#good morning the horrors never cease

[sansgout]

no expression of emotions in this house; we pine (and tease and make excuses to initiate any amount of physical contact) like schoolgirls with a crush men

[saltburnedme]

My requests are open! Message/comment to be added to the tag list!

Paring: Oliver Quick x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3520

Summary: You’d only been visiting family at Saltburn for a few weeks, but this time you couldn’t shift the feeling of something or someone watching you.

Warnings: SMUT (ONLY READ IF YOU ARE 18+) unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving), choking, stalking? Kind of?, two way mirrors, vague horror ish themes, dubious consent, generally fucked up smut overall

Writers note: Hi friends! This is my first Oliver fic, I’m planning on writing more so let me know if you have any requests. I’ve only seen the film once so I apologise if my writing of him isn’t quite right yet.. just read his parts with his accent and I think it works! Please share, comment, like and all of those good things 💕💕

Part 2

21 days, almost a full month, that’s how long it had taken you to get to grips with the enormity of Saltburn. Most of that time had been spent mistakenly walking into a linen closet which supplied one of the many bedrooms believing it was the entrance to your room. You’d even drawn yourself a map by this point and somehow, you still managed to get lost, the house was almost as much of a maze as the actual maze in the garden was. You had checked off your room, all of the shared spaces and most of the other bedrooms, inhabited or otherwise, all marked down perfectly on your little map. There was only one wing of the house which you were not allowed into, Elsbeth called it the ‘bachelor pad’ something you know Felix would have at the very least groaned at. He’d been sharing this space with his guest, another student named Oliver. He was quiet, a bit of a mystery overall but from that you assessed that he was a man who liked his privacy, making you chalk up their reluctance to have you in that space no more than a matter of comfort. A comfort you wish that you could say you felt also.

You visited Saltburn many times as a child, the family themselves were distant relatives of yours which is why you always summered there when your parents were away on business. You’d never felt uncomfortable there before, but this time something was different even though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Maybe it was the heat getting to you, maybe it was the ever changing list of house guests that visited or the way that it seemed the eyes on the paintings of long dead aristocracy seemed to follow you around the room. Something had changed, if only you could put your finger on it.. or a toe.. maybe even an out stretched palm if you felt confident enough, anything to make this restlessness end. Every night that you laid in bed, you felt something, someone, watching you. You had checked, you’d opened every door, searched every shelf and wandered into every linen closet in the vicinity of your room and every time, nothing. Your well drawn map granting you no ease of mind, even with all of the labels you’d added to it over the last few weeks. The constant tossing and turning ceased only by one saving grace, you’d remembered to pack your vibrator.

Every night like clockwork your little buzzing friend would find the tingling mound between your legs, slipping in and out seamlessly like always, making you cum within a few minutes. That was until tonight, maybe you should have expected it. 21 days in a row of usage, the batteries were sure to go flat at some point, you just didn’t think it would be so soon. Placing it into the draw of the bedside table you go back to the constant pacing feeling in your mind as you attempted to sleep. The watching feeling was back, the hairs on your arms standing up, the feeling of the familiar prickling at the back of your neck as if something dangerous was approaching from the shadows. But sleep finally took you, once again.

The sound of knuckles tapping against the wood of the door early every morning tore you from your sleep, a much needed sleep. The curtains being torn open and the light hitting your face remind you of where you are almost immediately, at least this time with the maids in your room you knew who was watching you. ‘Breakfast is ready’ she says as she leaves the room as promptly as she arrived, off to wake another of the Saltburn family without a doubt. Crawling out of bed in your white night dress, you throw on a matching robe over the top, fumbling your slippers on, briefly checking your reflection in the full length mirror mounted to the wall across from your bed before wandering down the long halls to the breakfast table. Taking your usual seat you notice no one else has awoken yet, your tired eyes settling on the food in front of you, you almost fall asleep sitting up eating. The exhaustion of the last few days finally catching up with you. ‘You looked frustrated last night’ a low voice utters quietly a few seats across from you, the low muttering making you jump out of your skin with shock.

‘Excuse me?��� You question, a puzzled look on your face which could have been mistaken for anger, your words coming out harsher than you expected. You see the man across from you almost retreat into himself, he’d barely uttered a word to you in the last 21 days and now this? Your mind immediately flashing back to your frustration at your vibrator unceremoniously dying on you, surely that isn’t what he refers to tho.. right? ‘Oh Oliver, I’m sorry, I’m so tired that came out poorly. what do you mean?’ You question, making Oliver un tense slightly.

‘I saw you looking for something last night’ he begins. ‘Anything I can help with?’ He questions.

‘Oh, That. I was just trying to get a better lay of the land. Every time i visit I swear this place is rearranged, it’s like a new house every time.’ You reply.

‘Sure, that must have been it’ he replies, no follow up, nothing. Although it was more of a conversation than you’d managed with him this whole time, you expected maybe something else would have come from this. He could have offered to help you, anything. Although you hadn’t spoken that much you’d find it hard to argue that you hadn’t developed a little crush on him, his dark hair in contrast with his piercing blue eyes, surely that would make any girl swoon.

Just as you finally thought of something to say, the thought of offering him an invitation to explore the mansion with you to further expand your map, the rest of the family arrived, keen to discuss plans for the day. Your hopes of getting to know Oliver better shattered once again.

You continued your day like normal, a dip in the pool, a little bit of reading, another trip to a random room to expand the map and eventually dinner and straight to bed.

Once again you were kept up, tonight you indulged in wine a little bit more than usual, the knowledge of the lack of batteries to fuel your only release weighing heavy on your mind.

Crawling into bed you listen to the creaking of the wooden floorboards in the hallway, the sound of the old house almost swaying in the breeze as if that were possible. You try to ignore the familiar ache between your thighs as you long for sleep subtly grinding against the palm of your hand as you crave the release you know you can’t have. The feeling growing stronger and your movements becoming more unsubtle as you move the covers off of you, the fabric of your night dress pooling up around your hips as you grind, longing for that familiar feeling. ‘Ugh, fuck sake’ you groan, it’s of no use. You roll over frustratedly, your face buried in pillows as you let out a silent scream. That’s when you hear it, the floorboards creaking, the sound too loud to be from the hallway and it wasn’t just creaking this time, footsteps. But it couldn’t be, you’d locked the door to your room, the only other way in was through the window which you had ensured was locked.

‘Hello?’ You ask tentatively, sitting bolt upright in bed at this point. You weren’t sure if you prayed for an answer or not, at least if there were an answer you’d know for certain that you weren’t alone. But no answer came.

2:41am, you’d checked the clock at least 20 times by now every time you had almost drifted to sleep another creak on the floorboards would tare you from your dreams. It sounded almost as if they were getting closer, they’d began earlier by your mirror and by now they were approaching the head of the bed. Sometimes you even thought you could feel something touching you, lightly re arranging the way your hair fell on the pillow, or something lightly tugging at the blanket that covered your body. But this time you felt it for sure.

The weight on the bed shifted, while you lay in the middle, the bed dipped on the side, the unmistakeable feeling of someone sitting at the side of the bed. Another second and you felt it, a hand on your ankle wrapped tight. Terrified you sit, unable to move. You never imagined this is how you’d be in this position, you’d scream and fight when you’d imagined this scenario previously but you were wrong, so wrong. You lay there silently, only when you felt the grip on your ankle tighten did you even let on that you were awake as you were harshly dragged down the bed, now splayed out in the middle. Before you could scream a hand smacks over your mouth with a slap, silencing any sound that could have come out of you.

‘What were you thinking about?’ A voice in the dark asks, an accent of some sort laced in his words surely belonging to the owner of the strong hands currently pinning you against the bed. ‘Who were you thinking about?’ The voice continues, more demanding this time as the accent becomes clearer, Oliver? Surely not. The sweet, quiet man who sits across from you silenced by his own nervousness every breakfast, it can’t be him. You try to answer, your words muffled by the hand over your mouth, although you’re sure it would be less of an answer and more of a demanding to get out of your room.

‘Was it me? Tell me it was me.’ He demands, his hand dropping from your mouth to your throat, wrapped around tightly grasping at the column of your neck.

‘I-I Uhm’ your reply coming out as nonsense. He was right, you had been thinking of him. You’d seen his physique while sunbathing, sneaking a glance when you believed no one would notice. But now with his hand wrapped around your neck and his body pressing into yours your mind was blank.

‘Answer me’ he demands, hand tightening as his face grows ever closer to yours. At this distance you swear you can almost see the moonlight shining through the window reflecting off of his blue eyes, glimmering at you.

‘You.. it was you’ you stutter out quietly, your words shocking even you as they come out breathy and quiet.

‘What a good girl you’ve been for me’ he says, his grip loosening on your throat as he glides his index finger down your cheek.

‘Bu-but how did you.. where.. what’ you question, a full sentence becoming too much for your brain to handle, but the man on top of you seems to have gotten the gist of your line of questioning.

‘I’ve been watching you’ he replies. ‘You and your little map. Wandering around like you own the place’ his words laced with venom. ‘I’ll admit you did make it harder for me. You thought you were so smart checking everywhere, you never bothered to check within your own room’. He continues as your eyes fight with the dark, darting around every corner of the room. That’s when you spot it, the light reflecting off of the mirror slightly wrong, it was almost as if the glass was rippling, the reflection always seeming a little off, it was a two way mirror. From the spot where it was mounted on the wall, you realised that it was pushed slightly further than usual, the story all making sense in your mind suddenly. You hadn’t been imaging things, you had heard footsteps inside the room, someone was watching you, Oliver.

‘Our rooms share a serving corridor as these old houses do sometimes’ he says as if it was an obvious fact, something everyone would know. He could see a million questions whirling behind your eyes, snapping you out of your thoughts as his soft fingers against your cheek suddenly turn into a slap, grasping your face turning your lips into a pout. ‘Now, I know what you do to sleep and I took the liberty of removing the batteries from your useless little toy there’ he sneers at you, you can almost feel his smirk against your lips as he comes in closer. This was nothing like the man you had vaguely come to know over the last few weeks, he was mean, cruel even and you knew it wouldn’t be long until you admitted that you liked it, you loved this version of Oliver. ‘I thought, just maybe if you’d get impatient enough you’d come to me yourself. But the little miss never came’ he continues, finding himself amusing at his own pun. ‘So I came to you’ putting extra emphasis on his words to make a point as to almost poke at you. ‘Now, I can either leave and go back to my room or I can help you with your predicament. Would you like that?’ He questions, still holding your face in his hands ensuring you look straight into his eyes as your head nods, partially guided by Oliver’s hand moving your face for you. ‘Good girl’ he places a light peck onto your lips. ‘The former was never really an option anyway, did you really think I could leave all this now that I have you here?’ His question sounding more like a statement, he didn’t care about your answer, he decided you belonged to him the moment he stepped into the room. His hand slips from your face, grasping your throat once more before climbing further onto the bed, throwing the covers off of you and pushing your night dress up.

He sighs, the view of you almost making him cum on the spot. Oliver never imagined he’d actually do it, sure he’d thought of the thousand ways he could take you, he wanted to bend you over and fuck your brains out over the breakfast table every morning for the last month and now, in this single sigh he released a months worth of frustration. His desperate hands kneading at the supple flesh of your thighs, roaming up to where he was at his most desperate for you. The moment the pad of his thumb pressed against your clit a jolt of electricity raced through your body, moving you with a shocked flinch against the bed. His eyes bore into yours as if almost warning you to stay still, a warning you would absolutely heed. His eyes transfixed on yours as his thumb swirled around your sensitive nub, gathering slick from your entrance just to return to your clit, your climax building from the moment he touched you. You were almost there, your peak was in sight you could feel it building when he tore his hand from you. A smirk pressed against his lips as he bent down to kiss you, he was proud, he ruined your orgasm and he was proud of it. Just as you settled into the lack of his touch, his lips hovering against yours he plunged his fingers into you, without warning a loud gasp leaving your lips. You knew you’d fucked up the moment the sound left your mouth, his fingers being pulled from you once more.

‘Good girls stay quiet, do you understand me? We wouldn’t want the rest of them finding out how much of a whore you are now would we?’ He sneers, your heart rate increasing as you nod your head again. ‘Such a good girl for me. I’ll make sure to reward you, just stay quiet for me’ he continues, his words softer this time as his fingers return to your warm, wet entrance.

It was harder to stay quiet than you expected. His pace was relentless and now as he kissed down your body, your night dress torn from you and the remaining scrap of fabric now discarded to the floor, the want to moan for him was overwhelming. This was only made worse when his lips wrapped around your sensitive mound. His tongue and fingers moving at the same time, sucking on your most sensitive parts like a man starved. He was desperate for you and now, you were for him. You couldn’t resist it and he could tell, your climax was imminent as you rocked your hips against his mouth. From watching you he knew that you covered your mouth with your hand or bit down onto your fist when you came in an attempt to muffle the sounds. To compensate for this, at the moment your shaking orgasm rippled through your body he shoved his fingers into your mouth, the taste of your own juices heavy on your tongue as he suckled and licked you through your peak, his eyes still fixed on yours.

You thought that was it, he said he wanted to help you and he had, you’d half expected him to leave when he tore his own shirt over his head, pushing his boxers down his thighs as he pushes your legs further open with the weight of his own body. With one hand next to your head and his other white knuckle grasping his cock he glided his length through the slick of your pussy. His lustful gaze had left yours now, favouring watching his tip spread you wide for him. Just as your eyes left his face to watch the sight between your legs you were interrupted. ‘Look at me’ he demands ‘I want to see the look on your face when I split you open’ his words being of continuous shock to you, where had your quiet kind man gone?

Although you’d hate to say he was correct, he was. Even with your drenched hole and your legs spread wide for him the burn as he entered you was real. He was unbelievably thick and long, his length impaling you again and again as he begins thrusting into you relentlessly. He was as desperate for release as you were, maybe you should have known, your sweet man in his full right mind would surely never break into your room and do this to you if he wasn’t desperate you reassured yourself. This can’t be the real him after all, it had to be an act.

These thoughts stayed with you for merely seconds as your eyes rejoined his as they flutter open, your mouth hanging open in a silent moan just like his. As if you could both feel the sound about to release your lips came crashing together, muffling the sound of your joint moans as his tongue slips into your month. It was a dirty, sinful act and you loved every second of it. You’d never felt this desperate for anyone in your life. You wanted him to cum inside you, breed you and make you his.

‘Once I cum inside you, you’re mine. Do you understand? I fucking own you’ he says, making you question if he has a future in a career in mind reading. He doesn’t wait for an answer taking the feeling of your walls tightening around his length as the only reply he would ever need again.

His pace quickens his body pressed against yours as his hand clasps over your mouth silencing you, your head held still as he glares into your eyes. You can feel it, his climax nearing, his thrusts becoming sloppier and more erratic as he breaks his own rule, groaning loudly into your kiss as he cums within you, his liquid filling you to the brim. The sound reverberates against the walls, someone must have heard that you think as he continues to fill you up. Just as you think he’d stopped, almost possessively he begins to move again. The feeling overwhelming both of your senses as he fucks his cum further into you before pulling out and repeating the same process with his fingers, watching a little bit trickle out before pushing it back inside you once more.

‘You’ll keep this inside you, you understand? You don’t get to clean yourself up’ he demands. ‘You’ll be a good girl for me tomorrow, at 10pm sharp you’ll get into the bath across the hall and wait for me. Got it?’ His demands continue as he places one last harsh kiss onto your lips, your eyes flickering closed for only a second, re opening when your kiss has parted. Just like that he was gone. His clothes, every part of him had left you almost without a trace. Your night dress torn on the floor you ponder how you’ll explain that to the maids in the morning as they’ll have to fix it. You cover yourself with the blanket again, your head pressed against the pillow as you finally go to sleep, the best you’ve slept in 21 days.

Part 2

Message to be added to the tag list! - current tag list: @idontevenknow1359

[after-witch]

Run Rabbit [Sukuna x Reader]

Title: Run Rabbit [Sukuna x Reader]

Synopsis: You were the first one in your village chosen to be a sacrifice to Ryomen Sukuna. But you won't accept your fate so willingly.

Word count: 2000ish

notes: obsessiveness, reader is set to be a sacrifice, non-graphic injuries, non-graphic sexual assault threat, 

There are two types of desperation beating inside your breast

The desperation to live, to not be torn to pieces by some beast, to keep going another day and walk down the path of life, wherever it may take you.

And perhaps the worst of the two, the desperation of knowledge: the fact that you can’t deny that you understand why they’re doing this to you, why you’ve been tied to the tree at the entrance of your village. 

Why they have chosen you as a sacrifice to Ryomen Sukuna.

He had slaughtered so many people already, in your village and many more besides. Men, women, children. It made no difference to him--no, you think, perhaps it did. From what tales you’ve heard, he seemed to enjoy killing women and children most of all. 

Your own parents had been killed by him while they were traveling to a nearby village to visit your mother’s pregnant friend. Perhaps that’s why the village chose you as the easiest sacrifice--you had no family left to stand up for you.

You were just some orphaned daughter. You couldn’t carry on the family name. You would be a burden, if you were married off, and who wanted to take the time to create a match for you amidst the current heavy fear enveloping the village? 

So they took you in the early hours of the morning, when the air was misty and cool, and dragged you from your bed to this very tree that leads to the main path to your village. The tree itself was considered sacred. Or it had been, once. Scattered around you are broken charms, no doubt laughingly scattered by Sukuna himself; failed protections against his horrors. 

But you? You were going to be the village’s salvation. Surely he would accept their offering and kill you (perhaps more, beforehand) and spare the village. At least for a while. At least until they had to drag some other pretty thing to the tree, and hope he would take them and spare their village for another day. 

That’s what they hoped for, anyway. 

But you? You were not going to be a good sacrifice. That is why you have spent the better part of the day sawing at the rope binding your wrists to the tree, using one of the broken charms as a sharp edge. 

And as the sun begins to slip beneath the horizon, and the warmth in the air seeps away and leaves a clammy cold in its wake, you feel the rope finally fray to a fragile husk--

Just as every insect in the night suddenly ceases their droning calls, and the night birds in the weaving lakes no longer cry out. 

Just as the sound of footsteps approaching the tree replaces them.

You have never seen the demon, curse, monster Sukuna in person before. You had only heard the stories, at first huddled together with your family, and then alone. 

He is, above all things, overwhelming. Eyes upon eyes, arms upon arms.Two of each, and faces like halves.  He is�� 

Inhuman. Unnatural. 

Without realizing it, you are frozen--a doe in the flickering lamplight of a weary traveler. No, for this is no weary traveler who smiles indulgently at the sight of a frightened deer. You are more like a doe trapped in the unmistakable sight of a hunter’s bow.

“Well,” the monster says, his voice like a rough purr that sends goosebumps creeping up arms. “This is a first… surprisingly.” His eyes look you over, and the sight of the multiple pairs moving sends your empty stomach lurching. “Usually villages try to sacrifice their weakest first. The children… the elderly.” 

The way his gaze rakes over your form sends your limbs trembling, and you begin to rub your wrists together, willing the rope to give way to nothing in time for you to have some sort of chance. 

If he notices, he says nothing. Instead, he steps closer and looks down at you. “But oh, you’re a precious thing, I would think. A lovely woman.” He calls you precious but nothing in his tone or demeanor suggests he thinks you so. 

“Shall I kill you outright? Or have my way with you first?” There’s a laughter in his words, and you’re not sure if he means them, but they create a hard knot in your belly all the same. 

It doesn’t matter. Because the rope has split.

“Neither,” you spit out, and you don’t wait for his reaction--you simply run.

The primal part of your brain expects to hear his footsteps behind you. Instead, you hear laughter, barking, harsh--but delighted. 

“I’ll give you a head start, girl!” He calls out. You don’t dare look behind you to see if he’ll hold true to his words. 

--

The forest is familiar and unfamiliar all at once, for you never went into it during the night, and certainly never alone--and definitely not with a demon at your heels.

Dark greenery whizzes by, punctuated with scratching branches and your own terrified, panting breaths. Some of the branches catch the fold of your robe and you stumble, pulling until the fabric tears or the branch lets you go. 

A branch catches your clothing again, but when the fabric tears this time,  you don’t regain your footing. You fall to the ground and your body aches, unused to running and injuries--

And then you hear those footsteps again. Loud. Confident. As if whatever creature makes them knows he is entitled to be exactly where he is, doing exactly what he does. You don’t doubt a demon who has slaughtered countless, seemingly for sport, might feel that way.

Hot tears fall down your face, dripping on the ground, almost in time with the footsteps.

“Are you done already? How boring.”  His voice above you (for you don’t dare look up at his face) has lost the delight it held earlier, replaced with something you keenly sense is far more dangerous: a loss of interest.

He’ll kill you. If you don't run now, he’ll kill you.

Some noise, grunting and animal-like, escapes your lips. And then you’ve propelled yourself upward, riding on adrenaline, running into the darkness again.

Behind you, Sukuna laughs.

“Keep going! Don’t give up!”

The mockery in his voice lands and slides off you like raindrops. You don’t have the resources to care about anything but getting away from him.

So you run and run and run.

--

Your fingers taste of sweat and dirt, but you keep them pressed to your lips, muffling your ragged breathing as best you can. 

Sukuna is somewhere behind you. His every movement rustles leaves, snaps twigs. He doesn’t need to hide his presence--why would he? He could kill anyone or anything he came across.

If he finds you tucked inside the hollow of this tree, he’ll kill you. Maybe worse than that, because you can; or because he feels an inclination for it.

“Brat.”

Your muscles turn to ice. He found you. He found you and this is it and now--

But pain does not come, death does not come. Instead,  you realize, slowly, that he wasn’t addressing you. He’s talking to himself.

“She’s made it this far, huh? If she crosses that stream…” He sighs, and your mind provides the image of his face, pinched with irritation. “I can’t follow. It’s been blessed. Damn sorcerers.” 

Hope, fragile but alive, flutters in  your breast. The charms on the tree didn’t work… but evidently something did work against this creature. And you were close--so close you could hear the water bubbling--to reaching it.

And like a miracle, his footsteps recede, and the soft sound of the night returns. The insects, hesitantly chirping; the soft crunch of a fox scurrying out of a burrow.

After a time, long enough to make sure he has truly gone, you slowly, carefully crawl away from the hollow of the tree. 

The stream. If you can make it across the stream, you’ll be safe.

With your muscles aching and your feet bleeding from the terrain of the forest, you run towards the sound of quietly bubbling water that will be your only chance of salvation.

--

You have never appreciated the moonlight as much as you have on this night. The moon is not quite full, but it’s large and bright enough to illuminate the man made rock path lodged across the stream, giving easier (but no less slippery) access to those who want to cross it.

Just get across, you think. Just get across and be safe. Be free. Start over. Find somewhere you can live and settle down and--

You take a deep breath and force yourself not to race too far ahead. You don’t want to get distracted, not now. 

Not when every footsteps matters. You go as slow as the panic in your breast allows, keeping your arms straight out like you used to as a child, begging your parents to help guide you across. 

On the last stone, you hear him approach. Hear the rumble of his chest as he hums. Feel the oppressiveness of his presence.

But you leap to the wet, mossy ground on the bank of the stream and you turn and your heart beats fast with fear and relief in turn. You made it. You’re safe. 

Your face breaks into a sobbing smile just as Ryomen Sukuna takes an easy, sauntering step onto the stepping stone. 

His laughter hurts your ears.

“Did you really think I couldn’t cross water?” His four eyes blink down at you, and it’s like your soul wants to drop to the ground and run away. “Country bumpkin…”

The smile cracks, but the sob on  your lips pushes its way out as you whirl around and run.

But your body has other ideas. It’s too tired. You were not used to such physical strain, and the stress from being tied to the tree and chased and chased--and chased--like some animal has finally overruled the adrenaline pumping through your body.

Your legs collapse, and you fall to the ground. You’re on your knees, aching and bleeding though they are, and you gulp down terrified, sobbing breaths.

This is it. This is when he kills you. You can only hope it will be fast. 

“Finally run out of steam, girl?” Sukuna hums, and you feel his foot press down on the small of your back. It doesn’t take any effort for your body to crumple beneath it, but he keeps his foot on the dirty, frayed fabric of your robe.

There’s an uncomfortable flush of humiliation, but you chide yourself for even feeling it. Does it matte, what he does, if he’s just going to kill you now?

“You lasted longer than I thought you would. Though you were stupid to think I was serious about the river.” His voice is low and lazy. You almost wish he sounded angry, annoyed that he’d had to chase you through the woods.

But then  you realize that this chase which has worn your body to its limit was like a relaxing stroll for him. 

You were running for your life--and it was nothing to him.

“Just…” Your voice is hoarse, and you would drag yourself to the stream and gulp it down like a wild animal, if you could. What is water, though, when you’re going to die at any moment? “Just kill me already,”  you finish.

There is a rustling sound, and you don’t know what it means until you’re flipped harshly on your back. You cry out as you’re flipped, body aching, and hurting even more when you feel rocks digging into your tired muscles.

It was better to be staring at the ground, you think. Better to look at that than up at the face of the monster who will end your life. 

He tilts his head at you--the two faces, you think, are not just grotesque but otherworldly and very, very wrong. They shouldn’t exist, and he shouldn’t exist, and you hope that somewhere, somehow, some day, there will be a person who knows how to destroy the thing above you. 

He hums again. And after a while, he grins, as if he’s pleased with himself. “No, I don’t think I will, girl.”

His words take a while to sink in. And the question forms on your lips before you have time to wonder if you really want the answer. 

“Why--why not?” 

Sukuna leans down and grips you by the ruined fabric of your robe. He hauls you to your aching feet, and keeps his grip on you even as your legs try to buckle  underneath you from fear just as much as the physical strain of the night. 

One of his four hands grabs your chin, and none-too-gently forces you to look at him. His pairs of eyes study you, and your stomach twists and turns as you’re made to stare into his face. 

“You were given to me,” he says, voice back to that low, growling purr from when he first saw you tonight. “And I’m going to appreciate this little present.” 

[pupdoc0916]

Memory

Knuckles was always impressed.  He had turned the dining table chair towards the kitchen to have a good view, something he did every Saturday morning.  Eyebrows raised with each flick of the wrist.  His hands tightened gently on the seat of the chair with each movement.  You would think after all this time it would cease to be interesting…but here he was.

He managed to keep himself just to the side, out of the vantage point of the person of interest that he so keenly watched.  His head almost involuntarily cocked to the side as he watched the movements before him.  Eventually the soothing scent of pancakes began to fill his nose.  He sniffed a few times, nose turned toward the ceiling for maximum uptake.  He closed his eyes as he took in the smell, allowing a small smile.  As his body relaxed with the scent there was a small slip of the hand on the chair causing him to lurch forward and creating a soft grating sound as the legs of the chair inched back across the floor from the movement.

He paused, afraid to move a muscle lest he make another noise, muscles taught.  Nothing happened, the quiet remained, only the sound of a sizzling pancake filling the air.  He let out a soft breath and finally began to relax his muscles in relief.

“Knuckles?”

Muscles froze again and as he slowly raised his gaze in horror, his eyes met the chief of the tribe.  He pulled back, almost imperceptibly, under the unexpected scrutiny.  Their eyes locked, his amethyst eyes almost afraid to break contact.  Finally, after a moment, the patriarch’s blue eyes softened and a gentle smile crossed his lips.

“You know…I’ve felt some eyes on me over the past few Saturdays.” Tom spoke, voice light and humorous.  “What’s going on, big guy?”

Knuckles didn’t move, expression tight.  He had a question he wanted to ask, now that he was caught.  A question he never had gained the courage to voice over many weeks of watching.  A  question he still couldn't find the courage to speak.  He drew his head back again, almost sheepishly, allowing his gaze to drop.

He could feel Tom’s eyes on him, reading him, probably judging him.  What a coward he was that he could not voice what he really wanted.

Before he had time to process the movement, Tom had taken a few steps closer, close enough to place a hand on the echidna’s taught shoulder.

“Breakfast isn’t going to be ready for a bit longer.  You know how Sonic is…snoring the morning away.”

Knuckles kept his eyes downcast, feeling a sense of embarrassment settle in.  His gloves gently rubbed together in his lap.  He swallowed hard.

“But, I don’t suppose you’d want to help me?”

The offer had Knuckles snapping his gaze upward, meeting the twinkling eyes of the man in front of him.  He couldn’t stop the sliver of excitement that crossed over him.

“I…I would like that…” he heard himself speaking, voice softer than he had intended.

“Well, alright then!” Tom exclaimed.  “Come!  Enter my kitchen of solitude where I make the magic happen!”

Knuckles slid off the seat, following Tom into the kitchen, a few paces behind.  He couldn’t help but feel a bit excited at the prospect.  He was finally going to get to watch up close.

“So, pancakes…” Tom started, pulling up a stool so Knuckles could reach the stove more easily.  He stepped up without hesitation, taking in the set up in front of him.  A set up he had already memorized with weeks of watching.  “I mixed the batter already, it’s in that bowl.”  He gestured to the bowl to Knuckle’s right.  

“Go ahead and grab the bowl.”  

Knuckles reached forward and picked up the bowl, bringing it closer to the stove.  His tail began to twitch subtly.

“Alright, you take the bowl…”

Tom took his hand and placed it over Knuckle’s wrist to guide his hand to the hot skillet.

“You pick up the spear in the center, tip always pointing forward.  That’s right…”  His father’s hand on his wrist, guiding his hand to the training weapon in front of him.

“Then pour just the right amount…whoa whoa, not too much.  There you go…”  Tom’s hand cupped his gloved hand as he helped him tip the bowl and allow the batter to hit the skillet.

“Place your other hand on the middle to gain control of your weapon…”  Hands larger than his own enveloped his to help him hold the spear.  His small hands tightened over the weapon, his tail wagging with excitement.  “That’s very good, son.”

Knuckles swallowed hard, pushing the memory to the back of his thoughts and refocusing on the task at hand.

“Ok…now we watch until the pancake cooks through.  You’ll know when the top starts to bubble.”

“Now…plant your feet and separate your hands.  This will give you control and strength.”

“Now here’s the fun part.” Tom spoke, drawing Knuckles attention back forward.  His amethyst eyes focused back on the pancake, watching the bubbles rupture and reform over the surface.

“You take the spatula in your hand.”  Tom took his hand and closed his fingers over the handle.  “And you’re going to slide it under the pancake and flip.  The key is to not flip too hard or too high when you’re beginning.  Just a flick of the wrist.  Are you ready?”

“Now you take a step forward and thrust your arms.”  He felt his father’s arms wrap around his tiny frame to grip each of his hands with his own.  His father knelt on his knee so they were both on the same level.  Their cheeks touching, the warmth of his arms, his scent, safety…

Knuckles suddenly dropped the spatula from his grip, clumsily taking a step off the stool next to Tom.

“Hey, buddy, you OK?” the man asked, voice filled with nothing but surprise and concern.  

Knuckles took a few steps back, eyes fixed on pancake in the skillet, the smell of burning batter filling his nose.

“Knuckles, buddy, what’s wrong?”

Knuckles could barely hear him through the buzzing in his ears.  He continued to take small steps in retreat until his back made contact with the wood of the doorway.  The contact snapped him out of his reverie and he shook his head.  His eyes looked up and made contact with Tom’s, filled with nothing but concern and care.

“I…I’m sorry…” he stammered.  Then without another word he turned and ran to the back door, almost running into his matriarch in the process.  She quickly stepped back, avoiding his body as he flew toward the exit.  His hand grabbed the handle, wrenching the door open and he fled, losing himself in the trees.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The firm log behind him dug into the skin of his back and his elbows pressed into his knees but he barely paid the discomfort any mind as he rested his head in his hands, shutting out the rest of the world.

His breaths had soothed long ago, but not before they had almost suffocated him with their urgency.  His chest not complying with his body’s orders, his heart threatening to beat through his chest.  It had taken time, but he had been able to gather himself enough to find the oxygen he needed.  And, through his lightheadedness he had found his way to the mossy log behind him, bracing himself against it and wrapping his arms protectively around his head, burying his eyes in his hands and knees.

He had lost track of all time, but his senses could take in the increasing heat on his back as the sun rose through the sky, filtering through the fall leaves.  But he didn’t care.  He continued to hide like the coward he was.

He was so ashamed, letting his feelings catch him like that.  Memories that seeped into his consciousness, immobilizing him, hurting him, breaking him…

What was happening to him?  

For years he had been able to push his feelings, his memories away, locking them away somewhere safe.  Remembering his father was painful.  Remembering his father was a liability as he made his way across the galaxy.

But now…now that his quest was over…now that he had found a new normal…the memories were breaking through, flooding through his defenses and drowning him when he least expected it. 

How was he supposed to go back and face Tom after acting in such a way.  Tom was a gentle and caring person.  He would worry…he probably was worried…with how Knuckles had acted this morning.  But how was he supposed to explain that it was nothing the man had done.  That it was Knuckles’ own head, his own weakness, that caused him to run away.

He was such a coward.

A cold wet pressed into the crook of his elbow pulling Knuckles out of his swirling thoughts.  He started, his head lifting in surprise at the unexpected contact.  His head turned quickly toward the source and he was immediately drown in slobber as a tongue made its way quickly over his face, covering him in the creatures own sense of care.

Knuckles scowled in disgust and pulled his head away, out of range of the exuberant tongue and his eyes met the blank but warm eyes of the resident wolf.  He put his hand up to block the next onslaught of attempted licks, earning him a soft whine and studying eyes.  

“What brought you here, wolf?” he found himself asking, getting nothing back but a blank expression.  Ozzy tilted his head and brought his head forward to nuzzle into the echidna’s side.

“I did.”

Knuckles startled at the new presence, shooting his gaze upward to meet the soft blue of his chief, Tom.  He swallowed hard but did not advert his eyes.  He had already been enough of a coward today.

“Hey, big guy.  Can I sit down?”

Knuckles stared back, taking in the tall form as he slowly made his way closer.  He found himself nodding lightly.

He felt a soft gust of wind as Tom sat down heavily next to him.  He appreciated that Tom had sat just far enough to prevent surprise contact.  Knuckles was unsure if he could handle it in his current tumultuous state.

They sat in silence for moments, the only noise was the panting from the canine near by who refused to leave Knuckle’s free side.  He gave the dog an annoyed look which caused the wolf to push his face further into Knuckles’ glove, begging for pets.

“I hope it’s OK that I came to find you.” the man’s voice cut through the air causing Knuckles’ attention to shift toward him in surprise.  “I just…after this morning…and then you didn’t come home for lunch…”  his voice trailed off.  “I was worried.”

Knuckles grunted softly in acknowledgment.

“I hope I didn’t do anything wrong,” Tom continued to ramble.  “I know we haven’t really…we haven’t gotten very close over the past months.”  Knuckles glanced toward him at his words.  “And it’s OK!” he continued, seeing the shift in the echidna next to him.  “I know you and Maddie…just…she makes you feel comfortable.  And I’m so glad for it.  But…I just want to make sure I haven’t done anything to hurt you…”

The chief’s voice trailed off softly.  Knuckles turned his head fully toward the man at his words.  Tom was looking forward, his eyes watching the leaves swaying, looking anywhere else but where the echidna sat.  Knuckles frowned, guilt settling in the pit of his stomach.  The man thought what happened was due to his actions.  He had never meant for that.

He turned his gaze forward once again, his hands gently wringing together in his lap.  He swallowed hard, trying to find his courage.

“It is nothing you have done, Lord of Donuts.” he spoke softly.  “Nor is it anything you have said.”

He watched the man nod softly out of the corner of his eye.

“I…I’m glad, bud.” he spoke, his blue eyes glancing toward the echidna.  “I just…I want to be your friend.  I want to be someone you can count on and trust.  I feel like I’m failing at that.  But most of all, I do not want to ever make you feel uncomfortable.”

Knuckles swallowed hard, dropping his eyes to the forest floor.  The man was really trying.  And Knuckles had no ill will against him.  It was not the man’s fault that he reminded him of his father…

He took a deep breath, pulling his arms around his chest.

“I do not know how much you know of my past.” he began, voice soft, uncertain.  He did not want to speak of his past, of his memories, but this man had been nothing but kind to him and Knuckles owed him at least an explanation of his troubles.

Knuckles felt blue eyes watching him but could not meet them as he continued.  “I…before my tribe was killed…I…I had my father.”  he couldn’t stop the shake in his voice.  He took another breath, fighting for his courage.  “My mother had died, before I had even hatched from my egg.  My father…he was all I had…he was my whole world.”

A lump had formed at the back of his throat and his eyes began to burn with the shimmer of tears, but he refused to cry.  He clenched his teeth against the pain.

“He was kind, and gentle, and loving.  He always put me first.  He was always on my side.  And he always wanted what was best for me…even if I didn’t recognize it at the time.”  Knuckles let  a sorrowful smile cross his lips.

“You…you remind me of him…greatly…”

He felt the need to pause, allowing his eyes to drift shut.  He took a moment to gather himself.  To feel.  To miss.  To grieve.

Another nudge into his elbow interrupted his attempt at calm and he cracked his eye watching the wolf attempt to push his head through the crook of his arm.  Knuckles pulled his lips together and gave a soft shake of the head, then lifted his arm allowing the dog to move forward, laying his head in the echidna’s lap, tail beating happily against the trunk of the tree.

“I’m sorry.”  Tom said softly, gazing gently at the boy.  “About your father.  I am beyond flattered that you think I’m similar.”  Tom sighed and pushed himself a bit closer, laying a gentle hand on Knuckles’ shoulder.  “I definitely understand now, why you keep yourself distanced.”

The echidna took a deep breath, the unexpected contact of a hand on his shoulder almost jarring.  He tried to swallow down the guilt that rose with Tom’s words.  His eyes drifted closed, as if shutting out the world would shut out the pain.

“I…” he started, getting choked on the lump ever present in his throat.  “I…apologize.”

He felt a shift next to him, causing him to pull his eyes back open.  Tom had nudged himself slightly closer, his penetrating blue eyes looking toward and meeting purple.  He gave Knuckles a soft smile and let out a soft breath.

“First off, you will not apologize.” He started, his voice soft but firm.  “You are allowed to have your feelings and with something this big, it can be hard to figure them out.”

Tom shifted his arm further, now resting across the echidna’s shoulders.  Knuckles tried to remember to breathe.

“Second, I just want you to know…the last thing I want to do is replace your father.  You loved him and you lost him so young.  You are still grieving the loss.  And you never have to think of me that way, not if you don’t want to.  There is no pressure with our relationship.”

Knuckles lowered his head shamefully.  Feelings are not something he allowed to take him over, and yet, his feeling had dictated a distance between him and the man next to him.  A distance that Tom didn’t deserve.

Knuckles finally found the courage to meet Tom’s eyes at his words.  Eyes that held nothing but truth, concern, and understanding.

“I…I do appreciate that.” the lost boy answered truthfully.  “Though I feel I do not deserve your patience.”

The hand on Knuckle’s shoulder gave it a squeeze.  Knuckles swallowed hard, a tightness in his chest forming.  But when he finally trained his gaze back up, a smile met him, reassuring and ever present.

“You deserve everything.” Tom answered.  “You’re a great kid, Knuckles.  And I’m so happy we were able talk about this.  “Thank you…for being so honest with me.”  

The arm that lay around his shoulders, pulled him into a one sided hug.  A warm feeling overtook him and he found himself leaning into the safety it promised.

“Thank you, Tom.  For everything.”

The grin on Tom’s face widened at his words.

They sat quietly for a time.  A man, his son, and their dog.  They let the quiet of the forest settle over them, bringing a new calm, a new understanding.  But all calm must come to an end, in the form of a wayward wolf that began to chase a few of the rustling leaves, introducing a new form of chaos.  Tom chuckled.

“Ready to go home, Red?” he asked, pulling himself to his feet and reaching a hand down toward the boy.  “I believe a pancake lesson still awaits.”

Knuckles let a soft smile form on his lips and he reached up to gently take the offered hand.

“I would like that…Tom.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunday morning started like any other.  Knuckles rose early, quietly making his way from the attic so as not to disturb his sleeping brothers.  He made his way to the roof and sat, cross legged, turning his face toward the rising sun.  A ritual that he had come to enjoy, gaining a moment of peace before the house exploded into action.

But today held a greater excitement than normal.  Tom was going to teach him how to make pancakes.  He was going to get to help make breakfast for the first time.  Sunday wasn’t even a normal day for the fine delicacy, but his chief had made an exception just for Knuckles so they could pick up where they left off yesterday morning.

His lesson would be starting soon.  But now, now he could take in the quiet of the emerging day.  A gentle breeze tickled his quills and he took a deep inhale of the chilly morning air.

He could imaging his fathers soft fingers running through his quills.  A deep embrace with the warmth of the rising sun.  A hand lifting his chin with the current of the wind.

And Knuckles didn’t feel melancholy or lost.  He didn’t feel angry and scared.  Knuckles felt peace.  And with that feeling he pulled himself to his feet and made his way to the kitchen.  There were pancakes to be made.

@year-of-the-echidna

[jam3sacaster]

I don’t believe in God, but I believe that you’re my saviour PT. 2

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 / Unbeknownst to Rupert, you are in serious trouble…

Title derived from Sailor Song by Gigi Perez.

18+ FANFIC / Protective, soft Rupert, all the good stuff. Reader character aged at 21. Injury mentions. Featuring Bas! Read Part 1 here. Hope you enjoy! 🩷

Streams of canary yellow begonias & flamingo pink carnations lined the fading oak stables, the rising sun washing a peaceful glow over Penscombe Court. With knee-high leather riding boots protecting your feet, you pulled open the stable door and almost jumped out of your skin at the sight of an olive-skinned, dapper man, tinted shades hiding his eyes and wrapped tightly in a khaki gilet. “Good morning, babe. Didn’t frighten you, did I? Awfully sorry. Rupert said I could keep Bessie here.” Basil Baddingham beamed, blessing you with a glimpse of his dazzling pearly whites. Bessie was an Arabian horse — regal & imposing, with a striking chestnut colour and an ink black mane. “She’s so gorgeous.” You purr, running your hand over the top of Bessie’s head. “You can ride her if you want.” Bas winked towards you, surveying the apprehensive expression washed across your face. There was something so awfully compelling about Basil that meant you struggled to oppose him.

Less than twenty minutes later, you were bounding across the extensive fields of Penscombe Court, chilled wind rippling through your golden hair — exhilarated and elated. Bas rode alongside you, the smaller horse he was riding struggling to keep up with the rapid pace of Bessie. “Oh come on, Bas! Scared to race me?” You roared as you careered down the bank. Basil chuckled to himself as he patted his horse, urging it to catch up. Before it had chance, Bessie neighed thunderously, subsequently followed by a blood-curdling scream. “Hurry, boy, go!” Basil howled, patting his horse and steadying himself as they bolted down the embankment, and he jumped from the horse’s back before it had time to cease its speed. The scene that greeted him was one of inconceivable horror that he would never forget. You were sprawled across the ground, nose bloodied, arm bent in an anomalous manner & breathing shallow. “Dear God, Rupert is going to fucking kill me.” He groaned under his breath, darting over to you and kneeling at your side.

“God, babe. I’m so fucking sorry.” Basil panted, reaching out to stroke your muddied face but hesitatingly pulling away. Basil was right, Rupert was going to go ballistic, to say the least, but he had to be told. Pulling his bulky telephone from his gilet pocket, he prodded in Rupert’s number with trembling digits. It was ringing for a painstaking length of time, before Rupert answered, half-way through a chuckle. “Hello? Bas, what’s wrong?” Rupert answered, trying to make coherence from Basil’s distressed ramblings.

-

Dressed only in an unbuttoned, unironed white shirt, beige trousers and black wellington’s, Rupert hurtled from the majestic doors of Penscombe Court, thick mud flying from beneath his feet. He had never sprinted so fast in his life. Sprinting down the bank, he gasped — dumbfounded and horrified at your utterly mangled state. “Angel!” He almost whimpered, sinking into the mud beside you and placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “I’m so sorry, Rupert, I-“ Basil began, stood yards away with his hand clamped over his open mouth. The look in Rupert’s eyes was one of unbridled rage. Throwing himself to his feet, he stormed over to Basil, lifting him from the ground with fistfuls of his shirt. “What the fuck were you doing?” He spat, but Basil could only splutter and gasp in a stupor. “Taking her out riding, without asking me, when you knew I wanted to? And, worse so, not fucking looking after her!” Rupert continued to roar, fury bubbling through his veins like a steaming kettle reaching boiling point. Basil’s head was hung lowly in shame, unable to provide reasonable explanation. “I’m SORRY, Rupert. I didn’t know!” Was all he could muster. Before long, Rupert was unreservedly apoplectic, howling obstreperously to his Robin, his helicopter pilot — he needed him there immediately.

Comprehending the desperate urgency in Rupert’s voice, Robin complied — the silk black helicopter whirring above, wind projecting from the blades strongly enough to almost knock Basil onto his back.

-

Opening your eyes was difficult, lids heavy with sleep and your head spinning drowsily. After a few moments and through narrowed vision, you took a moment to survey the surrounding scene. Tucked firmly into bed, your typically flawless golden hair was tied behind you, matted and coated in dried blood. “Good morning, angel.” Rupert whispered, leaning over from his wooden seat at your bedside and kissed your lips gently. “Hello, my love.” You groaned groggily, eyes opening wider. Your hands had numerous cannulas and monitors plunged into them, but the room was secluded and clad in orange velvet. “Where on Earth am I?” You questioned, confused panic rising through your voice.

“You’re in the best place for you. Cost a pretty penny, but I can’t deny that you’re worth it.” Rupert joked, smiling in a gentle, solemn way that you had never seen before. “But why?” You interrogated again, winching sharply as you sat up. “Fucking Bas took you riding. Bessie must’ve got frightened, and bucked you off. Pretty nasty, utterly terrifying to watch. You handled it very elegantly though, I hear.” He informed you, reaching beside him and brandishing quite possibly the most adorable teddy bear you had ever seen, and an enormous box of chocolates. “Oh, I love him!” You beamed, your usual sunshine tone filtering back into your voice.

“Now don’t scare me like that again. We have many more years to drink and fuck away together, I can’t have you falling off horses constantly.” Rupert joked riskily, but was wholeheartedly relieved when you grinned back. “Oh, stop it, Rupert. I love you.” You mumbled, eyes closing and drifting softly back to sleep. “I love you too, angel.” He replied, gently kissing your soft forehead again.

[edenunbuilt]

── ϧ𝑒 no honor among kings: chapter 1.ೃ࿔

℘ jj maybank x fem!kook!oc ৴ length: 3k ৴ day of posting: sun, apr. 6

summary: after being publicly snubbed by his father and stripped of any claim to the groff legacy, jj maybank spirals—fast, loud, and vengeful. but somewhere between the smoke and the mezcal, a dangerous idea takes root: if he can’t inherit power, he’ll steal it—and he knows just the girl to help him do it.

chapter content: kook!jj ﾉ not proof read ﾉ language

author's notes: new series! super exciting, I know. here's a little something that I've been working on these past couple weeks. don't worry! i'll still be writing short drabbles and fics between the series postings, this is just something i'm very excited and passionate about. i hope you guys enjoy this series as much as i love writing it. that's it! grab a snack, and buckle in!

if there was one thing jackson maybank was good at, it was disappointing his father. he’d made an art of it, really. from the too-loud parties in their beachfront house to the whispered scandals that followed him like smoke, he never failed to fall short of groff standards. and that was the whole point. he didn’t want the name, didn’t want the legacy. that’s why he used his mother’s last name—maybank—a final middle finger raised in his father’s direction, the one thing he could still control.

it was petty, sure. but it made his father’s mouth go tight every time someone said “mr. maybank,” and jj would take a win where he could get it.

which made today a little ironic.

because after nineteen years of rejecting everything groff, now he wanted a piece of it.

but before the boardrooms and betrayals—before the title was handed to langston fucking groff—jj woke up with his face pressed into someone’s designer couch, the taste of tequila clinging to the back of his throat like regret.

sunlight stabbed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the first thing he registered was the splitting pain behind his eyes. the second was the thud of bass still echoing through the house, like the party had crawled into the walls and refused to die.

he sat up slowly, wincing as the movement sent his skull ringing. someone had scrawled a phone number across his forearm in lipstick. there was glitter on his jeans and someone else’s shoe under his head. classic.

he reached for the warm, half-empty bottle on the coffee table and took a swig, wincing. it wasn’t tequila. it was worse. something syrupy and cheap. he set it down and rubbed his eyes, trying to remember where the hell he was.

then he saw the art on the wall—some abstract horror that probably cost more than most people’s cars—and realized he was still at harlow’s place. or maybe it was diana’s. didn’t matter. they were all cut from the same silk and stitched together with rumors.

jj stood, his joints cracking like static, and padded barefoot across the marble floor. his phone buzzed somewhere in the cushions, but he ignored it. he already knew what it said.

boardroom. 11 sharp. no excuses this time.

his father always texted like a cease-and-desist letter.

jj looked at the clock. 10:47.

well. shit.

he didn’t bother changing. just threw on yesterday’s hoodie, grabbed his car keys, and walked out into the blinding morning like a man heading to war.

────────────────────────

he stood in the back corner of the groff family boardroom, the room his father had once called the "command center of the empire," and lit a blunt he wasn’t supposed to light. the wallpaper had been redone last fall, some hideous deep green that screamed old money, and the table in the center—hand-carved, imported from switzerland, or whatever bullshit origin story his father liked to recite—was surrounded by polished men with thinning hair and black credit cards.

and across from them sat langston groff.

langston.

jj ground his teeth as he took a slow drag.

he could barely look at the guy without wanting to shove him out of his chair. too clean, too polite, too eager to please—exactly the kind of bloodless heir his father had always wanted. the kind that shook hands with donors and never got caught doing lines off a yacht bathroom sink.

“jackson.”

his father’s voice was smooth and empty, like a car commercial voice-over. jj didn’t move from his corner.

“you’ll want to pay attention,” the man continued. “this concerns the family legacy.”

there it was again. that word. legacy. like it meant anything real.

jj took another drag, let the smoke curl out between his teeth. “is this the part where you finally disown me?”

a few of the men chuckled, unsure if it was a joke. his father did not.

“langston will be stepping into a more prominent role this year,” he said, eyes never leaving jj’s. “public-facing. events. speaking engagements. eventually, the board.”

that was it. that was the announcement. jj’s last thin thread to the family fortune—snipped like it meant nothing.

and maybe it shouldn’t have mattered. he’d spent his life swearing he didn’t want it. he’d made a name for himself in parties, chaos, and detentions. he didn’t belong behind a boardroom table.

but still.

still, it felt like being shoved out of a house that was supposed to be his.

jj stubbed out his blunt in a crystal dish that definitely wasn’t an ashtray. “you’re making a mistake,” he said.

“i’m making a choice,” his father replied calmly. “something you’ve never learned to do.”

the words hit harder than jj wanted to admit. because deep down, beneath all the anger and the indifference, there was a part of him that had wanted the damn house. that had wanted the name to mean something because of him, not in spite of him.

he left without another word.

────────────────────────

if his father thought passing over him would humble him, he clearly hadn’t paid attention to the last nineteen years.

jackson groff-maybank—or just jj, if you asked him—did what he always did when he was furious: he got louder, drank more, and made sure the entire island knew about it by sunrise.

by the time he rolled up to rafe’s place that night, he’d already taken two shots of mezcal and told three people at the country club that langston groff looked like he fucked his accountant and cried after. all true. or at least believable enough that people laughed the way they always did when jj was angry and trying to be funny.

rafe’s house was its usual mess—marijuana smoke hanging low in the air, the faint thump of bass from some speaker in another room, and at least four bodies strewn across expensive furniture like centerfolds. jj stepped over a champagne bottle and made a beeline for the sunken living room.

there, on the cream leather couch ward definitely didn’t know existed, was rafe cameron in all his smug, grinning glory. a girl with mile-long legs and bleached-blonde hair was curled up in his lap like a trophy. she was giggling, drunk or high or both, running her hand along his chest like she owned him.

rafe barely glanced up. “took you long enough.”

jj dropped into the armchair opposite him and immediately kicked his feet up onto the glass coffee table, knocking over a half-empty beer can. “you’re not gonna believe this shit.”

rafe licked a trace of whatever powder he’d been playing with off his thumb and looked at jj like a cat who’d already killed the bird. “groff senior finally put you out of your misery?”

jj grinned without humor. “langston. he gave it to langston.”

that earned a laugh—sharp and vicious. the blonde jumped slightly. rafe ignored her. “you’re joking.”

“wish i was.”

rafe shook his head. “christ. that’s insulting even for him.”

“he said langston was ‘dependable.’” jj made finger quotes with a sneer. “because i guess doing coke on a golf course is more respectable when you wear a tie while doing it.”

“sounds like you’re losing your edge,” rafe said, dragging his thumb along the girl's thigh. she responded by kissing his neck, and jj rolled his eyes.

“i’m serious.”

“yeah, so is my dick right now. read the room, maybank.”

jj ignored him and leaned forward, arms on his knees. “i am serious, rafe. this isn’t just about legacy or pride or any of that bullshit. this is about him winning. again.”

“you are him,” rafe muttered.

jj ignored him again.

he looked around the room—the designer furniture, the neon halo of expensive lighting, the way everything here reeked of power that had never been earned. this was what people thought success looked like. this was what his father valued. and jj had spent years laughing at it, spitting on it.

now he wasn’t so sure.

“you ever think about just… taking it?” jj said suddenly.

rafe raised an eyebrow. “taking what?”

“all of it. the power. the seat at the table. doing it better than them. cleaner. louder. our way.”

rafe snorted. “no. i’d rather die pretty.”

jj’s knee bounced, agitated, and the edge of something dangerous curled under his skin. “yeah, well, i’m tired of watching people like langston play king when they don’t even know how to hold the crown.”

“and what, you do?” rafe asked, finally giving him something resembling attention. “you gonna go kiss babies and shake hands, maybank? because i don’t see you in a suit and tie unless you’re attending a funeral or avoiding jail time.”

jj didn’t answer right away. he just looked down at the ring on his finger—a family heirloom his father gave him when he turned thirteen. a pathetic olive branch. he’d considered throwing it into the ocean more times than he could count.

“i don’t have to be him,” jj said finally. “but i can beat him. i just need someone who knows how to play the game.”

and for the first time that night, rafe paused.

it wasn’t much. just the smallest flicker of something—interest, maybe. or something colder. he blinked, and it was gone.

“you’re serious,” he said.

jj leaned back in the chair, fire in his eyes, mezcal in his blood. “deadly.”

rafe looked like he was about to say something else. maybe he was. maybe he thought of her too—kline. leila. but then the blonde girl tugged him back toward her, whispering something in his ear. he grinned and let her pull him down, his interest in jj fading as quickly as it had come.

“good luck with your villain arc, maybank,” he said, voice muffled as he kissed her collarbone. “let me know how that works out for you.”

jj didn’t answer. he was already lost in thought.

someone who knew how to play the game.

he tapped the ring against the side of his glass, the sound sharp and rhythmic.

he knew exactly who he needed.

────────────────────────

by the time jj left the cameron estate, the party had bled into chaos.

someone was in the pool without any clothes on, someone else was puking into a crystal vase, and rafe had disappeared with the blonde into a bedroom that no doubt belonged to his father. the place smelled like weed and chlorine and privilege.

jj walked out into the night with his hoodie half-zipped and a lollipop dangling from his mouth, the mezcal buzz dulling to a simmering throb in the back of his skull. his car—matte black, custom-fitted, a gift from his mother that his father hated—was parked crooked on the curb, wheels kissed up against the manicured hedges.

he got in, slammed the door harder than necessary, and sat there in silence. the cherry sucker melted in his mouth, tongue swirling around the smooth sphere before he bit down on it with a crushing crunch. 

his hands gripped the wheel like he could wring something useful out of it.

that was the problem, wasn’t it? he wanted something. for once, he actually wanted something.

not for the thrill of it. not for revenge. but because somewhere, under all the anger and deflection and bravado, jj groff-maybank actually gave a shit. he just had no idea what to do with that.

the thing was—he could do it. he wasn’t stupid. everyone liked to pretend he was, but he’d grown up in those boardrooms, sitting in the back with a game boy while his dad inked mergers and backroom deals. jj knew how things worked. he just had no interest in playing the game on someone else’s terms.

not until now.

and if he was going to play? he was going to win.

but he needed help. not from someone like rafe, who was too volatile and too high to care. not from some nepotism baby with a finance degree and a cocaine problem. no, jj needed someone who was brilliant, relentless, and already neck-deep in that world. someone who understood power because they’d been born into it, but had never really been allowed to wield it.

someone like—

leila cecilia kline.

the name came to him like a reflex. a sharp inhale of cold air.

jj’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

the kline girl. princess of figure eight. she was all pastels and pearls and pointed opinions. sharp as a blade behind that perfectly glossed smile. he’d never spoken to her for more than a handful of seconds—just enough to know she could probably out-debate a politician with a concussion.

she didn’t like him. he was sure of it.

but she wanted power. he’d heard it in passing, in the way people whispered about her behind her back. that she was too much. too bold. that fredrick kline had once called her “smart enough to be dangerous.”

jj could work with dangerous.

he pulled out his phone and scrolled through contacts until he found a number he wasn’t supposed to have. he didn’t remember where he got it—probably from topper’s drunken bragging about how he used to text her during junior year. or maybe sarah. she and leila had been friends once, before sarah bailed on her debutante duties and went full pogue-chaser.

he stared at the screen for a long moment.

> leila kline

jj exhaled, the weight of his irritations not lessening.

everyone in figure eight wanted her. that wasn’t a secret. leila kline was the kind of girl guys talked about like a status symbol—topper used to brag that they almost hooked up, like proximity to her made him worth more. like just having her number meant he’d touched something divine.

jj hadn’t said it out loud, but it pissed him off. not because he believed topper. but because it reminded him that she was out of his league. out of everyone’s league.

she walked through this town like it was hers—and maybe it was. kline stamped across the island like a watermark. her last name was in every foundation, every boardroom, every regulation that kept this place polished and cruel.

and yet, she wasn’t some stuck-up brat. he’d watched her in rooms, read the way she moved, how she spoke—measured, sharp, soft only when it served her. she was a politician’s daughter with a spine made of gold, the kind of girl who didn’t just know her worth—she wielded it like a sword.

she terrified men like langston groff.

jj liked that about her.

it was stupid. it was suicidal, really. but it was also exactly the kind of thing he would do.

jj pressed call.

one ring.

two.

three.

he hung up before it connected.

he wasn’t ready. not yet.

this wasn’t a drunk impulse or some half-baked rebellion. if he was going to do this—if he was going to offer her something—he had to mean it.

and he did.

he just needed to find the words.

────────────────────────

he didn’t go home.

he couldn’t. the groff estate was too quiet, too polished, and too full of ghosts that wore his last name like a curse. the housekeeper would glance up with polite pity, the way she always did, like she knew he was spiraling even before he said a word. and his father?

well. he wouldn’t be there anyway.

instead, jj drove aimlessly, lights blurring past his windshield as he burned a lazy figure-eight around the island. he had the music too loud and the windows down despite the chill, and the now bare lollipop stick kept in his mouth just so his teeth wouldn’t crack from the tension of his jaw.

his thoughts kept drifting back to her.

not rafe. not his father. her.

leila fucking kline.

and it wasn’t just because she was smart. or beautiful. or a better ice queen than half the debs in this town put together. it was because she never once gave him the satisfaction of reacting the way everyone else did.

he’d pushed her buttons. once. a year ago. some fundraiser at the club where she was stuck playing the perfect daughter, all pearls and posture, and he—being himself—had cracked some joke about her last name being the reason she got into yale.

she’d looked him dead in the eye, sipped her drink, and said, “you wouldn’t know an ivy league education if it hit you in the face with a lawsuit.”

and then she’d smiled. so pretty it hurt.

he’d never forgotten it.

because that was the thing about leila—she didn’t try to be better than everyone else. she just was. and that burned worse than the disappointment in his father’s voice or the taste of cocaine on a bad night.

it made her untouchable. untouchable and undeniable.

and now, even in this chaos—especially in this chaos—she was the only person who made sense.

jj pulled up to the marina and killed the engine. the air smelled like salt and gasoline and something old. familiar.

he got out, leaned against the hood, and stared out at the water. dark and endless. kind of like the thoughts racing in his head.

because maybe—maybe—this wasn’t just about sticking it to his father anymore. maybe this wasn’t even about langston groff or the board or rafe or the business.

maybe this was about wanting to burn it all down and rebuild it into something he could actually stand to look at. something dangerous. something his.

and if he was going to do that, he needed leila.

not just because she was smart. or connected. or a name with weight.

but because she was the only person who wouldn’t let him get away with bullshit. the only person who might actually force him to become someone worth taking seriously.

which terrified him.

and maybe, in some fucked-up corner of his mind, thrilled him too.

jj leaned his head back towards the night sky and exhaled slowly, eyes half-lidded, everything forgotten but the proposition he’d make kildare’s princess come morning. 

tomorrow, he thought.

tomorrow, he’d go to her with something she couldn’t refuse.

a name, a seat at the table, a crown neither of them were ever supposed to wear.

tonight, though, he let himself imagine it—just for a second. not his father’s empire. not the groff legacy.

his.

built on ashes. dressed in gold. run by a maybank and a kline.

let them try to stop him.

𐙚𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

thank you for reading! © edenunbuilt 2025. all rights reserved — claims, copies, reposts or translations are not permitted. ˖⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊

[bitethedustfools]

TWST Story Idea (6)

Inspired by a post from a long time ago, but I don't remember their name.

Twisted Wonderland with Yuu, who is not scared of meeting beastmen, ghosts, or fairies, not because they're brave but because they've already seen horrors that Twisted Wonderland never saw before.

Yuu was at first amazed and wary of the existence of magic and those who are not human. They were rather dismayed at living in a ramshackle dorm and were reluctant to accept Grim, though Yuu eventually accepted that it was better than being alone.

However, days of staying with Yuu made Grim learn something about Yuu, and that Yuu had rules. It's not just normal rules like "don't make noise after 10" or something, nor were they stupid rules like Heartslabyul.

No, it's so much different than that.

'Don't step outside after dark', 'don't go to the woods alone and make noise', 'don't answer anything until you feel certain it's a person', 'don't jinx', and so on.

Well, it is stupid like Heartslabyul, but the way Yuu looked at Grim just makes it sound ominous, and it doesn't help that Yuu followed these rules to a T.

One day, not long after Grim settled in that house, he almost broke a rule.

It started late at night where he heard knockings on the door. Grim woke up, blearily and upset for ruining his good sleep. He thought that a certain three ghosts was playing tricks on him.

They were always trying to prank him, and this was the last straw. He shouted at the ghost to stop, and the knockings ceased.

It was quiet indeed, just like Grim wanted, but Grim couldn't get rid of the horrible feeling creeping up on him.

The knocks continued, this time followed by a voice.

"Can I come in?"

Grim jolted awake, fur bristling. It sounded like Yuu, but it couldn't be Yuu. It sounded so weird and scratchy, like it's his first time talking, and Yuu is right here in this room with him, so who is behind that door?

"Grim, can you let me in?"

It knows his name.

The door knob budged repeatedly, growing aggressive as time goes by. Yuu had locked every door and window that leads inside dutifully, and this room is no exception, but Grim feared that it's going to break from how loud it's turning.

Grim tried to wake Yuu up, but Yuu didn't show any slightest hint of stirring awake, too deep asleep. Grim hit Yuu again and again to no avail.

Grim is alone, and the monster won't leave him alone.

The door creaked, and something peeked through the cracks. Grim cried to leave him alone, and the monster merely responded by getting closer, inch by inch, red eyes locked on Grim's shivering body.

And then, Grim woke up. Sweats covered his paws, and Yuu hovered above him with concern. Grim sniffled, the bed sheet, and some part of his fur wet with tears. He was glad to know it's only a nightmare until Yuu said,

"Which rule did you break?"

It was on that same day that Grim followed the rules with devotion, fearing the same thing to happen. These rules don't limit to Grim and Yuu only but to the guests as well.

Ace was first; he knocked on the door of the ramshackle dorm somewhere late at night, wanting to sleep here instead.

He knocked and knocked, but no one answered. He decided to loudly yell for them instead. This proved to be the right choice since he could hear woods creaking and shuffling from the inside.

The door opened in a matter of seconds, and Ace would greet casually like he just didn't come here late at night with a collar but stopped at the panicked look on Yuu and Grim's faces.

"Stop screaming!" Yuu hissed.

He didn't have to say anything since Yuu grabbed him by the tie and dragged him in. He found himself in their bedroom, awkwardly standing as Yuu explained the rules they have on the house.

Ace huffed wearily, saying how he got tired of the rules courtesy of Riddle, but Grim's reaction was very out of character, to say the least.

Ace would ask why, and they said to wait till morning. In the end, they all went on the same bed. Ace doesn't even bring up about sleeping in their bed; it was Yuu who wanted him to, so who was he to deny opportunity?

Ace tried to sleep, but the collar is just so cold and it's digging on his neck. He tossed and turned, and his eyes laid on a curtained window.

Weird, he thought. Almost everyone he met slept with opened windows and parted curtains to let moonlight and the coldness of the night in. The curtain in this room was closed tightly, and sleeping on the bed with another two is already hot enough since the fan is slow.

Ace made up his mind to open both the curtain and the window. However, tonight moonlight is bright enough that there's a distinct shadow behind the curtains in the shape of a person.

'But this is on the second floor,' Ace will gradually realize. He will reason that it's someone using the broom to fly, but the shadow is completely still.

At this point, Ace remembered some of the rules that barely got into his brain.

'Do not look outside at night.'

'Do not acknowledge or respond to it.'

'Do not make noise.'

'Pretend you didn't see it.'

Ace quietly got into the bed, closed his eyes, and went under the sheet as he tried to make sense of what he saw. He had to wait until tomorrow; there's only a few hours before morning, but his will is tested with the scratches on the windows.

Ace couldn't tell when he got to sleep, but he woke up with a gasp as sunlight shone in his face, and Yuu staring at him.

"You'll get used to it."

Deuce was the next victim. Despite what happened that night, Ace is still willing to sleep in the ramshackle dorm or maybe he doesn't have a choice because something is following him and yuu knows how to deal with it. Deuce, however, didn't know any better until Yuu explained the rules.

Deuce, being dumb, will then say, "Huh? You mean ghosts? We see them all the time, don't we?"

A look of horror crossed their expression, and then there's laughter in the hallways that most definitely don't belong to them.

Deuce's instinct was to fight in the adrenaline moment. Just as he stood up, he immediately fell down and got dragged out of the living room down the hallways right before their eyes.

The lights flickered, showing them a horrifying shadowy figure holding Deuce by the ankle. Deuce screamed as he was dragged into one of the rooms, and the door slammed shut.

Deuce yelled as he banged on the door repeatedly. The others tried to open it to no avail until Deuce kicked it off its hinges, face pale and full of sweats while his eyes kept darting back to the empty room.

Deuce wished to go back, but Yuu didn't allow him to do so.

"If you leave, it will follow you. Stay here; I'll protect you."

They weren't the last. Those who became friends of Yuu were now well aware of these rules but not before experiencing the horrors.

Trey is concerned about the rules, but he always obeys them anyway, so there shouldn't be any problem until he borrows the kitchen and witnesses dishes pushed off the table and breaks them. He also hears an indescribable noise that's a mix between moaning and growling from one of the rooms in the ramshackle dorm when Trey is passing by, as though something is trying to attract his attention.

There was also a rule that said to avoid using a camera in the dorm. Cater didn't like that much, seeing that a haunted ramshackle dorm sounded like a good way to attract more likes on Magicam. Cater didn't give any thought when he tried to take a picture of himself when suddenly, the square thingy used to identify a face is multiplied and scattered all over the screen.

Riddle once came unannounced, and the entrance door opened, so Riddle invited himself, though he found it suspicious that no one is inside. He thought it was Ace and Deuce who tried to prank him and shouted to stop it at once. There was silence until Ace's voice said, "You got us, Riddle."

Riddle instinctively tried to reply, "It's Housewarden Riddle for you," before shutting his mouth when he realized that the voice sounded weird, and Ace still hadn't popped out yet.

"I'm right here," Deuce said this time, slightly echoey and out of tune.

He tried to come closer, trying to discern where the voice was coming from, only to be pulled back.

"I was looking for you." Yuu's voice was calm, but there's a sense of urgency on his face, which Riddle finds out later when he meets with Ace and Deuce.

Similar things happened to the rest, with Vil seeing his reflection move, Epel hearing something following right behind him, and Rook feeling watched but unable to find who.

Kalim saw his doppelganger and attempted to follow him into the woods alone, or that time he was talking to someone, but there isn't someone there at all. Jamil had bruises in the shape of hands and whispers in his ears as he lay in bed.

Idia saw his dead brother, and he almost jumped to his death. Ortho, who is in full battery, would just drain in a matter of seconds. Any attempt to scan would be glitched and met with errors.

As for a certain merfolk and beastman, they are suddenly sensitive to the ramshackle dorm and attempt to avoid it. Jack, however, despite his reluctance to sleep in the ramshackle dorm, proved to be a great asset. Since he's a wolf beastman, closer to dogs, naturally, ghost attacks lowered down to almost nothing. This means beastmen are rarely bothered, mostly just being watched.

For certain Diasomnia members, these types of ghosts are rare and dangerous and cannot be destroyed. They didn't even knoe they exist amyway and magic cannot destroy spirits, no matter how strong they are. Though, just like Jack, ghost attacks will drop down with Lilia and Malleus around, though not to zero. They both will get harassed as well as the other two.

-

Yuu has a third eye, so they see things. Yuu's spiritual power is so great it affected the ramshackle dorm, waking up/attracting ghosts. Those who get closer to Yuu will inevitably have Yuu's power lingered on them so they can see as well.

So basically, they got 'cursed' unintentionally by getting close to Yuu. Those who can't see ghosts won't get bothered with serious stuff; they only get to deal with ransacked rooms or broken dishes.

[beeandthescreen]

In Unholy Matrimony

E | Vampyr!Ellen x Thomas | Canon Divergence | 1/?

Ao3 | Ellen awakes and, she too, becomes an appetite of some sort. 

All ch. | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Thomas has perished.

He knows it. He feels it in his very soul. There has never been more of a certainty. 

Not a week has passed and the festering hole his love has left behind has ridden him of all meaning. In both waking and in slumber his horror does not cease. With every creak and groan of his century-old home, he startles. With every rise of the moon, he dare not blink. 

The first night, he had boarded up that room. His thumbs are still swollen from one too many nail heads missed. The last of his strength had been used to convince himself not to surrender the entire building to a torch. Such thoughts felt wrong, for this is Ellen’s home. Her drapes, her kitchenette, her sitting room. He would not touch anything. He would leave it as is, until she returned to him.

He sleeps wherever his feet take him. 

The good doctors have both managed to rid him of the demon’s corpse and procure a mausoleum for- for Ellen. He dresses her and does her hair as he’s always watched her do in the mornings, kisses her cold lips and walks away. He shoves his fist in his mouth to spare anyone from the scream stuck in his throat. He pleads to a God he is not sure is even there to care for her well, to bring her sweets and sing her to sleep; to dress her in powder blues and buy her anything she pleases. He pleads to God to take him swiftly, to lead his feet to the edge of a cliff and push.

“We will look after you, boy, soon. Keep the terror at bay- for there is a plague we must first rid ourselves of.” Professor Von Franz grips his shoulder tightly, and stares at him with such meaning, that he almost does as he is told. 

The two have yet to return, and Thomas is grateful for it. There is a comfort in knowing no one can cast an eye upon his carcass. 

In one of his rare moments of movement, Thomas finds the locket Ellen had gifted him placed upon an entry table, coated in a dark red crust. He boils water with the last of their wood and shines it so vigorously he scratches the glass. 

Now, it has found a permanent home in his breast pocket- close to his failing heart. 

Thomas tries, he truly does, to write to her father. 

He dislikes the man. He’s always questioned the validity of Ellen’s parentage. How is it a tree so rotted would produce the sweetest of fruit? Ellen hadn’t needed to tell him all- he had seen the fear in her eyes, the reluctance to speak of future visits. She’d rarely spoken of home, and would steer him away from any line of questioning that would lead to it. 

Thomas cannot even bring himself to find the parchment.

On the fifth day, Thomas begins to hallucinate. 

His body has picked a corner to rot in for the evening. He’s stuffed a decorative pillow behind him and readied himself for what was to come. His days are a haze of dreamless bouts of sweatied sleep, and his nights, painful and long. 

He does not expect the front door of his home to fly off its hinges and clatter into the hall. 

In the shower of splinters, Thomas scrambles to his feet, hands reaching for the crucifix hanging above the fireplace mantle. He feels oddly grateful for the intrusion- the adrenaline in his blood invigorating what was once deemed dead.

Dream or not, he holds the cross in front of him. A weapon, not a shield. The faint outline of a body haunts the threshold. Thomas is yelling, something horrid, he assumes. He feels hate for the creature in front of him, hate and hope. A hope for the end.

The creature, dark and small, enters.

Thomas is then suddenly aware of the fragility of the mind. How easy it must be to bend and fracture. He mourns for his sanity, he mourns for a simple world wherein wealth was the demon in his closet. 

The cross slips from his fingers, his back hits the wall, and Thomas is still.

“Thomas…” It whispers, somber. It wears her face, sullen and heaving. The flesh of her neck is an open wound, weeping dark sludge onto the ruins of the dress he had buried her in.  

Even in death, his wife is beautiful.

She is a beacon in the everlasting night. He pushes forward, entranced. His arm is stretched out, knowing it will touch nothing but air, yet trying anyway.

“Ellen, my Ellen.” Desperation grips him tight. He wants to feel her, keep her here, where she belongs. He stumbles forward, arms hovering over her, afraid to dissipate the mirage.

The ghost is pale, its eyes stricken with pain and confusion. It looks up at him with a shaking lip. 

Thomas will savor this torment. A gift, to see his love again, even in such a state. He will stare until his mind sees fit to take her from him once more. He is heaving, shaking, still hovering.

“I apologize.” She whispers, blackened tears welling up in her eyes. “You must have been worried.”

“Yes!” Thomas exhales, his hand suddenly gripping at his chest. “I have been so- so worried.” He drops to his knees, resolve waning. He clutches at her skirts, burying his face into her stomach. The specter is cold, and yet, the comfort it provides is a balm to his torture.

“Thomas- why are you- has my absence hurt you so- oh my Thomas.” Ellen falls as well, arms encircling him in a vice. “I am an errant woman, no good for you.” Her voice is a song, sweet and smooth. 

He begins to cry. “Do not say such things.” He chides, shaking his head. He wants to dig his fingers into her flesh and anchor her to him. 

“I beg of you, stay. Stay with me.” He has grown limp in her arms, whimpering, blubbering. He cares not if his neighbors would hear. Let them think him mad, for he surely is.

“Thomas, I would not leave you of my own will- it… is the fault of my maladies.” She pets his head, swaddling him in her love. She kisses his hair, swallowing the sudden ache at the back of her throat. “A sleep spell, is all. I have found my way home to you. Worry not, dearest.” 

Thomas is nodding, “Yes, how wonderful you are. Thank you, thank you.” He is waiting for her to disappear. Waiting for his head to thunk to the floorboards and to be alone once more. He readies himself, eyes squeezing shut.

His ghost, however, does not disappear. Their harried breathing devolves into a heavy silence. She cradles him for what feels like hours- and it might as well be- for the clock rings three times before Thomas begins to question what exactly is happening.

“My love?” His voice is raw and hesitant. Why does this psychosis persist? His head is pressed into her lap, his body limp. He squeezes the small of her back and is met with flesh under fabric, freezing, but real and whole.

“Are you hale, my sweet?” The ghost replies, sweeping the errant hairs from his temple. “Perhaps we should go to bed- do you not have to attend to Herr Knock in the morning?” She massages his shoulder, solid solid real.

Her eyes, I must look in to her eyes. Thomas is set ablaze, a sudden vigor in his blood. A question, one that he never thought to entertain, is presented in his mind. He cranes his neck, a slow twist that begets the sight of his Ellen, eyes darker than the night sky, staring back at him.

He swallows.

Thomas reaches for her, a single hand, his addled mind racing with a possibility. When he grazes the skin of her cheek, his Ellen closes her eyes, and welcomes his fingers with a pleased kiss.

Thomas sucks in a breath-

-and crushes her in an embrace. 

She smells of death, iron, and earth. He digs his face into the crook of her neck, careful not to agitate the open wound of her throat. How strange the world is, how ridiculous.

“Your arms soothe me. I would be most upset should you let go.” Her whisper tickles his ear. Thomas shivers. There is so much to be said, so much to ask. He feels this is real, he believes it is- and yet, doubt remains. 

If this is deceit, Thomas welcomes it wholly. 

“Then here we shall remain.” Thomas murmurs. The clock rings a fourth time, and it feels like armistice.

-

Thomas: I miss my Shayla Ellen: Hi Thomas: oh my g od Nosferatu has fundamentally changed me as a human being. As a result, I will be obsessively making these two kiss-like barbie dolls. Next-up, a little more insight into what the fuck is going on. Everybody pray for Thomas, he needs it real bad. (Will be adding more tags as I go! Because what is pre-planning!)

[ofthemorningstars]

To Love What Death Can Touch

TerzOmega ~ Family Fluff ~ Light Angst/Comfort ~ Resurrection AU

2.6k words

AO3 Version

"He’d always hated seeing his lover ill, but after having to live without him, live with the knowledge that Terzo was dead and, at the time, gone forever… Omega had never been the same. He suspected that he never would be."

Terzo is sick, and it's up to Omega and their oldest daughter, Starlight, to nurse him back to health.

CW: death anxiety

---

“Shh, shh, it’s ok, little Star,” Omega soothed his and Terzo’s oldest daughter, situating her on his hip and smoothing her hair. She grabbed desperately at her father’s shirt, claws beginning to poke through the fabric. 

“But Daddy, Papa is dying!” Starlight wailed, loud enough that Omega began to worry about her waking her younger sister from her nap.

“Baby girl, you’re going to wake Astrid up. You know how hard it is to get her to fall asleep,” Omega gently chided. Starlight grabbed at her tail, beginning to hyperventilate.

“But–”

“Papa isn’t dying, I promise. He’s just sick.” He paused for a moment, wondering how best to explain the concept of human illness to a 4 year old ghoul. He considered them lucky that they hadn’t been forced to have this conversation before now. “You know Papa is… different from us, in some ways. Sometimes humans give each other germs, and they just… don’t feel very good. It will take a few days, but Papa will feel better soon and be completely back to normal. You have my word. ” He emphasized his point with a kiss to the top of Starlight’s head. It took a couple of minutes for Starlight’s breathing to return to normal, and when it did, she took a big, shuddering sigh and leaned her head against Omega’s chest. Omega rubbed her back all the while. 

“P–promise?” Starlight stuttered, hiccuping. Omega smiled softly at the sweetness of her concern.

“I promise,” Omega swore to his firstborn. He was hellbent on keeping his word; he would be damned if he let anything happen to his husband. “Do you want to help him feel better faster?” Omega asked as he wiped the lingering tears from Starlight’s face. She nodded quickly. “Well then, go wash your hands,” he instructed, setting her down on her feet. 

She did as she was told without question, ever the obedient child. When she returned to his side a few moments later, he ruffled her hair before sitting her on the counter. He already had his materials gathered. 

“We’re going to make Papa some chicken soup. It helps humans feel better when they get sick.” He had been simmering a pot of chicken stock for several hours now, ever since Terzo woke up with a fever. Well, ever since Omega noticed early that morning that Terzo felt hot and had woken him up to take his temperature. It was over one hundred and one degrees, to Omega’s horror, so he had been giving Terzo fever reducers on a strict schedule all day. It wasn’t helping nearly as much as Omega was hoping it would. 

“Ok!” Starlight said brightly, walking off to the sitting room. Omega peered around the corner as she settled into the sofa and started her movie back up from where she’d left it, checking in on her. He tended to the soup, his mind racing darkly with a hundred different equally terrible scenarios. This happened every time Terzo got sick, but no matter how many times they came through the other side unscathed, it never ceased to emotionally wreck Omega. He’d always hated seeing his lover ill, but after having to live without him, live with the knowledge that Terzo was dead and, at the time, gone forever… Omega had never been the same. He suspected that he never would be. 

Omega dreaded days like these. He was very protective of his mate, and he took great pride in keeping Terzo healthy. It had taken a long time before Omega overcame his paralyzing fear about death once again taking Terzo from him after he had been resurrected, and every time Terzo fell ill, it was a cruel reminder of his lingering mortality. That reminder was made all the more cruel by having children at stake now—children who needed their Papa.

“Daddy…” Starlight hesitated, looking like she was trying to find the right words for what she was about to say. “How come Papa isn’t like us, and can get sick? Why isn’t he a ghoul?” Her eyes were wide, innocent. Omegas was taken aback at the question, though he knew she meant nothing malicious by it. He felt a bittersweet pang deep in his chest.

“Because he’s who Daddy fell in love with. We love him all the same, don’t we?” Omega asked softly. Starlight nodded, sniffling and wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. “I wouldn’t have you or your sister without Papa. He’s perfect just the way he is, and we have to remember that not everyone is exactly the same. It’s important to accept people the way they are. Ok, princess?” She nodded again. Omega took her face in his hands, kissing her nose. A nose that looked so much like her Papa’s. He sighed. He had to get Terzo through this. 

Omega let Starlight watch as he cut the vegetables: carrots, onions, celery, parsnips, leeks. He helped his daughter carefully pour them into the pot, stirring the wooden spoon together. When they added aromatic turmeric and garlic and fresh sage, Starlight began to sniff, licking her lips.

“Can I have some too, Daddy?” Starlight asked, much to Omega’s amusement.

“Of course you can! Did you really think I wouldn’t feed you?” Omega chuckled, taking her down from her place on the counter. “It’ll be ready soon. We’ll eat lunch, and then we’ll go feed Papa in bed. We don’t want to make him get up. He needs his rest in order to get better.” 

“ Me too, Star”, he thought. 

“Lunch is ready,” Omega called when everything was done, placing a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. She leaned her head against his arm before hopping to her feet and following him to the table, where a bowl was already waiting for her. She hurriedly dug in, speeding through her meal. When Omega reminded her to slow down, she looked up at him with pleading eyes.

“I want Papa to get lunch, too.” Starlight’s voice was wobbly, unsteady, like she was on the verge of breaking down into tears again. “I just want him to feel better already...” Omega’s heart broke. 

“Papa is sleeping, there’s no need to rush. We’ll have to wake him up. You can take your time,” Omega advised, working hard to protect his daughter from his own anxiety. She nodded, slowing down. After she finished her bowl, Omega helped her prepare a tray for Terzo, having her select which hunk of bread to bring her father and assisting her in pouring a glass of orange juice. When it was time, he carried it to their bedroom, Starlight holding onto his pant leg.

As the door swung open, Starlight tentatively poked her head out from behind Omega, taking a peek at where Terzo was currently propped up in bed on a mountain of pillows. Terzo’s face was pale and covered in a light sheen of sweat, his nose red. His eyes were rimmed with dark circles, still firmly shut. Omega heard Starlight let out a quiet gasp behind him.

“Could you wake Papa up for me, sweetie? My hands are a little full.” Omega hoped that his tone of voice left room for his daughter to say no if she were uncomfortable or afraid, even if he wished that she would never fear her Papa. Starlight stepped out slightly in front of Omega, looking to him for reassurance. Omega simply nodded at her, looking between her and his sleeping husband.

“You’re so warm, Papa,” Starlight sounded scared, like she was on the verge of tears. Terzo’s brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth, but Omega spoke up before Terzo could get anything out. 

She appeared to steel herself and then nodded, creeping towards the bedside. Carefully climbing onto the bed, she did her best not to jostle Terzo. As she reached where he was resting she reached out, pausing only for a moment before placing a hand on Terzo’s shoulder and softly shaking him.

“P-Papa?” Starlight stuttered, a slight tremor in her voice. “Papa, w-we brought you some soup.” Terzo began to stir, groaning softly and moving to shield his eyes against the bright afternoon sunlight pouring in through the curtains. When his eyes fluttered open, they were bleary and unfocused, flitting around the room for a moment before finally settling on his daughter’s face. Omega could see Terzo’s gaze sharpen when he started to process what he was seeing, taking in her look of upset and concern. Terzo reached out with a trembling hand to cup Starlight’s face, and she leaned into his touch, grabbing onto his arm with both hands. 

“He’s alright, Star, he just has a fever. It’s a way that human bodies heal themselves. Papa’s body is trying to get rid of the germs.” Omega silently wondered how much of that explanation was him trying to reassure himself. Starlight looked back at Omega, her eyes full of uncertainty. As she turned back around, Terzo nodded at her, reinforcing what Omega had said.

“Sì,” Terzo croaked out hoarsely, having to stop to clear his throat. He took her hand, lifting it to his mouth and kissing the back of it. “Papa is ok. Just a bit under the weather.” As he appeared to notice what Omega was carrying, a small smile brightened his pallid features. “What have you brought me, my darlings?”

“You’re doing great, la mia dolce bambina.” Terzo reached up to brush a strand of hair out of Starlight’s face. Omega started to speak up about the mess again, but Terzo only had eyes for their daughter. “It is ok, amore, let her help. She is doing such a good job.” Omega sighed, going to get a towel. “This is very good soup, you did an excellent job, la mia piccola stella,” he overheard Terzo say from down the hall, and Omega couldn’t help but smile despite his lingering anxiety. 

“Daddy made you chicken soup!” Starlight bounced excitedly, her mood immediately lifting at the reminder. “He said it would make you feel better!” Terzo chuckled, ruffling her hair.

“Hey, you helped too, Star!” Omega said playfully, trying to encourage the mood in the room to continue to lift. The corners of Terzo’s eyes crinkled as his smile widened.

“Did you, now?” Terzo made a show of sniffing the air. “It smells delicious. I feel better already.” When he weakly tried to sit up, Omega hastily sat the tray down on the nightstand so he could help his husband, not wanting him to strain himself. “Grazie, amore mio,” Terzo said as Omega assisted him, gratitude evident on his face. After Omega rearranged the pillows to help support Terzo’s back, he carefully sat the tray over his lap and gingerly settled down on the bed beside Terzo.

Starlight picked up the spoon and tried her best to feed Terzo, but she ended up making a bit of a mess on her way to his mouth, spilling soup on the tray and Terzo’s shirt. Omega inhaled sharply, his hand shooting out to catch the spoon as it returned to the bowl.

“Star–!” Omega began to caution as he started to take the spoon from her, but Terzo shot him a look. 

After Terzo ate all that he could, Starlight gave him a big kiss on the cheek and hurried out of the room. Omega was puzzled by her sudden departure, but Terzo didn’t seem bothered. He ran a hand up and down Omega’s arm knowingly, humming softly, and Omega closed his eyes as they welled up, trying to stop the dam from breaking. When Omega’s breath hitched, Terzo shushed him, taking his hand and smoothing over the back of it with his thumb.

“Hey, hey,” Terzo soothed. “I’m ok. Everything is going to be ok.” With no small amount of effort, he leaned up, placing a kiss on Omega’s shoulder. Omega met his eyes, unable to stop the tear that spilled over when he felt the waves of love radiating off of Terzo with his quintessence. Another tear escaped as their lips met in a tender kiss, this one wiped away by the pad of his husband’s thumb. Omega couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him in a huff.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one making you feel better,” Omega joked as he pulled away, kissing Terzo on the forehead. Terzo squeezed his hand, his eyes soft. Terzo didn’t have to say anything. Omega knew. He knew that Terzo was aware of the inner turmoil he was experiencing. Omega was just about to open his mouth again when he heard the pitter-patter of footsteps running down the hallway.

Once she had gotten her fill and began refusing to eat, Omega sighed and picked her up, holding her close and breathing in her scent, closing his eyes as he tried to remain in the moment. The anxiety and the fear of losing his family that he worked so hard to fight off on a daily basis was rearing its ugly head, and he needed an anchor.

Star burst into the room but slowed as she reached the bed. Approaching Terzo with care, she snuggled up into his side and pulled out a book that Omega hadn’t noticed tucked under her arm. It was her favorite, a book titled “Guess How Much I Love You”, one that her fathers read to her every night. Omega knew that she couldn’t quite read fluently yet, and instead had the book memorized from years of bedtimes. As he watched their daughter read to her Papa, Terzo’s lips pressed to the crown of her head and his arm wrapped tightly around her, he felt his heart full to bursting with gratitude and love for his family, tears once again threatening to spill over.

Suddenly they heard Astrid’s cries from the girls’ room, and Starlight’s recitation faltered. He saw Terzo instinctively move to get up and placed a hand on his leg, shaking his head firmly.

“Stay. You need your rest. I’ve got her, don’t worry.” His tone left no room for argument. Terzo grimaced but nodded, relaxing back into his pillows once more. Omega tended to the cranky one year old, after about 10 minutes realizing that unfortunately, naptime was over. He fed Astrid lunch, feeling a little guilty for letting her sleep through lunchtime, but her sleep schedule was still so erratic even after the year mark that they’d taken to letting her sleep whenever it found her. 

Omega headed back to their room, needing to see everyone he loved, to get visual confirmation that they were alright. When he rounded the corner, though, he was surprised to see Terzo and Starlight both asleep together, the little ghoul tucked into the crook of his arm. He couldn’t fight the smile that overtook his face, his knees feeling weak as he was overcome by an intense wave of love. To his surprise, Astrid began to rub her eyes, whining as she reached for Terzo.

“Papa,” she called softly, Omega’s smile widening. “Daddy” was her first word, but “Papa” had been a close second following very shortly after, and she’d never stopped saying either since. She was still learning “Star”, but Omega had no doubts she’d get it soon. Astrid opened and closed her fists, grasping at the air. He gave her what she wanted, situating her on Terzo’s other side. She moved closer, clutching his shirt and sucking her thumb. As her breathing began to slow and her heavy eyelids fell closed, Omega kissed them on their foreheads, unable to hold himself back. He got into the bed himself, one of his long arms resting protectively on all three of them. He drifted off with the knowledge that they would get through this, together.

[tellmegoodbye]

It's almost 2025 y'all!

I'm stealing this idea from Michelle and Emily, except instead of just picking one, I'm going to share seven sentence snippets from all of my fics from this year! Also, at the end I'm going to share a snippet of a WIP that I am hoping to finally get the ball rolling on in the new year.

I also posted my end of year roundup if you want to check that out.

Thank you @heartstringsduet @strandnreyes @henrygrass @carlos-in-glasses @carlossreaders

@lemonlyman-dotcom @emsprovisions and @nisbanisba for tagging me!

our love will guide us home

The sights and sounds surrounding him begin to still, the cruel, meaningless world slowing to an agonizing stop. All Carlos feels is darkness. A terrible sickness consuming him from the inside out as he resigns himself to the inevitable. TK is going to die, and a part of Carlos is dying with him. Everything feels slow, solidified. Inching closer towards the end until all that is left is a good man who died a hero, and a broken man who mourned the loss of a love. His first real love. And perhaps, his last.

until the end of time

It's a look that makes him feel complete. Carlos is the final puzzle piece in his life, making him whole in every way. They were made for each other, no evidence of that greater than the way TK feels when he looks into his eyes. Trusted. Wanted. Loved. He sinks into Carlos slowly, joining their bodies and their hearts, watching fireworks erupt in his face, going inch by inch until he's fully buried inside of him and the rest of the world ceases to exist.

leave your love in the lamplight

Every time they have to say goodbye, they follow it with a “see you soon” spoken in kisses pressed to their rings. It's a reminder. It's a promise to always do everything they can to make it back home. Carlos knows he will keep that promise. No matter where this job takes him, no matter where his investigation into his father's death leads – he will always, always, come home to TK. He makes that promise with every kiss, and now he seals it into place with the last words he speaks before TK's alarm comes alive, telling him that it’s time to leave for work. “I love you too, husband.”

tonight your tears will fall from the sky

He knows that if TK is truly about to die, and if that's what's going to kill him, it's going to be a painful, grueling death. “TK…” he breathes. “How long?” “We covered the door with our turnouts but it's not going to work for much longer. Maybe a few minutes.” A few minutes. Nearly thirty years, a whole lifetime ahead of him – and all it takes is a few minutes to put an end to it all.

winds are shifting for our souls

He can hold TK, and he can imagine a world where he'd never have to let him go again. “Come here,” he whispers. “I've got you, baby.” A sob rips out of him and startles Carlos. It comes with the weight of a dam break. TK's cracks crumble into sand as he buries his face deeper into Carlos' shoulder, and his resolve vanishes entirely once he's safely tucked away. Hardened horror falls into the hands that cradle his face, keeping him steady as he cries.

with broken wings we fly

“She told me how much you loved watching him play when you were little.” Hesitant hands graze the newly polished wood. Carlos is gentle, as if even the slightest pressure from his fingers would cause the guitar to remember its age and crumble into a million pieces. Or as if it were a ghost. “I didn't even know she still had this,” he whispers. TK smiles fondly, placing his hand next to where Carlos’ rests against the rosewood. He lets out a soft sound and traces a circle around the blue of his ring.

and the silence sets me free

When TK paced the kitchen after restless nights and early-morning AA meetings, Carlos was there. When he confided to the person over his phone instead of the man in his bed, Carlos made sure to be there when he was done so he could kiss him goodnight again. When TK’s grief unfurled and painted his eyes in tears, tears that were illuminated by the light of the candles he lit in honor of his mother, Carlos was there. Waiting and listening, squeezing his arm, allowing the silence to subside naturally and make way for the heavy conversations that finally came on the final night. Bittersweet sorrow swelled up in a wave that would eventually seep into the air along with the smoky remnants of the flames. Every little step feels like another immeasurable goodbye. “It won't get easier if you never go, Carlos.”

Now for my currently untitled murder mystery au.....I really hope to be able to share this with you guys in 2025, but I make zero promises.

Carlos Reyes was already somewhat of a legend before his name ever made its way into the top scores on the detective's exam. As a patrol officer, he'd worked several cases off the books, which often resulted in reckless decisions, many of which nearly got him killed or fired. Detailed reports of how he chased down a kidnapper while off duty and broke into the house of a serial killer without backup didn't exactly leave TK with a lot of confidence. Sure, he's damn good at what he does. TK just can't help but wonder if the cost will eventually catch up with him. “I'm looking forward to working together,” Carlos says, offering a handshake that TK accepts hesitantly. Behind his forced smile, there's a voice that says no, he absolutely is not looking forward to working with him. At least the feeling is mutual.

Tags!

@paperstorm @alrightbuckaroo @freneticfloetry @literateowl @bonheur-cafe

@ironheartwriter @morganaspendragonss @decafdino @eclectic-sassycoweyes @goodways

@reyesstrand @butchreyes @theghostofashton @nancys-braids @welcometololaland

+ open tag

[xaphrin]

Anyway I just spent all morning plotting out my next long fic, and uh... wow that outline is something. Hope it doesn't suck? Have a taste?

(Actually trying to see how people feel about this)

-

When Trigon finally conquered Earth it felt like the world had become a strange, tilted reflection of itself. Warped like the mirror in a funhouse, but somehow still the same. On the surface things continued as normal, people went to their jobs, the public transit system continued, and the stock market miraculously stayed stable. The conquering felt less like an ending, and more like a blip in the timeline. Most people assumed that after a few months it would all clear itself up. 

But, underneath that facade of normalcy, there was a wound festering. 

Dissenters quietly disappeared overnight. World leaders vanished on their way to summits. Pacifists simply ceased to exist. Slowly, like a small leak in a boat, little bits of civilization disappeared, letting more and more horrors fill the space until the boat started to sink and there was nothing left but accept the inevitable truth:

There was no saving what Trigon had destroyed.  

And here stood Raven, at the edge of it all. She wasn’t supposed to exist. After her body had been used as a portal for Trigon, she had been left to die and decompose into the earth. Even her soul wouldn’t have found rest anywhere, since it was welcome nowhere. 

“You good?” 

Raven turned and looked at Dick as he stood next to her. “Not sure yet.” She gave a one shouldered shrug and stared out into the skyline. 

The city still looked inhabited, but there was a soft quiet that rumbled in and around the buildings. Look closer and you could see shattered windows and the rust-colored stains of long-dried blood. Everyone ignored it. If someone had died, they had it coming. Keep your head down. Don’t stir up trouble. Those were rules, and they were meant to be followed. 

Dick sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “I got a message from my brother.” 

Raven lifted an eyebrow. “A Robin?”

He nodded. “The last one, actually. He was there the day Batman was…” Dick trailed off, unsure of what to call the death of the last man he considered a father. 

“Taken,” Raven supplied. The word didn’t feel like an end. It felt like a book with the last pages ripped out, so you never really knew the ending. “I thought he disappeared. Your brother, I mean.”

“He went back to the League of Assassins.” 

Raven lifted an eyebrow, surprised. They were the one group of people who had managed to resist all of Trigon’s control, walking a very fine line of neutrality. She huffed out a soft breath. “And what does he want?”

“To join the cause.”

[4lex-hypno]

I think I've been good this year. Keeping my head down and causing a stir. I'd like muscles, big huge muscles so I can stop being such a geek like I have. But Santa have I been good?

Some believe they are good, others that they are bad, others don't know for sure, take Noah for example, a typical skinny nerd who always wanted more muscles and never went to the gym and wanted results.

Noah believed he was good, but he was always arrogant with his friends because he had a bigger dick than most, he was always a top, even though he was small he dominated his friends and fucked them without giving them an explanation the next day.

Santa couldn't forgive someone like that, so he would give Noah what he asked for, but of course with consequences... On Christmas morning Noah ran to open his presents, until he found one of unknown origin, and the label said "from Santa".

Noah couldn't contain his excitement and ran to his room, away from his roommates. There he found what looked like boxer briefs with the words "wear and get your muscles".

Noah didn't think twice about taking off his clothes and putting on his underwear right away. At that moment energy ran through his body, it was like he was on fire, and with the explosion of sensations he fell out of bed. Some time later he woke up and looked in the mirror, only to find his body now more toned, almost like a twink, but soon the excitement ceased when he realized there was a chastity cage on his dick.

He tried and tried, but nothing would take the cage off, he cried and looked at the gift box, there was the message “use it and you will have your muscles” but now with an addition “don't forget your milk to grow strong”. Noah ignored the message and started searching on the internet, but nothing, nothing, not even pliers, nothing could take that cage off, he went on with his days in vain.

He went to work, played with his friends online, but nothing made him forget about his locked dick, until a cock cage started to appear downstairs. He didn't know what it was, but it got stronger and stronger, until he started looking for it, but he didn't want to believe the source, he lay down on his bed and hesitated for several minutes until he started fingering himself.

Ah, the moan of pleasure and the precum were instantaneous, until one of Noah's roommates, Ed, opened the door in despair at the strange sound, only to find his friend with two whole fingers in his ass. "Dude, I didn't know you were into this, I thought you were just a Top" he said, starting to close the door.

"Wait!" Noah shouted "Please..." Ed looked confused and soon approached, remembering all the times Noah treated him badly for having a bigger dick "please!" he begged "Please what, bitch?"

Ed couldn't miss the opportunity, and with all the courage he had left Noah begged "fuck me" he cried saying, and Ed fucked him, and he didn't know why, but he wanted to cum inside, he really wanted to, and he did, and the stable passed and Ed abandoned Noah without saying anything, just like he treated the others, and soon he fell asleep, with cum all leaked out of him, because he came, locked up several times, one better than the other without knowing the reason, but satisfied.

When Noah woke up he couldn't help but notice that he was now almost a twunk, and that the cage was there, only stronger. It wasn't long before all of Noah's roommates were taking turns being him every night, and each night he woke up with a better body, with a juicy bubble butt and defined muscles, flawless and clean skin and always cumming over and over again locked up.

What used to be a horror he now enjoyed, until one night he woke up without the cage, without having grown any more, and also without the cage, his dick was there giant, in all the majesty it had before. He wrote to Santa in the middle of the year, saying, no, begging that he would behave, that it would be good, he begged, and it wasn't long before he felt what gave him the most pleasure, his chastity cage back where it should always be.

[activatebutterflyshield]

Songs that make me really really really want to learn animation so I can make epic sequences with them as the soundtrack

- Notos by the Oh Hellos, itd make a great phoenix-rising, defeated-character-realizing-their-power-and-absolutely-destroying-someone-who-did-them-real-trauma thing. Also the metaphors and imagery. “Every inhale I take, swallow the ocean whole and I am one / With the hurricane, tall as the tide that laps with a rabid tongue”??? “With every exhale I break you down with a fury, I lay the hills undone / Like a dog gone untamed, bellowing out a river from my lungs”??????

- Boreas by the Oh Hellos, the perfect sort of ‘Im completely defeated but by god I’m still going to do something to help’

- Okay I should just include all of the Four Winds EPs in here. Get over here, Eurus and Zephyrus. Passerine and Rio Grande specifically.

- The Horror and the Wild by the Amazing Devil, see this one fandom post I made that was basically a desperate attempt to visualize an animatic I could never make

- Chords by the Amazing Devil, entirely different vibes but bloody hell it lights a fire in my heart every time I hear it. Just. “We were the winter nights / So you could be the morning snow / Your life begins by leaving / And our love is shown / In the letting go”????????

- Rockslide by the Crane Wives. Im writing a whole thing about that album, Coyote Stories’, relationship with climate change and the generally horrible state of the world and this song is the reason. “Oh I pray today my soul to keep / But we best get a move on or the devil we will meet”?? I mean. Mates. It hits hard.

- Sleeping Giants by the Crane Wives. Same album as Rockslide and just as strong if not more so. It would make for a great call-to-war or prelude-to-a-big-ol-battle.

- Rule #3 Paperwork by Fish in a Birdcage. By goodness is Paperwork underrated (though methinks Rule #2 Moonlight is even more underrated but thats just a good song) and I love it to death. Just a great song for an easygoing time. Or, alternatively, a great song for a subtle call to action.

- Rule #33 Pyre by Fish in a Birdcage. Its just great. A final, fond farewell from a beloved parent or mentor or loved one or other dear person telling you that you’ll be fine after they’re gone. Also the accordion is really neat in this one. “Trust yourself and live it your way”. It just is great.

- WOLVES OF THE REVOLUTION. ARCADIAN WILD. This gave so much inspiration for writing a revolution and the people involved in it. Its perfect for that arc. It doesnt bloody matter if said revolution is in a war tragedy of a fanfic.

Theres more but I dont have much to say about them, so just know that Horse Soldier, Horse Soldier (Corb Lund), Solar Waltz (Cosmo Sheldrake), Mvmt II Begin and Never Cease (The Oh Hellos (really bloody Christian but its so good just music wise)(Also Christmas as hell)), The Day Goes On (Bill Wurtz), and my very dear Discord’s Smallest Violin (The AJR Discord) are also very dear to my heart and would probably become something if I had enough commitment and free time and all those other extremely volatile factors to actually learn how to animate. I will, someday. But that day is not today.

Also I swear to you @writer-of-random-things I am writing the climate-change-Coyote-Stories thing. It exists. Or, about half of it exists. I got to The Hand That Feeds and its. Uh. A lot.

[mayflowers515]

You know what? I like you.

Have some random incorrect quotes of the Critters!

(Not specific to the AU. Canon? Idk, these are just for fun-)

________________

Bubba: I don’t know how you have your foot in your mouth, your head up your ass, and your nose in my business. But here we are, you fucking wizard.

________________

Bobby: Crafty, when’s your birthday? Crafty: Why? So you can look up my natal chart? So you can figure out my weaknesses? So you can destroy me? Bobby: …So I know when to wish you a happy birthday.

________________

CatNap: If karma doesn't hit you, I fucking will.

________________

Picky: What do we say when making bread? Hoppy, glumly: That's the dough rising. Picky: And what do we NOT say? Hoppy, sadly: That's the yeast fucking.

________________

Bobby, cowering in fear: What do you want from me?! Picky, standing in front of Bobby: *bites into the whole KitKat bar like a heathen* Bobby, crying: Please...stop...

________________

Kickin: Ooh, I like your accent, where you from? Someone: I am Liberian. Kickin: Oh, my bad. Kickin, whispering: I like your accent, where you from?

________________

Hoppy: Like, no offense to myself and all, but what the fuck am I actually doing?

________________

Kickin: This should be illegal! Bubba: It is.

________________

DogDay: I'm going to take a shower, I'll be right back. CatNap: Why are you telling me this, I don't care. CatNap, right after DogDay leaves the room: I miss him already.

________________

(Alt version)

Literally anyone: I'm going to take a shower, I'll be right back. Bobby: Why are you telling me this, I don't care. Bobby, right after literally anyone leaves the room: I miss you already.

________________

Bubba: Crafty told me that brown is just navy orange, and I have never been more disappointed with something I agree with.

________________

DogDay: What the fuck is wrong with you?? CatNap: What? No good morning? DogDay: Good morning, what the fuck is wrong with you??

________________

DogDay: You saved me! Why? CatNap: People would think I murdered you if I didn't.

________________

CatNap: *out cold on the ground* (he's just asleep, dw) Crafty: Oh my god, do you think he's okay?! Kickin, holding a bucket of ice water: Who cares?! *dumps all of the water on CatNap's face*

________________

Kickin: This is horrible! This is the most humiliating thing to ever happen to me! Hoppy: Oh-? Even more humiliating than- Kickin: We are not doing this!

________________

Bubba: I don’t even have time to tell you how wrong you are. Literally anyone: Okay? Bubba: … Bubba: … Bubba: Actually it’s gonna bug me if I don’t, so—

________________

Kickin: You... you said I could trust you!! Kickin: You said you were a GAMER!!! Picky: Kickin... I only play mobile games. (probably those farming and restaurant simulators) Kickin: NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

________________

DogDay, singing: I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need— Bobby: A family. Crafty: A better love life. Bubba: Mental stability. Picky: *clueless* Bagels?

________________

Hoppy: FUCK THE CHAIR. PARDON ME FOR MAKING MYSELF COMFORTABLE DURING A SINCERE HEART TO HEART DISCUSSION WITH A DEAR FRIEND IN NEED! Hoppy: BUT THE TIME HAS COME FOR ME TO CEASE STRADDLING THIS DEEPLY OFFENSIVE PIECE OF FURNITURE! AWAY WITH YE, FOUR LEGGED TEMPTRESS! DISTRACT US NO MORE WITH THE MOST BASIC AND UTILITARIAN FORM OF COMFORT YOU SUPPLY! Picky: Hoppy just threw a tantrum about a chair. Picky: I just won Hoppy Tantrum Bingo.

________________

The other Critters, in a room with Hoppy, Kickin, and Picky: It’s calm in here. The other Critters: It scares me…

________________

Bobby: What's worse than a heartbreak? Hoppy: Waking up in the morning and your phone wasn't charging. Crafty: Waking up in the morning. CatNap: Waking up.

________________

CatNap: "You look tired" well, the torment is relentless and the horrors never cease.

________________

(Alt version)

Post Hour of Joy DogDay: "You look tired" well, the torment is relentless and the horrors never cease.

The sillies :>

🩷❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜

[wjehfshs]

Ok I have an idea but i wasn't sure if I made it sense but here my idea:

So task force 141 had sent some rookies on a mission due strange things going on in the forest and but only one rookie survived and had they had camera to see what happen only to watch rookies get brutally murderer in a supernatural way like imagine you turn paper into a ball but instead of paper its a human body.

So ghost, gaz, and soap went to same mission only for them to be hunted by a strange entity and they run for there life's but they meet eldritch!pacifist!reader that made them want to scream but they saved them from the creature they were hunted down but reader has no trust in them.

But they apologize because that creature was their sibling and then a few years later you get captured by the enemy and you get saved by the boys also reader tells them that their sibling is coming so yeah start hiding.

After their sibling takes reader back home next morning you give them a gift saying " I was wrong about you "

Also if your wondering what's a eldritch think of slenderman or some scary monster that has supernatural that was never meant to exist

Also here the power of catbow you shall sleep

Anyway I hope your doing well

Ty for the request!

Eldritch reader, gore mentions, violence, made this whole watching marble hornets so it’s honestly perfect, blood mentions, if you can’t tell I really like writing horror

The 141 had sent out some rookies with live body cams for some training

As they where watching the body cams of the rookies they heard a scream through the microphone

One of the rookies dropped their cam onto the forest floor

They saw blood, heard bones crunching, and heard screams

The only thing they saw was some, thing, almost floating up to the last guy who was trying to run away

All they could see was him falling to the forest floor and his body contorting into what could only be described as a ball

Blood was everywhere, all over the camera lens as the crunching of bones finally ceased

They couldn’t even get a good look at the creature as it slipped away but it looked to be tall, slim, and almost dead looking

“We are not going out there Price! Fuck no” Soap argued

“Soap im sorry but someone has to go out there and I trust you three the most mate” he snapped back

They all groaned, fearing that this would be their last mission before they end up mutilated and contorted in the forest just like the rookies

The day of the mission came, they had their gear, weapons, body cams, and flashlights

As they were sneaking through the woods the entire time they felt uneasy

That’s when it happened

Gaz caught something in the corner of his eye

Unfortunately that something wasn’t quick enough to hide

It was the creature that murdered those rookies

It was hunting them

It was frozen in place for a moment before it started to creep up to them in the distance

“Go. Go fucking go!” Ghost managed to splutter out

Their legs started moving before their brains

They remember looking at the creature, hearing ghost, and then running

It was all a blur

They knew they couldn’t fight that thing

What was even the point of this mission?

This was where they died

Their contorted, crumpled bodies would have to be extracted from the forest probably weeks later

Even from the other side Price was yelling at them through the microphones to “pick up the fucking pace”

They saw another blur to their right

That’s when they heard the rustling of leaves and then unknown sounds

It sounded like yelling but in a foreign language

But not in any language they had heard before

Almost cracking their necks while turning their heads around they saw another one of those things

Back turned to them

Almost protecting them

Yelling at the other other undead looking creature

after a minute of this it backed off

Sneaking back into the unknown depths

Before they know it they saw the thing turn around and apologise to them

Wait. What the fuck

Did it just speak to them

“I’m sorry about that. That’s my sibling. They don’t really have their morals in place” it chucked, voice distorted, ranging from deep to high pitch each second, almost overlapping with itself.

Soap put a hand to his forehead, feeling the sweat dripping down his face “oh my god. I’ve gone insane” he laughed to himself

“No mate. I see it too…” Ghost whispered to him

Gaz just opened and closed his mouth over and over, unable to form even a thought apart from “run”

“What. The fuck. Is that” Price carefully whispered through the mic

“Are you three ok?” You asked cautiously

“Oh! Right I see you must think I’m going to hurt you. I promise I’m not. I’m a pacifist” you calmly explained

Soap was the first to speak up

“I… we, uh. Yes, alright” was all he managed to say

They where in a daze

You silently went back to where you emerged from

Leaving them alone and scared

3 years later the boys where on a mission

They where to sneak into the enemy’s base and collect info

That’s when they saw you

In a cage, like an animal at the zoo

“This… THIS?! Is what saved you 3 years ago?!” Price almost yelled at them

It wasn’t like he didn’t believe them, he was just terrified to see something so… grotesque

The 3 of them kept begging Price to let them free you. It was the least they could do right?

Finally he agreed and they all busted the lock

“Thank you. But my siblings coming so if you don’t want to be a literal meatball I would advise you ditch the mission and run” you laughed a little at your stupid joke

They all agreed it was for the best

They got back to base and a couple days later they got something in the mail, but it was wrapped in leaves and bark, with no address??

They opened it cautiously and found that it was 4 flower crowns made of sticks and grass

There was a note that seemed to be written with tree sap on a piece of wood

It read “thank you for saving me. I didn’t trust you when I first saved you to be honest but now I know I can. Love [name]”

[sugarandice3]

Self Destruction

AN: So this is one out of (hopefully) three chapters for a slenderverse-inspired fic I began a long time ago. Truthfully, I would love to continue it, but I am in college and leisure time is hard to find so just a little encouragement would be welcome. Also, given my lack of beta readers, this will probably resemble more of a rough draft than a polished piece, so constructive criticism is more than welcome. But, without further ado, my fic. Self Destruction.

Warnings: Mild horror and mental health issues.

Word Count: ~4K.

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Chapter 1: Homeward Bound

The road stretched onward for miles across flat Montana earth, only stopping when it met the wakening horizon. Glaring light filled Keres’s vision, searing the image of the sunrise into her eyes and obscuring the abandoned highway. With a groan, she flipped up the useless sun visor and reached across to fumble around her passenger seat for the pair of sunglasses she had tossed there yesterday. Her fingertips finally brushed against the beat-up aviators as the tires buzzed against the boundaries of the road, warning her of the vehicle’s drift. Keres quickly slid the glasses on, returning both hands to the steering wheel and correcting her wayward car. Glancing at her rear view mirror, she looked through the dust covered glass to make sure that her brother’s little black truck was still behind her. Oliver was farther back now than he had been earlier, but in the early Montana morning on this empty stretch of highway, the greater distance didn’t matter. It only made her feel better that he probably hadn’t seen how far into the other lane she had drifted during her quest to block out the blinding sunrise.

Sweeping unbrushed auburn curls back behind her ear, Keres turned her brown eyes back on the monotonous pavement and focused on keeping her eyelids from lazily sliding half-closed. It was only day one of a three-day road trip back home and Keres was already exhausted. College had not been kind to her. 

“College is never kind to anyone,” she mumbled, correcting the self-pity that seemed to be more incessantly tainting her thoughts lately. Just because she wasn’t able to handle the pressure doesn’t mean that classes and being away from home were harder for her than they were for anyone else.

Rubbing her leg, Keres adjusted her grip on the steering wheel and checked for her brother one last time. She sighed again and reached for her phone to turn on some music. It was going to be a very long couple of days.

The red Toyota pulled into a silent motel parking lot, gravel and grit crunching under the tires. Orange street lamps shone weakly around the wings of the building, giving spots of haunted color to the monochrome of the lightless evening. The car came to a slow stop in front of a worn motel door and after a moment, the engine cut off and Keres stepped out.

“We definitely could’ve picked a better place,” Keres muttered, taking in the patches of wind-peeled paint and the withered grass filling the cracks in the pavement. 

It definitely wasn’t a 5 star motel, but Keres and Oliver had known that when they made the reservation. What they hadn’t known was that the reviews had been extremely generous.

The motel sat on the outskirts of town, bordered by derelict, trash-strewn roads. Eerie silence pervaded the area, occasionally broken by a passing car, but nothing more. Even in the patchy lot, there sat only a handful of vehicles and Keres wasn’t even sure that most of them were guests here. At least, she hoped that the van emblazoned with the name of the pest control across the street wasn’t here for an extended stay. 

The sound of tires spraying gravel announced the arrival of her brother, prompting Keres to cease her critical assessment of the place. It was just one night after all, and it wasn’t like a good night's sleep would cure her exhaustion anyway. Letting out a heavy sigh, Keres turned back to her car to retrieve her backpack while her brother pulled into the parking space beside her. 

“Well, this place certainly isn’t gonna win any Google maps awards,” Oliver said grimly, keys jangling as he hopped out of the truck. 

“It’s just one night,” Keres said, to remind herself just as much as him, “And  the less time we spend awake in this place, the better.”

Keres pulled on the dusty handle and opened the door, pushing away all the stuff that had shifted during the winding drive through the hills of Montana. With a grunt, she pulled her backpack out and swung a worn strap over her shoulder, settling the weight more comfortably as she straightened. 

“Well, we should probably go check in,” Oliver sighed, leaning over the front of his truck and running his hands though brown curls in desperate need of a trim.

Keres leaned back against the car as she turned to her brother and replied, “I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you look up some places to eat while I get the room key?”

Oliver nodded, pushing off of the truck and walking around to fetch his phone from the passenger seat. The old door gave a grating creak as he opened it, sharply breaking the heavy silence. Both siblings froze, an unnatural apprehension taking hold of the two. The night air seemed to condemn them for the desecration of its quiet, a palpable threat riding the echoes of the noise. For a moment, Oliver and Keres stood there, both of them pretending that they didn’t feel that shiver up their spine or the nervous buzz of a mind on edge. Several beats of silence passed before she stopped holding her breath.

“Roomkey,” she breathed carefully. 

Her voice broke through the miasma, the unease beginning to dissipate like a bad dream the moment her words left her mouth. Oliver straightened, as if surprised, and glanced at the door handle his hand was still resting on. He thought for a moment then slammed it shut with more force than needed, rebelling against the irrational anxiety that had almost faded away. He half-turned to her and nodded his agreement. 

“Right.”

Keres glanced at her own door, shut it gently, and turned away from her car, ready to follow her brother. Then the two moved together, passing under the orange street lamps like a pair of ghosts, all color washed away in alternating gray and orange. They slipped past door after door, all of them so quiet that it seemed as if the entire place was vacant. The slightest noise echoed under the overhanging roof and washed loudly into the parking lot, making it feel as though anyone nearby could eavesdrop on their presence here. The feeling was slight enough to easily be ignored, allowing it to twist uncomfortably in their subconscious without their hindrance. 

As they made their way to the brightly lit office at the end of the wing, Keres became puzzled at the hollow and oppressive feeling of the place. Yes, the reviews weren’t glowing, but they didn't mention anything about the place feeling unsafe in any way. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she shook her head tiredly and lagged a bit behind her brother. They were just tired, that was all. She and Oliver had been driving by themselves all day, creating the perfect conditions for mental exhaustion. Stress and sleeplessness was putting them on edge.

A few paces ahead of her, Oliver called to her.

“Come on.”

Keres looked up at him and realized that they had reached the end of the wing and that he was holding the door to the main office open for her.  

“I’m coming,” she replied, lingering a moment longer before walking the building.

A current of cold air blew past her as she entered, unexpected after standing in the dry heat outside. Keres smoothed her hair back and walked up to the reception desk in the far corner of the lobby. Although the consistent lighting of the room was something of an improvement from the scattered lamps outside, the unsettling feeling of the whole property continued even here. She looked back at her brother as he let the door swing closed behind him. He stood stiffly, strung up to his full height with his shoulders drawn tightly forward, noticeably on edge. Keres looked around for an explanation to the feeling they both shared, something that she could blame for the uncanny nature of this place. 

The room decor was as lifeless as the rest of the building. Chairs that were clearly hardly used but were worn down all the same, plastic plants potted in dust, soulless paintings that Keres somehow felt were outdated despite the generic abstract pattern. Everything seemed out of place, yet she somehow knew this is exactly how everything was meant to be. There was a purposefulness about it, something that she couldn’t contribute to the sleepy manager who just stumbled from the room behind the desk and was trying to pretend she had been there the whole time. Oliver and Keres walked over together, but Oliver stepped forward to talk to the woman, temporarily shaking off his stiffness to put on a warm smile. Keres took a position a step behind him, flashing the woman a small smile as well, but she went unnoticed while he was the focus of the manager’s attention. Oliver was always a charmer, so that didn’t surprise her. Keres usually left the social interaction to him anyway. Having no interest in the small talk going on, she paced over to the window on the other side of the room. Looking through the streaked glass, she vaguely wondered if she could’ve also been capable of easy charisma like Oliver. It didn’t feel impossible, but there were walls that would have to come down first and then learning how to see people the way they wanted to be seen. 

“Alright, thank you so much! Have a good night Mia.” 

The closing of the conversation broke Keres from her ponderous staring, prompting her to turn and look at the woman waving goodnight to her brother. Mia looked out of place here, merely because she was alive in a place that only pretended to understand what that meant. Other than that, her appearance fit what you might expect of someone who ran a shabby motel. She had shaggy brown hair with grown-out, trashy highlights pulled into a messy bun and jarring makeup gave her face an unnatural business that was entirely too much to look at this late at night. Keres didn’t necessarily think less of her for her entirely avoidable appearance, but it did make her curious. What did people see in that? What did she see in herself? What did she see in others?

Once again, Keres was absorbed in her thoughts, her brother’s wake pulling her out the door and back into the heat of the night. 

“She seemed nice,” she mumbled, walking behind her brother.

He counted out the numbers they passed each door, searching for their room. She watched the back of his head, curls bouncing as he nodded and replied, “Yes, she was nice. A bit odd, but I don’t think you could expect normal in a place like this.”

“A place like this,” Keres repeated thoughtfully. 

She was still trying to figure out what that meant. What was this place like? Because what she felt here was not like anything she had felt before. It was unique. 

They stopped in front of a door near the end of the row, thankfully close to where they parked. Oliver slid the dull key into the lock and attempted to turn it, but the old knob was loose, twisting and jostling with the key. Her brother heaved a sigh and muttered something under his breath as he leaned closer to the door and began delicately messing with the troublesome apparatus. While he struggled with the door, Keres turned around to scan the sagging fence that bordered the parking lot. As her eyes roved over it, she wondered how it was still standing. The fence was caged by the brittle remains of whatever short-lived vine decided to weave between the rotting boards and it rattled like old bones whenever the hot breeze blew against it. She couldn’t see beyond the fence, even though she knew there were buildings out there. Cocking her head, she squinted at the darkness. Even though there weren’t any buildings close by on that side, there should still be some light, some glow that she would be able to see outside the perimeter of the fence. Keres took a few steps into the lot, searching for any shape or light outside of the area.

Something was there.

Keres froze, tendrils of terror constricting her chest and locking her limbs in place.

There was a figure standing beside the lamp post, just behind the fence. And it wasn’t human. Nearly as tall as the pole next to it, its form was grotesquely stretched, thinned and elongated beyond any natural capability. The head, thin and elongated like the rest of its body, was completely featureless and sickly white like deadman’s flesh. 

Yet somehow, without any eyes or expressions to tell her so, Keres knew that it was looking at her. The ambient world faded away, leaving her no familiar comfort while she faced this figure. Blood rushed in her ears and her ragged breathing came quick and shallow. She knew that it was looking at her, but there was more to it. It knew her. She could feel it in her bones, the invasive knowledge of her mind that it possessed. 

It knew. It knew everything.

Panic buzzed on the edges of her vision like static and all she could see was that face. That expressionless, featureless face. 

Keres suddenly couldn’t breathe anymore. Choked by her own fear, she wanted to crumble under the sightless gaze of this thing because standing under the weight of her own shame was too much. 

Her knees buckled and she hit the ground. The collision jolted painfully up her spine and the rush of blood in her ears climaxed to a shrill whine. She could not move, she could not look away, she could not speak.

“Keres!!”

The word echoed faintly around her, holding no meaning as it faded away and became part of the static hellscape. 

“Keres!!!” 

Firm hands grabbed her shoulders as her name rang out again. 

Everything stopped. The shrill whine of bloodrush, the black dissolving the edges of her vision, the fear-locked limbs, all of it stopped as her mind was slammed back into the reality she didn’t know she had been pulled from. 

Free will suddenly coming back to her, Keres desperately drew in a breath, filling lungs that had been too constricted by fear to act on their own accord. She keeled forward onto the crumbling pavement, catching herself on her elbows as he coughed roughly and sucked in air. The hands on her shoulders provided a steady pressure and banished the spell of isolation from before.

“Keres!! Can you hear me? Keres, answer me!!” Oliver shouted, voice gripped tight with concern. His fingertips dug into her skin, almost as terrified as she was. 

“Where did it go?” she gasped.

She lifted her head to scan the fenceline, and upon not seeing the figure, another shock of fear lanced through her body and her insides roiled violently with adrenaline. 

As she twisted to find the phantom attacker, Oliver caught her by the shoulders once more and spun her to face him. 

“Keres, what are you talking about?” he snapped, using one hand to make a large, sweeping gesture around them, “There’s no one here!”

That made her pause, staring back at her brother with hunted eyes. She saw her own fear reflected and magnified in his eyes, clearing the racing thoughts the residual panic was flooding her mind with. Traces of fear still remained, but it was now hidden away out of sight, festering until it could be triggered later. 

She took an anxious glance around them and whispered, “You didn’t see it?”

Oliver shook his head. Some of the tightness left his shoulders as he carefully let her go now that the urgency of whatever fit she was having had passed. 

“There was no one there,” he replied carefully, “I just turned around and you were kneeling on the ground, but you weren’t breathing and you just kinda went rigid.”

They stayed silent for several moments, each looking intently at the other as if they could find the answers underneath the fear in eachothers eyes. While Oliver’s face was struck by concern, Keres’s remained a mask and showed only what she could afford to express. How could she explain what she had seen, what she had felt? It was built on so much that she had kept hidden that to talk about it would require her to bare her soul, and Keres couldn’t do that. If she wasn’t convinced before, now she was. That other being had known her and all she felt was judgment and shame. She was almost crushed by the weight of that knowledge, of the stranger that showed her how revolting her true nature was. How much harder would it be to show that to someone who she cared about? To reveal the twistedness inside and still ask to be loved? It wasn’t possible. As things were right now, at least she was able to pretend that she was faking just as well as everyone else. 

Drawing in a long, steady breath, Keres finally crushed what was left of the fear and met her brother’s eyes with a firm gaze.

“I’m okay now,” she said, “I’m sorry I scared you.” 

However, Oliver’s fear would not simply be brushed aside. He had not seen the being, he didn’t know that this was something personal.

He shook his head in response and said, “I think you had a seizure or something. We really should get you to the hospital-”

“No,” she cut him off. The last thing she wanted to do was be stuck in a hospital for hours, only to be told nothing was wrong with her. Keres knew that the problem wasn’t physical.

“I think I just locked my knees,” she lied, “I’m fine now, really. Let's just get into the room so I can sit down.”

Conflict visibly flickered across Oliver’s face. Keres was too drained to argue, however, so when he didn’t make any move to insist on anything contrary to her wishes, she reached over and took the key from his limp fingers. Slowly, she turned her back on the fence line, now shadowed with a dull city glow, and stepped up to the motel door. The knob rattled loosely in the door, but it let her in, stale air drifting past her as the door swung inward. Keres didn’t look back at her brother, whose eyes she felt on the back of her neck, and went straight to the bathroom. She rested her elbows on the greasy, discolored linoleum for a moment, rubbing at her temples. 

“I’m fine,” she chanted to her haggard reflection, “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

The girl in the mirror solemnly shook her head in response, the lies rolling off the glass like water droplets. They both knew that wasn’t true and hadn’t been for some time. Frustrated, Keres stared into blank eyes, tears welling up and clinging to her lashes. Why couldn’t she make that true? She looked down, unable to look at the lies the reflection showed her, and turned the worn faucet. The water gurgled out and splashed in the stained basin, swirling hypnotically around the slow drain. Cupping her hands beneath the flow, Keres brought the cool water to her face and washed it over her skin. She let it trickle down her neck and drip off her nose, grounding herself in these sensations as she tried to find any emotion left inside her after what had just happened. Like the sink, she numbly wondered if all the emotions had drained away, leaving her a stained shell. Everything would come back, it always did, but somehow she knew that she wasn’t in charge of the faucet anymore. 

Straightening, Keres spared one last look at her reflection, at her hollow face, and left the bathroom. Oliver was laid out on one of the beds, watching something on the TV. His face wasn’t quite relaxed, his whole demeanor seemed troubled, and more so when he heard her exit the bathroom. He tensely sat up a little, watching her with apprehension. He opened his mouth to say something as he swung his legs off the edge of the bed, but Kere held up a hand to stop him. 

“I’m fine,” she said, the lie coming easily after so much practice. Drawing some power from the dregs of emotion in her gut, Keres offered him an easy smile as she sat down on her bed. 

“I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning.” 

Oliver nodded and returned her smile with a relieved grin of his own, the tight lines of worry in his face easing a little at her false assurance. 

“I’m glad,” he responded quietly, “You really scared me back there.”

Keres looked into her brother’s eyes and saw the pools of fear her episode caused that haven’t yet drained away. Nodding, Keres smiles at him again, lightening her expression so that she won’t be able to see fear reflected in his eyes anymore. 

“I’m sorry I scared you. I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure you won’t see it again.” 

He smiled at her and laid back down, loudly yawning as he settled back against the mattress. The springs groaned as he moved and Oliver winced in disgust at the sound. Keres mimicked him, laying down on her own lumpy bed, and stared at the buckling popcorn ceiling. The two laid in sleepy silence for quite some time, food forgotten now that both of them were too tired to have an appetite.  

Eventually, her brother got up and got ready to go to bed, flicking on lights as he went. Keres closed her eyes and sighed, pushing herself up to a chorus of squeaking springs and slid off the bed. She felt like a mimic, an echo that followed behind Oliver’s actions as he went through his evening routine. It felt strange, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about it. 

In a few minutes, everything was done and they were both ready to go to sleep. The two slid into bed, and Oliver clicked out the light after wishing a goodnight to his sister. Keres hummed in response and lay in silence, listening to her brother’s breathing slow as he fell asleep. The darkness pressed in on her, thickening until it was almost palpable. It wrapped around her like a bad promise and fear resurged within her as it writhed around her. Huddling under the blankets, Keres closed her eyes and submitted to the fear, allowing it to crash over her until she fell into an anxious half-sleep