#if i were to cut them off i'd be left rotting away by my own

[navramanan]

yeom mijeong put it into words so well for me. i'm a good person i won't ask to be loved. asking for love implies you're difficult to love because you're a bad person, so you ask for it. being a good person makes you lovable enough to be loved by someone, so a good person doesn't ask to be loved. a good person is just loved, without having to ask or beg for it. i'm a good person, so why should i ask to be loved? i'm a good person, why am i not loved.

[aita-blorbos]

(🐻 <- so i can find it later)

AITA for not being there for my son?

(AU stuff. cw for some dated language, alcoholism, and covering up child murder)

So I (M90) slept with my (M, hopefully deceased) business partner back in the late 60s, which resulted in a surprise child, as he was one of those transsexuals. This happened twice before he and his wife adopted a little boy- but that's neither here nor there. His eldest, who I'll call Eggs (M 50-ish) grew up just knowing me as a family friend/uncle, and my own two kids were like a niece and nephew to him.

Neither me or his father told him or his siblings (including my own children) the truth. I don't know if he even knows today.

But Eggs ended up going to prison for manslaughter- along with three of his other friends- and while he was doing his time, five children went missing at the establishment his father and I owned. I was the one who found them. And of course- I didn't want the police or health inspectors on our asses- so I buried the bodies out somewhere upstate.

It was only until later I found out his father had done it. Not just five children, though. He had killed my own daughter back in the late 70s.

I left the company after that and purposefully avoided Eggs- he was the spitting image of his father, I couldn't fucking stand to look at him.

Eventually both his father and later, Eggs, blip off my radar completely. I found his father at some point, the fucking bastard, left him to rot away in his own filth- never found Eggs.

Until last night.

I had gone down to the local bar in town (I'd been going there for longer than I can remember.) and I see a tall looking fellow sitting at the bar, talking to the bartender. Now- I'm not the social type- so I sat far away- but it didn't take too long for me to realize that- well- that's my son. He looked like he was fucking rotting, but I could tell by the accent (his father was an immigrant from London)

He really reminded me of his father- we used to go to that bar and drink until we'd get cut off, so we'd go and drink at home- and it was just a sorry sight.

He was only there for a few more minutes until this curly haired boy (he used to work for me) came and had to practically walk him out.

I told my sister about it- she really dug into me about it- insisting I was the asshole- that I had already abandoned one of my sons, but to ignore the other was fucked up of me.

So, TL;DR, i had a son with a man, kept it a secret, and refused to speak to him after i found out his father was a murderer- only to run into him decades later drinking himself into a stupor. My sister thinks I'm the asshole, but I don't think I am.

EDIT: I feel like it's important to mention that Eggs and the boy are married. They get on fine with the community. Plus, I doubt he would've been coherent enough to actually register if I told him anything or not.

[dantegreaves00]

Hell-A Love part one

Dead Island 2 x FtM Reader

Five years before the zombie outbreak that turned LA into Hell-A, Y/N left his sisters place after an argument with her husband.

Now he's back, why even he doesn't know. His sister has new friends who are immune to the virus, and her ex Sam B is back on the scene. After being hurt by LA and Hollywood before can Y/N find a home with his sister again and possibly a lover?

A huge thank you to my good friend @brunos-wife360 for helping me out with this and for allowing me to take inspiration from her Slayer x Reader fics.

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

●●3rd Person POV●●

The day started out like any other day in Hell-A, the slayers, Sam, Michael and Emma where hanging out by Emma's pool enjoying the sun on a rare day off from zombie killing.

"Hey Emma, I forgot to ask you earlier but where's your brother?" Sam asked as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"Last I knew, he was in New York, but that was years ago" Emma said, her eyes glossy with uncertainty.

Sam looked at the woman he loved most in disbelief before asking "What happened to him living with you?"

"Robert happened, he started saying some nasty things about Y/N so he left" Emma responded "yeah he ended up at mine one night and asked if I could help him find a place away form Hollywood" Michael added.

Suddenly there was a bang at the gate. Everyone shot to their feet readying themselves for a fight to protect their safe haven.

"I'll go check" said Carla as she started to approach the gate that separated them from the undead hoard that roamed the streets.

Just as Carla reached the gate a man catapulted himself over the gate, landing hard on his left shoulder.

The man looked up at Carla and smiled with a grimace "would you believe me if I said that I used to do my own stunts?" The man asked with a pained chuckle.

"Who are you?" Carla asked, her weapon raised ready to strike if needed. Drawn in by the commotion, the others cautiously made their way over to the pair.

Emma gasped when her eyes landed on the stranger before turning her attention to her PA.

"Michael, please go and tell Andrea that she needs to go and double clean Y/N's room" she said. Without needing to be told twice Michael left to inform their housekeeper.

"Ha, no way man, I can't believe it's actually you, speak of the Devil and he appears" Sam laughed.

"Wait you know him?" Asked Bruno as Emma walked towards Carla and the man.

"Well Sam, you said it yourself, no room in Hell" the man said before turning his attention to Emma who was now standing in front of him. "Hey Em, how you be..?" He was suddenly cut off by Emma slapping him.

"You stupid arse! What are you doing here?" She exclaimed readying herself to slap more sense into her brother.

"I feel like I'm missing something, Emma who is he?" Asked a very confused Dani.

"This twat is my younger brother Y/N" Emma responded before pulling her brother to his feet, "brother mine, this is Jacob, Amy, Dani, Bruno, Ryan and the one pointing her weapon at you is Carla"

"Hi" Y/N said with a nervous wave, "Do you think you could be so kind as to lower your weapon Carla? I'd feel better knowing that I won't end up like Glenn Rhee after his encounter with Negan" Y/N asked with an awkward smile.

●●Y/N's POV●●

After that very awkward encounter with my older sister, her ex? boyfriend and their new friends I was ushered inside where I was met with a hug from Andrea "I've been making sure that your room is nice and clean for you, although you must be starving, why don't you go and rest and I will have your favourite dish ready" after thanking her I went down the stairs to my room.

It didn't take long before I fell asleep, though it wasn't peaceful at all. The rotting faces of the zombies that chased me all the way to my sister's kept flashing into view as I slept, but they were disorganised and staticy like an old Romaro movie. Suddenly, I was jolted awake by a hand shaking me. When I opened my eyes, Emma was stood next to me, a plate of food in her hands.

"Andrea was going to bring this to you, but I told her that I would instead" she said answering my unspoken question.

We sat in silence for a while, the atmosphere was tense between us; before I left, before Robert came about, me and my sister could sit in silence for hours without needing to do anything else, but now I found myself counting the lines in the wooden door.

"Y/N, why did you come here?" Emma asked me after what felt like years of nothingness.

"I was in the area and needed a place to crash, I thought you, Michael and Robert would be already out of LA by now" I replied, only half telling the truth, "Where is Mr Steel anyway and why is Sam here?" I asked her.

"Robert got bitten, didn't tell anyone and turned on our evacuation flight causing the military to shoot us down. Sam showed up by bursting through the storage door in the game room and well, we've decided to give it another go" Emma explained while pacing the floor of my room.

"You don't seem very upset about Rob..""Our marriage wad just PR, you know this" again I'm cut off by my older sister.

Emma took a moment to calm down before she spoke again "I'm sorry that I let him say what he said to you, when you left I decided to give you a couple of days to calm down before asking you to come home, but then Michael told me that you had asked him to help you find a new place to live".

"To be completely honest with you, Ems.. I needed to get out of LA away from Hollywood anyway. My argument with Robert just gave me the excuse to leave, " I told her.

"Why, what do you mean by th..?""I mean Hollywood wasn't the right place for someone like me, Emma, you and I both know that" This time it was my turn to cut her off. Getting up, I headed for the door when my sister called out to me, "Y/N, where are you going?" Without answering her, I left my room and headed to the one person I could talk to.

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

Tag list

@brunos-wife360

@morgana-artt

@amdaspoon

[zhongster]

So, hi again :)

Since getting all caught up with VM, I've had this idea rotting in my brain for about...two weeks now? Am I late to the game, certainly. But better late than never, amiright?

Anyways, here's the idea.

So, everyone knows Percy's "power levels" (referring to your other stories where our sexy gunslinger had no choice but to let a few "monsters" fly). This leads to them, of course, noticing the more tell-tale signs of Percy holding them back.

Cut to another time their celebrating their victories. They notice said tell-tale signs. And because they're Vox Machina, they all LOVE to fuck with each other. So, of course, a contest ensues as each male member tries to coax Percy into joining. I mean, he has to release them at SOME POINT anyways, what's the harm?

However, only one person succeeds on breaking down Percy's walls and it's not his wife...it's his brother in law.

Enjoy :)

(I'd like to mention that at this point in my life, I now have quite the unhealthy attachment to Percival De Rolo. He basically lives rent free in my brain along with the twins)

THIS IS KINK CONTENT, DNI IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT

This prompt. Has been torturing my throughout my entire midterm week bc I haven’t had time to write it so I’ve just been sitting here THINKING ABOUT IT 😫

Also same Percy’s completely taken over my mind.

It all started with Grog.

Because let’s be honest, it always starts with Grog.

Vox Machina had only just completed another successful mission when, with a squeal of delight, Grog happened upon a cask of ale that had been squirreled away in the bag of holding some time ago. This particular ale was of a higher quality than the group was used to so naturally, this called for something of a celebration. ‘For a job well done’ Scanlan had declared before immediately proceeding to regale the group with a particularly sensual rendition of “When the Bald Man Cries.”

Approximately an hour and half a cask later the group came to realize that the particular brand of ale they had been drinking was extremely carbonated when Grog unleashed an almighty belch that echoed off the walls of Greyskull Keep. This wasn’t particularly unusual for Grog who was fairly prone to varying degrees of gaseousness, but upon Grog’s release the rest of the group began to grow wise to the fact that their own stomachs were feeling far more bloated than they were used to after a night of drinking.

With a quick smirk, Scanlan immediately pressed into his slightly over-full stomach and released a pretty sizable belch of his own in what was clearly a challenge. With that the group found themselves engaging in a rather uncouth competition to see who could belch the loudest.

Percival, unsurprisingly, was the only male member of the group that steadfastly refused to participate despite the fact that he was indeed slightly bloated from the ale.

Keyleth took notice of this and drunkenly threw her arm around her self-proclaimed best friend and slurred “Come on Percy join in!”

Percy glanced across the group to his wife in a sort of silent plea for help but was only met with a wry smirk and a “It really is rather fun darling.”

Percy only sighed and waved the conversation away stating “No, no I’m fine thank you.”

What Percy didn’t see, however, was the mischievous smirk exchanged between the half-elven twins over his head.

Some minutes later Vax ever-so-slightly shifted closer to Percy’s stiff figure from his spot to the man’s left. If the slight bloat of Vax’s own stomach was anything to go off of, Percy likely also had some air trapped inside of him.

As the rest of the group resumed their increasingly obnoxious competition Vax subtly placed his arm around Percy’s shoulders. Percy, used to Vax’s casual touchy nature, didn’t pay any mind to it and continued observing the group with a slight veneer of disapproval.

Vax’s plan was going off without a hitch.

After a few moments, Vax slid his hand down to Percy’s back and gently began to rub up and down his spine. The effect was instantaneous, Percy immediately raised a fist up to his lips and seemed to swallow something down before looking back to the group.

Good, he hadn’t realized that Vax was working an angle yet.

Percy winced, conveying his growing internal discomfort and attempted to shift away from Vax’s hand. Vax, however, was not one to be deterred and instead began to rub more intense circles into Percy’s back with his thumbs.

This time Percy’s chest hitched and his fist flew up to cover his mouth once more. His cheeks puffed out rather violently but he did manage to swallow the air back down. Vax had to give it to him, his resolve to conserve his dignity was definitely admirable.

Once Percy seemed to get himself back under control Vax leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Just let it out Percival.”

Percy whipped around to face his half-elven brother in law with a look of shock and betrayal, seeming to understand that Vax had been intentionally trying to rile up the gas in his stomach this whole time. He opened his mouth to say something but Vax, like a shark who’s smelled blood, took the opportunity to bring his hand down in the middle of Percy’s back in one hard pat.

This seemed to be the final straw for Percy. He buckled in on himself, folding in half to hide his face in his lap as all the air in his stomach forced its way up his throat and out of his now open mouth. The belch was so long that he had plenty of time to realize what was happening before it had even ended.

By the time the cruel noise finally died off the entire group had gone silent and Percy was absolutely terrified to look up. When he finally did, he found the entire group staring at him with varying degrees of shock on their faces.

He swallowed and voiced a meek “excuse me.”

The group remained silent for a few more moments before Scanlan broke the silence stating “Well I guess we know who wins.”

With that, the group burst into raucous laughter and Vax administered a congratulatory slap to Percy’s back. “Way to go Percival,” Vax shouted “out-belching the Goliath!”

Percy just grumbled incoherently and turned away to release a rather deep closed-mouth belch over his right shoulder. Vax cackled and, in his still-drunken state, yelled “And he’s still not done ladies and gentlemen!”

Keyleth gave a half serious pout as she pulled Percy away from Vax and into her so his head was resting on her shoulder. “Leave him aloneeeeee” she whined.

Percy elected to sustain this position in Keyleth’s shoulder as he now found the alcohol beginning to blur his vision and he found himself growing very tired.

Vax reached over and shook Percy’s shoulder in a teasing sort of way. “Aww I’m sorry Freddie I was just messing with you.”

Percy swatted the rogue’s hand away in a half-hearted gesture of annoyance but despite that, he couldn’t keep the amused smile from creeping onto his face.

[from-dre]

For Three Days

Not long after my ninth birthday is when I first began hearing my father violently coughing up blood on a regular basis. Rarely did I hear anymore quiet that lasted longer than a few sparse minutes from the living room where he'd sleep alone in the fold-out bed. It'd been months since I last saw him in actual clothes as he now only wore different sets of the same bland pajamas my mom probably picked out for him in a few different colors. He'd probably never again wear a nice button-up shirt. What a non-issue that must be to a healthier man whose lungs weren't rotting of cancer. They probably wore very nice, really expensive shirts everyday, like my own dad used to do before he got sick. Now, he was on his way out. That much was obvious, even to me. So when one day after school, I opened my bedroom door to find my only aunt who I hadn't seen in years, standing there cheerfully humming to herself while cleaning up my toys for me, I should've put two and two together.

She stayed for the next six months. In three my dad would die in his sleep and it'd be her who'd hear the loud gasp in the middle of some random night, not realizing until morning it was actually his last living breath before his body finally gave up fighting. She stayed another three months afterwards to look after her now-widowed sister. I don't remember much from that period of my life. Since I was strategically sent away to live with distant relatives who owned a condo in Queens, it's not like I was around to make many memories anyway. If I try to think back now, it feels like lifetimes ago. All I can tap into is seeing a lot of black clothes and faint whimpering. It feels like the sounds of sobbing were never too far off. It's eerily ambiguous though.

Still, the days I was able to spend with my aunt seemed like miracles. Those were the only times during that period where I'd feel truly happy. Like a much-needed return to form for the younger me who laughed constantly as a child. I loved "Mamateta," and even though nobody knows why I gave her that nickname, I used it for years. She adored me and took every opportunity to prove it.

Though I left Romania when I was four, I retained many more memories of my aunt than anyone else. How she'd play with me when everyone else was too busy, or how she'd nurse the many cuts and scrapes I'd get on my elbows and knees—, these things must've left quite an impact on my single-child consciousness. I specifically remember an instance where the paper cut on my index finger was so deep that I wanted to burst into tears just looking at it. While cleaning it and putting on a bandaid, I remember my aunt saying, "it feels like there's a tiny little heartbeat inside your finger doesn't it?" I nodded. "I know sweetheart, I've had this happen to me before too."

This was her amazing charm. She was easy to talk to. Such a sweet, honest lady. Though she and my mother grew up side by side, they were different people. She took after their own mom, while mine walked in her father’s footprints out of pure admiration. They were sisters nonetheless. So when Mamateta was told that she had a tumor growing within her liver this past year, it was difficult knowing the treatment she'd get wasn't going to be the world's best by any means. As the months passed, her condition worsened and last Monday she fell into a coma. I heard the helplessness in my mother’s voice when she called to tell me. You try your best in these types of situations—, to console your loved ones and make sure they know that you'll be a rock-solid crutch for them during whatever may come. You try to think two steps ahead of whatever's currently happening, just in case. The spur-of- the-moment cross-Atlantic trips have to be every grieving family member's worst nightmare. Just the logistics of it all. And in their mental condition? Of course I was preparing to jump at any request my mom would make.

Life does its thing anyway though and so, 24 hours later, her sister—, whose real name is Rodica—, passed away.

My family isn't part of the ultra-wealthy in Romania. And because the country's still reeling from decades of deep corruption, the middle class is virtually non-existent. If you aren't part of the wealthy, you're part of the poor. And because what you do to one side of the equation, you have to do to the other, they're ultra-poor. It's a sad, sad thing.

Either way, my mom begins to explain the finer details of a traditional Romanian mourning process. It's not something I know anything about or ever witnessed in person. After the dearly departed are moved into the living room, they are generally laid down on the center table for viewing. For the next three days, while the men and other experienced woodworkers craft a coffin from scratch, the family serves non-stop coffee and treats to an army of mourners who will randomly pop in and out at all times of the day and night and next day and following night and so on. All this to a constant background flurry of crying, sobbing, sharing stories of precious memories, wails of disbelief, loud prayers, and who knows what else. It's a pure emotional rollercoaster, a dramatic play in so many scenes filled with neighbors from five villages over who you may have never met before, but who've heard the tragic news and wanted to come pay their respects. It's touching but definitely not something an outsider would feel immediately at home around.

"And is the body at least covered this entire time?," I ask my mom.

"No. For three days, they live alongside it."

"Seriously?"

"They have no other options. No ambulance comes and takes them away like they do here. Over there, you look after your own dead. And when the coffin is completed, they’ll place her inside and carry it out into the countryside to her burial plot in a procession through town."

As selfish as this next feeling was, I didn't want my mom to go. I didn't want her to be apart of it, not these days, not anymore. After so much, I wanted her to just be able to rest, not have to endure something of that magnitude. I can't imagine three hours of nonstop crying let alone three days. Somehow, the Universe seemed to hear my inner-hopes. Our entire family begged her to stay put, to stay home, that there was nothing more she could do. So instead of having to finalize last-minute plans of getting her from one continent to another, she was able to hop on an Amtrak and spend this past week here in Chicago with me. To recharge her batteries I guess. To just be able to find some mental quiet and emotional peace. Now, as I'm close to wrapping up this essay and seeing her off downtown at Union Station for her train back home, I'm sincerely trying to put myself in her shoes.

I'm sure losing a sibling you've spent a lifetime growing up with is a weird feeling to have to go through. To outlive them, to think that they could've done a bit more with their life if only they would've had more time. Maybe it makes someone think about their own mortality and where they've gotten in seeing their own personal dreams coming true. Maybe my mom’s running over all of these things in her mind to the point where there's nothing left to think about. Maybe. All I can try and do is my part as her only child, her only flesh and blood, to try and live the best life I can in her name. Time will tell how successful I'll be in doing that, but an even greater feeling though, is when we can think of our loved ones who aren't here with us any longer and not feel a bit of regret. To feel a warmth and be completely calmed by just the mere thought of their name. To feel a deep need to smile because that's what they would've wanted you to do. Like even when you want to just give in to the sadness for a second and purge yourself of tears, your body physically won't let you. A familiar presence fills your immediate space and a gentle touch directly on your heart that makes you involuntarily inhale much deeper than you have in a while. Those are the types of things I hope my mother can feel as she sits down at her window-seat and readies herself for a deep meditative trip into her inner-consciousness for the next seven or so hours.

Knowing the peace and tranquility she'll emerge on the other side of this experience with, how can anyone still harbor any doubt that our souls are indeed, things which don't adhere to either the human concept or limitations of "time?" That they transcend realms of possibility. That whenever there's even the smallest hint of real love, not even the giving up of one's own body and leaving it behind for greater vessels can break a bond between two sisters.

[godofvillains-arch]

"They're all in jail. And their leader is a germaphobe so me and my ally cut off his arms and left him to rot in jail. Dusting him would be TOO KIND for me to do. Especially since he killed my ally too," he speaks darkly. Those who messed with his allies or anyone close, messed with him. He still had a target on Hawks. He had to plan his downfall carefully.

"You don't think I'm crazy but you just met me. Maybe you're crazy for not thinking I'm crazy," he says with a shrug of his shoulders. He was pretty sure he lost his mind a long time ago. Now the only thing that was filled was hatred, anger, and the urge to destroy anything and everything. But he has enough sanity to care about those around him.

When inside the apartment Shigaraki opted to going to the couch to sit down and put his feet up onto the table. The place was pretty small, he could offer her her own room and it'd probably be better than this. He had three guest rooms upstairs. She could easily take one of those. However, it was just a thought he was playing with. He wasn't going to offer it just now.

"You're either a top hero or a no hero.. Lesser heroes get shit pay for money and usually have to work another job on top of their hero service. Even worse when you're a support hero-- Heroes you support get all the credit, while you get nothing," the villain points out. It was the sad truth. Charging up and aiding a big time hero, they always ended up getting all the credit while support got the scraps.

The man sighs and itches his neck a little bit, "I mean, you can come along, if you want. But kids will always be assholes, and so are the moms and even dads. They don't want their kids near me. I can understand-- but if I were to kill small children, I would have done so already. I don't kill lil kids. My targets are teenagers and above," he snorts, annoyed that people would think he'd kill babies or toddlers. When never once was it reported he harmed such. Sometimes he WANTED to, especially toddlers who were pure brats and screamed, but he always refrained. Babies he could understand their crying and it never bothered him.

"I know it might not be bad, but what I mean is.. If someone just bumps into someone else who I am close to, and they refuse to apologize for bumping into them, I'd attempt to kill them... That's how I am. When I'm with Eri though, I refrain from violence and yelling. I keep my temper under control. I don't like Eri seeing my violent or angry side..." He even refused to swear in front of her. Even in the heat of the game, if he was on the computer playing a match and Eri was in the room, he wouldn't swear a single word while playing-- even when he usually had the mouth of a sailor when battling it in the virtual world.

"Ha, my place is a mess, don't worry about it," he says as he takes a mug and holds it in his hands. Enjoying the warmth radiating from the mug. "My place used to be WAY worse before I had Eri. I had trash bags everywhere and the floor would just be garbage. A long time ago I even had cockroaches it got so bad. But since having Eri, I've been keeping it a HELL of a lot cleaner," he states, almost proud of himself. A little accomplishment he made.

Hearing the sudden bang and yelling from the door did cause Shigaraki to almost jump a bit, but he didn't spill any tea. He sets down his mug onto the table and looks to the door. "I have a better idea..." The villain takes hold of Dei's hand and holds it. He stares at the door and emits Death's Aura. The man would feel as if he was about to die. That death was beyond the door and if he even so much as touched it, he would die. Those who felt Death's Aura would lose all control of themselves. Run away, vomit, pass out, scream and cry, have a mental break down, lose their sanity, loss or memory, and so forth. The only way to avoid it is be out of range, or be touching Shigaraki. The god kept the aura in close range, not to disturb anyone else but the man outside the door.

Dei frowned at the explaination of Eri’s eating habits. ” What awful people. Please tell me they are dust. I… may not know her yet, but from the way you talk about her, I can’t help but like her. I know you’re selective on your positive interactions, but I certainly don’t hate it. You seem to be the consequence to certain actions. A force of nature isn’t wrong for being what it is. It just is. I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re passionate.“ She closed her apartment door behind him and followed suit with her shoes before commencing the locking of the 3 deadbolts on the door.

She hung the wig she wore on a nail by the lights witch and flipped it on. There was a small delay and a light buzz as the lights turned on and she made her way across the small apartment to the kitchen area.

Her smile grew broader and broader as Tomura gave the nicknames between him and his daughter. It was absolutely adorable how deep his affection went for the little girl. "You’re so cute I can’t stand it,” she giggled. “ Go ahead and make yourself at home, I guess.” she instructed as she pulled a kettle from a cupboard and filled it with water.

“It’s not great, no. But the heroes are *so greatful* to the lesser help, you know. Such *generous* people giving handouts to us pleabs while they sit in their rooftop combos with maid service,” the venom in her voice slipped out before she could contain. “Er, sorry. Ahem.” She straightened herself self-consciously.

“Well, of course you want her to have friends her own age. That’s normal. Next time you take her to the park. Maybe I can go with you and hum a little tune for the kids to not be little assholes. And if those soccer mom’s want to meet someone. They can meet me and mind their business. I’ll hum a tune for them too. I hate that parents get like that. I get it, but I hate it.” Her attention returned now that the water was heating and two mugs were waiting on the counter. Her eyes returned to the man as she walked the few feet over to the small couch and sat down. The place was very small and studio pretty much a sectioned off room, but Dei was the type to keep it orderly and apparently color coded.

“Protective isn’t bad. I think it a very good quality to have. And that little sweetie needs someone like you. Several people do, I think.” Her eyes drifted away at the last thought. The teapot whistled loudly, almost to the level of television noise from the next apartment over. A loud male voice joined in yelling at the tv, presumable a sports game of some sort.

Dei jumped up and poured the hot water over the tea in the mugs, carefully balancing the full mugs and a jar of honey as she made her way to set them down on a small side table. “You’re the only person to see my place from the inside, so… I’ve never needed it to look fancy. Until now, I guess. Sorry. Maybe I should paint it,” she tilted her head. The loud man next door continued an irate rant to the exterior hallway.

The voice disappeared as the man seemed to get further way. Dei relaxed and took a mug of the tea. Blowing on it before taking a sip. The door thundered as it was beat upon, scaring the everliving shit out of the girl. She jolted, scalding herself as the tea jumped from the cup and let out a string of curses. The man who had gone silent did not stay that way. The doorknob jiggled and the deadbolts creaked as the door was being punched and kicked. The yelling was muffled, but nothing sounded pleasant.

“R-right. Ok, well, looks like he got started a bit early tonight. You said you could warp, right? Maybe go out that way when you leave instead. You can avoid him that way,” she gave a weary smile over at Tomura as she pulled the steaming neck of her shirt from her skin and started rifling through drawers for a clean shirt.

[paper-cloud]

i. the crushing weight of what happens next

part of "(there will be a) tomorrow"

fandom: prospect (2018) characters: ezra, cee rating: T words count: ~3K context: post-canon general warnings/tags: see series masterlist warnings/tags for this chapter: ezra's pov. angst. not graphic descriptions of wounds, blood and amputated limbs. mentions of minor characters' death. (probably very) inaccurate but anyways vague descriptions of medical treatments and post-anesthesia symptoms. taglist: @ravensmutty @buttercup--bee @thegreenkid (again, thank you all for your interest and encouragement! :3) @krissology @ezrasarm @bonktime (please forgive my nerve, i won't tag you in the next chapters unless you'll explicitly ask me to! just thought about someone else who might be interested and you guys are AMAZINGLY talented and inspiring "prospect"/ezra writers. it's not my intention to waste precious moments of your time! 🤡

[SERIES MASTERLIST] [MAIN MASTERLIST]

He'd have thought it was almost ironic – opening his eyes to the light only to see nothing. To feel pain.

He'd have laughed about it, most likely. A bit later, he'd have acknowledged it was a reasonably fair compromise; for him and any other wretch that'd ever dared play dice with darkness and miraculously made it out alive.

And in the very end he'd come to laugh at himself, too.

He knows the drill. Someone who trades their own life with the contract of the highest bidder doesn't see the universe in black and white, let alone is in a position to draw the hypothetical line between the two of them.

Must be an even more wicked universe than he's ever cared about, then.

At least, that's where the struggle of opening his eyes made him stumble upon; when a blade of light thrust through that hint of a gap he'd pushed himself to create in the middle, resonating through the dark coils of unconsciousness like a harsh, unforgiving bell.

A skilled mariner over silky rivers of natural redundancy and rapids of professional edges, Ezra is a man who can appreciate a sharp wit when he recognizes one.

That was too much even for him.

Floundering in between a blinding whiteness and a black hole that wasn't even completely black, but permeated by a thick, suffocating haze that filled every ghost haunting his mind with its stench. With the color of diabolically lush leaves.

Forest— spores— poison— death.

It hadn't been enough to let him dangle in apnea above a roaring vortex of lifeless emerald; take him away from the grey flow whose elusiveness he'd come to appreciate more than he'd ever hated to endure its chaos— from the bubble built on the routine series of one last jobs that, in the end, never really were.

There'd been a moment when, from the higher parts of the room, his pupils tumbled down, tripping over a patch of green discreetly lurking in a corner.

He almost threw up.

It had taken him a while to clear out the misty grit clotted in his corneas— focus on white walls, light wood paneling... a harmless seedling in a pot.

He'd breathed heavily, deeply. He sure hadn't got much relief from it. Still, he'd been able to hear its sound, louder than he'd ever heard it before, the musical, cooling mesh of oxygen particles in and out of his lungs almost begging his fingers to be touched.

Oxygen.

Fresh air.

Had he been less sore – less convinced it was just the residual effects of anesthesia pulling pranks on him –, he would have burst out laughing. Even more so if some poor soul of the medical staff nearby would have called for reinforcements from the other side of the space station before storming into his room.

He'd be laughing now, too. The best he can manage is sitting on his bed, leaning his back on the headboard – which is what he's struggling to do right now— and well, sometimes the room lighting still slightly bothers him. Of course, with all the painkillers and antibiotics they've given him, he wouldn't feel like the wound on his stomach is swallowing the entire arsenal of stitches and bandages.

He just wouldn't like her to get the wrong idea.

He blinks several times, like a man who no longer trusts his eyes. How can he, when they're burning like that, in such a different fire from the one from days before – damp and flickering? For reasons he can imagine, she seems to be faltering. Totally beyond his comprehension, he could swear she's smiling at him. Something inside his ribcage creaks oddly, while the curve of his chest arches upward.

"Birdie."

It's just a huff of breath, weak and hoarse, yet scratches his throat all the same, in a way that its walls feel studded with rock spurs. Actually, Ezra doesn't remember talking since they left the Green behind – which, being him, is saying something – and it's like an eternity has passed since their pod docked up there.

The nurse who let her into his room has just left and Cee sinks her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. She's still smiling— just the faded shadow of a smile, now that he takes a better look at her.

"How's your wound?"

It sounds a lot less plain than he expected.

She hasn't moved towards him any further, and for now she's not showing any hints at wanting to. In her irises, Ezra recognizes thumping stars and cerulean clouds, all clustered in the black circle cut by the large porthole next to his bed. All before catching the thin mist veiling them. As if she did want to reach those stars, let herself get carried away by those streams of bluish dust, but she had no idea how or what to do there.

He looks down, the borders of the bandages over his abdomen slightly raised under his black short-sleeved tee. He clears his throat.

"S'healin' nicely", he says, with a deliberate lightheartedness that costs him a sharp, bizarre inflection in his voice. He closes his eyes soon after, tilting his head condescendingly. "That's how the nurse feels about it, anyway... S'not like I can feel much more right now."

This reminds him of those vacuous moments between brief, chaotic waking states and delirious dreams. When he'd managed to reconnect some essential key points scattered around in the talks of surgeons and nurses; the weariness he felt from simply gathering he was on a space station due to enter the orbit of Mesos in three cycles and something standard hours. All while his only solid reference point – the only indisputable proof he was still alive – was the sequence of beeps chirped by the medical monitor perched nearby. Constant, not monotonous. Friendly, even. Sometimes, he actually comes to miss it.

"A trust fall to the extreme, I'd guess", he snorts, a sly laugh as weak and heavy as the words trudging out of his mouth. As the whole rest of him.

Whatever answer she's considering, Cee freezes it in a quick purse of her lips – maybe a nod, but for his own good he'd rather be doubtful. Then she starts looking around.

There's a chair under the board firmly anchored to the opposite wall – probably a desk or something he's never needed to test, whatsoever. She grabs it and puts it next to his bed. She sits down, bringing her legs to her chest, squeezing them in her arms.

Waiting for what, Ezra has no idea, and he's afraid she doesn't have any, either.

He doesn't speak, though, nor does he encourage her to do the same. Her pearly gaze roams steadily but unhurriedly from him to somewhere beyond him, her nose buried in the gap between her knees. He studies her carefully, two purple crescents above her cheeks, a few hair strands swinging down her face without her wiping them out. The nights she's slept through haven't been any more peaceful than his.

Trust, he recalls in the meantime.

It sure brings an odd taste to his mouth. Something close to sweaty spacesuits, grimy paths and gone-off ration bars. A single word for two human beings forced to share the same air filter for days; that, and the image of a dead body left to rot miles behind and the desperate commitment not to end up in the same way.

His gaze just happens to trip over his right side, taking in the deflated sleeve over the emptiness that saved his life. When he lifts it back to the girl, meeting her eyes just before they can flutter away, he realizes they were both looking at the same spot. And he realizes something else— something he's already understood, yet not quite.

There is no tube binding them now.

"Why d'you do it?", he mumbles a split second later, almost like somehow the thread of his question has immediately knotted to the one of his previous thought.

He huffs. He shouldn't even have asked her, in all honesty. Seeing her like this, at least he should have put it in another way, danced around it, it's not like he’s never been good at stalling, after all—

"Comin' back", Ezra says instead, and when he swallows, he mainly does it to send his heart back down his throat. If he'd died without being given the last chance to be this straightforward on this matter, he would have probably kicked his ass all the way to the other side. 

This time, Cee doesn't avoid his gaze. He shouldn't be surprised by how collected she looks, given the calmness she handled his infected arm with and then told him about when she used to slip into Jata Bhalu carcasses. But he can't help it when he thinks she can't be much older now than what she was then.

He watches her breathing in, wobbling her pupils here and there, seemingly considering his words. She's not afraid, not any more than what she seemed to be when she walked into his room. Maybe she's just better than him at playing pretend – but this, he can't tell whether it's more of a good than a bad thing. Especially for her.

One thing he can tell is that she's not the same girl who pointed a trembling gun at him before running away into the woods. He knows she's not afraid.

He knows...

So is it the hunter's instinct he has to blame if he feels she is?

"Guess I've seen too much death on that forsaken moon to just... turn my back on one I can help– one I can do something about."

If he was standing in front of an entire mountain crumbling down into the ocean, he wouldn't hear its sound. ‘Wouldn't even be the worst he deserves. She did hesitate before adding the last few words, but Ezra refuses to believe she did that because she was afraid of hurting him. He may be a wretch, but not a fool.

Kevva, for a man who's always managed to untwist himself from far tougher situations with the tangles of his tongue alone, he's sure having a deal of trouble – and he wishes he could put all the blame on his current physical condition.

There is no word he doesn't have to weigh carefully now, to prevent it from taking too sharp edges once out of his lips. He may float around it forever. But once he's let her go without saying anything, he'll hardly find the courage to look within himself again, more than after any other job that hardened his hands with calluses and tarnished his eyes with blood.

He doesn't know for sure. In fact, everything he was sure to know – about the turning direction of the universe and the one of the wheels in his head – has already collapsed in front of him, tracing a flaming tail. An unforgiving meteor following a trajectory far beyond his grasp.

He just knows silence scares him, in a way that a wrong word will never do again. It terrifies him. More than as a talkative person, as a castaway on a hostile moon for too many cycles to keep their count – with the only company of a mute. Silence is green; the green of the most poisonous pollen, lethal in his brain just like toxic spores enveloped in his lungs. The green of snake scales ready to stand and scratch his flesh until liquid crimson pours out of it.

And at the end of the day, this is the only fucking thing he can tell himself to know without having his guts churning and chest heaving a beat later.

"Stop looking at me like that."

It's more of an exhausted prayer than an annoyed remark. Ezra blinks, stunned by the sudden return from the shapeless stream of his thoughts.

"Like what?"

"Like you're looking for the words to thank me", Cee settles back into her chair and this time she lets one leg touch the floor, "Tell me you owe me, and you– you're sorry about what you did."

Ezra sniffles. "Would it be bad?" 

"No, it—". She closes her eyes for a moment, clenching her jaw. "Just no good", she breathes out, calmer.

And the discordant note in those words conjures up ghosts not yet vague enough for Ezra to be able to tolerate them without something twinging inside him— like a violent flutter of wings. Voices groping their way up ravels of compromises. Damon, deep in the forest. Himself, with the mercenaries in the Queen's Lair. Cee, days before that. After he—

She's right— those words she hasn't said yet, but whose shadow he feels looming every time he catches her wetting her lips.

Some things just can't be split evenly.

"This is not the Green", she states, suddenly more confident but no less exhausted. "If you're going to hang around just because you need to, once we reach Mesos¹ you'd better be on your way."

Ezra doesn't interrupt her. A faded echo starts making its way into his ears. A former prospecting partner, many years ago. An easy job on a forgettable Fringe moon.

Gems don't have an expiration date. Deals do. Strike 'em if you need to, get rid of them as soon as you can. Unless you care to dig a quicker way to your grave.

He didn't pay attention to it, then. He'd thought it was just the empty rhetoric prospectors drop absentmindedly to fill the time between an unrewarding digging and the next. All the more so under the rickety advice of a couple too many.

His eyes still wide open, hands shaky, he merely reciprocated the awkward bottle lift of his partner, whom he didn't know more than the meanders of that quarry. A toast to a faceless future – a nothingness still more reassuring than what was all around and behind them. Not to the darkness of the cave, basically unbreakable if only for the red halo thrown by the twinkles of sharp, sinister Prystines². Not even to the two poor bastards that had set out with them, ending up skewered a few hundred paces behind – one by mistake, the other to return the favor of saving him from the clutches of a furious Aiu³.

Like an idiot.

Several contracts later preventing him from missing a beat in front of similar hiccups, the logic of that statement no longer sounds so absurd to Ezra. Luckily for him, Cee understood it long before him.

"I was just lookin' for the words to tell ya you'll be better off without me—"

Half a truth. Half a heartbeat. After all, she isn't the only one of them who knows how to sell it.

He leans his head back against the headboard, eyes half-closed, a sly grin baring a couple of his upper teeth. It would almost be intimidating, except that the glint hitting them doesn't quite match the dying one in his eyes.

"—But you beat me to it", he finishes, and he sounds like he's about to fall asleep.

He slowly turns his head away, looks through the porthole. His gaze clutches to the passing asteroids outside, distant nebulae spraying the sidereal black with hues of purple, blue, red— then green, again. A climbing plant squeezing him from the inside, discomfort starts creeping on him an inch of his body – what's left of it – at a time.

He doesn't want her to think he's angry at her, and it's the only concrete foothold emerging from the fluid, magmatic chaos in his mind.

How could he be, when she came back to get him?

She didn't have to.

She doesn't have to be here, either...

"I'm sorry", she suddenly blurts out.

He meets her eyes again, a mix of bewilderment and disapproval shading his own. He shakes his head.

"Don't."

"I just—". She starts fiddling with the extra fabric created by the folds of her sweatpants. Then she sighs deeply. "I have no idea what I'm gonna do now."

He snorts. "Not that it's s'pposed to make you feel any better, but... neither do I."

He doesn't have a hazy helmet choking the glimmer in his eyes, an air filter breaking some frequencies in his voice— maybe just those making him sound sincere, while saving those trapping him into the swamp of self-loathing.

He was nothing but honest when he told her the rules of the game on the Green. When he openly admitted he was a killer, and when he assured her he wouldn't trade her for the Sater's Aurelac. And she's always seemed to believe him, maybe for that kind of desperate inertia that washes over people when they need something to cling to. Whatever the case, Ezra can only hope she wants to believe him now. But she doesn't speak, and for a moment his fear of not saying enough overcomes that of crossing her boundaries.

"But w—", he immediately bites his tongue, "—you still have three cycles to figure things out. Someone up here will be able to help you. Even so, please know you'll always have my most sincere gratitude."

The effort of lining up all those words and so few pauses to catch his breath casts a thick fog over his ears. His eyes suddenly hurt again and he finds himself squinting.

What happens next, he just records it, hardly managing to follow each cause-effect relationship. A series of events softly raining on him without making a noise, while he can quite imagine them to be way more prolonged in time. Cee leaning towards the lighting panel on the wall, sliding her finger counterclockwise, and the white coating the walls turning less painfully bright; her getting up, walking away, dwelling just before the door. "I'll come to check on you tomorrow", she says, sniffling.

She tilts her head, holding his gaze in her watery one for an agonizingly slow while – Please, don't ask me why.

He blinks once – Of course.

Then, the automatic door is once again engulfed by the wall, closing behind her with a metallic rustle.

Tomorrow.

His heart is taken by a spiraling jolt that leaves an empty cave behind. When it falls back into place, Ezra finds something has tripped in there, shapeless and quivering like the nucleus of a newborn star.

Hope, terror and everything that lies in between. 

___________________

NOTES:

1) Mesos — Invented planet. Its only raison d'être is that "mésos" in Greek means "middle" and my intent was to frame this story in a moment of transition (after those of movies) for both Ezra and Cee. 2) Prystines — Invented kind of crystals. They're implied to be huge, red and very sharp, thus endangering the path through the cave. 3) Aiu — Invented predator, ideally a big feline.

A/N:

Yeah, uhm... at this point, if someone was ever to give me any kind of feedback, constructive criticism or random thought, I think I'd just melt into a puddle for the attention alone. And to all those who came all the way down here, your bravery shall not be forgotten. ♥️✨

In my defense, it's (almost) all P**** P*****'s fault & of his habit of taking orphans under his wing from one planet to another.

I know people in the fandom generally tend to make Ezra and Cee go along straight away after the movie, so this will be a slightly different take on things, I guess... But even if I don't know if I'll keep this series going atm (life & maturity exam suck), a final reconciliation is definitely on the way. ;)

Oh, and any beta reader that should feel like helping me out for when I'll have the next chapters ready is warmly welcomed! My DMs are always open and I swear I don't bite! :3

[yejiroh]

Hello! I love your Wake Up and See Me story! (not so secret slut for angst and character death) I'd like to request very angsty HCs for Obey me! charas x fem!reader who is still grieving for her family singing her mother's lullaby while spacing out somewhere public. The lullaby in question being Lullaby of Woe by Ashley Serena, The Hanging Tree from Hunger Games series or Come Little Children by Erutan. Wanna see their reactions so bad!!!

I- I really need to update that series. Thank you so much for the support of it anon!

And thank you for the request darling! I’m sorry it took so long, but the lullaby’s were beautiful! So yes, I decided to listen to them all and match them with who I think it’d get the best reaction from! I made a little scene as well before the reactions, so it may or may not be a bit of a long read.

Lullaby Reaction! Obey Me BROTHERS x Fem!MC (ANGST)

Couldn't add the Keep Reading link because Tumblr is a beeotch. Sorry not sorry to everyone because this is LONG!

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TRIGGER WARNING: death, loss of parents, toxicity, mentions of cannibalism, more death, child abuse, traumatic stress, mentions of suicide, nightmare factors, unintentional murder, loss of siblings, and as the anon requested, A SHIT TON OF ANGST!

Side note: I really really liked Lullaby of Woe...may consider making a series based on the lyrics. Who knows?

***

This one is kind of long because I did get carried away, but I do hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

***

Lucifer, Mammon and Beezlebub: Come Little Children

As the cool Autumn breeze hit her face, MC took a sip from the hot cup between her clothed hands. Today would mark the 15th year since the orphanage- her orphanage, had burned down. All 23 children and her parents except she had burned to an ash- less than that truly. She, with her ill body and frail stature, she, with her poor value and level of importance, she, the one who had been trapped in the building longest of all.

Every time she had walked into the toy store around the corner, MC felt pulled towards the puzzle sets. Specifically, the 24 piece sets. MC was the 24th child. But she was also the first. Every day, she’d buy a set, just to lay it on their graves, sorry that she had been left behind. 

“Come little children, I’ll take thee away, into a land of enchantment…oh momma, I’m so sorry I let you all down...I’m sorry I played with the fire, I’m sorry.” A tear had poured down, slid to her dry lips as she desperately held them back.

“I’m sorry momma...papa...I’m sorry I didn’t listen...I’m sorry I killed you all…”

And, as she walked away from the tombstones, a heart that was not hers broke.

{Reactions}

LUCIFER:

1.Never before had Lucifer been so...disturbed.

2.The song was stunning, and that was true….but somehow he could relate

3.He would definitely stay on the down low for a while, his pride showing when he has to come up with lies as to why he wasn’t talking to you

4.Okay, flashbacks for weeks. He was genuinely affected by the song.

5.In the end, he needs more comfort than you once he finally kicks pride out the window and sheds tears in front of you.

6.“I’m sorry, MC…”

MAMMON:

1.Okay...he wasn’t the best at spying on you-but he was worried! Your behavior was odd since last Sunday...actually, every Sunday.

2.He ran out to you, crying hard as he tackled you, saying how sorry he was for digging into your personal life. 

3.The demon was holding fistfulls of little puzzle pieces, candy, and notes, claiming they were from the souls of the children, who wished you the best in life and to move on.

4.He, the avatar of greed, had done something of huge charitable value for these children as he held you close

5.Yes, he got flashbacks….but decided not to dwell on them, more so trying to comfort you.

6.“Stupid human...you can come to me always, ya know that?”

BEEZLEBUB:

1.Beezlebub doesn’t always show his feelings, sure. But he does, forever and always, come for those he cares about. 

2.It’s like a magnetic pull as you cry. He’s there, wiping the large tear threatening to spill with his thumb, licking it off before wiping his hand off. 

3.A kind smile with eyes pain ridden as his big hands engulf your own, for he too, had a tragic past and lost someone he considered blood.

4.“It’s okay, MC. They’re right here, and always will be. Please don’t cry.” He says as he points to your heart, right by your breast, but with no sexual intent. Only comfort. 

5.“Come on, big girl, don’t cry, I’m here.” He says, holding you close and running his fingers through your hair with the gentlest of touches.

6. No one can harm you in your vulnerable state as the Avatar of Gluttony protects you.

Satan and Asmodeus: The Hanging Tree

It was in class- herbology. The lesson was on wisteria trees when MC bordly began to hum a tune.

“Are you, are you, coming to the tree? They strung up a man, they say who murdered three. Strange things did happen here no stranger would it be, if we met at midnight, in the hanging tree.” 

“Miss L/n quiet down! I’m trying to teach!” The professor had called out, but MC was lost as tears began to bubble up. She continued her little song quietly as her desk mates huffed in annoyance. She’d done this every day of the week, only to end up crying. Nobody knew what was wrong with her, nor did they get a word out of her. Not until Amso took MC and Satan out for a spa treatment.

Filing her nails, Asmo blew off the dust, his brows furrowed.

“Say, MC?”

“Yeah?”

“Why is it you sing that depressing song every time someone brings up wisteria trees?”

Now Satan looked up, lifting a cucumber off his eye, his curiosity sparked. MC looked away, pulling her hand away from Asmo’s as she pulled her knees to her chest, a deep sigh escaping her lips. Asmo quickly waved his hands in front of him.

“Oh, sorry, sorry MC! I didn’t know it was a touchy subject-”

Satan interrupted. “Care to share?”

“Satan!”

“No, no, Asmo- it’s okay. It’s...it’s just not something I really talk about.” MC said, finishing off with a whisper. 

The two leaned in, eyes big and expectant when MC looked to them.

“You know, my father passed away when I was really young. It was a selfish reason, really- to put it into his own words, it was, “To escape the responsibility of life.” , but that wasn’t the case.” MC  raised her pant leg, revealing all the burn marks and scars covering the skin. 

“It was really to escape the guilt of hurting me.”

The brothers went quiet for a moment before Satan put a hand up.

“So what does that have to do with that song you were singing?”

MC smiled bitterly. “Because he was the man in The Hanging Tree my mother always sang to me.”

“So what happened to your mother?”

“She too, joined him in death…and left me alone.”

{Reactions}

SATAN: 

1.He was at a loss for words, to say the least.

2.Never, in the demon’s countless millennia had he come across such a pitiful soul

3.Taking a bite of the cucumber before tossing it aside, he took the other off, tracing his fingers across the burns that resembled his rage: Ugly, loved, and traumatizing

4.As the room was quiet, he just felt intrigued to know more, had to know more. 

5.“You’re very strong, MC.”

6.The Hanging Tree did not leave his mind for quite some time as he tried to figure out the mystery MC had unknowingly left implanted in his brain.

ASMODEUS:

1.He has never ruined his makeup by crying in front of somewhere. Never ever.

2.But he sure as hell came close to it. 

3.Asmo had nothing to say but grab MC’s hands and kiss them softly over and over again before continuing the manicure he had initially started.

4.A mental note to take MC’s mind off other things so as not to give her wrinkles from stress or depression. 

Leviathan and Belphegor: Lullaby of Woe

She never had a peaceful night's rest. The dreams always came back to haunt her.Each night, she’d live through it, again, and again, and again. Oh, how the false man in white would come to her, a mischievous grin on his handsome face before cutting into her mind, showing her the deaths at her fault. Her mother, kind and beautiful, always coming in to protect her, reassure her that it wasn’t real, that she was seeing things. 

“Momma, please! I’m scared! I don’t wanna see him again momma!” A little girl wailed, holding onto her mother’s waist, legs wrapped around in a firm hold, hands bundled in her clothes.

“My darling, please just sleep~ I’ll always be here love. Always.”

And always she was, for her remains laid in that rotting home to this day, not yet known. Still, no one would believe the late Mrs. L/n’s daughter.

MC shuffled more in her sleep before finally waking up, eyes puffy from the unconscious crying. Slowly she got up, getting ready for the school day as she washed her face, prepared, and left the room. 

“Good morning.” Each of the brothers would greet her, to which she’d return a small nod. There was nothing to talk about. Not when these nightmares haunted her so.

A little girl sat by her mother’s corpse, a man beside her.

Drink, child. Feast in the blood of a sinner.

“...But….but mother wasn’t a sinner…”

“Ignorant child. You are but a bastard, for she was never married. Drink and cleanse yourself of the blood of a sinner. Repent and be saved.”

Truly, the false man in white was but a liar, wanting nothing more than a child’s innocence and fortune as he toyed with her. 

Lost in her own fantasies, she began to sing, the tall Jubokko tree towering beneath her with the damned’s skulls by her feat. 

“For the witcher, heartless, cold...Paid in coin of gold, He comes he’ll go leave naught behind, but heartache and woe…”

“Deep, deep woe, for the witcher, heartless, cold, Paid in coin of gold, he comes…”

MC’s voice broke into it, pathetic cracks of the voice clear but quiet as she stopped.

A small applause was heard behind her; Belphie and Levi had seen and listened patiently, attentive and concerned.

The Avatar of Sloth put his arms down, kicking a skull as he sat down.

“That was a beautiful song, MC. What has made you so upset?”

Levi too, had sat down, his eyes no longer focused on the forgotten D.D.D.

MC just smiled sheepishly, sitting down with the boys as she tucked back a loose strand away. 

“It was nothing important. A story for another time.”

{Reactions}

BELPHEGOR:

1.Girl, honey, darling. You're lying. It’s okay! You can trust him!

2.If MC doesn’t end up telling him, then he can just slip into the dreams (I think?)

3.Honestly worried for you. He’s the Avatar of Sleep- he KNOWS you’ve been disturbed lately, and more so than others.

4.Can you imagine the pure look of hatred once he finds out about this man?

5.And ew, you drank your mother’s blood? 

6.But that’s cannibalism, which is a major sin so…

7.I guess you really can stay with him forever!

8.Honestly, he’s like a flame; burns as long as there’s fuel, then will move on to another topic.

LEVIATHAN:

1.So yeah. He didn’t really say anything.

2.But he was listening. 

3.Didn’t make an anime reference once because nothing he’s ever knew of had been that horrifying. 

4. Didn’t wanna make you feel shy about it, but kind of hints about it later on. 

5.No, he doesn’t care about the man, because as you sat down on the skull ridden dirt, you just seemed so...peaceful

[mollyphoria]

(off my chest post.)

As soon as I turned the age of 27 last year it was like I've been awaken from a cruel false dream. I opened my eyes then boom I see 27 years of my life laid out in front of me wasted. Yes it took 27 effin years for me to wake up. I wasted all this years and now I'm suffering the consequences of not following my heart, now I'm suffering the repercussions for not realising my dreams sooner as well as pursuing them. I don't believe in myself enough to stand for what I really want so I let society dictate me. I dont love myself enough to believe that I have the capabilities to follow my dreams, luck wasn't on my side too,the odds were never in my favor. So yes I guess I blame both myself and the circumstances given to me on why I failed in life. I failed myself. Society failed me. The system failed me. Oh how I envy people who were able to realise their dreams when they were a kid. these people mostly turns out to be the successful ones in life while I'm left in shambles of not knowing what to do or having such a huge dream I knew I would never reach it. I wanted to become a supermodel but I'm not pretty and tall enough plus I'm from a country not supported by society on having supermodels. Then I wanted to be a rock star. Touring the world, playing the guitar, performing on stage. I can probably make this happen but once again I don't believe in myself and lack of support from family/society was what made this dream seem to get more impossible. I would like to pursue the arts anything from singing, dancing,writing ,painting,drawing etc but I let myself be influenced by what our society drills in my head everyday that there's no money with any of these endeavours so I never got serious to try to achieve greatness from these "useless, juvenile" dreams and plus you need God-given talent to qualify pursuing the arts and I don't have an ounce of it.

So as time goes by I continued to grow older like a dead leaf flailing around in the wind without a specific direction but downwards. But deep-rooted in my soul I knew what I wanted but I chose to stupidly ignore that little voice in my heart that tells me what to do. I to this day continue to beat myself up why I haven't even tried to listen to myself.

So what I did was to completely surrender myself to settle for a lesser,smaller dream that I could possibly reach according to the circumstances I'm handed with

I took up a course in college that I felt at the time would be something I would enjoy and easy,cheap enough to simply graduate and have that diploma just for the sake of it. When I got into the real world and became a full pledge adult for the first time ever I got hit by depression and that's when I first acknowledge that I'm not made for this at all but what I did instead of abandoning it was to try again and aim higher which is to have my own wings and to fly high in the sky and see the world. I held on to that dream. I went to school again. For a moment I had a purpose and for the first time I had direction. I thought I found myself as I try to get those wings. I thought that this will be my redemption. I made myself to believe that I'm meant to do this. I went above and beyond to achieve success. But alas I continued to be the chosen reject and once again odds weren't exactly on my favor and I have given up by the time I'm 27 years old. This is when it all crashed down on me I was chasing a dream gone dead all those years and basically wasted my youth as a result and gained nothing at the end. And I have to admit that i somewhat resent God for putting this dream to flourish in my heart but never gave me a breakthrough to even achieve it. I was left beaten and destroyed. I slaved myself away for nothing, experienced all those sufferings for nothing. I got nothing for all those sacrifices and hardwork I did. Literally all those blood,sweat and tears were for absolutely nothing at the end. I was utterly broken down,my heart was utterly crushed nothing left but broken pieces and a whirlpool of regret. If even this small, mediocre dream I settle myself for is still unattainable for me then my life is no longer worth living. I then proceed to wallow on self pity and resentment and went down to the worst depression I've ever experience in my life. Tears kept on falling like faucets in my eyes. Every streak of effort, energy, motivation ,hope left my body,mind and soul altogether. I turned ultimately dead inside. I don't have anything left in me to even pretend to continue fighting my way into this world. I can't even help myself to help myself. it's like I already died and what was left is just a hollow husk of my former self.

At 27 yrs old i went back to zero. I'm left with nothing to hope for, I didn't gain anything from all the things I went through. After Having the painful knowledge that the journey I made for myself all throughout my teenage to mid twenties is only to become of worthless dust and vomit at the end it made me inevitably bitter about life in general. I started acknowledging thoughts of dying for real. How I realized that it's better to be dead than to be alive, how I wish to have never been born at all. I missed all of these opportunities to win in life and I felt like giving up. Because Life is Suffering nothing more nothing less we will continue to suffer coz that whats life for this is the true meaning of life we are just put here to live so we can suffer and I'm not cut out for it I'm too weak to even restart again.

I realized alot of things. When I was a kid I was always looking forward to the future. I was foolishly, completely convinced that my life will get better as I get older and now that I'm older it turned out to be such a stupid thought coz life didn't get better it only gotten worse and it could only get worst from here on out.

Starting now I shouldn't hope for things to change for the better. It's dangerous to have a false hope and I swear to myself that I wouldn't let myself be fueled by false hope anymore.

And now that it's October I will turn a year older unless I cease to exist first.

I'm honestly scared of the future, now that I can see the true essence of it in its whole entirety.

At 28 I'm running out of time.

I missed the chance to get my life stable.

At 28 I'm entirely clueless on how to get my shit together and I don't even think I have the strength to improve myself. I felt like I just don't care anymore.

At 28 I should have already bought my mother a new house instead I'm stuck and rotting away in a room at her own old house.

At 28 I'm still miserable asf

Still bitter asf

Still dumb asf

Still doubtful asf

Still a loser asf

Let me discuss the thoughts I have about this song 28 of Agust D. This song single handedly describes the anxiety I feel for getting older. The fact that the age he pertained on the title of this song is 28 exactly the age I'm about to turn into soon just solidifies the strong grip it acquired to hold my heart and soul. I felt extremely lucky to turn 28 at the same year with someone as genius as him (tho his 27 international age) nevertheless I'm thankful about this.

Tho there are things that I'm honestly confuse about him having the same fears with someone like me who's a nobody without any single awards, recognitions, accolades or any kind of impact to the world, who's not loved and praised by millions nor have millions of money in my bank account, who doesn't have a big house,big cars nor big rings.

It baffles the living daylights out of me that a person like Min Yoongi who achieved so much in life would feel scared about not knowing his dreams is really about as he gets older. He basically achieved every single one of the dreams I have for myself. His overly set for life that his great great great great great grandchildren will be also set for life. His life wasn't the same like before. His life changed for the better . He earns millions of money by doing what he loves at such a young age. He simply won in life.

We are both 28 but the life I'm bestowed in is the utmost opposite of the life his bestowed in. I'm at the loser end of the spectrum while his in the winner side yet we share somewhat the same fears and anxiety about having to grow older.

This made me question if happiness is really just an illusion. well the genuine authentic euphoric kind of happiness.

Is existence all really just a one big mess with occasional ephemeral pleasure?

If a person who accomplished so much at only 28 still feels depression what's left for me then should I just go kill myself?

Alot of the reasons why I got into this level of depression is because I didn't fulfill anything Yoongi fulfilled.well I'm not really into fame so much but i hope i succeeded on not having to worry about whether I could buy a house or rent an apartment. Yoongi could buy a building for himself while I can't even afford a bedspace of my own

Yoongi could travel the whole world in a whim while I'm mostly stuck in the same place

The stark contrast of our lives is so immense I cant even get my head wrapped around it

My only dillema is that I'm afraid to die but I'm also afraid to live

It's been proven to me now that living in this world is not really living at all it's just purely surviving and I can't deal with this

I'd rather die than to be a slave to the system. And it seems like I don't even have a choice maybe to disappear is the only way out

I'm just not cut out with the cards I've been dealt with

If only I could voluntarily pull my existence out of here then I would do it in a heartbeat

I wish there is a stop button from all of these

[vesuviannights]

As a request I don't have anything super specific in mind but I'd love to see you write something involving a Lucio/Valerius/AFAB MC threesome with #32.

uwu

IT’S DAY 5 BUT ACTUALLY DAY 6 BECAUSE I’M FUCKING LATE OF POLY WEEK!

Valerius/You/Lucio. Female reader (she/her pronouns used). Lemon.

A week after you were lured to Valerius’ chambers, you receive an invite to an exclusive gathering at the palace, where you watch Lucio and Valerius shamelessly flirt with the guests and each other while you seethe - a little drunk, a lot jealous - in the corner. As it turns out, the Count and his consul are more than happy to prove their affections for you while fucking you senseless.

Prompts: “Please come inside me, I want to feel it dripping out of my pussy.”

[Part One | Part Two | Part Two-point-five | Part Three]

**

You haven’t, despite every harsh word you’ve had with yourself, been able to stop watching Lucio and Valerius for the 3 hours you have been sitting here. You’ve been watching them from your table in the corner, drink in hand (multiple, actually, you’re maybe just a little tipsy). And when you get tipsy, you tend to become a bit green.

It’s a gathering at the palace, for…city planning, or consuls, or foot fetishists, or something. You don’t care. The purpose of it was never the point. You had received the invite, you had showed up—and had almost immediately realised what a colossal mistake it had been.

Because once you were at a party in the Count of Vesuvia’s palace, surrounded by all the most important people and courtiers who whispered and gossiped and delighted in the suffering of others, it was impossible to leave without it being noticed.

And so here you are, forced to watch, forced to suffer, though after so many hours and so many drinks you are not sure which of your two suffering options you would prefer.

Lucio has been moving around the hall the entire night, mingling with the crowd, speaking to various guests – people from Nevivon, cities they wish to trade with, throwing his goddamn charming smirk at anything that bats its fucking eyelashes at him.

Placing his hands on shoulders.

Laughing at every joke.

Twirling locks of hair around his fingertips.

It’s pathetic.

Valerius hasn’t been much better, though. He’s been allowing it, following Lucio around with his wine glass in hand, a half-sneer on his face as he introduces the Count to each new guest that said Count then proceeds to practically throw himself at and propose marriage to.

You had caught Valerius’ eye just once during the hours you had been watching him; his half-sneer had become a full sneer, then. He’d barely kept contact with you for a second before looking off, stepping to the side so you could receive a full look of Lucio sidling up—laughing, smirking, batting his fucking eyelashes—all to someone whose resemblance to you was too striking, and too impossible to ignore.

And then you were burning, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and fury. Fury that they had invited you back. That you had accepted. That they were ignoring you so easily. That you hadn’t noticed it before, the way the Count and his consul linger a little too close, the adoring looks they throw each other when the other isn’t looking, the ease at which they lean in and murmur in the other’s ear, a secret only for the two of them.

Of course they were fucking.

Of course something was going on between them, but how had no one in this gods-forsaken city noticed it? And why had it been you that had been pulled into it, you that had accepted the invitation to the consuls quarters, and then been left with all the messy pieces?

You drain the remainder of your drink and shove yourself to your feet, only partially managing not to sway on them. You grasp your glass and throw one more furious look at the two of them before beginning through the crowd toward the bar.

The line is long, you can see it as you approach, and you are figuring out how to avoid that and still get your drink when a large hand grabs your elbow and pulls.

You yelp, the noise barely heard of the cacophony of the party; darkness envelopes you, then dim candlelight, and you realise you have been pulled into one of the anti-chambers sometimes opened to create additional room for party guests.

“How dare y-”

You cut your own furious, slightly slurred words off as you lock gazes with Lucio. He quirks an eyebrow at you as he gazes you over, eyeing every inch of skin almost casually as one might glance at a passing crowd. Light is dancing in his eyes as he tilts his head down at you, finally looking to your face. He chuckles, then turns his head slightly to call over his shoulder.

“Val, I think we might have found one who is even more jealous and possessive than you.”

You quickly rearrange your features, or at least try to appear impassive. You glance off, and when Lucio takes you by the chin—squeezing just a little too tight—and turns you back to look at him, it’s everything you have in you not to be spewing venom through your eyes and teeth.

“Oh, pet,” he sighs. His smile is the kind of soft you’ve only ever been allowed to see once. “There’s nothing to be jealous of, no people who would ever steal us away.”

You roll your eyes, and as soon as you do, Valerius has stepped up beside you, as though waiting for the moment you would. Anticipating it. He leans against the wall to your left, and with the pillar to your right and Lucio in front of you, you realise that you are trapped—and by the look in each of their eyes, very intentionally so.

Valerius’ eyebrow quirks, and you realise he’s waiting for something, for you.

“Well?” Lucio asks. He reaches forward to toy with a piece of your hair, curling it the same way he had been curling that wenches hair back in the hall, watching the movement of his fingers as he waits. You realise that Valerius is waiting for an answer, that he had asked a question.

“No?” You answer, more of a question to your voice than you’d hoped. Lucio almost seems to pout.

“No?” He repeats.

You backtrack. “…yes?”

Both of them laugh, and it’s so different to how they were laughing in company not even three minutes previous; Lucio’s is a little more high-pitched, he’s not even trying to cover it, and Valerius’ comes with a smile that reaches his eyes. Their true laughs. You feel your growling beast settle a little in your chest.

“Oh pet,” Lucio nuzzles into your neck, takes your hips and holds you there while he kisses you softly. You shiver against him, suddenly losing quite a lot of your steam.

“Do you really believe that we would leave you to rot in favour of someone else that had caught our eye?” Valerius says.

You can’t help it, it slips out, “Isn’t that what you did with Nadia?”

Lucio’s grip on your hips tightens, “We had an arrangement with Noddy, but she knew it would never last. Not the 3 of us together. But you and us…” He sighs softly into your neck, grazes his teeth along your pulse. “We could be forever. Eternal, if the world should ever let us.”

You still at his words, your eyes flickering to Valerius to watch his own reaction. He gives you nothing with his eyes, but instead reaches forward to brush his thumb along your bottom lip.

“Do you need us to prove it?” He asks. “Do you want us to show you how much we care? Do we need to dote on you, praise you, for you to truly believe it?”

You nod. Without thought, without hesitation, without apology, you jerk your head and breathe out a please.

Their response is just as immediate. Lucio steps away and Valerius steps in, scooping you up to carry you to the center of the room, where an ornate chaise lounge inlaid with gold awaits. He deposits you on it before settling behind you, allowing you to lean back against his chest between his legs. Lucio has swept off his jacket and laid it across the back of a nearby chair, and as he places a hand on each of your knees, his grin is that of the devil incarnate.

“You are perfect for us, little one,” Valerius murmurs to you, as Lucio parts your thighs and settles between them. “Perfect in every way. From the way you respond to every touch, to your wide eyes as you watch me fuck Lucio into submission like it’s the most glorious thing you have ever seen in your years of existence—even the way you seem to plot the murder of every person who comes within touching distance of either of us is so wonderful to watch.”

You bite your own tongue to stop yourself from biting out that they were the ones shamelessly flirting, that it wasn’t you overreacting, but it is exactly what they want—it is all exactly what they had planned for you to do, if their speed and matching smirks are anything to go by.

And so instead, you watch as Lucio presses a kiss to the inside of each thigh, and as the pointed fingers of his gloved hand press tiny pinpricks of pain into your skin. You hiss, and watch his shoulders roll in pleasure at the sound as he continues to kiss and lick and bite up the inside of your thighs until each is parted as far as you will allow, and he is able to run a finger down you—completely bare, no undergarments since the moment you had arrived at the palace that evening.

Lucio chuckles at this. “You’re too good to us,” he murmurs against you, before gently parting your folds and inhaling.

He groans. Presses his lips to your clit. You whimper, you shake, and it hardly seems fair that neither of them seem as affected as you.

Though you suppose that neither of them have the disadvantage of being more than a little tipsy and having watched you flirt shamelessly while they filled with green, bubbling rage that had, somehow, managed to turn them into a shaking mess who just wanted to be loved, praised, shown that they were the only one who mattered.

“Talk to me, little one,” Valerius croons into your ear. “What will make you feel better and less of a petulant, jealous little mess?”

You are only vaguely aware that he has undressed your top half, leaving your clothes bunched around your waist. His hands are cupping and rolling your breasts while his lips suckle spot after spot onto your bare shoulder and neck.

“Tell me what you feel,” you gasp out. Both hands are in Lucio’s hair, gripping tighter and tighter the louder Lucio’s lapping tongue and moans become as he eats you out. “Both of you, what you really feel. Don’t lie.”

Valerius makes a thoughtful noise, almost as though he weren’t expecting such an answer. But, as Lucio slips a second finger into you and begins to gently stretch and coax you apart, Valerius does not try to step around it, and it’s the Count himself who seems the most greedy to give you his words and affections in between his crooking fingers and sweeping tongue.

“You, my wondrous magician, my sun and stars, my sweetest poison,” Lucio coos to you, his voice low in his chest. “Are everything I could have hoped for myself, for us.”

Your cheeks heat at his words, despite them being nothing but what you asked for, no lewdness or filth to them. He looks up at you as he slips a third finger into your aching pussy, your swollen clit caught between his lips, and you whine out his name in a pitch almost too high to hear.

You hear him curse under his breath, followed by the faint noise of his zipper before he takes himself in his hand with a groan. When he continues, his voice is strained.

“You give me all of my favourite sounds and sighs, and the fire I was watching burn inside of you tonight only made me want you so much more. To know that you want me, that I am important enough to you to make you want to tear heads and claw faces—that is by far my greatest achievement.”

Your chest is swelling, almost fit to burst, at his words. You feel a little of that snarling, green beast retreat back into the nastiest recesses of your mind, replaced by something that is greedy for every ounce of pleasure Lucio can give you, and then more.

After spending a few moments watching your face move through the motions, Lucio pulls back, and you whine in protest when he steps away to dig into his coat pocket. Valerius pulls you against his chest when you try to follow and keeps you there, his hand smoothing down your stomach to begin teasing you with his long fingers as you both wait for Lucio to return.

When he does, he’s holding something long and jet black in his palm. You flush at the sight of it, and he quirks an eyebrow at the response, glancing the vibrator over as he drops back into his place between your thighs.

“This, of all things, makes you blush?” He asks.

You try to roll your eyes again, but Valerius catches you again, your jaw caught in his hand as you try to turn your head away.

“Do you need to hear more?” Valerius asks you. His gaze drops down to your lip, caught between your teeth as you try to hide your growing smile.

“Maybe.”

Valerius grins—that same one that reaches his eyes and makes your brain blissfully numb for the first few moments it enters your vision—and takes your lips with his own. He kisses like he fucks, with slow, deep motions that have you quaking in his arms. He keeps you there long after he’s had his fill, tasting and tasting and tasting, not even letting you pull away to gasp when you hear the faint buzzing of the vibrator, or when you feel it pressing against your entrance.

“I suppose it is my turn to make you sigh,” Valerius murmurs against your lips, as Lucio begins to work the vibrator into you with short, shallow thrusts. It’s no bigger than either of them, but at the angle he has you and with the tenseness in your body, you feel almost too tight to take it.

Valerius’ fingers find your clit once more, drawing slow, lazy circles over it to help you along. Lucio shifts your hips forward just slightly, and together they seem to work you down enough to ease the vibrator inside of you completely, to the point where you can feel its buzzing in every inch of your pussy, causing you to twitch around it and whimper.

Valerius takes your lips again, then kisses along your jaw as Lucio begins to fuck you with long, deep thrusts. Valerius captures your earlobe between his teeth, biting down gently and rolling it there before he continues.

“I wish so very much I hadn’t used our first kiss to lure you,” he tells you. The admission makes you still, the soft way he says it—the slight catch in his throat, barely detectable—making you reach back and bury your fingers in his hair. He closes his eyes and moans, almost purrs, before continuing.

“If I could do it again, I would ask you with my words, and save our kiss for when you were sobbing for it, writhing above me and begging to be loved, just so I could taste your tears on your lips while I did it.”

You nod, though you don’t really know what for at this point. You can feel them in every inch of you, their affections and adoration and unspoken love.

Valerius, with his sighs against your sweat-dampened neck.

Lucio, grinning into the skin of your inner thigh, brushing his canines against it to make you shiver.

It’s almost too much for your human heart to bare, magic or not there seems to be no way for you to hold exactly what you had asked for inside of you, exactly what they had given without question or contest.

“Stop!” You whine as you writhe against Lucio’s ministrations, his hand as he furiously rubs at your aching clit, the vibrator as he fucks you with faster and faster strokes. “Please—please stop, I need you to fuck me!”

“And why is that?” Valerius asks, seemingly unable to keep that dominant edge from his voice at the mention of you wrapped around his cock.

“I—” You push Lucio’s hands away, and he surprises you by conceding. You blink at him, then glance down to his unbuttoned pants.

His cock is stiff in his hand as he pulls it with long, even movements. He is eyeing you like a fucking meal, like he could consume every inch of flesh that belongs to you and not ever be sorry for your screams of pleasure while he does it.

“I need you to come inside of me!” You gasp out.  “Pump your seed inside of me as I scream, mark every inch inside of me so I’ll always know I’m yours—I want to feel it dripping from my pussy, want you to stand back and watch until it’s all out. Give me your attention, your love, I want everything!”

In a movement you almost don’t catch, Lucio reaches down and yanks you forward by your ankles. Your back goes flat along the lounge, thighs spread wide for him at the edge as he lines his cock up with your aching pussy and thrusts inside.

You scream out as he fucks you, his fingertips bruising your hips as he groans and curses under his breath like a man deranged. You arch your back as he hits every sensitive part inside of you, stretches you out, makes you imperfect for anyone else but him.

“AH! FUCK, Lucio—” You cry out as his thrusts become shallow, uneven, desperate. He hunches forward, arms caging you as he nuzzles into your neck. “Come inside me, please, please come inside me I need it so much PLEASE PLEASE!”

He shudders against you and sinks his teeth into your shoulder as he comes, the feel of his hot seed filling your belly, coating your walls, making you delirious as you crash over the edge with him.

“Fuck—” He hisses into your shoulder, trying to sooth the mark his teeth left with his tongue, but in a matter of moments he’s just making another and another as he empties inside of you, body shaking from the strain of keeping himself up. “S—so good, oh little one, your pussy feels so good when it’s milking my cock, it’s the most perfecting fucking thing in the world.”

You whimper against him as your orgasm recedes, leaving you weak and a little heady. Lucio pulls out of you, whimpering and whispering into your ear, thanking you for letting him fuck you, for letting him come inside of you.

“Sit up, little one,” Valerius says. He offers out a hand, and he helps you shift over onto your hands and knees, your hips pressing up into the air with your chest to the lounge.

“What a spectacular sight,” he murmurs.

You shift your hips, clenching the walls of your pussy as you feel Lucio’s seed begin to drip from it. It rolls across your swollen labia. Some of it drips out onto the plush fabric of the chaise. A line trails down the back of one of your thighs. You turn your head to whimper into the chaise, and you hear Lucio give his own whine in response.

“Just let her sit there,” Valerius tells him softly. “You can clean her up with that filthy tongue of yours in a moment.” He pauses, then says with an almost malicious grin you can hear weaving its way through his words, “Or perhaps she can let it dry between her thighs while we speak to some more of our guests.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, your chest tightens. You know then, as the two of them watch Lucio’s seed drip from your pussy, that there was never any real danger.

There was no one else who they would take in your place. No other in the city, perhaps in the world, would entertain their desires with such recklessness. No.

Because there was no one else so sublimely fucked up, so exquisitely matched in their flaws, so perfectly suited to the two twisted young gods of Vesuvia, as you.

[linkispink1995]

Better as friends (23) the facade crashes

Previously

Series Masterlist

Chapter warnings:language,drunkenness and Alison

~~~~~~~~~

Steve's p.o.v

It had been a few weeks since Y/n and I's conversation and it also happened to be the last time Y/n and I spoke since whenever she'd drop Jackson off and pick hi up she'd be really quiet. I was starting to worry that it was maybe my fault , I knew that I shouldn't have asked her that but Alison being Alison continuously asked me that. Speaking of Alison she was now at the 5 month mark and by this time Y/n had a bump and an attitude and Jackson would move around and kick to the sound of voices but Alison so far had no bump unless she did and was just hiding it very well and never ever wanted to talk about the baby or her doctor's appointment. I felt like I was being so let in the dark with Y/n I'd roll my eyes and shrug the things off that she'd tell me and I definitely feel like this was payback. I couldn't belive it , I was scared I was missing thing or that some things just didn't add up , I was currently sitting at my cubicle at work stairing at the clock counting till I could go home. Alison wouldn't be home till late because it was her cousins bachelorette party and she'd be having to drive them since she couldn't be drinking anymore , except for her small glass of wine at night which I still wasn't sure to believe that or not. I had almost fallen asleep in my desk for the third time today when there was a phone call , I sighed before picking the phone up and answering "Hello this is Harrington-" I was cut off by a voice saying. "Yeah whatever listen we need to talk" it was my sister Polly , I sighed saying "I'm not talking to you" before I could hang up she added. "Are you dating Alison Martin" I sighed again saying "why" she responded saying "answer the question" I huffed saying "yeah I am why" Polly was silent before finally saying "do you remember when I was a junior and they put me in a dorm with a freshman" I rolled my eyes as she added. "Now do you remember how I said she was this rich and entitled mean girl who was always out partying and lied like a rug" I answered saying "yeah I remember you nagging about it" she responded saying "it was Alison". I rolled my eyes saying "Polly this is just sad okay stop calling" before she could respond I hung up the phone.

After the ridiculous phone call with Polly I came home to a dark and empty apartment I knew Alison was still out but usually she'd leave a light on. I entered the kitchen to grad a drink out of the fridge when I noticed a small take out box from some restaurant I didn't recognized maybe Alison went out to lunch but when I knew she had classes and a doctor's appointment. I shrugged that off before exiting the kitchen only to be stopped by a shopping bag in the trash and with closer examination I saw that a movie ticket stub was tucked in the bag. Again I brushed it aside thinking it was just paranoia that had been amplified by my phone call with Polly , after a shower and putting on warm close even though it was june the apartment was ice cold per Alison's request and I knew that when Y/n was pregnant that the word no wasn't one she liked . After settling on the couch I sat there before see there was a star wars marathon on tv , as the movie began to play I couldn't help but feel somewhat grateful that Alison wasn't home since I knew by now she'd turn the tv of and give me the speech about it rotting my brain or her speech about how nothing in star wars actually made sense. About half way through the empire strikes back I got up from my seat to open the cabinet above the fridge were I store (hid) away my junk food from Alison since shortly into are relationship she disposed all of mine and insisted from then on out she'd do the grocery shopping.

I awoke to the sound of the front door opening and practically slamming , I sat up to see the ending seen of return of the jedi was playing. I wiped some of the chip crumbs off of myself before hearing noise come from the kitchen , I entered to see Alison standing by the kitchen sink with a glass of water in hand. She was silent except for the small sounds of hiccups coming from her , I spoke saying "are you okay" she ignored me and instead began walking or should I say somewhat stumbling out of the kitchen before she finally spoke to me saying. "Goodnight" alchohol I smelt alcohol on her breath so strong I could almost taste it , I felt nauseous like my whole world had crashed down before I spoke saying "you lied to me" she turned before busting out into a strong laughter before she walked towards me with her finger placed on her mouth saying. "Shhhhh you can't tell Steve okay , it's a secret" she was so drunk she couldn't tell it was me I knew I had to confront her but I wanted to know what the secret was so I asked. "I won't tell him" she responded saying "I'm not pregnant" my heart fell as I began to feel nauseous before she added. "I don't know why I said it It just sorta fell out , but he believed it and I'm so screwed i have no clue what I'm gonna do". I felt my legs become uneasy at her confession as she continued "and I mean I just feel so bad you know he's a really nice guy he deserves someone who doesn't lie to him , he deserves someone who writes him these letters. You know he had someone like that , he had Y/n and you know what after all the stuff he's said to her Y/n still comes back just for that kid. Let me tell you something okay when I was his age my dad left and do you know when , he left on Christmas eve." My face fell in shock before saying "but Steve meet your dad" she chuckled again before saying "who Robert , Robert's my stepfather he's the only decent person in that family. My sister's a nightmare and I won't even get started on my mother , listen I'm tried I'm gonna to bed and don't tell Steve about are little talk." I ignored her words before as she entered the bedroom I didn't know what to do my instinct was to kick her out but I wasn't doing that to someone blackout drunk so instead I sat at the dinning room table to think until I knew I needed to talk to someone. It couldn't be Y/n because it was two thirty in the morning and God only knows what she'd be doing with Stewart. It couldn't be Robin since she left a few days ago to visit Helen up at school , Matt and Collen were definitely a no. I was blanking totally blanking until I knew the one person would wouldn't take my crap and would tell me how it is which is exactly what I needed right now.

I pulled into the parking lot of the hospital before walking in , I walked in before getting to the receptionist saying. "Hi I'm looking for Paige Walker" she nodded before I heard a voice say "Steve" I turned to see Paige in her scrubs before I said "can I talk to you". She huffed before saying "fine" after walking down a hallway to sit on a bench Paige spoke saying "whatever nonsense this is I will take Y/n's side cause you-" I cut her off saying "Alison is lying a being pregnant". Paige's face fell saying "oh Steve I'm sorry" I shrugged saying "whatever it's payback from how I've treated Y/n". She responded saying "you know you might've been a jerk and I'm just saying that word cause I'm at work right now but you never treated Y/n horribly when she was pregnant I mean you stayed there and-" I cut her off again saying "Paige did Y/n tell you I was there when Jackson was born". She nodded before I added "God she really is a good person I mean she must've told you the story she's told Jackson". Paige's face feel in shock before I added "I wasn't there when he was born , I wasn't there when my son took his first breath or opened his eyes for the first time , do you know how long it took for me to realize my son's eyes are brown". She frowned saying "oh my god she protected you from the group cause she knew we'd be mad" I nodded as she added "so why didn't you go to Y/n , why here". I sighed saying "didn't wanna bump into Stewart" she shrugged saying "why would you run into Stewart he's in Florida and they broke up you know that right" . I shook my head as she added "yeah it was mutual I guess" I frowned thinking that was what had Y/n so down these past couple week , why she was so quiet. I spoke again saying "thanks Paige" she nodded saying "sorry I didn't invite you to my wedding" I shook my head saying "don't be it's okay". Paige and sat there in silence before I added "and I really miss hanging out with you guys so-" this time I was cut of by Paige saying "make things right with Y/n and you can hang out with us" I nodded before saying "your right I know exactly what I have to do"

The following morning

It was the next morning and I was running on zero sleep except for that small nap I had during the movies last night. I was sitting at the dinning room table ready to talk to Alison like an adult , as soon as I got home from the hospital I took a seat exactly where I was and rehearsed exactly what I was going to say. My a millionth rehearsal was interrupted saying "don't worry I can hold my own hair up when I'm sick" I ignored her words as she entered the dinning room saying "what". I responded saying "you

Iied to me , to me the person who chooses your side over my own sons , the person who turned his back on his family for you the person who was actually excited to have a baby with you , but it isn't true. You lied to me Alison" she scoffed saying "I don't know what your talking about" I sighed saying "you know what drunk Alison just tells people how it is your not pregnant are you". She had a blank expression before she spoke saying "no I'm not I-" Alison stopped she completely blanked on words before I decided to ask another question. "Did you ever have a roommate named Polly Harrington" she silently added before I continued with my questions. "Did you steal the letter for Y/n , the letter meant for me , did you take it and did you read it". She silently nodded as I added "you know I didn't read it right" she scoffed saying "oh please you had that in your pocket and you don't want me to believe you didn't read it". I rolled my eyes before pulling a sheet of paper out of my pocket saying "you mean this" she nodded as I added "this is something I wrote for Y/n what did you think it was". She responded with "That's it Steve I can't take this anymore" I huffed saying "are you kidding me your upset .She rolled her eyes at my words saying "you Steve I'm upset with you" I huffed again saying "me what did I do , you faked a pregnancy and it doesn't just hurt me it hurts Jackson-" she cut me off saying. "That's it , it's all about the kid" I sighed saying "he's my son what do you want me to do". She then crossed her arms saying "choose" I shrugged in confusion as she added "it's either me or the kid , choose" I couldn't belive it , she sounded like I did when Y/n and I broke up and I then remembered what my mother said "sometimes we need to see someone make the same mistake to know that's what they were". That's when I knew the answer to Alison's question was "Jackson , Jackson Michael Harrington will come before anyone including myself and if you don't like it that's just to damn bad". Alison frowned saying "but I'm your girlfriend" I nodded as she added "and I love you" I nodded again saying "I know but-". She cut me off saying "no buts Steven I'm your-" it was my turn to cut her off saying "Steve my name is Steve not Steven okay" she huffed saying "I love you" I nodded before saying the words that were wanting to oze out of me , "and I love Y/n", her face then twisted into anger saying "excuse me" I nodded saying "I love Y/n" she then sighed saying "but-" I cut her off again saying. "Alison your a horrible person , you attacked Y/n several times , you turned me against my parents and my best friends but not only that you tried to get in between my son and I oh and am I forgetting something else yeah you pretended to be pregnant" before she could say anything else I added "we're done Alison".

Please don't plagiarize my work , stay safe and feedback is appreciated - thanks Meg

Taglist @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @queenofthehairharrington @charmed-asylum

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

okay I know it seems like I'm shitposting here and I am, but... I'm also not.

as a trans person I'm finding the online world increasingly stressful to navigate (the real world continues to be exactly as stressful as it always was, but online was MEANT to be better). it feels like everywhere I look there's outrage and violence and the only stories people seem interested in telling about people like me are full of violence of the variety that specifically happens because they're trans (so none of this "well everyone in this book suffers").

and like. I would get it, if they were trans authors. I have written books like that myself, as an act of catharsis, as an act of processing all the bullshit fuckery of this world. I have read books by trans authors that explore transphobia and left me sobbing and hollowed out and yet still felt like a reclamation and an act of validation because ultimately they were about a trans character facing down violence and surviving, not being narratively punished for the act of daring to be trans in a story that didn't want them.

and sometimes, you know, the differences are subtle. there's no checklist: this is okay to write, this isn't, cis people can say x but not y. but there's just something underlying about those stories where you can TELL if the person who wrote them is writing as an act of personal catharsis, digging deep into their own fears and experiences, or if they're doing it as a tearjerker/because they think that's genuinely what all trans narratives are like. and after a while you start to believe that it is, because that fucks you up, never getting to see stories where you just exist. or even just getting to see stories where the violence you face isn't for character development, it's a shitty obstacle that you move past. I'm not even asking for happy stories at this point. I just don't want the crux and turning point of my life to be how others choose to degrade me.

and if it's not shitty ya fiction it's terfs in academia unwilling to find a modicum of human decency, writing letters about how outraged they are about the idea of *gasp* using somebody's correct pronouns. and it's replies on twitter to people who call this out, telling us we're delusional and wrong. and it's queer discourse and exclusionists and everyone who ever makes you doubt if you're even allowed to have community and support. and it's ex-friends where you're never sure why they cut you off but you think it's something to do with your relationship to queerness vs theirs and you know you're better off without someone who thinks you're not "queer" enough when every goddamn day of your life is a battle bc you don't adequately perform gender to anyone's standards, but you still kinda miss them and you wish there was a way you could fix this.

and then you go out into the real world and it's a two year wait for an initial appointment at the GIC and god knows how many years after that before surgery is on the table, and it's being asked why you're in one set of public toilets even while you know you'd never pass well enough to use the other, and it's your family continuing to call you by gendered terms and the wrong pronouns (and being GRATEFUL for that because at least they didn't kick you out or yell at you and you learn to be happy with such small crumbs when you see your friends starving), and it's being terrified every time you go somewhere new because you don't know whether to come out or not, and it's taking off your pronoun pin when you take the bus home, and it's lying on forms you can't fill in honestly and being given a title that isn't yours and answering to the wrong name and endless bureaucratic violence

and I'm just

so goddamn TIRED

and it feels like every time I'm online a weight just settles heavier on my chest, the world screaming at me to stop existing like this. all I want is to exist. all I want is to feel safe. but I'm never safe, because I don't adequately Do Gender the way you want me to do gender. I can be mistaken for a boy and then for a girl, five minutes apart in the same outfit and context, and I have no idea what "gender signals" I'm giving out to give people that impression, so I don't even know what I'd have to do to consistently appear as one thing or another. I can't hide! I can't be anything other than visibly queer! and I want to CELEBRATE that because that's always what I wanted, to be difficult to put in a box, yet these days all I can think about is how dangerous it is, how easily it could be used against me

the world is so much better than it was five years ago. the world is exactly as bad as it was five years ago. the world is more aware of people like me and that means there are more people who know enough about me to hate me.

I am so tired of being afraid.

I am so tired of murdering myself a little every day to avoid it all. of that endless self-violence of swallowing pronouns and names and corrections, of taking off my badges or walking a different route, of deciding CONSTANTLY "this isn't worth the fight we'd have about it", because I know that it doesn't matter what I say, it's never going to change the attitudes of the people around me: it will only make me unsafe.

I'm so tired.

and so, at this point, I just want to lie down in a bog and let it have me. because there's no discourse in the bog. no terfs in the bog. just a stubborn fuck you refusal to disappear: you want my body gone, but my body will STILL BE HERE. my self will still be here. I refuse to decompose under your hatred, to shed my skin and let my bones crumble away until I become what you want me to become. years after your bigotry loses its power, I'll have stuck around. wrinkled, maybe, and tougher than before, but this bog body ain't rotting.

fuck terfs. bog mummies say TRANS RIGHTS

[biorust-art]

I'd love to hear about your symbolism for the three tarot cards you drew, especially The Tower! (I read tarot, and I love seeing how people interpret the messages into their own drawings ❤️)

:0 ! okie- most of its fandom based so you kinda have to read Satan and Me (if you dont already) to understand it fully but! ill try my best.

First of all here are the pics to ref back too:

okay here we go

Tarot cards Symbolism-

Characters-

The star- is Lucifer for obvious reasons- his face is hiddenin all the cards I drew for him and the main feature is his wings – except thereare only two pairs instead of three. He is falling, and out of his hands are MichaelmasDaisy which symbolizes ‘Farwell’.

The Moon- is Michael, I chose him for this one (in stead oflike- the Sun) because of his close relationship to the Star. He is flying andout of his hands are Iris flowers called ‘Lucifer’. He is holding his heart symbolizingthat he’ll never really let him go- even if he is shown literally letting theflowers fall. His bralettes are like cuffs.

The Star and the Moon. – I put these two together for areason- A) because im mean like that. B) notice how their hands are both facingupward, this symbolized how they’ll never agree (this is directly contrastingthe High Priestess and Devil card- in which Natalie’s hand is downward aka-they can take each other’s hand. Lucifer is in the bottom corner while Michaelis in the top – represents the position that they are in- in a literal and metaphoricalsense – Michael will always see himself as above Lucifer. Both of their backgroundsare sunsets- representing the end of an era/ relationship.

-         The flowers I used to represent these two are asfollows-

-         Alstroemeria- devotion, friendship

-         Basil- love, hatred

-         Columbine red anxious/ folly

-         Lavender devotion/ distrust

-         Thyme strength courage

-         Violet faithfulness

I use the flowers in both an ironicsense and a more face value sense- to kind of mark the confusing relationshipthey have with each other and the mixed feelings after the fall.

The Tower- This one is Lucifer’s soul (this is gonna beconfusing if you don’t read the comic rip) I chose him for the care bc he isliterally on a tower and for the fact that this Literally is Hell. To be there,to see Lucifer’s soul would mean that the worst has happened and has yet tocome. This also echoes the fact that Lucifer’s soul itself had to endure millenniaof torture. However there is a lighter side, he is looking off into the edge,with a life line holding him down- so he can’t be touched by the other soulsbelow him. On his back there are two scars (spoiler alert) it’s a call to Lucifercutting off his wings ->A drastic change as happened- for better or forworse- who knows.

Background for the Tower

The ‘milky way’ a cross the sky also symbolizes Lucifer’scut wings and how whats happening does effect hell. The stars are red andusually paired together to act like eyes / to give hell a more creepy vibe and,the falling stars are new arrivals into Hell.

Continuing with the Victorian flower symbolism- children’sgraves were usually placed near Oak trees- a reference to how Natalie signedaway her soul (and died) while she was still a child (the tree is a manifestationof her contract in hell) as well as how Lucifer’s soul looks like a child. Thereare tally marks carved into the tree to mark the ‘days’ that lucifer has beenwith the tree.

Mushrooms represent both rot and regrowth and, while alsobeing fitting for the environment, represents how a soul can change rapidly etc.Most of them are parasitic or poisonous including ‘destroying angel’ and ‘angelof death’. They are also the color of the rainbow (see- lucifer’s wings)

The boarder- Sorry you’ll have to compare the rest of my Tarotcards to see the pattern but! All the cards have basically the same boarder witha few significant differences.

-         The color of the column- basically it representshow close the character is to heaven- the marble/gold in the Star and Mooncards vs the black in the Tower.

-         Markings- the Tower has eyes at the top – aka-hell is literally peaking out and there are hand markings on the column once againto emphasis hell’s influence.

-         The gate- Lucifer’s gate is open while Michael’sis closed while Lucifer’s soul has none at all. This can be a number of things –like the openminded-ness or loss of virtue (not in the sex way) while in hellthere are little morals left. Can also represent the gates of Heaven- openmeaning they will never hold Lucifer again while Michael is locked behind it. (onceagain- no gate in Hell)

-         The stained glass. There are little circles atthe top and on the gates- notice that there are 8 of them – one for each colorof the Archangels + Lucifer. Due to the fact I put the layer on Opacity, theTower’s stained glass is only red/magenta >;}

-         The skys beyond the gate. Each card was different.In the Star- it’s a rainbow of colors not only going back to his wings but alsohis family and, some of the stars are falling while others stay still. In theStar’s is only shades of blue- aka- Michael’s colors (and only Michael’scolors) and, the stars are not moving. The Tower is a direct continuation of thebackground with the same red star pattern described before.

Thank you for the ask! I know it was a flood gate, but I do appreciateit and I hope you’ve enjoyed reading haha

The original post is HERE (original tarot set HERE) and Satan and Me can be read HEREor on TAPAS

[easily-distracted-ivashkov]

Back to the Start

So I had an idea for a fanfic where Sirius gets informed of his being sent back to Grimmauld. I made a couple of minor changes so I could put Marlene into it. I might continue with this if I get enough feedback so, enjoy!

†††††††††††

It wasn't long since Sirius had escaped from Azkaban and tracked down Harry to out Peter. Harry and the rest of the trio had known about his innocence. That was all that mattered to him. However, it wasn't long until Albus Dumbledore had called for a meeting regarding where Sirius would be staying as he was still very much a wanted man on the run. He got a letter from Albus saying that they would be meeting in Dumbledore's office while all the students were asleep. Sirius had been enjoying his short lived freedom off in Hawaii where no one knew who he was, there, he was just a lazy bum who didn't have a care in the world. Again, it was very short lived. There was a war going on and Sirius needed to focus on Harry's safety, but he couldn't be back where he grew up. Not even remotely close. People from both sides wanted him dead and that was that. Despite how close Sirius wanted to be to Harry, he had to be as far away as possible from him.

Though when he got the letter from Albus, he climbed on Buckbeak who was hiding out not far from where Sirius was staying. Flying off towards Hogwarts, Sirius felt his heart panging in his chest. Albus informed him that most of the Order members would be there. He would see Marlene and Remus. He could hardly contain his excitement. He hardly had any time at all to see Marlene when he went back to Hogwarts to call out Peter and hopefully even kill him but that didn't work out the best. His heart was aching to see her again. He needed to see her, just to hold her in his arms again. The feeling he craved most in Azkaban, was finally here. Surely Albus would send Sirius someplace safe where he was comfortable? And Marlene would be there with him? He suffered enough those years in Azkaban. Maybe Albus even had information about when Sirius' name would be cleared! Surely he had been informing others about how he was innocent?

The fly back to Hogwarts seemed to feel like forever for Sirius. But seeing the castle again... All the memories flooded back to him. Last time he was here, he didn't have time for such sentimentalities. But now, flying over the place where all of his best memories were at, it was all surreal. It hit him just how much things had changed those twelve years he suffered alone in that prison cell. The castle didn't change one bit but at the same time it wasn't the place he knew. Not without his best friends. Not without them all causing mischief. Not without those late nights where Sirius and James would keep poor Remus and Peter up with their constant talking and obnoxious laughter. It wasn't the same because instead of Sirius arriving with his best friends on the Hogwarts express, he was arriving alone on a Hippogriff. Just those thoughts alone wanted to make him sob. His friends meant the world to him. They were the only family he knew. The only place where he felt he truly, wholeheartedly felt he belonged. And it was all ripped away from him within an instant.

Clearing back the large lump in his throat, Sirius shifted down into his animagus form after dismounting Buckbeak and entering the castle. Safety precautions in case there were students off wandering this late at night. The black dog trotted up the staircases until he reached Dumbledore's office. He heard talking through the door. And there seemed to be a lot of argument going on through it. He heard so many familiar voices. Mostly Marlene's voice screaming in absolute outrage. Then Remus was even piping up here and there. And even Minerva was making her shock evident in whatever they were all discussing. Bowing his head down, Sirius began whimpering and pawing at the door. The entire room went completely silent just then. Anyone would be able to hear a pin drop with how quiet it went. They all knew Sirius had finally arrived. It took a moment before someone opened the door. It was Minerva whom was to heave open the heavy door. Sirius made his way in, his body shifting up back into his human form once more. His eyes immediately caught onto Marlene's beautiful hues of blue. The eyes that he spent so long dreaming about in Azkaban.

"I see I'm still able to silence a room just with my presence." Was the first remark that came from Sirius. A small smile playing at his lips as he looked around, seeing everyone he loved so much. But nobody laughed with him. Not even a shadow of a smile from anyone. "Tough crowd today, huh?" He spoke up again. Silence was never something he was good with. It got on his nerves from the get-go. Azkaban certainly didn't help that little pet peeve of his.

"Sirius. Please, sit." Albus instructed sternly. Nodding off towards a seat across from Marlene and Remus. Just the tone of Albus' voice let Sirius knew just how severe matters were. Nodding, the pureblood did as instructed and sat down. His eyes unable to stay off of Marlene. She was so close to him. He needed her so badly. But he didn't dare touch her. For all he knew, she still thought Sirius was guilty for her family dying. He knew not to cross that line. If Marlene felt comfortable, she would reach out to him. It was Dumbledore that cleared his throat to snap Sirius out from his daydreaming over Marlene. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Black-"

"Sirius." The wizard corrected immediately. He hated his last name and despised whenever someone referred to him by it. "Call me Sirius."

Albus nodded then, "Sirius. Thank you for coming. I can't imagine how you must feel to be back here. But this is a very important matter that... We feel is in your best interest. Until your name is cleared." The headmaster explained.

"My name is going to be cleared soon... Right? You're working on it?" The pureblood responded hopefully as he peered around the room. However, judging by the shameful expressions on peoples faces and those that looked down, they weren't anywhere near clearing Sirius' name. His heart quickly dropped to his stomach just then. Albus had so much power in the Wizarding World. He could have kept Sirius out from Azkaban! He could have easily cleared Sirius' name by now! The wizard felt anger boiling up inside of him, but it was Minerva then who spoke up before Sirius could lash out.

"We are working on it as best we can, Sirius. We will get you there eventually. But patience is what we need from you right now." The elderly witch spoke out calmly. No matter how upset she was, she always maintained a certain elegance to her. She was without a doubt one of the few women that Sirius respected.

"Patience? You don't think I've been patient enough? I'VE BEEN ROTTING IN A FUCKING CELL THE PAST TWELVE YEARS, MINERVA! I have had to try avoiding getting my SOUL sucked out on a daily basis! I have been as patient as I can be! I want my freedom! I am sick of being a prisoner of my own mind! I am sick and tired of 'waiting'-"

"Sirius, right now the best step of action we can take is keeping you safe and away from everyone else. Somewhere no one can find you. We will clear your name but you must understand we all need to sacrifice in this war." Albus chimed in. His voice unnervingly calm for Sirius.

"'I HAVE SACRIFICED ENOUGH!" He screamed out. "And 'someplace where no one can find me'? Where might you think that would be, huh, Albus? Because last I checked people are at my ass left and right!"

Then, another long silence came from the room. No one wanting to be the one to respond to his question. Until Minerva sighed, going to speak up again. "We thought it be in your best interest to go back to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Sirius..." The witch replied sadly.

It was then that Sirius went completely silent as well. Did he hear her right? Did she really say that? There was no way he was going back to that hellhole he grew up in. "No." He answered softly. Almost in a whisper. "Absolutely not. No. I refuse. I am not going back there. You can't make me go back there. I won't."

"Sirius-" Both Marlene and Remus spoke out at once.

"NO! I WON'T!" He screeched out, slamming his fists down on the table as he abruptly stood up from his seat. "I am not going back to there! Send me back to Azkaban! I'd rather be there than back at that place! I am NOT going back there and none of you can force me too!" He exclaimed, his voice cracking near the end of his sentence. He could already feel tears welling up in his eyes. The fear in Sirius' eyes were evident. The trauma he had endured in that horrible manor was not something he wanted to remember.

He didn't want to remember his father's wrath. He didn't want to reminisce on his mothers words that cut through him like a knife. He didn't want to remember how he got all these hideous scars on his body. He may not have gone insane while at Azkaban, but if he went back to Grimmauld, he certainly would go insane within days. Lord knows what shape that place was even in. Or what kind of spells got put on and in it since the day that Sirius left.

"Sirius, we understand that you're upset-" Remus began finally.

"NO YOU DON'T! None of you do!! If you understood then you wouldn't be sending me back to that hell! If you understood, you would work on clearing my name and not sit around on your arses all damn day!" Sirius yelled out.

It was Minerva then who placed a light hand on Sirius' shoulder. "Sirius... Please. If you won't do this for us, then do it for Harry."

Sirius' eyes softened at the mention of his godson. He then looked around at everyone in the room. No one said a thing but they were all pleading for him to stop making a scene. It wasn't good for anyone and Sirius knew there was no talking Dumbledore down from this decision. Chewing his lower lip, he couldn't help his eyes going back to Marlene. "Please don't leave me alone there-" was all he could mutter, mostly to the blonde witch.

It was then that Marlene smiled over at Sirius. "I wouldn't dream of it, Sirius." The female responded finally. Despite how much Sirius wanted to argue further, he didn't. As long as Marlene was with him and Harry was safe, that was all that really mattered.

[leahsfiction]

day 3 (= june 11)

(the last one?????)

there are glass spheres already filled with light, too - lumafly lanterns, but enormous! instead of two or three lumaflies, eight or nine or ten? the light reflecting off the white palace walls is so intense that they turn into painfully opaque white globes. they hang these globes from high up - storeys up - or place them on floor stands.

there are pale leaves on hanging vines too, like in the gardens, but there is no breeze.

the floors are gray and less smooth than carapace - stone, maybe? i was looking down and thinking about how strangely - flat - it was (though thankfully not slippery) when i felt something odd. there was no pool of darkness under my feet…

there were many sections where i had to find my way around seemingly impassable tangles of thorns and machinery. places to rest became fewer and further apart: repeat this sequence of four moves. now five. now six. hold them in your body's memory.

higher into the palace… i fly across silvery turrets, through a narrow dark gap in the vines, across a lake of clouds.

i pass a corpse in white armour, just like the first one i saw (how long ago now?). it doesn't have any dreams to give me. then i pass two more, four more, all slumped and cracked open.

this room is dark, so the lumaflies in my lantern begin to glow and move around in response. it's strange to be in darkness again after all that light. there are a few tiny lights hanging from the dome of the ceiling, and rotting tatters of cloth, but i still need my own lantern to see anything around me.

this room smells like… (bubbles of void silently floating up, only a few, but the rest of the palace had none, none at all)

anyway there is a huge dais and curving decorative spines and a throne. a slumped figure with a lot of spines on top and ragged (but still white) garments. perhaps they're too long, or its limbs are very short, because they're completely hidden by the trailing ends. its eyes are still open, with no black tears.

i cut into its thoughts and it says:

…No cost too great… …

that's all it'll say. i blast it with Shade Soul. bits of white shell break away and scatter on the dais. i don't have enough soul left so i hit it twice with my nail. more white shell comes off, and then it tumbles to the floor, its mask cracked in two places. it's a little more than half my height like this. the spines atop its head are pointing right at me. i crouch down a little and peer between them. it's just mask or shell in there, and it doesn't have anything to say at all.

among the fragments of white shell on the floor there is one piece that shines/smells/tastes of soul. i pick it up and

i'd thought the stag station was quiet and still, but now every tiny air-current tugs at my cloak and every cough from the old stag rattles my shell. i look at the Kingsoul in my lap.

holy. opens a birthplace.

i am so tired. i hold it and feel the soul swirling inside it, telling me to take from it, like a well with no end.

i haven't completed Hollow Knight ever, but i found my way into the White Palace yesterday (i did not get very far) and started writing down my thoughts and questions about the place. i think it'd be cool to see if my first impressions evolve over time...

white palace diary

day 1 (= june 7, 2022)

i am stupid and didn't fully realize that the rubble of the palace made up the background of the Palace Grounds screen. the curse of thinking in 2D…

(the rubble is all curving, rough triangular shapes, visually echoing the spines/teeth of the Wyrm shell and the pale curved spikes in the general Ancient Basin/Abyss environment. it doesn't particularly look like the remains of a constructed building but maybe that just speaks to how thorough the destruction was)

corpse in white armour + fragment of entrance becomes the outside of the palace (?) the guard is alive(?) again. hits hard, thick armour. is this all tucked away inside its dream? how can a corpse dream? well we have seen thoughts and regrets attached to corpses before, but nothing this elaborate

(details on the corpse: no face visible/armour cracked open, black innards? substance? leaking out. different from the courtiers on the right side with black "tears"?)

inside it's quiet and peaceful and yet eerie and hushed. in the way of dreams there isn't a floor, and left and right are sometimes blocked by clouds as well. if you go into the clouds you take damage rather than get ejected from the dream.

is this dream an attempt to preserve the White Palace - simply move your real estate to the realm of dream and memory! huge savings on maintenance costs - or a particular story about the Palace? if either of these are true, who is the intended visitor/audience?

elaborate rooms - rich folded cloths, delicately wrought furniture, everything monochrome

little round (artificial?) beings that look like smug little heads. break open but reform when struck.

the next checkpoint. it's a big room filled with those monochrome courtiers talking indistinctly to one another. disturbingly, they all genuflect as we walk past. is this because we have the King's Brand, or are we the King himself in this dream? have we - Ghost - been here before?

(this is the most "normal" "life" we've seen so far in the palace - are they preserved living people or simple simulacra?) (then again one view is that it doesn't matter; to them it is Reality (cf. Marrowcreek))

[little-red-and-his-wolves]

Honestly, I love your writing and I'd happily read any of it so I couldn't chose my favourite prompt, but if you could do: 4, 14, 23 or 26 with Sam Winchester and Stiles it would be awesome! Thank you so much for all of the writing you do!

Aw, thank you! When I was in my college prep program I had an SAT writing course where we were given probably 50-60 SAT words per week to define and every Friday we had to write a little short story using a certain number of words. This annoyed me and my response was to write stories using every single word which my teacher found quite amusing. I tried to do the same here and use all the prompts, but I only managed 14, 23, and 26. Oh well. 

Lemme just say, writing Stiles and Sam was fun as hell, and I can’t wait to get to the two of them in LRAHW. 

Also, for reference: 4. “We’re designed to be disposable.”14. “You’re supposed to talk me out of this.”23. “So much for not getting involved.”26. “I didn’t intend to kiss you.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re supposed totalk me out of this,” Sam said.

“On thecontrary,” Stiles replied dropping his own duffle on the table with a heavy thud.“I’m coming with you.”

Sam raised hiseyebrows, a faint look of surprise on his face as he said, “So much for notgetting involved.”

Stiles shruggedand pulled a machete from his bag inspecting the tip critically. “Well, I’vealways been a bit of a joiner,” he said with a grin.

Sam, unlikeDean would have, didn’t question him anymore after that. At least not untilthey’re crouched together outside the vampires’ lair. Stiles was only slightlydisappointed that it turned out to be an abandoned barn rather than a good oldfashioned cave like in Lost Boys.

“Why are youdoing this?”

Stiles blinkedturning to glance briefly at Sam. Apparently asking odd questions atinopportune moments was a family trait. “Is now really the time for thisconversation?”

“I just want toknow what you’re getting out of this.”

“Can’t I justbe helping out to be nice?” Stiles whispered back unwilling to get into hismotivation. Most of it was tied up in Dean which Stiles had a feeling Sam wouldunderstand on the surface, but it would probably only bring more questions onwhy Stiles felt like he owed the other man so much.

“In my experiencehunters generally aren’t that big on charity.”

“Good thing I’mnot a hunter then,” Stiles replied peering around the corner once more. Thecoast was still clear.

“Stiles,” Samsaid, and Stiles drew back leaning against the wall to leveling Sam with a consideringlook.

“Dean’s myfriend,” he said. “I don’t need another reason.”

Sam’s gaze wascalculating, that big brain of his Dean always talked about working to assessthe validity of Stiles’ words. It was a bit intimidating, reminded Stiles a bitof Derek and they way he just silently weighed and measured a person, buteventually Sam’s expression smoothed out.

“You know, Deantalks about you a lot.”

Stiles furrowedhis brows. “That’s nice,” he remarked not really understanding Sam’s point insaying so. Dean talked a lot in general so it wasn’t that surprising.

“He didn’t atfirst,” Sam continued. “Not until I met you in Nebraska.”

“What are youreally asking me, Sam?” Stiles said. “Because this is starting to sound likethe beginnings of a shovel talk and, if so, now really is not the time.”

Sam flushed abit and glanced away. “That’s not—”

The vampirereaching through the rotting wall to grab Sam cut the hunter off before Stileseven had the chance. He spent one second gaping at the empty spot where Samused to be before ducking into the barn. Inside was pure chaos. For such asmall coven they were putting up quite the fight. Unsurprising since they werefeeding regularly and probably quite old, according to Bobby anyway becauseStiles was no vampire expert. He had his hands full enough with werewolves.Thanks, but no thanks, universe, for the addition of vampires no matter howshort lived.

Stiles gaspedas he was tossed yet again into one of the support posts. He’d lost sight ofSam not long after coming inside; decided he had his hands full just withkeeping himself alive. He took out two on his own. Managed to roll the one likeDean had taught him, get the upper hand, and sever his spine before he reallyeven realized what Stiles was trying to do. The lady vamp proved a littleharder, pinning Stiles to the wall and hissing in his face like a deranged catbefore Stiles slammed a hand in the center of her chest, forcing her back witha pulse from his spark and slipping free from her hold. He ducked beneath herarm and lobbed her head off with a sickening crunch while she was still tryingto recover from the blow.

The thirdbarreled into him from behind, caught Stiles’ machete to his stomach whenStiles twisted as they fell to the ground. It didn’t do much harm to thevampire, obviously, which may have been his intention because it left Stilesbasically unarmed with his head ringing from the impact. Stiles reacted oninstinct reaching out to try and force the vampire’s head away. His fingersslipped through slick blood and the vampire was suddenly close. Far too close.

His sparkboiled beneath his skin, burning hot and fervent, but in the next second thevampire was gone. Wrenched away and taken care of with a frightening andsquelchy thud.

It took Stilesa moment to comprehend he wasn’t dead which was a thrilling realization. Samgrabbed his arms hauling him easily to his feet where he could fully survey theremains of the small but violent vampire clan that had been terrorizing thenearby towns for the past weeks. Sam was nearly as drenched in blood as Stiles,a thought that had his stomach rolling and head feeling faint.

“We’re notdead,” he said and Sam nodded something like concern playing across hisfeatures. “Thank fuck.”

That prompted astartled laugh from Sam, and Stiles had a fleeting thought that he had areally, really nice laugh before he was grabbing Sam’s coat and kissing him.

That prompted an adorable muffledprotest and Stiles eased back swallowing down what was probably hystericallaughter at how wide Sam’s eyes were while he gaped like a fish.

“Uh, Stiles,I’m not,” Sam started flushing and fumbling for words. “I just mean, there’snothing wrong with, I’m just, uh, I’m not gay.”

Stiles noddedsuddenly realizing he was still holding on to Sam’s coat and quickly lettinggo. “Yeah, no, I mean, I know. I didn’t intend to kiss you.”

“Right,” Samsaid with a sharp nod of his own.

“I just, I’mhappy were not, you know, dead or anything.”

“Right,” Samrepeated still beat red and Stiles couldn’t help but laugh. “Me too.”

Once they wereback at Bobby’s and Sam inevitably spilled the story under Dean’s glare, quiteimpressive in spite of the fact that he was still incapable of so much asstanding for more than a few minutes, Stiles laughed even harder at Sam’spanicked look of confusion in response to Dean’s cry of, “You’ve got to bekidding me. You kissed him too?”

Stiles’ replyof, “Don’t worry, Dean, you’re still special,” did little to help clarify.

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