#it is WHOLLY selfish. and he is NO fool

[recitedemise]

It isn't easy, Gale hopes she understands, baring himself in such a terrible way. It feels entirely too much as though he's stripping down his soul when they'd only just met. In fact, had he any say in the matter, even a whisper of a word, she can trust in her bones that he never would have come here. Wallowing and aching, he'd sooner have died.

Sooner have wasted. And sooner turned rot.

But in the whole of the world with its meandering people, it is now she of so few that have gleaned his heart.

To be honest, it might've been an honor were his folly, unsightly, a little less damning. As it were, he can't be anything else but another sad story. She is too young to take it, should be far from this store calming wounds and grief, but then, what age would befit her colossal burden? Perhaps there isn't one. And perhaps there's never been. But she's old enough, she argues, more a mother to her mother than her mother is hers, and this toiling life is all she knows, he thinks. Oh. "Unfortunately--" most tragically "--I was afraid you'd say that."

She's here to pacify. She's her own host of scars. She tuts and argues but she cares so immensely, and it's this kindness he hopes that she shows herself. Still, 'take' throws him off kilter, the wizard staring as her magic yet whirls in his marrow. Take, quite obviously, sounds so wildly selfish, and cowed, a bit ashamed, he smiles in turn. "Loathed am I to deny a witch her knowledge," he teases, "but, yes, considering what I know of this condition of mine, you'll find me rather partial to your observation. Simply being in my company won't deplete you of anything. That said, if I do somehow manage to wear down your graces, I may know a way or two to win them back."

Like...? Interesting gentleman, no? Gale smiles, his genial air most stunningly sincere. Naturally, he's preoccupied a great, great deal with this witch's comfort. He's burden aplenty, regrettably, already quite a pity among gossiping colleagues, so a world where he bothers both her and hers? Distantly, he feels her mother's pale Weave from the floor above. Well, if no one looks to her, he supposes he would. At the very least, should ever she offer him more than she should, he would warn her to end it. That is more than enough. "Were I a bolder a man--and believe me, I'm not exactly lacking in gumption--I'd say I just happened to stoke something dangerous in you. Honestly, I'm more than impressed with all that....verve of yours--" he says as his palm opens, hand gesturing to the whole of her "--but gods, do I appreciate your mesmerizing generosity. Know that were you and yours in any real danger, I never would have come. I won't allow you or those you care for to suffer for my mistakes. You needing to put on a sweater should be the worst of it."

She! Oh. She never means to turn him away. It's, um, silly, he supposes, but those had long been words he's only heard in his head. Gale smiles for the sound of them, the self-deprecation now finally dropped, and relieved and chuffed, Gale finds a warmth again in his bones. He sips his tea, full-bodied, and visibly laughs. "Ha. By all means, you'll find I'm quite confident in your hands. That said--" he looks to where she cups her drink "--yours are a little light right now. While you work on whatever it is you must to sate my hunger, I believe I can whet yours in turn. In addition to payment, I can offer you glimpses to all such magic that would steal your breath. The world of academia suffers with your absence, Callisto. I can feel your passion. She could benefit were you to indulge it. "

Her veins still feel icy, the tingle of it in her hand where their skin had connected. It was unlike anything she'd ever felt - the frozen void of him, so unlike the magic she's used to.

Worse still was the horror. The realisation. It's an unfortunately familiar feeling, the young witch rubbing over the scar on her chest absently as she considers. The flashes drifting at the edge of her consciousness of a book devouring him whole, sure to revisit her in the early hours of the morn.

"I'm not that young," Is the automatic response, before Callisto realises that he's talking about the store. Except she is that young - but having been left no choice but to take charge at an even younger age has meant the store has already been graced with nine or so years of her undivided attention (and makes her feel older than she should). So yes, the shelves mirror the feel of her, just like they did those before.

He means it as no affront, and she certainly doesn't take it that way (she does, especially, clock the continued flattery). The desolate, greedy thing leeching from any source it can find - she'd felt it, even in the brief moments they'd been connected. It does, however, spurn an idle thought for the other witch in the vicinity - Jupiter, mother of Callisto, a ghost-like presence in the apartment upstairs. "It only takes when you touch, right?" Not that Callisto thought Gale was doing any of this on purpose. No, it was plain to see how much the very idea of it carved pieces out of him, leaving him hollow - a shell of a man in well-kept robes. "Not that you will find any mediocrity here, but I like to know what I'm working with.

Because, she had told him she would help him, no? No.

Clearly, she'd gotten so swept up in her own convictions that she'd lapsed in actually giving them voice.

"I'm not worried about safety," This is, perhaps, a mite blunt, and a mite incorrect. "Or, I'm not worried that I'm unsafe with you. If this conversation has shown me anything besides your way with words and my need for an extra jumper," Her mouth twists in amusement at her own little joke - a display that (though it probably should), the ice-cold sheen under his skin and permeating the store doesn't scare her. "it's that you don't seem like the type to jump into things without consideration." A pause, during which she picks up her own tea, reheating it with the brush of her fingers against the chill of the room around them. She would do the same for him, of course, but doesn't want to presume that he can't do as much himself.

"And I was never going to turn you away. Not once I felt it." Because even against the despair, there's power there, and one of Callisto's key failings is that she's always been an unfathomably curious little thing. "Consider the tea a concession to letting me root around in there." Which isn't to say there's no matter of payment, but they'll get there in time.

[elexuscal]

lay down neither your heads nor your swords

summary: Temeraire's bill does not pass. Laurence consoles him. (read on ao3) -------------------

Though it had been almost four years since the end of the war, there still was not many spaces within London which would fit a dragon of his size. He could have retired in Hyde Park, but that would have been exposed to the public, and he very much did not wish to face them, just now. Even here, in the London covert, having so many friends and acquaintances flying by constantly, their voices a babble, was nearly too much.

Thankfully, his mood must have been plain from how he laid sprawled on the cold flat stone ground, his ruff drooping, his eyes half-lidded. No one tried to speak to him, nor tried to bother him.

Almost no one.

There came the soft padding noise of boots upon the flagstone. Temeraire did not turn towards them.

"My dear, will you not come eat? I will admit to prevailing myself upon the cook, and it was one of your favourites— braised beef on rice, with those Incan chilies you are so partial to—"

"I am not hungry," Temeraire said.

Laurence's hand came to rest upon his muzzle, a bloom of warmth which somehow always seemed larger than it was. "I am sorry, Temeraire," he said. "It was a painful defeat, to be sure, even if not wholly unexpected. But—"

"No!" Temeraire exclaimed, interrupting, raising his head at last, ruff erect. "No buts! This loss should not have been expected, no matter what you all say. It should not have happened at all!"

Laurence's face was filled with horrible sympathy. "My dear--"

"Our bill was excellent," Temeraire pressed on. "Not perfect, surely, we made concessions; certainly, we made concessions! But nonetheless, the core of it was unaltered— That core was well-crafted—

It would have made material improvements across such a vast swathe of policies. For women, for immigrants, for dragons, for the poor—"

"I know," Laurence said.

"No one could have voted against it! No one of any sense, at least!" And then he drooped; his head, his tail, his body entire. "But they did vote against it. Even Pertinax, and he is a dragon." That, more than anything, baffled Temeraire, baffled him so badly that betrayal was a distant second emotion. He had thought— it had seemed obvious— that having more dragons in Parliment ought to strengthen their coalition.

Laurence stepped closer, until his entire side was pressed against Temeraire's chest. Temeraire could not see him at such an angle, but that made the conversation somehow easier. "Men do not always vote according to what will bring the most material benefit to the greatest number or the most deserving. They vote in accordance to their own interests, or that of their friends, and do not look very far past their own noses, I am afraid." He sighed. "And even those who do so without any true selfishness or malice, may nonetheless vote out of ignorance, or upon gut feeling, and in doing so cut off their own nose to spite the face."

Temeraire growled, and could not even make himself fully dampen the resonance of the divine wind within it. "Then they are fools."

To this, Laurence had no answer and no argument.

They stood like that for a long while. Laurence still and solemn, Temeraire staring forward, his only movement the lashing of his tail.

It could have been a minute; it could have been fifteen— Temeraire did not know. But he said, "What now?"

"We— we take stock," Laurence said. "We take time to recover; today, tomorrow, perhaps even a week. Then we return to the drawing board. Re-word the Bill, or begin drafting a new one entirely. Reach out to our constituents, make arrangements with our allies, and institute what improvements we can, in those spheres where we still have influence." He hesitated, and said, "As you well know, it was a long, hard political battle against the slave trade. With each loss, it seemed the wind threatened to desert the movement's sails. But my Father never gave up, nor his allies, and eventually, they prevailed."

Temeraire peered down at Laurence, somewhat concerned, for he had never liked to speak much upon his father; even less so, since his death. But on this one subject, the two had no quarrelled, and there was no grief in his companion's eyes, only steel. "Yes," Temeraire said, slowly.

"And, if I may—" Laurence ran his hand down the length of Temeraire's forelimb, hesitating. "If I may. I was never in the House of Parliament, nor the House of Lords, nor any other similar office. But if I had, then a decade ago, I have good reason to believe... I have good reason to believe the man I was then would have voted against your Bill." "Laurence," Temeraire said, and though he very much wished to argue, he did not. He recalled how queer Laurence had been, without his memories, and spoken on the subject, once or twice, with Tharkay, and with Granby. He had been a very difference person, once, before Temeraire had hatched.

For a moment, Laurence hung his head. "I am ashamed to say it. Ashamed to even think upon it." But then he looked up. "But my opinions have shifted; and shifted for the better, I do think. Let me stand as hope that anyone's perspective can be so transformed, if only given the correct knowledge and support."

Stretching out his neck, Temeraire nuzzled against Laurence's body. "If that is true, then let us be the ones who give it."

Again they stood, embraced, for some time. Temeraire did not wish to think, but still the thoughts came. There could be no outrunning them.

Nor the pains in his stomach. "I suppose I must eat, after all," he said, though his mouth felt leaden.

"Yes," Laurence said. "Please do, my dear." So Temeraire did. And despite everything, the chilies were still very fine.

[bzurk]

sight

It would be too selfish to have all of you - your thoughts, your body, your mind and soul. Simon doesn't deserve it. But he needs it, craves it. So he'll break you down, bit by bit. Because if he can't have you wholly, he'll settle for the pieces instead.

<- part 1 here

part 3 here ->

The nightmare started as all nightmares do—with a creeping unease, a sense that something wasn't quite right. It starts small, like scratching a mosquito bite you don’t notice until it’s already bleeding.

The back of your neck would tingle with unseen stares. Your favourite knife went missing from its hiding place in the med-bay. Your desk chair would be slightly out of place after a long day in surgery. The ballpoint pens you’d unconsciously nibble on disappearing from your office.

Either you were finally going mad, or someone was playing a cruel fucking trick on you.

Weeks after the niggling paranoia came the photos.

You stumble back to your quarters after a long day, boots dragging across the gritty floor, muscles sore and mind hazy. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting sickly shadows that dance along the narrow hallway. You stop at your door, keycard in hand, when you see it—something white, peeking out from under the doorframe. You bend down, groaning as your knees protest, and pick up the small stack of photos. The first is simple, unassuming. It’s you, alone, walking through the base, minding your own business. Just you, unaware.

The next one hits you like a punch to the gut. It's you, mid-laugh, half-dressed in the doorframe to your quarters, with Jackson’s hand sliding up your shirt. That was more than a month ago. Your breath catches, heart racing. You flip to the next one. Different guy, different place—your favourite nook in the gym, sweaty and close, his lips on your neck. Your hands start to shake as you look through the rest. Each one a memory, twisted into something filthy, voyeuristic.

The tipping point, the first time they scared you, was the night you found a printed photo slipped under your doorframe after a long, exhausting night in the medical wing. Standard procedure, by now, routine. But the photo was different. It wasn’t blurry. It was crystal clear, almost artistic in its composition. Framed by parallel black lines on the long edges, illuminated only by yellow lamplight. The slim photo is centred on the expanse of a naked back, sat upright and framed by a pair of bent knees, the pair surrounded by mussed sheets and discarded clothes. It had only captured your back, but you knew it was you. It had to be.

Written on the back of the photo, in jagged, scratchy writing:

“You’re wasting your time. They’ll never make you cum like I can.”

That was the moment you realized this wasn’t just a cruel prank. This was calculated. This was dangerous. Your entire life, and the lives of the men you’d fooled with, would be ruined if these photos got out.

But the messages, the photographs—they're like poisonous weeds in your mind, choking out the light. And they're spreading. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched, all the time, even in the supposed safety of your room. The vines and roots had wrapped around your heart and your head, sapping away all sanity, feeding off your turmoil.

Every day, more of them appear—under your door, slipped into your locker, hidden in the med bay. They’re like a disease, spreading, tainting everything they touch. Each photo is a small piece of your life, stolen and corrupted, each message attached a slash to your sanity. The air always smells faintly of sweat and disinfectant, the harsh lights overhead casting everything in a cold, clinical glare that does nothing to alleviate the creeping dread settling into your bones. It feels impersonal, uncomfortable, clinical, this base you’ve spent the last six months at.

You try to ignore it at first. You really do. You shove the photos into the deepest drawer, lock them away, but they fester there, a hidden rot. You start to jump at shadows, every creak of the base’s old pipes setting your nerves on edge. You walk around with a constant buzz of anxiety, like an itch you can’t scratch. He’s there, somewhere. You swear you can feel it, a dark cloud hanging over your head and threatening to suffocate you.

Days turn into weeks. The photos continue to arrive, each more invasive than the last. There’s one of you sleeping in your office, one of you in the women’s showers, in the gym, in the rec room, in the gun range. Each new photo intensifies the dread pooling in your gut. A photo of you in the locker room, half-dressed, with a red marker circling all of the scars on your skin. "Every mark tells a story. I want to know them all. I want to leave my own.”

‘They were just photos’ becomes your newest mantra. They’re just photos. They’re just photos. They’re just photos.

But deep down, you know it’s more than that.

The photos aren't just photos. They are violations. Each image, each message, is a boundary crossed, a line blurred. They are an invasion of your privacy, your autonomy, your very sense of self. And each time you find another one, it feels like a piece of you is being ripped away, exposed to the cold, unforgiving light of scrutiny and judgment.

—

"Fuck!" you exclaim, slamming the cabinet drawer shut with such force that the metallic clang reverberates through the small room. The sound almost drowns out your racing heartbeat. Soap leaps off the exam bed behind you, his eyes wide with concern. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is sharp with worry as he rushes to your side, peering over your shoulder, trying to understand what’s got you so rattled.

"There's another one," you manage to squeak out, your voice trembling and weak.

“‘Nother what?” he asks softly, trying to pry one hand off the desk and open the drawer with his other.

"No!" you snap loudly, pushing against the drawer with all your might as you lift your hands only to slam them back down. The muscles in your arms strain as if they're the only thing keeping something monstrous from getting out. "Don't open it!"

Soap’s expression hardens, a crease forming between his brows as he stares at your trembling hands. “What’s goin’ on, Stitch?” His voice is low, steady, trying to anchor you, but the fear and paranoia are already creeping back in, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

The image is burned into your mind's eye. You, in your private bathroom under the streaming water with your eyes squeezed shut, tears mixing with the warm water running down your face. A moment of vulnerability that you thought was yours alone. You had let yourself get too comfortable, let your guard down. And now they had seen it, captured it.

"Close the door, Johnny," you whisper weakly, barely holding yourself together. "Please?"

The door closes with a click, the sound of the lock turning echoing around the small, sterile room. Your breaths are coming in ragged bursts now, each inhale sharp and painful, each exhale a desperate attempt to calm the storm inside you. Soap is by your side in an instant, his presence a balm against the raw, exposed nerves.

His hands gently pry your white-knuckled fingers from the desk, and you let him pull you into his arms. You break down, the sobs tearing through you, harsh and uncontrollable.

“Shh, lass. It’s alright,” he whispers, rubbing soothing circles into your back. His voice is a soft rumble, a steady presence amidst the chaos, the rise and fall of his chest like the calming lull of waves. “Just breathe. I’ve got ya.”

You take a shaky breath through your nose, fighting the sobs that threaten to spill over. The air smells faintly of antiseptic and bleach, a combination that does nothing to ground you. “I don’t know what to do, Johnny,” you croak out, your voice raw and broken. “I thought if I ignored it, they’d get bored.”

Soap doesn’t say anything, just continues to hold you and rock you gently back and forth. His arms are solid, a fortress against the madness. Slowly, your ragged sobs subside, the storm inside you calming to a dull, painful ache. A handkerchief is pressed into your palms, and you dab at your nose and eyes furiously before chucking it into the bin.

“Stitches,” he starts softly, pulling you to look at him. His blue eyes are full of concern, the weight of unsaid words hanging between you. “You have to tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You swallow hard; there's a lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. The room feels too small; the air too thick. You're trapped in this moment, in this nightmare with no way out. His eyes are sincere and pleading, wide with concern as his hands grip your arms tightly, grounding you in the moment. The sincerity and sympathy in his eyes force the words out of your chest before you can stop them. You've never broken down so completely in front of another person before.

—

The next evening in the med bay is eerily quiet, the sterile smell of disinfectant hanging heavy in the air like an uninvited ghost. You’re hunched over your desk, pretending to focus on some paperwork, but the words blur together, meaningless in your state of heightened anxiety. The door swings open, breaking the stillness, and in strides Ghost, his imposing figure casting a long, ominous shadow across the room. His face is as unreadable as ever, obscured by the skull-painted balaclava that always makes your skin crawl.

"You look like shit," he says, his voice low and gravelly, each word a deliberate probe. His eyes, dark and intense, scan you with an intensity that makes your stomach churn. He's nursing a cut on his arm, blood seeping through the makeshift bandage, a stark contrast against the black fabric of his uniform.

"I'm fine, Lieutenant," you respond lightly, forcing your voice to remain steady as you avoid his piercing gaze. You get up and grab a suture kit, your hands trembling slightly. "Just a bit tired, that's all. It's getting rather late."

Ghost steps closer, the air between you thick with unspoken tension, a palpable current of unease. "Tired, huh?" He sits down on the examination table, the leather creaking under his weight like a groan of protest. "Seems like somethin' more's botherin' you."

You force a smile, the expression feeling foreign and brittle on your face, tugging at sallow cheeks. "Just the usual stress, sir. Nothing I can't handle."

Ghost narrows his eyes, his gaze sharp and unyielding, like a hawk sizing up its prey. "You sure about that? 'Cause you look like you're about to break." There's a cold, calculating edge to his voice, like he's testing you, pushing you to see how far you can go before you snap. Ghost was not someone you’d had the pleasure of getting to know, and to the extent of your knowledge, this is just how he was. A man of intensity and determination, unfaltering in every task no matter how big or small. A soldier who lived and breathed loyalty to his team – it was only normal that he’d be wary of its newest addition.

"I'm fine," you repeat, more firmly this time, trying to mask the discomfort and insecurity bubbling beneath the surface. The words feel like a thin veneer over a churning sea of anxiety. You focus on stitching up his wound, the one thing you could always control, your unfailing hands and the technique etched into your joints. The suture thread weaves through his skin like a silent promise, each pass of the needle a testament to your skill. The needle pierces his flesh with precise, deliberate motions, the rhythm almost meditative. In this small, controlled act, you find a semblance of peace, a momentary escape from the chaos that has invaded your life.

He watches you closely, his silence heavy and oppressive, like a storm cloud waiting to break. His eyes are relentless, boring into you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. The seconds stretch into an eternity, the only sound the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of your breaths and the crinkle of your gloves with each pass of the thread. You can feel his gaze like a physical weight, pressing down on you, amplifying your every heartbeat. It's as if he's trying to peel back the layers of your composure, to see what's really going on beneath the surface.

The med bay, with its sterile white walls and harsh fluorescent lights, feels claustrophobic, the air thick with tension. Every detail seems magnified – the faint hum of the overhead lights, the sterile scent of antiseptic, the metallic tang of blood. Your world narrows down to the needle and thread, the thin line of the suture a fragile barrier between you and the encroaching darkness.

Ghost's silence is unbroken, his presence a looming spectre that fills the room. You can almost feel the weight of his thoughts, the questions he doesn't ask hanging in the air like unshed rain. His arm, though injured, remains steady, a testament to his own discipline and strength. There's a kind of respect in that steadiness, an unspoken acknowledgment of your skill.

Finally, the last stitch is in place. You tie it off with a deft twist of your fingers, snip the excess thread, and step back, the weight of the moment still pressing down on you. "All done, sir," you say, your voice flat and devoid of the turmoil roiling inside you. "I'm sure you know the drill by now. Keep it clean, keep it dry."

Ghost flexes his arm slightly, testing the stitches. His eyes never leave yours, the intensity of his gaze unrelenting. "Thanks," he says, his tone deceptively casual, like a predator feigning disinterest. He stands, his movement fluid and controlled, every inch the soldier. As he heads for the door, he glances back at you, brown eyes reflecting the cold, sterile clinic lights. "Take care of yourself, Stitches. Wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

The door closes with a soft click, and you're left standing there, your heart pounding in your chest, the weight of his presence still lingering like a dark shadow. You sink into the nearest chair, burying your face in your shaking hands, the tremors in your fingers betraying the façade of calm you've tried so hard to maintain.

The sterile med bay, once a sanctuary of order and control, now feels like a cage, its white walls closing in around you. The fluorescent lights above cast harsh, unforgiving shadows that seem to mock your vulnerability. The antiseptic smell, once a comforting reminder of cleanliness and safety, now only amplifies your sense of isolation.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the air feels thick and heavy, like trying to breathe through a wet cloth. The encounter with Ghost has left you shaken, his probing questions and unyielding gaze stripping away the layers of composure you've wrapped around yourself. His words echo in your mind, a relentless reminder of the danger that lurks just beyond your control.

Each stitch you placed in Ghost's arm felt like a small victory, a momentary reclaiming of your competence and purpose. Yet, as the thread pulled taut, so did the tension in your chest, the reality of your situation tightening its grip on your heart. You can't help but feel like you're unravelling, each new day bringing you closer to the breaking point, the thread threatening to tear.

[twis-world]

Loving Arms

Mentions: Jamil Centric, 2nd Person, Gender Neutral Reader, Fluff??? Fluff

Though he loathed to admit it, relaxation did not come easily to Jamil.

One could not blame him for that. His entire life up to a certain point had been dedicated solely to serving the Al-Asim family. To serve Kalim. The mere thought of resting was a luxury he could not afford nor even desire for.

Anything could happen at any moment in time. There was no small number of brave fools that wouldn’t love to seize the throne for themselves, not even the rest of the royal family were to be excluded, painful as it was. Assassination attempts were never ending, kidnappings even less, and the rare counts of food poisoning were never to be taken lightly. Painful memories of when he had to undertake the latter for his “master” loved to rear its ugly head from time to time, showing its form in dreadful nightmares that took far too long to wake up from.

To ever be in a true state of peace and tranquility was but a mere dream.

One that he did not ever wish to wake up from at the moment.

Having his guard down was such a foreign feeling that it almost felt wrong. To not have walls of the strongest steel protecting his mind and body, to not be so alert that his brain ached at all the details he must note, to not have every fiber in his body ready to pounce the mere second danger showed itself…wrong. It was all so terribly wrong.

How could something so wrong, though, feel so incredibly right?

Your hands running through his let down hair with such care that he thought himself fragile for once. How could he not when you yourself not dare to apply more than the little pressure necessary to bring about chills of such pleasure all throughout his body. Fingertips running down his scalp so smoothly for the past hour that it was truly a surprise he hadn’t yet fallen victim to the cruel world of dreams.

Was it an underlying fear for what may greet him that prevented him from moving on peacefully? The smallest inkling of dread that held him back, his consciousness clinging to remain with the one person it considered truly safe? Someone who he childishly believed would protect him from the horrors of the past?

He quickly learned, though, that such immature thoughts were all for naught. It truly was a wonder as to how you could seemingly hear everything that ran through his head. All the doubts, the paranoia, the anxiety, none of them could hide from your being no matter how much he may try.

Gentle caresses moved from his locks to his face, yet he dared not open his eyes. He couldn’t even if he tried anyways, eyelids so heavy it was fruitless to even flicker them. Instead he nuzzled his face further into your lap, an action he would no doubt come to regret when your relentless teasing would inevitably come about in the near future. That, however, was something he would deal with later. Instead, for once, he would be selfish and simply enjoy the moment.

He hadn’t even realized how tense he had been mere moments ago, feeling how his muscles so easily relaxed with each brush of your fingers. Starting from his cheeks, running up to the spot between his eyebrows, playfully running down the slope of his nose, finally coming to a dangerous close along the bow of his lip. A pleasant shiver ran up his spine, exhaustion holding him in too tight of a grasp to allow him to blush at how you chuckled in response.

It finally took the delicate kiss you placed upon his forehead for him to finally let go of himself. Consciousness so easily drifting away that it was almost scary. Almost, not quite. Submitting himself to you would always be something he dare not fear, but instead wholly welcome with just as loving arms as you would him.

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Too Sweet

This too, is short n’ sweet. Based on @trippygalaxy/@acrossthegalaxyau’s Beast.

He’s a little self loathing.

and this is totally self indulgent.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

He was an abomination. He was sure of it. He was no good thing, not anymore. His temper had soured. His fangs had sharpened — his senses too. He was more beast than man. It was what defined him now. It was his namesake. It was his purpose. To rip and marr and massacre.

Staring down at his chest he saw only proof of it. A shard, the catalyst to his pain, embedded between his ribs. He was other. Neither Twili nor Hylian. His form struggled to reject the magic as it latched to his heart. What was once soft and warm was now cold and still. Spider-like scars wrap around his torso in an unnatural teal, glowing and pulsating with the beat of his changed anatomy. His skin blackened near the wound.

Like rot.

You should not insist upon resting your head nor giving your heart to something so beaten, he thinks dully, as you do just that. You shouldn’t accept this so readily. You should scream and thrash and cry, like prey caught in his arms. But you do not. You refuse. You kiss the shard lovingly before repeating the motion above his heart. He does not understand why you trace the thin lines with your fingertips, muttering sweet compliments into the worst part of him. You are faced with what taints him, and you love him despite it.

He does not deserve such love.

His teeth are made to rip and tear soft flesh, not graze against it teasingly. You should know. You’ve seen the deer carcasses. You’ve heard the rumours. But you kiss his lips as if there’s never been blood on them. His hands are meant to break and crack bone, not cradle yours softly. You’ve seen him work, you know what he can do, the strength he yields. But you thank him all the same, wrapping your arms around his waist and murmuring your approval. His demeanour is supposed to drive everyone away, so why are you still here?

And why doesn’t he want you to go?

Why does he embrace this soft life with you, letting you pepper kisses across his tattooed cheeks? And you shouldn’t see the worth in spending meaningless days watching him work his small field. You don’t need to follow him around on his late night walks as he avoids himself. You especially don’t need to comfort him. He’s been primed to kill, and yet you soothe him like he's a frightened stray. He shouldn’t let you waste your precious time cooking him meals and tending to his many wounds.

He shouldn’t let you.

But he does.

He craves your soft touches and the jump of his heart. He breathes now to be good by your standards, if he can’t be good wholly. He longs to be held by you again. He waits on your call eagerly— loyal as ever. He aches to be loved by you. To be special to you in some way. He doesn’t care how much he has to give, so long as you love him it’s worth it.

He knows it’s bad— to keep you from better people and a better life. But that doesn’t change that he wants you at his side. And it certainly doesn’t change that no matter how often he tried to tell himself otherwise, he loved you. He was yours, heart, mind and soul.

And he felt like maybe you were his too.

He saw no other reason you’d be so upset at others checking him out as he worked. And certainly nothing to warrant the smirk as you kissed him breathless to stake your claim.

He was no better than Heavens. He was a lovesick fool for you.

Maybe just this once he could be selfish. Maybe just for you he could let himself fall in love. And Maybe things will stay this way, with you both curled up in each other’s arms on a sunny evening.

[hoverboards-and-dragons]

A Lilith character study about Lucilith

Lilith thinks about how her husband would die for her, she'd kill for him and how their experiences during creation really did fucked them up but its probably fine.

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

Lilith didn't trust easily.

She doubted she could trust at all anymore.

She was an admitted selfish woman, unapologetically ambitious, truly sinful.

She belonged in hell and she couldn't be prouder of that, of a kingdom that called her wholly it's own and loved her as fiercely as she loved it; of standing for herself among those who only knew how to kneel and demanded the same from her.

The only reason she'd say Lucifer didn't belong in Heaven was that he was simply far too good that wretched place. Even if his revulsion for her home and pride weighed heavy on her heart.

Good things didn't 'happen to' Lilith, every good thing in her life had been viciously fought for and defended: except for Lucifer.

Lucifer was the best thing to ever happen to her, the only good thing that ever just happened to her. Stepping into her life and simply giving her all the admiration, freedom and power she had could have ever desired, ever been denied, as if she deserved it, as if she didn't have to fight for it.

Lilith didn't trust easily, and small dark part of her doubted that there even was such a thing.

But she remembers what it was to be held against Lucifer while his body split the sky, all six wings shielding her without a thought to even trying to slow his own decent; and that pure relief when he saw her almost unscathed, even as his broken form was painting the ground gold in a quickly deepening puddle.

It remained her that she did know what trust was. She had a truth lain before her that not even her deepest skepticism could deny: that new scorned woman in Paradise, that had to learn all gifts came with strings, the benefit of the doubt only led to loss and that no one acted without agenda.

Lucifer was exactly who she had always seen. After everything was stripped away, there was nothing else hidden under mask or act.

He looked at Lilith like she centred the entire world, like she deserved everything and more, all of creation and anything belong it.

Because he truly believed she did.

How many nights awake had Lilith spent battling with that realization, that he was real, that anyone could be that openhanded, that endlessly eager and willing to put someone else before themselves, with no fear or hostility or even hesitation.

That he loved her.

Chose her.

Chose her before God.

(She shelved those thoughts for another time, she was spiralling enough without a contemplation of just how high his place in the universe - that he saw her as leagues above - actually was.)

She didn't bother with questions of deserving like Lucifer sometimes did. She didn't care if either of them deserved each other.

Lilith didn't 'deserve' anything, she wanted things, and then she took them.

Just like every other rare commodity Lilith got her hands on, she coveted him selfishly.

She couldn't let it ruin him. She may love hell, but Lucifer was something special, unreproducible and irreplaceable. He would not be torn down into just another sinner out for himself and his power.

Especially with the toll this separation from his family was already on him.

If she was any less sure it wouldn't help him, she'd storm the gates of Heaven itself and tear those pitiful excuses for siblings, kin and a Father apart limb by limb.

Did they not understand what they were so callously tarnishing?! This pure true divinity so infinitely rare even upon their holy kind! Tossed aside, forgotten and left to rot.

No.

Lilith wouldn't allow that.

She had always lived, worked and thrived in the scraps discarded from Heaven's over abundance. She knew the endless potential in things they habitually overlooked.

She would love and adore him like they failed to. Utilize every piece of him he offered, make fools out of everyone who'd ever given him up.

And they would learn to fear her at his stead.

Heaven has freely given her the rope they will hang by.

[ackerifle]

I personally see yan!Levi being like he is in the show, keeping his emotions in control, being focused and having the whole no-nonsense attitude. While being just a tad bit too overprotective. I doubt he'd ever harm reader if he's caught feelings for them or force himself on them. (just my opinion and personal preference!) But it makes me curious to see how he would genuinely struggle with his feelings, being self-aware of how too much he feels for reader while also being quite dense in a way. Seeing him deteriorate as he's trying to keep up with how he usually is with everyone else. While you see things from his POV, his psychology. And how the absence of any form of intimacy and probably not thinking he needs it affects him. I've read all that you've written and really like your writing and wondered what your take on this would be? a scenario or headcanons, Can be sfw and/or nsfw!

dramatis personae!

yan. levi ackerman x fem. reader

+ CW. — headcanon’s: internal morality conflict, stalking, possessive and manipulative behavior, slight intimidation, implied: forced relationship & eventual mind break; i fear the structure worsens as it continues; not proof-read.

first and foremost, you flatter me, i am delighted to hear that you’ve taken a liking to my writing, and your patience in waiting is well appreciated. this particular ask near reminds me that it is long overdue for me to create a work that is written exclusively in levi’s perspective, or rather, one that happens to centre around his general frame of mind as a yandere.

levi is no fool, love comes easy to the forlorn who have never had a taste of it. and when it comes to you? he knows it’s love, he knows it right away. but these feelings are so… intense, so peculiar, so persistent, so passionate, and so not normal. levi’s struggle with morality is a burden that rivals the responsibility of being humanity’s strongest soldier, truly. and although levi does his utmost to justify his unusual behaviors and progressively concerning actions, he simply can’t. you’re quite unfortunate yourself, to have a man such as levi absolutely and utterly enamored with you, and he wholly acknowledges it. but who is to pay the price, if not you? initially, levi’s solution to suppressing the severity of his feelings, if not the feelings altogether, is distance. but this proves only temporary as absence makes the heart grow fonder, and it isn’t long before he gives up because why would he deprive himself of happiness after just finally attaining it?

it’s almost too much, really. levi feels quite a lot, but most of all, he feels guilty— just not guilty enough to stop. and as time passes, his resolve inevitably weakens, and it becomes easier to rationalize what he does, even if levi is astutely aware deep down that acting upon his own selfish desires will always be wrong, at least with the way he’s going about it. it isn’t entirely justice, per se, but levi does happen to have a strong sense of righteousness, of rectitude, of common decency. human life holds great significance to him, but so does the quality of said life; he wants you to feel everything and anything but suffering by being with him. but there will come a point where i believe that he stops caring altogether. that levi’s erstwhile efforts of concealing his sincere intentions and ardent sentiments would waver in due time, but this would be late into his life, likely after the battle of heaven and earth when you’re even more emotionally eroded than he is.

it starts off small, considering that he is fairly unsuspecting as a yandere, and quite little would change about his mannerisms, at least until you’ve noticed too little too late. levi wants your relationship, romantic or not, to develop as organically as possible so he can get over the fact that it is quite literally anything but. not when he already knows everything he needs to know about you. levi is observant and watchful as is, but he also happens to have a plethora of resources at his fingertips; such as your legal documents, military papers, and medical records. furthermore, it would only take one little harmless white lie to attain more… personal information: family history, biographies, or even reports written by none other than yourself, ones that had been published decades ago, that is.

and while i don’t particularly envision levi as the obsessive, nor delusional, type (as much as i find him to be the possessive type), it may simply pass his mind that this isn’t insanely weird. only until levi finally reels himself in — with rare restraint that levi is usually well renowned for having, even in comparison to his most reticent peers — and he realizes that he’s violated your entire right to privacy, unbeknownst to you. it eventually registers in that lucid state of consciousness of his that he’s going out of his way to do this on his own personal accord, that it is taking time out of his work schedule, and that he cannot accredit this to assisting the survey corps in literally any way. when it settles, he’s honestly mortified. and the worst of it all? you’ve probably only interacted a grand total of two times, three if we’re being generous.

the feeling of levi’s presence is hard to miss, let it be from across the dining hall, or in close quarters, both of which levi will ensure that you become mindlessly accustomed to overtime. as aforementioned, levi is adamant about this bond forming naturally so as to prevent himself from digging a deeper hole than he already has, so the introduction of his company in day to day life will be the first steps in making himself known to you. of course, you already know him, all of the soldiers do, but you’ll find that he is just everywhere, and in particular, everywhere that you are. there is no shortage of his lingering presence; you see him often, more often than someone of your rank should. and it gets to be awfully concerning when your recurrent rendezvous with the man take a gradual turn from fortuitous close-shoulder proximity in the mandatory meetings, to levi cornering you in the furthest and deserted hallways of the headquarters to ask the most obscure and obscene questions that only someone maintaining close relations to you would know.

this is levi’s (not-so) subtle way of letting you know that he has taken an interest in you, even if you are likely to perceive it as him being a hardass that has spontaneously discovered that he fancies finding fault with and denigrating your performance in the corps. levi is a busy man, but never too busy to miss visiting you in one way or another; and although he prefers to demonstrate acts of service to indicate his affections for you, you two aren’t exactly close enough for that, yet. ironically, levi may find that doing anything for you is a little too forward, it is blatant favoritism at worst, and a telltale sign of his relentless loyalty at best; but his definition of forward is very different considering it wasn’t all that forward when he decided to hold you hostage in his office to do menial tasks simply because he wanted you there. and it isn’t that levi is intentionally acting with such amateur impromptu (although granted, not like he has had much experience to begin with), it’s rather him just being careful. levi has no issue when it comes to being straightforward, but this… this is surely quite different.

you may come to the conclusion that his sudden, awkwardly formal yet somehow equally as intimate interactions with you — given no prior history with one another, not even as fellow soldiers — is because he is too embarrassed to outright admit what he wants; which is you. that he is above pursuing whatever this is with another, let alone someone of (presumably) lower status. but levi isn’t necessarily shy as much as he is hesitant, and ideally, it would be you who initiates. for the same reason he feels beside himself and ashamed, it would ease the guilt if you had wanted him back in the first place, with levi believing that you may need a push in the right direction to do so. but that push is more like a shove… off a cliff, because it doesn’t even so much as cross your mind that these are levi’s questionable ways of romantic advancement, and not him attempting to intimidate you into woefully resigning from the military.

and when levi ascertains that he has to be the one to do something, he will. it wasn’t that levi was apprehensive out of fear, nor daunted by the notion itself (… like have you seen this man’s initiative statistics), it is just that it would have been for the best had you played along in the first place. to placate levi’s longing for something, anything, from you in return to give the illusion that his valiant efforts weren’t all for naught, he may have even been pleased, regardless of the fact he can see right through you. but you don’t, because you aren’t stupid enough to give yourself to him, and now that he’s been so kind as to give you a chance, you won’t be getting it again. he’ll be curt as all hell, terse with his wants, and unabashed about his desires; but it isn’t quite what you’re used to.

if i were to describe the connection you hold with yandere levi, it would actually be intimate. perhaps not in the traditional sense: physical, emotional, or other, but in the way that levi feels safe, something he hopes you feel with him as well. that he is free to express the innermost dark and delicate thoughts of his subconscious and as himself as humanity's strongest and levi ackerman— to you, as his confidant, as his comrade, and as his lover. real, genuine and authentic intimacy is something that levi has never had the fortune of experiencing. but once he has, he can’t get enough. let it be known that i feel that levi wouldn’t refer to you with typical terms of endearment, as they still remain rather foreign and ambiguous to him, but also because words alone don’t even come close to expressing the extremity of his feelings. he can just show you, if you let him.

levi may be a man who sustains exceptional self-awareness, however, he is a bit thick-headed when it comes to why he loves this way. it is… depraved to say the least, and while he fully understands that the process of falling and being in love is only natural, which he has reluctantly come to terms with now given his current situation, he just can’t place a finger as to why it has to be this way. his behaviors are susceptible to going unnoticed for an alarming amount of time by those around him, even the veteran soldiers who have come to know him for years; save for erwin who is far too sharp and perceptively nosy for his own good, and hange who is pertinaciously attentive as ever. it matters not in the end, as levi won’t be taking advice from them anyway. as exhausting as it may be to varnish over and conceal his deranged approach to love in the eyes of the public, there are only a handful of people that he owes such pleasantries to; and should a cadet have the gall to address him, levi will see to it that there will be no repetition of such daft inquiries following in their footsteps. but he prides himself in the fact that he is greatly disciplined, his self-restraint and intellectual control are unmatched, and it is a blessing that levi can regulate his emotions with the stability that he does, because by god, you would never know peace otherwise.

only partially have i discussed the manipulative potential that levi has (and already possesses) but not as detailed, nor thorough, as i am about to now. this man will drive you up a fucking wall. you can kick and scream, yell until your voice goes hoarse and berate levi to your heart's content, but he won’t budge. you’ll only be met with a blank stare. and it’s honestly terrifying, you’ll find that some reaction, any reaction; angry, sad, hurt, and what have you, is better than nothing at all. the silence after is what kills you, and it does well to remind you of where you stand. he won’t give you the reaction you so desperately wish to see to soothe the nerves that flare when levi goes dead quiet. but he has no reason to paint himself in any bad light, levi has done nothing but good for you, and this is how he is reimbursed?

levi can cope with a darling that detests him, it most certainly will get under his skin, but he’ll live. specifically because he knows that you never asked to be put in a position that you were, one where there is no way out. because levi knows that if what was left of humanity had fallen, obliterated and defeated by the titans as everyone had once feared, you would leave him without a second thought or even sparing a farewell. and as understanding as he is of the unfortunate circumstances (for you) and the wonderful situation (for him), there is no ounce of empathy or pity that could ever topple levi’s hunger to have you. but he is possessive through and through. your love is irreplaceable, priceless even, but it is merely a perk to having you.

thus, levi doesn’t fret when it comes to getting you to love him, though that isn’t to say he disregards the endeavor entirely. he is eerily forbearing, with the patience of a saint and all the time in the world, levi is nothing if not restrained. be it a day, a month, a year, thirteen years, levi can wait because your submission is bound to overcome any sort of resistance you have left. you are the prettiest when you cave in, give in, and although almost as pleasant, your love cannot compare to your compliance, to your acceptance. that isn’t to say levi won’t try, he wants you to like him, but he acknowledges that learning to love him as he does you will take more time, and he can wait.

levi is a slow burn yandere to the end, and if you think you can best him in the long game, you have another thing coming. at the height of his infatuation, back to the very beginning, you may have found yourself maddened and infuriated to your wits’ end by his constant presence, but he has always been the one person to take such tender care of you; to the point it would be almost strange if he had so suddenly stopped. and when the battle of heaven and earth had become the last calamity to finally break you, you stop fighting him. you’ve only one another left, and levi is all yours, always has been, always will be, and maybe you’ll accept that you really are his.

[1001scoganmusings]

Sacraficial heart

A/N: Kicking off kinktober on the lords day with the most elusive and coveted kink of them all, a loving and healthy relationship where both people are simps for each other.

P.S, Trying out a black hat POV. Idk what do you think?

Demons don’t go to heaven.

That is the law. Not that I ever cared. Never being one to take orders from a capricious and uncaring lesser being. Though perhaps the angels were on to something with the whole giving up power and control bit. And while I know I’ll never enter the pearlescent gates and be welcomed in to eternal paradise by a chorus of angels; if that was even how those things go. It was in these moments alone with my beloved that I could swear I was already there.

Pleasure steadily mounting higher and higher, engulfing me like a blazing inferno, searing my very flesh, and imprinting itself on to me both body and soul.

Too much. It was too much. And yet, not enough.

My legs held wide open and bent back, knees touching my chest as Flug drove his cock in to my slit hard and fast. “Black hat.” moaned flug, his fingers digging into the soft tender flesh of my thighs. His eyes half lidded and darkened with desire. Sensual and soft lips parted releasing some of the most filthy and erotic noises that would make even the most devious of sinners blush.

Why had I denied himself this for so long? Why did I ever fight his love? It was inconceivable. How could I have ever not wanted this? How foolish. How down right criminal and selfish l had been. To think I might’ve gone my whole immortal life without ever really knowing, truly knowing what it was to be baptized and reborn. To be made wholly by the love of another. No not another. By flug. God’s most perfect creation.

I lifted my head, groaning as I looked down at the place where we were joined. Watching as Flug’s cock, shiny and wet with my love juices, plunged in to me, disappearing over and over again in to my slit with wet squelching noises; completely drenching the dark brown patch of curls at the base of his cock. My own cock slapping against my stomach with a wet smack, pre dribbling out from the weeping head, forming a small puddle that was slowly spilling on to my stomach an up towards my chest with every thrust. What a mess we were making.

“So tight.” whined Flug pushing his damp sweaty hair out of his eyes. “Fuck, you feel so good.” He babbled nonsensically. “Never. Never wanna stop fucking you. So perfect. Mine. Your all mine. Your. all. fucking. mine.” He groaned. I grit my teeth, my toes curling as he punctuated each word with a deliciously deep thrust.

The possessiveness in Flug’s voice was quickly unraveling my sanity even more than before.

“Yours, all yours, only yours.” I moaned softly. “No one else could ever do. Never. It is you and you alone who has my heart.” His gaze turning soft and adoring as he looked down upon me.

Releasing my death grip on the sheets to reach up with shaky hands, wrapping my arms around Flug’s neck, and pulling him down, needing to feel him still ever so closer.

Lips so soft and warm pressed themselves against my own. Flug’s tongue probing the seam of my lips gently asking for entrance. As if I would deny this man anything at this point. Flug only but needed to ask and I would happily rip out my own beating heart and serve it on a silver platter like the love sick fool that I had become.

The kiss was sloppy and messy, all teeth and tongue, but I didn’t care, couldn’t be bothered to. The warm wet glide of our tongues against one another was making me dizzy with need.

Only for Flug and Flug alone would I allow this. Allow myself to be held. Treated for the first time in my entire life as something fragile. Something to be cherished and, dear god dare I say it? Something, worthy of love.

A lump formed in my throat at the thought. How long had I endured alone? All these millennia roaming the world with a protective wall around his heart. Convincing myself all the while that love was nothing more than a wretched and foul thing meant to control and prey upon weak willed and mindless creatures.

How truly delusional and demented demons are. Using any and all excuse to cope with the ache of loneliness lest it drive us mad. It would’ve made him laugh if it wasn’t so pathetic and simultaneously true.

To think this man, this brilliant and wondrous divine creature above him had chosen him. Chosen Him; to bestow his love upon. To spend what precious little time he’d been given, with him. With him.

His. Flug was his.

Mine.

Mine.

All mine.

Black hat broke the kiss, lips still pressed against Flug’s and whispered, “I love you.”

“Again. Say it again.” demanded Flug.

“I—I love you.” stammered black, silently cursed Flug for making me stumble over my words like an idiot with those loving eyes of his.

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you you damned dolt. How many time must I repeat—“

Flug slotted his mouth against my own, delving his tongue in to my mouth and kissing me fiercely once more as he sped up his movements. Dear god it felt as if this man was going to break me. I secretly hope he does. He’s already ruined my heart and soul. What more would it mean if he ruined my body so that no other could bring me to the heights of ecstasy as he could.

My hands threading themselves in Flug’s hair pulling him ever so closer, deepening the kiss. My heart doing somersaults in my chest as our tongues met again.

“Cum jefecito. Cum on my cock, now.” Slurred flug as he kissed me deeply, snaking a hand down between us to stroke my cock in time with his thrusts.

The double sensation being too much, driving me over the brink. My body going taught and ridged as my orgasm crashed over me like a tidal wave. I broke the kiss as a loud terrible inhuman cry left my throat. Thick ropes of cum one after the other shot all over Flug’s hand and stomach. “So cute, so cute. God I love you. I love you, Iove you, I love you.” He chanted, chasing his own release, a few more thrusts before he jilted himself. His warm cum making me shiver as he filled me.

Sleek black tentacles with tiny mouths sprouted from black hat’s body. They slithered down Flug’s legs and arms, and up over his back caressing and showering any pieces of skin their mouths could reach with kisses of adoration. Some sucking marks and leaving bites of their own.

“Your so cute boss.” panted flug, gazing down at him with nothing short of pure love and affection before kissing him again tender and sweet before collapsing on top of him and snuggling into his chest.

More immortals lose themselves chasing the ever fickle love of humans. I knew this. Hell I’d bore witness to it time and time again. Laughing and jeering at others of my kind as they fell to their demise from chasing the ever elusive beast that was a human’s heart. Oh how cunning and cruel a mistress irony was indeed.

And still here I was ever the fool laying, quite literally, at the feet of said proverbial beast. Welcoming with open arms not only the ruin and destruction of my good reputation as a demon but the desolation of my heart as well should flug ever decide to crush me, hurt me so detrimentally that I might not ever recover.

But it was too late. I was hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Flug. No other would do. My traitorous heart was set.

“My heart is not but a sacrificial lamb for slaughter, to be devoured by the insatiable hunger of your love.” I whispered against flug’s temple as he lay in my arms already fast asleep, our bodies a tangled heap of limbs. “For not even death can part us now beloved. And god help any who think to try.”

[mybrainproblems]

Having hilson thoughts.

Because it's real fuckin rich that Wilson is so critical of House and Stacy having an affair when Stacy is married given that we know Wilson has cheated on his wives multiple times and his whole "you'd be surprised what you can live with" speech to Cameron. Not to mention the part where he sleeps with and moves in with a patient. (He's such a terrible person and a hypocrite, I love him)

So my thought is that mayhaps at some point previously, and I'm going to posit that it's when Wilson is married to Julie, he tries to kiss House and ends up getting rebuffed with a comment from House that he's not gonna be another affair bc he may not respect marriage as an institution but he's not gonna fool around with someone who's married*

So it's just like. Bad Feels that oh, so it's not okay to fool around with someone who's married when it's him, but it's fine if it's Stacy.

I just think Wilson deserves to be the most tremendous hypocrite with motivations that are wholly selfish and self-centered.

* this being hilson thoughts, obviously the reason House turns Wilson down is because it's Wilson and he'd rather stay friends than risk losing him over a kiss or what he assumes would be a one night stand

Sorry but I'm obsessed with the agony and tragedy of them never being on the same page at the same time for over a decade and they both think everything that happens when they're living together in s6 is just convenience/unserious. They aren't on the same page until the very end so they've been circling each other for 15+ years and now they're staring down the barrel of having five months when they could have had so much longer.

[trashlie]

Hello again it's random anon because I have a few thoughts on Shin-ae and selfishness and romantic foils and aghhghhhh :')

I think one of the most interesting parts of Shin-ae's absolute feralness when it comes to her feelings for Nol is that she already, specifically, targeted Dieter as being her "first taste of romance" and the absolute sense of contrast that comes from that. Because sure, Shin-ae has been flustered by Dieter (and. his hands...) but there is a pointed lack of action on Shin-ae's side towards pursuing him. She acknowledges Dieter as a romantic prospect, but she is passive, almost comfortably aware of her feelings. He is, like always, a shoulder to lean on, and this time that shoulder is the ease of possible romance. There's pointed comfort in him—and her feelings towards him—being so predictable. She can safely box her feelings as a maybe crush, because even inside that box everything is so contained. She can clearly, confidently identify what she admires and values about him, and further bolsters a sense of security through his feelings for her, because they've been clear from the start. Dieter almost embodies security, narratively: he is the one Shin-ae always feels safe with, the one who brings her comfort both in being such a kind, genuine person and in how he has always been reliable in his vulnerability. And yet, it's ultimately that ideal of security that he provides that so clearly foils him and Shin-ae's relationship with her feelings for Nol. Because even though he and Shin-ae very pertinently find comfort and security in each other, especially at their best, he in no way has been a secure presence in her life. In fact, he quite literally is the very opposite: he's the one who keeps breaking those boxes Shin-ae protects herself with, he's the one who forces her time and time again out of her comfort zone, both purposefully and not. And I love how the bubbling over of her romantic feelings for him embodies that: Nol was never able to fit into the very platonic box she tried to force him inside and herself to believe in, and now he is once again acting as a conduit for Shin-ae opening herself to more new experiences, to understand and be hit with the overwhelming whole that is falling for someone—and most of all, the desire for possession and the yearning want that borders on need that’s inherent to it. Shin-ae might have liked Dieter, but she is in love with Nol and that love is something so overwhelming that she is so desperate to repress and push it away yet wants it, wants him so badly that it ends up spilling out anyway. And we see that “selfishness” highlighted too: in her jealousy of Alyssa, in how her want for Nol is intertwined with possession, even in her pure brazenness. I love how you said it feels like she’s just running through the stages of puberty at once because for once, it feels like Shin-ae is finally acting wholly her age. She’s just a teenager completely overcome by her first love, not the strong, selfless role she’s had to take on since childhood.

And it’s not just in Shin-ae either! If anything, the selfishness of love is more clearly highlighted in Nol because it’s so relevant to his arc and serves as a corruption of everything he’s forced onto himself. It's like.... hrhgh I feel like I wanna talk about this more but just as Nol has been the undoing of Shin-ae's defense mechanisms and compartmentalizations, she is what stands in opposition to his moral frameworks and internalized self-loathing: he views himself as someone who's always making up for his existence, so he is never supposed to *take* in his relationships with others, but Shin-ae makes him want to indulge. She's made him grapple with his own desires: to be acknowledged, to be cared for, to be loved, and she makes it so easy to give in because when he's with her, he can almost fool himself into thinking that he is a person worthy of all she gives him--and no matter how much he tries to pull away, she fights twice as hard to pull him back and until he just *can't* anymore and gives in to his desires. And like… hfhjj the entire point of Yeong-gi as a mask was that dissolution of self, the repression of his desires in exchange for a pure, detached selflessness, and Shin-ae just splintered that idea and forced him to confront how much he still desired real connection. And just altogether, the “selfishness” that Shin-ae and Nol bring out in each other is just so meaningful because both of them are such selfless and wholly self-sacrificing people and acting on their own needs and wants has always been secondary to providing for others. And now because of each other they're both facing the inherent selfishness of love; how want and desire are entangled with possessiveness and impulsivity; how it can make you forget yourself, because suddenly you're aware of how much your heart can sweep everything else to the side and make you forget and forsake all facades of altruism.

They're just both each other's undoings! Every single time! At their core they are two battered people who bring out and illuminate each other, who mirror each other so strongly that they've forced everything the other has hidden under defense mechanisms and personas to the surface; who have allowed each other to just be *people* with wants and desires and needs when they had both tossed those luxuries away. I'm gonna gjjggjjggjjjjj the more I think.... the more I'm gonna jgjgjgjj it never ends they are so. Absolutely dummies I can't with those two anymore I’m gonna perish :’DDD

YELLING NONNY I LOVE THIS ASK SO MUCH ;A; I have put off answering it for so long while I've been sick because I really, really want to do it justice, and frankly I don't feel confident that I can, but I'm going to try my best because WOW you really touch all of the important bases, really shine a light on exactly what is revealed by the nature of their feelings and this manner of discovery - that at the end of the day they are two people who have tried so hard to "play by the rules" and look where it got them, that they have always been so selfless and put everyone else ahead of themselves but now they are facing something that is SO selfish where you MUST put yourself first where you MUST value yourself and it's shatters everything they have made themselves believe!!!!!

It's so, so much easier to explore the concept of romance with someone who you already know likes you. It's a built-in safety net. If she wound up falling, there's no risk, because he already likes her, so she's not setting herself up to fall alone. Growing up, I struggled a LOT with figuring out if I actually liked someone or if it was because they liked me that I wanted to try it on. When you know someone likes you, you know you already look different in their eyes. Shinae got to experience all those shy fluttering emotions of first romance with Dieter's shy, blushing gazes, the steadiness of him always being there for her. In a way, without meaning to, Shinae was selfish even with Dieter, though it's not nearly as apparent as with Nol. Dieter never really draws the boundary lines. Even though he knows Shinae doesn't return his feelings, he continues to hope, and when she starts crossing boundaries, he doesn't redraw them; he just allows her. He indulges, because maybe, maybe it will lead to what he wants.

Dieter knows better, but he can't help but want.

And Shinae doesn't even think about it this way but yes, she's trying it on, feeling it out. Is Dieter someone she could see herself with like that?

She still doesn't know. She's so undecided about him - she does not not want to date him, but that also isn't a definitive yes, either. He provides her this comfort, this security, he's a rock to which she ground herself, an anchorpoint. But..... that doesn't make a relationship. That doesn't make feelings. And I think that's where we see the difference between him and Nol, and how she feels about them. Shinae reacts so strongly to Nol, willing to break down doors for him! It's how it's so easy for Shinae to talk about what she likes about Dieter, just as with Minhyuk, but with Nol it's just these volatile feelings, it's this feral anger that he won't let her have him! That moment of realization, so horrified, so panicked, because there's no room for this in her life, because she's been shoving him in a friend-shaped box and THAT'S why he doesn't fit THAT'S why it feels like this THAT'S why she's acting like this?!

And GOD it's just so good, SO delicious to watch it! Because as readers we know those feelings have been there, we've been watching them develop and grow and the moment Nol tried to exit Shinae's life she's been on this intense quest to convince him to stay to show him why he needs to stay and she's confessed to him every which way but with the words themselves and NOW LOOK AT HER!!!!! I love it! I love when characters feel things so big, so strongly, I love when it comes in and kicks down their ribcages!

Watching them strip each other of all these roles and responsibilities they've had to play. With Shinae, you don't have to be Nol with your Yeonggi mask and your walls so high you let no one in, you don't have to keep it all in and deny yourself any joys any pleasures, with her, you are allowed to want and want and take and take. And with Nol, you don't have to be selfless you don't have to put everyone else's needs first to make yourself as small as you can in order to not take up space you can be a burden you can lean on people you can depend on someone. All these things they've never had before - never allowed themselves, never reached for, and they found it in each other without meaning to. Nol had no intention of this friendship meaning anything, had every intention of shipping her off with his best friend.

And then she started to notice him. Started to pay attention. She started to see him and he couldn't resist it, because no one ever sees him everyone lets him brush them off and they move on but not her! In being cared for he starts to care for her and no matter how many times he denies it, he keeps going back!

just as Nol has been the undoing of Shin-ae's defense mechanisms and compartmentalizations, she is what stands in opposition to his moral frameworks and internalized self-loathing: he views himself as someone who's always making up for his existence, so he is never supposed to *take* in his relationships with others, but Shin-ae makes him want to indulge. She's made him grapple with his own desires: to be acknowledged, to be cared for, to be loved, and she makes it so easy to give in because when he's with her, he can almost fool himself into thinking that he is a person worthy of all she gives him--and no matter how much he tries to pull away, she fights twice as hard to pull him back and until he just *can't* anymore and gives in to his desires.

LIKE I JUST CAN'T TOP THIS YOU KNOW? LMAO You've summed it up PERFECTLY! Because we've seen it SO MANY times. All the times he's reached out to her only to deny himself, every time he's been left holding the space that she touched, carrying her words in his head like some kind of comforting blanket. Even when Shinae didn't realize it was a mask, she was seeing through it; she knew there was something uncanny, unnatural about the way he was always smiling even in times when it was uncalled for. She knew there was something off, something authentic and without trying she always managed to probe a little, to elicit some kind of confession from him, some little truth he couldn't help but reveal, couldn't help but open himself up a little. Can't help but WANT because it turns out it feels SO GOOD to be seen to be wanted.

I think sometimes about HOW HARD it must have been for him to walk away from Shinae in the rain, to hurt her that way and KNOW he was hurting her - that he ended up dry heaving somewhere while they were simultaneously feeling unable to breathe unable to move bodies so heavy. It must have been SO HARD to hold her and then remember what happened is something he believes is his own fault, and to have to walk away from that.

It must have been SO HARD for him to close himself away to hide himself away and pretend that none of it hurts that it's for the best that this is how it's supposed to be when he'd already had a taste for what it's like to be cared about and UGH I CAN'T HANDLE IT THIS IS WHY I CAN'T SHUT UP ABOUT THEM IT'S ALL OF THIS!

It's the ways they broke down each others walls and ripped away each others' masks and how they get to each other on these VERY real levels. How they had these walls of defense that they both broke through them and NOW LOOK AT THEM. ROARS!!!!!!!!!!!

This is also why i feel SO VERY STRONGLY about this current arc leading us to Nol and Shinae as equals, as peoples on a team together, not Nol leading and Shinae following. Because she made him see that maybe, MAYBE this wasn't the way he needed to live his life. He was doing all of this for absolution and what changed, what improved? What good did it do him to duck his head and play the game and skate by unnoticed? What has it done for him to suffocate himself in such a lonely, unbearable existence? Maybe he doesn't yet believe he deserves the good things that come his way - but he could learn to. The thought that she makes him want to believe that he deserves any of this, that he's allowed to indulge in this, that maybe, just maybe, he, too, is a person allowed to feel these things and meet those needs to want and be wanted and RECIPROCATION.

I want to see him come to the realization that walking away from this is impossible - that he tried and look where he ended up he's right back here anyway - and to just. Stop trying. Stop pushing. ACCEPT IT. ACCEPT HER. AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

but GOD YOU TOTALLY GET IT, too. It's like.... they have both lived these lives of hardship and loss and struggle and suffering but when they are together, that ceases to matter. When they are together, they aren't what the others see them as - violent, undeserving little mongrels cast aside by so many others. They are just.... these kids who find solace in each other, who take comfort in each other and GOD that means so much to me!!!!!!!! The safe haven!!!!!!!!!!! That for once, Nol has found a place where maybe, MAYBE he can be himself - and he has and she still accepted that! And she has found someone who she can chase to the ends of the earth, who can't throw her away.

And it means SO MUCH to each other sobs ;______________;

Nonny I love this message so much it's one of my favorites and I TREASURE IT okay ;A; thank you for sharing these thoughts so that I can read them a hundred times over and over and scale the wall every time and just HOWL because GOD you get it and YOU SAY IT SO WELL and AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH ALFKJAFKAKF ALKFJAKFAKFKAJF AKLJAFKAKFKJAFJKAFJK

[leviathanswingman]

killing me softly (with his song): chapter 4

Pairing: DiaLuci

Words: 4442

Chapters: 4/? Chapters 1 2 3

ao3

Lucifer awoke feeling calm and relaxed. His lashes were brushing against his cheeks as he furrowed his brows and let out a big yawn. He didn't feel like getting up just yet, the weight of his responsibilities for once nothing more than background noise.

The slightest hint of honey and smoke was filling the room and he breathed it in curiously. It was a familiar scent that surrounded him wholly. There was a warmth in his body that started from the pit of his stomach and spread out accordingly, stretching down to the tips of his toes and up towards the top of his head.

For a moment, Lucifer was able to push the worries that had been plaguing him the past few weeks aside. It was rare for him to get to sleep peacefully. Usually, urgent matters such as going to sleep and staying asleep were a struggle he could not commit to.

For a moment, he considered keeping his eyes closed, but as he adjusted his position, something tickled against his nose. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of familiar skin pressed against his cheek. The warmth he felt was coming from another body pressed intimately against his own. There was no reason to question who it belonged to. After all, he knew only one person who continuously dared to redefine his boundaries in such ways. 

He paused shortly, held his breath, then breathed out slowly. He was calm, he was collected. Sleep was still heavy on his mind and the comfort he felt was too alluring to deny. 

Last night’s memories were still vivid in his mind. Reluctantly, he had come to accept everything that had happened. After all, he couldn't use his illness as an excuse for his actions much longer. 

Amid a Hanahaki attack as intense as last night's, he wouldn't have allowed just anyone to stay by his side. Lucifer had never shied away from kicking people out when needed. His willingness to keep Diavolo by his side was an admittance of weakness that was telling, and he felt like a fool for being so obvious.

Despite everything, Diavolo had stayed and helped, holding him through the worst wave of it. Oh, how he dreaded the thought. Had he not always considered himself a man in no need of reassurance?

Scratch that. As Lucifer raised his head he realized Diavolo was still holding onto him. Diavolo's left hand was resting at the back of his neck, warm and comforting, cradling him as if he were someone in need of shelter.  

He looked at him, considered the way his head was bent towards his chest, almost tucked under Lucifer’s chin. His right hand was pulled against his heart, Lucifer's own safely tucked away beneath it. Their legs were entangled and it was difficult to tell where Lucifer ended and Diavolo began. Suddenly, it felt far too difficult to pull back and reestablish those boundaries he never wanted in the first place. He did not want to stay away any longer. But if life in the Celestial Realm had taught him one thing, then that would be that everything came at its price. Demons like Lucifer did not simply stumble upon happiness.  

He'd never known how frightening it could feel to be cared for by another person. It was a thing of no permanence, he was aware of that. 

So, still caught up in the afterglow, Lucifer allowed himself a moment of selfishness as he let his eyes roam over Diavolo's sleeping form that was pulled so close to his own.

He was still fast asleep, his hair sticking up in strange angles. For a moment, Lucifer just stayed like that, lying on his side, watching the slow rise and fall of Diavolo's chest as he fought the urge to brush the stray strands of hair out of his eyes. Even in his slumber, Diavolo looked content enough, his undeniably handsome features relaxed. Lucifer let out a deep sigh but did not move. 

A daunting thought crossed his mind and he dared to wonder what it would be like to have all of this - no repercussions, no dangers, just the two of them, together in bed. For a moment, he imagined what it would be like to have the right to let his touches linger. If only Diavolo wasn't destined to be their king. If only Lucifer didn't have to carry the weight of his family’s past on his shoulders. 

Right. He shouldn't forget himself, he should know his place. He had been acting quite uncouth these past few days. It was time to stop this foolishness. 

All Lucifer needed were cold hard facts. Diavolo hadn’t helped him because he loved him. How daring of a thing it would be to assume so. He had acted out of a misplaced sense of responsibility. Due to the nature of their relationship and their contract, they were bound to one another. Quite obviously Diavolo needed his right-hand man and wanted to make sure that he was doing okay, so helping out in such a dire situation had come quite naturally to him. 

Suddenly, Lucifer felt a familiar pain in his chest and fidgeted a bit to alleviate the sting. There it was again. Of course, it had never left to begin with, had only stayed dormant to strike in the most unfitting of moments.

Still, Lucifer had a theory he needed to verify. Slowly, he pulled himself closer, his eyes never leaving Diavolo’s resting form, ready to pull back at the slightest stir. He reached out and allowed his fingertips to rest against the slight stubble on his cheek. As expected, he noticed how the vines hurt a little bit less.

This couldn’t be healthy for him in the long run, he was aware of that. His theory had been correct; it seemed like Diavolo's presence was suppressing his aches. But Lucifer knew better. There was no way this pain relief came without a price.

Like your brothers, you are a fool after all, Lucifer found himself thinking as he ruminated over his situation. Still, he was frozen in place, unable to walk away.

He suppressed a groan as another sharp pain ran through his lungs. A few petals were making their way up his throat; bloody and wet. Diavolo was still fast asleep, yet his hand tightened around Lucifer's reassuringly.

Contrary to popular belief, Diavolo was a very heavy sleeper. Once asleep, it was almost impossible to wake him up again. On several occasions, Lucifer had been forced to team up with Barbatos to drag their future king out of his silken sheets. And oh, how kingly he had looked, his hair disheveled and expression surprisingly grim as he ran the palm of his hand across his face. It had taken quite a toll on Lucifer to keep the corners of his mouth from curling upwards at the sight. He would never admit out loud that it had brightened his day to see Diavolo look so unkempt for once.

Now, upon sensing movement, Diavolo instinctively tightened his grip on Lucifer, pulling him flush against his chest. They were close enough for Lucifer to feel his warm breath tingling against his throat. He imagined being allowed to ghost a kiss over the nape of his neck.

Still, no matter how much he longed for it, he wasn't meant to be held by these arms.

These arms were destined to hold greatness, were destined to support someone worthy. After all, it was difficult to deny that one day, Diavolo would have to marry to ensure an even brighter future for the Devildom. Lucifer was prepared to stand by his side once it happened, and his spine would be sturdy and his smile would look a tad bit too agreeable. 

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and once again, he became too aware of what they must look like to an outsider. They were scandalously close, far too entangled to be pulled apart again. 

To him, the situation was nothing more than that, pure in its intentions, but what it would look like to the visitor waiting patiently for permission to enter, he couldn't fathom. Lucifer had two choices: he could either hide his face in the crook of Diavolo's neck, hoping to stay anonymous, or he could face the visitor, bold and unapologetic. Both options sounded incredibly humiliating. 

Lucifer lifted his head, prepared to face the visitor head-on. After all, he was no coward.

After two precise knocks, a man entered the room, his body sharp like a knife in the room’s low light. Barbatos, holding a candelabra in his left hand, had stopped a few steps away from the bed as the candle illuminated the scene in front of him.

“Good morning,” he said quietly. “Lucifer, how have you been faring?” 

Diavolo continued to snore peacefully and Lucifer found himself unable to move. The best he could do to preserve his dignity was sit up slightly. Diavolo let go of him, only to lock his arms around his waist instead. Lucifer carefully avoided Barbatos’s gaze, not wanting to know what he would find there. “You knew I would be here?”

“I never took note of you leaving, so I took an educated guess.” He fixed Lucifer with his ever-knowing gaze and he felt his cheeks redden beneath it. 

“Is there anything you wanted?” Lucifer asked, embarrassment hot on his cheeks.

“I came to wake the Young Master, but seeing the situation you're in, I suppose there is no need for that just yet,” Barbatos answered smoothly. “Since you are already here I would like to inquire about the state of things. I take it you haven't made a decision just yet?”

“Don't be ridiculous. What decision is there to be made? Have I not explained thoroughly enough why I cannot do that? Who am I to jeopardize his future with my truth.”

Barbatos observed them for a moment, one eyebrow raised ever so slightly. It was quite the sight: Diavolo, still fast asleep, holding onto Lucifer’s waist with a firm grip; Lucifer, propped up on both arms, looking positively disheveled.

Barbatos let out a short sigh. “It is tiring, is it not?” he asked, holding eye contact with him. “How much longer do you plan to keep up this charade?”

“I don't know what you could possibly be getting at. We both know Diavolo will eventually have to get married. What right do I have to selfishly pursue a relationship that is doomed to end? I am unwilling to pursue any other choice. Staying his loyal subject is the only viable option,” Lucifer growled, not caring about keeping his voice down. 

Barbatos fixed the two figures on the bed with a solemn gaze. “And how has that been working out for you? I am the Young Lord’s servant in the same regard, yet it has never crossed my mind to share a bed with him as you do right now.” Barbatos cleared his throat and turned away, facing the door. “A decision needs to be made. We will have to be able to rely on your aid with the preparations. It is undeniable that your constitution has been unpredictable. If you still plan on doing your job, I would urge you to sort yourself out. I know he,” he waved in Diavolo's direction, “ would not care. If it was up to him he'd keep you by his side like this forever, but to me it seems like you are sending mixed signals.”

Diavolo's hand suddenly clenched around the fabric of Lucifer's shirt. Quickly, Lucifer checked whether the demon prince was still asleep. His eyes remained closed and his chest continued to rise with the calmness of sleep.

He let out a deep breath and felt a petal flutter past his lips, landing near Diavolo's face. The demon prince scrunched up his nose in irritation.

Barbatos opened the door and turned back around one last time. “I understand you are not in the mood for more idle chatter. Alas, I shall leave you to your thoughts. Allow me to give you one last piece of advice. That petal… it has quite the curious color. Perhaps you would benefit from studying its meaning.” Barbatos’s hand was already on the doorknob. “When Lord Diavolo awakes would you be so kind as to tell him to come see me? There are certain issues to be discussed.” With one last courteous nod, he left the room, quietly closing the door. 

Concerned by Barbatos' last comment, Lucifer quietly glanced down at the petal that was still lying on top of the sheets. He picked it up, turned it this way and that way as he inspected it. Although it still had to have come from a rose, its color was different. The petal wasn't white, but blue instead. Lucifer had no explanation for the sudden change. The only thing he knew for certain was that new petals could only mean more misery for him to bear. 

Quickly, Lucifer slid his hand across the bed in search of his DDD. As soon as he found it, he researched the meaning of those petals.

Blue rose petals rarely occurred naturally in the human world. They often represented secrecy, the impossible, or the unattainable. In the Devildom, most people associated them with Lucifer, their color the very representation of Pride. He almost had to laugh. It couldn't get any worse than this.

When he put the phone down in exasperation, he dared another look down at Diavolo's sleeping form and was met with golden eyes mustering him curiously.

How long had he been awake?

Diavolo fixed Lucifer with an intense stare. He still hadn't eased up on his death hold, so they were still mere inches apart.

“What do they mean?” Diavolo asked suddenly, his voice still heavy with sleep. “The blue petals, I know I haven’t seen them before.”

“It should hardly matter,” Lucifer replied quickly.

He averted his gaze, focusing on the swirly pattern of the wallpaper to calm his breathing and collect himself again instead. “How long have you been awake for?“ he asked carefully, dreading the worst. “If that was all it took to rouse you, Barbatos and I must have been doing the wrong thing for decades.“

“I did not want to disturb your conversation.”

“So you decided to eavesdrop?”

“I would hardly call it eavesdropping when both of you were aware of my presence. Lucifer, about your topic of discussion…”

Lucifer swallowed harshly, feeling his defenses going up. “What about it?”

“I had hoped Barbatos’s words of wisdom would be enough to sway you.” Diavolo sat up as he spoke, finally untangling himself from Lucifer. “Yet it sounds as if you have made up your mind. How long do you think you can keep up this charade? There must be a way to convince you.”

There were more pressing questions Lucifer wanted to ask.

What were you thinking? What are we doing?

Still, they were questions he couldn't ask without offering a piece of the truth he feared Diavolo had already figured out. He pressed his lips together so he wouldn't voice them.

Apparently, Diavolo had lost all willingness to keep up a playful front. There was a calculating expression on his face, almost as if he were searching for the last piece of the puzzle that would finally make him understand Lucifer's uncharacteristic defiance.

“I will be just fine,“ he grumbled in response, his expression stoic. 

Diavolo grabbed his hands, holding them between his own. Lucifer despised that he didn’t want to push them off.

“Out of nothing but spite? Not even you can do that. Hell, not even I would be able to!” His tone was turning heated. “Forgive my selfishness, but will it truly be worth it if it means losing you?! I need you. Your brothers need you.”

For a split second, a rare look of hurt slipped through the cracks of Lucifer's poker face. He shook off Diavolo's hands, reached for the box of tissues on the nightstand and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Holding the tissue to his mouth, he coughed multiple blue petals into it before letting it disappear into the pocket of his pants.

He threw Diavolo one last, indecipherable look. “I will make sure to eradicate these pesky feelings. Not much longer and they will be nothing but a fleeting afterthought. Thank you for your hospitality. From now on, I won't inconvenience you anymore,” he stated coldly as he slipped on his dress shoes, distinctly avoiding Diavolo's confused gaze.

“Lucifer, that is not what I was…”

Lucifer smoothed down his clothes before turning towards the door.

“I would like to return to the House of Lamentation now.” With one last look at Diavolo, he pressed down the handle.

“Barbatos asked to see you. But you heard him just fine, so I suppose there's no need for me to tell you twice. If you'll excuse me now.” The door fell shut behind him.

Lucifer was walking down the hallway at a hurried pace, feeling distinctly like he had done something wrong. Remembering Diavolo’s hurt expression did not help the guilt he was feeling. His way back to the House of Lamentation was one without rest. 

He had been an utter fool. Of course, Diavolo would have overheard his conversation with Barbatos. It was uncertain when he had started listening in, but it wouldn’t be too difficult to figure out the truth one way or the other. Though he sometimes had his dense moments, Diavolo certainly wasn't dumb. Perhaps he had known all along.

Lucifer felt all his composure, all that control he knew to lean on, slipping through his fingers like sand. His lungs weighed heavily under that truth, spores and roots choking him much more violently than before. The warm Devildom wind hit his cheeks and he didn’t dare breathe in. 

As soon as he set foot in his home, Lucifer made his way to the next bathroom he could find. The flowers in his chest had been teasing and taunting him the entire walk and it was time to get rid of them.

The bathroom looked empty enough. Luckily, the House of Lamentation had plenty of them. Due to the sheer amount of inhabitants, the downstairs bathroom now had multiple stalls built in.

As soon as Lucifer locked the door he leaned over the toilet, one hand braced against the stall to steady himself until he managed to flush all things unsaid down the pipes. He used a wad of toilet paper to clean up the trail of saliva and blood that had dripped down his chin. Thankfully, it hadn’t sullied his clothes.

For a few more moments he stared at the rose petals that were left over, almost clogging up the pipes. Lucifer mustered the blue-white mess, his chest void of emotion. As he was still bent over, his bangs fell into his eyes. He tried to brush them away with his forearm, only for them to fall back into his eyes again. A staticky sort of frustration ran through his bones and suddenly, Lucifer smashed the hand that'd been holding him up against the stall. With a loud cracking noise, the wall gave in, shaking violently as bits and pieces dropped to the ground, leaving the ragged edges of a huge hole behind.

His breathing was uncontrolled and labored. Lucifer mustered his hand, noticed the little cuts that quickly changed from open-white to red gashes. His bangs were still obscuring his vision, but at least the throbbing pain was distracting enough to clear his mind a little. 

Suddenly, a loud shriek emerged from the neighboring stall Lucifer had just punched a hole through. As he looked through it, at first he couldn't make out anything that could've caused such an ear-piercing sound.

Irritated, Lucifer stuck his head through the hole to get a better look. He looked around more carefully before peering down.

Below the hole cowered one of his brothers, shielding his head with both of his arms as he reluctantly looked up. Dust and wood chippings fluttered down his head.

Lucifer cursed inwardly, pushed his hair back, and quickly schooled his expression into something more appropriate. 

“Leviathan. What are you doing here?” he asked calmly. 

Leviathan stared at his older brother for a moment, his big orange eyes never wavering. That wandering gaze of his made Lucifer shiver. He was quite aware of how considerably unhinged he must look at the moment. It would be foolish to assume Leviathan hadn’t taken notice of his uncharacteristically unkempt appearance. 

“Uhm, this is a toilet, so… Wait, are we supposed to act like that just didn't happen?” When he didn’t receive an answer, Levi quickly nodded his head. “ Okay, uhm… So, Lucifer! Crazy to see you here! Is there anything you wanted from me?” His hands were moving at a rapid pace and sweat was pearling down his temple. Levi straightened his spine and finally propped himself up. Quickly, he tried to dust off his pants but failed miserably in doing so. He took a few steps back to lean against the wall opposite the hole.

“Why would I seek you out so I could talk to you in the bathroom?” Lucifer asked quizzically as he leaned forward, resting one arm on the frayed edges of the newly formed hole. 

Levi cleared his throat. “Well, in the graphic novel 'My Heart Keeps Racing Whenever I Look At You But We Are Childhood Friends Who Are Cursed to Stay Five Feet Apart From Each Other So I Couldn't Possibly Love You!' the main character and his best friend always meet up in the bathroom during their lunch break so they can discuss their-”

Lucifer interrupted him before he could end up stuck with another one of Levi’s infamous rants.

“Leviathan-” He had to pause as a coughing fit shook his body. 

His little brother immediately stopped talking. Hearing Lucifer use his full name never promised much good. ”Y-yeah?” he asked, but then remembered the situation he had somehow gotten himself into, a situation so peculiar that it almost reeked of dramatic potential. For a moment, he mustered his surroundings in confusion. 

“There's a hole in the wall,” he mumbled, barely suppressing the unyielding urge to meddle. He raised his head again and faced his older brother. Based on the evidence he had gathered, there was only one conclusion to this mystery. “There's an almost comically large hole in the wall, the only suspects in this case are me and Lucifer. There's no way I'm the perpetrator, except if you consider the possibility of an unreliable narrator, which I don't think I am, so there's only one possibility left,” Levi mumbled as he pointed at Lucifer. “You're the only one!” For a moment, he felt quite cool and accomplished until he was faced with Lucifer’s blank, unblinking stare. They were both quiet until Lucifer cleared his throat.

“Now that we have established that it was indeed me who put the hole in the wall, I would suggest you forget what you just saw.” He wasn't in the mood to deal with his brother's shenanigans. 

Levi took a small step towards the hole and stuck his neck through it, peering past Lucifer. “Yeah, sure, I mean… wait, what’s that?” he asked, pointing towards the toilet overflowing with petals and rose buds. “Huh?”

His eyes dashed from the toilet to Lucifer and back again, traveling back and forth over and over again. He looked short from hyperventilating. “Huh?! Those petals… it can't be! It makes no sense, but it has to be…”

All of a sudden, Lucifer slammed his hand flat against the stall and put his head through the hole he had created minutes prior, forcing Levi to retreat. “I hate to repeat myself. You saw nothing. If you did, I will not hesitate to burn your whole Ruri-chan collection to a crisp,” he threatened, his eyes gleaming dangerously in the sub-par bathroom lighting.

With a loud bang, Levi’s back hit the stall as he took several steps back. He clenched his shirt and panted heavily. “You wouldn't!” he exclaimed, eyes desperate.

Instead of giving an answer Lucifer simply stared at him, a small smile slowly starting to spread over his face. “Oh? I wouldn't, are you certain?”

“You're smiling. Why are you smiling like that, this can't be good. Don't look at me like that, Lucifer! Please spare my Ruri-chan collection, she's the only one I have left! Okay, maybe I also have Azuki-tan and Rachel-chan and Henry! Still, you wouldn't want to be the reason for your own brother's demise now, would you-”

Lucifer grabbed the edges of the hole with both hands, ignoring the way the sharp edges were digging into the palms of his hands. “Stop it. Come here,” he growled, staring at his brother intensely.

Levi didn't move one bit.

“Come. Here.“

“Only if you promise to keep my collection safe!” Levi exclaimed bravely, making Lucifer sigh. 

He forced himself to visibly relax. Perhaps he had acted too harshly. After all, it wasn't Leviathan who had wronged him. “Calm yourself. As long as you keep your mouth shut, neither you nor your characters will be in trouble.” When Leviathan’s shoulders sagged in relief, Lucifer continued. “As your older brother, I am asking you to keep this private affair between the two of us. Surely, I can depend on you?” He reached through the hole and put his hand on his brother's shoulder. All in all, it was a peculiar and somewhat awkward situation. Neither of them knew how to react. Lucifer squeezed his shoulder with too much force and the look in his eyes was too harsh to be considered friendly.

Levi avoided his gaze and worried his lips. 

Another moment passed and Lucifer finally pulled back again. With one hand, he began to massage his temple. “Now leave. The next few days, I will be very busy. Tell the others that it would be in their best interest to stay out of my way for once.”

“And Leviathan? Remember our agreement. No word of this.”

Levi mumbled a quick goodbye while he was already in the process of actively fleeing the scene, too startled to remind his brother that technically, he hadn’t agreed to his request just yet.

Quickly, Leviathan made his way towards the music room. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be the last to arrive. After all, everyone except for Lucifer was going to be there. 

[andvys]

Okay, I am reading part 16 of IKYLLATK and I am just 😤.

I know that healing is not a linear process. But, seriously, at this point Cheer is a glutton for punishment. Steve is still with Nancy and he’s really asking to sneak into his ex’s room the night before her birthday?

Honestly, after reading the flashback of the shit he pulled on Cheer’s last birthday, someone out to dick punch him. Like, I am ready to crack my knuckles and make him hurt.

There’s definitely a big part of me that wants Steve to know what it’s like to love someone wholly to the point of consuming him but that person doesn’t love him back. I want him to know the pain he inflicted on Cheer and I want him to suffer when he sees that she’s completely moved on from him and she’s giving her love to someone who knows to treasure her (👀 Eddie 👀). I want him to suffer that feeling an perish.

Not going to lie, I am a vengeful person and I hate how Steve put Cheer through so much and yet, even though she knows that he was never good to her, he still has a hold on her.

It also grinds my gears that Nancy got the boyfriend that Steve should have been to Cheer. And don’t get me started how he’s being nosy about what’s going on between Cheer and Eddie. It’s like, it’s none of his business if Eddie is in love with Cheer. Steve’s no longer her boyfriend.

I’m nervous about the next chapter. I’m really hoping that Steve suffers a lot of emotional damage. I am rooting for Eddie to be there for Cheer on the Eve of her birthday.

Or, wouldn’t it be funny if Cheer spent the night before her birthday with Eddie in his trailer and Steve snuck in through her window to see an empty house? I feel like the tables would be turned.

I can’t wait to see what happens next. Thank you!

Cheer keeps on suffering, Steve keeps behaving like a damn fool — don’t worry, it’s gonna be over soon! A miracle might happen!

The anger you feel towards Steve makes me laugh but I absolutely agree, he deserves to be punched in his dick, what he did on her birthday in the year before was just horrible and it’s actually about to get worse, this wasn’t even the full flashback, there is more.

He does deserve to suffer after everything he had done, and watched the person he loves the most love someone else…. hmmm… there’s something coming 🤭

You’re right! It’s none of his business if Eddie is in love with her or not or if she is in love with him. He dumped her and chose someone else over her, he should be happy for her if she found someone else who can love her better than he ever could but he’s a little selfish…

Him sneaking into an empty house would be funny 😂😂

[awideplace]

My grandmother is dying from a rare form of brain cancer. It came on all of a sudden, last week, to be exact, and now she's gone from having 12-18 months to only a few weeks because she's refusing to eat. As a Christian, how can I navigate this upheaval that I'm going through? I've never had a significant death like this happen to me before, and I'm incredibly angry at myself that it took this tragedy for me to finally take my relationship with Christ seriously. I pray often, and I have faith, but I'm spiritually lazy and fall into sin often. I'm often frustrated with myself for going back into the same sins I so desperately prayed to be saved from, and this predicament with my grandmother only makes me feel worse. I feel a fraud. Of course, I would start getting myself together and taking my spirituality seriously now that something has deeply affected me. Of course I would go to the Lord for guidance and grace NOW, when someone important to ME is dying. I feel unendingly selfish, because a part of me wonders if I would have ever gotten myself together this year if this thing with my grandmother had never happened. I dont know what to say to my mother and the rest of my family members who are grieving, I dont know how to go about this the way the Lord would want me to, and now I'm afraid its too late to ask. I've backtracked so many times. I've procrastinated and broken my promises to Him more times than I can count. What if this is the final straw, and He has hidden himself from me? What if this is His way to telling me, "depart from me, for I never knew you"? I dont deserve any more chances, and I know this, but for the life of me I can't let go. I know this is long, and I'm sorry, but any advice you can give would be appreciated.

The very fact that you are questioning is good; when it says in Scripture, depart from me I never knew you (Matthew 72:3) it is referring to the self-righteous, those that are expecting to be saved because of their own goodness and self-righteousness, not wholly heaving themselves upon Christ as their righteousness. How many do we know in the Catholic Church, the Mormon church, the modern day Evangelical church, who think they are saved because they "belong" to a specific denomination and observe man-made regulations instead of repenting of their sin and forsaking their own selves and following Christ? Beloved, that is self-righteousness...I am a good person, I go to such-and-such church, I listen to such-and-such. No, we must all be faced with and repent of our own sin because we are all sinful. All of us come short. Our righteous deeds are as menstrual rags (Isaiah 64:6).

Pray with your grandma. Ask her if she knows Christ as her Lord and Savior. Read Scripture over her. I did so with my grandma; I don't know where she is, but she passed away and I prayed for her and spoke Scripture over her in her final moments. I do not know where she is; no one knows but Christ where a soul ends up. To do your part...don't waste a moment. Speak the truth in love to your loved ones, even though you may feel a fool. Better to feel a fool than know you could have shared the Gospel with a soul who is faced with eternal life and death.

[iggyfing]

untitled self-indulgent post-3.3/dragonsong war drabble. heavensward spoilers!

estinien pov. featuring one of my wols, laughing hare. not ship. they're best friends, your honor. they can be a little soft. as a treat.

abrupt ending bc i'm bad at them. estinien characterization may be a bit off bc i'm working with what i have (free trial story content). references events of a previous untitled drabble.

***

The beasts really shouldn’t have given him much trouble, but he was yet on the mend and out of practice. One had landed a heavy swat to his side, staggering him to a knee, winded but blessedly unclawed. He only just raised his lance in time to fend another who lunged at him with jaws gaping wide. The creature’s weight impaled its shoulder on the weapon as the shaft slid through his hands, ramming the butt into the ground beside him. The beast howled in pain and leapt back, dragging lance and wielder with it to send him sprawling. The others circled as he scrambled to his feet, wary now that he’d drawn first blood. He cursed himself for a fool, for straying too far from the roads in search of solace and respite.

Just then a great destrier chocobo landed heavily in front of him, wings flared and head low as its rider dismounted and hefted a broadsword easily as tall as she was. With a roar and flourish, she set upon the beasts with fierce and unsettling fury.

It was the roegadyn, one of those warriors of light who had prised him from Nidhogg’s grasp despite his pleading. Laughing Hare, who had nearly taken his place as the dread wyrm’s vessel. She brandished the darkness again, as she had in the wake of Haurchefant’s death. The creatures all fell upon her with an equal fury but found themselves no match and soon all lay dead around her.

Fatigue took him suddenly, and he leaned heavily on his lance as he lowered himself to a knee.

She turned to him then, with that strange, half-mad look in her eyes as he’d learned to mark of her on their journey to Zenith, and stalked toward him with teeth bared in what might be a grin. He regretted letting his guard down but could not summon the strength to rise.

“Estinien!” she bellowed even as she reached him. She raised her sword and struck downwards, burying it a fair half-fulm in the ground before squatting down in front of him. “Why did you leave?”

His gaze traced the branching scars from her cheek to jaw to neck and collarbone where they vanished under her armor. The mark of her reckless folly. He looked away with a scoff. “Why did you come after me?”

“I didn’t want you to leave.”

“…There’s no more place in Ishgard for me.”

“Ha! You lived for your city! They’d have to be fools to cast aside her staunchest defender.”

“I lived for the war. In the end I defended nothing. My own weakness resurrected her fiercest enemy.”

She turned her face from him then. “…It was not only your weakness,” she said at length with ungainly stiffness of tone. “Kuzhuk had warned us of you and the eye. I did not listen. And I did not act.”

Silence fell. There was no response he could make. The half of him wished to shun her admission even as the other called for his absolution. But he had looked upon himself too closely to accept the latter, and to heed the former would be to consign himself to a festering pit of selfish loathing.

They were the both of them guilty.

She leaned forward onto her knees and hooked an arm round the back of his neck, pulling him into an embrace. “I am glad you’re alive.”

The shock of it froze him, all thoughts grinding to sudden halt. Something in him snapped. What he might once have called courage or fortitude, such qualities second to vengeance round which he had bent himself, after which he’d striven all his life, forsook him wholly. He returned to himself to find his body shaking, trembling like the wretched orphan child that yet dwelt in his heart.

His arms raised seeming of their own mind and wrapped round Hare, returning the embrace. He found she, too, was trembling, and the whole situation turned suddenly surreal and nearly sacrilegious. To hold and be held by one of the Warriors of Light as they both quailed from some unidentifiable sentiment. Though what cared he for sacrilege, he who had traveled with the chieftess of heretics and parleyed with dragons and stood by as the archbishop was slain? He who had himself become dragon? Even still, the conviction nagged. He shouldn’t be here, like this, doing this — but no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than she tightened her hold, to which he thoughtlessly responded in kind.

Long did they rest like that, until at last the snarls of more creatures coming to stake a claim to the territory roused them both to action. Wordlessly they parted and Hare raised herself on her sword even as he did on his lance. She slung her weapon on her back and mounted her chocobo before reaching down a hand. He hesitated only briefly before taking it. Once mounted, she spurred the bird to flight, only stopping once they were high enough to be beyond the beasts’ range.

“So,” she said, all solemnity and sobriety of the past minutes falling away, “where are we headed?”

“Tailfeather, I suppose,” he answered after a moment’s thought. Though he was reluctant to endure the company of so many others, he was yet unfit to make camp on his own. And the thought of begging shelter of the dragons of Anyx Trine was… unendurable.

She gave a nod and hummed in affirmation before turning the chocobo to the south and setting it off.

They flew in silence for several minutes. As they neared the hunting village, the sun hung low on the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the land.

“Thank you,” he muttered.

She only flashed a grin and laughed her hearty laugh, which struck him with an inexplicable stab of shame.

“Once we arrive, I shall burden you no longer,” he added quickly.

Now she turned to him with a queer expression, seeming equal parts confusion and mischief. “I came to bring you back to Ishgard. But since you will not return, I would go with you.”

[idle-soliloquy]

pain

Jegulus microfic - prompt: pain (august 5th), 1638 words, @jegulus-microfic

CW: explicit, cheating, dubious morality (Reg's a little shit)

Part 5 of soul: 1, 2, 3, 4

James is still a kid, fresh-faced and guileless, when he starts believing in fate and accepts its mercurial nature. Good things come in its tide. Like Regulus. 

Regulus comes to him early on, and stays forever.

The first time James saw him was when Sirius invited him over to the sprawling Black mansion for a playdate after school. Sirius was about to turn eleven in a couple of days, James recalls that with startling clarity. He and Sirius were a menace, running wildly around the back garden, tripping over freshly fallen autumn leaves and kicking an old football in haphazard circles. 

A tall woman stepped out of the house and onto the patio, a little boy trailing after her. James came to a halt, the football suddenly forgotten, insignificant. Sirius kicked him in the shin but James barely flinched. Reg was small and slender, a little wisp of a kid, vulnerable and shy, cowering behind his mother’s leg. James yearned to reach out and lock his arms around him, shielding him from whatever monsters made him skitter to the side when he proffered a hand towards him in a gentle greeting. 

James knew his brotherly instincts were misplaced - Reg already had an older sibling who’d jump in front of a bullet for him. James had no right to subjugate that cherished role and responsibility for his own selfish enjoyment. In hindsight, it must have been his undeveloped brain’s way of justifying the rushed beating of his heart and the clammy palms that he had to wipe on his shorts. 

It didn’t click for a torturously long time. James grew up in denial, and in denial he remained until Reg turned nineteen and started flaunting his scandalous relationships and a neverending string of hookups in front of James whenever he dared to put his foot inside the Black residence. One faithful day, James snapped. He might be a fool, but he’s no coward, quickly admitting to what was so painfully obvious. 

Hook, line, and sinker, James got dragged under the surface never to reemerge again. He’s merrily suffocating under the deceptively sweet taste of young, eternal love that met him head-on with a sultry smile and a beckoning hand. Reg welcomed him between his legs right away, and shortly after, he cracked his heart open, letting James in.

Or so James thought. He put blinders on his eyes and sprinted to the finish line the moment Reg touched him and begged for a touch in return. James stumbled and fell like a fool that he is, so rapidly and recklessly, unbridled in the intensity of his love, and hasn’t gotten up since. He likes it down here. He takes sick pleasure in crawling on the ground for Regulus’ love. He has James eating out of his palm, ravenously and insatiably. James was famished and Regulus fed him till he was bursting at the seams. He lets him lap and bite and suck on his skin, teeth sinking in at the joints, as often as James wants to, as much as he desperately needs to. It’s a gnawing need, a crippling addiction; his next hit and the antidote alike, both at his fingertips, squirming under him on the sheets, eyes wide and pleading, lips shining with spit and begging for more.  

He should prepare for eventual withdrawal, but Regulus swore he’d never leave him. James has always been quick to love and slow to lose. Regulus belongs to him now, irrevocably and wholly, his diamond in the rough, maybe a little jagged at the edges, a bit ruthless and reckless at times, but never with James’ heart. 

That’s why he is so blindsided. In his poor, deluded mind, James concocted a story, a fickle fantasy built around what little scraps of himself Regulus graciously allowed James to perceive. The rest hid in the shadows, scheming and playing him like a fiddle. A hopeless puppet on a string. So easily fooled. So dumb, so stupid. It was child’s play for Regulus - James turned a blind eye to it all, no exceptions. Later, he’d spent countless nights cradled in Sirius’ steady arms, sobbing into the crook of his neck and recounting recent events, dissecting the early signs, the convoluted cover stories and sins of omission. The blatant lies that James blanked on, because he’d never even entertain the thought of Regulus being unfaithful. 

It pains James to drag Sirius into it, but he refuses to have it any other way. “Lay it on me,” he says. “For the sake of this conversation, he’s no brother of mine.”

Bring it on, the tears and the sorrow and the rancour. I can take it, brother.  

“Not him, not Reg,” James rambles on, and Sirius strokes his hair and avoids looking him in the eye, stone-faced and silent, up to a point.

“Jamie… I don’t know. Think about it... He’s always been-”

“No,” James cuts in, swallowing. “Don’t say it.” 

“It’s going to get better. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but I promise you, it will.” 

“How? How do I even start? I feel like I’m fucking drowning right now,” James says, staring blankly at the ceiling. 

“You have to pick yourself up first, James. Come on, get off the floor!” 

James fights to stand up or crawl away, but he’s fused to the floor, right where Regulus left him. 

If James thinks he’s a fool then Regulus surely holds the same opinion. The damning proof of that comes on that fateful morning, when Regulus leaves his phone buried in the sheets and saunters away towards the bathroom, stretching and yawning. James flips to the other side, grinning widely, reminiscing. His mind lingers on last night - Regulus, crawling under the duvet and wrapping his arms around him so tightly, pouring sweet words into his ear while fucking into him in a broken, frantic rhythm. It happens often these days, Reg coming home full of fraught energy, eyes gleaming with mischief, with some fleeting emotion that evanesces after Regulus collapses into his arms, satiated and purring like a cat, fingers caressing the bridge of his nose, or his bottom lip, in a loving, doting manner. 

James' mind is filled with love when he adjusts his pillow, patting it into shape. Reg’s phone slips from between the white fabric and rolls onto the sheets, and James would not think much of it, ready to let his eyelids shut again and drift away into a peaceful, morning slumber. The screen lights up with a slew of notifications and James reaches over languidly, yawning just as he picks up the phone, all the while planning to put it in sleep mode and stick it on the bedside table.  

His fate is decided in a split second. If that new notification came a fraction of it later, James would have clicked the sleep button and remained blissfully unaware.

He sees the words ‘hurts’ and ‘hit’ and ‘pain’ flash on the screen, and involuntarily, his eyes skim over the messages. 

He’s hit with a wave of nausea so strong he keels over the side of the bed, stomach churning, bile sticking to the back of his throat. He doesn’t throw up but the bad taste in his mouth lingers. 

He blinks and looks at the message again, dread coiling in his chest and cracking his ribs like twigs, splintering into his heart and bleeding him dry, and he can’t fucking breathe. Someone’s sitting on his chest, crushing him into a pulp. It hurts. The pain is worse than anything he’s ever felt. He watched his mother on her presumed deathbed, thinking he’d lose her at the age of fourteen to cancer. Weeks later, she was in remission and has been ever since. He watched Sirius hit his head on the swings when they were twelve and fall unconscious in his arms, but all it came to was a couple of stitches and close observation in the hospital wings, with James keeping vigil at his bedside. That pain was gruelling, all-encompassing and frightening, but James knew how to respond because the call didn’t come from inside the house. It was cruel fate, or coincidence, that declared war on him or his loved ones. James can face that and come out victorious. 

His friends love him, they’d never hurt him wittingly. Pain is something that strikes from the sidelines, never from within. Never from his own bed. 

Seems pain was curled up at his side all night long, its warm hands carding through his hair and plying him with sweet love. 

James scrolls through the messages again. There are so many of them. His head is swimming, eyes brimming with tears and blurring his vision. Barty’s name comes into focus. It’s blaring at him, Barty’s imaginary voice, bouncing off the insides of his skull like a dull ache, an echo that only grows louder. 

Barty (9:01): I know. So fucking good, the way you do it for me. 

Barty (9:01): The way you beg on your knees. You’re shameless, if only people knew how fucking deranged you are. You make me blush sometimes.  

Barty (9:02): Are you still coming to Evan’s thing tonight? James tagging along? 

Barty (9:02): Cause if not, I know Evan would not mind us sneaking off to his room at some point. He fully supports my wrongs, if you know what I mean, and by extension, yours. 

Barty (9:02): We can fuck all we want and shower after. I know you are obsessed with the smell thing. 

Barty (9:03): James won’t smell me off you if he hasn’t already, but whatever. 

Barty (9:03): Also, that slap, fuck’s sake, Reg, I’m still in pain. You hit like a pro. 

Barty (9:03): You know I like it when it hurts.

[cloudcountry]

JXKNFSD HELP I’M READING THE THREAD ABOUT THE IKEVAMP OCS AND CACKLING

Beethoven at Mozart: *treats him with respect* Yes sir, thank you for all your work.

Beethoven at Napoleon: Oh, you arch-ass! You double-barrelled ass! (And yes, this is an actual, genuine quote from the real Beethoven-)

Let me tell you, when it comes to insults, Beethoven does NOT hold back. He comes out SWINGING-

When Napoleon declared himself the Emperor of France, Beethoven was outraged, saying, “So he is no more than a common mortal! Now he, too, will tread underfoot all the rights of man [and] indulge only his ambition; now he will think himself superior to all men [and] become a tyrant!”

Oh, and one more thing about Beethoven and Napoleon! Apparently, Beethoven’s younger brother, Nikolaus Johann van Beethoven, was involved with him. His brother wished to be called Johann instead of Nikolaus, which Ludwig didn’t like; he hated his father, who was an alcoholic and pushed responsibility of taking care of the family on him when he was only 16. In 1808, Johann opened a medical pharmacy in Linz, Upper Austria. When Napoleon invaded Austria in 1809 and established a base camp in Linz for wounded soldiers, Johann actually supported the French by giving them medical supplies. Helping the enemy made him a hated citizen in his hometown, but because of his support, the French gave him money and this made him rich.

When Johann bought an estate in Gneixendorf in 1819, he signed a letter to Ludwig “From your brother Johann, landowner.” Ludwig signed his reply, “From your brother Ludwig, brain owner.”

Some personal impressions about Johann were actually written down in other sources! Gerhard von Breuning said that Johann “bore no resemblance whatever to his brother Ludwig.” Another person, Count Moritz Lichnowsky said of Johann during a conversation with Ludwig, “Everyone makes a fool of him; we call him simply 'The Chevalier'. — Everybody says his only merit is that he bears your name."

And of course, I am back at it again with quotes,, all of these are from Beethoven- 🚶 I love quotes from historical figures, and I am going to pester you with them. This is a threat 🫵 /lh 

Beethoven: “Anyone who tells a lie has not pure heart, and cannot make good soup.”

Beethoven, speaking to royalty: “What you are, you are by accident of birth; what I am, I am by myself. There are and will be a thousand princes; there is only one Beethoven.”

Beethoven: “Even in poverty I lived like a king for I tell you that nobility is the thing that makes a king.”

Beethoven: “I like honesty and sincerity, and I maintain that an artist should not be shabbily treated.”

Beethoven: “I shall seize fate by the throat; it shall certainly never wholly overcome me.”

Beethoven: “How glad I am to be able to roam in the wood and thicket, among trees and flowers and rocks ... in the country, every tree seems to speak to me, saying, ‘Holy! Holy’, in the woods, there is enchantment which expresses all things.”

An extract from a letter from Beethoven: “The true artist is not proud, he unfortunately sees that art has no limits; he feels darkly how far he is from the goal; and though he may be admired by others, he is sad not to have reached that point to which his better genius only appears as a distant, guiding sun. I would, perhaps, rather come to you and your people, than to many rich folk who display inward poverty.”

Beethoven: “The world is a king, and like a king, desires flattery in return for favor; but true art is selfish and perverse — it will not submit to the mold of flattery.”

Beethoven: “It is my wish that you may have at better and freer life than I have had. Recommend virtue to your children; it alone, not money, can make them happy. I speak from experience; this was what upheld me in time of misery.”

Beethoven: “I have always reckoned myself among the greatest admirers of Mozart, and shall do so till the day of my death.”

Beethoven considered Mozart to be one of the musical immortals. When an admirer wrote to the young up-and-coming composer and even compared him to the greats, Beethoven replied, "do not rob Handel, Haydn, and Mozart of their laurel wreaths; they have earned theirs, but I am not yet entitled to one."

Also!! I'm so sorry for such a long post!! There was a lot I wanted to say 🤧 

Jackdaw Anon 🐦

i feel bad because youre always writing essays in my inbox that i loev reading sm but i can only response with WOWIE and OMG TAHTS SO COOL :C i hope it doesnt bother you ^^

but all that aside, WOW beethoven sounds like a grumpy old man. but liek, the best version of a grumpy old man.

ITS SO NICE THAT HE ADMIRED MOZART SO MUCH :(((

“The true artist is not proud, he unfortunately sees that art has no limits; he feels darkly how far he is from the goal; and though he may be admired by others, he is sad not to have reached that point to which his better genius only appears as a distant, guiding sun. I would, perhaps, rather come to you and your people, than to many rich folk who display inward poverty.”

this hits different when you write fanfic and you feel like your work will never be as pretty and eloquent as other writers wow. beethoven was so real for that omg

ITS OKAY YOUR RAMBLES CAN BE LONG THATS FINE!!! i just have trouble writing long responses so i wont write in euqal length ^^; I PROMISE ILL READ EVERYTHING THOUGH