he gets out of the room and no matter what, make sure he doesn’t hurt himself like he did just now. Keep him safe when I can't.” He kissed her hand, followed the look in her glassy eyes and reached out for her, wiping the tears from her cheeks without realising how his own were falling. “Richard will keep an eye on him, but make sure he gets some rest, too. The bedroom is made for you and always a place you can rest, but it's okay if you stay with Isaiah, too. Don't be a stranger around this house, this home belongs to you, too.”

He tentatively released his hand and rose from the chair, reached for the stack of papers and paused for a moment. They used the sticky notes for their shopping, especially Isaiah, so that he wouldn't forget what he was supposed to get. His last entry was ‘Cornflakes?’ with a forbiddingly cute smiley face and a multitude of little stars, suns and daisies taking up most of the space on the paper. His heart contracted painfully.

 Isaiah would get so many cornflakes, strawberry and lava cakes, Snickers, soft drinks and greasy food that a stomach ache would be his only concern. Zeev wrote down a colourful mix of necessities, including a variety of vegetables and herbs that they no longer had in the house. He slid the list to her. “Can you get some groceries? Get yourself and Richard whatever you want as well, don’t be stingy, it’s alright.”

“Where will you be?”

“I’ll get some more help and a few insights from others. I most likely will be home late, but never refrain from calling me, writing to me, whatever, I’ll be here in a second if anything happens with him. Actually, now that I think about it, tell me whatever happens, even if it seems insignificant.”

She nodded once more, remaining quite for another intake of breath. “Why did he say those things? He… He’s a kind and soft and loving…”

“I know,” was all he managed to answer, the truth too confusing to tell. “He still is, mom.” He stepped over to her, the surprise of the term on his part giving her the faintest hint of a smile. “He's not feeling himself right now, but he will be again. I will make sure of it.” He didn't know how many times he had already said it, he had long since stopped counting. But the more he said it, the more he hoped it was true. 

  “What by the crooked surface of the pale moon is this shit?” Amber had exclaimed, shaking her head full of red locks, framing her in the dim light of the candles throning on the round dark table. Her home smelled like warm soil, the greenest of woods and a little bit of Henna die. Her hands were covered in brown swirls and flower patterns, something Zeev focused on as he watched her reaction towards the photo he had made of the sigil on the back of Isaiah’s currently most prized possession. Helena leaned forward, using her pointer and thumb to expand the symbol. 

“I know I’ll be pointing out the obvious, but holy shit, this is worrisome.” The black haired woman reached over towards Zeev, brushing his arm affectionately, her expression filled with the utmost compassion and something akin to anxiety. 

“How is he holding up?” Amber wondered, her green eyes still fixated on the picture, tilting her head just the slightest as if being able to see beyond the surface. 

“Not at all,” Zeev sighed, shoulders hunched forward, hands resting on the side of his face, keeping him somewhat upright while his spine was giving up under his body weight, too tired to work, but he couldn’t grant himself any sleep nor rest. “I should have known there is more to it sooner. How could I have been so blind?”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Z” Helena tried, still rubbing his arm, which was comforting to some extent, but not enough to reach his mind. “You didn’t expect this to happen and in the end we’re human, too. We don’t expect being cursed out of a sudden, you tried to find logical reasons, human reasons. All that matters is that you know now and we can work with that.”

“I don’t have much time, I feel like I’m losing him.” Despite not wanting to, he broke into another sniffle. A waste of time. “I can’t lose him. Not like this, not ever.”

“You won’t. We’ll help as best as we can. Do you have an idea already what this means?”

“I think it goes without saying that it is dark magic,” Zeev groaned, wiping his face. “I thought I’d never be confronted with that ever again. I turned to so much light in these past years, the darkness just felt like a minor part of my past and suddenly…” He glanced down at his open left palm, the scar a white line of memory, any palmistry would have called it an overcome hardship. Perhaps, all that was happening now, was yet another consequence of his own actions; unpredictable and unmeasurable. 

“I can’t believe we got witches among us, let alone in Macomb, who conjure these sorta magic.” The redhead grumbled, the distaste in her voice as palpable as the teacup in Zeev’s other hand. He winced slightly, still enraptured in who he used to be.

“You’re an exception, honey,” she quickly added upon noticing. “And you’re not cursing anyone anymore, do you?”

“Well,” he huffed. “I can’t deny the thoughts I’m currently having.”

“Thoughts are fine.” Helena nodded. “Can’t deny the murder I’m having on mine right now. They are a threat for everyone, who knows what else they have done already if they are willing to curse the sweetest sunshine the line must have been crossed earlier.” Her black strands were falling from her untidy hairdo. They knew Isaiah quite well and how could they have not? Being close to Zeev required anyone to meet his husband—and listen to his praise and affection over him countless times. The witcher had known Amber and Helena were people—and witches—to keep around the second they got along with Isaiah, being equally giddy about topics too strange for most others, listening to him with shared fascination over the wondrous world and what lay beyond. Amber, knowing more about the solar system than Zeev ever could and Helena, being a history student, never letting the opportunity slide to talk about lost civilisations. 

“So, let’s get to the bottom of this, shall we?” Amber clapped her hands, rubbing them together in a motivated manner, her optimism radiating from her like the warmth of her fireplace. “So, you said he withdrew himself, neglected himself, didn’t say much, cried a lot, seemingly lost in grief and sorrow. Sounds like a big time depression, but I ain’t a doctor, so don’t quote me on that. It’s just an easier term. And just today he spoke in a tongue most definitely not his own. Manipulating a human that way is such a pathetic and foul play. And considering what they made him say, it’s definitely aimed at you.”

Not a consoling thought, it made things even much more worse. Getting to him by using Isaiah hurt the right spot. All his fault. Guilt washing over him, threatening him to drown. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let this feeling be his downfall. Isaiah needed him.

The redhead continued. “Needless to say, if the curse ain’t broken, he won’t recover. I’m not that versed in dark magic, but we got an expert on the table. Zeev, I know this will hurt, but for once you gotta stick to the past. What do you know about breaking those?”

Never had he needed to break curses, as the people who had reached out to him were just looking for quick solutions of problems they had caused themselves or were brought upon due to consequences of their own actions and those of others. Zeev, however, had cursed an entire village just to protect his family. He stirred awake.

“A curse breaks when the conjurer dies.”

Helena winced. “Yeah, well… we can’t have that as the first entrance in your criminal records.” 

“Honestly,” the other chimed in. “I thought that’s going to be public indecency.”

The joke didn’t resurface as much amusement in Zeev as it would have in any other situation. His jaw clenched as he considered the options. “The thing is, dark magic isn’t… Well, it’s just magic like any other essentially, just way more drastically. It manipulates, changes, alters and affects areas that can not be changed naturally. If you’re sick, surely a doctor could help, but that’s not always the case, especially not in a short amount of time. Dark magic speeds up the process tremendously, but asks for a price higher than usual. While white magic is soft, gentle and slow, dark magic is rough, fast and painful. And while the former is limited, the latter is endless.”

Whatever those witches had to give must have been worth the sacrifice—and it didn’t make much sense for Zeev to go beyond those lengths, just to hurt Isaiah and thus him. On the other hand, who said they had to sacrifice anything? 

“Dark magic can do anything, it surely doesn’t stop at breaking curses.”

Amber cleared her throat, eyeing him curiously. “Zeev…”

“Any other ideas?!” he snapped, causing Amber and Helena to twitch. He rubbed his face. “I’m sorry… I—I’m sorry.”

The dark haired student rose from her seat, sitting down next to him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and stroking his back. “It’s okay. When did you sleep last?” He didn’t answer, but his shrug was enough. 

“How about Amber and I dive deeper into these matters and see if we find any other solution? Dark magic should never be the first option, if one at all. Even if it seems the easiest, that’s why it’s so tempting, but you must know, of all witches I ever encountered, what it can do to you. We want you well, we all do, everyone in your family. No matter what happens, you will never be alone.”

“What if it’s my last option?” His voice was a mere whisper.

“Then I’ll whoop your ass gently, but you will not go through this alone. Please consult us first, before you do something you might regret.”

He nodded, took a sip of the tea and cried. 

  After the meeting, he had gone back home, if only to make sure that things hadn't got drastically worse. Richard sat at the kitchen table, bent over a newspaper from yesterday, but no doubt not reading. The coffee next to him showed no sign of being warm and at first it seemed as if he hadn't noticed his son-in-law's presence. It was only when Zeev inquired about Isaiah that he looked up, paused and replied that nothing had changed and that he had fallen asleep from time to time—probably more out of exhaustion than tiredness. Zeev had silently accepted this information, thanking him a little later and forcing a faint smile as he turned to the kitchen and into silence, broken only by the quiet hum of the cooker and fridge. He was preparing a vegetable soup and garnishing it with all kinds of herbs. Whenever he turned the spoon, he went clockwise. Attract. While the soup simmered in the largest pot, he turned his attention to the windowsill, where there were all kinds of fresh herbs; lush green basil, coriander, oregano and sage. Dried bundles of already harvested versions, including rosemary, hung from the curtain rail. He neatly cut off a few stalks, tied them into small wreaths and spread them on and over all the thresholds of the house. A little later, he filled three bowls with the soup and placed one of them by Richard's side, along with bread that Isaiah had bought a few days ago, before the incident. He made his way up the stairs with the remaining two and saw Sarah at her son's bedside, his hand firmly in hers, her eyes glancing only fleetingly at him. He offered her the meal too, stroking her back gently as he stepped towards her. He asked her to give Isaiah his portion, if only a little, as soon as he woke up. It wouldn't change his condition, but it would hopefully alleviate the symptoms. He lovingly stroked his forehead and kissed it gently. He also thanked her for everything she did and the trust she continued to place in him. He could only imagine what was going on inside her. The sight of Isaiah hurt him, for Sarah it must have been agony. 

  A little later, Zeev entered his husband's office, ignoring the pain in his stomach. He grabbed the laptop, older than their marriage, and flipped it open. What would Isaiah do? He knew by heart. He had watched him countless times, from much the same position he was in now, when he didn’t want to interrupt his work, but couldn’t bear staying upstairs alone. Fondly he remembered moments on this couch, wrapped in a knitted blanket of Sarah, reading in a book while listening to the fast clicking of the keyboard and the every now and then huffs and cracking of his spine as he adjusted in the office chair. Reading though was a bit of a lie, if he was entirely honest with himself. More often than not he just sat there and watched the light tangled in Isaiah’s hair and illuminating his face, his features throwing shade and giving him depth. Sometimes Zeev adjusted on the couch just to have a better look to admire him as he worked, how the concentration wrinkled his nose and how his cheek hollowed when he chewed softly on the inside. Zeev had looked up from his position and for a brief moment he thought to see him there, just as he remembered. Researching.

And research Zeev did. Anyone who ever used the internet left traces. Nothing was ever lost in the stream, just covered by leaves, trash and other remnants. If the witches had ever done that, they surely could be traceable. If his past self would be sitting where he sat, he would be overwhelmed and too inexperienced, but the Zeev now had the best teacher there is. So he started with the basics: witches of Macomb.

Funnily enough, their shop popped up, which wasn’t that surprising.

He kept looking, skipping down the results. The less relevant ones always came much later.

Coven of Macomb

Witch coven of Macomb

Witches of Illinois

Coven of Illinois

Witchcraft illinois

He clicked through a variety of websites, one worse in design than the other and more than once did he wince at the supposedly witchcraft those held. Esoteric beliefs and the need for “alternative medicine” was worrisome to some degree, but not really what Zeev wanted to look further into. Huffing, he paused. Glancing at the coffee mug on Isaiah’s desk. Before his mind's eye he saw him reach for it, just to place it right next to the coaster like the rebel he was, not paying enough attention to do so. He smiled warmly. If google wasn’t enough, there was another hell he could rip open.

He opened Reddit.

There was a thread for everything. Cooking, dreams, technology, books, home decor, fashion, relationships, crafts; central themes for anyone to engage with.

But also the little more specific ones. Vegan, nightmares, sleep paralysis, nasa technology, smutty books, western styled interior, boho, high fashion, toxic relationships and witchcraft. 

Zeev wouldn’t say he was good at navigating through the site, but his experience in browsing through all that had to do with The Distorted Files, Isaiah’s work in general and strangely enough their relationship (or what people thought their relationship was like and meant, moreso back then than now), came in quite handy now. 

Witchcraft in general was a too much of a wide theme, he’d search ages just to find anything useful. Instead, he narrowed it down by specifying. People loved to connect, especially as close as possible. There were exact areas and places and so there was Illinois, too. “/illwitches”. Perhaps he allowed himself to chuckle in amusement, perhaps it was just madness getting a hold of him.

Mostly it consisted of recipes, spells, tips and tricks, suggestions and anything in between. It would have been a wholesome browse and he made a mental note to check it out once all was over and well again, but he couldn’t dwell on the idea of having more like minded people—and perhaps true witches—in the area. He just wanted to find a specific kind. Zeev wasn’t sure how much time had passed, just that he knew that he grew more frustrated the longer he stared at the screen. For once he experienced first hand what Isaiah went through whenever he tried to find hints and clues; no wonder he grew tense over time. Zeev didn’t try to linger too much on the memory of his hands on his back as his finger dug into his sore skin and muscles. 

His brows furrowed at a topic that caught his attention right after he had scrolled past it, caught in the vivid and inappropriate memory. His pointer scrolled upwards again.

[Long] my father passed away and I don’t know what to do, it said.

He skimmed over the text with restless eyes, just enough to grasp the problem. The grief over losing a loved one and the effect it had on others. In this case, their mother. She suffered, withdrew, got lost in her grief and isolated herself from anything, even her child. The redditor asked for help, but Zeev knew nothing could help them, but he wondered if someone would mention they could. Most just shared their condolences, but answered as any would: there was nothing magic could do. Still, the sentiment in their suggestions was warming. Proposing their help, suggesting mundane things and sweet activities. Until:

↪ u/markofsolaris replied • 2 months ago We can help.

They remained vague in their statements, causing quite the ruckus amongst the other members, but every question of how wasn’t truly answered. And when Zeev checked their profile, it stayed that way. Never giving fully fleshed out answers, but always keeping the attention on themselves. Zeev stared at the name of the member. 

That was a joke, right?

Adrenaline rushed through his veins, something akin to a fight and flight response causing him to shiver violently. Next to the anger he felt, something else erupted, too. He opened his e-mail inbox, frantically browsing through everything he had ever received—contrary to Isaiah though, he kept it clean. He deleted all that wasn’t necessary anymore and he remembered that he had deleted those mails, too. Unfortunately, the bin cleared itself after a certain amount of time. But what Zeev never tended to and what didn’t delete itself either, was the sent folder.

He had forwarded all to Isaiah that was either weird, concerning or all he just didn’t get or wasn’t addressed to him anyway. Hence, the ominous mails he had received a long time ago. Mails with no caption, with no clear message but: We know who you are.

How long has it been? A lifetime, he felt. And to find them had taken much longer than he had wanted, luckily being able to filter the folder down to specific timeframes. Unfortunately he couldn’t remember the exact year, so he closed his eyes and used milestones of his life to narrow it down furthermore.

Before the wedding.

Before Richard’s sickness.

Before Amber and Helena.

Before Zara.

Before Jersey.

Before his citizenship.

But after he had decided to come to the states.

After he had moved into the house they called a home.

It’s been ages and never would he have thought they would turn relevant again. He picked his phone and dialled Jemma’s number.

“Oh my god, Zeevie,” she yelled into the phone like a grandma, seemingly unaware that she didn’t need to make up for the distance between them. “I’m so glad you’re finally calling. How are you? How’s lanky boy? Is he feeling better? Is he okay? Are you okay? Have you eaten anything? I’ve been looking for short-term flights all day, but they will cost me all of my organs. You know I’d gladly cut them out myself, but you know how it is, I get nervous and then probably just die cause I cut something important.”

“I’m pretty sure no organs will kill you anyway,” he chuckled lightly, for a short second forgetting about the worries he held close to his heart. Quickly, he filled her in with all he could tell her, which was quite a lot. Some years ago he had confessed to her who he was, which she had responded to with a laugh, until proven. Frankly, it had been a stressful evening for him and yet, she had taken it quite well. He’d never forget her saying “you just got 99% hotter, but you’ll never surpass my 200”.  He loved her, dearly. And he loved that he’d been able to have her know a bit more about himself, too.

“That’s horrible,” she breathed. “Can’t you just, like, cast fireball and call it a day?”

“Honestly, there’s nothing I’d rather do, but not only would that raise lots of questions, you know I unfortunately can’t.”

“Bummer,” she sighed. “How can I help?”

“I need Jemma magic.”

“Uh, I like that sound, am I invited into your Coven?”

“You’ve always been part of it.”

“Don’t make me cry, I’m already emotional and worried shitless. So, what’s the deal?”

“I’ll forward you an email, is it possible you can find out who sent it? Like, from where it was sent from?”

“Baby, call me Elliot Anderson.” He could feel her smug smile through the phone. Zeev didn’t know who she wanted to be associated with, but it didn’t matter much as it conveyed she knew what she was about to do.

She kept him company on the phone as she got to work and it was helpful, he had to realise. Just to listen to her talk, to hear about her day and how much she cared about Isaiah, who oftentimes had felt like she wasn’t as fond of him as she was of Zeev. He had always known she loved them both and she was well aware of her role in having brought them together in the first place. Jemma took pride in a lot of things, her self-confidence a worthy opponent to his own, but nothing had ever filled her with more joy than being an integral part of their relationship. She wasn’t just a friend, she was yet another of his sisters and part of their chosen family ever since their meeting. 

“That’s weird,” she hummed at a certain point, Zeev’s attention perching up. “It’s in Macomb, but I can’t tell from where exactly.”

“Thank you, sun, Jemma, I could kiss you right now. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Uh, first of all: I’ll remind you. Secondly, shouldn’t that be worrying you?”

“At this point, it doesn’t. It’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

“More than you can imagine. I’ll need to get to work, I’ll call you soon. I promise. Thank you, truly.”

“You’re welcome. And Zeev?”

“Yeah?”

“Please be careful.”

“Of course.”

“Will he be alright again?” Her voice turned slim.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

“Okay… Okay,” she paused. “I love you. Both of you. Please call me soon.”

“I love you, too and I will. Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

  Zeev felt elevated when he came upstairs again, a new found hope giving him enough optimism to tackle the next hours to come. It had turned dark by now, time was running low. One last night and one more day, that was all he thought Isaiah might bear. He had to. Zeev knew he could. Despite him thinking that the witcher usually put him on a pedestal too high, Zeev knew he was capable of so much more than he allowed himself to credit. The lights of the living room were turned off, he glanced into the kitchen and noticed with relief that Richard must have eaten the soup. Quietly he went upstairs, saw some faint light from underneath the bedroom door and stepped inside. Sarah had fallen asleep in the armchair across the bed, while Richard sat on the bed, caressing his son’s arm, eyes glued in him much like Sarah’s had been the last time he had come into the room. Isaiah must have been moved, changed into more comfortable clothes and considering the dried line inside the bowl, some of the soup has been eaten. It wasn’t much, but the amount mattered little to its effectiveness. Zeev circled the bed and gently brushed Sarah’s shoulder, stirring her awake.

“Did something happen?” she jolted, hands gripping his arm tightly, all eyes on her son. 

“No, no,” he said calmly. “I just wanted to suggest going to bed. We’re here, you need to rest properly.”

“But…”

“We’re here, it’s okay.” 

The hesitance on her face was obvious even in the dim light of the nightstand lamp, but she rose regardless. She moved carefully towards her husband, leaning down towards her son, caressing his cheek and whispering quiet “I love you”s in his direction, kissing his pale forehead. It took her several more seconds to manage to turn her back towards him and kiss her husband good night as well, who nodded at her—reassuring her that he, in fact, was here. For a moment, Zeev felt like he was invading a privacy he shouldn’t be part of. He hadn’t kept Isaiah safe. He couldn’t help the guilt that had blossomed in him since the circumstances had grown much bigger than he had initially suspected them to be. Not only guilt over what had happened, but guilt over not being able to tell them truly what had befallen Isaiah. On the other hand, it wouldn’t change much. They’d still be powerless in the eye of the supernatural. 

But he wasn’t. 

His eyes dropped, allowing them the moment of shared compassion for one another; mother, father and son.

Awakened from his thoughts, he noticed the hand on his cheek. A motherly tenderness that twisted his heart and dampened his eyes. She didn’t say anything, all she wanted to convey was locked in her eyes, openly displayed without resentment, without anger, without hatred or betrayal. Softly, she kissed his cheek, too and left the room. 

Silence fell over them once more and it felt wrong to break it.

“Would you give me a moment with him?” He asked, a permission that might as well could be declined and he wouldn’t blame him. Instead, Richard rose to his feet, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and nodded wordlessly, shuffling out of the room after his wife. 

Zeev stood there, hovering above the love of his life on the verge of death. This wasn’t fair. It should have been him, but there would have been no use of that either. Despite his caution, he felt Isaiah stir when he moved into the bed. His lacklustre eyes caught Zeev’s, but it seemed almost like he didn’t recognise him.

“It’s me, love. It’s me…” Perhaps he didn’t want him to be. “Zeev…”

As if his name had triggered a memory, his body started to shake and the strengthless crying forced Zeev to join. He laid down beside him, moving as close as he could to not need to move him much as he wrapped an arm around him and rested his head against his chest, combing through his hair with shaking fingers. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.” He whispered, voice trembling, trying his hardest to remain steadfast. Isaiah cried in his arms and Zeev had never felt heavier, the sobbing and the sniffling engraving itself into his heart, scarring forever. If he’d fail to save him, there was no way it would ever heal. “I love you, I love you so much…” He wanted to tell him what he had discovered, how he had talked with Amber and Helena, how he had envisioned him while diving into research, how he had tackled Reddit—which under any other circumstances would have made him laugh—how Jemma had helped him track down the sender of those ancient Emails and what he had planned to do this night, but he didn’t. Those witches had used him as a mouthpiece, who knew if they were able to listen in on him. Instead, he told him of the memory he had while sitting on the couch, remembered him—as if he could ever forget—of the day of their first love confession, how much he hated the winter but loved his Hoodies, of their long car-rides to places he had never seen, their countless museum dates and how much Zeev loved to just lay on the couch in front of the fireplace and listen to him breathing. In between those stories, he told him how much he loved him, how grateful he was to be part of his life and that he’ll never let it go to waste. At some point it seemed Isaiah had fallen asleep—at least that thought felt more comforting than imagining his body shutting down due to his weakness. For a few minutes longer he made sure he wouldn’t wake up again and slowly, but determined, he retrieved the picture Zeev had grown to hate. Which was nonsensical, since it wasn’t the true cause, but the spell of those who had harmed him, but it was the only thing he had in a physical way. Stealing it, as far as Zeev had learned, wouldn’t do any good, but that wasn’t his intention anyway. Not yet. He knew, at some point, he needed to and he feared what that would break forth. For now though, all he needed was a little bit of human remains.

He had placed Isaiah back safe and secure into the pillows before, turning towards the nightstand on his own side, pulling a napkin free from the box and placing it unfolded on the sheets. Carefully, he pricked with his fingernail at the brown edges. Watching the slightest hint of black dots highlighted on the white ground. How much he just wanted to toss the picture into the fire and watch it melt and crumble and turn to dust. But not only wouldn’t that do nothing, it would also eradicate any hope of breaking the curse. He felt Isaiah stir again, forcing him to stop in his movements, exhaling when he kept sleeping. Figuring he had pushed his luck long enough, he folded the picture again and put it right back into the bag. He neatly folded the napkin, too, and withdrew from the bed. 

Richard returned into the room when Zeev opened the door for him, offering him to sleep in the bed as well, if he wished, followed by a question if he needed anything, but he just shook his head no. When the witcher turned to leave, the mechanic softly but firmly grabbed his arm, squeezing just the slightest. “You need some sleep, son,” he mumbled, eyes as tired as Zeev felt. 

“I know,” he had answered, patting the other's hand. “I will.” It wasn’t a lie. Zeev knew he probably would sleep for ages if he truly succeeded, but it wasn’t tonight. And it wouldn’t be tomorrow. 

Leaving the room, Zeev followed the hallway and turned right, moving quietly and tiredly into the attic.

  Macomb had turned into a home for both of them. They had lived long enough in the city to know their way around. They’ve walked the streets countless times, just to explore or to stretch their legs. The witcher knew all by heart. From the La Moine River to Lake Michael, from Taco Bell, to the Walmart Supercenter, every greasy fast food chain and grocery store, even the churchyards and the University area. The day he and Isaiah had talked about having children—the idea much appealing—he had started to see the city differently, too. The closest way to any school, the amount of playgrounds and how to get to them safely and public transportation possibilities. It had always been tremendously important to Zeev to know by heart where he was living. 

And that came very handy today.

Tracking down a person wasn’t hard of a spell. All it took was a general idea of their whereabouts and something that belonged to them. It wasn’t the most exact—that would have required different measures—but it would be enough. It had to be. 

He moved sluggishly around his workspace, glad enough to his way around even blinded. Placing a silverware tray on his table, filling it with just enough with by the sun energised water to create an even surface, picking a stem of thyme for clarity, lighting a white candle for illuminating the path and sprinkling iron filings onto the surface, glistening in the shine of the candlelight. He pulled out the napkin and shook the blood scrapings from the surface into the water as well. The surface stirred, the smallest of faces distorting his reflection. Then, he pulled each individual leaf of the thyme and let them fall as well. Afterwards, his scarred palm hovered over the tray. 

Blood to bind, thy path I see, thy essence calls, now come to me. By earth and flame, by sky and sea, as I will, so mote it be.

Behind his closed eyes darkness hovered, a veil too thick to cut through. Specks of light reflected, cones breaking through tree tops and illuminating luscious green fields of meadows. His mind rushed through fields, the intense smell of damp grass tickling his nose; a familiar smell, inviting as it was challenging. He needed to stay concentrated, not letting his memory twist what he was searching for. The faint sound of fluttering wings brushed his ears, a variety of sounds that seemed too unlikely to be found at a mere park. Brown, almost black eyes, obscured by the wave of curly brown hair, hurriedly passed his inner eye. And with that, blackness fell over him again.

But it was all that he needed to know.

It was all that’d lead him to one place specifically.

The Wigwam Hollow Bird Sanctuary.

  He leaned powerlessly against the solid wood of his altar, his fingertips dug into the texture and once again he closed his eyes in order to master whatever was threatening to fall over him. But every minute he didn't spend mastering the puzzle was considered a betrayal of Isaiah in his eyes. His limbs ached, his eyes burned and his head throbbed in such a way that he thought it might burst at any moment. Still, he had no choice but to take the moment as it was. To briefly remember that he, too, was only a mortal body that was losing strength, especially without the sun. One more day. Another day and everything would come to an end. It had to. He would allow no other outcome. No matter what he had to do. 

The first rays of sunlight would come to the city in a little over an hour, bathing it in a beautiful light and reminding the rest of the world that after every darkness, beauty would return. Macomb knew nothing of the challenge Zeev faced, but he knew all the more. He consulted a few books on witchcraft sigils around the globe and used the time to further explore the meaning of the curse. He set a timer for every five minutes, worried that he would simply fall asleep. 

His sore body hadn't even noticed that the sun had awoken—his instincts were usually more reliable than any clockwork in this regard—when Zara's messages reminded him that she was his sister and thus awakened.

“What is going on?”

Only now did he realise that his messages to her had been more than cryptic, especially as he had hardly spelt a word correctly. 

“Meet me at the Bird Sanctuary in an hour.”

“Yay!”

  The Bird Sanctuary stood nestled against the Wigwam Hollow woodland, a private and restricted area for preservation of endangered species and served as a safe habitat. Zara, however, had sneaked her way into the heart of any wildlife caretaker and thus, had unlimited access to most areas. 

As much as Zeev was stubborn, he wasn’t too keen on dying on his way to the meeting point. He didn’t like driving as much as it was, so he turned to public transportation instead. When Zara, looking like the sun herself, saw him approaching, every cheerful smile fell off her face, hitting the gravel beneath her feet with an almost audible clang. 

“By the love of the sun, Zeev!” she exclaimed, wrapping him into a hug that wiped out every last breath he had held. Her hands covered the sides of his face, turning and twisting him like a loose tooth. If she had kept going, he was sure his head would have popped off just as easily. “You look absolutely terrible and—oh sun.” Not only did she see what he was conveying with his looks, she also felt it. Every little worry, every little fear, every little sadness and sorrow and grief and the boundless exhaustion. He didn’t need to tell her much more but he did regardless, updating her on what had happened between the break-in and now.

She sniffled, but he couldn’t join her for once. His body seemingly had forgotten how to mourn, his mind too detached from his bodily reactions.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner, you fool.” Lightly, she shoved him, enough for him though to topple backwards and flat on his ass. He grew dizzy. She apologised worriedly and pulled him back on his legs, his movements all but elegant. 

“What are we doing here? I mean, I’m sure you’re not here to watch some birds with me.” 

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Who?”

“She must be in this area.”

“You mean the one who…?”

He nodded. 

“But the woodlands here are no place to live and I’ve been everywhere already.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s living here, but it seems to be an important place for her.”

Zara scrunched up her nose. Usually, the blonde wasn’t one to feel resentment towards other people. On the contrary, she seemed to love everyone. Somehow, Zeev was glad she seemed to have exceptions to that rule.

The spell had led him here, it must mean something. It must mean something today. He glanced up at the rising sun, inhaling within her gleam, the tip of his nose tingling. If the universe had an ounce of luck left, he wanted to be allowed to be egotistical. 

“Okay, so, there’s Stephen, the owner. Then there’s Marissa, his wife. They’re usually around, one or the other. Then there’s Paul, Lucas, George and Timothy, as well as Francesca, Lorena and Yashka, but they are all sweethearts. I surely would have noticed if they’re… like that.” He nodded, he couldn’t bring himself to do much more. Eyes scanning the area as he followed Zara through the entrance. “Oh, but we got some volunteers from the University, some Seniors who’ve been here for, uh, three semesters I believe. I don’t do much with them, since I’m usually gone when they arrive, perhaps the one you’re looking for is amongst them?”

“When do they arrive?”

She glanced up at the sun, taking her brother’s hand in hers. “Hm, around an hour or two?” 

Two hours. How much time could he waste before it was too late?

The strangest thing was, what if he met her? What if he stood in front of the witch who had brought this curse into their home, defiling their sacred place and destroying their peace? His hands twitched, which Zara answered with a squeeze. He thought of murder, cold hearted, rage filled murder. A thought was okay. He knew he wouldn’t do it, but he wished he could. All he wanted was answers. 

And perhaps a little keepsake to bring home. 

Zara pulled him along through the fields, showing him their newest protégés, trying to keep his mind free of the dark that undoubtedly has covered his heart. She didn’t dare asking about Isaiah, and she didn’t need to. Just by looking at her brother, just by seeing how much he suffered. If she would know that pleading for his well-being would help, she would have done so. 

Much like his conversation with Jemma, the mere presence of his sister soothed some of his senses. Keeping him company and holding him steady—if she wasn’t pushing him that is—when nothing else seemed to. She was there, she was herself and she tried her best to reach his goal. 

An hour later, they returned to the main hall, a sweet little and private gathering centre for all employees and occasional visitors alike. A man, presumingly Stephen, just welcomed a small group of students. 

Zara remained close as Zeev’s eyes skipped over every face. A blonde man, a brunette woman with green eyes, a dark haired man with blue eyes, another blonde, a redhead, someone with blue styled hair and lastly a young woman with dark skin and a buzzcut. Zeev, finally, felt like crying again. Reassuringly, his sister rubbed his back. “I’m sorry…” 

Defeated, he turned to leave, overcome by sorrow and grief of the worst kind. 

They left the building towards the entrance, following the path in silence. 

“Is there anything else I can help with? You don’t have to go through this alone…”

“I don’t even know what to do myself…”

“Then let’s figure it out. Come, I’ll got with you and then we’ll—”

Within a second, Zeev’s spine straightened, his head shot upwards, his entire body covered in goosebumps, attention displayed on his features as it hadn’t in the last few days. He stared at a young woman, most likely not older than twenty-five, just passing through the security barrier of the entrance. She, too, suddenly looked up. Zeev didn’t hear it, but the way her mouth moved implicated two significant words: “Oh shit.”

Her dark eyes had widened and she tried to step back and flee, but the barrier wouldn’t let her, her body retorting to standing still, as if he’d be unable to see her then. A deer in the headlights. All the anger he felt towards her knotted in his chest, pulling a thread around his heart and tightening, but he remained quiet.

He let go of his sister’s hand, his movements deliberately and refined by steady superiority. She was scared. Good. She should be.

She was a mere child in his eyes, naivety plastered all over her soft features. She didn’t move.

“Zeev…”, Zara mumbled quietly, but he ignored her. He came to a halt in front of the witch who had started it all, most likely not alone, but that mattered little to him. He was nothing more than two quick steps away from her.

“You did this”, he said, his voice lacking softness.

“I—,” she tried. “I didn’t.”

He narrowed his eyes, his presence expanding, the full force of his anger enrapturing her. He watched her inhale sharply. 

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” he warned. “Why did you do this?”

“I—,” she swallowed, looking at Zara. He stepped into her view. 

“You’re answering to me, not her.”

She nodded hesitantly, her throat twisting as she swallowed once more.

“I’m waiting”, he reminded her.

“We—They—You consort with a human, that’s… that’s unjust. He knows too much. You should—They say you belong—”

“What in the sun’s name is that sorta bullshit?”

She winced, looking around for another attempt to flee at any given moment, but he kept pressing down on her with his glare. Untended hatred piling up in his throat. 

“Mother said you belong to us.”

“You expect me to feel flattered? You think destroying my life will make me tend to yours? How about you write me an invite next time that doesn’t consist of curses?”

As much as he would have loved to grab her by the hand and pull her along back home, to get rid of the curse and never have to see her face again, he knew that was an impossible act. “Break it.”

“What?”

“Break the curse.”

“I can’t.”

“Bollocks,” he snarled, moving a step closer to which she reacted with another step backwards, once more nudging into the barrier. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I can’t! Mother wouldn’t—” She sniffled, if that was her trying to reach for his compassion, she was talking to the wrong person.

“Who’s mother?”

She shook her head, tears pooling at her chin.

“Where are you hiding?”

She remained silent. 

“Fine, I’ll get my answers.” He closed the remaining distance, hovering above her like the sun itself, he raised his hand and took a brown curl of her hair between his fingers, brushing it back just the slightest. He leaned down close enough for her to hear, whispering calmly: “Tell your mother I made a whole town forget my family ever existed, if he dies, you underestimated me for the last time.” 

“Everything alright?” a young man yelled towards them. The girl rubbed her head and darted to the side, taking the distraction and running off towards the exit, leaving the place and Zeev altogether. 

“Yes, yes, all is well, sorry Tim!” Zara snaked her arm around her brother’s and pulled him towards the exit as well. “Sun, Zeev, what was that?”

“A step forward,” he mumbled, still caught up in the anger fueling his heart. Between his pointer and thumb, he twirled a few individual curling strands of hair. 

  As well as for her own conscious and Zeev’s unpredictable demeanour, Zara had accompanied him home, greeting Sarah as she made herself and her husband a morning coffee, words of compassion spilling from her mouth as she had her arms wrapped around the blonde woman, who had welcomed her into her family just as she had welcomed Zeev. Who, contrary to his sister, hadn’t had so much than a nod left as he had entered his home, that felt—despite the people inside—awfully cold without Isaiah well and awake. 

“That was unnecessary dramatic, Zeev,” Zara had scolded her brother once Sarah went upstairs to accompany her husband. 

“Be glad,” he huffed. “You don’t know how all of this went in my head instead. I think I held it together quite well.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Well, considering option one, letting the one who conjured the curse lift it, didn’t work out, surprisingly, I’m planning option two.” Zeev pulled a napkin from his pant pockets, unfolding it to reveal the hair.

“Zeev, this can’t be the solution…” The worry on her face was quite touching and he understood where she was coming from, but what else was there, if not, by some miracle, Amber would call and tell him the solution was just to kiss his lover awake? That, in essence, was the only sort of pure magic he conjured daily and so far it hadn’t worked. 

“What else do you suggest? You think they'll grant me my wish if I ask them nicely enough? This is a dark magic problem and only dark magic can solve it. I'm breaking a curse, not putting one on someone.”

“But it will still leave a mark…”

“That's okay”

“No it's not, Zeev… Where is the point in helping when you hurt yourself in return?” Her hands flung towards his shoulder, shaking him lightly. 

“Because I love him more than anything, he's my life and they are killing him. A little dizziness and the possibility of feeling the temptation again is nothing compared to the pain I'm feeling right now. Besides…” Cautiously, he shoved the wrapped napkin back into his pockets, tenderly grabbing her hands, his thumbs brushing over the back. “I'm not alone anymore, I will have y'all to help me get through this, to keep me from succumbing to the pull. I'll not die, I didn't back then and I will not now. And he won't either.”

“What… what will be the consequence?”

“His sickness isn’t a natural cause. It’ll cut the cord they have spun around him and it will snap right back into their faces. I’m not manipulating him, I’m not creating anything out of thin air, I’m just cutting him free. If anything, I restore the balance they have tipped off.” It didn’t need words to see how much Zara disliked the thought and considering the history of them both, he couldn’t say it wasn’t reasonable. But what else did he have? 

“Can we please wait for Amber and Helena to call?”

Zeev glanced outside, the sun on its highest point. He had a few more hours. But they’d pass—he wouldn’t wait any second longer than. 

Despite all their efforts, it was needless to say that, when Amber called, she hadn’t had good news. However, they had used their network to gather some information about a few Covens around the area, some rumoured to have rather questionable practices. That didn’t necessarily mean there was an ounce of truth behind it, but he’d look into it, when the time was given. Time he didn’t have anymore. He had asked the witches to come to his home and they followed, not questioning the reasons. 

“So you’re gonna do this?” Amber had whispered, unsure how soundproof the walls actually were. 

“Yes.” There was no time for hesitation. 

“How?”

“The blood on the picture isn’t fresh enough, but her hair will do just fine.”

“Geez,” Helena exclaimed, patting her messy bun. She always looked as if she had rushed through the morning routine and still managed to pull off a look. “I’ll be completely honest with you, I don’t like this, but… But I don’t want Isaiah to die like this either.” She paused. “Or at all, that came off wrong. Anyhow, what can we do?”

“First, we need to get the picture from Isaiah’s bag, then we gotta get to the attic without raising suspicion. Sarah and Richard don’t know anything about this and I’d like to keep it that way.” No one argued with that.

Zeev opened the door carefully. This time, Sarah sat on the bed, holding her son as he had placed his head on her lap, his eyes closed. Good. Gently, she ran her fingers through his hair and smiled softly at Zeev as he entered. Richard sat in the armchair, reading in a book he must have found in the living room. 

“How’s he holding up?”, Zeev asked carefully in a hushed tone. 

“Barely,” Sarah mouthed. “How are you getting along?”

“Closer. Is he asleep?”

“If you can call it that way…”

“Can you reach his pocket?”

Sarah knitted her brow in confusion. “Why?”

“I need the picture.”

“But the last time…”, she gasped lightly.

“I’ll make sure it stays the last time.”

Once again, she stayed quiet, contemplating his instruction. Then, as she kept drawing soothing circles over his scalp and tried to reach for the bag, Isaiah moved slightly. Zeev held his breath, waiting. But he didn’t wake.

“Let me,” Richard offered. His wife needed to move too much, but he had free access. As a mechanic, he had quite the steady hands for his age and if Isaiah didn’t know better, he might have assumed he’d been a surgeon in a past life. He gave him the picture. Gratefully, he took it. “I’ll be back soon.” As he wanted to close the door behind him, Zara stepped next to him. 

“I’ll stay with them,” she mumbled, pulling her brother into a tight hug in front of the bedroom door. He didn’t ask her to change her mind, and in a way, having her with them, taking care if against all odds something happened, they’d at least have someone who understood enough to help. He tightened the grip around her. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you, too, stop being dramatic.” She chuckled softly, nudging his shoulder but for once he didn’t fall. 

The three witches retreated towards the attic, the steps of the stairs creaking slightly underneath their shared weight. Amber, who had stepped in last, locked the door behind her. They heaved the table to the side and created an open space. The blonde grabbed a piece of chalk and drew a wide circle over the floorboards. On five ends they placed white candles for dissolution and removal. The convenient thing about black magic was that it didn’t require as much as any other. 

The picture as the bearer.

The hair as the conjurer.

And Zeev’s blood as the breaker.

He knelt inside the circle, Amber and Helena watching him attentively, in some way curiously, but worried the most. 

“Don’t look at me like we’re all about to die,” he sighed. “You’re making me nervous.”

Amber huffed. “Well, it’s the first time for me, mind you.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

It felt strange to hold the athame in his hands and not just use it for just cutting herbs and envelopes. He stared down at his hand, his heart thumbed heavily in his ribcage, pressing against his skin, daring to bolt out. Adrenaline rushing and numbing his ears, the mere thought of doing what he had done numerous times years ago, resurfaced emotions and temptations he had held so dear to himself. But he had been alone back then. Had thought, if he just grew strong enough, everything would change for the better.

He, however, wasn’t alone anymore and he wouldn’t lose himself again, not after having found what truly mattered. Sarah and Richard, Jemma and Zara, Amber and Helena and most of all, the love of his life—Isaiah. 

“Just… stay with me.”

“We can do that,” Helena promised with a smile, kneeling down and enlightening the candles. Amber mirrored her task and both of them sat down on the ground as well, just outside the circle, holding each other's hand as they closed their eyes alongside Zeev. You’ll be alright again, he promised him in thoughts and hoped it would reach him. Hoped, it would be true. If not, the Mark of Solaris would learn who the sun shone for.

He inhaled once. Exhaled deeply. Inhaling again, the blade cold against his heated palm, then he spoke:

Chains unseen, now come undone, by moonlit power and rising sun. Let shadow’s grip release its hold, and cleanse this soul, both brave and bold.

Warm, wet blood dripped from his palm, frizzling as it met the back of the picture. The bitter taste of the steam covering his tongue. For a moment he clenched his jaw, pain searing through his body, his muscles contracting and causing him to twitch. He groaned, gasping in exhaustion.

No thread remains, no tie shall be, the bond is severed, I set thee free. with power mine, I end this plea, as I will, so mote it be.

One candle after the other blew itself out, the hissing sound of his blood on the sigil kept filling the room. Neither Amber nor Helena dared to breath, both eyeing what was happening with growing anxiety. With a clatter, the ritual knife fell out of Zeev’s hand as he bent over in pain, restraining himself from suffering too loudly, pressing his teeth together till his jaw hurt. The witches were unsure if they were allowed to move at all, to touch him, to console him, to do anything. 

And then, 

nothing. 

Zeev exhaled. His body beyond tiredness, beyond exhaustion, beyond consciousness. Or at least, he should be. 

And yet he toppled onto his feet, swaying left and right, bumping into the table they had put aside and soon after felt the hands of Amber and Helena wrapped around his arm and hip, preventing him from falling. With hazy, fogged eyes he stared down towards the circle onto the surface of the picture. 

And there was no trace of the sigil. Had it worked?

Rough hands gently stroked the blonde's cheek, who has spent hardly any time out of bed for a good two days. His eyes were severely reddened, his cheeks slightly sunken, his whole spine groaned with pain, a kind of pain he had never experienced before and which seemed downright unbearable. Sometimes he writhed a little, which in itself took everything out of him, exhausted and beside himself. “My boy...” was all his father had said, and even though Richard wasn't necessarily a man of big words, the concern in his voice and on his face was clear to see. “Your mom's downstairs with Zeev, we're here. She got some people to cover her shifts so we could be here. Maybe you want to come downstairs, huh?” Richie carefully stroked his son's hair, studying the otherwise lively eyes for a while. “Let's get you a shower first, son...”

Zeev had tried to talk to him two days ago. Told him he would call his mother, commanded him to eat something, explained and reminded him that it was okay to grieve, but not to give in completely to the feeling and lose yourself. It was important to carry on, he himself had preached that, too. And he confronted him. That he too was hurt and sad, that he too was suffering from the break-in, that Isaiah hadn't asked once how he was doing with all this. His hands had clenched, holding the picture frame tightly in his grasp and pressing it against himself as Zeev spoke to him. His spine ached, a pain so present and unavoidable that it paralyzed his whole body and took up most of his focus.

Baby, I want to know how you're feeling, I'll hold you and comfort you and I'll be all yours. You can tell me everything and I am so sorry this happened to you, too. I will try my hardest to get those books back and I promise you I will not rest until I return them to you. You are the love of my life and I'm so sorry all of this is so tiring. But you did so well, the dinosaur never looked better and I cherish and appreciate all that you do. I love you more than anything. All I wanna do is kiss you. I miss you so much. I want to have dinner with you tonight and just be close to you in front of the fireplace. There for you. You are the love of my life, Zeev, please don't throw me away.

And every word died on his lips before he could say it. As if something was keeping him from saying what he felt in the midst of all the sadness that paralyzed his limbs and denied him all his fundamental needs. With every word from Zeev, he felt worse, a sadness and despair that was completely foreign to him grew and flourished within him. But he was his own worst tormentor, he didn't know what was going on inside him, but with every minute that passed, all this seemed so much more pointless. He longed for rest. For peace and quiet.

At some point, his parents seemed to have stopped by. First, he had heard the doorbell, then Zeev's voice, then his mother's. He didn't hear what they said, only that they were talking to each other. He heard Zeev crying and his mother comforting him. How the kettle whistled on the stove. Then heavy footsteps going up the stairs. While his mother took care of his husband, it was Isaiah's dad who first checked on his son's well-being. How carefully he had stroked his hair and looked at him with big, caring blue eyes.

It was embarrassing to be undressed by his parents and guided (or rather helped) into the bathtub because he simply didn't have the strength. Gently, his mother had bathed him, talked to him and, when she realized he wasn't responding, had decided to tell him a little while Isaiah looked absent-mindedly straight ahead, barely managing to keep his focus on his mother. “Emma sends her best... She offered to come, too, but Dad and I wanted to check in on you and Zeev first... Zeev was quite worried about you, too, when he called, just as we were. And he said you stopped talking to him. Did anything happen, love? Did the two of you fight and you don't know what to do? This isn't like you... You were always great at communicating,” she spoke to him calmly and washed his arms, while Isaiah's gaze remained fixed straight ahead. His gaze lingered on the bath oils and shampoo bottles, wondering what would happen if he drank them or if the hairdryer fell into the bath water.

I'm so thankful you're here, mom. Thank you for bringing dad. You have to take care of Zeev for some time. I don't know what's happening to me. Everything hurts, mom, I can't move properly. I feel foreign in my own body. Mom, I feel horrible. Please just hold me, mom, I need you. I can't breathe properly. The last thing I want to do is disappoint you. Mom, please be proud of me. Please love me, mom, I'm still your son.

With difficulty, his mother had helped him into his fresh clothes, dried his hair just a little and told him they would sit together downstairs and maybe it would help if they ate together and just talked—not necessarily about what was going on, just talking. Isaiah looked after her as she left the bathroom, leaving him behind. For a while, he eyed the curtain rod, the shower head, then the rafters in the hallway to the bathroom. Only the latter would be able to support his body weight. If you added the additional force of gravity as soon as he stepped off the chair, nothing could have supported him in the bathroom. A hallway, however, felt less... intimate. His spine ached again, he groaned softly and drew his eyebrows together, leaning forward slightly as if it would help the pain to spread, but to no avail. He didn't want to eat, didn't want to sit with the others and talk about what was wrong with him. All he wanted was to lie in his bed and hold on to all that was dear and sacred to him, all he wanted was the picture-

Irritated and angry, he furrowed his eyebrows. Someone had changed something about it. It was tilted slightly to the left, unlike before. Hasty steps towards his sanctum. Almost reverently, he stroked the frame, the printed face of the man he loved most. “My baby...” he whispered solicitously, as if someone had hurt his heart and pressed the frame closer to him, almost to the point of pain. The pain in his spine radiated, it hurt more than anything had hurt him before, reverberated to his head, buzzing from everything.

“What did you do?!” he spoke in a firm voice, looking angrily at his father, mother and Zeev at the table. There was a skillet in the middle, full to the brim with food. God, how he loved Zeev's food. And he missed it. “You changed it, you had no right to do that,” he spoke into the room without accusing anyone in particular. One of them, however, must feel responsible. Richie drew his eyebrows together and straightened up slightly, taking a few careful steps towards his son. “Isaiah, we didn't do anything,” he said reassuringly to the podcast host, who clutched the picture angrily and drew his eyebrows together. He had rarely felt such anger. Such rage. Silent tears ran down his cheeks as his spine began to ache again, almost numbing him. “You changed it. It wasn't like this before. You defiled it!” The accusations were as absurd as they were unfair. Richie took a step towards him and Isaiah looked at the picture, it had changed so much, too much, it was no longer his, no longer the memory he had held onto so dearly. The one memory that had survived.

He hit the frame hard on the hardwood floor, causing the glass to shatter and smash to the wood. Almost reverently, he picked up the picture amidst the shards and pressed it firmly against his chest. “I'll protect you,” he whispered to himself in the silence, looked down at the glass and picked up the shards, pressing hard so that the sharp edges dug deep into the palm of his hand. The radiating pain in his spine overshadowed this feeling, too. Richard dropped to his knees beside him, gripping his wrist tightly as Isaiah brought the shards to his mouth and indicated he would eat them. “Stop that, Isaiah,” his father had said, trying to hide his shock and his fear, looking at Sarah and asking her to call the ambulance. The son struggled against his father's firm grip, moving his mouth closer and closer to the glass, but the mechanic shook his head. “Isaiah!” his father repeated in a firm voice before the blonde looked up at him, put the photo in his fanny pack and perhaps became one with him. “You're just scared you're gonna lose your sweet, sweet baby boy,” he began and looked up at his father, his voice mocking, overdramatically melancholic, as if he were standing on stage, his gaze going to his mother, then to Zeev. For the first time in almost seven days, he really looked at him. But there was no compassion in his gaze, no love, just mockery and a smile that hinted at the intention of his words. Contrary to that, tears had formed in his eyes, but he smiled as the warm blood ran down his wrist. “And you are afraid you're gonna be alone again, oh, what a terrible fate that must be! But you don't have to be afraid. I promise you, you will never be alone again, you will be taken in.” Richard's grip on his wrist tightened, Isaiah dropped the loose shards of glass, the ones that had become stuck in his palm stayed. Sarah had stood in front of Zeev, protecting and positioning him entirely behind her, even though she was smaller than him. She had taken Zeev in like a son, and in moments like these it was clearer than ever: she would never let anything happen to him. Not even through her own son.

Isaiah made a sweeping gesture and pointed at the interior, then looked back at Zeev: “All this, this mediocre, mundane life— this isn't you, Zeev. This is not what you deserve. But luckily, all of this isn't over yet. You will see and realize that there is so much more to life. And soon, you will be free.”

Zeev? ... Zeev, I need you here. I don't know what's going on. Zeev, I feel so terribly alone and I'm scared. There's something here and it won't let me turn away. I love you. Please help me. Please help me, Zeev. Please.

[newcaptainofsquad9]

To Be Loved And Deserved~Myoui Mina x black! fem! reader

Pairing: Mina x reader

Genre: Fluff, Romance, angst, smut, hurt and comfort

Summary: With the distance you created due to your anxiety and self doubt, Mina sought to lessen it and show you how much she cares about you.

Word Count: 1, 962

Author’s note: A continuation/sequel to this fic. Smut ahead, so there’s your warning, 18 plus from this point. Also, sorry if it’s trash I’m having a hard time focusing and finishing things so I finally got something done! Hope ya’ll enjoy!

Cosplay is always fun for you, especially when your girlfriend, Mina joined in the fun. At first, she loved to only gush about you and your presence and flair with the craft (her words), but with enough pleas and kisses, she gave it a try. The first cosplay the both you did together was Korra and Asami from The Legend of Korra, and the first you both shared on tiktok. It wasn’t the last as the both of you delved into some of your favorite pairings/partnerships, or ships in general from media: Renji and Rukia from Bleach, Jon Snow and Daenarys Targaryen, and various Marvel characters (Mina insisted of course).

There was one that people criticized you the most for and that was your cosplay of Princess Bubblegum, in all her pink and pretty glory, yet many commenters didn’t feel the same way about you. Like how they thrashed you of your sailor moon and other anime cosplay, they stressed over how Bubblegum wasn’t black and how you weren’t built for cosplay as much as Mina was. It hurt, damaged you as much that you began to distance yourself from your girlfriend. You only told her you need space, of course being Mina she didn’t question until it became weeks--your phone blew up with texts from a worried Mina which escalated to calls, tik tok and Instagram messages. You cut yourself off from her and the comments, only leaving your room when necessary. The calls soon stopped. 

Instead, a knock echoed throughout your home, jerking you from your burrito like position wrapped around your comforter. You knew she’d come over eventually, but the conversation isn’t something you’re looking forward to. Did Mina want to break up with you? You didn’t, you loved her so much that it hurt but she wouldn’t understand how much you felt. People only praised her when she tried, not calling her ugly or telling her a cosplay isn’t right because of her race. 

You got up from your bed, sighing at the cold that fit your tummy and toes once your comforter fell. It took a few shuffles but you found the front door as more knocks continued. Your heart pumped with each thud before you gathered enough courage to open it. 

Mina’s fist was still raised as she ceased knocking.

“Y/N,” she said.

“Mina I--”

You were cut off by Mina throwing her arms around you.  

“Thank God,” she whispered against the skin of your cheek. “You’re OK, you’re actually OK.”

Your arms wrapped around her back instantly as the emotion that bubbled up inside you came crashing down through a heat of tears that rushed. 

“S-So, does that mean you don’t want to break up with me?” you asked.

Mina pulled back immediately. 

“What? Did I do something wrong?” she said. “Y/N please just--”

You cut her off with a deep sob, no longer holding on without her. Mina’s arms wrapped around your waist, cooing softly as she cupped your cheeks. She stepping with you, slow and steady as the both of you moved as one towards your room. 

Once you reached it, she lay back against the bed next to you with enough space between you both.

Your eyes dart to the covers beneath you as silence fell. Mina opened her mouth to speak, yet closed it as you began to speak as well.

Mina’s hands flew back to your face as her face flushed with a bit of red.

“You should go first,”she said. 

You nodded, it’s the least you could do since you kept her in the dark for awhile.

“You did nothing wrong Mina,” you started. “I-I had a bad time on Tik-Tok, my anxiety got out of hand and--”

The sound of Mina’s gasp cut you off, her face serious yet again. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said. “I always check in with you when things are hard for me.”

You nodded; the sadness Mina expressed breaking your heart more and more. 

“I know, and I wanted to talk to you, believe me I did but,” you paused. Mina tilted her head.

“But?” she asked before silently telling you to go on.

“My problems, are completely different from yours, you get so much praise from our cosplays,” you said. “I scrolled through thousands of them all commenting on how accurate your cosplay is, even if it wasn’t completely all there--no one called you names or sought to stereotypes to discredit you.”

Mina’s lips parted, looking to speak but she only nodded and rubbed your back. 

“A-And I’m not blaming you, it has nothing to do with you,” you declared. “But seeing how they brought you up, just to yank me down made me resent you--just for a moment! That’s why I needed space.”

Mina blinked away tears, forcing your own to build up as she wrapped her arms around you. 

“I’m sorry Mina,” you whispered against her chest. 

“You don’t need to apologize,” she said. “You let me back in, even if we have different problems, I’m always here to listen and support. OK?”

Her hands traveled up and down your sides, making the shirt you wore ride up a bit to bare soft skin. You nodded, then a shudder rippled through at Mina’s contact; your girlfriend noticed and narrowed her eyes. 

“I missed you,” she whispered. “Every part of you.”

Her words followed with a few pecks to your lips, across your jawline then down to your neck. 

“I-I missed you too.”

Mina smiled. It was her toothy smile with her adorable gums and the shininess of her eyes. 

“Yeah? I hope you didn’t just miss me and lay here all day,” she said with a hint of teasing. 

“No,” you said, heat flushing to your cheeks. “I-I watched a lot of Netflix, thought about things and ate some cookies.”

Mina giggled.

“Oh? What kind of cookies?” she asked while her hands still lingered at your sides softly. 

Her touch almost made you lose your train of thought. You shifted around the bed, flopping to the other side before reaching over to the dresser to grab the pack of cookies. 

“Strawberry cream ones,” you said in between a few bites. “Want some?”

Mina smiled as you chewed, then eventually swallowing.  

“No, but I’d much rather enjoy lovely strawberry kisses,” she whispered. 

You nearly choked on the rest of your cookie as Mina giggled and caressed your face, gently while you finished the few cookies you decided to eat. 

“Is it OK, if I kiss you?” she asked, leaning in to touch your forehead with her own. “And show you how much you are loved?”

Her words were tender, you barely reacted as her lips ghosted across your throat, jaw then cheek. A sigh escaped you; Mina’s kisses got harder, most likely leaving bruises and marks but you didn’t care. All you cared about was the warm feeling your girlfriend spurred within you. Mina noticed your silence and pulled back with soft eyes. 

“Y/N? Are you OK?”

You nodded. 

“Yes,” you said before initiating the kiss this time.

Mina moved fervently against your lips, hands moving down your sides to lift your shirt just enough to caress more skin and soft noises from. 

“Mina,” you moaned. 

“What would you like me to do, baby girl?” she whispered. “Anything you want, just let me love you.” 

Your hands tangled themselves in her curly hair while she trailed kisses down your neck and parts of your chest exposed to her thanks to your v neck. 

“I just want to get lost in you,” you said. “Make me feel good. Make love to me, Mina.”

Mina’s kisses ceased once you told her, eyes sparkling with as much love and passion that you almost cry again. She kisses you once more. It’s softer now while her hands gently pull up your shirt; you help by taking it off completely. A knowing smile spread while her eyes wondered down and your bra-less chest. 

“Y-You, I-I,” she paused as she tried to get her words together. “S-Stunning.”

You pulled her back to be flushed against you. Hands and fingers moved everywhere and all at once: Mina’s tracing each curve and stretch mark she could find; you tried to chase and follow her movements by unbuttoning her own shirt and tossing it on the floor. 

The both of you ended up panting on the bed. Mina straddled you with you lain on the bed in a heap of breathless giggles. She continued marking you to the quick moves of her hips, making you gasp at her clothed heat.  

“M-Mina-”

You were cut off by her getting off of you for a moment to pull you to the edge of the bed where she sat on her knees. The pajama bottoms you wore slipped off by Mina carefully, underwear following as she slipped them off in a matter of seconds. Her lips traced your legs, up thighs and lingered near the place you needed her the most.

“I need to gear you up, baby,” Mina whispered against the softness of your skin. 

Her fingers swiped slowly at your folds. The sensation had moans slipping from your mouth; Mina smiled and coaxed you through are her movements as she slipped a finger inside you. 

“Please, Mina--”

She finally followed your request, leaning up to climb over you, pulling her jeans down and kissing you fiercely. Her tongue slipped through, both of you not fighting for dominance over one another but the lust that was pent up for weeks. Your hands traveled down to Mina’s forearms, gripping tight as she sunk down: both of your soaking cores meeting. Her thrusts started up again with each kiss from your lips, jaw, chest then neck. The sensation wasn’t enough for you to handle. Mina smirked at the mess you were already with the moans building from you. When your eyes met, your heart-rate spiked up and the breath you barely had left; her eyes were shiny, careful and too pretty to look at. So much so, you couldn’t help but get teary eyed--you wanted to blame yourself again but Mina’s movements grew softer as her thrusts lessened.

“I love you so much,” you said, choking on the sobs that rocked your body. 

Mina bit her lip at the slowed movements, both of you so close to climax while being lost in each others feelings and emotions. 

“I love you too,” she panted. “Every part, do you understand? You’re beautiful OK?”

You nodded, adverted your eyes. Mina shook her head before gripping your chin.

“Say it, babygirl,” she purred. “Tell me, look at me. Tell me you’re beautiful.”

The deep, huskiness of her voice sent you over the edge, climax taking over while the words spilled from your lips.

“I-I’m beautiful!” you cried. 

Mina beamed down at you with a sense of passion mixed in with enough cockiness to force you to climax yet again. 

“I’m not the one you have to say that to,” she said. “But it is sexy seeing how I could make you do that and come.”

You rolled your eyes, then tried to roll over only for Mina to hold you by the arms while slipping from between you and onto the soft sheets beneath. 

“Are you still thinking about what happened with those disrespectful people on Tik-Tok?” she asked while playing with rubbing her fingers softly down your arms.

“No, not when my girlfriend is here cheering me up and telling me how loved I am,” you said. “And you’re right, I need to start learning how to love myself better.”

Mina pressed a hard kiss to your forehead before burying her face into your neck.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way baby. 

[hellsdogs]

Junji and Mija couldn't be more different. He sits back, almost nonchalant, barely gripping his pen while she’s practically humming with energy, her notebook open, pen poised, bag at her feet like she’s ready to spring into action. He remembers those days vividly, the thrill of chasing stories with the raw ambition she now wears so openly. Back then, he was eager, relentless, and believed in every word he wrote. He still does the work—still takes meticulous notes, still files sharp reports—but now, it’s different. The fire’s burned lower, and he knows it. The years have taken their toll; journalism has worn him down. He still craves the thrill, still hungers for recognition, but the constant grind and the high-stakes chases have shifted something within him. There’s a darkness there now. But lately, something’s shifted in him again. This latest case, which has the entire newsroom buzzing, might just reignite his career. It’s big—the type of story everyone wants, and one the Boss hasn’t assigned yet. But Junji is certain it’s his. He’s immersed himself in every detail, knows every fact, every theory. He even likes the idea of Mija shadowing him on it; she’s fresh, a new perspective. It’ll be a decent first experience for her. He tilts his head, gesturing to her as he opens a folder on his cluttered desk. “Well, if you’re with me today, then here,” he says, pulling out a recent article. “I imagine you’ve heard of the Ikebukuro Monster by now? The whole country is obsessed.” The “Ikebukuro Monster” has been terrorizing the city, targeting high-profile figures like the CEO of Glico, a major company whose influence has reached every corner of Tokyo. This faceless criminal hasn’t just hurt people; he’s been playing with them. Taunting the police, he’s left cryptic notes and symbols all over, riddles that seem to mock them. He’s let his terror spill into every home, turning citizens into sleepless insomniacs as they wonder if they’ll be next. Junji's voice carries a note of pride. “It’s become quite the competition around here, you know. I wrote the first meaningful piece on the Monster.” He lets that linger, and a gleam of satisfaction flits across his face. He can feel the thrill rising within him—because only he knows the truth. The Ikebukuro Monster? It’s him. He didn’t set out to become his own story. His frustrations had built slowly. Every rejection, every mundane assignment, drove him to the breaking point until he couldn’t take it anymore. So he began to leave notes. Little hints at something darker, something thrilling. At first, he’d waited, hoping the police would catch on, but they didn’t. So he had to escalate. He invented a persona, a dark twin that only he knew existed. He chose his targets with care, leaving no loose ends that could lead back to him. His first real victim is rotting somewhere right now. And with every letter he sends to the police, each time he puts pen to paper, he can feel that thrill—the power of knowing he controls both sides of the story. “Some new developments have come up recently,” he says, snapping back to the moment. “We need to get our hands on them. The police aren’t always willing to chat with us, but that’s our job—to find ways around that.” He leans back, watching her carefully. “So, I'm just curious before we start,” he says, smirking slightly, “what are your thoughts on the case?”

[anayaahwrites]

KOT ficlet #6 (Kudou Chika/Houzuki Satowa)

(Events based after the most recent update that had me screaming into oblivion.)

Needle in a thread

His first thought is, not them.

He recalls his horror when they took away the one person who had loved him, the one that lit fireworks in his darkness.

But before he had time to mourn, the torch had been passed—like some sort of metaphorical relay race—into fresh, affectionate, and welcoming hands. They cared, nurtured, and gave purpose to his existence.

The child hated by a parent, the child of calamity.

Of disaster.

And now that he’s built a home, a hideaway to rush back to whenever things seemed too rough, like hell he’d let the demons of his past have it their way.

He drops down carefully, one knee after another, placing folded hands in front of the head tucked in between his legs.

Because Chika is desperate and he has no pride to protect to begin with, so pleading before them to let him just live outweighed any sense of shame he’d feel.

But he’s naive to think Uzuki cares.

There was something bizzare about the boy since he’d met him, how he changed based on what the situation called for—like a snake shedding layers of its skin.

The light at the end of the tunnel vanishes, but Chika pushes on, pouring the deepest parts of his soul in front of the people that ruined him once before.

Because Chika refused to let his torch dim, the flame protected by so many, he couldn’t be any more grateful.

Uzuki snickers, instructing Abiko and taking a blow to the face.

“I’ll tell everyone you did this to me.” He smiles.

Chika’s light is bright.

But his darkness is all-consuming. It wraps him like a blanket of thorns, clawing to tear chunks of his soul away. In the end, who could he save?

Who could save him?

“I’m tired of all of this!”

He snaps his head, facing the voice, breathing life into his own.

Houzuki stands with her back to him, confronting the men with such ferocity, they stutter for a second.

“To hell with your ‘ruin his life’ nonsense,” she huffs, swinging her hair like a whip. “I’m taking him home!”

He had so many questions.

Houzuki grumbles under her breath all the way out, twisting and turning from one street to the other, tugging him behind her like a four-year-old.

Why was she here to begin with?

Usually, he’d shrug her away. He’d tease the ever loving crap out of her and watch Houzuki turn a brighter shade of crimson every time while subtly keeping his distance from the intense urge to hold her close.

But today, when he looks at her, Chika sees more than just Satowa.

He sees a woman with the will of a stallion, dulling her blade in front of no one, however intimidating they might be.

He sees the hand of a woman he could not help but admire.

Couldn’t help but love.

He stops walking, looking at the fingers wrapped delicately around his wrist as if Chika realised for the first time that he was holding the hand of the woman he fell in love with a long time ago.

“Are you tired?” comes her tender voice filled with concern, as she looks around, “Do you want to sit for a while?”

He looks into her worried eyes and quickly drops his gaze, to the hand she wouldn’t leave. On any normal day, by now Satowa would let go, a shade of bright pink spreading down her arm to her toes.

Today she holds his hand, firm and gentle, both at once, neither shaking nor blushing at the contact that was progressively setting his nerves on fire.

And admitting his feelings was easy. It was easy for him to look at every minute he’d spent with her—in sorrow, in joy—that Chika was irrevocably in love with her.

He’d give the Sun if she demanded it, the moon adorned as an elegant crescent ring around her finger. He’s so in love that he forgets his past, that he could endanger Houzuki and her entire family.

But it looms around him like a constant-present shadow. So he sharpens his facade to protect her.

“You shouldn’t follow me to places like this,” he swallows, maintaining his composure as best as he can. “It’s dangerous. Are you stupid? Don't pull a stunt like this again.”

He steals a glimpse at her, pushing strands of loose hair behind her ear with not an ounce of regret or fear of her actions.

“If anything, you’re the stupid one,” she replies, ebony eyes staring straight into his as he raises an eyebrow in question.

“For thinking you’d need to face this alone.”

He stills, feeling her thumb stroke his bruised knuckles, eyes steadily turning a shade lighter.

“I understand,” she says, “I understand you’ve been fighting your battles by yourself all these years. You feel responsible for everything—like you deserve divine punishment for sins you didn’t commit to begin with,”

“But for once, point the blame to those that deserve it.” her grip tightens. “Tell them to,” she sucks in a sharp breath.

“Eat shit for all I care.”

Her gaze softens as he peers into her eyes; for solace, for the comfort he’s never had. That he’s never asked for.

“You’re only human, Kudou, and humans make mistakes. We all do. Does that mean we need to be crucified for it?”

He shakes his head from one side to another in an unspoken response.

“The past won’t change, no matter how hard we try. But the future.....” she grimaces, “Our circumstances are different now. No one helped you then—no one stood for you,”

Satowa’s smile is melancholy, like rain and snow at once, as she cups his cheek with her free hand.

“But you have me now,” she whispers, lacing her fingers into the groove between his. He peers into those abysmal eyes and sees a promise.

“The only day I’ll let go of this hand will be the day I die.”

In a flash, Chika breaks.

He shatters like smashed glass, scattering across the ground in shards of built up agony. He feels the tears forming in his eyes as he looks into hers, chin wobbling uncontrollably. His heart squeezes in his chest as everything sinks in—Dad, Mom, Grandpa, everyone he’s loved and lost.

And she stays there throughout, rubbing warm circles into his much bigger palm, a distant sorrow in her eyes.

This woman, this beautiful, wonderful woman, had saved him on more occasions than he could count.

She was the white to his black, yin to his yang painting his life with every colour in the spectrum between them.

The Sun sets not far behind, fiery orange encircling her like a golden halo. And that’s all it takes—the gleaming sky behind her, the tears in her eyes, the ones in his.

He pulls her forward gently, letting Satowa fall against him as every type of warmth rushes through his veins.

She stills for a moment, leaning against him, not a hair on her head moving. Chika gives her time, space enough to let go if this isn’t what she wants. God knows he doesn’t want to force her.

When she leaves his hand, Chika thinks it’s all over. And that’s okay.

He’s okay with that.

Instead, Satowa throws her arms around his neck, face sinking into the groove of his chest, nuzzling the space where his heart beats erratically.

He takes a moment to register, but when realisation sets in, Chika pulls her tighter to himself, fingers working through the strands of her hair, chin resting comfortably above her head.

In those small arms, Chika feels the affection she holds radiating with every fibre of her being. She stands on her toes, reaching higher to lay her head on his shoulder. He draws her up by the waist, anchoring her safely to his chest.

“You’re not alone,” she whispers into his collarbone, the touch of her lips, a second of pure bliss for him. He shivers at the contact, holding his breath to stop his thoughts from escalating.

“You’re not alone,” Satowa repeats, chin resting against his chest as she stares into his eyes, lowering one hand to trace his jaw in short, quiet strokes.

“You have me forever.”

When Chika kisses Satowa, he feels everything all at once. The rustling of the leaves dull, his heartbeat overpowering every sound in existence.

When she kisses him back, realisation sinks in that this woman, this beautiful wonderful woman, would give him the world too.

Chika stands in the centre of their universe, two supernovae colliding against the speed of the world, her breath against his skin like warm sunlight streaming in through a window.

When Chika looks into her eyes, he sees himself in them, trapped in a circle of warm ebony. He watches her smile brighten when she raises herself just enough to wipe the tears he doesn’t remember crying.

Today, when he looks at Satowa, Chika sees salvation. He sees his world.

“Forever,” he sighs as they walk back side by side, fingers intertwined, like needle and thread. She gazes at him, instinctively moving closer.

For once, Chika would let himself be protected. Because Satowa was a force to reckon with. She’s fierce and brave and he’s safe in her arms.

Chika really smiles then, one so wide his eyes crinkle and vision narrows to the one person who matters more than any other.

The world has to allow him this one moment of greed.

“Forever isn’t long enough.”

Yay! I wanted to write something for so long! This idea came to me after randomly listening to "Safe and Sound" by Taylor Swift.

Thank you for reading, and being patient with me. I love y'all so much <<3

[astaroth1357]

How to Calm Your Demon Boyfriend; Vol 2

So You Pissed Him Off, Have You?

Notice: Due to an impending lawsuit for libel and misinformation, Mammoney, Inc. has filed for bankruptcy. All past guides from their company have been revised and re-released. All future printing will be handled Solo Man, Press.

Oh? Is there trouble in your devilish paradise? Well, there’s bound to be a spat or two between lovers but things can get... complicated if one half of your pair could easily wipe out a nation. Attempting to calm down your demon can be tricky, however in this volume of How to Calm Your Demon Boyfriend we will be covering the best methods available for you to do just that! With our instructions and a deft touch, you’ll manage to avoid your boyfriend’s hellish rage and get right back to enjoying that tender, sacrilegious relationship you’ve come to love!

This volume only covers if your demon boyfriend is mad at YOU. If there is SOMEONE ELSE making him mad, please consult Volume One!

Lucifer’s mad at You

You are in a very tricky situation so treat your next actions with the utmost care…

First, ascertain who is at fault for what has occurred. If it’s you, then figure out the severity. A minor infraction can be smoothed over easily enough with some explanation and sincere apology.

More severe breaches of trust will be harder get past. Plead your case but don’t attempt to excuse your actions. Acknowledge fault and, again, apologize. If he seems receptive, attempt to touch him in some way like on the hand or arm but no higher. This a literal demonstration of your attempt to reconnect.

This is the best that you can do for now, but he should acknowledge your efforts as long as you approached it correctly.

If it’s his fault… as far as he’s concerned it’s still your fault, unfortunately. It’s the pride in him speaking. 

Ask him what he believes you’ve done wrong and assess from there. Some things may be better to give a brief apology to, but no more. You don’t need to explain yourself for something you didn’t do. It may be best to leave him for a few hours after this and let tensions cool.

If the accusation is too egregious, you have the option to not apologize at all. This will likely anger him further if you give no explanation, though. Explain why you don’t think you should have to say sorry, then leave. Call for his brothers if you need someone there to intervene.

Now you wait. Unfortunately, it's an inevitability. Lucifer will need time to process and do a post-mortem on what happened. If he was truly the one at fault, he’ll acknowledge it to himself but never admit it out-loud. He may extend an olive branch in the form of a gift (the size and expense of which will be directly proportional to how much he messed up) but that will be it.

If you forgive him, then life can return to normal. If not, consult our other material: Can I Breakup with My Demon Boyfriend?

Mammon’s mad at You

It is first important to discern between his usual “anger” and actual anger.

If you see any of these signs: Blushing, stuttering, overly defensive denials, general tsundere-ness then you are likely only dealing with “anger.” Feel free to tease appropriately.

If these signs are not there then something is very wrong. Find out what it is, he will be forthright with a little persistence. (i.e. bug him until he says something. He will likely want to tell you anyway)

Attempt to remedy the problem as quickly as possible. This will no small matter. A truly upset Mammon should not be ignored.

If you have done something wrong, an apology may be in order. Do be sincere if you can because Mammon will appreciate the effort.

Cheer him up with either compliments or physical contact, head pats and cuddles work most effectively. If his face is red, though, you’re likely on the right track in general.

He isn’t one to hold a grudge so this should settle any brief irritation that’s derailed your relationship. Take care not to upset him this much again in the future.

Leviathan’s mad at You

Again, he’s probably jealous but now he’s going to be jealous and possessive. Admittedly, not the best combination.

Stay. Calm. If he’s already hysterical then adding onto the situation won’t do anyone any good. Patience may be difficult to hang onto, but it’s crucial to getting through this on the other side.

Physical contact is still important but NOT TOO EARLY. If he has his guard up he may just slap away your attempts to touch him.

Chances are he’s already built up a narrative in his head. This will not be easy to combat, especially if his suspicions aren’t true.

Denial will be tricky. You don’t want him to accept his false narrative as truth, but there’s going to be only so many times you can say, “No, that didn’t happen” before he stops believing you.

Deny his story first, firmly and with no room for doubt then redirect the conversation to asking why he’s so worried about it. Get to the heart of what’s making him feel so self-conscious and start soothing him from there. He’ll be feeling vulnerable, so a delicate touch is necessary.

NOW is the time for physical contact. He still needs to know you’re there so you should get as close to him as possible. He’ll probably be holding onto you pretty tightly. He won’t mean to bruise you if he does. 

Hold him close and don’t even think about letting him go until he’s ready. He needs to know that you'll stay with him even if this is what he has to offer. Your embrace is not just reassurance, it’s a promise. I hope you're prepared to keep it.

For more on how to comfort Levi, please seek out: How to Comfort Your Demon Boyfriend.

Satan’s mad at You

Oh my, aren’t you in a pickle? The focus should be on the immediate concerns first, then the long term. Don’t try to resolve both at once.

The immediate concern is that you have a very ticked off Wrath in front of you and he will make his displeasure known. Apologize. Apologize now. Is it actually your fault? Who knows. That's a long term concern and you should focus first on getting him to calm down fast.

Satan will not listen to reason right now, especially not if you're the only one offering it so don’t even try.

Do not, I repeat, DO NOT attempt to touch an angry Satan. He's going to be far too gone for cuddle time to smooth things over.

You should give him space. He likely doesn't want to be mad at you and is very aware of just how dangerous this situation is for you both. If you take a step back, he'll do what he needs to in order to calm himself down (which is probably going to involve property damage of some kind but better it a bookshelf than you).

Wait until he is no longer shouting, then you may approach and carefully plead your case. You better have some airtight logic if you want to convince him he's actually the one in the wrong about something, but if he is he will apologize.

Of course, if you are at fault then you should apologize and attempt to explain. Even if you don’t have the best justification, you can still win him back if you can prove you had good intentions.

Unfortunately, even if he understands your reasoning he may still be a little miffed... Speaking candidly, if there's still residual anger left it may be best just to f*ck it out. This is not a joke, it's a legitimate way to redirect lingering negative emotions in a relationship. So have at it, I suppose. Just have a safe word ready because you'll need it.

Asmodeus’ mad at You

Again, reason and logic will fail you, especially at the very start. He WILL be upset and he WILL lash out. Likely verbally.

DO NOT engage in a fight of insults with Asmodeus. Not only will you lose but the situation may escalate to the point that your relationship will suffer permanent damage.

Remain calm, but you need not take the abuse. You are well within your right to tell him that you will leave the room if he does not cease the hostility. Don’t mean this idly either because your presence will be very important to Asmo. He hates to be ignored.

If you must leave, do so. Don’t turn back even if he pleads. Wait for him to come to you, because he will, and then a civil conversation can commence. Apologize if necessary.

After his initial anger has passed, Asmo will be very quick to feel remorseful. Despite his ferocity, he should be rather forgiving (at least to you anyway).

He will want make-up sex, for his own comfort if nothing else, but as always he will not force the matter. It may be much sweeter than usual, though, because that’s his way of saying “I’m sorry.”

Beelzebub’s mad at You

Oh dear.... You have either denied/stolen his food, hurt his family, or somehow just really ticked him off...

If you denied him food, get more.

If you hurt his family, plead for mercy.

If you’ve just really, really ticked him off, I’m not even sure what you did but you probably ought to apologize and maybe rethink your life choices... They must not be very good.

Belphegor’s mad at You

This will happen, but again Belphegor is pretty lazy. He’s more likely to give you the silent treatment than he is to blow up in your face.

Your challenge now is to get him to talk to you. Unlike with Mammon, he won’t be itching to say anything so a slight nudge isn’t going to cut it.

Start by trying to be frank about the situation. Attempt to sit him down and say that you wish to talk things out. Be empathetic, approachable, and sincere. This should elicit at least some attention from him for most issues.

If he intends on holding out further, then you have already done your part to the best of your ability. Leave the door open to that discussion, but go about your day until he’s ready for it. It won’t be easy, nor will it feel good, but it’s important to set boundaries and not allow his silence to punish you when things could be worked out more productively.

I assure you, Belphie does love you and he will miss you. It may take a little time, but he will eventually approach you to have that talk. Resolve what happened together and then things can return to normal, cuddles and all.

If you are looking to calm down your demon before he hurts someone else, please consult Volume One: Tame Demons, Save Lives!

[listentothelittlebird]

This was a first draft to Protect Our Own, from my Code Bat series on Ao3! It’s a reimagining of Jason Todd breaking into Titans tower, in a world where Robin is a myth and Tim Drake goes by Alvin, unnamed vigilante, with the Titans. Enjoy!

Shit. Jason was screwed.

Even as he held the tablet in his hands, watching the very concerning stalker-level footage that the League had gathered, he knew. He knew without a doubt that he was watching the new Robin. The target chosen for him was, of all the options the world could give him, Robin.

“This boy is a member of a group of young superheroes known as Young Justice. They recently went under the mentorship of older superheroes, to become the newest team of Teen Titans,” Talia Al Ghul explained passively, and Jason did not like the gleam in her eyes as she watched the young boy fight, “Lady Shiva met the boy, once, and agreed to train him. Even she is unaware of who his previous mentors were.”

Thank goodness for small mercies.

Then Talia turned to Jason. “You have done an admirable job of controlling your Pit Madness,” she smiled sharply, and Jason was reminded of all the deaths he had caused, all the people who had taught him and were murdered by him, using their own tactics, “And you have learnt fast. As promised, you will complete one contracted kill, and you will be released to exact your own revenge.”

Jason gave himself a mental pat on the shoulder, because even in the early days of crazed anger, not once had he given proper clues towards the fact that his killer - the one he wanted to exact his revenge upon - was the Joker himself. “White-faced asshole” could just be a white man, and “fucking green-haired piece of shit” could still just apply to anyone with green hair.

The Robin secret was still safe, surprisingly. Code Bat was still safe.

The assassin base was in the middle of nowhere, but there was still a little town nearby, with enough reception to surf the internet on a phone he had nicked from a particularly rich-looking traveller. 

Talia did not control what he knew, the League did not control what he knew, so even while he learnt of the Joker still being alive, he also learnt about the helicopter crash, how Batman had purposefully fled empty-handed. Truthfully, he still wanted the Joker dead - but he recognised that there was a chance that no matter how many times they tried, the bastard would come back. He would rather not try than to get stuck in a never-ending loop, something that B- that Bruce must have realised.

There were other stories he found. Jason could not deny destroying several rooms in the base when he read the kid’s story. All the money in the world, and his very-much-alive parents could care less than Jason’s own barely-there mother had. 

He had not known if the boy had taken up the mantle after him, but he was unsurprised at the confirmation in front of him. Robin was as much a part of the Wayne family as champagne, fancy suits and camera smiles.

“The boy is young, and already he is excelling in combat, research, and investigation. In a few years, he will be a real threat to the League. This is your final assignment. Kill the boy, and we will let you go.”

Well, fuck. 

Jason carefully controlled his reaction, turning to meet Talia’s eye with his blue-green eyes. “You want me to kill a minor,” Jason spoke slowly, allowing his incredulity and a tinge of anger to slip into his voice.

“Either you take the job, or you will continue training, until another opportunity arises,” Talia replied evenly. Which meant anything from a week later to never. 

Jason gritted his teeth, sucked in a deep breath, and pushed it all out at once. “When are we leaving?” he questioned. Talia’s grin was sharp, like a predator before their strike.

-

Double shit. This just got way more complicated.

Jason had bargained with Talia for a week of preparation work - a week to scout out the Titans tower, as if he had not memorised the layout of the old one. As if they had not built the new tower in the exact way as the old one had been.

“We will have League members surrounding the building,” Talia announced, a day after they had landed in the city. Jason raised an eyebrow at her. 

“We are curious as to who has trained this boy,” Talia explained, “Subdue the boy’s teammates, and make him vulnerable. Don’t block radio transmissions. If the boy has maintained contact with his mentor, they would come running at their call.”

Jason cursed inwardly, keeping his face carefully blank as he nodded his assent.

He had to play this right. 

-

“I don’t trust this,” Bruce rumbled for the fourth time, in full Batman mode despite being in a casual sweater and sweatpants.

Dick hummed along, casting a concerned glance Tim’s way.

On the table was a note, delivered through an unassuming envelope. 

It stated a date and specific hour, and, Don’t call the Code. 

“The code,” Tim mumbled, “Like, Code Bat? There’s no way they’d know that, though, right?”

The note was written on red paper, flecked with green and yellow. Tim’s tone was wavering, lacking its usual confidence. He was always so sure when it came to cases, but this? 

“What’s happening at this time?” Dick wondered. Bruce pulled up his own schedule for the following week, and Tim mentally went through his own plans. Nothing of note, but-

“I’ll be in Titans tower,” Tim stated aloud, and there were gears turning in his brain. Wild gears that were nearly off their hinges, but they were the same gears that had made the Batman-is-Bruce-Wayne connection, and he had learnt to trust them.

“Is someone trying to warn us?” Tim voiced, “I get a lot of speculation from the public, about what my official superhero name is, but also where I came from, who I trained with. What if it’s not just the internet wondering?”

Bruce pursed his lips in thought. He turned to Tim, his eyes hard and determined in that certain manner that meant he was being overprotective.

“No,” Tim blurted, “I’m not staying at the Manor during that specific timeframe.” Bruce shut his mouth and blinked down at his adopted son.

“Whoever this is, they risk being found out if I don’t show up,” Tim gestured to the note, “It might just escalate from there, anyway, if we prolong whatever is supposed to happen.”

“It could be a trap,” Dick pointed out, and now he too had taken up the overprotective undertones of discomfort. Tim squared his shoulders and smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be fine,” he promised, “I’ll stay in the tower. Besides, all my teammates will be there. If anything happens, they’re right there.”

Bruce and Dick exchanged worried glances, but eventually Bruce sighed and clasped a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Code Bat has always been for your safety,” Bruce stated firmly, “I don’t care if our enemies find out about us - if it gets out of hand, if it looks like a trap, call us.”

-

The morning of the date stated on the note, Tim found another one in his Teen Titans bedroom.

They want you dead. Play along.

What jolted Tim was the symbol at the bottom right corner of the note - it was one of the made-up symbols that Dick had taught him. The symbol on the note meant “burn after reading”.

The handwriting was not Dick’s, nor was it Bruce’s. It was cursive, almost like Alfred’s, but it was also much more scrawled and uneven, like someone still unpractised in writing. 

The gears in Tim’s brain must have really come unhinged this time, because the only name it could conjure was Jason. Jason was dead.

Tim was quietly uptight right until the hour came. He almost did not realise his teammates were being picked off, meticulously, skillfully, one by one. Almost.

Tim still had yet to press his emergency beacon. He had not activated Code Bat. He wanted to see where this went, before anything else.

Then the mysterious attacker descended on him, a blur of black and the smallest glimpse of white, and Tim was fighting for his life.

The man moved like an assassin - Tim had met some League of Assassins members, back when he had trained with Lady Shiva. He moved like them, but there was also something else to his movements.

Tim dodged a hit, and that was too short to be aiming for his throat, that would have been a non-lethal hit-

The man was not aiming to kill. He fought like Batman. He fought like one of them.

Tim opened his mouth, made to say something, although he was unsure what. He was swept off his feet before he got the chance.

“Who trained you, kid?” the voice growled, and it was a deep voice that should have unnerved him, but something struck him as familiar. The drawl, the barely-there accent.

Jason, his brain screamed.

Real answers, please, Tim pleaded.

The man pulled him by his tunic collar, and he shifted to pull him towards his face. There was a glint of metal on the man’s uniform - a recording device. 

“Who are you?” he growled again, with Tim pulled close. 

Tim got a good look at the man’s face, and while he instinctively bantered back, he was internally reeling. Looks like his gears were working, after all.

“Just a kid with a dream,” Tim smirked, a crooked smile already leaking some blood. 

Jason - because this man was Jason, somehow, how was Jason alive - interrogated Tim while punching him out. His blows hurt for sure, but Tim swore that he was aiming for the areas that would cause the least injuries. He swore that when he grunted as a rib was broken, Jason had paused minutely, cringing slightly, before he barreled on.

Something was placed on his chest. 

“Say goodnight, kid,” Jason sing-songed, and there was the sound of a gun cocking. Tim barely registered that when the gun shot, it had shot at him. There was the hard thump of something near his chest, just above his chest, but it had barely touched his tunic.

Jason tapped a finger-signal, a “stay low and don’t move”, and Tim remained where he was. He waited as footsteps receded, waited for several minutes, with a bag of fake blood leaking from his chest, bruises and other injuries blooming in pain underneath his uniform.

He felt rather than heard the presence appear beside him. The looming figure crouched down and gingerly maneuvered Tim into a firm grasp. 

His “assassin” stared down at him. He had switched out his black assassin get-up for casual clothing. He was… tall. Built like Bruce. His eyes were different, too, and he had a white lock of hair curling just above his eyebrows. Yet…

“Jason?” Tim croaked out, and Jason Todd smirked. Tim knew that smirk - Robin wore it a lot, when he watched him. “You better be damn glad no one can hear you, anymore,” Jason gruffed, and started moving with Tim in his grasp, “Let’s go somewhere else, though, for good measure.”

They ended up in Tim’s room - sound-proofed, and therefore the safest location in the tower for this conversation.

“You’re alive,” Tim blurted out, as Jason dressed his wounds. His hands stuttered before resuming their work. “I died,” Jason stated flatly, “And I dug myself out of my own grave. Talia found me, and threw me into a Lazarus Pit.”

Jason raised his eyes to meet Tim’s, and Tim could see the eerie green glow in his eyes. 

“Don’t tell Bruce about me,” Jason rushed out, and Tim immediately jumped to object, but Jason was faster, “Don’t. Listen, I-” Jason breathed deeply, “I’ve killed, alright? I’ve broken his big rule and all that jazz. I might still find myself going back to the streets of Gotham, but to the Manor? I’m not ready to face that shit.”

Jason paused for real this time, having finished taking care of Tim’s more visible injuries. He cringed. 

“You should get Alfie to check you out, just in case you have internal bleeding or whatever the fuck I gave you,” Jason waved his hand around uselessly, “Lie low for a few days, alright? I need to make myself scarce. They’ll find out I didn’t follow through with the deal, and I’ll need to have disappeared, by then.”

Tim was silent for a few long moments. “Will I see you again?” Tim finally asked, his eyes wide and hopeful, “They miss you, you know? We miss you. We all do.”

Jason swallowed, and blinked back the water gathering in his eyes. “How can you miss me?” he chose to ask, “S’not like you knew me very well, before… well, before.”

Tim grinned, bright and eager. 

“You once snuck out for patrol on your own,” Tim informed him, “And got stuck on a rooftop that you flipped onto with your grappling hook, because the other buildings around you were all too far away to grapple towards. You had to slide down the water pipes and run across an empty street to make your way back home.”

Jason sputtered, because that had happened, he did remember that, but when the heck did he hear about it?

“How the hell do you know that?” Jason asked, unable to keep his dismay from leaking into his voice. 

“I’ll tell you when I next see you,” Tim smiled cheekily. Smartass.

Jason checked the time. “Your Superboy buddy will be waking up soon,” Jason reported, “Don’t come looking for me, alright? I’ll… I’ll return to Gotham soon. I just have to make sure the League’s off my back.”

Jason got up and hesitated. “When I return to Gotham,” he warned, “I’ll come in guns blazing. There’ll be deaths. It won’t be pretty. Just- just stay out of my way.”

It would have been more convincing, if Jason had not spent the last thirty minutes treating Tim’s wounds.

“Who are you?” Tim called abruptly, Jason hovering at the door, “You come in and take us all out, one by one. They’d want a name. Who are you?”

Jason smirked sharply. 

“Red Hood,” he droned, “Call me Red Hood.”

He slinked away, and like a true Bat, was out of the tower in seconds.

[quiveringdeer]

I hope the readmore posts right. If not. Sorry non filthy followers. This is my first long more than a dm ramble slasher fic. So please be gentle. Would love feedback if you feel inspired to!

Many thanks to @thesightstoshowyou for encouraging me to turn my original rambling into something more. And to @youtastelikesugar for beta reading for me! Love y'all dearly!!

Warnings: Minor character death, abuse, noncon, sexual themes, asphyxiation, strangling, really really not for the casually thirsty. It hits pretty dark moments that go far and some may not want to read. 18+ Please head these warnings!!

You and Bo are an item. Let's not dwell on the how and just focus on the now, shall we?

He's still got the anger issues but for the most part when it comes to y'all you work them out in the bedroom. Or his truck. Or kitchen. The theater. Hell, even that one time on the roof of the house. Who knew stargazing could make someone so frisky?

When Bo needs to have things rough, which is almost always, it's nothing you can't handle. If it was you wouldn't have made it anywhere close to this point in your relationship.

No. You offer up whatever Bo needs. And for a while you are more than enough.

But there's a deep darkness there. And sometimes his hands around your throat merely rendering you unconscious isn’t enough to ease the tension built up inside him.

So you come to an agreement. If he needs this one thing you can’t provide personally then you’ll let him take it from others. 

If you’re topside when new visitors roll in it becomes your own little game betting on which one he’ll choose. And no matter how much the flirting escalates or how many days he keeps them locked away under the station, you’re the one he comes home to. You’re the one providing everything else he desperately needs and desires. 

But as with all things there’s always a threshold. 

So it comes to pass when a sweet young thing roles into town with a couple friends. Immediately you know which of the prey Bo will zero in on. He’s so predictable at times. Or more accurately he’s predictable to you because you know him so well. Sometimes better than he knows himself with the way he still tries to deny those thoughts and feelings that aren’t so easy for him to accept. 

You do your part. Leading persuading the other friends to follow you to the house while Bo works on their car. Certainly some refreshments and home cooked food for their bellies is better than standing around while he fiddles with their car. 

A smirk curves your lips at the face you expect him to make at your flippant comment about his work. Then quickly falls when you realize his attention is too enraptured by his chosen quarry. Swallowing down the sour taste of jealousy blooming on your tongue you force an easy smile back to your lips. 

“Don’t take too long Bo.” You call out as you usher the other visitors out into the Louisiana heat. You’re proud of how carefree your tone comes off. But he catches the warning, meeting your eyes with one of those patented smirks of his. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Darlin’.” 

A small but sweet acknowledgement of claim that easily washes away that bitter tang of jealousy lingering at the back of your mouth.  You were his and he was yours. Even if the victim was unaware or ignoring it. All that mattered was that Bo remember that. 

Vincent takes care of the other two with ease as they sit at the small dining table outside the kitchen door. Just as you’re bringing out two chilled glasses of lemonade to the table he’s knocked them both unconscious. Blessedly without spilling too much blood. 

It’s why you’d moved a table out here to sit the victims. The dark wood of this room easier to remove stains than having to regrout light colored tile in the kitchen. Never again you’d vowed. 

Dinner has come and gone. Vincent has already posed and coated the others in wax. Moved onto the smoothing and carving of their new flesh.

You take extra time in the shower. Allowing the warm water to ease the tension you’ve been carrying since serving dinner for three instead of four. You deep condition your hair and breathe in the calming scent of eucalyptus and vanilla infused candles. You take time letting your hair air dry while exfoliating your face and moisturizing every inch of your body. 

It’s near 10:30pm and still Bo hasn’t come home. You know he’s fine. His new little toy deftly restrained in his own undertown “workshop.” But usually he has the decency to come home! Is he planning on spending the night there?

That bitterness from earlier is clawing up your throat. You blow out the relaxing candle that was doing a pisspoor job of keeping you relaxed and move into the bedroom. You weren’t going to wait up for him. With any luck you’d be asleep by the time he dragged his ass home. 

One. Two. Three. Three fucking days of Bo spending all his free time at the damn gas station. 

In those three days you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why THIS particular fixation of his was making you so agitated but enough was enough. 

Packing up food from this night’s dinner that he’d forgone, yet again, you make your way into town. The gas station doors aren’t locked. Why would they need to be when no one entered the boundaries of this town without you all knowing. 

A heavy bassline thumps through the radio speakers in the lobby. You pay no mind to the words as your ears zero in on the strained screaming of the poor soul who’d become Bo’s current preoccupation. 

Inhaling and exhaling deeply you school your expression into a stoic mask then descend into Bo’s DIY Tartarus. 

This door is locked. In case the prey finds some way to get loosed you presume. 

“ ‘M busy!” You hear Bo growl out over the woman’s reinvigorated pleas for help. 

“I advise penciling me in.” You call back in a sickly saccharine voice. You tended to stay away from either of the twins’ workshops. Even with his hydrophobic and soap-phobic tendencies you found Lester’s art more tolerable. If you wanted to watch any of the brothers with their chosen crafts. 

You believe you hear Bo say something like “stay there” but the soft volume makes you assume he’s not talking to you. Moments later there’s a click before the door swings open to reveal a sweaty, shirtless Bo. Jeans slung low on his hips and haphazardly zipped with the button at his fly remaining undone. “Hey Suga’. What brings ya by?”

With more force than necessary you press the bag of leftovers into his chest while pinning him with a pleasantly chipper smile before walking around him into the space. “Dinner. Figured you’d need something to refuel from all the activities keeping you away from home.” Your gaze sweeps the dim room, drawn immediately to the lamp light illuminating the mattress right in front of the door. 

The poor woman is stretched supine on the dingy sheets. Arms above her head, wrists bound tight with duct tape. Legs spread wide and tethered by the ankles with some thick, garish yellow nylon rope that prevent her from closing. 

“Thanks Darlin’.” Bo mentions cautiously. Your temper isn’t volatile and unpredictable like his. It’s piercing and direct, like a bullet. And when he had his wits about him he did well to remain out of the line of fire. Though obviously somehow he’d gotten pulled into your sights. He moves closer to you, leaning in to kiss your cheek. A gesture you allow, leaning your cheek out for him in encouragement. 

“Welcome. This is a different setup than I remember.” 

“Made a few changes.”

“Hmm..well. I’m not here to interrupt too long. Feel free to continue.” 

A smirk balances precariously on his lips as he pins you with a skeptical look. “Ya wan’ta watch?” 

“Yeah.” You respond with a casual shrug. “I want to see what’s so captivating about this one to keep you here so much.” 

“Alright Darlin’.” Bo kicks the door closed and sets the leftovers to the side before moving back in front of the woman on the bed who’s returned to pitiful sobbing. “Looks like we got an audience sweetheart. Better make it a great show hn?” That patented smirk is fully lodged on his face now as he pushes denim and cotton down over his hips. 

You think about remaining standing to the side but something urges you to sit down on the mattress, near the victims mucus and tear stained face. 

Bo pumps his cock against his palm, pretty baby blues raking over your form as you reach out to tenderly stroke the woman’s hair. She’s babbling again. Begging you for mercy. Mercy you aren’t in any position to grant at this point. Without warning Bo snaps his hips forward, sheathing himself completely in the warm sloppy mess he’s made of her cunt. The force jolts her body up the mattress as it rips a high pitched yelp from her throat 

“Shh...Shhh…” You coo, fingers still tenderly stroking over locks of filthy hair. Dried cum, blood and sweat matting them into clumps you don’t attempt to untangle. Your soothing goes unheaded as Bo wastes no time upping his face. His fingers digging bruises into her hips as he brutally batters her overused hole. The woman’s shrieks ramp up in volume alongside his pace. The pitch ear splitting. You wonder how after three days she hasn’t completely lost her voice. Brows pinching into a scowl you stand from the mattress. The motion raises Bo’s gaze to you but his movements don’t ease up. 

You’re not sure what has possessed you to these actions but in moments you’ve kicked off your shoes and pulled off your own jeans and underwear. The discarded jeans land close to the mattress as you step up to place a foot on either side of her head. Carefully you lower yourself until your pussy hovers over her open mouth. “If you’re not gonna be quiet then at least be useful.” Bo’s thrusts have stopped now. Watching you in a slight daze as you straddle the other woman’s face, frowning down at her as you speak. “Now lick. Do a good job and maybe I’ll find you a way out of this mess. Hm?” You lower your hips as her tongue eagerly lifts up to meet your slit. Willing to do anything to escape this hell she’d found herself in. 

A deep appreciative moan spills from your lips as you close your eyes and focus on the feel of her tongue lapping over and between your folds. When Bo doesn’t immediately begin his vigorous thrusting you open your gaze to him. “Well? You gonna let me have all the fun now?” Fun? Who were you right now? 

A genuine smile you’d almost label sappy blooms on Bo’s handsome face. One of his hands extends up to grip your chin firmly, pulling you forward enough to kiss you deep. All tongue and teeth for a long few moments before pulling back and restarting his punishing pace. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Darlin’” 

The phrase does more to light a fire in your belly than the tongue working your sex or his hungry kiss. A smile brightens your own face as you close your eyes and rock your hips against the woman’s face. Reveling in the positive feelings swirling through your body instead of the negative ones trying to launch up to the surface. 

In time you reach down and swirl your fingers over her clit. You’re sure Bo has worked her through numerous orgasms in the past few days. He gets off even more manipulating that pleasure from bodies that try hardest to resist. But you want to gift her some pleasure. Surely she’s earned it surviving this long. 

Together you pull multiple orgasms from her overloaded body until the fatigue is too much and her body sinks exhausted against the mattress. Barely any energy to keep motion in her tongue. A limp and sleepy doll is no fun for anyone. 

A dark idea lances to the front of your mind. It sets off a shudder through your body like a firework exploding in a radiant sphere of lines with each fizzling out along your nerve endings leaving your whole body tingling. Before your rational mind talks you out of it your hands move around the woman’s throat. It’s strange from this angle but you do your best to apply pressure against her carotid artery and vagus nerve with your thumbs. Causing that beautiful build of pressure which makes one feel like they’re floating. Hands overlapping the front of her throat, the sides of your fingers apply enough force to cut her access to new oxygen without smashing her trachea. The loss of oxygen is enough to immediately spark renewed energy throughout her body. Her bound wrists beat against your back weakly as her body begins to jerk and convulse beneath you both. You know it’s one of Bo’s favorite ways to finish and you want to show him that you can be a part of snapping the tension built up inside him. 

Your gaze trails from where his hips continue bucking into this latest little doll up to his baby blues. She wouldn’t survive this. But you would. You’d still be here. 

“Mine.” You state firmly, leaning forward seeking a kiss which he earnestly provides. His hands cup your face hard while he snaps his hips. Once. Twice. Three times and he’s spilling into her cunt for the last time. Your hands remain closed tight on her throat until the thrashing stills. You can now give him everything. Without your body ending up forever unconscious to be discarded for another. You can give him everything he needs and desires. Only you. 

[livingmybestfictionallife]

Tangerine

Request from @chanandlersstuff​:  Hi, can I request something from Mgk? As if he's on stage and can't find the reader in the crowd and gets a little scared, stops singing and starts asking his team if they see her and starts looking for her. Give it the ending you want. Thank you💛

Side note for your username, I love it!! Chanandler Bong is my husband’s favorite joke from the show.

Summary: visually impaired reader with synesthesia is separated from her friend at a Machine Gun Kelly concert (Tickets to my Downfall). Colson grows so nervous for her he stops the show to talk over the loud speaker so that she might find her way back by following the colors of his voice.

A/N: so I wrote this before picking a gif and it was a very happy accident that the colors match

The world was always beautiful to (y/n), but that was due to her inability to see what those around her could. She knew she was special from a young age, but she didn’t know how special she truly was until well into her early adult life. At six, she would rifle through her parents’ CDs and records in search for albums with a large variety of instruments playing various parts just so she could see a collection of colors dance her around her. Some of (y/n)’s friends laughed at her when she told them about her ability to see sounds, but one completely understood what (y/n) meant, after all, she could sense the personalities of numbers and letters. As the pair grew up, they learned more about their own forms of synesthesia, but (y/n) grew to be fully dependent upon her chromesthesia after an accident caused her to lose her eyesight.

(Y/N) could feel people crowded around her as a dull blanket of grey enveloped her mind. All she could see was grey under the low roar of people engaged in their own conversations before a small streams of orange and gold twisted together and danced through the air around her. The guitar intro of “title track” caused a smile to curl over her face as her childhood friend linked (y/n)’s arm in hers and the grey blanket became lumpy as the crowd around her began to jump up and down to the beat of the music as the song quickly sped up.

Colson loved performing, but there was something about Tickets to my Downfall that made it even more fun; maybe it was the connection he had with fans, the fact that it was a completely new genre of music, or maybe it was due to the isolation he felt from his fans during the pandemic and now that he was able to perform again, it felt like the first time. He loved watched the crowd’s reaction to each song--the hype that came with the first released single, Bloody Valentine, the tears that were invoked as he sang Play This When I’m Gone, and even the rage-like mosh pit that formed during Can’t Look Back.

Another one of Colson’s favorite things to do during shows was read the signs his fans made. Most of them consisted of sexual propositions, some were the run-of-the-mill, “My name is Kelly too,” signs, but one held by a young woman in standing-only section caught his eye. 

Pink and gold swirled together as bursts of indigo extended across the sign from various points where the pink and gold met. It reminded Colson of the smoke that remained in the air after fireworks, but projected on the backdrop of a twilight sky. Faintly, and if he squinted, he could see his lyrics written on the board, “I’m running low on serotonin in these empty moments. I’m having trouble operating without my main component,” along with the caption, “What my blind, synesthetic friend sees!”

(Y/N)’s friend was a gifted artist, and prior to the concert, the pair sat down and made a sign together. They played Nothing Inside on a loop until (y/n)’s friend completed the painting as (y/n) described, with as much detail as she could, what the colors coming from the ending words of the song were--what shades and hues they were, how they moved...what she saw when she heard the song.

When the young woman holding the sign noticed he was looking in her direction, she quickly pointed to the woman beside her whose arm was linked in hers. A smile formed on Colson’s face as he continued to sing through his set, but he made sure to wave at the girl so she could tell her friend. He could see (y/n)’s smiling face as her friend cupped her hands to her ear and told her he had seen the sign, and he smiled in return. She was cute, beautiful even in a girl-next-door kind of way, and he thought it was cool that she’d come out to support him with such an interesting sign. He’d heard about synesthesia before, but never thought someone with it would ever depict his music in an even more beautiful way than he could have imagined. The idea that someone who couldn’t see could see so much more than anyone else baffled him, and he jealously wondered what the rest of his songs looked like to her.

WWIII was a chaotic release of energy, not just for Colson, but for the audience as well. Another small mosh pit had formed early on in the short song, and seemed to escalate until the ending notes, when it stopped all together. The blanket of grey that had been lumpy earlier had turned into mountains shifting around (y/n) due to the forces of an earthquake, and the familiar grasp her friend had on her arm was replaced by the bumping and shoving of other people as she quickly became lost in the darkening grey mass that enveloped her.

“(F/N)! Hello?” (y/n)’s voice tried to pierce through the roar around her as WWIII sent bombshells upon bombshells hurdling at her arms and shoulders as she held her hands, instinctively, up to her face. She tried to focus on the colors nearby, but all she could see was the blue and green coming from the stage as the song built into its the verse before the final chorus. Suddenly, as the air around her became absent of color, and the grey sheet that had been continually moving and shifting around her settled gently down the the surface of the earth. Frightened, but not wanting to bring herself to tears around any number of strangers that could have surrounded her as she clumsily stumbled through the crowd, (y/n) firmly planted her feet into the ground and kept her ears attuned to the forest green voice of her friend.

“Sorry to cut it short, everyone,” Colson said through the microphone as he scanned the audience. He couldn’t help the many times his eyes had drifted back to the hand-painted sign and the beautiful woman who had inspired it, but this time, as his eyes landed on the sign, her gentle face was no where to be found. He had sung through part of the song on instinct as he exchanged concern glances with the woman’s friend, but upon seeing how distraught the friend had become, he cut the band off and turned to security. “Yeah, you’re looking for a woman in a black t-shirt and high-waisted dark blue jeans with her hair half-up and half-down. She’s blind and her friend can’t find her.” He could hear his voice growing even more frantic as he hid the microphone from his lips in hopes that he wouldn’t panic anyone. “Excuse me, girl with the sign with all the colors,” Colson called out and then waved the woman towards the stage. As if the crowd sensed something was wrong, they parted to make a path for the woman their idol was speaking to.

“I don’t know what happened,” (y/n)’s friend said as she continued to look over her shoulder for (y/n), nearly completely oblivious to the fact that Machine Gun Kelly was kneeling on the stage staring her in the face less than three feet away.

“What’s her name?” he asked as he looked at the sign once more.

“(Y/N).”

“And she has synesthesia?” he asked again in a slightly more panicked tone than before.

“Yeah. She can see colors even though she can’t see. Well, she could see before, but now it’s just colors on grey and black. If it’s quiet she can normally find me if I keep talking.” The young woman had begun to babble in the anxiety of losing her friend and Colson could feel his heartbeat hasten. He didn’t want to have someone go missing at one of his shows, and it made him feel even more shitty that it was someone he was actively keeping an eye on--albeit because he couldn’t look away.

“What about me?” the words fell from his mouth faster than they appeared in his head. “Do I have a distinct color?” The young woman nodded and Colson quickly stood to his upright posture and scanned the crowd. “Hey, (y/n),” he called into the microphone and hoped he could gain the woman’s attention. “I know you’re separated from your friend and I’m hoping you can see us. She’s here in the front by the stage, so just come this way and you should be able to find us.”

Bright, bubblegum pink sprouted like jagged vines from where the music had been coming from earlier. On each edge of where (y/n) assumed was the stage had to be two large speakers, because the pink seemed to crawl in curved arches from each speaker only to connect in the center point between the two. As she studied brilliant pink movement against the black backdrop of her vision, her name began to form in the vines as she heard it echo through the air around her. With her arms carefully outstretched, she began to take cautious steps in the direction of the only thing clear enough for her to see, bubblegum pink.

“The security team is headed through the crowd to find you, (y/n), so try and make yourself known.” (Y/N) could hear the deep voice that had rung through her headphones on countless occasions beckoning her to safety as the pink grew more and more brilliant with each word spoken.

“I’m (y/n),” she called out as she frantically waved a hand in the air above her head.

“You’re the person they’re looking for?” A man with a frail, lemon colored voice asked pointedly. (Y/N) nodded quickly in the direction of the voice and tried to reach out for someone to ground her in the moment, so she didn’t feel like she floating through a dark abyss. “Why don’t you just go over there? You’re friend is waiting,” the man questioned and was quickly met with a dumbfounded expression plastered on (y/n)’s face.

“I’d love to, but given the fact that I’m blind, I’m not so sure where ‘over there’ is,” she grumbled impatiently.

“I’m not sure it’s working,” Colson said as he knelt down to speak with (y/n)’s friend once more.

“Sing the sign,” she gasped. “She knows those words inside and out, and they’re always the same each time she hears it.” Colson’s eyebrows furrowed at the suggestion, but seeing as he had no other ideas to help find this woman, he obliged by the request.

“Okay, (y/n), I’m going to try something a little different,” Colson sighed into the microphone before he took another breath and began to slowly sing, “I’m running low on serotonin in these empty moments.”

Suddenly, cascades of gold began to fill the space between the vines of pink spread out across the black canvas in her mind.

“I’m having trouble operating without my main component.”

As the words floated into her ears, the intertwined pink and gold began to form a path from their starting point to where she stood.

“I’m running low on serotonin in these empty moments.”

Bursts of indigo sputtered across the mass of colors on stage and traveled down the pathway to her feet.

“I’m having trouble operating without my main component.” As he repeated the lyrics, he could see a path begin to form as people moved to one side or another to allow a hesitant and cautiously walking young woman to make her way towards him. (Y/N) couldn’t hear the difference in Colson’s voice as he found her face in the crowd and realized she was safe, but she could see it. From the center of the collection of colors, rays of tangerine shot from where Colson stood like the sun. (Y/N) smiled at this new development in the painting before her and she began to walk a little faster towards the sun in the picture of her mind. The smile on her face grew when she felt a hand that was not her friend’s gently grasp hers and lead her behind what felt like a metal barricade, around what she assumed was the stage, and up a couple of steps.

“We’re on the side stage, VIP area,” she heard the forest green of her friend say, but (y/n)’s mind was still locked on the tangerine that refused to disappear. She’d heard the tangerine come from his lips before, but it was always directed at a single person, and no one else. Tangerine was always associated with a genuine, positively influenced emotion coming from one’s voice, and until that moment, in regards to Colson Baker, tangerine was something that was solely associated with Casie.

For the rest of the concert, (y/n) held her tongue between her teeth, listened to the colors swirl through the air, and let them paint a picture of the moment in her mind. With each song came a new collection of colors, but somethings always stayed the same: the black emptiness that she was cursed with, the bubblegum pink of Colson Baker’s natural voice, and the tangerine rays that sprung forth from him in his moments of weakness when he turned around to steal a glance at (y/n).

[dragonslayer-5fanfiction]

My Burly Love Chapter 10

I finally finished it, and got it up. I know it takes a while, but I eventually get there. I keep moving things around in my plot, and this is gonna be longer than I anticipated. 

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

    Without a second thought I stepped in front of Kili. Before I was set on the ground, I was pushed behind someone. I immediately recognised the stature of man before me. Dwalin. My eyes rolled so hard I thought they would fall out of my head. 

‘He just can’t leave me alone. No matter how endearing it is that he feels the need to protect me’. I thought.

“Excuse me, but um…you’re from Lake-town, if I’m not mistaken? That barge over there, it wouldn’t be available for hire by any chance?” Balin asked gesturing to the barge in the distance. I placed my hand on Dwalin’s shoulder and peeked over it. The new man lowered his bow and stalked over to his barge without a word. I lowered myself and slid around Dwalin. I followed the new man over to the barge, while he and Balin talked.

“What makes you think I would help you?” This new man asked. I stood there studying him. He was tall, dark hair, well built, and incredibly handsome. 

“Those boots have seen better days, as has that coat.” Balin answered. “No doubt you have some hungry mouths to feed? How many bairns?”

“A boy and two girls.” He responded. I smiled at that. Fatherhood fits him. 

“And your wife, I imagine, she’s a beauty?” I watched his face fall and looked slack jawed at Dwalin. 

“Aye, she was.” He responded looking mournfully at the water. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I spoke up. He turned towards me, seeing me for the first time. 

“Oh come on, enough with the niceties.” Dwalin piped up from my side. My hand flew before I could think and smacked him in the chest. I gave him a glare.

“Wha-” He started before he was cut off. 

“What’s your hurry?” 

“What’s it to you?” Dwalin shot back, without a moment’s hesitation. 

“Are you serious?!” I hissed. He turned to argue with me, but stopped when the man spoke.

“I would like to know who you are and what you are doing in these lands?”

“We are but simple merchants from the Blue Mountains, journeying to see our kin in the Iron Hills.” Balin explains. 

“Ever the diplomat.” I muttered under my breath. Dwalin turned to me with a surprised look. “What he has an answer for everything, and is always ready to de-escalate the situation. Why aren’t you like that?” I whispered.

“Cause love, it’s all foo-foo crap. We don’ need tha’ to get what we wan’.” He whispered back. I rolled my eyes. 

“Obviously it gets us somewhere.” I gestured frantically in front of me as we walked onto the barge. He let out a huff and went and settled in the front of a barge. I went and sat at the back with the new man, but felt multiple eyes watching me. “What’s your name?” I turned wide-eyed and curious to the man standing next to me.

“Bard. And yours?”

“Y/N. Nice to meet you Bard.”

“And you. What brings you here with all these dwarves?” He asked, nodding his head in their direction. I let a smile spread across my face as I turned to look at them. They were all huddled together, scheming something up. It could be nothing good knowing them. I let out a sigh and turned towards him. 

“I kind of fell into it. After that I didn’t have much of a choice. It took some getting used to, but they’re quite the lively bunch.” My face broke into an excited grin and I grabbed his arm. “And they’re teaching me to sword fight!” I almost yelled I was so excited. “I’m getting quite good you know.” I added as an afterthought. Bard gave me an amused smile. 

“I’m not sure I would dare cross blades with you.” We both laughed and I gave him a gentle shove. When the laughter died down, he gestured with his eyes, and lowered his voice. “What’s with the death glare?” I looked where he gestured and shook my head. 

“Oh, that’s Dwalin. He’s mostly harmless, well actually, it depends.” I shrugged my shoulders at the end.

“But why is he giving you a death glare? Does he not like you?” He asked turning the boat to the right. 

“He does that a lot. Don’t be intimidated.” I gave a long look to the men, and smiled at Dwalin. I could see him scoff and turn away. I finally turned back to Bard, “I’m pretty sure that he likes me. I think that’s why he’s so protective, but it’s complicated right now.” I sighed and sat down on the edge of the boat.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh no it’s fine. We’ll figure it out.” I waved my hand to the side. We stood in silence and watched as a massive mountain crept out of the mist. The dwarves stood in awe as their rightful home came into view. 

“Come with me.” Bard gestured me towards him as he walked to the dwarves. I nodded and followed. When we got closer I slipped on a slick spot and my world tilted up and back. 

“Ope!” I threw my hands into the air, ready to feel the bruise on my tailbone. I felt two different hands wrap around me to steady me. 

“Ya alrigh’ lass?”

“Are you okay?” Dwalin and Bard asked at the same time. 

“Mmm yeah, m’ fine.” They nodded and let go of me. Dwalin is a little more hesitant than Bard. Once he finally released me, Bard turned towards the company. My body felt like fire where Dwalin caught me.

“The money quick, give it to me.”

“We will pay when we get our provisions, but not before.” Thorin finally spoke up.

“If you value your freedom, you will do as I say. There are guards ahead.” Bard’s voice was serious, no room for argument. 

“What is the plan?” I asked, turning to Bard. He grimaced at me, “Oh no. I’m not going to like this am I?”

“I need you all to get in the barrels. Please.” 

“Why?” Gloin asked. 

“Please, we don’t have much time.” Bard responded urgently. I saw the flicker of rebellion spark in the eyes of the company. 

“Nope, not doing this. Everyone gets in the barrels. No time for argument.” I turned my mom voice on pointing to the barrels. They grumbled to themselves and climbed in. 

“Y/N, yer coming with me.” Dwalin called out. He gave no room for an argument.

“Okaaay…” I trailed off and carefully climbed into the barrel. 

“I need you all to crouch down and keep quiet.” We complied and carefully crouched down. I set my feet on the right side of his hip, and his were placed on my left hip.We felt the barge come to a stop, I’m assuming this is what he needed the coins for. 

“What is he doing?” Dwalin whispered when we felt the barge come to a stop. We sat there for a moment trying to see what was going on, when Bilbo spoke up.

“He’s talking to someone. He’s pointing right at us. Now they’re shaking hands.” Bilbo gave us a play by play.

“He’s selling us out.” Dwalin hissed body tense as malice wove its way into his tone. He twitched almost like he was going to leap out of the barrel. 

“Don’t.” I moved my hand to his shoulder and pushed down. He looked at me and I felt his body relax. We sat in silence staring at each other when freezing, slimy, scaly fish came raining down on us. I was surprised and opened my mouth to shriek, when Dwalin’s hand covered my mouth. My face contorted into repugnance as the fish settled on us. As everything seeped down into my bones, I felt bile rise in my throat. He moved his hand from my mouth, once he was sure I wouldn’t shriek. “Dwalin, I feel like I’m going to retch.”

“Don’t ye dare.” He whispered. My eyes widened as the stench reached my nose and I covered my mouth. “Love please….” He trailed off. I swallowed hard and removed my hand.

“I won’t. I promise.” The rest of the time I squirmed and gagged while Dwalin watched me with concern. When the barge stopped again, we heard Bard talking to a man. We heard one of the barrels tip and I peeked through the crack in the wood. The barrel Bombur was in, was being tipped over the edge of the barge. If he tipped any further, Bombur would have fallen out. We sat there for what felt like ages, when we finally started moving again. It wasn’t too long after that we came to an abrupt stop. Bard went to get some help, and we were left alone. By the time he got back and we were allowed to get out of the barrels, I was cramping up. Dwalin stood up and swung his leg over the side, climbing out. He peered over the edge at me, and I lifted my hands up. 

“Wha ye doing that fer?” 

“I need help. I’m all cramped up.” I gave him a pout and made grabby hands. He laughed and grabbed my hands, gently pulling me up. I stood there for a moment, flopping onto the side. “Ugh, it hurts.” I groaned.

    “Here lass.” He gripped me under my armpits and hauled me out of the barrel. He slid his hands down to my waist to keep me steady. 

    “M’good thanks.” I mumbled pushing his hands off of me. He pulled them back in surrender. 

“I have a plan to get you into my house.” Bard stated.

“What is it?” I asked hesitantly based on his prior plan. He gave me another grimace. 

“You’re not going to like it.” He shook his head as he spoke.

Chapter 11

Taglist: @fentah, @reignofglitter, @perseny-blog, @xxdragonagequeenxx,@captainrainbowpanda, @hufflepuff25, @swoopswishsward , @tumblinglringlring, @awkwardsleepyturtle, @unadulteratedwizardlove, @classygladiatorcupcake, @leslieebee, @sweetdreamtragedy, @michellemsg, @mitchiesdungeon, @attackonengland, @meep52​, @emrfangirl, @superhero2552, @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss

[dsmplorehistory]

(I sectioned all event into 3 'Seasons', so it wasn'tas much cramped together. This is part one to be clear.)

When Tommy joins the Smp, it is a very small server. Members are Dream, George, Sapnap, Alyssa and Ponk. Callahan and BadBoyHalo are also whitelisted, but don’t really play. That said, they’ve built the Community house, the nether area and a few other buildings and things and have had some scuffles with each other, such as burning down Ponk’s lemon tree.

Anyway, Tommy makes his humble home in the side of a hill as Tubbo, Fundy and Punz also join the server. Purpled joins too a couple days later. There’s some conflicts and things and Tommy finds two music discs, Mellohi and Cat.

=> So, you got the disc war, where Tommy (and Sapnap) was picking a fight with Dream, causing him to take the music discs from him as a punishment. Tommy was therefore trying to reacquire his music discs, Cat and Mellohi, back from Dream. This ended with them both safely inside his ender chest. During this little saga was also where Wilbur invited Dream to meet him in Brighton. Wilbur supposedly met up with both George and Dream though the promised Vlog never came out (and its since been revealed that he only met up with George).

=> Over the next little while, things were normal. Many towers and structures were built on the server. There were a few smaller conflicts, like Tommy accidentally killing Tubbo’s bee. I believe Eret joined the server over this time period. Jschlatt also got whitelisted onto the server, played for a few hours before being banned, likely due to the outcry on twitter (Dream claims it was unrelated but let’s not pretend that wasn’t a factor), Tommy loved the experience of playing with Jschlatt because he’s like his hero and highly values both the Cuck shed, which he built, and Blocks, the music disc he listened to with him.

=> Then Wilbur logged on again to play with Tommy. This time he wanted to do a Breaking Bad style drugs plot, building a caravan full of brewing stands. They then tried to acquire all the blaze rods from the other players. It ended up with them in Jail/on the run. Purpled, Punz and especially Sapnap were the ones who really interfered with them. Notably they all had Netherite armour while Wilbur and Tommy had much more basic gear.

=> This led to Wilbur’s greatest plan - to secede from the Dream SMP by creating a new server for all the European people. They soon came up with the name L’Manberg and began building the walls. Wilbur declared it a safe place with special server rules: no weapons or armour to be worn in L’Manberg. Tommy was keen to be his right-hand man (and he goes through a little arc during the L’Manberg war saga). They also all get new skins with revolutionary outfits and make a lot of Hamilton references. Tubbo and Eret both join the new nation. Dream declares war on them.

=> Fundy logs in inside the newly built walls of L’Manberg, beginning the story that he’s Wilbur’s son, the first citizen born in L’Manberg. There weren’t presently any women in their nation, so his mother is a Salmon from the river. It makes as much sense in context! Anyway, they build up the walls and late that night, Dream attacks, burning down trees, firing TNT cannons, creating an ugly cobblestone wall and burning down Tubbo’s old house. On Tommy’s next stream, Dream’s kind of busy with a serious stream at the same time but comes on to demand their surrender once more before blowing up Tommy’s base. No Mercy! War day comes, and it ends in defeat when Eret bought them to The Final Control room and betrays them. Tommy then demands a bow duel from Dream, betting a music disc for their independence. Tommy loses but offers both Cat and Mellohi in exchange for independence, which Dream accepts. Thus, despite their losses, they had a sort of victory as L’Manberg has been recognised as its own independent nation and they have peace.

=> In the Aftermath, some rebuilding is done. Niki and Jack Manifold both join the server and join L’Manberg - though Dream tries to tempt Jack away. Things begin to get back to normal though Tommy is still anxious to get his discs back. Quackity and later Karl Jacobs both join the server too. Oh, and Eret and Fundy engage in a bit of a prank war with each other, messing with each other’s builds in creative ways. Eret is now King of the Dream Smp - that was the price of his betrayal.

=> Then we get to a lot of interesting isolated incidents - a theatre where they performed some Hamilton and Macbeth, Dream trading away one of Tommy’s discs (Cat) to Skeppy, the railway war where Dream gets run over by a minecart on Tommy’s newly built railway and he takes Dream’s stuff and try to ransom a music disc back, Big Law (Tubbo) and the King’s court, Church Prime, where they build a holy land to ask for Twitch Primes, a conflict between Fundy and Punz - Fundy kidnapped his favourite bee. And, most critically, the Pet war.

=> The pet war is a bizarre conflict where everyone was rather hungry for another server war and a lot of shots got fired but things never quite escalated. Sapnap kills Nikki’s fox Fungi - (and one of Tommy’s cows) - Niki was furious. In retaliation, Tommy captured Beckerson and Mars from Sapnap’s house - two of the oldest pets in the server. Dream was ready to trade a disc for them back. It kinda ended with them scamming each other but Tommy got Mellohi back (and a fake) while keeping hold of Spirit (the remains of Dream’s old horse) while Dream got back his sword and both fish. Fundy was not done though. He wanted further revenge on Sapnap, so he and Niki killed one of his pets. Then Sapnap killed more animals and destroyed the grave they made for Fungi - it was quite a mess. Tommy was somehow in the position of playing mediator and trying to avert another war. Fundy eventually challenged Sapnap to a duel to settle things - he even builds an arena which referenced the Dream vs Technoblade duel.

=> Wilbur and Tommy come up with a new plan - they’re supposedly in charge of L’Manberg but they don’t have a lot of power as no one’s been listening to them while a Civil war’s been practically breaking out. Wilbur decides the problem is legitimacy and declares an election where he will run to become the elected President of L’Manberg - though he’s already incumbent. Their initial plan is to run as a single party, so victory is assured but Quackity declares this unfair and announces his own candidacy against them - Swag2020. George joins Quackity as his running mate. Wilbur and Tommy brand their campaign Pog2020. Wilbur explains that the viewers will get the chance to vote in this election. Fundy and Niki also decide to run as their own party, Coconut2020 - a twist given how Fundy was Wilbur’s son and yet he’s against them.

=> On the day voting begins, Tommy and Wilbur first get Vikkstar to endorse them and then Schlatt - who they got unbanned for the occasion - but Schlatt refuses to support them, declaring Democracy a fraud. He runs against them too - as Schlatt2020. Quackity and Schlatt also form a coalition, pooling their votes together. (Hbomb also joins the server). In the end, this coalition narrowly wins by 46% to 45% and Schlatt becomes President. His first act is to banish Wilbur and Tommy - and he orders Tubbo to hunt them down.

=> It’s chaos. The walls of L’Manberg get destroyed, as do various other builds. Schlatt speaks of expanding, taking over the entire SMP server and changes the name to Manburg. Out with the old! Niki opposes, Eret is keen to redeem himself and wants to help Wilbur and Tommy while Fundy burns down the L’Manberg flag. Deep in the woods, Wilbur and Tommy hide, having lost everything and not sure who they can trust. They accept help from Technoblade and the three of them form an underground resistance, Pogtopia, to overthrow the new Government, with Tubbo working as a spy for them.

=> The server is divided. Dream decides to support Tommy, at first quietly offering him tons of resources to help. When Sapnap kills yet another animal (how?!) Tommy’s precious cow Henry, Tommy is sad/enraged and does some grieving which leads him into a little war against Sapnap, BadboyHalo, Skeppy and Antfrost (who rather recently joined the server). So, Dream decides to more vocally help Tommy out as an ally of Pogtopia, fighting the others, along with Technoblade (and Punz too). Dream even gives Tommy an important fish - Mars. Tommy’s side wins the battle.

=> Schlatt decides to organise a festival in Manburg. Wilbur questions whether he and Tommy are doing the right thing and decides to embrace being a villain with some destruction. He plans to blow up Manburg, aided by Dream. Tommy intends to stop him.

=> At the festival, Tubbo is outed as a Pogtopia spy and Schlatt orders Technoblade to execute him. He does, albeit reluctantly, and then kills most of the audience too with his firework crossbow. Tommy is enraged, feeling like Techno’s betrayed him. Nikki’s furious with Schlatt’s actions and joins Pogtopia.

=> After the festival, Quackity also leaves Schlatt after an argument where he points out how messed up everything is and how little he’s respected. Tommy finds him and they ally. Wilbur goes to blow up Manburg but Tommy and Quackity come with him and carefully talk him down. Wilbur relents and agrees to follow Tommy as they all plan for a way to defeat Schlatt once and for all.

=> Quackity’s plan to oust Schlatt fails. So, Wilbur tries to blow up Manburg and this too fails as Schlatt has secretly removed the TNT he planted. They retreat to Pogtopia where Fundy reveals he’s secretly been a spy this whole time and has secretly recorded Schlatt’s weaknesses. Wilbur, suddenly realising that the rest of the server is on their side, regains confidence to take down Schlatt the right way.

=>Then Dream appears. He declares his support for Schlatt and reveals that there’s a traitor in Pogtopia’s ranks. The last person they’d expect. Another war is approaching. If things go badly, Wilbur intends to blow it up. Tommy wants to stop Wilbur and win everything back.

=>The war does not go well. Schlatt is cornered - but then he dies of a heart attack while everyone just watches. Wilbur declares it a victory and announces Tommy as President. Tommy refuses the honour. So, Wilbur appoints Tubbo, who accepts.

=>Techno is enraged at their formation of a new Governmentand shoots Tubbo. Wilbur, meanwhile, runs away and denotates the TNT in the presence of Philza - who just joined. Techno then sets off a pair of Withers, aided by Dream. The newly renamed L’Manberg is all blown up.

=>The withers are defeated. Philza kills Wilbur. Tommy affirms that Tubbo is still the president as they go listen to a music disc together, and they plan to rebuild everything despite Techno being out there - now their greatest adversary.

THIS INCLUDES ALL EVENTS UP TO THE 18th OF DECEMBER 2020