#its only after i post it that i see the mistakes. agony

[lunarmoves]

I know it's cliché in pressure fics at this point but I can't help but wonder how "who I see" would go if seb and reader's situations were switched. I like to imagine human Seb lives in an area where there's wild animals, so he has a gun just in case. The first time he meets his fishy spouse, he whips it out and they frantically have to explain himself so he doesn't shoot. Seb stays strapped in every universe

"seb stays strapped in every universe" LMAOOOOOOOOOO. funnily enough i dont think ive seen many swap aus! but i imagine it wouldnt be too different ngl. like, sebastian would still probably move out to the coast, or a house next to a lake that's connected to the ocean or smth at the very least—where the area is very forest-y so he's got his shotgun at the ready. he would hallucinate you throughout the years and you would find him after getting into contact with innoinc post-urbanshade. the only difference i can think of in contrast to "who i see" is how you'd reveal yourself to him

sebastian would not have that "happy bday" moment out on the docks, so you would never really get the resolve to actually go up to him. he's quite good at hiding his feelings, yk? you wouldn't be able to tell he's still grieving, especially not with the glimpses you'd catch of him from the opposite side of the lake. i imagine the catalyst that would bring the both of you together would be... well.....

(ahem. cw injury, blood, gun. NOT caused by sebastian dw)

maybe one day you're out on the sea after having a meeting with some reps at innoinc and you get harpooned by a fisherman who thought you were a shark or something. it's easy for you to slice the rope of the harpoon, but now you've got this big ass weapon embedded in your side and you know it's a bad idea to pull it out and that you need to get help immediately. the only thing on your mind, however, is to get back to sebastian. so you swim and you swim and you swim until you find yourself washed ashore by the lake one night. it's an area shrouded by trees and bushes alike, and you spend hours half-conscious under the shade of the overgrowth.

dawn comes and goes. by the time the sun has crawled halfway across the sky, you're just on the cusp of dehydration. the injury to your flank has stopped bleeding as heavily by now, but you feel weak. you can feel dried blood stuck to your hands and plastering the thin material of your stupid shirt to your skin. any smallest movement jostles the harpoon and sends waves of agony running up your torso. you're still partially submerged in the lake's water, but you're definitely not strong enough to pull yourself back in to escape the noonday glare.

that's when you hear it—the sound of branches and twigs snapping under thick boots.

it makes your eyes snap open. but before you can do anything other than crane your head to the direction the sounds are coming from, someone steps into view.

it's sebastian.

and he has a gun trained on your face.

you freeze. it's like a plug was pulled on your brain, sending all your thoughts washing helplessly down a drain. there's a terse, terse moment where both of you don't do a single thing. you can't see his face beyond the barrel of his gun.

it's like the very forest is holding its breath.

and then you make the mistake of reaching out to him, another sharp lance of pain shooting down your body.

you groan—your hand instead moving to clutch at your side—and his name leaves your mouth on its choked tailend.

"seh— sebas... tian," you rasp out, tilting your head in an attempt to catch a glimpse of his face. it's too bright out here, it's too fucking bright. everything hurts. you try again, breathing in haltingly. "sebastian..."

you think it startles him, a little, for the gun lowers a smidge. blue-green eyes—wide yet sharp—make contact with your own

"you—" he starts, then abruptly stops, his gaze moving up and down your body rapidly. processing, you think. "why do you—"

"fuck, sebastian, it's..." you take in another deep breath. your vision is starting to waver along the edges, muddled like you're underwater. "it's me."

the gun gets pointed back at your head and you feel something jump in your stomach when you hear the click of the safety latch disengaging.

"why the hell," he snarls, "do you sound like— like—"

you swallow, closing your eyes momentarily, then reopening them so you could look at him. really look at him.

"baby," you say quietly, so quietly you're almost not sure if he hears you. you don't break eye contact with him, taking in his smooth face. the dark circles under his eyes. the glint of his lip ring. the sharp gleam of white teeth bared at you. and you exhale, long and broken. "it's me. it's me."

he makes a strangled sound like he doesn't know what to do, what to think. his lips press against each other, his eyebrows furrow down at you like he's trying to piece together what he's seeing. trying to parse it out like he's not sure if what he's seeing is real.

but you're getting woozier by the minute. and he still hasn't lowered that gun.

"i missed you," you slur even as your eyelids flutter in your vain attempt to keep them open. "so, so much."

and when you finally pass out, the stricken look on his face follows you into your dreams.

[sangrefae]

sorry had to get my demons out

[neytirisheaven]

how could i ever compete with that?

warnings: no use of y/n, angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of child abuse, strong language

regulus black x fem!slughorn!reader word count: 2k part two of “she’s all i wanna be so bad” (part one)

summary: as you wanted, regulus finally confronts you, but it doesn’t go the way either of you planned

notes: YES I’M ALIVE!!! this is literally so late AND I KNOW YOU’VE ALL BEEN WAITING and it didn’t go the way i originally planned for it to go but i think i like it a bit better than part one.. reader may be a bit dramatic but i really enjoyed writing this near the end so i hope you all enjoy!! (ps i’m so sorry in advance (and this is slightly proofread so if there are any mistakes i apologize!)) and for me, at least, this will be posted on thanskgiving day, so for all the people who celebrate thanksgiving, think of it as a thanksgiving gift :)

FOR THE PAST few weeks after the incident with Regulus and his new girlfriend, you haven’t spoken to him once. You tried, but he paid you no mind as he was too focused on his brand new girlfriend. He ignored you every day, and all it did was put a sour taste in your mouth. But you couldn’t get rid of the feelings you still had.

Eventually, though, you gave up. You switched seats with Adaléne in Potions, you bribed a boy on the opposite side of the Charms classroom to swap seats with you, and you stopped eating with him during your meals. He barely even noticed.

You spent all your time in the library with your nose stuffed in some type of book, either studying for your upcoming assessments or filling up your free time with the small bit of entertainment you had left after you reluctantly walked out of Regulus’ life. A bit immature and melodramatic, some would say, but it truly pained you to see him with her every second of every day.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t have a small sliver of hope to gain attention from your best friend—or ex-best friend—but you would never admit that. To anyone.

So, instead, you remained quiet in the presence of silence and the thousand of books that surrounded you, as well as a few other students in your year. 

After a while, you stepped outside the library to find a drink and quench your thirst, but your belongings were left sitting on the table. It only took you five minutes. You only stepped in the Great Hall for a minute and grabbed a Goblet. You didn’t notice that Regulus and Adaléne were gone, nor would you have cared even if you did notice. 

You weren’t even gone for that long.

But it was long enough for you to find the two missing people sitting at the table your belongings were at, and it was definitely long enough for them to be kissing shamelessly.

A scowl crossed your lips before you eventually mucked up the courage to walk over to your table and grab your things, preferably unnoticed by the obnoxious couple.

Regulus recognized your heavy footsteps even with his eyes closed and his lips on another girl’s, just as quickly as he recognized your things that lay on the table opposite of their seats.

Your head was a flurry of anger, annoyance, and agony all rolled up into one. You were hurting just as bad as you were when you first found them all those weeks ago in the Slytherin dungeons, and you had no idea how to make it go away. 

Your heart was beating as fast as the pain was shooting through you, your emotional pain translating into physical pain somewhere in your brain—possibly the same place you came up with the brilliant idea to fall for your best friend, who would never, ever, fall in love with you.

You held your breath in and squinted your eyes shut for a few seconds. Looping your arm through your bag and stuffing your borrowed books into its cotton material, you picked up your papers from your earlier classes and walked away. Your head was held high, and your body radiated confidence, but all you were feeling on the inside was dread and pain. Just being around Regulus and being unable to speak to him (mostly due to your own pride and embarrassment) was enough torture to last you years worth of suffering.

The curly-haired boy pulled away from Adaléne’s touch and sighed into her lips. She took it as a content sigh, but he knew what it really meant. While he pretended like he didn’t notice you hastily grabbing your things, everything about you was flooding his senses.

Your perfume overpowered his girlfriend’s by a large margin, even though he was pressed up against her instead of you. Or maybe he was just imagining it because he wished he was with you instead.

The doors to the library shut with a soft echo, signaling that you’d completely left the vicinity.

Adaléne leaned closer to Regulus’ face to resume their kiss, but he dipped his head away and squinted his eyes shut. Letting out a small exhale, he pushed himself off his seat and straightened the collar of his robe, gently pushing his girlfriend back down when she was beginning to stand up. 

“No, no, stay,” he spoke gently despite the strong fire burning behind his eyes. “You need to study. I just have a headache.”

Adaléne furrowed her eyebrows and began to stand up again. “I will take care of you—“

“Ada, I’ll be fine. Focus on your studies.” Regulus pursed a smile and pressed a kiss onto his girlfriend’s forehead before leaving the library. 

Immediately, he heaved the doors open and followed the faint sound of your footsteps, leading him to the dungeons and eventually, the Slytherin common room. You made it to your dorm room before the boy could catch you, so he used the lost time to his advantage and hurried to his own dorm room.

He could finally make it up to you.

And so, with that thought etched into his mind, he grabbed the bookmark that he had so carefully looked over for the past few weeks and held it gently in his hand. 

Pushing his door open, Regulus flattened his robes against his body and briskly walked to your dorm room, rapping his knuckles against the hard surface of your door. After a few seconds and a bit of muffled shuffling behind the thick material of the dorm room walls, you finally opened the door with glossy eyes.

Those same glossy eyes shot open at the mere sight of the dark-haired boy, your hands immediately coming up to your face to wipe away any stray tears that may have fallen without your notice. “Regulus,” you spoke breathlessly, a shaky exhale leaving your mouth. “What are you doing here?”

Before everything that happened, you would have never even thought to ask Regulus what he was doing at your dorm room door. In fact, he wouldn’t even have to knock. He could’ve just walked in wordlessly, and no one would’ve said a thing; not even your roommates (if they were there).

But things change. They did change.

“I—“ he sighed. “I just wanted to drop your bookmark off. I know it’s your favorite one, so you must’ve been looking for it for some time, yeah?”

You tried your hardest to hide the joy that creeped onto your face once you locked eyes with your beloved bookmark, not wanting to show any drastic emotions in front of the boy you used to call your best friend. “Thank you,” you muttered, taking the green ribbon from the boy’s hands. “Was that all you came here for?”

You could see different waves of emotion wash up on Regulus’ face, holding back the comments that were building up inside of you. 

Eventually, he spoke with great reluctance, “No. I actually wanted to talk to you about some things, if that’s alright with you.” 

Pursing your lips and contemplating how detrimental this would be to your relationship, you ultimately nodded your head and swung the door open a bit more, allowing him into the dormitory with a hesitant expression. 

You both sat on the edge of your bed, your posture perfect and proper, sitting as if you were a robot. You were clearly on edge, and your body language said everything. It made Regulus all the more uneasy, seeing your uncomfortable stiffness fill the room with even more tension than before. All he wished was for you to flop on the bed with a relaxed smile, to go back to when you trusted each other with your lives.

“So,” you began, “what did you want to talk about?”

The boy remained silent for a few seconds, trying to find the right words. It felt like everything was slipping just off the tip of his tongue. “I don’t really know how to say this,” he trailed off. “I, uhm, don’t think Adaléne’s the right girl for me.” He wrung his hands together, a nervous habit he’d been attached to since you were both small children.

A strained laugh slipped past your lips. “I don’t understand what this has to do with me, Regulus. I’m sorry to hear that, but I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“There is a girl that’s right for me, and I know it,” he began, locking eyes with you. 

You frowned. You knew where this was going, and you didn’t want it to happen. “This has nothing to do with me. I don’t know why you’re telling me this.”

“You do know why I’m telling you this.”

“No, I really don’t!”

“Yes, you do!” He was beginning to become impatient, and you could tell by his voice.

“I don’t!” You bit back in a frustrated tone.

And then, he finally snapped. “I love you! I don’t love Adaléne, I never did! I don’t want her, I want you! I need you!”

His outburst caused a domino reaction, immediately unlocking a new level of rage you didn’t know you had inside you. “You ‘need me’?” You laughed humorlessly. “Is this a joke?”

Regulus’ face immediately fell, “No, it’s not a joke! I would never joke about this—“

“You don’t get to throw away the years we had for a new girl and then expect me to take you in when you come crawling back and tell me that you ‘don’t want her’. I’m not a fucking second choice, Regulus!” You spat, anger bubbling inside you. “You didn’t even try to talk to me or come find me! You just ran off with her because she was your newest toy to play with! You didn’t even notice how I kept trying to keep contact with you! I waited and waited for you to come back and apologize, to tell me that you were sorry for ignoring me! But you didn’t.”

The boy stuttered, shocked by your sudden burst of anger, “I—look—I’m—I’m sorry, I really am.”

“‘Sorry’? ‘Sorry’ doesn’t mean anything! You can say sorry for the shit you did, but it’s not going to fix a thing! You replaced me with the snap of your finger, Regulus! I’ve loved you since we were eleven, and you didn’t even hesitate to leave me for some girl you’d just met!” Tears streamed down your face, but you could’ve given less fucks. “Why was she so much better, huh? What did she have that I didn’t? What did she do that was so much better than everything I did?”

Regulus was left speechless.

“Do you even know what I’ve done for you? Do you even care for the things I’ve done? Do you?” You harshly pushed your hands against the boy’s chest, causing him to lean backwards and fall onto the post of your bed. “Whenever your parents tortured you, I was the one that was there for you! When your father was drunk off his arse every night, and your mother sided with him, I helped you! When Sirius left you all alone with your parents, I stayed with you that whole night! When you came to me with a black eye and bruises all over your body, I tended to you! It was me! Not Adaléne! Me! It was always me!”

Your cheeks were flushed, your chest heaving from the pained speech that you practically screamed out. Tear stains ran down your cheeks and your chin, your makeup now effectively ruined. You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself down before speaking through gritted teeth, “So don’t tell me you ‘love’ me. Because we both know that’s a lie. Now, please, get out of my dorm.”

Regulus knew there was no point in arguing. He ruined your friendship, your relationship, and there was no going back from that. 

So, with a heavy heart, he slowly pushed himself off your bed. He thought twice to ask you if you could still be friends after all this, but only a fool would think such an instance would be possible.

And after one last glance at your broken figure, he walked out of your dorm room, closed the door, and pretended he couldn’t hear the violent sobs that racked your body from the unbearable pain only he could have caused you. 

tags: @thatonegayloser616

[thechibifoxcub]

I can’t take it-

He couldn’t take it anymore. The pain. The anguish. His blood ran like molten lava beneath his skin; feeling every vein traversing beneath muscle tissue and winding sinew.

His breath felt weak yet heavy at the same time. Something that shouldn’t coexist by any means, but still does despite its unrealistic design. The analogy doesn’t make sense- it shouldn’t make sense! But how can he describe the sensation that plagues him?

It must be pain… right? How else can he describe the adrenaline rushing in his body each time his eyes landed on you? He must be ill if the sudden rush of heat dusts his neck and ears each time you smiled in his direction. His mind must be loosing its grasp of reality with every syllable that dances past your lips or when the sound of your unapologetic laughter sings a sweet tune in his corrupted ears.

He must have been in pain; surely he must have been injured or poisoned or tortured in some past life from eons-past. Surely he is dwelling in some sick, twisted form of hell. His own personal prison cell. How else can he explain this newfound revelation of emotions each time his mind drifted back to you.

You.

You, who has brought some semblance of humanity back into him.

You, who has brought forth his demons and have withstood each one with a smile one your face. Like you were happy to have seen his flaws. His imperfections. His sins. To have been overjoyed to have witnessed each deplorable side of him as if it was a gift. Fought against them and (surprisingly) won when he, himself, has failed to beat them on a good day.

You, who has never left him. Never doubted him despite the lies that flow past chattering teeth. He hates himself for every word that brings you pain or that pitiful frown on your pretty lips.

He’s in agony. Because he knows that if he were to sit down and actually think about this for one second longer he’d realize that what he’s feeling isn’t anguish, but something opposite. Something softer. Sweeter. Delectable even.

He can’t take this anymore. Not after watching the crystal-like tears that now streamed past your redden cheeks after he snapped at you for something that you didn’t even do. He can’t take it anymore. He just can’t. The magma that flows through his veins hardens like coal with each drop of a salty sorrow-filled tear that drops past clenched fists and furrowed brows. The breathe that once conflicted against all reason began to cease as your once brilliant smile turned sour with anger and hurt.

He can’t take it anymore; the pain he means, as you turn your back to him for the first time since you waltzed into his once dark and lonely existence. He was in pain as he reached out in a pitiful display of remorse and fear as you stormed away into the distance.

“Misery loves company after all~” he once told himself. How he wish he could turn back time just once- to take back what he had said. To stop himself from saying things that you didn’t deserve. You had only wanted to help him. You were a kind soul, practically a Saint! And here he was, convicting you of a “crime” that you had not committed. His one sanctuary. His oasis. His SALVATION.

He can’t take it anymore. And he will do whatever it took to make it up to you.

[This is the first time I’m posting anything here so I’m sorry for any mistakes! Doing this on 3-4 hours of sleep so I apologize for any errors you might see lol. This is could be seen as an “open ending” sort of thing so take it how you see fit. Also, this can go to any person/character that you fancy, but I mainly thought of Genshin Impact/Honkai Star Rail characters and Leon Kennedy from The RE series.]

[cuubism]

I would love to hear about the math verse AU and/or the physical therapy AU and/or Dreamling shibari for the wip game 👀 and no I cannot choose just one! xo @hardly-an-escape

posted a little bit of Math Verse, here's a tiny snippet of Physical Therapy part 9 that i wrote... today, alas there is not much of that chapter yet

--

Even if Hob doesn’t say it aloud, it’s okay. Dream knows that Hob loves him. He shows it. He doesn’t need to say it. Dream’s ex-lover had, after all, said that he loved him frequently. “Come on, you know I love you.” But where had it shown up? That was not love. It was the opposite of love. So he doesn’t need Hob to say it back, it is enough that he— “Hey, Dream?” Hob says, interrupting his thoughts. His smile is warm, successfully banishing any hope of Dream finding his line of thinking again, as sunlight does to shadows. “I love you.”

--

and Shibari, another damn thing that's so close to being finished XD light nsfw

--

This time, when he makes to do so, Dream lets Hob take his shirt off by hand. Hob himself is already shirtless, as he was before, and Dream takes a moment to run his hands down his chest, over his belly, luxuriating in the feeling of his skin. Slow, he thinks. One mistake of last time. Hob kisses the hollow space under his ear, and his jaw, and his throat. He pulls Dream close by his hips so their bellies touch, and he can feel Hob’s arousal pressed against him. Normally Dream takes a more active role in their lovemaking, but this time he lets Hob direct him, tips his head when Hob’s hand goes to his jaw, opens his mouth to Hob’s tongue. Hob takes his time in exploring him, tracing the curves of a now-familiar river, its embankments and erosions. Unbuttons Dream’s jeans without looking, pulls them down and lets Dream balance on him as he steps out of them. So physical, and almost awkward for it, for while Dream is fluid as air in the Dreaming, he always feels just a bit wrong in the waking, liable to disjoint and slip the bounds of his skin, the way dreams can fracture when hit by sunlight. He must concentrate. He must imagine himself a thing of the waking world. But Hob. Hob is a master of his body. He has had so long to learn how to use it, and he has applied it to so many different things in that time. As Dream stands, Hob brings him in close again just by leaning into his space, like he’s pressuring a skittish wild thing, loops him in with one strong hand wrapped around his upper arm. His body is surety and dominance and Dream is utterly in his thrall. When Hob turns him, steps behind him, as he had done last time, Dream is dropping to his knees already before Hob can lay a hand to the back of his neck. Hob’s sharp intake of breath catches in Dream’s chest, and Dream smiles, just a small twitch of the lips in satisfaction. He is in Hob’s thrall, but so is Hob in his, for submission is its own form of power. “You want to be good for me, love?” Hob says, stroking his fingertips up the back of Dream’s neck and into his hair. “Or do you just have something that you want?” “As you say,” Dream says, noncommittally, and delights in Hob grabbing a firm grip of his hair. “That,” Hob says, “is not quite good enough.” Hob pulls his head back, a sharp, firm tug admonishing him for his response. Dream resists automatically and Hob’s grip only tightens. Dream is not so easily overcome by sensation as he was in the immediate aftermath of his escape, the first time he had knelt for Hob. In some ways it has been a disappointment to slide back towards equilibrium. But he sees now that it has its benefits, too. The strength of Hob’s grip in his hair that would then have been too painful to tolerate now sends sparks of pleasured agony through him. Dream’s spine curves. His neck strains. Hob is immovable. It’s instinct to resist his pull, to clutch to station and power and kingship, but when he yields and lets Hob tip his head back, bares his throat, it feels like sinking into a soft bed. Hob will move him and use him but he won’t wrench him apart. And all Dream has to do is… let him. Each letting is an exhale. His eyes flutter shut.

[mcverse]

Hi can i ask a scenario wherein how would the sakamaki brothers react to a guy asking yui for a date and she says yes *bcs a sakamaki × yui were having an arguement*.

Oh look, there’s one of my vitals organs on the floor… I guess I laughed too much???

Yui! Reader dead.

The person she dared to even accept is dead.

It’s not meant to be funny but I can’t help it !!! You know what they are and what they can do. 🙃🙃

Okay but maybe I’m being to quick to assume, it could be plausible it’s anything but death… for some! Let’s see how this plays out cuz idon even know yet

Reminder: The boys (+ Mukami bros) are cute ngl and have moments of genuine affection and adoration toward reader (not really Yui! Reader — same difference tho) but they are very deadly, and that’s what I based this post off. Actually, it’s what I base all my dialovers posts off.

Pairing: Yui! Reader x a Sakamaki Brother

Type: Scenario

Word count: 3.2K

Warning: Death, Jealousy, Possessive, Insecurities, Yandere-ish??, Yui! Reader being self sabotage maybe, torture, not spell checked

Side bar: If you can’t tell, I love dark humor. You’ve been warned. Also this is definitely a x reader blog only, so I made the post to represent that. I didn’t want to not do the post cause the ask was really good! Some are longer than others, I got way ahead of myself. Subaru is kinda shorter cuz it’s hard to write him :/

Like always, characters are aged up appropriately!

Yui! Reader dating anyone but a Sakamki brother

Shu Sakamaki

You were a nuisance. A tiny, insignificant spec inside his world all because of that man couldn’t stop scheming. The existence of you has caused so much trouble—so many anomalies—he lost count after a while.

A human girl who couldn’t leave well enough alone. One that couldn’t obey, know right from wrong despite knowing all the facts and yet still being clueless. You made his life very difficult. He proved it to you time and time again.

Yet here he was, very out of character as he stood over your broken body. The feeling from earlier upon hearing the rumor of you leaving for someone else only now left his body. He felt like he wasn’t in control of his body during what he was doing to you.

He felt every emotion under the sun screaming at him loudly, blocking the noise of his music through his headphone. It was infuriating; he just wanted to relax. Do nothing and relax… Not break your fucking legs.

But what’s done is done.

He no longer felt this unwelcome discomfort in his chest when he saw you standing near another. It wasn’t him then. He was someone else, someone mad, someone crazy infatuated.

Shu has never been one to like someone.

So where did he fuck up?

Why did he fuck up?

He was always calm, calculated. The man he was today was driven by pure rage. Your screams in agony were music to his ears, better than any of the songs he enjoyed. Your pain, your scrunched up face and screaming, it was because of him. All because of his touch.

That thought alone satisfied him as he came down from his high, expression back to its blank slate, unreadable. He scuffs as your sound turns to whimpers and at your weak attempts to crawl away. It was almost cute… almost.

Bending down, he grips one of you legs causing a whale to leave you. Your hand instantly goes to his arm to stop him. He shakes it off him effortlessly, starring intensely at your face as he yanks you to him, you are now face to face.

With a tilt of his head, he smirks, “This is your mistake. For meddling in my life… take responsibility as I drain you of everything.” He grabs your hair, yanking back your head, “The only thought in your head should be giving yourself to me.” he finishes with the sinking of his teeth in your throat.

Reiji Sakamaki

Honestly, he thought he kneeded you into the perfect pet. At this point you should know better. His teachings should have gotten you into shape, but here you are once again being disobedient. Oh, how he detested that part of you. This hurts you more than him.. perhaps you like it?

Without missing a beat, when you arrive home he calls you to his office. This insolence has to be put to rest. You have soiled his family name, much less his pride though he would never tell.

This rumor, even though it was just that, was disgraceful. And it spread, reaching his ears. As if you would be with the trash that litter these halls. Who did they think they were compared to him. They were nothing, that’s what. You knew this. So why would you think it was okay?

Yes, it brings him great satisfaction when he saw you close in on yourself under his gaze, body trembling in fear. At least your body knows his touch, your mind still seemed to show some resistance. No worries, Reiji considers himself a excellent teacher. He was never one to give up, no matter the challenge.

“I don’t wanna hear your excuses…” he starts, getting up from his seat. On his way over to you, he grabs a cup filled with liquid and stands in front of you, pushing it towards you, “Drink this.”

Scared, you shake your head already knowing it’s something bad. You remember the last time he gave you something, the nightmares are everlasting.

Reiji inhales deeply, frowning down at you, “Drink it or I’ll shove it down your throat. I’ll be anything but gentle.” Again he pushes it to you, this time settling it in your hands after his threat weighed heavy in the air.

Cautiously you take a sip, tasting a honey dew hibiscus blend before swallowing the rest. You hand him the empty cup after, noticing no effect. It confused you, was that simply tea?

You’re question was answered shortly after when your eyes felt heavy and your body light as air. You stumbled into Reiji’s arms loosely, looking at him through blurry vision. The last thing you see is him smiling.

…

When you came to, you found you were strapped to a chair, in what looked to be the dungeon. How could you forget? You had the worst happen to you here, a shiver travels down your spine when you think about it.

“You’re up.” Reiji, a voice you’ll never forget, spoke behind you. You tried to turn to see him, but it was difficult. He chuckles are you attempt, walking around you to face you. Your eyes immediately notice a cloth bag in his gloved hands, the bottom cut open.

“What’s that for?” You squeeze out, heartbeat picking up.

“A lesson.” was all he said when he forces it over your head till it hang around your neck. He pulls away to walk around you again, making noise behind you. Then you heard a squeak. Your breath stills.

Please tell me that’s not a—

Reiji comes back into view, holding a rat in front of your face. It was mid size, black and ugly. You were going to cry, already feel the tears pool at your eyes.

“Reiji, please!” You shake your head, thrashing around in the chair.

He clicks his tongue, “Bad girls get punished.” He holds the bag in one hand and the rat in the holder. Inch by inch the rat gets closer to your face, thrashing in Reiji hand not liking the harsh treatment just like you.

A scream rips from your throat when he drops it on your head and quickly ties the bag.

You had to learn your place one way or another.

Ayato Sakamaki

Ayato had to have heard wrong because there was no fucking way that you chose someone other then him. Especially knowing that you were his and his alone. This rumor had to be just that, false information spreading around the school.

He knew he didn’t have anything to worry about, it was him for crying out loud. No one can compete… but he still needed to hear how wrong everyone was from the source.

He found you easily in the girls bathroom, locking the door to avoid any interruptions. It was a miracle he was thinking clearly, usually it was so unlike him. And that’s why it was scary.

His stare was intense and focused, it made you squirm under the heat of it. He taunts you with slow forward steps, making you take steps back until your back was flush against one of the walls. He caged you in between his arms immediately, decreasing your chances to escape. As if you had any to begin with..

“Ore-sama’s been hearing some things he shouldn’t, Chichinashi.” He begin, his left hand sliding down to grip one of your shoulder, “It’s not true right? You wouldn’t dare go against Ore-sama?”

“A-Ayato.” Your mouth felt dry all of a sudden. You knew what he was talking about. After having a disagreement once again between you both, you foolishly accepted a date with another. You thought it would come to nothing, little did you know that the person would spread the news like a wild fire.

His grip tightens, nails digging through your uniform into your skin, drawing blood from you. The smell was intoxicating as always to Ayato, but he was to busy seething inside to notice completely.

“It was a mistake! I didn’t mean it, I was upset. Forgive me.” You plea body trembling in both pain and fear.

A scowl stretches onto his face, his hand long left your shoulder the minute those words left your lips. Instead, they wrap around your throat, tightening as he processes your words. It came to the point, you were clawing at his hand, letting out choked gasps.

Ayato couldn’t think straight. All he can think about is you being with someone that’s not him. How dare you? Ayato should be your whole world, your first thought when you wake up and your last thought when you sleep. You should feel suffocated by his presence, otherwise he wasn’t doing his job.

Slowly he loosens his hold on you, leaving you chugging down air desperately. A few minutes pass before you glance at him, body going still when you see the huge sinister grin on his face.

“Ore-sama’s just gonna have to remind you who you belong to,” he suddenly grabs your hair and throws you on top of the faucets counter, “No matter how long it takes, everyone will know you belong to Ore-sama.” He finishes before sinking his sharp teeth into your neck with purpose.

Kanato Sakamaki

If it was any normal person, they would be heart broken and move on. But Kanato was anything but normal.

First he lets you get away with talking back to him in your argument yesterday, chosen to forgive you after you reluctantly make him snacks and now.. you had the audacity to cheat on him.

You filthy, untrustworthy mortal.

He was aware all woman were the same. Hell, he constantly reminded him despite the kind attention you gave him. He always assumed your kindness had ulterior motives. Why else would someone be kind to him? He knew he was a handful. He just didn’t care.

Now it was clear how you felt about him, there was no hiding it. There was no hiding from him. This time, you actions are unforgivable. You thought you can toy with his feelings… You’ll pay in the worst way.

When he invited you to his room, you didn’t think much of it. Somehow you were completely oblivious to the news spread throughout the school. In fact, the situation with the date was so far in the back of your head, you have forgotten it had happened. You were just upset in the moment. It was never more than just a sway of words.

That’s why after entering his room to see the person who asked lying lifeless in a pool of blood a few feet away from Kanato, were you shocked. Just a few hours ago, he was alive. Guilt quickly creeped up on you but it was shortly lived when Kanato called for your attention.

“So glad you’re here. Good to know you’re still a little obedient,” he smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He points to the dead on his floor, “Remember them?” he laughs, “Of course they do! Right teddy?” he turns to the bear in his hand.

You remain still, time ticking like a bomb about to go off. Which in all honestly it could, Kanato was unpredictable and if he found out about that and this was the outcome, imagine what he would do to you.

How do you get out of this situation?

“Look at her, teddy. She’s planning something… whatever it is won’t work. No. I don’t like it.” he shakes his head, “I’d much rather your expression be twisted in pain than whatever this is…” he walks towards you, face twisting from one emotion to another before settling into a deep frown. He stops a feet away from you, your back against the door before she even realizes it.

“I do enjoy your terrified expression too, it’s adorable.” he mumbles. It felt like time froze with how long you both been staring at each other. Kanato hold on his bear tights as he stares numbly at you. It was too much, you had to say something.

“Kanato—“ your voice trails off because in a split second, a knife was lunged into your abdomen. It hurt so much, it pulsed with heat. Your mind couldn’t wrap around what was happening. Gripping the arm it was attached to, you looked the culprit in his crazed eyes, “Kan-ato..”

He sneered twisting it harshly, “Did you think you can get away with using me?! I told you I’d break you. Down to your last breath.” he yanks it out, watching your body drop to the floor, struggling to inhale.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty enough to be added to my collection,” he bends down to stab you again in your shoulder. He smiles when you haller out in pain, “To stay with me forever… you should be grateful.” he stabs your leg.

“That’s right.. look at me like that.” he repeatedly stabs you over and over until the life drifts from your eyes to nothing, “You’ll never leave me. Will you?”

Laito Sakamaki

What was this? Is his hearing finally going, has he finally reached that age? No, that can’t be it. So whst exactly was happening?

His little bitch going on a date with some that’s not him? How outrageous. Not possible. He’s the only one who can take you out on sexy rendezvous and risky trips. You liked it better when it was him. He knew that.

So why is it that hearing the rumor stirs something unsettling in him. It tugs at his undead heart and gnaws at his brilliant brain. Before he could do anything, it seeped through the cracks, drowning him.

Every memory with his mother, with every woman he encountered, every person who he thought he loved—who he thought showed him love and every betrayal he assumed or saw came full surface.

It hurt so much. He swore to never feel like this again. And it ate at his mind. If he had a breath to give, it would be ripped right out of him. He didn’t like this. He wasn’t the one in control, he wasn’t the one getting your love. He wasn’t the one playing the game. He felt like the game played… him.

When Laito found you, he all but dragged you to the roof top. A place where terrifying, haunting memories were held. The same ones that kept you on your toes, but failed you every time.

Laito was uncharacteristically quiet, his back turned to you as he stared out into the open planes. It could have been a pleasant sight if you didn’t know what kind of monster he really was.

“Y’know, little bitch.” he starts, taking his hat off to run his free hand through his hair, “There was only one other time I truly loved someone to the point of hate. All the others… they weren’t real.”

Hearing where this conversation was heading, you reach back to grip the handle when a gasp leaves you. No longer were you standing in front of the door, instead Laito has you dangling off the rails of the school on your toes. His right hand was twisted into your uniform shirt, the only thing keeping you from falling.

Quickly, you grab his arm, tears swelling in your eyes as you see the sad expression on his face. It squeezed at you heart, but maybe that was actually the fear of falling.

“Lait-o please!” You lean forward into his touch.

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head at your attempt to sway him. He knew this scene all too well. The first was hard on him, he drowned himself in body after body. No doubt this would be the same. It didn’t bring him the same joy as his usual actions did. This time he truly felt torn.

“Little bitch,” he draws in your attention and you lock eyes, “It doesn’t bring me joy from this. I would have rather spent the rest of our lives together… exploring each other but I can’t tolerate the betrayal.”

It only dawned on you what he was talking about. From the start of this interaction you thought he was being moody but you should have known; play your cards just a little better but it was too late. With a easy unraveling, he lets you go with a gentle push and watches as you descends to the floor.

So many emotions raved through him as he did. He wanted to grab you back and tell you it was a joke. But he stays in place when he hears a loud splat and a pierced scream.

He couldn’t even bring himself to peek before he left. You brought up to many bad memories, how could he forgive you?

Subaru Sakamaki

Subaru really couldn’t stand you. From the moment you entered their home and disrupted his peace. It was always something with you. Always needing saving from someone or something, always needing to be reminded that you were beneath him and everyone in this house.

Yet you seem to not understand it or that you do but you completely throw it to the wind, whatever the reason it pissed him off. All your stupid attempts to get close to him, to try and understand him… to get him to open up.

Then, despite his constant attacks on you, he actually grew some form of attachment. The thought of you sicken him, but the thought of you gone made him mad more. You disgusting, weak human did something to him.

So when he heard the rumor of you agreeing to date someone else. It was like… something broke in him. All his thoughts consumed him, he was a monster. Less than trash. His mother didn’t want him nor his father. Why would you?

He didn’t even like himself sometimes. It’s no surprise the time you have another argument, you agree to date someone else. If he was in your position, he’d run to. Run so far, the chances of anyone catching him was slim to none. But you weren’t that good at running… actually, you couldn’t really run after he caught you.

There was a permanent snarl on his face as he stares down at you. A chained collar secured tightly around your neck, identical to the ones around your wrist. If Subaru wasn’t so aggravated, he could have enjoyed seeing you ruined.

He grips the knife in his left hand, which drips of your blood, “Shut up!” he shouts, listening to your whimpers, “You brought this on yourself. Stupid.. You just don’t learn.”

He moves to crouch in front of you, lifting your head up by the chin, “I told you you’ll die if you stay here.” His left hand raises as he speaks and makes another slash across your skin.

You groan loudly with shut eyes, shaking as he does it again… and again, and again till more and the same wounds bleed profoundly. It was agonizing, with how many hours he’s been at it. It felt like he was never going to lighten up his assaults.

But a miracle shines on you when he pulls away and drops the knife. He stands over you for minutes, chest heaving up and down. You never understood why they pretended to breathe, but you weren’t in the position to question.

There you laid out like a doll. So broken, bruised and bloody. Almost beyond repair. Subaru smiles at that acknowledgment. As much as he was tempted to tear your throat out, the smell of your blood begging him to drain you dry till you were foaming at the mouth; this would have to do.

”I told you… you’ll die.” was the last thing he said before leaving the dungeon, locking it on the way out.

Fuck he hated you.

DL Masterlist

[lets-try-some-writing]

I hope to see more of your Optimus ghost au

maybe something went wrong when Optimus got sent to the real world and still had some ghostly attributes?

I meant to answer this forever ago, but alas, life is a thing. ANYWAY here it is! The continuation of this post I intended to make two eternities ago.

Previous part here.

Bad Habits

Optimus spent almost a half a vorn as nothing more than a wandering spirit. He grew accustomed to it and had exactly zero issues with his situation after a time and was rather content with himself after the emotions of mortality faded in favor of boredom. It was a dull existence, but not without its perks.

Spending so long as a ghost allowed his attachment to mortal emotions to fade to a degree. He no longer felt his emotions as strongly and instead found himself unconcerned with things, preferring instead to make commentary on it and watch from a distance. He came to enjoy being able to float wherever he desired without need for sustenance or rest after the longing passed. He was particularly fond of being able to think of a mech and transport directly to their location so he could watch and comment as he pleased.

By the time he arrived on earth to oversee Bumblebee's attempts to deal with the Decepticon influence there, and later the Fallen, he was completely at peace with his situation. It was boring, but Bee's companions were entertaining enough to keep him engaged. Then of course the other Primes dragged him from his peaceful existence and right in front of Bee and his team, wrapped him in a mortal frame once more, even going so far as the shove the Matrix in his chassis again.

It was so sudden and it hurt. He was certain that throughout the process he was screaming so loudly that if he weren't being remade, he would have damaged something. It was agony and when the work was done he could only fall to the ground limply, unable to move as he was forced to adjust to living again. Venting suddenly became a concious choice, touch and sensation were so overwhelming as to be painful, and he had no control of his field or even his basic biology. It had been too long and he had long forgotten the finer details of how to operate in a mortal body.

Bumblebee and his team were of course quick to assist, but Optimus merely flinched and groaned as they hauled him to his pedes only for him to be as clumsy as a newspark. Micronus spoke plainly, demanding Optimus end the Fallen himself and going on about how Optimus's frame was infused with the strength of all the Primes or something along those lines. He was too tired and overwhelmed to process much and so promptly passed out from sheer data overload.

When he woke he spent days slowly and rather painfully relearning the most basic of skills, ranging from walking to speaking. He could tell Bee was worried and that his team were disappointed and concerned. Optimus paid them little mind and focused himself on his task, opting not to be around the team as much as he could so as to not make a mistake. It was difficult adjusting, but he managed to fight the Fallen fairly well by relying on the Matrix to guide his steps and take partial control of his frame where he no longer had mastery.

However once the battle was over and Optimus was left without much to do, the oddities and issues that came from his almost half a vorn floating around as a ghost came to light rather quickly. The most obvious issue Optimus dealt with was the fact that he needed to be around other mecha again. He had always watched and commented on what went on around him, it was his method of coping. However now that he was living again, he quickly came to the realization that the personality he developed for himself to get by would no longer work in a social setting.

He hardly noticed at first when he would stand around, watching blankly as Bee and his team worked. He only realized how odd he must have seemed when he received fearful glances that spoke of worry for their performance in return for his staring. In those instances he often walked away without a word, regularly finding himself confused when he felt any actual strain to his movements before remembering that he was mortal once more. He also found himself not touching anything, just... standing and observing, reading over the shoulders of others instead of collecting a book by himself. The team were too unnerved to comment and so allowed the behavior and endured Optimus musings as he spoke as if no one could hear him.

Optimus wandered any and all parts of the base, uncaring of social norms and customs or even privacy. When he grew bored, he would walk the halls and enter into any room he felt like exploring, often walking straight into a wall expecting to pass through before he tried the doors instead. Bee and his team quickly learned to lock their doors at night so that Optimus wouldn't meander right on in without a care in the world. However sometimes that didn't stop him from being unnerving as he would pace up and down the halls singing songs and making all sorts of very bitter commentary.

He was not asked to do much save for rest and recover and to focus on reorienting himself. Thus Optimus continued with life as if he was still but a ghostly specter since nothing was expected of him. He watched, he wandered, and he tried in vain a great many times to transport back to Cybertron to check in on Megatron and Knockout as he would have as a spirit.

There were other things beyond his simple inability to socialize. Optimus hardly rested and when he felt any sort of strain he was always left startled and confused as to what to do. He completely forgot about fueling for nearly a week and was confused as to what was wrong with his frame before Bee handed him an energon cube looking more concerned that Optimus forgot that he needed fuel more so than his lack of fueling. Not only that, but Optimus tended to walk everywhere, never transforming and never running. He just walked without a care in the world even when there were actual issues that required speed to be seen to. He was only reminded of his alt-mode when the team yelled at him to transform when he got caught up in a fight by tailing the team.

Pain was one of those odd things he never really understood after being restored. He knew it well while he lived, but upon his restoration every wound was a stark and noticeable thing. Even the slightest trip could have him holding back a scream as pain and damage reports flooded his processors. The team didn't understand, and neither did Optimus. They stopped bringing him on missions shortly after his battle with the Fallen because of his oddities. He didn't mind much.

Optimus also just... didn't recharge. He needed it, but he wouldn't rest until he passed out cold without meaning to. He would spend days going without any recharge simply because he was unused to it and preferred being up and about so he could continue to watch. It frightened Bee and his team to find Optimus stalking silently, watching and waiting as they worked. Sometimes the Prime would sit in total silence on top of the cars in the junkyard, commenting and laughing as they trained or busied themselves. He was generally left alone due to how freaky his action were, however Optimus was startled when one outraged Sideswipe had enough of his words and addressed him where the others were too nervous to do so.

Optimus: How very disappointing.

Sideswipe: What?

Optimus: During the war even the youngest of soldiers could throw a right hook correctly. What happened to the teachings of warriors? Did it fade from the veins of Cybertron now that peace has been granted?

Sideswipe: Hey-!

Optimus: Look at that, now the youngling is upset. No self control at all. He won't last a day in an actual battlefield.

Sideswipe: I CAN HEAR YOU OPTIMUS!

Optimus: .... Apologies.

The Prime looked genuinely shocked to be addressed and that was the final nail in the coffin. Optimus stopped talking entirely and fell silent, instead continuing to hover and watch. He pulled away from everyone with a cold apathy that left the team fearful of something that wasn't there. It was during this time that the lingering aspects of Optimus's long time as a wandering ghost began to become obvious to the team.

Before they refused to ask, chalking Optimus's oddities up to him getting used to living again. But now that they looked, they could see everything.

Optimus was unusually quiet for a mech of his size, to the point where it made no sense whatsoever. It was as if the world itself refused to acknowledge he was there. Every movement was near silent, his plating hardly ever making a noise and his steps obscured by a strange calm that made it impossible to locate the Prime with hearing alone. Even his colors felt muted at times, his frame almost blending into the background because of some strange force that decided Optimus was not allowed to be noticed unless he wished for it.

It was odd, very odd, and highly concerning. Thus without any idea what to do, Bumblebee took the initiative to call upon Ratchet for aid, a call that was also answered by Megatron the moment the former warlord heard that Optimus was restored. All the while Optimus continued to watch, to wait, and observe. Silent as ever and content to remain a simple wraith, forgotten by the living and exiled from the ranks of the dead.

[lfcgirlie866]

You Called ~ JB TAA

Hi! I'm so nervous to post this ahhh. It's probably awful, but hopefully you guys like it! I should also warn you that it's most likely too overdramatic and unrealistic but I guess that's why it's fanfiction, right? That, and I like writing angst apparently...

Summary: Jude is feeling down about everything that's been going on with his team lately, and there's only one person he wants to see

Pairing: jude bellingham × trent alexander-arnold (or it could just be them as platonic besties/brother vibes. It's open to your interpretation ☺️)

He shouldn't be doing this.

He really, really should not be doing this. But he is. For him.

Trent should be at home, asleep, recovering from the game last night but instead he's on a private jet heading towards Madrid at 1 in the morning. It's the one city he definitely should not be seen in right now, and he has no idea what will happen if the media spots him there. He's risking everything; his contract with Liverpool, his vice-captaincy... all of it. But he's doing it.

For him. For Jude.

Because Jude has never been the type of person to let things get to him for too long. He's too mature for that. Usually, the media's chatter about his performances is just annoying background noise that he can drown out with the help of his family or friends. He's the type of player who loves the game, loves to play no matter what. If you give him a challenge then he'll take it, and despite what people think, he's not in it for the glory. He doesn't need to be the 'golden boy' all the time. Jude just loves to play.

So when he called Trent a few hours ago, his voice shaky and devoid of anything good, Trent knew that something wasn't right. At all.

He'd watched Jude's recent games, or as much of them as he could fit in around his own demanding schedule of fixtures and training, so he'd seen the way Jude was being run into the ground every game. He'd watched one of his favourite people in this world give everything he had and more, but with nothing back in return. Trent knows better than anyone just how quick the media and 'fans' can turn on you after a bad performance, but Jude didn't deserve this.

Trents knee bounces up and down uncontrollably as he sits and watches the little plane graphic on one of the screens inch closer and closer to its destination. Each minute seems to feel like ten, and every single one of them is a minute too long. He's never wanted the ability to teleport more than he does now.

The haunting sound of Jude's hollow voice echoes around in his mind, scaring him in a way he didn't know was possible. In all of their defeats, even the huge ones, Trent has never heard Jude sound so lost. It had almost felt like even the younger man's underlying love of the game had been diminished, too.

This need Trent has to see Jude, to protect him, to soothe away the hurt... it's overwhelming. And it's not going to go anywhere until he's there with him.

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

Jude's shoulder was in agony, his ankle not faring much better either, and all he could manage to do about it was lay there on the couch, staring at the ceiling for hours on end. He couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat. Couldn't even be bothered to get up and take some painkillers.

Maybe he liked the pain a little too much. Maybe it quietened his mind just enough for him not to drown in his thoughts. Maybe it stopped him from replaying his games over and over again in his head, berating himself each time for all the mistakes he'd made.

Or maybe he's a liar. Maybe he just wanted to punish himself even more.

The large house was silent around him, shrouded in darkness now that he was here alone. He'd thought that was what he wanted. That's why he told his mum to go back to England to visit his dad and Jobe. She hadn't wanted to leave him, especially not when she knew he wasn't doing very well, but he'd ended up practically forcing her to go by booking her flight for her.

In his defence, all he'd wanted was some space to breathe. Some time alone to get himself together. So why did it feel like all the air in the house had disappeared?

His family are usually his saving graces. They keep his feet on the ground and support him through everything. They're his safe space in this world. Jobe especially can always seem to put Jude at ease and lift any weight from his shoulders. But Jobe was doing incredible at Sunderland this season and Jude didn't want to zap any of the focus away from him. His brother deserved all the glory. He was on a high, and Jude couldn't risk pulling him down from it with his own problems. So he'd called the only other person who felt like home to him.

Trent.

It was selfish, he knew that. His best friend had more than enough going on without him adding to it, but even just hearing his voice down the phone had brought some relief. That scouse accent that grates on most people's nerves was like a soothing balm to Jude. He didn't know why. Maybe because it was so familiar at this point. Maybe because it reminded him of all the good times they'd spent together over the years. Maybe it reminded him of how incredible it felt when they connected on the pitch. Or maybe he just loved the person behind the voice.

If he was being really honest with himself, Jude wanted Trent here with him. Their whole 'we ain't inseparable' spiel was mocking him right now, but that was one thing he definitely did not care about at this point. So what if they liked to be around each other? So what if they were each other's support systems? So. fucking. what.

He'd seen all the comments about them during the international breaks, saying the two of them were 'like a married couple' or that they were 'so touchy-feely'. He found them all hilarious, to be honest, and Jude finds himself wishing he was there at an England camp right now. At least then he'd have his 'emotional support scouser' by his side.

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

Open the door

Trent texts him as he stands by the gate outside Jude's house, his hood pulled up to stay as hidden as possible even though the street is seemingly empty.

What are you on about?

Comes his reply a few minutes later. Trent can't help but smile as he types out his next message.

Get off your lazy arse and come see lad

It's not long before the gate buzzes and unlocks, Trent slipping into the front yard quickly, closing the exterior gate behind him and shutting the rest of the world out with it.

And then Jude is there.

He's standing in the doorway of the house, looking more tired than Trent has ever seen him. Sadder, too. His eyes are wide, a slight frown creasing his brow as if he can't quite believe what he's seeing in front of him.

"You came?"

He questions in pure disbelief, and it rattles Trent in a way he isn't quite comfortable with.

"You called."

And it was that simple. It would always be that simple.

Of course he came. Of. Fucking. Course.

Within seconds the distance between them has disappeared. Jude's hand wraps around Trent's wrist, practically dragging him inside the house. The younger boy slams the door closed with his free hand, the other one remaining tightly gripping Trent's wrist, his fingers digging into the flesh there like he's trying to tether himself back to reality.

"Am I dreaming?" Jude whispers, his voice cracking as if he's about to fall apart any second now.

The sound steals Trent's own breath away. That, coupled with the obvious demons hiding behind Jude's eyes, is enough for Trent to feel like he's falling apart himself. He sends a prayer out to whoever is listening, asking them to take all of Jude's pain and give it to him. He'll bear it for him, do anything just to get the boy in front of him to smile again.

"Nah, 'm real." He murmurs.

And then Jude's in his arms, burying his face in Trent's neck as he clings to him desperately. The relief is instant, Trent's familiar scent and feel wrapping around him comfortingly.

Now, finally, Jude can breathe properly again.

[nutcasewithaknife]

Controversial take time! Wei Wuxian knew that his siblings always loved him, but believed that they were making a mistake in doing so.

(This got too long, it's is under the cut!)

Hear me out. I don't think that Wei Wuxian didn't know he was loved unconditionally. He knew!! For a whole year or so after the war, he was at Yunmeng doing less that the bare minimum to help rebuild, and his brother is mad about it. But he still tries to stand up for Wei Wuxian in front of the rest of Jianghu! The have the stupid soup conversation! Yanli goes off at Jin Zixun in front of half the Jianghu bigshots for insulting him, runs into a battlefield for him after he's killed her husband!! He's never truly afraid of meeting Jiang Cheng post-resurrection, not surprised at all at being asked why he didn't come home. He's just trying to avoid the inevitable mess of feelings that the meeting would entail. Afterall, when it came down to it, Jiang Cheng shut his eyes and stabbed a rock in the end, not him, not even after he'd killed their sister.

Now for the argument. Look, the sibling trio has some complex dynamics, but they survived that household on a mutual understanding that they love each other. That's why Wei Wuxian leaving is the point that casts everything into doubt - they have always been together, and that was an immutable fact until it suddenly wasn't. I don't thing Jiang Yanli or Jiang Cheng ever understood how much Wei Wuxian took their mother to heart - he truly believed any love he deserved was to be earned, because was was a servant. Unconditional love was for family only!

It hit me only while watching the best scene aka Yanli ripping into Jin Zixun at the hunt. She defends him, basically declares him as part of her family, and Wei Wuxian? He's watching his sister having to defend him when it should be the other way round, getting flak for sticking up for him too. He's in agonies the entire time! He's not even happy about jzx getting verbally eviscerated in public!

Most obvious between Sunshot and leaving with the Wens, there's a pattern. Wei Wuxian may not be stepping in as First Disciple to rebuild, but he's still useful - nobody will dare harm the Yunmeng Jiang while he is part of it and holds the power of the Stygian Tiger Amulet. And then, slowly but surely, he sees his brother and and sister standing up for him, deescalating political situations caused by others vying for the very power he possessed and wanted to use to protect the sect. It was actually harming them, in a way that couldn't be solved by its brute force. He is the opposite of useful, now - he's the root of a brewing threat to the sect. This is a huge part of why he leaves! He's pushing away the people he can no longer help but only harm, and he's going to those who he can still be useful to.

Yes, it's about keeping them safe because he loves them, and about protecting lives, but also because he thinks his brother and sister had it wrong all along - they saw him as family when he was just a servant, and therefore acceptable as collateral damage. He cannot allow them to protect him, because that's his job even if they refuse to acknowledge that, isn't it? He left because he thought he was useless, a danger, he didn't deserve their love after they had to defend him at the cost of harm to the sect and themselves. It really fits into his habit of deciding for others once he's made up his mind, doesn't it?

The crux of it is, I think, that he eventually learns that he can have a family. That's why Lan Wangji is important. He doesn't have a fragile, struggling sect of people to protect above everything else, unlike Jiang Cheng. He doesn't die while trying to stick to Wei Wuxian's side, unlike Yanli. He doesn't die for Wei Wuxian either, like Wen Qing. Lan Wangji is able to stay by his side and survives it long enough for him to realise that maybe, just maybe, having him as family is worth breaking rules for, and won't get people killed by default.

[saibug1022]

Love, I See You Now

Word Count: 1.1k

Aerin Valleros x Asterin Nightbloom (m!elf!mc), background mentions of Asterin x Tyril and Asterin x Mal

A/N: Everyone say thank you to @gretchen-nightbloom for their post on Aerin's shadow form and @oh-so-youre-a-nerd being the one to find and send me the post. Also it is late and I am tired so this is unedited. If you see a typo no you don't. Title from Underground but Cody Fry

Slash. Strike. Block. Roll. Arrow. Bind. Roll. Shatter.

The battle for the Whitetower Rift was in full swing and Asterin could barely remember a time before it nor imagine a time after. All they could focus on was the split second they were in and what they had to do next. If they got distracted for even a moment they were dead.

He rolled and fired off cleansing fire in one direction, not even watching long enough to see it hit. He brought up his staff to block a sword and lashed out with his chain, entangled the soldier's legs and yanking her down. He'd long lost track of his friends and allies. He kept slipping in blood and he didn't even know where he was injured.

As it turned out, his leg was injured. He tried to lean on his left leg to sidestep an arrow but instead a flame of white hot pain burst from his leg and he cried out. He didn't get the chance to remember why he was stepping before the arrow found its mark in his chest.

Asterin didn't even scream as he fell, only made a choked off groan. It didn't even hurt much at first, he just stared at the arrow in his chest in shock. Then the pain hit all at once, so intense he couldn't cry out, only whimper as it overwhelmed his senses.

“ASTERIN!” A voice called his name and Asterin almost dismissed it as a hallucination. It sounded like Aerin but it was echoing, like a chorus of whispers repeated his every word.

A soldier appeared above him as his vision washed in and out. He could only make out the sword the soldier held from how it glinted in the sun. The soldier raised the sword and Asterin felt tears gather in his eyes.

He'd failed.

Asterin made one single mistake and now he was losing everything. Any chance to heal. Any chance to go on true adventures instead of desperate quests. Any chance to rebuild things with Aerin. He was losing Tyril and Mal and any life he could have had with them. He was losing Imtura and Nia. He was leaving Kade alone.

He didn't want to die…

Suddenly the air dropped so drastically Asterin could feel the frost on his armor. The sunlight seemed to be edged with violet.

Then a bolt of pure darkness armed right over Asterin and slammed into the chest of the ashen soldier about to kill him. Asterin's vision was still fading but as he tried to focus it he caught glimpses of a fight and the suffocating feeling of Shadow Magic. For a brief moment he wondered if Valax saw him fall and had betrayed her mother to save him.

But when Asterin's vision cleared it wasn't Valax kneeling down next to him. It was Aerin. Not as Asterin knew him now. His skin was gray with black veins cutting across it like cracks. His eye were a familiar silver that chilled Asterin to the bone. It was exactly how he'd looked when he'd betrayed them all to the Shadow Court, when he sacrificed Nia, when he nearly killed Asterin.

Aerin reached for him but Asterin flinched away, trying to put distance between them. He was already in so much pain, the agony alone would suffocate him. He didnt know what Shadow Aerin would do but his addled brain didnt care. He just didnt want to hurt anymore.

“No, it's okay,” Aerin spoke, his voice gentle but frantic like one would speak to an injured animal. Asterin supposed that was what he was. “Please, stop moving, you'll only hurt yourself.”

“And you won't?” Asterin tried to scoff but instead his words came out slurred and breathless.

“Of course I won't,” Aerin promised. “I swore to you I would never hurt you again. But you're seriously hurt in the midst of a massive battle, I need to get you to a medic.”

“A medic?” Asterin hummed. It was loud like one would expect to find in a battle. And he supposed he did need a medic. He did have an arrow in his chest. “Nia's a medic. Let's find Nia.”

“Perfect,” Aerin nodded and came to Asterin's side.

This time the elf didn't flinch away and let Aerin scoop him up. Normally he'd wonder where Aerin's shadow form came from and how he was able to pick up Asterin, but all Asterin could focus on was the whimper he let out as the wound was shifted. It was only worse as Aerin started running.

“AH!” Asterin cried, reflexively curling around himself. “Stop, stop it hurts, please.”

“Soon, stay strong for me Asterin,” Aerin promised.

“You promised you wouldn't hurt me anymore,” Asterin whimpered, but every step Aerin took sent shockwaves of pain through Asterin's entire system. Aerin made a face like someone had burned him, tears making his dulled skin sparkle.

Asterin was shifted once more and the agony that washed over him was like nothing he could have ever imagined. He heard a scream but he couldn't be sure if it was from him or the battle. His vision completely blacked out and he would have let the darkness take him if not for a cold hand taking his.

“Asterin, please, please open your eyes,” Aerin's voice pleaded. He liked Aerin. “You're stronger than this. You're the strongest person I've ever known. You won't let all this end to a stray arrow. Open your eyes, darling, please.”

His eyes were closed? He opened them again and saw Aerin amidst a cloud of white and gold. The gray was fading from his skin as he gripped Asterin's hands in both of his. He looked beautiful. So beautiful. With the shadow or without he would always be beautiful because he was Aerin.

“Shadow…?” Asterin wondered, his thoughts not quite making it to his mouth.

“I thought it was gone,” Aerin admitted. “But when I saw you on the ground and heard you scream something came over me. It was an anger and fear I'd never felt before and it brought forth whatever traces of Shadow Magic were left in me.”

“You're okay?” Asterin asked. “Still my Aerin?”

“Of course,” Aerin swore and squeezed Asterin's hand. “I'll always be your Aerin.”

“Good,” Asterin muttered. “I lo’ my Aerin…”

There was more to say, it was on the tip of his tongue. But he couldn't find the strength to form the words. He thought he could hear Nia now and there was something bright but Asterin was too tired to look. He tried to fight the darkness like Kade always did for him, he really tried, but his head lulled and his eyes fell shut.

“Asterin, no, open your eyes, ASTERIN!”

Eventually he couldn't open them again.

[multi-lefaiye]

FFF #226: By Any Other Name

haven't participated in @flashfictionfridayofficial in a HOT fuckin minute, but i finally got a piece together that i like for a prompt that got me excited <3 posting on sunday bc no gods no masters teehee :3 (and because i was exhausted after work on friday)

this is about a specific oc, but i deliberately wrote it in a very... abstract way, for lack of a better way to put it. if you know who this is about, i would be genuinely surprised.

here we go!

Their Name is Death.

content warnings: non-graphic descriptions of violence and murder, including a specific mention of gun violence.

word count: 997

-

Their name is a shaky breath, a mother's comforting whisper to the squirming infant in her arms. It's a promise, to love and to protect for many years to come. A soft kiss to their downy forehead seals the deal, spreading warmth through their tiny form. Their life has just begun, and the road ahead is full of hope. The twinge of fear in her chest is easy to ignore.

Their name is a warning, spoken in a stern voice dry and exhausted from overuse. Curious feet on wobbly legs tumble through an exciting new world with hardly a care, all the while their mother follows behind. They don’t know yet that the world can be dangerous, and she fears the day they trip and fall. Her voice is harsh and sometimes frightening, but her intentions are noble (so she hopes, watching them falter and cower before her).

Their name is a prison, its thin, gilded bars stretching as far as the eye can see. They are protected from a world that wants to do them harm, but they’re trapped. Day by day, the lion paces their cell, eyeing their captors with thinly veiled contempt. Their mother tells them this is for the best. They disagree. The lion’s claws grow sharper.

Their name is a lucky break. A chance to see a world deprived from them. Sunlight streams through their spread fingers as wind ruffles their hair. There is a ferocity in the wild around them, but as they run barefoot through the trees they feel tenderness in each step. Outside of their cage, the world is alive, and their heart swells with confidence that they’ll never die.

Their name is familiarity. They meet a stranger, one with a light shining in his eyes and a gentle smile on his face. He speaks to them in the voice of an old friend, and the weary hand he offers them is sure and strong. They take his hand, and he pulls them to their feet. Behind them, the sun begins to set, casting shadows over the world. Over the stranger’s face.

Their name is a fatal mistake. A clawed hand closes around their neck, crushing their throat. The world around them is burning, flames reaching toward the sky with grasping tendrils of heat and destruction. They can’t breathe, they can’t see, they can’t hear. Nothing and everything falls to pieces around them, until suddenly it’s all over. Sharp, piercing agony blooms in their abdomen, and suddenly all is quiet. They fall to the earth, cradled in ash and dust.

Their name is lost. Weary eyes crusted with death slowly creak open, and they see that they are alone. The shards impaling their body are stained red, and their ribcage is hollow in a way it’s never been before. Slowly, they stand, feeling white hot static in their veins. The jagged tears in their flesh sluggishly knit themselves back together, and they stagger through the rubble. Each step is more sure than the last, but the hollow ache in their chest only grows. They’re alive, despite it all, but their heart is gone.

Their name is change. Years pass, and they grow stronger. Open wounds scab over until they become gnarled knots of scar tissue. They travel with a cloak around their shoulders and a hood hiding their face. Static remains in their veins. The world is no longer beautiful and nurturing, and they no longer see beauty in the life around them. Around them, seasons pass. Time marches on. They march on, too.

Their name is a leap of faith. His name is an opportunity. They meet on a rainy day, two strangers seeking shelter in the same rotting shed. Where they are all sharp edges and red-raw rashes, he is gentle, he is soft, and he is warm. He sits across from them, a small campfire between them, and speaks words of reassurance they haven’t heard in many years. They don’t trust him, but he takes no offense.

Their name is a friend. They meet the man several more times, always by chance. He greets them with respect, never pushing against their frayed and tattered nerves. After three meetings, they begin to seek him out, and he accepts them with ease every time. He shares his cloak with them, hands them a hunk of fresh bread. His hands are gentle as he holds their own, his eyes the color of a spring breeze. A new beginning blooms in the grass between them.

Their name is hope. His name is father. Between them is a child, only hours old, sleeping peacefully as the night fades into day. Their husband smiles at them both, at this little family cobbled together from spare parts and rusty nails. His arm is around them, holding them protectively. Lovingly. There is sunlight in the gaping hole in their chest.

Their name is a gunshot. A piercing, sudden, terrible sound. It echoes in the silence, ringing until their ears bleed. Their husband slumps to the ground, his spring-colored eyes lifeless and dull. Behind him, his killer steps back, grimacing as his blood begins to spill and seep into the moss. She doesn’t want it soaking into her shoes. She doesn’t spare a single glance to the family she destroyed as she turns, directing her followers to keep searching.

Their name is grief. All-consuming devastation that pulls them apart at the seams. The hole in their chest aches to be filled, now that their heart is a smear on the ground in front of them. Tears fall freely down their face as their son clings to them. Anger makes the tears hot, burning tracks of fire searing their skin. They stare at their husband’s body, then lift their head to look at his killer. Her back is to them. All at once, their grief becomes boiling hot rage.

Their name is devastation.

Their name is vengeance.

Their name is death.

Their name is all alone.

[wheredidmyheadgoing]

"Does it hurt, little one?"

So,

Basically, I was supposed to insert this as a super duper extra comic for Mother's Day. I planned everything nicely, so that I could make it for May 26.

...Then I found out that Poland is literally the only country where Mother's Day is celebrated on that day.

Shoot. You live and learn, they said.

Let's just pretend that I posted this on 14 May 2023, okay?

Nooow that we've got that out of the way, let me explain what's actually going on here. (As if you can't just show everything so everyone understands, you stupid potato-)

1. Why Gregory looks like a zombie

Here we have something I wanted to describe before, but didn't have the opportunity. It's about the workings of the "bloodstream" of the robot children (Gregory and Ella to be more precise). As you can probably guess, there is no need for their heart to pump anything, so everything here is apparent. Which doesn't mean, however, that they don't need their "blood". Oh no.

You see, they do have a device inside them that imitates a heartbeat, but the fluid inside them circulates completely on its own through their bodies. It doesn't just act as a substitute for human plasma - it makes them better able to feel emotions. They are able to feel pain. Thanks to this fluid, their feelings drive their mind. Fact, it is darker and more viscous than ordinary blood, but combined with stage blood and a bit of illusion, it does not arouse suspicion.

Viscous Dark liquid...sound familiar?

Ah yes - good old agony.

This, by the way, solves the possible problem of running out of artificial blood if the robotic kid gets too much damage, because if anything, his pain and the negative emotions associated with it will automatically fill his body with another amount of fluid. Besides, the agony spreads to other objects, including other robots. This gives a lot of new possibilities and...well, that's why Gregory has so many bandages on him. Afton likes to experiment on him sometimes...

Are you keeping up? Great, then how about this?

The reason Gregory is so bloody here is the punishment he received. Our little gremlin can usually handle the commands given to him, but stress, pressure and general overwork mean that sometimes he'll slip up and make a mistake.

Unfortunately, his father doesn't tolerate mistakes.

What is all this punishment about? Well, as Gregory nevertheless consists in part of a computer, Glitchtrap has access to his head. He can talk to him, influence his memories of his past live, and, most importantly, control his mental state. So, if he does something wrong, unpleasant consequences await him, in the form of a huge headache and vomiting blood/agony, which gets too much in him and just pours out through all the orifices of his body. A rather uncool feeling.

2. The relationship between Vanny and the little gremlin

It's a pretty difficult. For Gregory, I mean. Technically, he shouldn't feel anything for her; another tool, possibly an accomplice, alive today, she could be dead tomorrow. Yet he cares, heck, he sees her as some kind of parental figure, as his father is a psychopathic murderer turned AI, and about his mother, for some unsuspecting reason, he can't remember anything specific, except that she had light hair and was called Christine (Hehe, because, you know, Christine!...heh....begins with a C, like Clara, okay?). He would never admit it to himself, but he feels damn sorry for her, because of everything that happened. Especially since he was complicit in pushing her away from her loved ones, worsening her mental state, and ultimately helped bring about her possession. Yep, a manipulative little manipulator. Oh well.

So Gregory feels guilty, while at the same time insisting that he shouldn't, because, after all, he's not doing anything wrong - he just wants to put his family back together. Therefore, he rather tries to avoid her, and is often just plain mean - the fact that she is such a nice person to him simply overwhelms him.

I'll bet my caramel and hazelnut chocolate that I made some stupid translation mistake.

[imaginingmoonlight]

The Sun and the Shadows- Alastor & daughter!reader (eventually)

Chapter three: Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!

Word count: 2208

Notes:

GUESS WHO UPDATED? MEEEE!!! It took longer then I wanted so sorry about that. I’m currently doing exams so updates will be random and unpredictable but I’ll post as often as I can! I’m so sorry for any mistakes, I’m trying to proof read but I’m tired soooo yeah. Enjoy!

Why had you done it? Why? Why had you accepted the deal without a hint of hesitation left to linger? Accepting a deal with someone in hell was clearly a bad choice, let alone one involving your soul. You knew this. You'd heard the stories, you weren't dumb. Never make a deal with the devil. So that was the question. Why had you done it? Maybe it was being saved. The shock from those shark people attacking you had really shaken you up. Maybe it was his aura. Despite the threat he posed for others, he certainly didn't seem like he was intending to hurt you. Maybe... Maybe it was simply the fact that you were a teenager in hell, alone, scared and injured. A promise of protection didn't sound so bad, no matter the price.

You eyed Alastor warily as one of his shadow-creature thingies supported you, walking down the street. He walked with such confidence, such poise, such authority. You, however, found yourself following him like some lost, shy puppy. A shy puppy with a limp. God, was your leg still in agony. He'd taken your soul just an hour ago now- and it had somehow been one of the worst pains of your life. It had felt like dying all over again. Your chest had ached as if a large part of it was missing in that moment. It probably was, to be fair. But you had recovered, and you felt the safest you thought you could in, well, quite literal hell. The demon wasted no time (a fan of cutting to the chase so far, you observed) in requesting you to go with him to... Some sort of hotel? Hasbeen? Hazbin? Whatever it was, he had declared it to be the safest place for you right now.

"So, uh, this hotel." You started, avoiding eye contact. Alastor looked at you, signalling for you to continue. "Where is it? What is it? What will happen when we get there?"

"Goodness me, so many questions! You'll see when we get there. I'm upholding my end of the deal." Still, his smile didn't fall. Surely his face was about to fall off, keeping that grin up all the time. Not even a twitch of fatigue. How odd.

"Well, how long am I going to have to walk on my leg? I have no idea whatsoever how I'm supposed to treat it-"

"My acquaintances there will be able to fix up your leg just fine. As for the walk, it's only around the corner for here. You can hold out that long, can't you now." His eyes narrowed and all you could do was nod and look away. No way did you want to feel like a burden. He clearly did not appreciate questions, but these were important for you, weren’t they?

“Yes, okay. Awesome.” Nodding, you fixed your gaze straight ahead. Just up the street, a demon couple noticed the two of you and scurried off, eyes wide with fear. That wasn’t the first time that had happened on this walk. Not by a long shot. You’d started noticing more after the third time.

“…why is everyone so scared of you?” You ask quietly, looking around.

“That’s none of your concern, dear. Just don’t do anything offensive and there is no reason to fear me. My job is to protect you, is it not?” Okay, then. You weren’t getting an explanation any time soon. He was unnecessarily mysterious. You couldn’t help the shiver run down your spine as you nodded again.

He stayed true to his word, however. The hotel was only just around the block from there. And it was grand, ever so grand. Compared to the grimy, filth-ridden streets of hell, it could be described as beautiful. It was almost heavenly, angelic in architecture, discounting the vibrant red colour scheme that gave away its hellish origins.

“This is gorgeous.” You breathed, awe struck.

“This is home.” Alastor replied, almost wistfully, before snapping back to the harsh demeanour he’d showcased previously. Aha. A chink in the armour. At least you knew he felt emotions other than anger and frustration. Walking with purpose, he flung open the twin doors at the entrance and entered the building. You followed.

The hotel’s atmosphere was friendly. Friendly, warm and kind. Nothing like outside. In the lobby there were sofas set out around a crackling fire (as if this place needed any more heat, but the sound was pleasant), candles everywhere emitting a soft glow and even a cosy little bar area where the bartender, an incredibly tired-looking cat, was listening to a white and pink demon chat away. But what caught your attention most was the photographs. They were everywhere, stuck on walls, notice boards, framed on tables and sides. All the same 8 or so people, with others appearing every now and then. You spotted several with Alastor in, all of which he was either facing backwards or his face was obscured by something. Not a photo guy?

At the back of the lobby, smack-bang in the middle, rested a portrait of a demon, much larger than any of the other photos. A snake demon, wearing what appeared to be some sort of uniform. He looked happy. Happy and proud. Surrounding it were bunches of flowers, some wilting but some bursting with colour. You smiled. This person was clearly well loved.

You turned your attention back over to Alastor, who was leaning casually on the reception desk. The desk was unmanned.

“Charlie? Charlie dear?” Alastor called, his voice echoing in the high ceiling above. A beat. A second beat. Then a blonde girl came whizzing into the room, sporting a tuxedo in a similar blinding red as Alastor's coat. She was buried under a stack of paperwork, until she plonked it all down into the desk.

"What's up, Al? Nice morning walk?" Suddenly, she caught your eye. This, presumably, was Charlie. You gave a small wave and she broke out into a wide grin. If sunshine was a person, it would be her, for definite. "Who's this we have here? A new client?" Her eyes were practically sparkling.

"Quite possibly, dear, quite possibly. Meet Florence, the newest soul under my wing." Charlie's face immediately faltered, but sprung back to life before looking at you again. You noticed how there was now an ever so small hint of sadness behind her eyes. That wasn’t a good sign, now, was it? Uh oh.

"Well, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, Florence! My name is Charlie. I'm the founder. Are you interested in staying with us?

"I think so." You replied, more confidently than you felt. Charlie bounced on the balls of her feet and did a little clap.

"Oh, brilliant! I'm so pleased that we'll have another person trying for redemption!" Redemption? What did she mean, redemption?

“Oh, I haven’t told our new friend about the redemption side of things here yet. But right now, she has an injury I think we need to attend to.” He gestured to your leg, which was limp, as you held your weight on your good leg. Charlie looked at it and immediately her eyes widened.

“Is it broken?” She asked, rushing over to support you by putting her arm around your shoulders.

“I think so?” You replied. You certainly couldn’t walk on it or move it, that was for sure.

“Come on then, let’s get you sorted out. You can tell me all about yourself while I fix you up!” Charlie said gently, flashing you a reassuring grin. The two of you hobbled off, her leading you to another room, while Alastor wandered elsewhere.

The medical room was so incredibly comfortable. The lights were dimmed and the wallpaper was somehow detailed yet subtle at the same time- it was fascinating to look at. Ease-inducing, too. You felt so calm in here. The calm in the eye of the storm. Sitting back, you admired the room as Charlie started to bandage up your leg.

“So how did you get into hell, Florence?” She asked cheerily, eyes glued to her work.

“Well I died a little while ago, you see. Just an accident, super boring. I lived in heaven for a year. I've always strived to be a good person. But then... Some sort of sketchy things started happening? There was the whole trial with the princess of hell and the seraphims. That caused drama. I watched the whole thing-"

"The Princess of hell? You mean me?" Charlie chuckled. You stared at her, mouth agape.

"Oh my god. Uhm- uh- your majesty? I'm sorry, I had no idea. I'm new," not knowing what to do, you hastily bowed (the best you could while sitting). She only shook her head, gigging, and gestured for you to continue.

"I'm sorry, I genuinely didn't know. Okay, well, I knew that Adam wasn't that good of a person so I started asking questions about his place in heaven. He was being really rude to people all the time so I challenged it, thinking other people would agree. Nope. The head Seraphim sentenced me to hell. I'm a fallen angel now, I guess." Explaining, you looked down at the floor. Charlie gave you a pitying look, tying your bandage up before patting your arm with a touch as light as a feather.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that. That sounds awful!" She looked up, right in your eyes, and you could tell she was being completely genuine. In your head, you made the decision to trust her immediately, just as you had done for Alastor. You hoped you wouldn't regret your choices.

“Yeah, well, it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m all good.”

“But still! Hell is no place for a young girl like you. Thank god Al found you in town.

You nodded.

"I'd be dead without him, yknow. He saved me from these shark thingies? I nearly got shot by one."

"Alastor? Saved a kid? That's not like him," a new voice rung out in the room. It was female, low, and was coming from the doorway. You turned to look. Another girl stood, with long white hair tied up in a ponytail and- were those wings? Angel wings? Just like yours.

"Vaggie!" Charlie leapt up at once and ran to the girl, planting a tender kiss on her cheek. The girl- Vaggie?- smiled, but her gaze hardened when she turned to look at you.

"Hi," you wave awkwardly, suddenly very wary of the spear she carried. That was an angelic spear, right?

"Florence, this is Vaggie. She's my girlfriend! Vaggie, this is Florence. As you heard, Alastor saved her and brought her back here," Charlie introduced the two of you, eyes shining with excitement.

"Nice to meet you, Florence." Vaggie turned back to Charlie, and you let out a small sigh of relief now you weren't being stared at.

"But Char, since when does Alastor just save someone? He's the kind of person that would finish them off himself. There's gotta be an ulterior motive. I don't trust him."

"If it helps, he then immediately after made a deal for my soul," you piped up. Vaggie's head snapped round to look at you again.

"He took your soul? That explains that, then. Always looking for a way to manipulate someone else. I'm telling you, Char, he's no good-"

"But he did offer me protection from hell. I know it was unwise to take it as fast as I did but I had nearly just died. For the second time! I don't think he's all bad, as long as he holds his side of the deal..." why did you defend him? He certainly didn't seem like the best guy. Maybe you just really wanted to trust him. Eyes softening, Vaggie walked over to you. She sat in an armchair next to you, crossing her legs politely.

"You seem way too innocent to be in hell. What's your deal?"

You told them both everything. From you dying in the car accident and living in heaven all the way to being cast into hell like nothing but garbage.

"So you're a fallen angel, huh?" asked Vaggie quietly. You nodded in clarification.

“Me too, actually.” She spread her wings, matching yours, and winked (blinked? She only had one eye. The other was covered by a large red cross ).

“How’d you fall then?” You were curious.

“I was an exterminator. You know what one of those is now, right? Yeah of course you do, the whole case thing happened. I let a demon child go free on the job and I got caught. By Lute, actually. She ripped my eye out and left me to rot down here.” You let out a shaky breath.

“Wow. That’s-“

“It’s fine. On the sunny side, I was saved by this charming lady right here,” she turned to Charlie and rested her head on her girlfriend’s bright blazer shoulder. You smiled kindly.

“You guys are so sweet!” It was refreshing to see such a healthy couple down in hell, of all places. Charlie spoke up again.

“Hey, how about we introduce you to the others? I say we show you what this hotel is all about!”

[pcttrailsidereader]

Seven Summers

I have only cramped up one time in all of my hiking years . . . I'm not sure about Howard. But, we were both humbled on the long climb out of Cajon Pass at just about the same time. After the first exposed climb from Cajon to Swarthout Canyon (home of the San Andreas Fault) you begin the long, endless ascent into the San Gabriels. About half way up nearing the end of the day, we both began cramping. It started with our calf muscles and seemed to progress until it felt that our entire bodies were quivering. We ended up camping about two thirds of the way up the total climb. (We did wake to the most amazing sunrise.)

I could sympathize with Glenn's agony in this excerpt from Bob Welch's delightful book about the PCT. See my review of the book (July 23, 2023 post -- https://pcttrailsidereader.com/post/723701985617018880/seven-summers-by-bob-welch). Well, the book is available now and well worth the read.

This excerpt gives you a good sense of the book and Bob Welch's gift for telling a good story well. RH

BY SPRING 2021, COVID having abated and vaccines now in use, Glenn and I finalized plans for what we had hoped to hike in 2020, with one exception. Because of the virus, Canada was not allowing hikers through at Manning Park, so once we reached the border we would have to backtrack thirty-one miles to exit the PCT east at Harts Pass in Washington.

We would do that in August as our grand finale. For now, our bigger concern was the hot, dry desert stretch northeast of LA, starting in June: Cajon Pass to Crabtree Meadow, with a side trip up Mount Whitney.

“Some hikers consider (the climb out of Cajon) the most arduous in southern California,” said The Pacific Crest Trail.

I asked Geoff for advice. He wrote:

Leave Cajon Pass as early as possible; don’t plan on any water until Wrightwood. Whatever you do, do not take the Acorn Trail down to Wrightwood. Be very careful about water planning from Tehachapi to Walker Pass. Don’t plan on water at Joshua Tree Springs. It’s radioactive. The first crossing at Spanish Needle Creek will be dry (milepost 669). Second crossing will be dry (669.5). But walk up the drainage forty to sixty yards and you will find a leaf spout. Do not plan on water caches being stocked. I carried six to seven liters at times.

“This sounds every bit as tough as the books make it sound,” I told him.

“It’s beautiful country,” said Geoff. “I liked the desert. But it’s brutal. Hot. Steep. Sandy. And hardly any water.”

Rob Widmer, who I’d met in 2011 when he and his wife, Barbara, turned around rather than face Devils Peak, had hiked this stretch.[1] “Watch out for the wind on Tehachapi Pass,” he wrote. “One night I couldn’t even get my tent secured in the ground.”

To better understand this segment, I contacted a hiker-friendly guy in Wrightwood, Luis “Lou” Mena, whose email address I’d found on the PCT’s Facebook page. He was invaluable in helping us understand what we were up against in this desert environment—a lot.

Ideally, we would have left earlier in the less-hot time of early spring, but I could not. I had a new book, Saving My Enemy, coming out April 27 and my publisher wanted me to commit to six weeks of radio interviews. Thus, Glenn and I had agreed on a June 14 departure, six weeks later than we’d originally planned.

I don’t know about Glenn, but, in retrospect, I was whistling in the dark. Not only were we starting late in the year, but in what history would remember as the hottest June in U.S. history. The entire West Coast was sizzling. “The event is unprecedented in its timing, intensity and scope,” said Washington State University climate scientist Deepti Singh.

At 1 P.M. June 14, 2021, with the temperature already ninety, Glenn and I made what would prove to be a critical mistake: instead of waiting for the relative cool of morning, we hit the trail at Cajon Pass for an afternoon climb that would take us from 3,000 to 8,250 feet in two days. We chose not to wait until the next morning to start because an afternoon leg would put us ahead of schedule and lessen the chances that we’d have to scramble at the end to make our pickup time. To be blunt, we were shortsighted.

Under the freeway and into the low scrub we hiked. The eight-lane Interstate 15 and heavy winds made me feel as if I were hiking into a giant blow dryer set on high: hot and noisy.

“Do not leave Cajon Pass without enough water to climb 5,000 feet and walk 22 miles,” Berger and Smith warned in their book. We took them seriously. Even though our phone apps suggested there was water available at a cache five miles up the desert trail, we didn’t assume that was a sure thing. In Oregon and Washington, we rarely took more than two liters of water on a stretch; on this day, we each took six—twelve pounds’ worth in each pack.

From the get-go, something seemed off with Glenn. On breaks, he’d curl up in the shade of the chaparral and go to sleep. He complained of the heat—not his nature. His disposition, I started to realize, mirrored that of opening day 2015, six years before, when our brother-in-law Greg had died while Glenn and I were hiking north from the Columbia River.

Then again, trail history had taught me that a good night’s sleep could do wonders to rejuvenate tired bodies. On many occasions, I could remember falling asleep while thinking I couldn’t walk another step—and hiking twenty-plus miles the next day. I was hoping that would be the case here.

Amid a sea of desert scrub, we ate, Glenn only sparingly. The warning signs were there, but I rationalized that he just needed rest; we’d been up since 3 A.M. to catch our flight from Portland. At 6 P.M Glenn hit the sack. On a wooden chair near the water cache, I sat in my boxers, popped open an umbrella for shade, and read a book. I was just about to turn in when I saw something unfamiliar in my pack—a small note of encouragement from Sally that melted my heart.

It was far more comforting thinking about her than about how we’d pitched our tents directly above the 700-mile-long San Andreas Fault, catalyst for a number of major earthquakes. Alas, our trip’s forthcoming tremor would not be rooted miles below the earth, but in the heat above.

“Hot but healthy,” I wrote in a wishful-thinking satellite message to Sally and Ann before turning in.

I then messaged Geoff, who, when he saw the pushpin of our location on the online map I sent him would know exactly where we were and what we were facing. “Camping near Swarthout Road,” I wrote. “90 degrees. Haven’t seen another hiker. Will wake at 2 A.M. and night-hike.”

“Well done,” he wrote back. “Good plan for tomorrow. Sleep well.”

COME MORNING, exactly what I hoped would happen did. Glenn rebooted. We climbed high out of Lone Pine/Swartout Canyon with good bounce to our steps. The sky transitioned from dark to light blue, tinted with the slightest swath of pink. I reveled in not being part of the thick I-15 traffic we could see heading to and from Las Vegas and marveled at how the locomotives rolling through Cajon Pass looked as if part of a miniature train setup.

Then, boom: In the time it took the toe of my left shoe to ram a shark-fin rock, I was flat on my face to the accompaniment of a loud “Aaaaarggggghhh!”

“Bobby, you OK?” Glenn asked.

I got to my knees, then to my feet. “Yeah, only hurt my pride.” My falling, it seemed, was beginning to be a thing.

On the PCT, I’d come to realize, you could hurt yourself in myriad ways: slipping, tripping, bushwhacking, crossing creeks, climbing rocks, getting blisters, getting stung, getting sunburned, getting water, descending loose-gravel trails, burning yourself on stoves, you name it. One hiker told me he strained his knee while crouching over a cat hole. In 2019, on Washington’s Stevens Pass, a German hiker died after being hit by a falling tree.

It was a game, really, of beating the odds. And so we pressed on, hoping to do just that. With seven uphill miles under our belts—the only kind available here—we lunched late morning beneath the shade of a rare stretch of pines. All was good. The vegetation had shifted from chaparral to evergreens; the occasional shade lifted our spirits. As we continued up, however, I noticed Glenn once again laboring. His usual upbeat nature waned. Never chatty, he grew eerily quiet.

About noon, without a word, he tossed his pack aside, laid down in the middle of the trail, rolled to his back, and fell asleep.

“Glenny?” I asked, repeating his question to me earlier. “You OK?”

“Yeah. Just tired.”

“Drink some water. How are you really?”

“Fine.”

“You’re not fine. Quit playing John Wayne.”

Cognitively, he seemed to be slipping; how much, I wasn’t sure. Seemingly in slow motion, he rolled over, sat up, and pulled out his water bottle and took a few swigs.

“Take some more,” I said.

He took a few gulps. His long-sleeved shirt—don’t get me going about how he insisted on long, dark sleeves and long, dark pants, even on hot days like this—was saturated with sweat, his skin pale. With his gray brimmed hat flipped up in front, he looked like an 1849 miner, older than the sixty-eight he was.

“You OK to go?”

He nodded. We had come about ten miles and had ten to reach that night’s destination: Blue Ridge Campground. The plan was to get water in seven miles at a place high above the town of Wrightwood called Guffy Campground, which Glenn had earlier told me “wasn’t a sure deal.” By now, I’d learned that just because something said “campground” didn’t mean you should expect flush toilets, running water, or even campers; sometimes it meant a few beat-up picnic tables and a creek that ran dry months ago.

I looked at my iPhone map. If we struck out at Guffy, it would be another five miles to State Route 2 (Angeles Crest Scenic Byway), where we could hitch a ride down to Wrightwood.

We headed on, me ahead, glancing back now and then to make sure Glenn was still coming. About an hour after we’d resumed hiking—about 2 P.M.—I heard it: “Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

I turned. Glenn was flailing on the trail. Rattlesnake? Bee? I shed my pack. “What is it? What?”

“Cramp! Oh, ah! My leg. Killing me! Ah! Ah! Ah!”

He wriggled in pain.

“What can I do?”

“Nothing. Just … gotta —Ah! Ah! Ah!—work it out.”

“Glenn, you’re the doctor here. What do you need? How can I help you?”

He looked dazed. Here but not here. Barely talking.

“Gotta sleep.”

It was about 1 P.M. I looked around. We hadn’t seen another hiker since we’d left Cajon Pass the previous day. The PCT herd was hundreds of miles ahead, and stragglers, obviously, weren’t braving this heat.

The situation suddenly crystallized for me: Glenn needed to get down to Wrightwood. And the only one who could get him there was me. I felt the unease of responsibility twisted with a twinge of terror.

Heavenly Father … .

I pulled out my iPhone and looked at the map. We were heading west-northwest at about 6,500 feet, just beyond Gobblers Knob. We’d need to climb another 1,700 feet up Wright Mountain just to get to a side trail that zigzagged down the height of two Empire State Buildings—2,312 feet—to the little ski community where Lou lived. The drop came in only 2.1 miles, its 1,101-feet-per-mile slope more than thirty percent steeper than the diabolic southbound escape out of the canyon at Belden, which was perhaps the steepest continual stretch on the PCT.

When I saw, on the map, the name of the connecting trail between the PCT and the town, I mentally gulped: Acorn Trail.

Wasn’t that the trail Geoff warned me not to take? How could this be? How could the very trail we needed—our lifeline to water, rest, and perhaps medical attention—be the only trail Geoff had explicitly told me to avoid? Dang. Why hadn’t I asked why we shouldn’t take it? I needed to talk to Geoff.

“Glenny, I’m gonna walk down the trail and see if I can get some cell coverage. Be right back, OK?”

He nodded. He was on his back, in a sliver of shade, trying to sleep. I walked 100 feet forward. Nothing. Finally, I found two bars, enough to make a call. But Geoff wasn’t answering. It was a Tuesday; he was likely cutting hair at the barber shop, which was only five minutes from our house.

I called Sally. “Glenn’s showing signs of heat exhaustion and I need to get him to this town, but the trail to get there is one Geoff warned me not to take. I need to know why. His line is busy. Could you zip over to the shop and have Geoff call me?”

“I would but I’m in Albany with Mom and Dad.”

“No worries. I’ll figure this out. Meanwhile, please pray. And, hey, don’t tell Ann yet, OK?”

“Got it.”

I returned to Glenn.

“Feel like moving on, soldier?”

“Little more sleep.”

I grabbed my inReach satellite device from its front-shoulder strap and messaged Geoff. But with all these trees could I even get a satellite connection?

We are at MP 360. Guffy 364. Iffy water. Glenn seriously dragging. Heat exhaust? … Acorn a bailout? What’s trail like?

When the device warbled, meaning the message had gotten through, I sighed in relief. He wrote back immediately.

Pretty steep for a mile or so. Then a mellow decent through neighborhood. I don’t like “iffy” when it comes to water. I’d take the Acorn Trail.

Geoff’s “go” signal for Acorn eased my fears, confirmed my instincts, and, frankly, made me feel not so alone in all this; I would ask him later about why he’d been so adamant that I avoid the trail. For now, I needed to get Glenn moving. I did so—for a mile. Then he wanted another break. I took the opportunity to call Wrightwood Lou, who was camp-hosting seventy-five miles away at Big Bear Lake.

“Hey, Bob, how you guys doing?”

“Been better. We’re above Wrightwood, and Glenny’s shutting down. I’m taking him down the Acorn Trail. Is it dangerous? Washouts? What?”

“No, Acorn’s a good trail and not dangerous if you’re watching what you’re doing,” said the Marine and former police officer. “It’s just steeper than holy hell. PCTers come down in the afternoon, party that night, then head back up in the morning facing a daunting 2,500-foot climb. Bad idea, really bad idea.”

“Got it. Good to know. Then that’s my plan—Acorn to Wrightwood.”

“So, Bob, to confirm: you’re not asking for search and rescue, right?”

“Copy that. No search and rescue needed for now.”

“OK, call if I can help more. Headin’ back to Wrightwood in the morning. Keep in touch.”

I updated Sally, then returned to Glenn, who was still asleep.

“Hey, wake up, Crab Net.”

One eye opened, then the other.

“We’re taking the Acorn Trail to Wrightwood. It’s just over two miles to the cutoff”—it was actually three but I lied to keep him hopeful—“then another two miles down.” I didn’t mention another mile from there to the motel, in a town so small (pop. 4,500) it didn’t offer Uber service. “We’ll get a motel, water, food, and medical attention if you need it. Sound good?”

He nodded a tepid yes.

I helped him on with his pack, then called the Canyon Creek Inn, a hole-in the-wall motel Geoff recommended, and reserved a room. We started up again, reaching the Acorn Trail Junction at 2:45 P.M. The trip down was like a mini-Fuller Ridge experience. Because the slope of Wright Mountain was almost straight down, I felt as if I could reach out and touch the peaked roofs of the houses below. But it seemed to take forever, partly because of the two dozen switchbacks and partly because Glenn required rest breaks.

We checked in to the Canyon Creek Inn just before 5 P.M., the last mile across town seeming like five.

“Drink, drink, drink,” I said to Glenn in our room. “Then take a cold shower. I’m heading to the store. Whataya need?”

“Chocolate … milk … and … V-8,” he rasped, his voice like that of an old man’s.

“Seriously? Not Gatorade? Electrolyte drinks? Fruit? Salty stuff?”

“Nope.”

At the store, I asked if Wrightwood had an Urgent Care.

“Sorry,” said the young man working the register. “You’d have to go into Lancaster for that.”

“Which is how far?”

“An hour—forty-five minutes without cops.”

When I returned, Glenn assured me he didn’t need medical attention. He phoned Ann and told her what was going on. He was moving like Tim Conway, the shuffling old man in the old “Carol Burnett” TV show. As I pulled the garbage out of my pack to throw away, Glenn crawled into one of the two double beds.

“Bobby,” he said, his voice weak, “I don’t know where ... we go from here.”

“I do: Mile High Pizza. Pepperoni OK?”

“Sure. But I’m just so tired ... I’m afraid if I get back on the trail ... the same thing’s gonna happen ... as happened today.” He coughed. His voice was weak. “I thought I was in better shape.”

I knew he’d done his prep work. He’d been hiking a 1,500-foot hill west of Corvallis and hitting the treadmill whenever he could, sometimes twice a day, up to two hours at a time.

“This isn’t about you being out of shape, Glenn, this is about both of us being stupid. We got greedy, trying to get an extra half-day of hiking when we should have stayed in a motel and left early this morning. Glenny, we hiked 6,500 feet straight up in ninety-degree weather with a hot wind in our face. We’re veterans and we made a stupid rookie mistake.

“Actually, we made another mistake: coming so late in the year. And that’s a hundred percent on me. It was my book promo stuff that forced us to leave six weeks later than we originally planned, when it would have been cooler.”

Glenn never was one to guilt me, even when the opportunity availed itself, and he didn’t now.

“I have no confidence,” he said. “I’m wondering ... if I can even go on.”

“You mean, you think we should call it quits?” I asked. “Like go home?”

“Bobby, I can only speak for myself,” he said. “I’m not sure that a night, or even two nights, here is going to recharge me.”

Until now, I’d looked upon the Wrightwood detour as little more than a tire change during the Indianapolis 500. I now realized how this experience had not only weakened Glenn physically but shaken him mentally. Beyond our 2015 debacle when we quit after two days, since commiting to hike the entire PCT I had never doubted that we would reach Canada. Now, for the first time, I did.

“Well, we don’t have to decide right now,” I said. “I’m going to go grab our pizza. Let’s talk when I get back.”

By the time I’d ordered, walked a few blocks to get fresh fruit at a grocery store, and returned for the pizza, I’d processed everything with fast-forward speed. I felt guilty about my conclusion: I wanted to go on, even if it meant doing so alone. I knew how to follow maps, how to find water, how to rely on others when necessary. I could do this—couldn’t I?

From the beginning, we’d agreed that the guy who didn’t quit should feel free to continue; that’s what I’d done the first year, at Glenn’s insistence, after his vertigo attack. But would that be fair to Glenn?

My thinking sloshed back and forth like an angry sea. In favor of me going it alone: Precedent. When vertigo had slammed Glenn in 2011, he’d encouraged me to finish alone. And we weren’t getting any younger; every year we postponed would make the next year’s miles all the harder. Against me going: If I went alone and Glenn decided to get back on the trail to catch up, we’d be out of synchronization. And what about 2014, when I’d sprained my ankle in the High Sierra and Glenn had said, You quit, I quit?

If only I could be so selfless. I called Sally. Updated her. Asked her if she was good with me going on alone. “If you think it’s safe and you think it’s the right thing to do, I trust you,” she said.

Back at the room, over pizza that Glenn barely touched, I floated my idea to him with the subliminal hope that he would discourage me from going ahead, which would make my decision easy. I wouldn’t press on without his blessing. He talked about the heat, having to hike at night, the challenge of finding water, and the lack of other people on the trail to, say, help find water, but his bottom line was: if I needed to go on, I should feel free to do so.

“Maybe … I could rent a car … and help resupply you,” he said.

His generosity moved me, but that idea wasn’t practical. The trail rarely crossed a road. And, meanwhile, Glenny would be baking in a car with nothing to do. How fun would that be?

We fell asleep having no definite plan about where we were going from here. But, inside, I knew what I wanted to do: hike on.

AT 4 A.M. I awoke in a sweat as if the idea of going on alone had been a horrible nightmare. What was I thinking? How crazy could I be? Going it alone was a recipe for disaster—and a lesson in how easily our emotions can become the tail wagging the dog of common sense.

“Glenn,” I said in the morning. “I rethought this. I’m not going on by myself. It’d be the stupidest thing I’ve done since, well, two days ago, leaving in ninety-degree heat.”

“If that’s what you want, but don’t not go on my account.”

“Hey, I appreciate that, but I’ve thought it over. I’m good with heading home. And if Sally knew the full context of hiking alone in this heat, she wouldn’t want me out there either.”

Quiet. Then, outside, a dog barked. Far away, a leaf blower cranked up.

“Hey, I have an idea,” Glenn said, his voice suddenly re-energized. “Look, we both have ten more days off. What if we fly home, rest up for a few days, repack, then drive back down to Lone Pine?”

His mind had obviously been at work since he’d awakened.

“And?”

“And in the relative cool of the high mountains, get the Kennedy-Meadows-to-Crabtree-Meadow stretch done, then summit Whitney again, exit at Whitney Portal, and grab a ride back to Lone Pine. Get in some trail we need to get done, but without this blazing heat.”

“Do you really think we’d have time for all that in ten days?” I asked.

“I do.”

“And you think you’re up for it?”

“I do. It’s this heat that got me but the mountains will be cooler.”

“Then let’s do it,” I said. “We can take my truck.”

My spirits soared. The Oregon Boys would live to hike another day.

[1] Rob and his brother Kurt, both Oregon State University graduates like Glenn, were, in 1984, founders of what became the regionally famous Widmer Brothers Brewery in Portland.

[gliyerabaa]

@tangledcostellations this art is so beautiful, and I can't help but notice that Elphaba's dress looks much more like her post-melting dress than the dress she wears for the rest of act 2. made me think up a (not so) little story, about Elphaba revealing to Glinda that she's not dead

unedited, sorry if it's a little clunky

--

The footsteps above her are quiet. She hunches down further in the crawl space under the floorboards, hoping to shrink down to nothing, so she won't have to face the consequences of her actions.

Glinda needs to believe she's dead. For her plan to work, for Oz to flourish, for Glinda to be safe, Elphaba needs her to believe she's dead. Hopefully the smoke and mirrors and cheap parlor tricks were convincing enough.

"Elphie?"

Glinda's voice is nothing more than a tearful whisper. The footsteps grow closer, and yet they are still quiet. Glinda's right above her now, she catches a glimpse of sequined blue through the tiniest of cracks in the floorboards.

The Good Witch's footfalls are quiet, but the sound of her collapsing to the ground in an agonized sob is louder to Elphaba than the most ear-splitting crack of thunder.

"Oh, Elphaba!" Glinda cries, and it shatters Elphaba's heart. The plan was to fake her own death, but she hadn't expected Glinda to show up, she hadn't prepared for her to witness it all.

"You terrible thing!" Glinda's sobs echo in the spacious chambers of the castle, "Curse you, truly, for leaving me here like this! I..." she nearly chokes on her words here, "I loved you! More than anything or anyone in Oz, I loved you!"

Elphaba's heart-- she never fully believed that she had one-- twists in its cavity, like a knife to the chest as the weight sinks in of what she'd done. The plan was to wait for Fiyero to return, then make a quick getaway to some land far beyond the deserts surrounding Oz. But now, she realizes, doing that means leaving Glinda behind.

And if Glinda hadn't been there to see her death, maybe she'd have been able to emotionally distance herself enough from the idea that it wouldn't hurt.

She couldn't stray from the plan. She was too much of a distraction to Glinda. Staying hidden was for Glinda's good just as much as it was her own.

Still... sneaking just a peek couldn't hurt.

She looks through the crack at the door's edge. Glinda clutches her pointed witch's hat to her chest, makeup running with tears. It breaks her heart. She caused this agony.

It wouldn't hurt to open the door a little. One last glance at her beloved...

A mistake. The hinges of the door squeak, and Glinda turns in the direction of the noise, jumping back upon realizing she's not alone.

"Who's there?" Glinda holds the hat against herself, pointed end outward as if intending to try and use it as a means of self-defense, "Show yourself!"

There's no turning back now. Elphaba reveals herself. Climbing into the light, she blinks back tears, only now realizing their sting upon her face. When had she started crying?

"Elphie?" Glinda stands in shock and there's a moment of silence, some unknowable emotion painting her face.

She's probably furious. Probably never wants to see her again after pulling such a dangerous stunt, after breaking her heart yet another time.

"Look, I know you're mad at me," Elphaba starts, "But if you just let me explain what my plan was--"

Glinda strides across the room, and Elphaba half-expects a slap across the face. Hell, she deserves it after everything she's put Glinda through.

She closes braces herself for the inevitable sting.

It never comes, instead she's knocked off balance, staggering backward a couple of steps. For a moment, she believes Glinda's trying to tackle her to the ground.

Then she realizes. It's a hug.

Elphaba freezes. Glinda's hugging her. That's... not what she anticipated.

"You don't have to say anything." Glinda's surprisingly strong arms wrap around her shoulders, "I've already forgiven you. I'm just glad you're alive."

Glinda sobs into her shoulder, and Elphaba lets her own tears fall freely despite the burn. She doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve Glinda's kindness again.

Running away with what was left of Fiyero was her plan. To live a boring, mundane life with someone whose company she didn't mind. It's dull. The punishment she deserves.

The new plan, it seems, involves all of that, but with Glinda. Her other half, her true match. Glinda, a warm heartbeat, all pink and perfect. It's the life she'd dreamed of. And she doesn't deserve that. Not after everything she's put Oz through.

But... she can't repeat the mistake she's always made. Not again. Life with Glinda, presented to her once again on a silver platter. Sure, it's a decision she could've made five years ago, or three months ago, or last week, or fifteen minutes ago, but she can't change the past, only look on into the future.

"I love you." Elphaba says returns the hug finally, wrapping her arms tightly around Glinda, vowing in that moment to never let her go.

Soy otro ser por tí.

[imagine-lcorp]

You Make a Fool of Death with your Beauty (One Shot)

A/N: Well, hello little beans, I know we’re now past the Halloween/Day of the Dead celebrations but of course I’m still posting this little piece of writing. Took me long enough but it is here. Inspired of course by my favorite band ever F&TM and one of my favorite books ever, Death with Intermitions by Jose Saramago, I decided to pull something nice, or at least I tried. Enjoy your reading! Lots of love to you my darlings.

Lena Luthor x Grim Reaper!R//Word Count: 3,124

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

Always since the beginning of time, always since the beginning of life.

How you came to be was a mystery you had never cared to discover. The fact that you were, that you existed, that you had purpose, was enough.

You were alone, yes, but you needed no one. Or so you thought.

The first time you saw her, you hadn't pay much attention. She was still an infant, young and innocent enough that her eyes could catch a glimpse of the world beyond, and too inexperienced to understand the hardness of the life she was barely starting to live. Too young still to understand what and who you were, to truly understand why you had walked straight into the sea. The same way her mother had done moments before.

When you emerged from the water and, in an strange fashion that would be repeated someday, you had turned to look at green emerald eyes looking right back at you. Confusion, fear, and sadness had pooled in her eyes as she understood only you would come back to the shore.

There had been no pity, no remorse, no anguish in your heart for you had none.

However, and it was also a strange occurrence, part of you hoped you would see those green emerald eyes again in their final day, filled with something else entirely. You would see eyes that had seen the world and its wonders, and marveled at its beauty, carrying beautiful images instead of what they had witnessed in your presence.

You carried the soul of the mother away, disappearing from her sight until it was meant for you to return and see what had become of those green emerald eyes in, what you dare to hope again, would be a long long time.

Little did you know you would see them sooner than later.

Same jeweled eyes brimming with tears as she tried in vain to call for a young man whose life and destiny, you discovered later in the endless annals of the universe, could had been as brilliant as the stars above, were it not for the malice of his peers.

You had reached him in his final agony. When his body, invaded by his own creation, could not take the pressure and the pain.

If you had been able to pass judgement on his case, you would have mused how it did little good for mortals to play with such inventions. But you were no judge and thus could not pass such judgement on him or his life. So you waited patiently for him to take his last breath, taking his soul with ease when he was done, as he did not protest like many others.

You felt a string being pulled at the core of your being, after watching her silently cry as her heart was breaking for a second time. And again you hoped, as you crossed him to the light were all souls go, for those eyes to be filled with warmth.

It didn't take long for you to see them again. This time it was a boy that had brought you back to her.

Named after what many people believed to have been the first man ever created, he had tried to find a solution to his impeding problem.

You.

He had tried to help her. For his sake. For the sake of his dead brother. For the sake of humanity. Playing with an element brought to her from beyond the edge of their world, manipulating and experimenting with it's unknown nature. He had put himself under her scrutiny with the promise of a future, attempting to amend a mistake that wasn't his, trying to pay for a debt he thought was his.  

You loomed over him, witnessing  what could have been of him as a new ichor ran inside his veins, before his mortal body gave in. For the first time in all your existence, a sigh of disappointment escaped you and it was truly a strange thing to happen.

The boy's protest, that came after he understood the nature of his circumstances, pulled you back to the task at hand.

In a unique voice, only for him to hear and understand, you had spoken, explaining his time on this realm was over. There was no use in fighting the obvious. He stopped his complaints when he asked about his brother. If he could find him beyond the light, only he could discover it, you had said, and feeling braver than he had ever been before, he followed you.

You passed by her side as you walked with him. The light in her teary eyes had not changed and, if anything, they seemed darker. Like a wild forest before the dawn. So, you went, hoping the sun would reach and illuminate them before coming back for her.

Then, you saw her for a third time.

You had no heart, but if you had had one you would have felt nothing still for the man that was about to die.

Egocentric, ambitious, arrogant, ruthless. He was all this and more in his final moments. Not even your shadow, hanging like a promise over him, made him reconsider his last words. Words filled with bile and poison, ready to sting, revealing secrets which were not his own.

He protested, of course, when you pulled his soul out of his body, and you added the word annoying to the list of his faults. He asked many questions, none of them you answered. He had been a proud man in life and so he was even after finding himself in your presence, showing nothing but indignation when you remained silent. Whatever awaited for him on the other side you did not care, and his passing had been tedious unlike any other before.

Only after he crossed the light, you dared to look at her.

You had no heart but if you had had one it would have ached for her.

For her broken trust, for her broken heart. For all the things that would shatter, all what she would break before becoming whole again.

The forest was burning and you could do nothing to put it at ease.

What would you find in her eyes the next time, you wondered, feeling heavy as you marched.

However, the strangest thing came to pass some time after that. Destiny was rewritten, erasing his brother's name from your accounts. He came back from the light, as if nothing had happened, and the world was anew. But your job was the same and, for the first time, you seemed to enjoy the idea of detaching his soul from his body one more time.

She crossed you mind, making you wonder if this new world would bring her a new destiny. One that was more generous and kind for her, who had lost so much already.

You received your answer shortly after.

She was agonizing when you arrived at her side.

You observed, lingering closer to her as you waited, the way she finally came to terms with her end. She knew you were coming and this fact did not frighten her. Her last words were that of comfort and honesty as she opened her heart like she had never done before. She was satisfied and with a smile on her lips before she closed her eyes forever.

When she found herself face to face with you, she didn't tremble like many others before and, unlike her son, she did not argue. She welcomed the light, fearless and poised, ready to find what would come next.

And so, you realized, you had taken another mother from her. Not because you wanted it but because it was your duty. Something that, for another first time, didn't bring you contentment.

You stood behind for a moment longer after her mother had passed, turning to look at her.

Once again, green eyes were brimming with tears.

Unconsciously, you took a step towards her. The shadow of a hand passed along her cheek, trying to wipe out a single tear streaming down her face. But the tear followed its path and your touch, cold on her skin, only made her shiver.

You were of little comfort and it bothered you, prompting from you a sound you didn't even know you could make.  

Your little grunt startled her as she believed herself alone. It startled you too when green eyes turned sharply to look at you.

None of you said a word in the long moment that passed between you two. Both too surprised and confused to understand the nature of what was happening.

In her eyes you were still a shadow, faceless and phantasmal, but she still felt a speck of familiarity. An old memory resurfacing from the depths of her memory. An old ache reemerging from the bottom of her heart, which made the latest departure even harder. Her furrowed brows made you realize you had overstayed, long enough for her to actually perceive you.

As if suddenly remembering your responsibilities, you turned around and started to walk into the light. One step before reaching it, you stopped and lingered at its edge, not daring to take a step further.

There was something you wanted to say but you had no means of answering for you had no mouth. It was different when you talked with the dead. Your voice was meant for them and only for them, no need of lips or teeth or breath for them to understand you. At the other side of the veil it was that easy.

What did you wanted to say? You didn't know yet but you hoped you would know it in due time.

And so, the time came.

There's was magic in her blood. Magic so powerful it called for you.

You were pulled suddenly from the light and into a room illuminated by another kind of light, artificial and colder than the one you were used to, where an encrypted circle, with a language long forgotten, kept you confined.

"... and I summon you, Death, to do my biding." She exclaimed at the end of her chant with a strong voice.

"Who summons me?" You said with a hint of amusement that couldn't be noticed through the sound of a thousand voices coming from you. You had to admit it was quite the novelty.

"I'm Lena Luthor, and I shall be your master now." She declared.

"I have no master." You admitted. In all the millennia you had existed, there had been no one to answer to and you didn't think that was something that could be changed.

"I've bound you to this earth. If you wish to be freed, you must grant me my wish." She took a step towards you, a fierce look in her eyes.

Curiosity invaded you and you felt compelled to follow her little game.

"What is it that you desire?"

"I wish for my goddaughter to live." She declared and your surprise turned into concern and confusion.

"And what I'm supposed to do?"

"You won't take her life."

"I shall take her when it's time."

"You can't." She walked closer to the circle, desperation clear in her voice. "Not yet."

You didn't quite understand what was happening, so you reached beyond the veil, looking for answers.

A child was dying, fighting a strange sickness from a strange world. Her mothers couldn't do much and, even when a cure was in the process of being discovered, her diagnosis was not favorable. The little girl was suffering and the time to take her through the light was fast approaching.

"She's dying." You answered, feeling heavy once again.

Lena sighed. "You can't take her."

"I shall when it's time." You repeated.

"Haven't you taken enough already?" You saw her green eyes brimming again with tears as she raised her voice, and you felt a sting inside you.

"You think me responsible for their lives?" You asked.

"Who else then?" She brushed her tears before they could fall. "Tell me and I will summon them instead."

There was another sting, of something you couldn't quite pinpoint.

"You would do it just to save her?"

"I will." The fierceness in her voice never faltered.

"What do you offer me then?" You mused after a  moment.

"Offer?" She furrowed her brows. "I have bound you."

"You have summoned my presence and bound it to this circle. Only that. I'm everywhere, all the time. You cannot prevent me from fulfilling my work just like you cannot stop the wind from blowing." You explained. These rituals were almost fun but they rarely worked for those who performed them. However, this time you wanted it to work. "I will take her in due time but if you so wish I can delay my visit. But beware, this gift comes with a price."

"My life." She swallowed, standing her ground like she was ready to fight. "You can have my life."

She looked at you with no hesitation. You could almost imagine the gears in her mind working. She was considered one of the most intelligent people in the world but she wasn't mad enough to think she could deceive you. Only you were foolish enough to change the course of someone else's destiny, all because she had called to you.

"Then I will have it." You looked at her, with something new moving inside you. "Three days."

Her goddaughter didn't die, although she did suffer for a while longer. Her sickness had taken a hold of her, making her agonize in the days to come in which only you could have ended it, but you had promised you wouldn't come. In that last day, the cure had finally been crafted and tested with positive result.

The child lived and it was time to collect what you too had been promised.

"Lena Luthor." You called with your voice echoing in the walls of her apartment.

She had been sitting on the floor, writing over the coffee table of her living room. Waiting as she knew you would come.

"The child lives." You said matter-of-factly.

"Yes." You saw her shiver as she raised her head, trying to find your figure around. "And I guess you have come to collect what is yours."

"I have."

"Then, I'm ready." She raised from the floor,  looking around for you to look at.

She had prepared herself for that moment. During the three days that Esme had been ill, she had also tried to prepare everything before she had to depart. She had been signing her last will just before you had called. She didn't want to leave anything unsolved and, if she was going to leave with you that day, she was going to look at you in the eye with no fear.

"I'm ready." She repeated with a sigh, waiting for the inevitable.

"It's not your time." You answered, guessing where this was going.

She frowned. "You gave me three days for it."

"I gave the child three days, yes, in exchange for your life not your death. What use would I have for it if I had to take you with me?"

"You won't kill me."

"No."

"Then why are you here."

"Life." You said. "I wish to understand it."

"Understand life?"

"I've always been around." You said. "Never questioned my role and duty. Not once I've mourned those who parted, not once I've felt for them. Not once made deals with them."

"You made a deal with me." She kept looking for the source of your voice.

"I did." The echo of your voice reverberated in the room with strength. "I've seen you, Lena Luthor. Always been there at each of your goodbyes. I've seen what their loss has done to the light in your eyes, and I've wondered what it means."

"I don't think I can explain it." She mumbled.

"Try."

"It's not so easy." She said with a clearer voice. "Some things, to understand them, you need to experience them, live through them. You need to be...human."

When you didn't answer, she continued.

"We experience life mostly through our senses, our bodies. You would need one, at least, to barely scratch the surface of what it means to be alive."

"Then I shall get myself one." You finally answered.

Of all the things she had expected to happen, having to teach Death about its counterpart was not one of them. She didn't know if it was even possible. Would you change your mind if she failed?

Silence followed your conversation and Lena was left alone with her confusion, but not for long. The doorbell rang then, pulling her out of her thoughts. She walked to her door, a bit hesitant of what she might find behind it but she opened it nevertheless.

The face and the body she come to find standing in front of her was nothing like what she could have ever imagined.

Your eyes, real human eyes, finally looked into those emerald eyes looking right back, and the light in them seemed a bit brighter.

"It's you." She scanned you from head to toe, and it surprised her that the expression in your face was kind and expectant, as if you were already excited to be there.

"It's me." You said with a new voice, echoing with a single tone, and it surprised you how your new eyes perceived her.

It wasn't only the eyes but her brows, her forehead, her nose, her lips, her chin, her cheeks, her hair, and everything else, that made you want look at her and nothing else. You too had a mouth, lips, teeth, lungs to breath, but the words you had wanted to say were still far away from you.

So, you stood there for another moment until she asked the question that would start everything.

"How does it feel?"

"I..." It took a second for you to formulate your answer. "I feel."

For her, that was enough for a start.

"Then let's begin." She said stepping aside to let you in.

When you didn't, she figured out you weren't yet accustomed to such human interactions. So she took a steep closer to you, taking one of your hands and feeling it's warm finger around hers.

Suddenly,  your heart, the one you now had, pounded fast and hard. A new voice at the back of your new head appeared, whispering a new truth.

You would see those eyes filled with wonder, you would say the words that you wanted to say. All in due time as you learned what it meant to be alive.

And from that moment on, you didn't have to be alone.