#immortal therapist!reader

[dearest-painter]

Mabel almost out of breath: AND THAT'S ALL THE REASONS WHY YOU SHOULD LIVE IN THE SHACK WITH US AND GRUNKLE STAN FOREVER!! ☆(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*

Immortal therapist! reader clearly don't want to be in gravity Falls cause they know their ex Bill cipher will hunting them in their dream: Mabel,That's very kind of you but I'm pretty sure it's up to your grunkle to decide who lives in his house.

Mabel believes in the power of hugs, Stanley let immortal therapist! reader live in the shack

You know damn well Stanley looks at them is like “..get your ex to give me my brother back” as half a joke but they both know it’s serious. Immortal therapist!reader 100% prefers Ford over Bill because realistically, who wouldn’t? He’s actually better then Bill personality wise, sorta, depends on which traits we’re talking about but still!

[spookysteddie]

Cover Girl

modern!rockstar!Eddie Munson x Influencer!reader

cw: public nudity, topless photoshoot, album covers, implied smut at the end, pet names.

wc: 1.5k

A/N: I hope you enjoy this little one shot! The aesthetic for this is very much 'Ethel Cain' (sorry not sorry) and the 70s style wood paneling even though that has like very little to do with the fic? Anyway, I enjoyed writing this!!

...

You’ve done a lot of photoshoots in your life. Some for magazines, some for your social media, some for brands. So many that, at this point, you shouldn’t be this nervous. 

This photoshoot is different. 

This photoshoot is for Corroded Coffins album. The cover of the album to be exact, so you’re practically shitting yourself as your team finishes your makeup. Your team thought this would be an incredible opportunity and the rest of the band was more than excited. According to Eddie, it was their idea and they practically begged him to agree to it. 

“Are you excited?” Your hair stylist asks you and she fixes your hair. It’s supposed to be… effortlessly messy. There is a very high chance no one will even see your hair but better to be safe than sorry. 

You smile at her through the mirror, being careful not to disturb your makeup artist, “yes and no. We haven’t been together long so I’m just scared.” 

Which was true. 

You had this weird fear that if you and Eddie broke up during this albums era, it would be the end of your career. Your therapist, of course, reminded you how harmful that mindset could be. You agreed but it didn’t mean it didn’t chew at the back of your mind. The chances of that happening were extremely low, but there was still a chance. Then your voice is immortalized on his album along with your body and face on his album covers. 

Eddie, to his credit, had reassured you that he didn’t care. Well, not that he didn’t care, he cares about you and your feelings. But the point is that, in his own words, even if you two didn't work out, it would be a reminder of you and, allegedly, he wants to remember you for the rest of his life. It calmed your fears slightly. 

Your hairstylist finishes, spraying your hair with hairspray, “well, I think you’re the perfect fit for this cover. You are so beautiful that no one would ever regret putting you on their cover art.” 

You smile, your throat getting a little tight at her words. “Thank you. Means a lot.” 

… 

You’re in little more than a pair of blue jeans, inside a house that looks like it’s stuck in the 70s. You haven’t seen carpet like this in a very long time. It makes you laugh a little, remembering your best friends house, her parents refused to upgrade it even though they totally could’ve. 

You hold a rob to your chest, leaving your back exposed but keeping your chest covered for now. Eddie smiles when he sees you, “well don’t you look pretty.” 

You feel your face and body go warm, “you’re sweet.” 

He kisses your forehead, more than knowing that your makeup artist will beat his ass for ruining your lipstick. “I mean it.” 

You smile shyly, shaking your head a little. You know he means it but no man has ever made you feel as wanted and appreciated as Eddie does. He tells you how pretty you are at least three times a day and he always makes sure to kiss you goodnight. 

Needless to say, he was perfection in a human being. 

“How do you want me?” You look up at him with big eyes, eyes that make his cock twitch in his pants. He needs to give your hair and makeup team a very large bonus because you look ever more fuckable than you typically do. 

Eddie hands you his precious guitar, his baby. His hands shake slightly and you can tell he’s a little nervous of letting anyone but him handle this instrument. And he is nervous. This guitar has been with him through all the ups and downs of his life. 

From leaving Hawkins to signing his first record deal, that guitar has been there. It’s a reminder of where he’s been and where he’s going. Is it super easy to break guitars? No. If you happen to drop it the worst that might happen is a scratch, maybe a dent. 

But you knew better than that. You reach out, gripping the neck of the guitar tightly, Eddie also holding on. You drop the robe, previously agreeing to being topless but covered by the guitar. You put the strap over your shoulder, only letting the robe go when you have the guitar covering you. 

Eddie let's go and you can tell he’s trying really hard to not look at your chest, to not make you uncomfortable in front of everyone. You’re more than comfortable with your nudity, especially around Eddie, but you appreciate the respect. 

You grin up at him, “again, how do you want me?” You bat your lashes at him as you ask. 

He takes a shuddering breath, “we-we were thinking of having you lay down, knees under you with the guitar covering your c-chest.” Eddie swallows, letting his eyes dip to your chest for only a moment before meeting your eyes again. 

You lean up, kissing him sweetly, “absolutely baby.” 

You head to the middle of the room, being careful not to flash everyone as you get to your knees. “Should we start with a few of me just on my knees?” You give Eddie big bedroom eyes as you ask. 

He shifts foot to foot before the photographer answers, “actually that might be a good idea! Give us some options just in case.” 

You smile and pose, making sure the guitar is covering your tits correctly. The camera flashes and you blink a little, trying to wipe away the new, green specks in front of your face. But you pull it together, moving and posing in all the ways you could. 

“Okay, now lay back and keep your legs under you.” 

You lay back, settling yourself on the scratchy carpet and letting your hair lay around you like a halo. You let your hand curl around the neck and the other resting on the body. The strap covers your breast, the body covering the other one. 

If you asked Eddie, you looked like a fucking angel. Like a little rock goddess. Eddie hasn’t ever felt this way about anyone ever. He think you’re the most beautiful woman to ever exist, not to mention so fucking kind to every single person you ever come in contact with. Eddie wishes he could be more like you in that sense. 

Isn’t there a saying that's like ‘opposites attract’? That’s what you and Eddie are, opposites, but it works more than he wanted to admit. Sure, deep down he has this horrible fear he’s going to fuck it up. He knows he probably should give you more credit than he is, but he’s terrified that one wrong move and that is it. It’s how it usually went with the girls he dates. 

But he knew you weren’t usual. In the good way of course. Eddie doesn’t really know why he knows, but he does. He knows the feelings he has for you run deep and ever since the string theory got brought up, he’s been feeling the tug more. It’s an emotion he doesn’t want to (and can’t) name. Eddie feels it’s just slightly too early and again he doesn’t want to scare you. 

The photographer snaps photos of you from all angles, making sure to give the guys and Eddie plenty of options for the cover. They’d wanted the album cover to be simple and had confessed to Eddie that they thought you’d be perfect. They may or may not have confessed that they enjoy having you around and that they think you’re good for Eddie. 

“Okay! We’re done! Great job Miss. Asher, you were beautiful as ever.” Eddie watches you smile, gripping the neck of the guitar so you don’t somehow drop it. 

Eddie puts you out of your misery, handing you your robe and covering you so you can take the guitar off and slip the robe on. Once it’s settled around your shoulders he kisses the side of your head.

…

The photos and mock up of the cover come back a few weeks later. They’d all chosen the one of you on the floor, back arched slightly and not looking at the camera. You don’t know what filters they used but the photo looks old school. It looks like they took it on a disposable camera and you couldn’t love it anymore. 

Eddie’s eyes get wide when he sees the finished product. 

“God… this is so perfect.” He whispers it and you know he didn’t mean for you to hear it. But it’s sweet regardless. 

You zoom in just a little, “god this is such a vibe and I am obsessed.” 

He looks over, a big, beautiful grin on his face, “I’m glad you like it too. And um… thank you for all your help with this album.” 

You smile softly, kissing him, “of course. Thank you for letting me be a part of it.” 

He kisses you deeply, laying you back on the bed. 

“Let me really thank you, yeah?” 

You swallow, nodding, “I would love that. Always love the way you thank me.” 

Eddie smirks, ducking below the covers and worshiping you till you can’t take it anymore. 

[fandoms--fluff]

Family Therapist

Female vampire reader x Elijah Mikaelson

Summary: Elijah is your husband and you've been basically the family therapist. Well, one night you both became one for his little brother.

Warnings: mentions of death I think?, mentions of ghosts,

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

Elijah and you have been married for well over 400 years and over time you have gotten used to the family's drama and dynamic.

There have been many times when you acted as the family therapist, and let's not kid ourselves, you still are. Just somehow in weirder ways than some may think.

(But let's also be real, you still have to lecture Klaus out of daggering any of his siblings or hurting them 'just because', being the only one who he actually listens to, which is a miracle by itself.)

A great example is what just happened one night.

Surprising enough, this is the first time you've ever been in a situation like this. It's definitely not the worst or anything of it, but this was very different to say the least.

You were sound asleep in your husband's arms until you hear the door to your guys' room slam open. Both of you separate in alert, but the only danger there is, is the body that crashed between the both of you.

"What the?" You said sleepily and reached over to turn the lamp on.

Once the light lit the room in a yellow glow, you both look at the visitor in your bed.

"Kol? What are you doing?" Elijah asks, surprised that his younger brother is there, without acknowledging one of you.

"Oh you know, just missed my older brother and his wife" his voice was muffled by the pillow he pressed his face in to.

"Uh huh, and how does that explain you gripping onto the blanket for dear life?" You raised your eyebrow at the youngest brother.

"Because it's soft?" He asked unsure, rather than answering you.

"What happened?" You kept your eyebrow raised at the immortal teenager, no way for him to get himself out of this conversation now. Elijah saw that look on your face, knowing, now you won't budge until you get the truth out of Kol.

Kol looked up at you, letting out a huff, seeing no way of getting out of this. At least this is better than Nik, he'd just throw him in a box, he thought.

"I swear I saw someone move in my room, but I couldn't find anything, so I came in here to make sure if the ghost comes back there'll be alibis" he rapidly said, and hid his face back into the pillow, feeling his cheeks starting to turn red.

You and Elijah shared a look of concern before your husband placed a hand on Kol's back. "Kol, you don't have to be embarrassed about that, considering your experience with ghosts in the past, you have a right to react the way you did," he told him.

"Lijah's right, we would never judge you about that. So what if you're a bit wary about ghosts, it's normal, a lot of people are" you added.

Kol's breath hitched before speaking, "Really?" He looked up at both of you.

"Of course" You and Elijah nodded.

He smiled softly before a cheeky grin appeared on his face. "Just so you know, I'm not leaving. And if that ghost takes me, I'd rather have my final moments with you guys over Nik, who would most likely yell at me."

He laid his head back down on the pillow and closed his eyes, knowing that he was laying between you guys. "I know you guys probably want to be laying together and be all cute and couply, but I don't want to think about you two doing anything over pg-13. My poor innocence couldn't handle it" he said and let out an 'oof' when you smacked him with a pillow for the comment.

"Have you ever even been innocent?" You asked and looked at Elijah with amused eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like a tired father that just had to put up with his child. Honestly, he just did, considering what Kol had just said and he can sadly be even more immature.

"Of course I have...like that time...okay maybe when I was human, but that still counts" he mumbles and sticks his tongue out at you. And he hates it when you call him a child? Really?

[asherthehimbo]

Outliving the stars | Choi San

synopsis: You've always felt a part of you was missing, the desire for something greater only being lessened when you were gazing at the stars. You know you lost something, someone, you just dont remember what, who. Maybe the astrology major your friend sent you on a blind date with has the answers.

Pairing: Choi San x Male!reader

Info: one shot, words(2.1K),

Trope: reincarnation, Immortal x mortal, hurt/comfort

Warnings: mentions of nightmares, anxiety, topic of death, suggestive jokes, it's said they have sex but no actual smut, injuries, birthmarks shaped like scars, insecurity, self scrutinizing, social anxiety, overthinking, talks of past lives

Song inspo: Burn out the stars - Bryce savage

It was at times like these that you wished you could punch your best friend. Wooyoung was sweet, but you swear he had it out for you, sending you out on a blind date with nothing but a first name. Now you were standing at the planetarium entrance like an idiot waiting for someone you didn't even know.

Wooyoung had pesterd you for three weeks until you finally gave in. He kept trying to set you up with one of his classmates, and you were too tired to register what you were agreeing to. "Come on [Name], you can't keep being hung up on some mystery guy from your dreams. San, on the other hand is perfect, broad shoulders, an astrology major, rich, handsome face, smooth voice and he's kind" Wooyoung rambled on as you were sitting in your dorm, trying to finish the economics paper you had that was due on Friday.

"Do you want me to go out with this guy, or do you want to do so yourself?" You asked him, only receiving a pillow to your face as a response. Sighing, you looked at Wooyoung, who was taking up your entire bed. "If I go on this date, would you let me finish my paper in silence?"

Wooyoung immediately jumped up from the bed. "YES, OKAY YAY!I'm gonna go tell San you agreed! Oh! This is gonna be so much fun! SATURDAY 1PM SHARP, " Wooyoung shouted while jumping around before sharply turning on his heel to sprint out of the room, leaving with a shout of "WEAR THOSE CUTE JEANS I BOUGHT YOU!"

You only sighed, turning back to your paper and relishing in the silence.

You did, in fact, end up wearing the jeans he bought you, black baggy jeans with white stars splattered on them, matched with your red converse, and a red hoodie.

You did not want to be here, it was cold, people were staring (probably because of the scar on your face, a voice in your head told you, you ignored it) and you were craving a strawberry refresher. You guess arriving an hour early wasn't the best course of action, but you were up early, not being able to sleep the night before.

Dreams of your faceless lover had once again plagued your mind. It had been a common occurrence ever since you turned 10. You would be cuddled up in the arms of a man you could not remember, but you knew him. In a soft grass field he would be holding you tightly, you would both be watching the stars, you listening as he points out different constellations, these dreams were safe, they made you feel at ease.

But all too often, these dreams would evolve into nightmares, the same 7 scenes playing out. Your therapist had said it must have been a physiological way to deal with your own insecurities. The birthmarks that littered your skin had always looked like scars. You remember talking to her when you were 12. She said it was your brain trying to justify the marks, trying to create a story for them.

You believed her. After all, she knew better, but these dreams just felt so real, so vivid. You would hear your own heartbeat slow down and hear the cries of your mystery lover as he holds onto you. You could feel the tears dripping from his face onto yours. No matter what turn these nightmares had, they always ended with you dying in his arms.

You guess Wooyoung had been right in his concern, as your best friend he knew first hand the effect these dreams had on you. The nights you wake up gasping for air, vomiting out your dinner, clawing at your neck because something in your throat is burning. The times you're awake while your consciousness is still trapped in whatever nightmare you were experiencing. He had been there since the age of 10, he had been there.

You rubbed together the two sleeves of your hoodie, starting to feel more uncomfortable as time passed by. People were walking past, laughing, and giggling at one another. You wondered what was so funny, what were they all laughing at? Were they laughing at you? no, you didn't do anything funny, did you? oh, it's your face, right? Your face is funny, it's ugly, creepy, the scar covering your eye, one you did not deserve. A mutated freak born with scars that were not earned a fake, a- "[Name]?" A hand on your shoulder disrupts your anxiety fueled thoughts.

You turn around to find a black haired man, he's a little shorter than you, although his shoulders are broad. Jawline sharp, eyes as soft as a warm blanket on a winter's night, despite the intimidating structure of the man, his eyes, his smile, his dimples, he seems inviting, familiar almost.

He stands smiling at you, the arm he used to grab your attention is hovering awkwardly in the air, his cheeks are flushed, a pink matching one of the familiar drinks in his hand. "Umm, I'm San? your date. " he seems unsure of himself, but you find it cute, having to suppress a giggle so as to not make him feel bad.

You give him a small smile as you mentally thank Wooyoung for choosing someone good looking,"Nice to meet you, San." You nod your head at him as you shift your weight between your feet. You're being so awkward right now, but something tells you that San doesn't mind.

Despite your lack of social skills, the interaction itself does not seem awkward. Although you can feel something straining it, you brush it off to first date jitters. "Oh!um I also got us some drinks, Wooyoung said you liked strawberry refreshes, although I don't know if he was messing with me. He has a tendency to do that lately, but um drink?" San asks as he lifts up the hand, holding two drinks questioningly. His shoulders seem to tense as he awaits your reaction.

"Woo didn't lie, I do like Strawberry refreshers, thank you" you nod your head at him, his shoulders relax as he lets out a breath of relief, he picks up the pink drink from the holder in his hand and gives it to you. Your fingers touch for a moment as you take the drink from him and you jump back a little, San doesn't seem all that surprised, but he chuckles "Static electricity's a bitch, huh?"

You don't think that's how it works, but you laugh along nonetheless. It's weird as you walk with San into the planetarium. You don't like new people, don't feel comfortable around them, yet with San, it's different. You feel safe with him. He feels so familiar.

You spend the day following San around the planetarium, he excitedly points out constellations, and you swear the fake stars above your head shine dimmer than the light in Sans eyes. Somewhere along the line, your hand had been intertwined with his, as a precaution to not lose one another, you told yourself.

The date ends when the sky outside matches the one in the planetarium, a dark purple background with little specks of light twinkling above you both. The date lasted the whole day and you were having so much fun you didn't even realize, Wooyoungs gonna kill you for not telling him how everything went immediately but you can't find it in yourself to care about the headache your best friend will inevitably give you tomorrow morning.

That night, you sit on your bed, smiling down at the goodnight text from San, despite him having wished you a goodnight merely a few hours before when he walked you to your dorm. That night is the first night you sleep peacefully, no dreams of your mystery lover, no dieing, no waking up in a cold sweat despite it being winter. Nothing

Instead that night you sleep, cuddled up with the tiny red star plushie that San won for you at one of the planetarium games, you named her 'astéri' the greek word for star. Also, the exact name you put as your contact for the man who won her for you.

Your relationship with San had been a fast development, one date, then two, then you start eating lunch together, he starts walking you to classes, he joins your friends and you on movie nights, he plays games with Yunho. San becomes a part of your life faster than you can imagine, and you don't even care.

It's on your hundred day anniversary, a hundred days of dates and hangouts, and obviously being together despite no official title, that San officially asks you to be his boyfriend.

It's an emotional ordeal. He made a picnic in his backyard, creating a fort where you could both lay down and watch the stars on the soft grass. It's summer now, much hotter than when you first met, you wear a red tank top. San has expressed his love for your collarbones before, and thinking back to the moment makes you blush.

He was a bit tipsy when he blurted it out, face flushed pink given the alcohol of the drinking game he had played with your friends earlier, the room was hot, filled with college boys and liquor, so of course you took off your jacket, San had started cheering, then giggling, talking about how much he liked your neck, your collarbones. You don't know if he remembers this moment, you hope he doesn't, it would save you the embarrassment.

San presents you with a necklace on the night of his confession, a black leather strap threaded through a red star that's rimmed with silver. On the back of the necklace, the name 'astéri' is carved, under it lies numbers which look like coordinates. You don't ask.

San slips the necklace around your neck, fingers trailing dangerously slow along your shoulders. You were scared at first, you liked San, loved him, as much as you trusted him, you were scared of what his reaction would be.

He may have seen you in strappy clothing before, but he's never seen the extent to which your birthmarks your scars cover your body. The worst of them were located on your waist.

Despite your hesitance, the way San looks at you after you agree to be his, after you agree to let him be yours, it makes you want to kiss him, let him embrace every part of you and let you do the same to him.

He looks at you like you yourself were the star and who were you to deny a mortal access to a celestial entity?

That night, you learn the true extent of San's love for you, the way he trails his fingers overy every inch of your skin, extra soft kisses placed on the marks littering your body, he's gentle almost as if he knows the phantom pains they bring you, despite you never having told him.

That night you and San become, you and San, under the stars. On the soft blanket he laid out in his backyard as the warm wind of summer nips at your exposed skin.

It's when you're lying down, breathless, in between San's arms that he starts talking, answering your question from earlier that night. The numbers on the back of the necklace, the coordinates, are of a star San bought in your name. He literally bought you a star and named it 'astéri'.

"You deserve the whole galaxy, and yet I do not have the power to retrieve it for you. This way, you can have a piece of the outer world, and it can have a piece of you"

You don't think you've ever felt so loved in your life. You had fallen for San so quickly, so hard. It's hard to imagine a time when he wasn't in your life, despite the fact that you hadn't known him long, everything with him just felt so right.

You were sure you were meant to be with San in every lifetime, meant to spend every moment of your life with him. When you told him this, it had been the first time you ever saw him cry, genuinely cry. It was as if your words affected him more than you knew. You're sure they did.

That's one thing you never did understand about San, he has told you everything about himself, but you still felt as if something was missing, a piece of information locked away, it was like he was guarding it, scared you would find out. He thought he hid it well, but you prided yourself on knowing people, knowing your boyfriend. You trusted him. He would tell you when he was ready.

You and San would watch the stars burn out together, watch the world fall in each others arms, protected by a love so pure that the only thing left in the universe would be you and San

Taglist: @xavi-in-kpopland @itsvxlentine @liyatime @hetalia-pol @mommahwa1117

Home page | Ateez masterlist

[midnightsunnyday]

With Good Intentions (Chapter Three) ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

(Chapter One) (Chapter Two) Masterlist A03

➥pairings: MC & Everyone, MC/Everyone ➥content warnings: Not Beta Read, We Cook Our Stories Like Solomon, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Some Humor, Explicit Language, Not Canon Compliant, Though Sometimes It Is, Fighting, Family Drama, Family Bonding, Emotional Manipulation, Reader-Insert, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Lesson 016 Spoilers, Post Lesson 016, Other Additional Tags To Be Added. ➥summary: after the events of chapter 16, MC learns three important lessons: one, that Diavolo is an asshole. Two, as it turns out, being immortal doesn't make you smarter, wiser, or mature, it just gives you a thousand more chances to be a fuck up and not learn and damn thing from it. And three, that there are no therapists in hell. Though they could really all use one. Or in which MC suffers an existential breakdown and Diavolo and the brothers learn that maybe throwing a party wasn't the best response to someone dying. ➥A/N: hello everyone, it's good to see you again. I hope everyone is doing well and whether you're a return reader or just getting started, thank you for your interest in my story. Work has been kicking my ass, but still we persevere! Anyway, until next time, take care and enjoy this very long chapter.

He could tell his brothers grew tired of it. That whenever the topic of their sister was brought up, Belphegor always felt an underlining exasperation, as if they’d all been over the subject for some time and were only waiting for him to do the same, as if she were nothing more than a ghost who’d overstayed her welcome in the rebuilding of their lives.

Or maybe they were just tired of him. Tired of his whining about her. Tired of his disgust for Diavolo’s ideals. Tired of his hatred of all things human. He barely smiled, barely ate, and slept for most of the day. He wasn’t the “sweet, innocent Belphie” they knew and loved. The one who found wonder in everything around him and whose laugh, though rare now, lit entire rooms. No, something within Belphegor was broken and they’d have to accept that it would never be whole again. Not without Lilith.

But who said death was pleasant? That it was something one should simply get over? Loss never leaves one gentle. It doesn’t decide to remove itself after a month, a year, or centuries after. It stays with you, becoming part of you. Some days it gives you the illusion of respite and on those days you go through life barely noticing the quiet, emptiness of it all.

Yet on other days, it breaks you, leaves you shaking and crying, wishing for your thoughts to cease so you can finally be “normal” again. Grief, also like loss, never comes when the moment is decent, does not give you warning. Grief strikes when it chooses to, replaying the moment of your loss ad nauseam, until the whole of you becomes nothing but a shell of memories, wading away to the tides of time.

Most days Belphegor remembered Lilith. Sometimes it seemed he was the only one who did. He remembered her in lunchrooms when the desserts were particularly sweet. He remembered her in corridors, the kind they’d both raced down as fast as they could. He remembered her in dreams, luring him into the forests they used to play in, with trees as high as the sky and where the wind swept through and made waves of shimmering sunshine. In the distance would be Lilith, the years waning upon her memory, yet she waved as she always did, an insult to every petal, every ray of sun. He would run to her, feel the tears wetting his cheeks, his tongue tripping over her name over and over again: Lilith. Lilith. I’m here. Please.

He remembered blood. Too much of it. The kind that no matter how much you scrubbed yourself raw, the stench would remain clung to you like death. The fall was not a pleasant one; they did not streak across the skies like beautiful jewels, they were burning, dying. The landing nearly killed them, sent the earth running each and which way in disgust of them.

How through it all even the Father, no matter how hard they prayed, was always silent. Maybe he too, saw what was to become of them, and closed his heart and ears to it. It was easier, at least for Belphegor, to believe that he’d simply abandoned them, rather than knowingly allow the pain that would scar them for centuries to come.

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

The Celestial Realm had no seasons, but on days when the light was mild and winds smooth for flight, Belphegor and Lilith would sneak amongst the forests, finding shelter under the tall, dense trees. For Raphael, who’d come to search for them in time, the siblings were abandoning their duties, but for Belphegor and Lilith, it was simply a break, albeit a long one.

“Oh, Belphie, he’s simply divine."

Divine. An odd choice of words for a mortal, yet Lilith thought otherwise, not that Belphegor knew enough to object. After all, he’d just learned of the man’s existence a few moons ago, and what he knew was only through her words of him. He wasn’t rich by any means. His family tended animals and sold what they could in the town market. There was a time when the family lived well, but some of the animals were stricken with disease or killed by wolves, and they suffered greatly for it. Even so, this man had “a spirit worth more than all the wealth in the world,” she exclaimed. That despite his awful predicament, he made a way for his family, taking on various forms of labor to keep them fed.

"He's very skilled with his hands." Lilith winked, to which Belphegor pretended to gag. Relations between humans and angels were not unheard of, but ones with the image of his sister he'd rather scrub from memory.

In any case, this man could "literally do anything" and Belphegor sat in awe of this. If all this were true, then Lilith found someone beyond any human he could think of.

Belphegor watched as she twirled about, nearly skipping in her joy, her long hair unfretted and chasing the wind. She was led by a tune only she could hear, her dress gathering at the thick of her sun-kissed legs.

“He’s so polite, a true gentleman,” said Lilith. “He picks me flowers, opens doors, and by Father is he handsome.” She sighed lovingly and clasped her hands against her flushing cheeks. “He could give Lucifer a run for his money, you know?

Belphegor snorted. "A man as beautiful as Lucifer is surely a sight to behold."

"It's true, you know," she said, ignoring his skepticism. "That and he’s strong. Can tend a whole field before sundown without breaking a sweat. Why, I saw him raise two goats on each shoulder and…”

Belphegor rolled his eyes. Though he had no reason to doubt her, his sister found ways to bolster the human past the point of believability, at times. Extravagant. Amazing. Beguiling. Was it even possible that so many adjectives could describe one person? Yet Lilith went on, singing the praises of this fabled man she’d found such importance in.

“He’s just so…so…you understand, don’t you Belphie? How interesting and unique they can be?”

He did. Belphegor loved humans. He found them special, more than most creatures. It was their mundane everyday ways. It was the way they sought purpose from them. It was how they loved and celebrated and burned away life until none was left. Compared to angels, who were created and bound to fates unchanging, mortals were born with the blessing of choice, and it fascinated Belphegor what they did with it. So he watched and soon enough, went to gather in their joy. However, it wasn’t long until his curiosity prompted Lilith’s own, and the young angel began to visit the human realm of her own volition.

While Belphegor didn't fully understand his sister’s ways, he couldn’t help but be drawn into her joy. She’d been struck by Cupid’s arrow, trapped in an endless spring. It’d been beautiful to witness, and while such things didn’t strike him as important before, Belphegor couldn’t help but think of his love, whenever or wherever that might be.

“Belphie, are you even listening to me?”

“Hmm?” He said, led from his thoughts. “What was that?”

“I said Lucifer plans to meet him.”

Belphegor shrugged. “Well, so much for that.”

“I’m serious, Belphie!” She stamped her foot, pouting. “You know how big brother is.”

“Maybe he’ll like him,” Belphegor assured, swallowing his lie. Lucifer wasn’t the best at being impartial, especially when it came to Lilith. She was the youngest, barely new to the world, and he’d sooner have her wrapped up and tucked away than allow any harm to come to her. This man she’d found, without his or any of her sibling's knowledge, was an anomaly, a blind spot in Lucifer’s ever-watchful eye.

“Honestly, he’s always so worried. I told him there was no need, but he insisted.” Lilith’s face fell, eyes widening to some unfounded fate. “What if he doesn’t like him? What if he forbids me from seeing him? Tries to lock me away, key and all? Then what am I to do? I’d have to change my name, hide amongst the humans. We’d be outlaws. Fugitives!"

“Lilly!” Belphegor laughed. She always had a flare for the dramatics. “It’s ok. Lucifer is strict, but I’m sure he’ll come to see him as you do.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I’m sure of it…probably.”

“Oh, you!” she swatted at the air between them. “But you know, maybe you’re right. After all, Lucifer would never do anything to upset me, considering I’m his favorite and all,” she said in a snobbish tone. Lucifer spoiled her. They all spoiled her, really, and it seemed to be rubbing off.

But there was one question Belphegor failed to ask. The most important of them all. “Does he have a name?”

Lilith smiled. “Of course he does, silly. H̵̸̷̶̸̨̡̘̯͇̾̀͋̓̍i̶̴̷̶̷̥̠̬̖͖̋͐̄̎͆s̵̶̷̵̵̢͈̟͕̝̊̌̅̾͒ ̷̵̶̸̵̱͕̦͕͕͑̓̀̍͠n̴̸̸̴̶͈͍͍̯̳̎͛͂̄̏à̵̷̷̷̴͚̟͈̲̃̑̍̾͜m̷̵̵̶̷͉̗̜̗̻̓̀̽̀͝e̴̶̸̷̵͔̻̜̳̣̽̃̋͑͠ ̴̷̵̶̸̧̰̲͙̺̀̃̐͗͑i̶̷̴̷̴͎̪̳̫̬̔́͐̈́͝ş̵̴̴̶̵̠͕̰͕͗̅̅͋̕…̴̷̸̶̵̯͚̲̯̺͐͌̑̔͠

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“Lucifer! Please, tell them. Tell them they can’t do this!”

Belphegor turned to his brother, who looked as if the world was ending and there was no way to prevent it.

The Father spoke through Michael: Lilith had committed the unpardonable sin, one in which there was no forgiveness. She would be wiped from the face of existence, never to be a part of the cycle of creation again. All this for stealing a fruit, though it was said a simple apple led to Eve’s downfall; what difference would there be for his sister?

Belphegor dug his nails into his palms, neck burning with heat. The Father had refused them council, choosing to lay His judgment through the only other angel he abused more than Lucifer. Did He truly not care for them? Was fighting His battles and upholding His will all they were good for?

“The Father’s word is final,” Michael’s voice was calm, yet short. “Lucifer knows this as well as I do.”

“So you expect us to stand aside and allow our sister to face a fate so cruel?”

“Belphie, please,” Lilith cried, shaking. “It does not matter my end—“

“—But it does matter. You matter.” Belphegor pointed at her with angered assertion. “Not some mortal who was fated to die sooner than you are to blink.”

“Our brother is right, Lilith.” Leviathan shook his head as if trying to unravel what was happening. “Your actions…they make no sense.”

“No,” Lilith spoke, “what makes no sense is a Father who would sit and watch while death and sickness run rampant throughout his creation while having the power to prevent it.”

“How dare she’s” and “heresies” spiraled into the air, forming a tornado of indignation that grew louder and more violent with the need for retribution. Belphegor sneered at the angels who formed a ring of judgment around his sister. It was hard to believe that at one time any of them could be called his brothers and sisters.

“Enough.” It was Raphael, who, unlike Michael, held little reservations in his approach to an otherwise dire situation. “You stand amongst the divine court. Your blasphemy will not be tolerated.”

“Ah, can it,” yelled out Mammon. Someone gasped from the crowd. “You threaten the life of our sister. You better believe we’re gonna cause more than just a ruckus.”

Belphegor looked to Lilith, his eyes imploring her, though there was no answer she could give that would make any sense to him. “Even if he didn’t die today,” he said, “he would’ve died regardless. What then? Why risk your eternity for something so finite?”

Lilith parted her lips as if to form some half-uttered verb. Then she began again, though her mouth did not quiver. She stilled her face, hardened her lips, and spoke her words simply, “For the life of the one I love, I would do anything.”

Belphegor winced, his sister’s words a slap in the face. He would be angry if only there wasn’t so much to go around. What about their love? As if theirs hadn’t outlived kingdoms for her. What love could a being of such little potential possibly give?

It was Beelzebub’s turn to speak, pain shaking his voice. “But…what about us? How could you be so willing to leave us here to grieve you?”

Lilith was quiet, her face turned to some far, distant place. Belphegor wanted to shake her, to wake her from this eternal dream of love that did nothing but harm her.

“There has to be something we can do,” Asmodeus spoke, looking desperately at Michael. “It can’t end like this.”

“And just what do you plan to do to avoid her judgment?” Raphael’s eyebrow rose with his question. “Are any of you willing to take her place?”

They all looked at each other. Not in fear of Raphael’s words, but because neither of them could see themselves as the Father’s children, the remains of their allegiance shattered and pooled in the pit of their stomachs. In the end, what they gained for their loyalty was death, but they would not go without a fight. Finally, Lucifer stepped forward. It was clear to Belphegor that something inside his brother shattered, too. Not broken, but free.

“If the father’s word is law,” he said, “then maybe such laws should be challenged.”

“Be mindful of your next words, brother.” Michael stood with all the caution of a vigilant lion. “Think of the lives of your siblings. Of what you’re sacrificing.”

Lucifer stood, clearly battling himself. Belphegor only wished to know what his brother and Michael were thinking then. Both were close, so much so that they could be mistaken for twins. Maybe they both wanted to see something in the other that was no longer there. By then, Belphegor and his brothers gathered beside the morning star, unwavering. It was clear where their loyalties lay and always would.

As if in understanding, Michael sighed, and drew his blade as if the entire issue were a mere inconvenience. “Don’t make us do this, Lucifer.” Raphael, however, had already summoned his spears.

“You all still have the chance to repent in front of the Father. This will not go without punishment, however.”

“And Lilith?” Asmodeus said, his voice almost hopeful.

“She will leave this plane in peace.”

The once favored son of morning yanked his blade from his sheath and with it t̸̵̵̵̵͙̼̫̗̥̉́̇̈́̈́h̸̶̸̴̴͚͖̥̗̖̊̾̄̒̕e̶̶̸̸̸̻͈͍̗̱͒̆͊̋̒ ̸̵̶̵̵̜̥̭͎̝̑̓̓̀̾h̷̸̶̴̸͓̠͙̹̤͌̄̈́̂̚ḙ̷̸̷̷̸̢̯͖̄̂͂̾̾͜ȧ̴̶̷̴̷̩̯͓̤͋̄͊̍͜v̶̷̸̶̷̧͙̺͇͔̓̇̽̆̔e̴̴̸̴̶̢̖͍̰̫͊̍̔̉̉ņ̶̶̷̴̵̻̣̹͗͊̉͆̎ͅs̴̵̴̵̴̝̻͚̟̖̆́̇̇͠ ̶̸̵̸̶̨̩̞̗̖͒̊̀́̓c̸̴̶̶̶̬̼͎̱͔̈́̏̑͂̑r̶̷̷̴̵̯͚̫͕̳̓̽͂͐͝ĩ̶̶̸̶̷̺̙̠̰͖̏́͆͘e̸̴̸̵̷̹̰͉̫̠̓͌̆̃͂d̸̴̶̶̵̨̻͉̮͕́̈́̈̽̈́.̷̷̵̸̴͓̱̲̘͖̑̓͒̾̕ ̴̸̸̷̴̙̬͉̱͗̉͂̀͂ͅ

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Not once had Belphegor known the smell of blood until that day. It ranked of rusted metal, and it took all within him not to vomit in the middle of battle. An angel he once played with amongst the lilacs of the Celestial Garden fell limp, a sword thrust through his chest. Mammon had done so without hesitation and proceeded to chop the head of another, his strokes quick like thunder strikes.

A scream, this time from his right. It was Beel caked in a thick carnage of blood and feathers. He’d torn through their attempt at a flank, their weapons barely grazing him as he ripped wings from flesh, bodies spiraling towards the earth.

“Look out!” Asmodeus yelled, his shield snapping against metal. Belphegor leaped to the side, a beam of light zipping downward where his body would’ve been, leaving a hole of ozone in its wake. Belphegor raised his bow in return, his arm unsteady. Shakily, he aimed, barely managing to wound the angel who’d gunned for his head.

The realm was drowned in chaos. A frenzy of limbs and wings dancing to the tune of annihilation. He’d only seen Lucifer once, his body burning white as he bathed the battlefield with righteous fury, sending angel after angel toward their doom. Belphegor had only heard stories of Leviathan’s skills in battle; it was another thing to see him flay a throne alive.

“Lilith,” he heard Mammon cry.

“I’m ok,” she called back. A twang of metal after. “Just focus on yourself.”

So many voices, Belphegor thought. It was hard to keep his bearings. He was nowhere near a child of war. He’d never honed a weapon or raised it against another. His purpose was that of a virtue, to spread the word that with faith and hard work, one would gain ever closer to what was promised. But his life had been so easily tossed aside, his diligence made nothing. And now that one was threatened and the other gone, what then would become of him? Of his brothers? For a moment, he stilled, unable to focus on the battle at hand. It was as if all the air had left him, his breaths jagged and choking.

“Belphie!” Beelzebub’s voice rumbled. Belphegor squinted his eyes toward the sky. It was hard to make them out at first, little glints of sunshine that they were, yet as they drew closer, Belphegor saw the sharpened hatred of a thousand arrows bearing down towards him. He turned.

“Lilith,” Belphegor wailed. She’d been near him, maybe trying to call out to him, for that he’d never know. By then the first arrow struck her wing, then another, piercing through her flesh as her body flailed unnaturally. Beelzebub leaped towards him, tucking him deep into his grasp as they fell downward.

From above them rang a cry so loud that it shattered the noise. Lucifer broke through the sky like a roaring flame, barreling downward towards his sister. It was then Mammon who fell after him, then Leviathan, then finally, Asmodeus. Belphegor’s ears filled with a humming static, the world becoming focused and pin-like. He willed his head to gaze at Lilith. She hurdled downward, specks of ash trailing the air as her wings caught flame. With arm outstretched, he reached for her, ţ̴̶̸̷̶̨̛̠̖̤̈́̔̋̌ḫ̸̷̶̴̵̬͉̞̗͑͋̈́̅͝e̵̶̵̷̷̼̮̝̿̀͑̓͗͜͜ ̶̶̶̶̴͓̘͓͎̼̾̋͒̏͝w̸̸̴̷̵̨͈̼̯̞̉̆͆̒̌ơ̶̵̸̷̶͖̠̬͈̻̈́̓̎̽r̴̸̸̴̵͕̘͚̬̩̾̍̑͒̕l̷̵̷̶̸͕̱̜̯̙̑̈̂̎͠d̵̴̶̶̷̡̰̼͇̊̑́̒̾͜ ̵̸̶̷̸̳͙̭̱̂̍͋̓͘͜f̵̶̶̸̷̙̪̘̟̙̊̽͂̾̕ǎ̵̴̸̴̶̪̰̣̳̫̌̓͛̚d̸̶̸̴̴̻̪̘͇̻̒̅͆̀͛ḯ̷̶̴̴̵͙͇̞̲̜̽̈́͆̔n̶̶̴̵̶͇̲̭̰̻̍̾̑͂͘ǧ̷̶̷̶̶̡̺̪̻̦̃̃͌͝ ̶̵̶̶̴͇̗̠͉̣̍̀̆̂̐

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“What?”

"̸͓͛W̴̻̒ẖ̵͝a̴̖̓t̴͔͝?̸̢̓"̵̢̒ 

“Come again?”

“I said have you calmed down yet?”

Calmed down. As if he were a child who’d thrown a tantrum and was placed in time-out.

“What do you mean?” Belphegor gazed at Lucifer through hair-draped eyes, annoyed at being interrupted by what would’ve been a critical moment of his performance. He’d begun talking to himself. Wasn’t sure when it started, yet if only to break the monotony of his current tenure. In his mind, Belphegor was the sole performer on a brightly lit stage. In front of him, his audience, cheering for his one-night, one-man show.

Ladies and Gentlemen, he’d say, on behalf of the entire circus troupe, I welcome you to one of the most astounding shows you will ever see! I promise you, it will be something truly special, like a wonderful, fleeting vision—“

“--Belphie?” Lucifer called to him.

Oh, right. This asshole. “What?”

“What is it with you in needing things repeated?” Lucifer said. “I told you to use your time in here to calm down and rethink what you said earlier.”

Belphegor spat, rolling his eyes to some corner of the room. If one were to ask his brother, locking Belphegor away was done for his protection. That it was love, not pride or sick devotion, which forced his hand that day. If not by Lucifer, then Diavolo, and if the rumors regarding the castle’s torture dungeon were true, therein lied the many ways of subjecting the seventh born to a fate worse than boredom. If anything, he should be grateful that the only current threat to his health was the admitted lack of ventilation and an idle mind.

Yet if one were to ask Belphegor, he would’ve gladly accepted torture just to spite him, the unyielding screams of the forsaken a welcomed company compared to the horrid solitude of being trapped in a fucking attic.

“In that case, I’m going to be stuck in here forever,” Belphegor said. “Because there’s no way I’m ever going to take back what I said. No way am I ever going to change my mind.”

He was adamant then, on his hatred of humans. The day he learned of Lilith’s death, from Diavolo of all people, was the day any ounce of empathy he had died with him. Once again, the prince would prove to be a never-ending red stain on his sister’s life. Even after death, he found ways to dishonor her memory, if not through the subjugation of his brothers, then through the announcement of his shitty exchange program, one that Belphegor vehemently denounced. Yet Lucifer, being the boot licker he was, had other plans. It was hard to tell how many days passed since then, let alone how long Lucifer planned to keep him here.

Lucifer sighed and gazed over at the canopied bed. Belphegor had found a few Christmas ornaments packed amongst the attic’s boxes--a nutcracker, a gingerbread man, and a tiny reindeer--to act as his makeshift audience. In noticing Lucifer’s quizzical look, Belphegor hissed, literally hissed, at him in embarrassment.

“Oh, calm yourself,” Lucifer said, stifling his amusement with a cough, remembering that the moment was supposed to be serious. Hell forbid it was anything less. “Regardless, we’ve gone ahead and chosen the second student from the human world.”

“Really…Well, that’s awful news,” Belphegor said, stomping over to his bed and smothering his audience with gathered sheets, his skin heated.

“This time it’s not a powerful, elite sorcerer like Solomon, but a regular, average human.” “And why are you telling me this? I’m not interested in hearing about any hu…”

Belphegor’s smile was wide. “Actually, wait. Maybe that’s not true. Bring that human to me right away, Lucifer. I’ll tear them to shreds so tiny that there won’t be anything left of the body or soul when I’m done.”

Maybe being tucked away inside that large castle of his made the prince a bit dull-minded. Solomon was deemed one of the most powerful magic users in the world, one who—without even raising a hand—could turn even the strongest demon to ash.

But a regular human with no power and no way to defend themselves? It was as if the universe simply hated this human, one that would surely shit themselves after being summoned out of thin air to a realm, as far as they knew, should not exist and amongst beings that only lived amongst the pages of their various religions and stories. It was a tragedy waiting to happen and one Belphegor, with quivering hands, planned to bring forward.

“If this precious student from the human world were to meet an end like that,” Belphegor went on, “it would bring this little exchange program to a screeching halt, wouldn’t it? And what’s more, there’s no telling what it might do to Diavolo’s reputation.”

Lucifer observed him with a sort of veiled heatedness. It was clear his tantrum held little weight, but would end it if needed.

“Oh, I know. If you refuse to bring that human to me, then I’ll call them here myself,” Belphegor clasped his hands together, pleased with his plan. “I may not be able to get out of here, but I can certainly lure a single human half-wit to me without much trouble.”

“Impossible,” Lucifer spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

“And why’s that?” Belphegor raised his brow, his unease growing.

“The door to this room can only be seen by demons. It’s invisible to humans. Also, I put a curse on the stairs leading up here so that no demon other than me can climb them. No one will ever find you, and no one will ever know you’re here, be they human, or demon, or any other creature.”

Of course. Leave it to Mr. Kill Joy to take the fun out of homicide.

Belphegor’s face slumped, sucking his teeth. “You’ve taken quite the precautions, haven’t you? I’m touched that you’d go to such lengths for me, your good for nothing brother.” Lucifer was taller, about a few inches so, but Belphegor met his gaze all the same. “What exactly are you so afraid of Lucifer?”

“I’m afraid of losing my brother,” Lucifer said, quickly and without a hint of dishonesty.

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Belphegor said. He wouldn’t allow it. To feel sympathy for the devil. Not after losing what mattered most, and what may’ve been his only chance to correct it. He needed to be the one hurting in this situation and needed Lucifer to be as one-dimensional as possible. “What scares you is the thought of disappointing Diavolo, isn’t it?”

Lucifer was…silent. For what, Belphegor wasn’t sure. Was the answer truly that complicated? Maybe there wasn’t anything more to his brother. Maybe he had become nothing more than a loyal lap dog.

Belphegor pounded his foot against the attic’s ancient floorboards, them rattling as if to collapse. “Say something Lucifer,” he yelled. “The old Lucifer wasn’t like this. He wasn’t afraid of what someone else thought of him. He wasn’t pathetic like that.”

“You’re free to think whatever you want, Belphegor. Also…” Lucifer turned towards the attic door, his voice low and solemn, “I’d say you changed as well.”

“Lucifer!” Yet Lucifer would never turn. Never question any part of himself that held weakness.

As the bars to the attic room clanked shut, Belphegor heard his brother’s footsteps trek down the towering staircase and into the house. Once again, he was left alone, spiraling into the silence of the attic.

He wouldn’t mind being tortured at all. Not at the glint of the blade as it sliced his flesh. Not at the blood that pooled from his wounds. Not even as his limbs were torn from his body or flayed alive. The rush of pain and paranoia would keep him, startlingly, sound. At least then he could see what harmed him. Give it a name, his fury. Tell himself that logically, it was ok to cry, scream, and lash about as he was now, smashing mirrors and ripping pillows to shreds.

But in this attic, this fucking horrible attic, there was no one to blame, and it left Belphegor with only his thoughts, screaming over and over: It’s your fault. It’s always been

your fault

YOUR FAULT

It’s always been

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Not my fault. It’s not my fault!

It was a lie, of course. Your death was in motion the moment you appeared in front of him, doe-eyed and disturbingly lax for someone in your position. For all Lucifer’s scheming, he’d forgotten one fine detail: that idleness didn’t weaken sloth, but enabled it.

But it is, Belphie. It's what you did.

He didn't think you were dumb enough to believe his story. A human "just like you" who'd been captured and trapped by Lucifer, yet you proved otherwise. Even when his true identity was revealed, you continued to help him as if the threat hadn't shown itself. Things were moving about too easily; the universe truly did hate you.

No that's not...I did it for you. For us.

Admittedly, he'd wrestled in the corners of his mind about it. Argued until there was nothing left to argue. A part of him had grown to like you, strange, dull-headed thing that you were, but if he weren't to kill you, what then? Would he live his life, seeing you coddle up to his brothers? Eat from their plates and take part in their celebrations? Would you somehow charm Diavolo and have the rest of your ilk invade here? Hell forbid the fools began to fall in love with you, then he’d have to bear witness to some half-assed love story, and that he couldn't live with. So he stilled it down. Beat back the part of him that doubted his conviction. This was for Lilith, always for Lilith, and nothing more.

Oh Belphie, you knew I never wanted this. This was always about you. This was your revenge.

How he killed you was deliberate, too. Strangulation was one of the more intimate forms of death one could give. To do so was to be conscious of your victim’s suffering and to take pleasure in it, having the power of life and death weighted within one’s grip. Humans were fragile. Anything more than disembowelment would be too quick and he needed you to feel it. To know how little your life meant as he wrung every inch of it from you.

Please, I'm sorry. I didn’t know. Didn’t know what they were to you.

He admits enjoying it, laughing as the confusion mangled your face. It didn’t take much to knock you on your back, even less to pin you down. You were so weak. How you managed to survive this long was merely incompetence on his brother’s part. They were fools, too cowardly to do what needed to be done. But not him. He’d end your life and soon any hope of continuing this miserable sham of a program.

It’s not about what they were to me, Belphie. You took a life. And you can never take that back.

You withered and flailed beneath him, trying to lift yourself to no avail. A numbing high swept over Belphegor as he took it all in. The beating of your heart, the sound of wheezing lungs, the sweat that drenched your brow, the bright red of your blood. All the colors and sounds bled into a final point until he was overcome with it, twisting, clenching, enamored in the hues of your dying face. Your eyes bulged and the quakes of your death throes rumbled the floorboards. You clung to him, nails scraping the skin of his wrists. When that didn’t work, you clawed for his eyes. The desperation. The fury. He could laugh, so he does, slamming your head into the floor when you attempt to swipe at his face. Your head bounces forward, then goes limp, throat giving way to a sick crunch. He squeezes tighter, breaking through bone, through artery.

Finally, you stilled and so does he.

He assumed your death would be less monotonous, the fires of euphoria dwindling into barely an ember. A cold realization sweeps over him, sending his body to chill and his empathy to reanimate. No, he won't allow weakness. Not a moment for remorse or sorrow. He shakes them from his mind, putting it up to shock and nothing more.

He gazed at his hands, flexing them, feeling like an outsider in his own body. He sits in silence. The attic does not answer with its usual hum of wood. The house does not creak. Instead, it engulfs him in a sea of quiet, and for a moment he wades in it. Hearing his heart, his breathing, the tiny hiss of air that escapes you. For some reason, he cannot will himself to look at you longer. Your face is uncannily calm, though your neck is twisted into unrecognition, the flesh bruised and mangled.

Now, there was nothing left, but still so much to be done. He wrings you by the collar of your shirt, and it seems an eternity before he reaches the attic door. The attic steps feel smaller and out of focus, the house halls a labyrinth. He’d almost forgotten where the main entrance lay until he heard his brothers, their voices joined in a chorus of "where are they?" and "They should be" and "could be." It's the only time he smiles. Not for his brothers, though it was Beel he missed most, but because he finally, finally would have his audience.

Slowly, as he reaches the landing of the stairway, a thought inches forward. Yet this one he couldn’t shake away. Over and over it repeats itself, almost pleading:

Oh, Belphie.

Belphie.

J̸̸̷̷̴͔̪̗̱̊͑͋̈̚͜ J̸̗͑u̸̼̎s̴̬̔t̴̗͌ ̵̅͜w̵̪͘h̸̥̀a̶̮̓t̵͕̅ ̷̱͊h̸̼͝a̴̛̪v̶͕͆e̷̫̍ ̵̩̈́y̶̲͝o̶̫̕u̷̞̍ ̷͉͌d̵̦̐ọ̸́n̸̪̽e̷̫̓?̸̡́

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Belphegor lurched forward, sweat chilling him to the bone. His dreams were becoming too vivid for his liking. In the corner of his eye sat a large figure, blanketed in the cover of darkness. He blinked. Was he still dreaming?

“What...I...Beel?” He spoke, gasping for breath. How long had he been sitting there?

“It's ok,” Beelzebub said. He sat on the edge of Belphegor’s bed, stroking his shoulder as if to still the chills away. “You had a bad dream.”

“It wasn’t a dream,” Belphegor choked, words rushing from his mouth,” I did it I did all of it I killed Lilith and then I killed them and I…I…“

“Just breathe, Belphie.” But there was nothing Beelzebub could say or do, only wait until the torturous spell was over.

Belphegor placed his hand to his chest, heart beating as if it were going to burst from him and go running off into the world.

In and out. In and out. It didn't help his breathing much, but it made him focus on something other than the panic. Everything felt so heavy like the sky had fallen upon his shoulders.

"It's all...my fault," Belphegor heaved, “my fault.”

In a way, he should be grateful. Lilith lived a long, happy life and that’s all he could ask for. Still, it all felt like a dream and in that moment, he’d forgotten where he was. That the Devildom, despite its idiosyncrasies, was a punishment. That they were damned and whatever fate held for them was often cruel and rarely giving. He knew they were uncomfortable at the party, could feel their quickened breaths rising in an off-tune chorus of sheltered panic. He should’ve helped them, walked them through their spell. Instead, he froze, feeling the judgment heavy in the room, the waves of anger and disappointment hitting him in a heated haze. He watched you run away and with it, his redemption.

“That’s not true, Belphie. Don't blame yourself. If anything...” Beelzebub paused, and Belphegor listened between breaths for the words that never came.

He was about to blame himself again, he thought, yet he could not will himself to assure him otherwise, his breaths still too quick and sharp. Instead, Belphegor buried himself into his twin. If he could not use words, he’d use his actions. Surely Beel, who wrapped his brother in a tight hug, would understand him. Beelzebub, after all, was but a wall to Belphegor’s emotions. Allowing his tears and agony to fall upon him, but never breaking himself. Instead, Beelzebub sat in silence, and together, they rocked each other through the darkness, waiting on the morning hours to break the curse that was Belphegor’s anguish.

Surely, you’d forgive him, he thought. That night at the party meant nothing. That disgusted look you gave him meant nothing.  

[animatorweirdo]

Imagine being a knight from Lordran and helping Luthien on her journey

(Another Dark Souls piece I wrote and left to gather dust in the storage. It might seem a less edited, but I hope you like it)

Warnings: mentions of dying, fighting, blood, violence, imprisonment, escaping, the C & C are the regular jerks, muteness, reader somehow ends up as that one therapist.

-----------------------------------

- Imagine after Luthien escapes, she wanders through the outer borders of Doriath. She ends up encountering you, a person wearing strange armor, battling a terrifying creature she had never seen in her immortal life. 

-It was so horrifying – she hid in the shadows and watched the battle between you and the monster. 

-You skillfully evade the attacks, rolling away and using your shield to block. 

-However, you were getting exhausted. The injuries had started to take their toll on you, and you had no estus flasks left. You were going to die soon if you didn't finish the creature, and you couldn’t let that happen.

-There was something wrong. You couldn't feel the connection to the flame. It vanished ever since you fell into that mist with the creature. 

-For the first time in years, you were afraid of what was going to happen if you died. Even as an undead, something bad might happen. 

-You found your chance to attack when the creature left itself open and quickly plunged your sword into its chest, finishing it off and letting its blood dress the grass beneath you. 

-The creature screamed in pain as its body turned into dust, and you were left standing, victorious and alive. 

-But, your victory was short-lived as your body began to collapse from all the wounds and exhaustion. 

-You fell on your knees, your vision going dark. 

-As a last resort to stay alive, you tried to dig through your bag and find the black sprite of humanity. 

-You found the sprite, but you fell before you could crush it. Your body refused to move, and your mind was falling into the darkness. Unable to save yourself, you accepted your fate. 

-You stared at the blue sky in wonder as you did not remember Lordran to possess such beauty before succumbing to the darkness and letting the fangs of death take you once more. 

-Luthien came out from hiding after witnessing your victory and battle. She was quick to come to your side and feel the life inside you vanishing. 

-She took the strange sprite that lay by your side and with her own magic, used it to heal you, unknowingly reviving you from death itself. 

-You were surprised to awake from the darkness and even more surprised to find a beautiful maiden kneeling by your side. 

-Luthien was glad and spoke to you, speaking about the battle between you and the monster and how she managed to save your life. 

-You were amazed by her beauty and even more amazed that she was not an undead like most people you have encountered so far. 

-Luthien asked for your assistance to help her travel outside and find her lover, Beren, who she sensed was in grave danger. Your sword skills had impressed her, and in return for saving you, you decided to swear your blade to her. 

-You did not speak, but Luthien understood your gesture, and that is how you two set forth to find her lover. 

- You never spoke or said anything, barely made any sound, so Luthien took you for mute. It did not bother her since your bodily gestures, like nods and shaking your head, were obvious enough for her questions. 

-In truth, you had no idea about Middle Earth, elves, orcs, Sauron, or even Morgoth. 

- However, since phantoms from other worlds were possible in Lordran, you guessed you had somehow traveled to another world, which would explain the disconnection to the flame and the fire link shrines. 

-You did not have much of an opinion about the elven princess. Luthien was quite talkative, talking about the plans and sometimes ranting about the situation with her lover and her father’s pride price, which could get her lover killed. 

-You did not know how to offer comfort when she was having these moments since you were rather closed off from feeling emotions and empathy, so the best you could do was lend your ear and a hand to hold for comfort. 

-Luthien did not know how to feel by your silence, but she found comfort in your company and in the small gestures you did. You provided odd companionship, but it was enough. 

-You did everything she asked, but one thing you refused to do was show your face beneath your helmet. It was a bit odd, but she stopped asking when you gestured that wearing the helmet was a personal choice. 

- When you two were found by Huan, you reacted with aggression as you didn’t have great experiences with undead dogs from Lordran. You took out your sword, ready to kill the beast. 

-Luthien was lucky to calm you down and prove Huan meant no harm. 

-You wanted to trust her intuition, but still, you kept a careful watch on the hound as he led you two to his two masters. 

-You were skeptical of the two Noldor princes, Celegorm and Curufin. There was something odd about them, especially how they looked at Luthien when she revealed herself and spoke to them. 

-You have met a fair amount of people with tongues like snakes, so you knew something was off when they denied meeting Beren or him ever coming to Nargothrond to seek aid from its king, Finrod Felagund. 

-They promised to give their aid if you came to Nargothrond, but when Celegorm offered to give Luthien a ride on his horse, you grabbed her shoulder and shook your head. 

-An uneasy feeling rose within Luthien when you gestured for her not to accept the ride. You knew there was something else about the princess that she should be cautious about, so she declined Celegorm’s offer. She claimed she wanted to walk with you since there weren’t enough horses, and she did not want to make it unfair for you. 

-Celegorm sent you a glare that did not go unnoticed, and it was now more clear to you that the elven prince had something else in his mind than aiding Luthien. 

-Despite his insistence, Luthien declined and walked with you to Nargothrond, becoming more suspicious of their words.

-You faithfully defended her when beasts ambushed from the shadows, resulting in your sword losing its durability and breaking after the fight. 

- When you reached Nargothrond, Curufin offered to have your sword patched by the kingdom’s blacksmiths, and despite your reluctance to leave Luthien alone with the princess, you complied when she insisted and convinced you to have your gear fixed. 

-If you had found a bonfire, you could have repaired your sword and gear with its flames, but since you were in another world. You were unable to do so. 

-You met Curufin’s son, Celebrimbor, who seemed intimidated by your presence but agreed to repair your sword and some of your gear. 

-You concluded Celebrimbor was not bad like his father after watching him repair your gear and listening to him talk about things. He seemed to be rather naive to his father’s secretive nature. 

-Celebrimbor was intimidated by your silence and how you watched him but then found an odd pleasant time talking with you. 

-He was impressed by your gear and fascinated with your weapons since they seemed to be enchanted with ores he was not familiar with. 

-He took you for mute since you only answered with nods and shakes, but you gave a different answer by drawing the name of the blacksmith who enchanted your weapons to the ground. 

-The uneasy feeling about you within him vanished, and he even talked about personal things such as the ongoing thing with his family and how his life seemed to go so far. 

-You didn’t know how to feel, but you offered comfort by awkwardly patting him on the back. 

-However, when he mentioned a mortal man named Beren recently arriving in Nargothrond to seek the aid of King Finrod, who had left Nargothrond in charge of Orodreth — you became alerted. 

- The realization that the two princes had indeed lied about Beren ever coming to Nargothrond sparked a flame of anger and fear since it meant Luthien was in danger. 

-Celebrimbor was startled when you suddenly grabbed your repaired gear and weapons and marched out of the forge. 

-You walked through the stone halls but hid and carefully listened in the shadows when the two Noldor princes came to your sight. 

-They talked about having Luthien’s hand in marriage and gaining her father’s alliance for their war against Morgoth. 

-Celegorm was certain he could gain her affection even though she had greatly refused. He would even do it by force, but in the meantime, he would allow time to soften her up while keeping her locked. 

-They had however one problem, which was you. They had to find out how to get rid of you since you would no doubt help Luthien escape if you found out. 

-You were infuriated by their plans to force Luthien into an unwanted marriage and the realization that they had tricked you into separating from her by having your gear fixed. 

-You wanted to spill their blood and see their pathetic life leave their very eyes, but you knew that you needed to be smarter and free Luthien first from her captivity. It will be difficult since you can’t kill like you could in Lordran. The elves were living, not undead. 

-Not only that, you needed to find out where Luthien was kept while not alerting the princess since you had already left the forges. 

-You became cautious when Huan appeared to you from the shadows. You were ready to kill the creature, but when the dog laid down in submission – you hesitated. There was something in its eyes that told you not to kill it, not yet, at least. 

-You had an odd feeling that the beast was on your side instead of its master. However, since dogs can’t talk — you decided to break your silence and ask where his masters had hidden Luthien. 

-The dog stood up and motioned you to follow him. Reluctant but in haste, you decided to trust the dog— after making it clear what you would do to him if he betrayed you and Luthien. 

-You guessed the beast took your warning seriously as he then led you through secret paths to the room where Luthien was kept. 

-You knocked on the door to confirm her presence and were slightly relieved to hear her voice. 

-Luthien was glad to know you were behind the door and worried since the door was locked and said you had to find a key, which was most likely with Celegorm. But little did she know that you possessed a set of keys to everything. 

-You grabbed your master key from your bag and opened the door without a hitch, surprising Luthien and Huan on the go. 

-Luthien did not expect you to open the door quickly but was glad to see you, and you three then made your escape. 

-Huan decided to come along despite your obvious dislike toward him, but then you were found by the two princes, who quickly learned about your disappearance and Luthien’s escape. You picked Luthien up and set her on Huan’s back so you could run. 

-your high endurance made it easy for you to keep up with the dog’s speed, and you nearly made it through the front entrance only to be stopped when the two princes alarmed the guards and claimed you were kidnapping the princess. 

-You got surrounded, and you had the attention of all who were in the main entrance, including King Orodreth. 

-Celegorm boldly claimed you had done something to his hound and his guest, claiming you were doing evil’s work because why else would his own hound assist you. 

-Luthien was infuriated and told the truth about how he and his traitorous brother had lied and locked her up, intending to force her hand into marriage, sprouting everything that happened. Why else would his hound betray him instead of helping him with his evil? 

-King Orodreth and all the other bystanders shared mixed looks, uncertain of which side to take. 

-Celegorm claimed she was confused, and when you saw one of his servants approach her from behind – you acted, taking out your sword and cutting his hand. 

-The elves were frightened when the servant screamed at his severed hand. 

-Luthien pleaded you not to kill them, but you acted when the other guards came at you. 

-You fought all of them furiously, avoiding their attacks and striking back with force powerful enough to send them flying. You did not give them a chance to lay a single wound on you. 

-You heeded Luthien’s plea and did not kill any of them, so you only struck them down, too injured to fight you. 

-Celegorm and his brother grew pale, and the elves of Nargothrond grew frightful as you fought like an undefeatable warrior in their eyes with the strength and speed of a beast. They could not tell if you were either an elf or a man beneath the helmet. 

-You turned your gaze upon the brothers after defeating all of the guards, making them prepare for a fight. 

-Celegorm said he had never lost a swordfight even though there was uncertainty in his voice. 

-You grabbed something out of your bag, a pouch of paper that seemed to contain dust made out of charcoal. 

-They watched as you held your sword before you, wrapping the paper and the charcoal around the metal, before gripping and pulling the pouch across your sword, igniting the blade in flames. 

-The brothers were startled as you held your flaming sword, ready to fight. For the first time, they were uncertain if they could win a fight as they had never witnessed such a thing before. 

-However, Celegorm had his pride, and despite the odds – he was ready to fight you, unwilling to lose and have Luthien escape his grasp. 

- King Orodreth quickly ordered the fight to be ceased, wanting no blood to be shed on Nargothrond. 

-He turned toward Luthien and told her he believed her since you had heeded her order and not killed any of the guards. 

-He did ask her and you to leave and continue your journey alone since you had severely wounded his and Celegorm’s people. 

-Luthien agreed even though she demanded Celegorm and Curufin pay the price for the crime against her. 

-You felt disappointed by the outcome as you would have loved to set the two on fire but faithfully followed Luthien along with Huan out of Nargothrond, leaving a forever frightful expression upon the brothers and the elves that witnessed your terrifying might.

[scifrey]

Somehow I wrote 137k words of The Sandman fanfic in the last 5 months. Behold: the result!

This has been an incredible journey - I decided to step back into fandom while I was waiting on some publishing info and news, just as something to do to keep my creativity sharp. The community and reception I discovered, however, has been astoundingly welcoming. I feel reinvigorated and ready to tackle my revisions on my next novel!

THE HOB ADHERENT SERIES

In which Hob Gadling's Stranger returns, they start a weekly hangout, Hob becomes Morpheus' Emotional Support Human (tm), Matthew bullies Hob onto a Docudrama TV series where Hob pretends to be his own ancestor, and Morpheus is the King of Repressed Symbolism.

Status: Complete

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some fun cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse, but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death.

Relationships: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Primary Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Matthew the Raven, Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Patrick the Bartender, All the Endless Siblings, Rose Walker, Jed Walker, Lyta Hall, Daniel Hall, Orpheus, Lucifer, (plus some cameos from other characters from the Gaiman Television-Literary Universe)

CLING FAST

Hob Gadling is a clingy bastard, and he’s not ashamed to admit it. He clings to life. He clings to hope. He clings to his love of humanity. He clings to his Stranger. He also, unfortunately, has a habit of clinging to his name.

Which means, when the BBC is looking for a new pet history expert to appear in their educational docudrama series “Elizabethan Manor,” they’re overjoyed to find a professor who (according to their meticulous research) is actually descended from the Master of the National Trust building they’re filming in - Gadlen House.

Only Hob knows how right they are.

Picks up a few hours after the end of Season 01 Episode 6.

CARPE DIEM

Hob turns six hundred and sixty-six, invites some fellow Immortals to his pub to celebrate, and receives a gift from Satan themself. Or, the Key to Hell was always going to Be a Problem(tm).

Set between the epilogue and chapter one of Cling Fast.

HOLD TIGHT

Hob is tasked with his first quest as Vassal of the Endless, Morpheus is bad at using his words, Destiny thinks he's so clever, Desire makes a confession, Rose Walker meets her Uncle's boyfriend, and Lyta Hall punches Dream of the Endless in the nose. Or, the one where Hob Gadling turns into everyone's therapist, and honestly, he ain't mad about it.

Set at the end of Cling Fast - after the premiere of “Elizabethan Manor”, but before the Epilogue.

KEEPSAKES

Short ficlets set in the Hob Adherent world, based on prompts received from readers. Includes tales of how Hob and Eleanor met and wed, Hob being a badass at a Ren Faire, some hurt/comfort and sleepy smut, and the story of how Hob met Orpheus.

TAKE ROOT

A deleted scene for a sequel I ended up scrapping.

[millenniumfae]

Dragon Age Demons vs Real-Life 'Inner Demons'

Way back in the summer of 2015, my symptoms got so unbearable I was bedridden. 20 years old and experiencing psychosis, quasi-hallucinations, and actual, unending panic for the first time. It marked the start of a condition that has never stopped since.

My aunt (and other relatives) helped me develop proper mindfulness skills based off of our homeland's folk Buddhism - the 'second arrow'. The meaningless of forgiveness. Devaluing control. And something that struck me as a new Dragon Age fan … 'Possession'.

Well, when translated to english, you'll find texts using the word 'insight' rather than 'possession'. But that's the word my mom translated from off the top of her head, and it immediately resonated with me.

"Imagine your panic as an inner creature. Something that is also you, but is acting independently. Treat your panic with kindness and mentorship, not antagonism. The more you struggle in the spider's web, the worse things get. But if you nourish what's hurting in you, let them tantrum, then come back in to nurture."

Up until the 2010s, the most acclaimed mental health books you could buy written in the english language would most certainly be christianity-influenced. Maybe not overtly, (but you'd be surprised how many have a chapter about "insert-book-topic-here and Christ") but there's little hints like how the reader must have left home at 18 to avoid mooching off their parents, or how to 'turn guilt into something productive' (???), the use of the word 'gamble' as a bad word, etc. But these books tend to include a chapter that would be some weird bullshit like "The Dark Souls Of Respawning?? What Daoism Says About Immortality" and take a brief moment to talk about the radical, never-before-heard-of methods from across the pacific that Will Turn Your World Upside Down.

Behavior therapists (of the 1950s) were aware insights about the origins of the problem usually weren't helpful. Exposure to the thing the patient feared was often curative. -When Panic Attacks by David D. Burns MD, Chapter 18, "Taking a page from the Tibetan Book of the Dead"

Now, it's no secret that the Dragon Age serial is very. Um. Christian. Catholic, specifically. Faith is written to be an unequivocally redeeming trait. Attempts at inventing fake elf/qunari/Tevinter 'religions' still have them be belief-based, colonialist, and conversion-heavy, while also at the same time implying that the 'Maker' of Chantry faith is the single actual true god.

So it's no surprise that the demons and spirits of DA are very seven-deadly-sins. Party banter and side-quests do point out the euro/christian-centricity of this demon categorization (Merrill, Solas), but that doesn't mean shit if, in overall story and gameplay proper, Pride is the most powerful demon while Faith is virtue at all.

So here I am, lying in bed and only capable of just riding the waves of panic day after torturous day. You bet I'm gonna try to geek-erize my symptoms. If people do it with Jesus, then I can do it with Dragon Age.

Enter Vigilance the Spirit. I was an at-risk young Rivani mage, so their Magic Welfare Government helped me join their クサビ-依り代 program and matched me with a spirit to induce possession. Can't boil two skulls in one pot, so to speak. I could have chosen to do their hemispherectomy program (I am made Tranquil but carry around a piece of the Fade like a pacemaker that keeps me perfectly lucid, only turning off when I sleep), but that comes with its own risks.

But it doesn't take much for a spirit of Vigilance to do a 180 and become Panic. They're still Vigilance, and I am still me, but the taste in the mouth is different. Our life will need to adapt.

I will not kick myself for 'failing' my friend. Vigilance has turned to Panic, yes. But they have always been one. Now, so are me and Panic. Such is the nature of spirits.

If I am kind to my spirit, then I am kind to myself. It's what we both deserve.

[dxwnfxll]

Hello, could you maybe write about Dr. Glass with a reader who deflects all of their problems with self deprecating jokes and dark humor? And when they're being confronted about it, they try to change the subject or just find any excuse to leave?

Hell yeah i can!

(Sorry for not doing requests in so long lolol)

You can read the request i don't need to put a title do i? Lol

-So you've had a pretty hard life i imagine? With all the self depreciating jokes and all. Hell some even wonder if you're in some 'how many "i hate myself and everything i do" jokes can i make' competition with a certain amulet wearing immortal with how many you make.

-so eventually some of your colleagues began to get a liiil worried for you, hell it was normal for people around the foundation to be depressed and self loathing but your friends wanted to still keep you around.

-so they sent you to Glass, the first session seemed to go great fantastic even..at least in your opinion. You had thought that was the end of it right? No more therapy and you can go back to your jokes..nope!

-Glass began to request seeing you every Thursday at 3, right as you'd be getting off work. He knew something was up with you and that your jokes were more than just well jokes.

-you'd always change the subject when he brought them up, always distancing yourself and growing nervous even. But you'd usually put that smile back on and pretend the whole ordeal never happened, that Glass hadn't been breathing down your neck about why you acted like this.

-Glass was one determined therapist, after all you had grown to be his friend to. And if these jokes were more than what they seemed..he didn't wanna lose someone again..not like Konny.

-He started asking you more frequently ignoring you changing the subject, eventually your whole therapy sessions had turned into him always asking about your joke whenever you cracked one.

-he'd even do this in the middle of the damn halls, to which you could luckily make up excuses to run away..but how long could you run from the therapist is a good question.

-a therapist who's determined to help you, even if you may not even really need it.

Requests always open! Hope you enjoyed lolol

[jojikawa]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘽𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝘿𝙞𝙤: 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙄𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙪𝙙𝙚

WICKED EYES

This is the interlude between Wicked Hearts and Wicked Eyes. You MUST read Wicked Hearts or else you will be spoiled while reading this short briefing of what happens to the reader.

Author's Note: This is a POC-friendly, self-indulgent dark romance with NSFW themes, descriptions of violence, gore, and unintentional but time-appropriate racism and sexism. The reader is canonically black but written in a way that those from all walks of life can enjoy.

Dividers

Read Wicked Hearts

You took a deep breath. Your eyes lingered around the room as you tried to figure out what words to say. The sofa beneath you was comforting—distracting almost. The silence of the room made you feel at ease enough to take a nap. “Erm. I…” You began. “I’m amazed at how much I’ve been able to do all of this time. I’ve met so many people and I’ve made so much music that I never thought people would enjoy.” A small smile graced your features. Your hands stayed folded on your lap as your gaze went towards the center of the ceiling above you. A voice invaded your ears.

“So, would you say that you’re grateful that Dio Brando turned you into a vampire?”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the question. Your head snapped towards the voice, almost offended at the wording until you remembered that this was your therapist. You calmed down, frowning slightly before lowering your eyes to your lap. “N-No. I wouldn’t say I’m grateful, I’m just…” You trailed off. “I’ve just tried to look for the good in all of this.” You told the woman. She wore a lab coat that had the “Speedwagon Foundation” logo embroidered onto it. It’s been around 50 years since the last time you saw Dio. 50 years you’ve spent as a vampire too. You needed to take on different identities as a singer to get away with such a thing. Eventually, everyone would know something was wrong with you if you didn’t.

You accepted Erina’s request to come to New York and you’ve been here ever since. You couldn’t say it was too different from England. The people were still horrible towards you. You were always put down for being a woman and for that same reason, men believed they had a chance with you. 

And they didn’t like taking no for an answer.

What possessed a man to get violent when a woman rejects their advances? Only God knows.

“I see.” The female therapist sighed as she took notes of the things you were saying. “Do you hold any resentment for Dio or would all be forgiven at this point in time?” Her questions made you shake your head slightly. “He can’t be forgiven but I want to believe that he’s learned since then.”

“What about you? Would you be able to forgive yourself?”

“U-um. Yes. Maybe.”

You looked at the clock that had been ticking in the corner of the room. It was rather easy to tune it out. You’d been in there an hour already. It was time to go. The fabric of the sofa you were was audible as you stood. “I guess that’ll be all for today. I’ll see you here next week.” The therapist stood from her chair as well, closing her notepad and gathering your things. “Yeah.” You sighed before pursuing your lips. It’s really been so long and you’ve been mildly scarred from that night. Your immortality was a reminder of how powerless you truly were against him. No amount of fame or fortune you acquired from performing made you feel better after a while. 

Today was the day you would be traveling back to England to visit your mother’s resting place. It’s been a long time. Maybe 30 years? You couldn’t tell but you would probably be grateful to your mother until the end of time. She taught you so many valuable skills. It helped you figure out life so much faster. 

You visited your mother and wanted to stay there for a while before members of the Speedwagon Foundation came barging in to give you the phone. Someone was calling you?

You accepted the call to hear your great nephew, Joseph, on the other end of the line.

“Hello-“

“GREAT AUNT (Y/N)!!!” 

“J-Joseph? Why are you yelling? Is something wrong? I told you that I was leaving New York for personal-“

“I know, I know, I know but you won’t BELIEVE the trauma I had to endure just now, all for the sake of blah blah blah and then Straizo actually used the mask to turn HIMSELF into a vampire, blah blah blah”

As you took in the information, you didn’t know at all what to make of it. You knew Joseph wouldn’t like or be vile enough to play such a prank on you. 

“W-Wait, so you fought something called…Pillar Men? JoJo, I need you to slow down. You know what? I shouldn’t have left. I should have come with you on this little adventure of yours!”

“NO! NO!! The Pillar men EAT vampires. If they got to you Granny Erina would’ve been SO angry with me!” 

“Good heavens! Joseph, I truly don’t know what you’re on about but you have me worried, I’m coming home with the Speedwagon employees.”

The years went by so quickly after that. Joseph began to grow up. He married a girl he met on his adventure that sounded like make-believe. They had a cute little daughter named Holly, who seemed to gravitate toward Japanese culture. Shortly after that, Erina passed away. You attended her funeral with the rest of the family. She was the only thing keeping tied to this family for so long. You stuck around as a family friend but as time went on, the common knowledge of you being a vampire and your connections with Dio became less common. It was hidden from Holly.

Holly had a son as well. You didn’t take any time out to go and met him for the first time. So much more was going on in your life now. Your songs began playing on the radio, as singing had become your most successful career! The late 80s were such a dream. You had watched the world grow and evolve from what it used to be. You felt like…a princess. You were adored for your beauty and voice. 

During your performance for the night, it was interrupted by Speedwagon employees. This has never happened before. It must’ve been an emergency. Fans were outraged while others became sad. Why did their favorite singer get ushered off stage by a bunch of men in uniforms? This was the only time they could see you in person.

As you were being driven away, you had been informed of something…

Something you wouldn’t believe.

Something that you’d never hear in a million years.

There was a coffin found on a boat with a lot of dead men. It had “DIO” written above the latch. The men were drained in the same manner you saw Dio drain the woman in front of your eyes over a hundred years ago. 

If Dio was back, you needed to be as far away as possible. That’s why they sent the men to get you.

But it was too late.

Your scent was intoxicating to the vampire and he would rest at nothing to find you. The vehicle you were in was attacked and after that, there was nothing you could do for the men who were tasked with protecting you. Dio was much stronger than before and you couldn’t tell why. 

Dio only agreed not to kill more people if you came with him to Egypt.

Dio was alive and well. 

He never died.

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

The Only Way Out is Through | Bruce Wayne

✦ pairing — Bruce Wayne x female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 4.1k

✦ summary — you don’t have to endure the toll of the holiday season on your own.

✦ warnings — angst, grief, reader's family used to celebrate christmas, parental loss, melancholia, hints of misogyny, mentions of violence, alcohol consumption (champagne), fluff.

✦ author's note — I know this is late, personal stuff got in the way. I hope you have a wonderful year.

════════════════════════

The cold resembled many things, faces, memories, pain. It resembled nothingness in a grief-stricken city that had somehow found a way to explode in colors.

Gotham transformed the moment the clock struck midnight and December started, like somebody flipped a gigantic switch and suddenly every corner of the city lit up with bright lights and ornamental shapes.

Nothing could muffle the sounds from outside, and even if something could, if there was a window or door strong enough to cage you in weightless silence, you would be able to tell every sound around you just by looking outside.

The parts of the city you didn't avoid were ingrained within you and by now what used to be a pretty sight haunted you. Objectively, the colorful cheer of the busy streets hadn't lost its beauty, yet your holiday spirit couldn't prevail. The corner store still hung the same ornaments, and the drug store sold the same tiny artificial Christmas trees and they made your chest feel a little too tight and your stomach churn.

Once your favorite month, December brought more than melancholia every year. Living in a house that hadn't felt like home for years and years meant being expected to mimic the way things were supposed to be. December meant being responsible for filling the void your mom left.

The urge to flee the house of her dreams, the one your dad himself designed, was so December you wished you had run away, to let it rot like they left you to. But leaving the house would mean abandoning them.

Abandoning the dead wasn’t a real thing, reality didn’t work like you wanted it to back when you were still so angry at them for dying that you couldn’t cry. You wished it did, you wanted somebody to feel what you had, you deserved that somebody —honestly, anybody— would acknowledge the city lost its favorite singer and her husband but you lost your parents.

They still talked about her in the news, about what she meant to the city, about a legacy you were forced to hear about every time somebody recognized you in public, and about the hole she left in everybody; a hole they filled with another tragic death for a while then circled back to talking about her.

You were one of the lucky ones, they said, your mom's voice had been immortalized; you would never go through the pain of forgetting that sound. But sometimes you had to focus hard to remember her laugh, and the intonation she used when she was mad was fickle.

This year, December came far too quickly, sneaking up on you like a devious child. You wished you had been paying more attention to the change of the seasons, to listen to your therapist when they said you would have to face December one way or another.

Seasonal galas, Christmas balls, New Year’s celebrations… Every year the invitations poured, and every single year you contemplated declining.

You wished you didn’t have to care about what they would say. Whoever ‘they’ were. Everybody, perhaps. You learned quickly the people you thought were judging you were never the ones doing so, it made social life easier and your time alone dreadful.

After attending the Christmas tree lighting at Grant Park, you only wanted to curl up on your bed and cry. But life had other plans and Bruce’s car was outside your gates. The sight was such a regular occurrence now that your driver didn’t even ask if he should open the gates for Bruce or not and simply did so, letting your boyfriend past the gates first.

Smoothly, Bruce left his car and strut toward yours, tugging on your door to open it for you and offering his hand.

Your heart dropped upon seeing his handsome face. You had told him not to come, that you would be okay. Unsure if you should be touched that he cared this much or mortified because he had been able to tell you were lying, you hesitantly took his hand and exited the gray vehicle.

Barely able to speak, you wished your driver a good night. He reciprocated, assuring you he already had your schedule for the next day. Bruce only watched the exchange, nodding politely when he was bid goodnight too.

You unlocked the front door under Bruce’s gaze and decided you would just have to get used to having his eyes on you until he decided it was time to leave. In the warmth of the house, you took off the weight of keeping appearances along with your coat and hung it next to the door.

Bruce did the same, not waiting for you to offer to take his coat for him. He, however, waited for you to break the silence and you didn’t know how. Trusting him was easy in the grand scheme of things, you met him when you were kids, but you were never close, and more than a decade had passed by the time you saw each other again.

Silently, you guided him into the living area. There were boxes in the living room, a reminder that you were supposed to sort through Christmas decorations. Bruce took note of them, but decided not to comment on anything.

“Something to drink?” you broke the silence.

He offered his hand once again and you took it as though taking Bruce Wayne’s hand was the most normal thing in the world, like everything in your life led to this. If only things were that simple.

Bringing your hand up, he kissed your knuckles. You didn’t dare look up at him, understanding he was trying to make you feel at ease.

"It wasn't that bad," you assured him, perhaps yourself too. You had survived another event where they played your mom's music, you were in one piece still.

He looked at you and made such a funny face, eyes shining as a frown appeared on his brow. Bruce opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head and sat down, bringing you closer by tugging on your hand which was still in his grasp.

You sat beside him, almost pressed against his side as he held your hand captive, thumb running circles on the back. "You don't have to lie to me," he finally said.

He said it from experience, that much you understood, poor Alfred must have been in Bruce's place multiple times. The thing about Bruce was that he was an expert on bottling things up so he never approached this from the perspective of somebody who had been there, of somebody who perhaps had it even worse than you.

Not being as talented as your mother came with side-eyeing, yes, but it also freed you from having to carry on with a legacy, from being forced into the shoes you would have never been able to fill without breaking your soul.

Bruce had to look at his family legacy in the eye each morning and shake hands with it. You didn't, you just had to survive December.

So why was it so hard? Why after seeing him go through that each day did you still find yourself thinking you had it bad?

You would never tell him you often compared your situation to his, he wouldn't take it well. Bruce wasn't unfair nor unkind, he would tell you his experience was different, he would tell you yours was valid; you knew, you knew and it messed you up.

"I didn't cry," you informed him, proud of your achievement. Leaning your head onto his shoulder, you added, "I thought I would, but I guess my body knew it wasn't the time."

Bruce hummed. "Is that why you didn't want me to go with you?"

"No," you answered far too quickly. "Maybe..."

"I wouldn't have made fun of you."

You didn't like the way he said it, as though he needed you to know he wouldn't laugh if you cried.

"Bruce..." You lifted your head off his shoulder, gazing at him. "Do you really think I would be with you if I thought you would make fun of me over anything?"

"It sounds stupid," he conceded, looking down at your hand in his, "but no other reason came to mind. I know you're not ashamed of being seen with me."

"It would have been embarrassing to cry there with you by my side. I know what they would say."

Once again, 'they' came and haunted you. This he had to understand, he had been in the public eye his entire life.

And because you liked to think he understood where you were coming from, you said what you would have liked him to say if the roles were reversed. "I trust you."

His eyes found yours as he brought his attention back to your face. You smiled out of instinct, stressing you meant it.

Bruce nodded slowly, subtly, perhaps only to himself, and squeezed your hand. "Why don't you come over for dinner tomorrow?"

You would never say no to that. "I might not be there in time, though..."

That made him frown. You brought your other hand to his face, cupping his cheek. Bruce looked at you through his lashes, waiting for an explanation. Oh, how much he worried over you sometimes.

You looked around the living room. "I have to put up decorations after work. I was asked about mom's famous reindeer tonight."

He visibly relaxed, leaning into your touch as he hummed. "They are a wonderful sight," he admitted.

They were. Your mom got them when you were a child, big metalic reindeer with white lights all around them — being warm lights, they glowed gold and gave the reindeer a magical look. The front garden looked its best when the reindeer set their feet there, it was an opinion so agreed upon that it became a fact.

════════════════════════

Alfred forced a smile as he guided you into the study, letting you know dinner would be ready soon; your favorite.

The last time Bruce invited you over for dinner and your favorite was on the menu, he told you his biggest secret.

It happened in the same study you were sitting at now, near the desk as he grasped your hands and heavily said there was something you needed to know.

You remembered the way your throat closed as if it had been yesterday, the way you couldn't look into his eyes out of fear that he would shatter the positive opinion you held regarding him, regarding his personality and everything he stood for.

Perhaps you shouldn't have been relieved to know your partner was a vigilante, but you couldn't help it, no matter how worrying the revelation was. You had rested your forehead on his chest, a thousand thoughts running through your head. And Bruce, who knew just how to read you, had held you until you were ready to talk.

Bruce sauntered into the room, shoulders taut as he approached you. He cupped your cheek, leaning in to give you a sweet kiss. Barely away from your lips, he told you, "Sorry, love, I was on the phone with Kate."

"How is she doing?"

"Good. She just moved." He made a pause, waiting for you to react and you stayed silent, sensing there was something else. There was. "She invited me to her Hannukah party."

You looked up at him, trying to gauge if he liked being invited or not. It looked like he hadn't, even if he wouldn't say it outright. "Are you attending?"

He shrugged before wrapping his arms around you. "I'll check my schedule."

You hated when he hid behind the chasm of his responsibilities, his self-neglect, invisible to the rest of the world, burned you.

As though he knew, and you hoped he did, Bruce hugged you tighter. You wondered if the Bruce who had nowhere to put his rage would be this gentle too, or if the rage was still there, tucked away in a corner of his big heart.

"Don't lie to her," you softly told him. Gently, calmly. "Don't do that to yourself," you wanted to say.

He only hummed, curling around you. Praying to whichever God existed that he felt as safe as you did, you inhaled his scent in an attempt not to cry, breathing him in.

Even when you tried to comfort him, Bruce grounded you. In his tameness, bruised, he let out a long broken sigh. You ran a hand up and down his back and he trembled under your tender hold.

It was pure instinct, your hands acted before your brain computed. Your touch was more his than yours — he accepted it, made peace with its weight, gave it a home. You might have not had a home anymore, not since the car accident that took your parents, but your touch did; immaculate, with a mind of its own.

In reciprocity, Bruce gifted you his light. From afar, it flickered, but up close shone so bright it could scorch.

"Long day, honey?"

"Hmm." He didn't say anything else, just rested his head on your shoulder.

"You need sleep, Bruce."

"I'll get it tomorrow. I promise."

Unfazed, you brought your hand up to the back of his head, perfectly trimmed hair tickling your fingers. "Can I hold you to that?"

"Yes."

"Can I tell Alfred he can hold you to that too?" you pressed.

Despite himself, he chuckled. "He will be delighted."

A thrill went down your spine. Whether it was the chuckle, the promise of self-care, or the fondness in his voice any time he spoke about Alfred, you didn't know. But you were almost sure you loved him. "He and me both." It came out as a whisper, somewhat choked by the potential revelation you just had. "Your body will thank you, too."

"Tell me about your day," he prompted you, arms moving to your hips.

"I had a normal day at work, then did a little bit of decorating around the house."

"Did you... have... fun?"

You felt the urge to laugh instead of weep and that was the only confirmation you needed. You loved him. Your voice didn't waiver as you told him, "I'm not going to explode if you talk about the holiday season."

He left a chaste kiss at the base of your neck. "I wouldn't mind if you did."

════════════════════════

A freezing conversation kept you in place, nodding along to an anecdote you had heard before. You were bracing yourself for the interrogation that would come once the music became more prominent and with it Bruce's absence.

You cared too much to be mad at him, at the sense of duty that came with intermittent neglect. It would have been easier if Gotham's crime life took a break throughout December, only in December you cared if he was late or not; only in December it stung when your phone rang in the middle of the car ride.

The mayor's wife was the first one to ask if there had been a breakup, feigning concern with the excuse of making sure you weren't at the same table for her husband's birthday.

She didn't believe you when you said everything was fine between you, much less when you gave her the explanation Alfred had told you to give: Bruce had been caught up in a meeting with important people from overseas.

A warm hand made its way to your waist and you caught his cologne before you heard his voice. Bruce apologized for his tardiness, pulling you close, not once losing his cool.

Frost covered the conversation, if you could even call it that, and the woman took her scrutiny along with her fake smile to greet more guests.

Eventually, the other women who had circled you like vultures left too. One by one, giving meaningless compliments.

You and Bruce walked further into the venue. He took a breath.

"Don't apologize," you warned him.

"I should."

"Don't," you insisted, harshly, trying your best to keep your face neutral. "It's not your fault. Alfred told me what happened."

"Did they bother you?"

"No." You meant it. Being seen as an extension of him was better than being seen as a broken oversized child.

Perhaps you were both of those things, but you were so on your terms. It cost many tears, sleepless nights, and a weight you had to become familiar with so it wouldn't crush you.

By the next party, a day before Christmas Eve, Bruce was ready on time. You arrived together and people gave you pitiful looks as you wore your mom's signature red.

Her dresses never fit you and her style wasn't for you, but she loved red and Christmas, she adored singing anywhere they asked her to; she sung almost anything. When they asked for a Christmas song, her eyes would lit up so beautifully she held all the stars in the Universe in her gaze.

It itched at your throat, the need to tell them they could stop staring. But you didn't, you let it simmer in the pit of your stomach until you got used to it.

As the night progressed, they ceased, or perhaps you stopped caring. Bruce kept his hand on your thigh at the table, making polite conversation and watching you from the corner of his eye.

You almost didn't recognized him in events like these, but the glimmer in his eyes betrayed his stoicism from time to time. Those glimpses balmed you and he knew, he had to know, his mouth twitched in a flickering smile as you were rendered incapable of taking your eyes off him.

Christmas, though, Christmas was hell. Ornaments haunted the parts of the house that hadn't died with your parents, staring at you in the eye with the threat of taking it away from you.

Was it even yours? Only legally. The house belonged to memories you were terrified of forgetting, to ghosts that loved you so much they only materialized when you summoned them.

The untouched rooms cried for them too. The piano, dusty and abandoned to its luck, ached to be played; it had been your grandfather's, it lost its owner twice — yet he had your mom longer than you did, knew her loving touch better.

You envied the piano as much as you envied people who still had their parents.

Tapping your fingers at the rhythm of the ticking clock, you resigned yourself to the fact that you wouldn't concentrate on your book.

Only two more hours and the nightmare would be over. At least part of it.

════════════════════════

Bruce's voice was airy as he whispered, "You look beautiful in red."

Warmth filled you. He was the only person who meant it, the only opinion you held as dearly as high.

You smiled, and he did too. With a kiss to your forehead, a silent vow to continue this later when tenderness wouldn't be seen as a weakness, Bruce held his arm out for you.

Bruce the host was your least favorite version of his, stiff and bland. Everything dulled when he made his appearance, when he faked being happy to see somebody, when his eyes hardened so they couldn't see he wanted to be anywhere but there.

They. They. They. Who were 'they'? Why couldn't they ever give anybody a truce?

You couldn't wait until Bruce was himself again, the opinionated man who cared more than he should, the one who enjoyed his coffee sickeningly sweet. You badly needed him back, so desperately that you found yourself hating every guest.

Alfred's words were beautiful in the speech Bruce gave to welcome the new year. You gave him a smile as you clapped and the look in his eye told you he appreciated the acknowledgment.

The clinking of glasses filled the vast room, swallowing any emotion that could have poured from anybody. A blessing and a curse.

Bruce stood beside you, wishing you a happy new year with a whisper in your ear. His hand ran subtle circles on your back, you turned to look at him, to smile at him too, to offer him the entire world and more.

He dipped his head to chastely kiss you, lingering for a split second. You fought the urge to hold him close, you would have him all to yourself soon.

Stubborn guests continued chatting, lying to one another about perfect lives that didn't exist. You lied too, indulging in holiday hypocrisy. Some brought up your mom, others asked about work to be polite, and most refused to talk about anything but Bruce.

You didn't blame them; everything in the world led to Bruce Wayne and his broken smile. The satisfaction that you knew him in ways they never would made you feel tingly inside and your next laugh wasn't fake as you sipped more champagne.

Alfred refused your help when you offered to assist in the cleanup. Bruce was out and you had no desire of going to bed alone. So you watched as Alfred did most of the work, serving plates of food for the staff and wiping any surface on his way.

Every single person on the staff told him to stop, that they would do it, but the man was adamant. He was anxious. You tried not to think about it, feigning interest in the gold and white tree in the middle of the foyer.

The staff left and Bruce hadn't come back yet, Alfred had dinner and Bruce hadn't come back yet, your stomach was in your throat already and Bruce hadn't come back yet.

And when he was back, Alfred and you kept your worry to yourselves. You wished him a good night and announced you would get ready for bed; he squeezed your shoulder and told you to have sweet dreams.

He made you feel like a child sometimes, but it was comforting coming from him; a show of gratitude, fondness to an extent.

You were careful with the dress as you rested it on the bed, quickly slipping into your sleeping clothes. By the time you reached the bathroom, tiredness had made its appearance. Sloppily, you took your makeup off in front of the mirror, rubbing at your face with a towel.

The bedroom door opened. You turned to the side to make sure Bruce was okay. His eyes fell on the dress draped on his bed, then found yours. Without hesitation, he closed the door and crossed the bedroom.

You had taken over his personal bathroom earlier as you got ready and the fondness in his eyes as he lifted a hand and bent over to pick up a towel you dropped by mistake was enough for you to know he didn't mind.

"Come to bed," he told you. A strand of damp hair fell stuck to his forehead.

You reached over to fix his hair, running your fingers through it from the front. "Give me a moment."

Bruce hummed, unmoving. You didn't move either, not until you saw the tiredness in his eyes.

Never in your life had you cleaned up so quickly. Suddenly the dress didn't deserve your kindness, not when Bruce needed sleep.

He just watched you, rushing around his bedroom as though there had been a flood warning or an upcoming hurricane. And Bruce smiled, warmly, finally moving to tug the covers just enough for you both to get into the bed.

Fluffing the pillows that didn't need it, shuffling them just right, he stalled until you approached the bed too. When you did, he laid on his back and opened his arms.

On your side, you brought your other hand to rest on his chest. Bruce inhaled, held his breath, then exhaled. His arm snaked around you, bringing you flush against him. Nuzzling into him, you breathed the fresh scent of his shower gel.

"Get some rest." You kissed his jaw.

"Will you be here in the morning?" The afternoon, he meant. It was past 5:00 AM.

"I will."

"We should do something tomorrow."

"Anything you want," you assured him. "But sleep first."

You heard him smile, bringing his other arm to curl around you too. Your head fell to his shoulder and your hand slipped to his side.

Bruce kissed your head, mumbling, "Good night."

He fell asleep first. You could tell the sun was rising as your lids finally fell heavy. It was real, December had passed.

You couldn't remember everything you did throughout the year. Had it been kind? It probably had its moments. But you survived, December left you unscathed for the most part; you achieved survival when it felt like everybody was rooting for you to fail.

With your face buried in Bruce's chest, you would sleep, certain the young year wouldn't take you by surprise; safe in his arms and with your own around him, protecting him from the things he couldn't protect himself from.

[dearest-painter]

D-Class! reader: HEY! WHY AM I NOT ALLOWED A PET, DUDE ?!?!!?

Immortal therapist! reader: Come on, yk why🙄

D-Class! reader: I KNOW BUT COME ON!? YOU HAVE A ANOMALOUS PET SPIDER AND ALIGATOR

D-Class! reader: AND YOU ADOPTED A DAMN DANGEROUS KETER WHO MIMIC PEOPLE !? (SCP 939)

Immortal therapist! reader: A dog is a still a dog.

D-Class! reader: .......Can i make a pet tho?

Immortal therapist! reader: NO! You remember the explosive hot chocolate Incident that cause MANY people life to died from your creation (SCP 5073)

These two embodies sibling energy so much. The way they argue so often yet then start carying for each other is so silly! D-class!reader definitely has created multiple things one too many times that it has started to worry the doctors and other D-classes. Like middle of the night they’ll just hear or see things from D-class!reader’s room only for in the morning some creature running around, while immortal therapist!reader is just watching

[battle-of-alberta]

hypothetical comic where calvin goes to therapy for being a bisexual disaster among other things.

so like. i deliberately don’t say one way or the other where on the platonic-romantic spectrum ed and cal fall on because of a lot of reasons but mostly just because i think the tension and ambiguity is 1. most interesting/funniest and 2. most accessible for multiple readers who want some room to imagine, particularly because being aroacespec i get that romance repulsion Happens sometimes. It happens for me occasionally so I don’t want to lock anything in stone, at least for the main duo the story centres around.

that said i do have a whole hypothetical mental image of “if it was a romo/sexual relationship, this is how the characters would theoretically react over this range of time/historically.” because I love hypotheticals that don’t have to be “canon” and because I am interested in queer history as a queer person myself, especially in this province where... well. if you know you know.

Now that i am getting paid real money to actually research queer history locally? I think about it way more.

on to the hypotheticals if you are interested...

- i think calvin would have had an awareness of his slightly-fluid sexuality at the very least from the 70s on, especially because sexuality was such a huge part of white collar oil man culture in some of the worst most misogynistic ways but also for other reasons. I think he definitely would have started questioning what was “normal” and “acceptable” at that time, but I think he learned very quickly not to ask too many questions. He did grow up on Bible Bill’s radio show in the 30s, which set this tone of repression, eugenics, and hostility that we are still reeling from.

- his victorian upbringing combined with this 1930s ethos plus all the nostalgic romanticism built up in the 1910s is the emotional soup that makes calvin hallucinate that he’s actually a normal person who CAN have the job and the wife and the white picket fence and 1.5 kids occasionally. He tries not to overthink it most of the time.

- i expect this conversation didn’t take place until the 2010s. despite calvin’s cushy workplace benefits i think mental health, therapy, etc. especially for someone in such a traditional conservative environment was just not considered even if it was available earlier. and talking about sexuality? forgetaboutit. that said, I think calvin is more progressive than we give him credit for sometimes and I actually think he would be most likely out of any of them to seek this kind of stuff out

- likewise i think after his falling out with ed he does a bad job of patching things up, but once he puts his mind to using his knowledge and skills of being a people person and being genuinely interested and excited about organizations in his city, he figures out how to talk about it with people in his own way. i think when people think about queer history they tend to think of the bar/club scene and it’s more than that, especially after certain events in canadian, american and international queer communities. so by the time he goes looking, there are already resources that have been operating for decades! I don’t know much about the specifics of calgary queer history (yet) but i know that these things absolutely exist to this day.

- eventually some therapists have to learn to work with immortals which they definitely did not cover in their certification.

[mrsvalbaker]

Immortal Aphrodite

Part I

Synopsis: a pansexual non binary therapist in New York is finally in a good place in their life, when they gets a client that might threaten all of that.

Dedicated to a very good friend if mine who I absolutely love.

Disclaimer: This story will be explicit as hell. This is a Trans!Female Timothée Chalamet x Reader love story.

____________________________________________

Salem's POV

It took me a long time to get where I am today. I'm not talking about getting my bachelors in Psychology at the University of Arkansas, and then my masters in counseling at Hunter College.  Those are just degrees and hours of studying and no social life for someone who doesn't have one anyway.

It took me a long time to get to where I am, struggling to discover that I'm not defined by one gender or the other, that I'm not attracted to people based off of what gender THEY identify as, working through a drinking problem that stemmed from mental and emotional abuse from my family even when they were a distance away. And then coming out to them so I could finally live my life, live it healthy and honest. Coming out to my family almost sent me back to the bottle, I had to call my sponsor or I didn't know if I'd make it.

It's safe to say they are no longer in my life, which makes me sad sometimes but not sad enough to return to that life. It took too long getting here to where I am, I remember when I finally legally changed my name, Salem Eden Coslett.  With that name I worked as an elementary school counselor while getting my masters degree, with that name I graduated with that very master's degree and my addiction program AND rented my Brooklyn brownstone apartment, and that is the name that's on the door of my office. An Office I made a safe place for not just the queer community but people of all communities. 

I still see a therapist of course, problems don't go away just because you're doing good and Dr. Valentine has been a big help. 

My life has been going so well, I have succulents and an Ivy I nurture, two Maine coons called Aragorn and Elrond that I adore. I'm in a book club and I found a really nice church that's open and accepting with a lesbian reverend. 

So tell me why I'm ready to jeopardize that and break the hippocratic oath? Tell me why I forgot how to breathe when my first time patient walks in looking as good as she smelled, strutting in all tall and elegant and elvish with long, spider legs and red lips? She wore stylishly vintage jeans from the early 90s that stayed up in her petite waist with the help of a Gucci belt, a black turtleneck that's tightness showed off her lean built, red two and half inch block heels that I saw in the window of Nordstroms, a single Cartier bracelet and small gold hoop earrings. Her rich chocolate curls were cut voguishly in the wolf style, and nothing really changed her pretty and intense features except for red lipstick and bb cream.

Nails as red as her lips and shoes were paired with many vintage rings, on long, dexterous fingers that lived on large hands. Hands I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away from.

She has pretty diamond shaped head and very sharp features, gorgeously scissor sharp cheekbones and an aquiline nose that made her look beautifully noble, seductively hooded Hazel eyes with thick eyebrows that resided above them. Her lips are small but full and the Rouge on them kept making my eyes return to them.  Her beauty is svelte and Eastern European, she's the absolute New Yorker and I couldn't breathe. I don't remember inviting her to sit on my rattan wood daybed with a salmon-colored, velvet cushion. She moved my plethora of colorful cushions and pillows aside to sit and sink into the seatery. She looks so pretty there and I just imagined doing such depraved things to her and it made me feel horrible. I did invite her to sit and I offered her tea, but I'm in a trance so I just don't remember. 

I need to get myself together, I must look like an idiot just gawking at her. "The tea is really good." She said, her voice is raspy and deep but very soft. She looked me in the eye briefly before studying my appearance, I felt my heart race as I pushed up my glasses.

"Oh thank you it's um butterfly pea flower tea." I tapped my purple gel pen against my clipboard. 

"It's  sweet and flowery but earthy, it's so good."

It was cute how she described the tea, I smiled. "I'll make sure to make more for you next time, I like interesting tea flavors, like matcha." With patients I tend to let them take the reins of the conversation, make them feel comfortable and give them the feeling that they're in control of the direction of the conversation.

Hali Chalamet wasn't here to talk about mtea collection. 

"I usually prefer coffee but this tea…what sweetener was that?" Her knee was jiggling so fast, she was tapping her foot wildly, a telltale sign she's nervous.

I shifted in my seat as I watched her, she blushed under my gaze and it made my mind wander and I bit my bottom lip. "Agave syrup, it's a healthy alternative. "

"Like Tequila agave?"

I smirked. "Sort of."

"Trying to get me drunk, Salem?"

I had strict instructions for my patients to address me by my first name, the gender definity of Mr., Mrs., and Ms. Made me uncomfortable and me getting rid of a title made it easier for my patients to talk to me.

So when she said my name with a suggestion I should have been fine, especially when I've had patients actually hit on me before, there's a whole transference situation that can happen between therapist and patient.  Not with Hali, she had me completely effected.

"I see that you're a drama professor at Tisch school of Arts. You're so young to be one." I said it as a compliment with a smile.

I saw her perk up that, she was obviously very proud of that title and position.  "Yes, I did 4 years at NYU and got a B.A. in drama, and then a PhD in fine arts. I used to…" She cleared her throat and hugged her arms around herself, something must have been triggered.  "I was an actor on Broadway. ".

I rose my brows completely impressed, she does look familiar,  but I can't remember from where, I didn't see theatre that often despite my love for watching it. 

A frown appeared on her pretty mouth, I really shouldn't say that in my head. She's going through something horrible trip down memory lane and here I am admiring her.

"I was…it was when I was…Timothée…"

Sometimes saying your dead name can be triggering. I set aside my clipboard and approached her slowly. I stopped before her and crouched down to the ground, making sure my long skirt covered me. I looked up at Hali, it was a good position to all our her to know that I wasn't above her in anyway.

"Did you leave Broadway because of that? You don't have to talk about it today."

She looked down into my eyes, there was such a tenderness in them. "Thank you." She said softly, her eyes traveled down to my mouth and briefly to my covered chest. Did I imagine that?

"I need to go." She said in a quiet, gossamer of a tone.

I nodded, this happens a lot. Sometimes the first session doesn't go well, but even when I watched her walk out of the office, I know she opened up to me more than she knows.

After she left I started typing up notes and organizing the for her file. Once printed I put stickers on them that I associated with her, which I do with all my patients.

I had a date tonight with this perfectly nice guy, he's a veterinarian and open minded, he loves Sylvia Plath and listens to Harry Styles, favorite show is The Office and has only been in committed relationships.  He's a male feminist and he's very tall, 6'3, has green eyes, cute glasses, and curly dark hair. His name is Dr. Josh Rosenstein and he smells lovely, like dove soap and gentle cologne, and we met up at L'Wren on Brooklyn's fifth Avenue for drinks. It was a little bit of a struggle but as he ordered his glass of Beaujolais, and I ordered my mocktail of ginger beer and grapefruit juice, we talked about our favorite office episodes and our jobs. All I could think about while he was being perfectly polite was Hali staring at my lips.

Then we met each other at 1 or 8, this minimalist Japanese restaurant on Dekalb Avenue. It wasn't the best Japanese food I ever had, all show no substance. But Dr. Josh was nice, very nice. I felt like an awful human being thinking about Hali's rings on her hand.

And when I invited the good doctor inside and we fucked with me on top, I thought of her cock, it looked so big through her Jeans. I felt miserably guilty and horny, I needed to get my patient out of my head but all I could think about was how Josh wasn't Hali.

And after he left I was counting down to when I would see her again. 

Next Tuesday when I did, we just spoke about her favorite musicals and her favorite plays. She actually loves Rocky Horror Picture Show and I told her I have never seen it, my exposure to pop culture due to my religious upbringing was limited. 

Well Miss Hali was appalled and the next morning, I had found a ticket to an off Broadway production of it at the Manhattan theater in my mailbox. I shook my head with a smile, and yes I was totally going.

Technically I'm not doing anything wrong right? They're just a simple gift from a grateful patient, happens all the time. And I had no idea if she would even be there.

But on the off chance that she was…

I didn't wear a suit like with Josh, tonight I feel more femme than masculine. I did my makeup, painted lips a dark red, used a matte foundation and smokey eyes, black spiderweb fishnet stockings wrapped around my legs and went well with my purple, velvet button down dress. The sleeves are short and so is the hem, it showed a heavy amount of cleavage which was easy to do with my size.

I zipped up black, mid calf, wedge heel boots and sprayed on my Good fortune perfume.  I kept messing with my hair, I hoped I looked good enough, I hope I smel good enough, I just hope I'm enough. 

As I grabbed my purse and set up the place nice for my cat, I chastised myself. "Salem you're insane, she probably won't even be there."

With that I headed out and hailed a cab to the Manhattan theater. I arrived early so I could find my seat, that's when I saw her. Apparently she can get hotter.

That dress hardly left anything to the imagination, black and completely sheer, sides cut out and showing off long, smooth legs that end in designer black boots. The eyeliner was heavy and it was so sexy. Should I go over there? Or pretend not to see her? Oh my God.

"Are you here alone?" 

A pretty redhead in a babydoll dress appeared before me. She licked her lips and made it obvious she was checking me out with seductive brown eyes.

"Yes."

"Oh good." She smiled. "I'm Miranda, what's your name?"

"Salem." I wasn't interested and I should be, she's so pretty and smells good, but my eyes slid over to where Hali was– to find no Hali.

"Salem, there you are!"

A big smile graced my lips hearing the familiar voice that might as well be the chorus of angels singing. When did she get so close to me? And God she smells WAY better than Miranda. My eyes fell to her rosy nipples that were  visible through that sheer number.

"I-uh here I am!" 

She wrapped her lanky arms around my shapely waist. I couldn't breathe oh God, feeling her body against mine made me feel high. I had to mentally yet at myself to NOT Bury my face in her neck with a scent that could only be described as intoxicating. 

Miranda looked annoyed and just walked away, sadly Hali let go. "Why did you do that?" I asked her.

"Do what?" She asked simply before slowly eyeing me. "You look really cute outside of your work clothes, although you look cute on those too."

"Hali, remember-" I started to warn.

"I know, I know, hippocratic oath or whatever. " 

I folded my arms.

"I wish you wore your glasses."

I looked up at her perplexed and she just smirked then took my hand. "Come on, I'll take you to our seats."

"Hali, I don't know if this is appropriate…"

"It's just a show, and maybe some eats at Hill country barbecue market on West 26th street, afterwards of course not during. After all, you've never seen this before, and I'd hate for you to miss it."

"No, Hali. Please, listen, there is absolutely no way–" the overture of the music began and Hali shushed me. "It's beginning. "

I glared. "Don't ever shush me again, understand?"

Her Adam's apple bobbed and her hooded eyes fogged with something akin to lust.  

Was it me or did my patient just get turned on by me telling her what to do?

I'm fucked.

@sufferingstarlight @meetmyothersouls

[inscrutable-shadow]

Coy's OC List

(for writeblr games and other purposes)

some of these will have character page links eventually (and some have character art already!) and tbh this is mostly a continuing work in progress

for a lot of characters i have to do visible age/actual age cause i'm addicted to immortal/slow-aging characters ig sue me lol

Five Card Draw

Prue Kerry - 14yo nonbinary sapphic (they/them);

Jack (Jack of Clubs) - (WA link) 19/50yo cis male heteroflexible (he/him); bard stereotype, confident, suave, likes food and sex

Ace (Ace of Spades) - (WA link) 20/51yo genderfluid bisexual (they/she); meticulous, regimented, likes sorting things, shooting things, and being left alone

Queen (Queen of Diamonds) (WA link) - 20/51yo cis female aroace (she/her); the ice queen of the Deck, cold and calculating, likes tea and being in control

Alice (Queen of Hearts) (WA link) - 18/49yo cis female quoiroace (she/her); the oil in the Deck's cogs, quiet, beaurocratic, likes organizing and writing

The Doctor (WA link) - 48/83yo nonbinary who won't tell you or me their sexuality (they/them); mad scientist archetype, likes cutting people open and crochet

Eleven DiCampo (Ten of Clubs) - 19yo cis? female lesbian (she/they); a perfect match to Jack except she has common sense, likes Harley and swimming

Harley (Ace of Hearts) - 21/52 yo cis female lesbian (she/her); elbow grease of the Deck, fun-loving but ruthless, likes pranks and fast vehicles

ieiunus-verse

Emsy O'Connor - ?yo ? ? (they/them)- their purpose is that they're an empty shell reader insert but sometimes I give them a personality by accident, they're human though

Avrae Tenebrus (WA link)- 19/1800ishyo genderfae lesbian (she/they); lazy vampire of House Tenebrae who likes mortals a bit more than she says she does Rhys Velancier - 26/513 yo cis male bisexual (he/him); excitable vampire of House Velance with a scythe and a love for tormenting humans Less - doesn't have an age, gender, or sexuality it's not exactly a creature (it/its); world-eating entity that bonded with rhys and now it only eats smaller things than galaxies (most of the time)

Thanatos Iuventus (WA link) - 31/4000ish genderqueer male homoromantic bisexual (he/him or hy/hym); even lazier vampire of House Iuventae who likes philosophy and pretending to be a therapist

The Archfey - born with the universe, all genders and none, thanatos-sexual (ae/aer); manifestation of reality itself that takes a masculine shape and enjoys hot vampire sex

Beatrice Nocta - 28/6000ish who hasn't told me anything other than (she/her); elegant vampire who holds House Noctae's seat on the vampire High Council and is often responsible for managing problematic vampires (such as Avrae, Thanatos, and Rhys), likes bloodwine, books, and peace and quiet

[hollymbryan]

Blog Tour: Top 5 Reasons to Read LUCY UNDYING by Kiersten White! #tbrbeyondtours

Welcome to Book-Keeping and my stop on the TBR and Beyond Tours blog tour for Lucy Undying by Kiersten White! I'm so excited to tell you all about this lush gothic retelling, which I love so much! I've got all the details below, along with my top five reasons to read, so lets go...

About the Book

title: Lucy Undying author: Kiersten White publisher: Del Rey release date: 10 September 2024

In this epic and seductive gothic fantasy, a vampire escapes the thrall of Dracula and embarks on her own search for self-discovery and true love. Her name was written in the pages of someone else’s story: Lucy Westenra was one of Dracula’s first victims. But her death was only the beginning. Lucy rose from the grave a vampire, and has spent her immortal life trying to escape from Dracula’s clutches–and trying to discover who she really is and what she truly wants. Her undead life takes an unexpected turn when, in twenty-first-century London, she meets another woman who is also yearning to break free from her past. Iris’s family has built a health empire based on a sinister secret, and they’ll do anything to stay in power. Lucy has long believed she would never love again. But she finds herself compelled by the charming Iris, while Iris is mesmerized by the confident and glamorous Lucy. But their intense connection and blossoming love is threatened by forces from without. Iris’s mother won’t let go of her without a fight, and Lucy’s past still has fangs: Dracula is on the prowl again. Lucy Westenra has been a tragically murdered teen, a lonesome adventurer, and a fearsome hunter, but happiness always eluded her. Can she find the strength to destroy Dracula once and for all, or will her heart once again be her undoing? Content Warning: death, mentions of blood

Add to Goodreads: Lucy Undying Purchase the Book: Amazon | B&N | Bookshop.org

About the Author

Kiersten White is the #1 New York Times bestselling, Bram Stoker Award-winning, and critically acclaimed author of many books for readers of all ages, including the And I Darken trilogy, the Sinister Summer series, the Camelot Rising trilogy, Star Wars: Padawan, Hide, Mister Magic, and Lucy Undying. Her books have been published in over twenty territories, and her novel Hide is currently in development with Universal Television and Peacock.

Connect with Kiersten: Website | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads

Top 5 Reasons to Read

It's a lushly written piece of modern gothic literature that pays homage to one of the originals, Dracula by Bram Stoker.

Finally, someone has told the story of one of Dracula's first victims, Lucy Westenra!

It's a feminist retelling, giving Lucy the agency she so lacked in Dracula. There are so many great quotes, including: "I was always going to be devoured by an uncaring man; it was just a far quicker, more violent draining" and "We were fools, throwing our bodies in front of men because that was the only way we could ever feel like we mattered."

Like Dracula, Lucy Undying is told via "mixed media," in the form of Iris' POV, teen Lucy's diaries, and the transcript of vampire Lucy's session with a therapist.

It's a sweet and sensual sapphic love story for the ages. But can Iris and Lucy possibly have an HEA?

And finally, a bonus: The audiobook is fantastic, especially the narrator who plays Lucy!

Make sure to check out the Bookstagram tour as well! You can find my post here, and the full schedule is here.