#not nec died

[youryanderedaddy]

Oleander

Summary: Nine months ago you killed a man. Now you're sharing a drink with his brother. Life works in mysterious ways. tw: female reader, implied murder, captivity, dub - con, hate fucking, degradation, cruel reader

Sometimes you wonder if you’re a good person. It’s nice, almost, to lose yourself in meaningless philosophical battles in your own mind - it reminds you of high school, of balding teachers making you read Kant and Plato, raving on and on about dead men that will never come back to agree or disagree with the countless pages they made you write about them. It’s easier now, though - easy to lose yourself in semantics, to water down hundred years of morals and ethics into a simple question. Am I, the way I am, the way I’ve always been, good? 

These thoughts always come back when the liquor hits your system. You can’t believe Devan let you drink with him tonight. He must be getting lonely, you realize. Your hands are too shaky and slippery to hold the glass, and you end up spilling half of it over your chest anyways. Your shirt soaks the liquor quickly, and the sharp smell of sanitizer makes you feel as if you’re running through a cold hospital corridor. If you squint, you can almost imagine the needle poking at your vein to draw fresh blood. 

Devan watches you with odd fascination - as if you’re a child learning how to walk, and takes a sip straight off the bottle. Were you any less drunk, you’d be disgusted, yet now all you think about is how he’s drinking more and more of the bitter medicine, leaving less for you. And you need it. God knows you need it.

“Messy, murderous slut.” He mumbles under his breath, reaching out to you with a disoriented shake of his hand. “You ruined my fucking life, you know?” He manages to take a hold of your elbow. You flinch impulsively but his hold, in all its drunken angst, is unrelenting.

“You ruined your own life.” You intend your answer to be playful, but it comes out venomous. Maybe you both need some sleep - too bad the bottle is still half full. You pour yourself some more. “You’re 27 with no education, job or any support network. Even your parents don’t call you anymore, because, well… what even are you without him?” You let yourself get closer to the man - so close you can see his eyes illuminate in fear. His skin is warm like concrete melting under the sun. Tonight you are cruel. Tonight you are free - even as the tears fall down your freezing cheeks. “Admit it.” You inhale so quietly you barely feel your lungs. “You fucking love it.”

Even as his hand connects to your cheek in an audible slap, you can’t help running your mouth off. You are absolutely intoxicated - and the sting feels like a kiss to your lonely, untouched face. How long has it been since someone held you?

“You fucking love that your brother died, deep down. I mean, it’s the perfect excuse, isn’t it? You finally have a reason to be this fucking miserable.” Your smirk, filling up with glee - just like a child torturing a helpless ladybug on the ground, it’s so wrong yet feels so right. ”Besides being a lousy loser, of course.”

“How fucking dare you!” Devin flips you over with ease, throwing you on the ground. There is a raw, animalistic sadness in his big black orbs bleeding into his rage, and it makes it impossible to be scared. Even as his thick fist wraps itself around your throat, it’s hard not to burst into laughter. All the good hazy feelings take over logic and now the bleak feels like a big joke of nature. “Joe was… He… He was…” Everything, he tries to say, but his voice breaks into a pained howl and his breathing shallows before the word can roll off his colorless tongue. For a passing moment everything stills.

“It’s all your fault.” Your captor hisses weakly, his hand trembling around your warm inviting flesh. “I should have killed you that first day… that first night.” His fingers dance around your throat, carefully avoiding your jugular. “It would have been so easy. You do have a beautiful neck.” His voice lowers. “It wouldn’t be hard to–” He squeezes again - tight, tighter, and you see stars. “Maybe then I’ll finally be at peace.” He’s staring at you, intently, but it’s himself he’s talking to. 

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes. You can feel a certain fullness in your sides and a dull pain tugging at your collarbone from suffocation - but your mind can’t wrap itself around a single coherent thought other than to hurt him. It’s like the more you hurt him, the more it hurts inside you. “You can’t kill me.” There is no sass in your tone, no mischief - just plain cold acceptance.

Devin stops in his tracks to stare you down as if you’ve lost your goddamn mind. Then he laughs. He laughs so much his hand slips off your throat and you can finally breathe again.

“And what makes you so sure?” He finally collects himself enough to ask, leaning towards you. If anyone were to see you now, they would think you’re two lovers about to elope. “Because…” You avert your face away from his watchful eyes - there’s something about them, a wild flame that makes you sober up quicker than you’d like. “I’m the only person you hate more than yourself. If you kill me, the game is over.” You give him a sad smile. “And you’re all alone again.”

The man grabs your chin, forcing your lips to pucker up like a doll’s. “Like I need a fucked up bitch to keep me company.” He says, yet he keeps moving your head up and down as if he’s inspecting you for damage. As if he cares if you’re bruised, as if his fingers want to feel you for just a second longer. “Then let me go.” You bite back, and you watch his face go dark like a night sky. “No.” The boy - man shrieks, holding onto your arm for dear life. It hurts… but it’s also warm and tight - like an embrace, but not quite. “You deserve to suffer.” He quickly adds, pulling you closer to him. “Then torture me.” You add more fuel. “Do something. Anything.” You sink your teeth into his knees. “For once in your shitty miserable life do so–”

He kisses you. 

You don’t know how to describe the kiss. It’s neither passionate, nor aggressive. It’s desperate, yet it lacks strength. It’s a rushed thing. It’s a memory reminiscent of summer - in a quiet village, after an atom bomb. His lips are the flowers that eventually bloom before they’re stomped by soldier boots. You’re the half - lit match that turns it all to ashes. Your bodies are meant for destruction, and that’s why they fit together perfectly. 

“Let me have you.” He almost pleads once you separate, breathless, on the brink of insanity - as if he isn’t already there. His hands are on both sides of your waist, squeezing so hard it hurts, unstable fingers ready to grab and grope at any shape malleable enough. 

“No.” You wince, but your eyes remain cold and challenging. “Fuck you.” Devin replies, roughly spreading your thighs apart. “Fuck you.” He repeats as he rips into your throat, dragging his teeth against your sweet spot, making you really feel the sharp points tearing into your soft vulnerable skin. The thought of leaving his mark on you makes his stomach turn - and it terrifies him. You try not to look down, but you hear his belt hit the ground and soon his pants follow suit - and then you sense it right against your entrance. Sticky slick whiteness coats your white panties as it drips from the purpling tip so full it might burst by the friction alone.

His hard length rubs along your wet slit and with clenched teeth you anticipate the burn of the stretch, the way he’ll rip your underwear from you, your last protective shield - but it never comes. Yet you see it move in and out, in and out of you rhythmically. You can feel his warm breath on the back of your neck, his rasp groans into your ear, his hands moving your torso back and forth like a carousel. You finally look down. 

He’s fucking your thighs - through your panties, no less. 

“Hold your legs together.” The man barks at you, but his voice is so needy you can’t help giggling even as he manhandles you around like a ragdoll. “T-tighter.” You squeeze your thighs snuggly against his cock - and you hope it hurts him more than it hurts you. You throw your head back, leaning on his shoulder as you jeer gutturally, letting it all out in systematic bursts of laughter that sound more like black cigarette coughs. Or puffs. “God, you’re so pathetic.” You lazily stroke his shaft as it peeks down your stomach, oozing with pre - cum. “I bet your brother would have fucked me like a real man.”

He moves your head to the side with a brute slap, kissing you sloppily anywhere but your mouth - but it still does the trick of shutting you up. “Too bad he’s dead.” He leaves a trail of wet pecks down your throat. Your stomach is sticky. You feel disgusting. “Guess you’re mine now.”

You roll your eyes.

“Dream on.”

[pupsmailbox]

ZOMBIE ID PACK

NAMES︰ adrien. aj. altair. ambrosia. amy. angel. anomaly. antidote. arius. arrow. ash. asher. aspen. atticus. augusta. bane. banish. benny. bernadette. biter. blah. blood. bones. brain. brains. briar. brute. brutus. caden. canni. casper. chomp. ciaran. claud. claudia. clay. clementine. cobweb. coffin. corpse. corrose. cryptor. damion. deathesse. deb. decay. decompose. destroyed. doom. dredge. echo. ectoplasm. edward. elkridge. ellie. ember. everett. fang. flesh. fracture. frank. frankie. ghost. ghoul. ghoulia. gloome. grave. graves. grayson. griffin. grim. grimace. grimm. gutesse. gutz. havoc. hela. hex. horrell. horrelle. hunter. husk. jack. joel. john. junkyard. kade. kilian. klaus. labyrinth. lagoon. laverna. lee. lethe. liam. lilith. lily. lola. lurk. maggot. mangled. mara. marion. marionnette. medusse. mera. mira. mona. morella. morgan. morganna. morrigan. mortem. morticia. mortis. mortui. mourne. muerto. mura. muzzle. myra. myrtle. necro. necros. nekane. nick. nox. nyk. nyx. octavia. ominous. ophelia. organz. orpheus. osten. perish. perseus. plague. priscill. quille. rain. raine. rayne. red. rob. roman. rose. rosie. rot. rotten. rottie. saifu. sam. scar. scratch. sedna. shade. shadow. shamble. shaun. six. skull. slug. sour. taint. tank. theta. thorn. thorne. travis. trickie. tristan. undeadesse. valentine. vamp. vane. venom. vetus. vex. victor. violet. viro. virus. waila. wren. z. zack. zed. zeke. zob. zoe. zomb. zombz. zomi. zon.

PRONOUNS︰ axe/axe. beast/beast. bi/bite. bite/bite. bleed/bleed. bleugh/bleugh. blood/blood. bo/bone. bone/bone. br/brain. brain/brain. break/break. chain/chain. coff/coffin. coffin/coffin. con/contagiou. cor/corpse. corp/corp. corpse/corpse. corr/corrupt. corrode/corroded. craw/crawl. creepy/creepy. dark/dark. de/dead. dea/dead. death/dead. death/death. decay/decay. decay/decayed. di/dirt. die/dying. dir/dirt. dirt/dirty. eat/eat. empty/empty. end/end. fang/fang. fear/feared. fiend/fiend. fle/flesh. flesh/flesh. freak/freak. fu/fungi. ghou/ghoul. gloom/gloom. gore/gore. grave/grave. grim/grim. grim/grime. grr/growl. grue/gruesome. gun/gun. gut/gut. holy/holy. hu/hunger. hu/hunt. hx/hxm. hy/hym. inf/infect. infect/infected. it/it. ix/ix. ki/kill. kill/kill. li/lich. living/dead. mold/molded. monster/monster. monstrous/monstrosity. morbid/morbid. morg/morg. mortal/mortal. muck/muck. nec/necro. ni/night. pla/plague. prey/prey. rain/rain. reap/reaper. rib/rib. ro/rot. rot/rot. rot/rotten. scar/scar. shatter/shatter. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. skull/skull. slit/slit. spoil/spoil. spook/spook. teeth/tooth. ter/terror. thxy/thxm. thy/thy. thy/thym. to/toxic. un/dead. undead/undead. vir/viru. zo/zom. zom/zom. zomb/zomb. zomb/zombie. ⚠️. ⚰️. 🍖. 🎫. 👁. 👻. 💀. 🔍. 😱. 🥀. 🧟. 🧟‍♂️. 🧠. 🧪. 🩸. 🩹.

[xhollowfaerie]

silverv (sadness hours) drabbles #2

warnings: angst, character death, mourning, big big sadness :( a/n: I haven't even finished the game, I just vaguely know some of the endings, so idk if this even counts as spoilers? it's more of a what-if I imagined bc I don't even know if it really makes sense but this isn't super canon compliant, I just really missed my partner while they were at work and ended up depressing myself more lol I cried sm writing it and they cried reading it so idk if there's typos or inconsistencies or weird syntax, neither of us can reread it well enough to fix them bc we're saps

- End of Beginning.

“Hell of a ride, huh, Johnny?” Blood spurted out of her mouth onto his clothes as he held her. Johnny had never trembled before in his life. Not when he performed in front of thousands. Not when he raced through Arasaka Tower. Not when Adam Smasher blew him in half. 

“Don’t do this to me, V” was all he could say through the lump in his throat, feeling the drips down his face before seeing them roll off her cheeks.

Fuck. He’d thought it over and over, but he never fucking told her. And now, he’d fucked up. They were out of time.

She was so beautiful. V laughed, clinging to his hand and squeezing it reassuringly. He squeezed it back before cupping her face, running his thumb over the mix of his tears and her blood.

Both of their visions glitched and a rapidly climbing percentage aggressively flashed at them.

“Fuck, FUCK! It wasn’t supposed to go like this, I was- I was gonna fix it, V, I- FUCK!” Johnny broke down and buried his face into his hand, holding V closer to him as he looked away and clenched his teeth, bumping his balled up fist into his forehead.

“This isn’t happenin’. Tell me this is just one of our nightmares. We’ll wake up and blow these fuckin’ ‘saka bastards off the map.”

All she could do was smile up at him, reaching her hand to softly brush some hair out of his eyes.

“I know you’ve heard me thinkin’ it, but I’d never admit it. Your fangirls were right... You are a hunk.” Her own eyes filled to the brim with tears. She held his face lovingly.

“V, listen, this isn’t how this ends, I won’t fuckin’ let it-”

“Johnny.” “Damn this fuckin’ cesspool of a world, fucked full to the brim with greed, I’ll burn it ALL TO THE FUCKIN’ GROUND IF IT MEANS!-” “Johnny.”

His miserable expression lingered on her smile. He touched the warm hand over his face, and both of their expressions flickered with the faintest relief, followed by the deepest sorrow.

One last time, they get to feel each other’s touch. 

And this time, they both knew. It was as real as it could get.

“We both suck at this, don't we?” Her voice. No, he couldn’t fucking imagine living in a world without her voice, without their bickering, without hearing her scream her heart out and play his old songs on her guitar…

“I’m sorry, Valerie.” Her eyes widened as he apologized, before leaning down to rest his forehead against hers. “I’m so fucking sorry.” She took in his scent for one last time. Her favourite mixture of cigarettes, whiskey and chilli peppers, that stupid mac and cheese he always had her make…

He would never forget how sweet her voice sounded.

“It’s okay.”

With the last of her strength, she held her necklace, the fateful bullet Vik had plucked out of her skull, the day her and Johnny first met. The day she died.

“Take care of Nibbles, alright?”

She held it to his chest, taking his dog tags between her fingers and tangling their necklaces together with a sly grin.

“Go. And promise me… you’ll really live this time. For yourself. For…” Johnny didn’t want to hear it. He inched in closer, their lips barely apart. 

He didn’t wanna hear it.

Their kiss was short and sweet. Johnny didn’t want to let go, so she whispered against his lips.

“I forgive you, Johnny. I’d do it all over again, and there’s no other rockerboy I’d rather cuss out  in my head until the end of my days.”

With shaky hands, Johnny took off his dog tags and placed them around her neck. His sobs worsened, and he tried to hold her tighter, squeeze her harder; as he did, she began dissipating into ones and zeroes, melting into him until he caught one last glimpse of her before she was completely gone.

“See you in the next one, John. Don’t miss me too much.”

Johnny collapsed onto the bare floor of code, feeling the agony of the Relic inside their head. 

Feeling the thing he’d feared the most.

He couldn’t feel her anymore. At all. All that was left in her wake was her necklace. He held it so tightly his knuckles turned white. The last thing he remembered was the sensation of his palms going numb.

- Sailor Song.

Johnny flicked the cigarette into the dirt, taking a sip of the pomegranate soda. V’s tastebuds relished at the familiar drink, making a laugh bubble in his chest.

“Fuck, V. Your body really likes this shit. It don’t even taste like mudwater no more.”

Her bullet necklace dangled from her- his neck.

He glared at the view of the city off the cliffside, resting against the hood of their Impala.

His shaky hand squeezed the paper it was holding onto before catching himself and loosening his grip, lest he wrinkled his most prized possession. Wordlessly, he tucked his wallet out of his back pocket, opening it up to a small picture of V’s smile he had taken one time she got drunk and he used her lack of sobriety to take a selfie of her grinning like an idiot with messy hair and no makeup. He thought he did it to fuck with her at the time. Now he knew he did it because he was aware, in the back of his mind, of how much he’d miss her.

He stared at the picture for a moment before stripping his gaze from it, catching his reflection in a nearby puddle. The way the face staring back was as much him as it was V both destroyed him and helped sew back together the irreparable gush inside his heart. He struggled to settle into her body, to claim it as his - it felt wrong - but he could no longer recall struggling to call her home. So he did his best to keep bits and pieces of both and carefully stitch them together. He let her natural roots grow out and dyed them black, the rest of her hair staying pink. Johnny used her muscle memory to redye it from time to time, remembering the countless nights he’d try to explain to her, time and time again, that he couldn’t see the damn back of her head, woman, I can’t see any more than you do, you-

“...drive me insane” their gravelly  voice rang out of his throat. “You’re a dick, you know that?” he replied to himself, before returning to the lower, rougher tone his voice had settled in her vocal chords at. He had found himself replaying many of their conversations out loud, lately.

“And you’re a cunt. We might just fit together after all.”

He cleared his throat after a moment of silence and slid the aviators back over his watering eyes. “Christ, Johnny. Talkin’ to yourself? Who’s a senile old man now?” The words took him by surprise, so much so that his eyes widened and, for a moment, darted around as if to catch a glimpse of her. The gust of wind howled past him, leaving nothing in its wake.

He took one last fugitive glance at his arm, Johnny + V permanently inked into them. He broke into a grin before grimacing and grinding his teeth, hopping off the hood to kick an empty beer can and grab his head, letting out a howl.

The words scribbled in V’s handwriting resided within the letter in his wallet, the same words he had taken the liberty to tattoo on V’s other arm, opposite of their stupid tattoo he got when he took over her body one time. The note she had left him the day she knew was their last together, taken out of a poetry anthology they had been reading over cigarettes and bourbon for weeks, whenever they woke up from a nightmare.

"Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell. ― Edna St. Vincent Millay"

[endouxgofan]

(My abuser just died, 90 years old. Dunno how to feel, I'm not bad tho, just guilty because it's a little of relief for me... So I'll be distracting with my hc's)

Wouldn't it be so cool, like, funny. If the Ie Go boys, played the games of Ie? Like, Kariya watching his two dads and the Aliea academy, and Yukimura discovering that Fubuki had a brother... And the hospital scene of Gouenji and Endou with Gouenji's sister. Tsurugi would relate and go hug Yuuichi. And The Resistance Japan watching Kageyama's army of traumatized kids, and Fudou itself and his relationship with Kidou... Genda and Sakuma are cool too! And maybe, Taiyou can relate and get why people compare him with Ichinose (need more Ichinose saves puppy, Ichinose goes hospital) Etc...

Or them with the Ogre team and watching Kanon, or Tachimukai fanboying and Hiroto being a simp. And Aphrodi would've so cool! And his kids would've like "God's nec-" his villain arc and then playing with them...

And Rococo and Fideo would probably be a crazy impact. (Also, it's interesting the depressed Endou and the emperor's being Kazemaru and the hospital one's)

So it's kinda a request? Well, an idea, because I'm already writing a Pokémon x Inazuma Eleven fanfic.

[buntress]

༒︎~☠︎︎°˖✧- ℤ𝕠𝕞𝕓𝕚𝕖 𝕀𝔻 ℙ𝕒𝕔𝕜 -˖°☠︎︎~༒︎

[PT: Zombie ID Pack]

Req By :: Anon

TW :: Death + Gore, FR slur (Rhymes with Leak)

༒︎~☠︎︎°˖✧- ℕ𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕤 -˖°☠︎︎~༒︎

[PT: Names]

Ash(er) // Arius // Bane // Brain // Clay // Corpse // Coffin // Doom // Echo // Frank(ie) // Ghost // Ghoul(ia) // Grave // Grim(m) // Hunter // Husk // Mona // Muerto // Necro(s) // Nyx // Rob // Rot // Saifu // Shade // Shadow // Shaun // Six // Skull // Slug // Tank // Thorne // Vex // Wren // Z // Zack // Zed // Zeke // Zob // Zon

Note :: As some of these names are from various cultures, please be mindful when picking a name for yourself! Do your research and such <3

༒︎~☠︎︎°˖✧- ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕤 -˖°☠︎︎~༒︎

[PT: Pronouns]

Blood / Bloods / Bloodself || Bo / Bones / Boneself || Coff / Coffin / Coffins / Coffinself || Cor / Corpse / Corpses / Corpseself || Corr / Corrupt / Corrupts / Corruptself || Craw / Crawl / Crawls / Crawlself || Dea / Dead / Deads / Deadself || Decay / Decayed / Decays / Decayself || Di / Dir / Dirt / Dirtself || Freak / Freaks / Freakself || Ghou / Ghoul / Ghouls / Ghoulself || Gore / Gores / Goreself || Grim / Grime / Grimeself || Gut / Guts / Gutself || It / Its / Itself || Li / Lich / Lichs / Lichself || Nec / Necro / Necrom / Necroself || Rot / Rots / Rotself || Un / Dead / Undeadself || Zomb / Zombie / Zombies / Zombieself || 🧟 / 🧟s / 🧟self || 🪦 / 🪦s / 🪦self || ⚰️ / ⚰️s / ⚰️self || 🧠 / 🧠s / 🧠self || 🍖 / 🍖s / 🍖self

༒︎~☠︎︎°˖✧- 𝕋𝕚𝕥𝕝𝕖𝕤 -˖°☠︎︎~༒︎

[PT: Titles]

The Undead // One With Rotted Flesh // Zomb Who Came From The Earth // It Who Craves Flesh // The Living Corpse // Living Dead Girl // He Of Grime and Death // The Decaying Ghoul // The Risen Dead // The Infected // Hy Who Is Bitten // The Living Dead // Thon Of Putrid Remains // The Scourged // The Walker // The Rotted Zombie // Kie Of Rotted Remains // It Who Craves Brains

Note :: All pronouns can be replaced w/ your preferred pronouns!

༒︎~☠︎︎°˖✧- 𝕃𝕒𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕤 -˖°☠︎︎~༒︎

[PT: Labels]

// Aldercormangic // Aldercorpse // Bloodzombic // Corpsegender (HQ Flag) // Cutezombigoran // Deadboygender // Deadthing // Deaissmic // Deathing // Decomgender // Draugrgender // Fouscizte // Fuzzetix // Genderanimate // Genderverval // Genderzombie // Ghoulexic // Ghoulfrilled // Gravedeux // Gravelexic // Incordycepic // Livingdeadboygender // Lovizomb // Malizomb // Mortemgender // Neu/Fem/Mascdead // Notzombie // Zombie Omninoun // Zombie4Zombie // Zombiecoric // Zombiecorngender // Zombiegender // Zombieic // Zombieish // Zombiespiderman // Zombiething // ZOMBiN // Zombmedix // Zombnurse // Zombun/pup/catgender // Zomflodernic // Zomidolic // Zomroyalty

Note :: The first letter of each term is a link to that term!

[evillama666]

“Headcannons”

“Headcannons”

Karl Heisenberg

I started playing re8. It only took me three years to get the game but it only cost twenty bucks! I want to write a fanfic for Heisenberg but I hurt my wrist and can't write so I've just been jotting down headcannons in my free time before I forget them. I have a lot of them so is this going to be messy and unorganized? Yes

Tags: Randomness... There's no specific theme to these, some x reader stuff, contains some NSFW topics. He's a perv after all

Word count: 2445

Look at his cheeks! I just wanna squish 'em!

꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…

First off, in my own little world Ethan does join Karl but not until after he goes through his entire factory and sees how truly strong he is. He's just like "Man fuck this! I don't want to do this shit again." Killing another Lord, I mean. So he joins Heisenberg under one condition: no using Rose. And Heisenberg reluctantly agrees. Also Heisenberg knows how to put her back together so it's a good idea to keep him alive. And let's be real, there's no way he's going to be able to use her powers. She's fucking six months old. What is he going to do? Fucking throw her at Miranda? If Ethan was able to kill her by himself it'd be a lot easier with Karl to help without even using Rose.

Also when the 'curse' is lifted from the village and everyone is set free, the other Lords are able to come back because of their little crystal forms Duke collected. Rose was put in that crystal form so I think that they'd be able to come back because of that. That way everyone can have their favourite characters back :)

Anyway, now that I've got that out of my system, headcannon time!

This first one is actually my Papa's, he's watching me play since he didn't watch the gameplay when it came out. Also he loves that Heisenberg calls Ethan 'Papa'. I think you can piece that one together...

He totally sees Heisenberg as being that 'weird' uncle. I showed him some fanart where Karl is like that and he loved it.

Heisenberg is the kinda guy to let kids try a sip of his alcohol, ask them if they want to smoke, just plain being chaotic, and anything else that just pisses of their parents. Mostly Ethan and Alcina. He's has a love hate relationship with Alcina's daughters. He acts like he hates them, and sometimes he truly does, but he secretly likes them. He just hates their mother.

He stayed in the village after Miranda died. Sure, he hates the 'family', but he wants to learn all the secrets of the village. That's actually based off one of the files I read.

He's a history nerd. He was sheltered from the outside world so he knows nothing but give him the internet and a few highschool textbooks and he learned everything in like a week. He finds everything so interesting. He particularly liked the industrial era.

And modern technology... Oh he loves that. It took him a while to understand the internet. He loves how horny it is. It didn't take him that long to actually learn how to use a phone though. He's a fast learner. However he loves taking them apart so you had to find him a bunch of old ones so he'd stop taking apart his... and yours.

He loves Wallmart. You took him there. He liked specifically the kitchen aisle because he made all the pans float. But when you took him to Home Depot? He had a fucking field day. You two ended up staying there until it closed...

He had to ask who the hell 'Magneto' was because people keep comparing them. Especially that kid that saw him making the pans float in Walmart. That's when he fell in love with the X-Men comics. And got even more excited when you told him there were movies. He may or may not have tried to do experiments based off the comics... He specifically loves Wolverine because 'Hugh Jackman is funny and extremely hot.'

We all know this man is Bi. His voice actor is extremely 'fruity'. There's no way he's straight.

His love language is gift giving! It suits him perfectly. He's always making stuff. He'll make you lots of necklaces out of old gears he doesn't need. He also makes lot's of toys for Rose. (Which all need to be pre-approved by Ethan) He likes to make you jewelry but he'll also make you little inventions. Anything that'll make your life easier.

Oh, you complained about somethin? He's making an invention for that. You were pissed when he took apart your coffee maker but he ended up making a new one that brews the perfect cup everytime. If you ask him for anything, he'll make it for you.

His factory doesn't actually have a kitchen. He just stores all his kitchen appliances in a random room. Also, you have to constantly remind him to eat. You don't allow him to use his excuse "But I'm a Lord. I can go days without eating!"

He only showers once a month... Why would he bathe so often if he's just going to get filthy again?

This man doesn't own a bed. Doesn't even have a bedroom. He's used to going days without sleeping so why need one? But he does have an old, brown sunk in couch that he had to repair a lot of times over the years. It looks uncomfortable as hell but it's actually surprisingly comfortable?

He has random arm chairs and other furniture he picked up off the side off the road scattered along his factory. Though, that couch is his favourite. He'll lay on it while you lay on top of his chest because there isn't actually enough room for the both of you.

So he ends up spending the night at your house a lot since you actually have a bed. But when he's there, he's constantly trying to take apart your stuff. He gets scolded a lot.

He loves pets, but can't have any of his own because his factory isn't safe for one and he already doesn't take care of himself. There's no way he'd have time taking care of a pet. He doesn't want to put the poor thing through that. He's more of a dog person, obviously, but he does like cats. Especially scruffy ones that kinda looks like a small dog. So if you have a pet, he's coming over a lot.

He doesn't like dates. He'd rather you hang out in his factory, or he'll go to your place and have dinner. He does like walks though. Around the village, a park, the beach. But it's at the beach, he's using his powers to find whatever washed up metal. He's actually found some pretty cool stuff. No need to buy one of those expensive ass metal detectors he's like a personal one.

If you fall asleep when you're at his factory, he'll take his coat off and lay it on you. Trenchcoats were originally used as blankets in world war two. You can be doing your own little thing when you're hanging out with him in his factory. He just likes you're company. He's fine with parallel play. He usually stops whatever he's working on when you fall asleep, realizing he should probably call it a night.

This man is touched starved! He loves cuddles! He loves cuddling with you after a long day in the factory. His hair is a weak spot. He loves when it's played with. He's too busy to ever cut it, and he likes it long. Once and a while he'll trim it, a long with cleaning up his beard. He loves when you cup his cheeks in your hands and mess with his beard.

Give this man a beard oil kit and he'll actually take care of his appearance. It's a good gift for him.

He was reluctant to let you braid it but caved in. Now he always lets you play with it whenever. He also loves it being pulled on. Another reason he likes it long.

This man is extremely kinky. He's basically into whatever and will always agree to try whatever you suggest. However he will always respect your boundaries if you don't like something. He might push a little, ask 'are you sure?' but he'll ultimately drop the idea. You can bring it back up again when you feel comfortable though. He's into bdsm. He really likes tying you up. More specifically, using whatever metal is around to bind your wrists.

He makes sex toys. A lot of sex toys. Sometimes it gets boring in the factory and it wasn't like he was ever seeing anyone. His toys are... uh... rather intense. He can handle it being rough.

He's created whole ass machines just for sex. I told you this man is freaky. He can pound that shit for hours. His powers let him go on for a while... That couch along fleshlight he altered has been through a lot...

If he makes a toy for you, he'll cator it to something you like. It's never as rough as his personal toys. He'll make you something like a vibrator that can run for days without dying, and has many more settings than the average one.

He'll steal Alcina's fancy ass candles for wax play. She'll be walking around in her castle and notice one of her candles are missing. She doesn't actually know the real reason Karl steals them. She thinks he's just making her life difficult.

Another way he makes her life difficult is by moving shit, walking through her caste with his muddy boots, eyeing up her maids, and just lingering around until she yells at her.

He definitely likes pulling pranks.

He likes video games. He loves Mortal Kombat. He likes beating the Dimitrescu sisters asses. They get so pissy. But it's nice bonding time with their uncle. It's one of the few times he'll agree to hang out with them. He's memorized all the moves and combos so there's no beating him. Aaron Black is his favourite.

He'll also play Stardew Valley with you even though he hates it. He does the caves for you so you don't die. His little character looks just like him. He doesn't get why you play this game when you can just go in the village and actually farm.

He loves motorcycles! He made a whole custom one from scratch! He's been to a couple queer biker bars a few times.

He looks like a hobo, so people assume he's homeless and give him a few dollars. Especially when he goes to Walmart. The first time he had to ask you why a lady gave him dollar. He was offended when told him 'She probably thought you were homeless' but he couldn't really argue...

He likes metal music. No pun intended. He's even got a couple spiked bracelets. He thinks metal music is nice to work to in his factory. Rob Zombie is his favourite. My Papá agrees with this one!

He'll also listen to Old Mans Poison. Specifically their song "Feed the Machine". I love that song so much and it suits Heisenberg. He'll also listen to German heavy metal.

Any alt people and metalheads need to be careful around him, because if you're wearing a lot of metal, and he activates his powers, you'll be dragged across the room. He usually doesn't mean it but sometimes he'll use that against you just to tease you. If you're wearing any necklaces in general, be careful around him because he will accidentally choke you and won't feel any remorse about it. He'll actually laugh.

He'll attach metal to non-metal objects so he can make them float around. He can control blood. It contains iron in it. I think that's how he's so successful with his soldat.

If someone pissed him off, he'll just kill them with a blood clot. :)

But he also uses that power to patch up Ethan.

He has a lot of self harm scars on his arms. The other scars however, are from messing around in his factory and being tested on. He has depression but, will always deny it but, deep down he knows he has it.

He loves steampunk fashion. Most of the necklaces and gifts he makes are steampunk. He loves any steampunk accessories you get him.

There's nothing that suggests how old Heisenberg was when he was experimented on by Miranda. He did come along after Alcina, who was forty-four when she was experienced on. I think he was around ten when he was taken, making his resentment towards Miranda much, much deeper. This is also based off some fanart of him as a kid which I thought was cute.

His one necklace is a little scale. I totally see him just wearing it to fidget with it. Either tugging on it when it's around his neck or using his powers on it. Same thing with the compass. Using his powers to make the needle spin around.

He's neurodivergent in some way.

He'll start like a hundred different projects but never actually finish them. He'll also get hyper fixated on one project and only do that for days on end or do a bunch of projects based off one topic.

Despite never being hugged, Karl gives the best hugs. Sure he's very stiff and has no idea what to do when it comes to comforting people. You'll have to initiate the hug. It'll take him a moment to actually wrap his arms around you and it'll take a few hugs before he feels comfortable hugging you back.

His touch starts off stiff and awkward before gradually relaxing and he'll wrap you up in his trenchcoat so you feel secure.

Honestly I headcannon that with any character that wears a trenchcoat. I actually have a trenchcoat and it's literally perfect to wrap someone up in a hug with it.

Any relationship, whether it's platonic or romantic needs to go slow for him. Lots of baby steps! Why do I like baby steps with characters so much....

Once someone is close with him, he may let them use his first name.

He will talk your ear off about his inventions. Even if you don't understand, he just needs to get it out. But! He will absolutely love it if you ask questions. And if you're very interested he'll simplify everything down for you so you understand.

He'll have you help him on his inventions that don't pose any threats. He's not gonna risk hurting you so he'll just have you hand him tools and such. It's nice having an extra pair of hands around. He'll explain how the invention works. Ask him questions! He likes that. He's never had anyone to talk about his work with.

He likes when you lightly trace over his scars. Like if you're holding his face in your hands and lightly trace over them with your thumbs. Or when you two are cuddling and you trace over the scars on his chest and abdomen.

꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…

Oki... I think I'm done for now. I can't think of any more. I know I have more though so I might make another one of these.

Now to the part I hate

[wonder-worker]

"The figure of Olympias seen in Justin/Trogus is a multifaceted one. She is a powerful woman who inserts herself into the political sphere and is not above ruthless murder to satisfy her ambitions. When she is able to wield her power unchecked, her destructive (womanly) instincts are made fully manifest and betray the trust conferred upon her by the Macedonian people. And yet in death, her former dignity is once more allowed to shine through as she becomes the embodiment of the Argead dynasty, all hopes of which are lost with her assassination at the hands of Kassandros.

Such a change in characterisation from a grasping and ruthless woman to one exhibiting male virtus as she approaches her death is not unprecedented in Augustan-era literature, as is seen most notably in Horace’s Kleopatra Ode (Odes, 1.37, see below). This connection between Justin/Trogus’ Olympias and the Ptolemaic Kleopatra is best understood in light of the tenor set by Octavian explaining and justifying his political and military struggle with fellow triumvir, Mark Antony.

Horace’s Kleopatra Ode (Odes 1.37) presents a vivid depiction of the Battle of Actium. Describing Kleopatra as a fatale monstrum, a horrible Eastern queen plotting the utter ruin of Rome, Horace’s rancorous words wholeheartedly embrace Octavian’s propaganda surrounding the downfall of Antony. This is especially apparent in the absence of one of the primary players in the war from the poem: Antony, against whom the battle of Actium was actually being waged, goes unmentioned. It is Kleopatra, the bestial, drunken foreigner, who threatens Rome and whose barbarity is overcome by the triumph of Octavian, not her lover Antony, the celebrated Roman general. Furthermore, while Horace glosses over Antony’s role in the civil war, he celebrates Octavian as the skilled hunter, exacting justice from a depraved yet ultimately powerless queen. And yet, as with the death of Olympias in Justin/Trogus, Kleopatra does not die a shameful or ‘womanly’ death (Odes 1.37.21–29):

Who, seeking to die more nobly, did not display womanly fear of the sword (nec muliebriter expavit ensem) nor did she flee to hidden shores with her fleet, but she endured to gaze at her fallen city with a serene face, and courageously handled savage serpents (fortis et asperas tractare serpentes) so that she might drink the black venom, more fiercely intent upon death.

The implications of this portrayal of Kleopatra’s death are unclear. [...] But whatever Horace’s intentions were behind the shift, it is the same character reversal that Justin/Trogus’ Olympias undergoes immediately before her death.

There are other notable parallels. Both Kleopatra and Olympias are foreign – Eastern – queens who dared to take power for themselves. Justin/Trogus’ Olympias is a symbol and agent of destruction, at times apparently descending to senseless violence for no other purported reason than female jealousy. Likewise the Augustan Kleopatra was a blend of savage brutality and female seduction who corrupted Antony and dared to challenge Rome. Additionally, as demonstrated aptly in the case of Kleopatra, both her and Olympias’ abilities to defend their reputations died with them.

By tapping into this language used for Kleopatra to describe Olympias – her noble (manly) death as seen in Horace, her rule as queen in her own right, and her womanly cruelty – Trogus connected the ancient kingdom of Macedonia with his own present circumstances, the wars of the Successors with the civil war between Octavian and Antony.

His discussion of the rise and fall of empires reveals a remarkable circularity: just as Kleopatra brought an end to the reign of the Ptolemies in Egypt, so too did Olympias for the Argeads in Macedonia. While there were Argeads still living, including her grandchildren Alexander IV and Herakles, they did not survive for long and were never in any position to wield power. The two women became symbolic figures who are both portrayed as bringing about their own deaths through their actions and are condemned for taking their kingdom down with them.

Not only would Trogus’ Roman audience have identified Olympias with Kleopatra, the historian’s language itself urges his readers towards that conclusion. Additionally, in emphasising Olympias’ role as a queen and ruler, he places her on par with Kleopatra, squarely in the political context of the Roman author rather than in her own Macedonian setting. Constructing an image of barbarity and manipulation, Trogus fashions an Olympias with whom his contemporaries could identify and through whom they could read their own political turbulence. By invoking terminology and imagery reminiscent of Kleopatra, Trogus can construct a vision of Macedonia that mirrors his own sociopolitical context thereby enabling him to fashion a political narrative through the use of comparison and analogy. As a result, through the manipulation of language and the retrospective nature of historiography, Trogus’ Olympias becomes Kleopatra, and his Kleopatra, Olympias."

— Rebecca Frank, "A Roman Olympias: Powerful Women in the Historiae Philippicae of Pompeius Trogus", Ancient Macedonians in the Greek and Roman Sources: From History to Historiography (Edited by Timothy Howe and Frances Pownall)

[legaltrashgoblin]

My review of Nona The Ninth

Spoilers below the cut

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Chewing on the bars of my cage for the next book.

Nona was such an intriguing character to read about, and, much like the quote on the front - "You will love Nona, and Nona loves you" - I truly did love Nona. She was inquisitive, charming and so brutally kiddish it hurt me to see her go, and to see her in pain, and to see her so eager to stop. She loved herself, thought she was beautiful, much like many little girls do, and her ending very nearly brought me to tears. I know, probably a few days from now it will finally sink in that Nona won't be entirely Nona anymore, but she'll be someone new after this, and it feels like a tribute to little girls growing up and realising that shit hurts, that you lose people you love and people give themselves up for you, people become new people, friends are lost, new friends are gained and you just have to love them for something.

Nona The Ninth was such an incredible switch from Gideon and Harrow, with the new environment, the new character dynamics, and the new absolutely fucking radical action.

Much like Nona, I loved everyone in this book. I loved Pyrrha (she and Gideon the First will be one [and some] of my favourite characters I've ever read about. I felt so much for Gideon the First in Harrow, and Pyrrha left behind in his body after he died. I loved Camilla, I loved Palamedes, I loved Camilla-and-Palamedes, and think I'm beginning to love Paul.

Plus, I love the complete disregard of gender and gendered terms: Prince Kiriona Gaia, Daughter of God; Prince Ianthe Naberius; The Angel being referred to as "Sir"; Pyrrha being a woman in a man's body, quite literally; Palamedes and Camilla sharing Camilla's body; and Nona's general acceptance that it's the conscience and the soul that matters, not the outside.

I need to get my hands on Alecto the Ninth right now, else I shall surely die.

P.S. I'd so love to be friends with Nona.

P.P.S. what was that with Nona kissing Kiriona?! The only griddlehark full fucking mouth to mouth nec-romance (see what I did there) kiss and one of them is dead and the other is not the right person?!? Scammer.

P.P.P.S. I love you, Tamsyn Muir, for Nona and Gideon and Harrow and every single page of these books that have now overcome my whole brain.

[gatheredfates]

Dividers! ✧˖°.

As to not flood the original post with reblogs, I'm making a new post of the ones I've done tonight with little lorem impsum descriptions! This means you can see how they will look when you use them. ♥ If you'd like your own, feel free to send me a dm!

For @riftdancing:

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec ultrices bibendum ex, condimentum varius quam convallis eu. Proin a quam vel metus gravida gravida eget quis turpis. Praesent efficitur magna in egestas placerat.

Vestibulum auctor eu massa in tincidunt. Quisque luctus rhoncus ornare. Nam eu magna tristique, aliquet sapien nec, vehicula ligula. Etiam in lacus ullamcorper, tristique ex sed, dignissim leo.

Orci varius natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Sed eget porttitor sapien, eget consectetur dui. Pellentesque nec metus sed purus pharetra ullamcorper. Nullam eget placerat magna.

For @arinaxiv:

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Aenean sit amet efficitur dolor. Aliquam interdum sit amet risus dictum feugiat. In placerat porttitor risus, sit amet blandit odio aliquam ac. Morbi ultrices, elit sed tincidunt scelerisque, felis nibh gravida sem, sit amet gravida ligula tortor eu enim.

Aliquam lacus tellus, porta vitae venenatis id, placerat non risus. Aliquam ac ultricies nibh, at blandit ante. Cras sit amet tortor convallis, mollis arcu nec, tempus ante.

For @irisopranta

Vestibulum commodo scelerisque odio. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Ut ultricies erat ut quam blandit rhoncus. Aliquam feugiat imperdiet ipsum tincidunt varius. Nunc blandit non felis sit amet lobortis.

For @cadrenebula

Vestibulum lacinia orci accumsan, posuere lacus vitae, tincidunt ligula. Suspendisse diam leo, maximus nec dolor id, porttitor sagittis ante. In et leo eu augue finibus facilisis nec id erat. Pellentesque eget velit ac nisl molestie venenatis et nec mi.

For @saeta

Nullam at enim a nisl molestie scelerisque ut eu odio. Integer feugiat nunc et mauris lacinia, eu porta nunc facilisis. Suspendisse euismod condimentum pulvinar. Sed fermentum odio id accumsan dictum. Curabitur vitae efficitur nibh.

Morbi sollicitudin tortor quis convallis imperdiet. Donec est purus, tincidunt vitae ex sit amet, hendrerit bibendum magna. Nulla consectetur augue et auctor finibus. Donec sodales dictum congue.

For @dragons-ire

Ut et pharetra tortor. Etiam id leo erat. Nulla rutrum luctus suscipit. Orci varius natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Vivamus blandit ex pellentesque, gravida nisi nec, vestibulum mauris.

For @isorawrites

[best viewed on light theme!]

Donec dictum magna et est sodales, nec maximus eros maximus. Nulla id lectus ut elit efficitur laoreet et gravida nulla. Proin rhoncus diam nec orci tristique, eget faucibus nulla dictum.

Vestibulum rutrum malesuada nulla, in rutrum ex congue sit amet. Nullam eu velit imperdiet, pretium lacus nec, dignissim massa. In hac habitasse platea dictumst. Sed non consectetur libero.

[blog-against-ai]

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Aenean commodo ligula eget dolor. Aenean massa. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Donec quam felis, ultricies nec, pellentesque eu, pretium quis, sem. Nulla consequat massa quis enim. Donec pede justo, fringilla vel, aliquet nec, vulputate eget, arcu. In enim justo, rhoncus ut, imperdiet a, venenatis vitae, justo. Nullam dictum felis eu pede mollis pretium. Integer tincidunt. Cras dapibus. Vivamus elementum semper nisi. Aenean vulputate eleifend tellus. Aenean leo ligula, porttitor eu, consequat vitae, eleifend ac, enim. Aliquam lorem ante, dapibus in, viverra quis, feugiat a, tellus. Phasellus viverra nulla ut metus varius laoreet.

[fartasticdurge]

Nec-romance

part 6/9

Join Bellara in this premiere serial as she recounts her companion's most thrilling and inspirational moments, adding her own artistic interpretation and revealing insider details directly from the characters.

Feel the allure of necromancy engulf you as you ascend from the cool, silent lower halls of the Necropolis to the windswept, Fade-drenched vista of the Lighthouse, mirroring the romantic journey of Rook and Emmrich.

“What’s this lichdom rite actually like?” Rook asked as they stood before the most enormous doors she had seen in the Necropolis, adorned with a half-man-half-skeleton on each side.

“I must pass through the gates and meet the oldest forces of the Necropolis. A final appraisal of my soul.”

The three pairs of amber-green glowing eyes announced the rite would commence.

“I’m afraid this is as far as you’re permitted. If anything should perchance go wrong…” Emmrich said as he looked her in the eyes. “My dearest heart. You are the most magnificent thing that has ever happened to me.”

Her hand instinctively reached out and grabbed his wrist. She wanted to say something. Anything, really. She spent the few hours after they parted thinking of something to say, but nothing seemed good enough.

What if she said something stupid, and he died, and that would be the last thing she ever told him? Or worse, he would live and remember her stupidity forever?

Rook swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the knot in her throat as the only thing she could think of came to her lips. “I love you.”

It was silly saying that. She wanted to swallow the words as soon as she’d said them. Rook had never said that to someone before. Did she mean them? She didn’t know.

But the kind smile that spread on Emmrich’s lips dissolved all her fears. Of course, she loved him. How could she not? And because of that, the instinct to not let him go filled her with dread. What if she loved him, and he would never come back?

But as Emmrich pulled her into his arms and kissed her, the passion of the night before reignited in a searing kiss, melting her resistance away.

Rook watched him leave, the silence of the room heavy and suffocating as Myrna and Vorgoth joined him. The doors closed with a solid thud behind them.

And then she was alone.

The Grand Necropolis felt cold. It was as if all the warmth in the world had drained with him, and the cold had seeped into her very bones. She felt dwarfed by her surroundings, lost and insignificant, like an ant separated from its colony.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours as Rook waited outside the doors until finally, they creaked open, revealing Vorgoth stepping out, then Myrna, and lastly, someone else. A shadowy figure emerged from behind the darkness, its amber-green eyes burning with an unnatural light. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in her chest.

Her mouth was agape as he came into the light. A crowned skeleton strolled towards her. She wasn’t sure if it was real.

“Emmrich?” She asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“I see so much more clearly now.” His voice–Emmrich’s voice said. ”The deeper eddies of the Fade. The pulse of the Necropolis.“

Rook simply stared. Took in the elaborate design and patterns of his armor. His crown, which covered his head all the way down his cheeks. Or where his cheeks used to be.

His exposed stomach–or at least the hollow space where it used to be.

“I have been through blood and darkness, and I have emerged into light.”

The more he spoke, the more her whole being warmed up, as if the sun had returned to the sky after a long, chilly night.

“You’ve come back to me.” Rook said, her arms enveloping him in a warm hug. It was strange and cold and very bony. Somehow, it just felt right.

“Always, my love.”

⁂

With little time to spare, they raced to locate the gods and prepare for the impending eclipse, as Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain saught to craft the dagger needed to breach the Fade. They thought they’d have weeks of preparation time before they had to act, but they didn’t know what was in store.

Time itself twisted and churned when the gods intervened, shrinking their weeks into fleeting hours, leaving them scrambling for precious moments. Tearstone Island was their target.

The urgency of the mission, coupled with her companions’ doubts, made Rook’s burdens feel more crushing than ever. She resolved to speak with Emmrich before their journey commenced. Just to be safe.

“Darling, I’s just finishing reviewing my bequeathments.” Emmrich said from behind his desk.

A smile spread across Rook’s face. It was a classic Emmrich move. Tranquility in the midst of a storm. Images of their past adventures on that desk also popped into her head, and she welcomed the distraction.

“It made me consider… a topic I must broach.” Emmrich rose from his desk, his chair scraping against the floor, and came to stand before her. It was a bit odd, not seeing his facial features revealing his emotions, just the rise and fall of his voice and the way he gestured with his hands, which always made him seem endearing. She wondered if she would ever get used to it.

“We face Ghilan’nain soon. When we do, there’s no reason you couldn’t… stay back a ways.”

Rook blinked, snapping out of her daydreams with a jolt. “What?”

“I’ll be far more difficult to kill. You needn’t face her head on.”

She felt her face flushed, her eyes blazing, and her fists clenched as she seethed with palpable outrage. “First: No. Second: What brought this on?”

“I can see the life course through you, my love. Like a thread of diamond flame. Yet… I will lose you to time, Rook. What if I can’t bear that for eternity?”

But the harshness inside her softened, and a wave of tenderness washed over her as she heard those words. “That might be the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“What?”

“Remembering me forever?”

“I’m afraid I’ll mourn you forever!” Emmrich retorted, his tone escalating, laced with frustration.

“That’s ridiculous.” Rook’s teasing laughter resonated through the room.

“Do you think so little of what I feel for you?” Emmrich’s voice was tight with frustration, and his words came out in short, clipped bursts.

“No!”

His anger boiled over, and he snapped. “Then you could act accordingly!”

“I’m not going to be afraid of dying just because you are!” Rook’s response was quick and sharp, mirroring his own.

The air hung heavy, and she could feel the weight of the silence as time seemed to slow down to a crawl.

“Rook, I…”

It was too late to undo the damage, though, on both fronts. And they didn’t have the luxury to fix it.

“We should get ready. We have to leave soon.”

The sting of unshed tears burned her eyes as she turned and left the chamber. A sigh escaped her lips, filled with frustration. She didn’t have time for this. How did they manage to arrive at that point? She thought turning into a lich would fix his fear.

It didn’t help when Varric offered no considerable solution or advice either. It was up to her to plan and deliver a solution.

So, as always, Rook did what she did best: she prepared for a fight. However, this time, the enemies she faced were anything but ordinary.

⁂

Tearstone Island would have been a beautiful place to visit were it not overrun with Antaam armies and malevolent gods. The air crackled with anticipation as they prepared for the day they would finally stop the gods. No matter the cost.

Rook assigned Davrin to distract the Antaam, while she, Emmrich, and Lucanis raced to stop the gods from finishing their dagger.

She sought solace in the battles that unfolded on the island's shorelines. It was her strength. Her mind was quiet, her thoughts fading away as she fell deeper into a trance with each hit, each fallen enemy. She was lost in thought until she heard the rough murmur of Emmrich’s voice and felt his hand, as cold as ice, against her skin.

“Rook? Darling? I wanted to say–”

The sound of his voice alone, like a gentle breeze, was enough to break down her barriers. She pulled him in for a hug, the chill emanating from him a grounding presence, reminding her of everything she risked losing and the fierce resolve she had to protect it. “I know, Emmrich.”

He drew her in close, a sigh escaping his lips as their bodies met. “It’s no time to apologize, is it?”

“We’ll talk back home. I promise.”

It was woefully inadequate; so many things left unspoken. Yet, that was all the time they could afford. Rook’s thoughts were slightly less muddled after that, yet her conviction was much more unyielding.

As the group neared the top, Rook dispatched Bellara to break through the ward, protecting the gods, but their victory was short-lived as Elgar’nan swooped in and took her away.

Rook’s blood ran hot, her heart pounding with an insatiable thirst for the fight that was about to begin as she pushed forward, Bellara’s absence only stirring her further.

The true weight of the situation only dawned on her as she stood alone, battling Ghilan’nain. All her companions were bound by the blight and at the mercy of the gods. She was completely alone.

She pushed herself to the limit, running faster than she ever thought possible. Her knuckles were white, her arms ached, but she pushed herself to fight harder than she ever had. Hordes of darkspawn swarmed behind her, their guttural roars filling the air.  Her eyes burned, tears stinging her cheeks, her arms screamed with fatigue, and her mind was numb with exhaustion.  She pressed on through the putrid, blight-infested mire, each step a testament to her unwavering resolve,  desperately freeing her companions from their perilous entrapment, one by one.

She could sense the window of opportunity closing, and with a sudden surge of adrenaline, she knew it was now or never. Events unfolded with dizzying speed, leaving little time to react.

Ghilan’nain had captured her, and while Rook drew her attention, Lucanis and Davrin seized their opportunity to strike. But the sight of Ghilan’nain’s tendrils piercing Davrin’s flesh ignited Lucanis’ resolve, and with a surge of adrenaline, he plunged Solas’ dagger into the creature, ending its rampage.

The Tear brought on by the event of Ghilan’nain’s death as Rook broke the contact with her body was enough for Solas to issue his escape from the prison.

Rook found herself falling, dagger in hand, every voice she had ever failed calling back to her, all her fears and doubts whirling in her mind and her ears.

Solas revealed his plans and how he used her, delivering the final blow as he plucked the dagger from her fingers and traded places with her in his prison.

And then Rook was alone.

⁂

Rook floated in a void that stretched beyond sight, a bleak, infinite expanse of grey. The Fade twisted and churned at the edges of her vision, a ceaseless, swirling haze that offered no comfort, no sense of direction—only a cold, suffocating nothingness.

She wanted to fight, she wanted to run, she wanted to hide.

Fighting didn’t serve her anymore. Planning didn’t help her anymore. No one could help her anymore. Her mind drifted to Emmrich, her team, the Shadow Dragons, and her adopted family. She realized she had never been truly alone—except now. And she had no idea what to do. Who to ask for help.

Time slipped away there; minutes could have been days, or perhaps they were seconds. It didn’t matter. Her only tether to reality was the ache in her chest, the sharp weight of her regrets.

She was utterly alone. Except for the voices.

At first, they were faint whispers, distant and indistinct, like echoes bouncing off the edge of her mind. Then, louder, more familiar.

“You chose me. You knew what it would cost.”

Rook’s breath hitched. Bellara’s voice was unmistakable, sharp and cutting, as if it had been pulled directly from Rook’s memories. She turned, and there Bellara stood, her figure solid stone and unnervingly vivid against the shifting haze of the Fade. Her eyes burned with anger.

“You chose me to break the enchantments,” Bellara spat. “You knew. And now look at you.”

“I didn’t—” Rook faltered, taking a shaky step forward. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. We didn’t have time, Bellara. I made a choice.” Her voice cracked, raw with desperation. “And I’ll live with it. I have to.”

Bellara’s phantom didn’t move, didn’t blink. The silence crushed her, but Rook kept speaking, her chest tight, her stomach a tangle of knots. “You’re my friend, Bellara. But we knew the risks. So did you.”

The figure blurred, softening at the edges, and then disappeared. Relief came, but it was fleeting. The air rippled, and another presence formed.

Davrin.

Rook froze, her hands curling into fists. His voice came low, steady, and laced with disappointment. “You asked too much of us, Rook. Always did.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “No… I didn’t ask that of you…”

His figure solidified, his eyes brimming with the weight of unspoken words. “You always told us to do whatever it takes,” he said softly. “And I did.”

Rook's chest ached with the force of it, but she held her ground. “I’m going to miss you, Davrin,” she said, her voice trembling. “But you knew the risks, too. You made your choice. But I swear to you—I’ll make it count. I’ll get out of here. I’ll stop Elgar’nan. I’ll make sure your sacrifice was worth it.

His figure wavered, then dissolved into the grey.

She didn’t even have time to catch her breath before another voice called out. “Great job, kid. What about mine?”

Her heart lurched. “Varric?” she whispered, spinning around. His voice was unmistakable, dry and familiar, pulling her forward as the endless grey began to twist and rearrange. The haze parted, and she stood at the edge of the ritual site, the memory etched in brutal clarity.

She saw him there, frozen in time, the dagger buried in his chest. She remembered reaching for him, pulling the blade free, her hands slick with his blood. The scene replayed, vivid and unrelenting.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, that’s not how it happened.”

Varric’s voice came again, gentler this time. “You already know it is.”

Her legs gave out, and she sank to her knees. “You’ve been dead all along,” she whispered, the truth crashing over her like a wave. “I’ve been talking to you—your ghost. To myself.”

Her memories of the Lighthouse, the advice he’d given her—it hadn’t been real. A lump rose in her throat. “I took your choice from you, didn’t I?” she murmured. “You wanted to talk to him. To Solas. You thought you could reach him, and I—I took that from you.”

Varric’s phantom lingered for a moment, then vanished, leaving her alone once more in the grey expanse. The silence pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating.

But this time, it didn’t break her.

She took a deep breath, her voice steady. “I was wrong,” she said aloud, her words cutting through the emptiness. “But I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right. I’ll see it through—for all of you.”

The Fade began to ripple again, but this time, the voices that came weren’t angry or accusing. They were soft, steady, familiar. Lucanis, Taash, Neve, Harding. And then, cutting through them all, one voice above the rest.

“There! A light!” Emmrich’s voice was like going back home, resolute, grounding her.

She closed her eyes, letting their voices wash over her. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the void didn’t feel quite so empty.

And she knew she wasn’t truly alone as a hand reached through and pulled her home.

[jacksgreysays]

"like normal people do" - Sai/Shikako, cosmic horror under the guise of romance

Anonymous asked: "Memento Mori," Master of Death!Harry Potter/Shikabane-hime!Shikako, vows under the auspices (only shooting stars)-verse, because I really just want to see these two reluctant gods of death being sweet and earnest and soft with each other as the rest of the world watches in bemusement and/or wariness Anonymous asked: Nec deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus (inciderit), Shikabane-Hime 🌌🌟🦌🖤🌠 damnsmartblueboxes asked: jic tumblr ate my counting corvids fake title asks: Would you ever write an Original? Fiction about accidental body cohabitation & platonic devotion? Like cyborg & ai, Venom-style, transmigration, however the temple that is a body is devoted to two gods :p

Because there are SO MANY prompts left in my inbox and I am RUNNING OUT OF DAYS and, also, these four resonated when I went through my inbox, I will be answering these prompts together, I hope you don’t mind anon(s) and @damnsmartblueboxes!

Let me start by saying: while I do look fondly on my fic vows under the auspices (only shooting stars) and consider it some of my best work as well as love how it endeared people to my genin OCs for jounin sensei!Shikako, I’d rather not further engage in the Harry Potter franchise for obvious reasons.

However, the concept of reluctant god of death still applies to Shikabane-hime!Shikako even without an equally reluctant god of death counterpart, and the premise of your prompt still applies, for the most part, especially in combination with the other anon prompt of cosmic horror under the guise of romance. The dynamic of affection from an eldritch being, whether romantic or, as in damnsmartblueboxes’ prompt, platonic.

And what turns these prompts from my darling, dearest ambiguous vibes of god nonsense into an actually plot is the latin phrase prompt: Nec deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus (inciderit) which translates to “That a god not intervene, unless a knot show up that be worthy of such an untangler” or less literally “When the miraculous power of God is necessary, let it be resorted to: when it is not necessary, let the ordinary means be used.”

All of this mixes into the following:

Shikako’s post-Jashin coma is not JUST mental/spiritual backlash of surviving a hostile outer god’s attack. It is, in fact, a chrysalis for mortal!Shikako to turn into burgeoning eldritch god!Shikabane-hime.

UNFORTUNATELY, it gets interrupted by the entirely well-meaning, and necessarily intervention of Sai—who, even so early on, is so ready to defy Danzo on Shikako’s behalf that it’s not even funny.

The thing is—at least with butterflies—you can’t really stop the metamorphosis without, you know, killing the pupa, and if you, for example, poke a hole in the cocoon, the liquified goop that is on its way into becoming a butterfly just… spills out and dies. Uhoh

Thankfully, our girl is NOT a literal pupa. But her metamorphosis has been interrupted. What’s a devoted disciple of a burgeoning eldritch god to do?

Basically, Sai is the mortal/physical touchstone for evolving deity Shikabane-hime. I do also like playing with the idea that worship can look like dating from an outside POV—after all, whether to a partner or a god, devotion is devotion even if differently flavored.

In the damnsmartblueboxes’ vein of Original Fiction, I once wrote a script playing with the idea that the grieving process can look like a messy break up—it involved a ghost, also—so the above concept is the arguably more lighthearted version of that. I mean, it’s not entirely lighthearted, what with the eldritch god and the cosmic horror but, you know. It’s not sad, per se.

I also, keeping in line with damnsmartblueboxes’ prompt and also my own leanings in regard to canon!DoS Shikako and Sai’s relationship, would make this a platonic fic. Mostly because I think canon!DoS has SO MUCH power over Sai. Like. Again, that devotion. I didn’t make it up. That’s in there. Sai is so ready to defy Danzo’s orders to protect Shikako. The power imbalance is just too much.

I am a multishipper, so I do think there is a version of Sai and Shikako that COULD work romantically. There’s even a version of Sai and eldritch god!Shikako that could work romantically in an AU. But since the brainstorm we’re currently running along is more canon divergence than AU, I think this would work BEST as platonic. Especially to further contrast the cosmic horror under the guise of romance. Like, if it isn’t even at all romantic, just cosmic horror and platonic devotion, that makes the juxtaposition all the greater.

Anyway, as I was saying, the plot part of this is: mortal touchstone/devoted disciple!Sai is a very competent shinobi on his own, but even he can’t deal with [[insert divine level threat here]]. Everyone knows that Shikako has been teaching him fuinjutsu—that they have been getting closer/getting along more so than before—but everyone is surprised when he breaks out what looks to be the Shiki Fujin but instead of summoning the Shinigami it is instead the debut of the Shikabane-hime in full force.

What is the divine level threat? Maybe it’s Jashin again and this time, Shikabane-hime gets to go toe to toe with him rather than just slamming the door in his face. Or maybe it’s moon aliens O_O

[turangalila]

Pierre de Cambrai & Gérard de Saint-Quentin (?) Offices for Elizabeth of Hungary [Cambrai MS 38 (olim 40) Le Labo. Médiathèque d'agglomération. Cambrai]

– Sub Conrado Dei viro. Responsorium II – Nocturnus II.

R/ Sub Conrado dei viro quem timebat metu miro vovens castimoniam / acquisiti male cibi cum ancillis parca sibi horret alimoniam V/ Exsecrans illicitum solum quaerit licitum propter continentiam

– Ante dies exitus ejus collo. Responsorium V – Nocturnus II.

R/ Ante dies exitus ejus collo caelitus avis modulatur / a qua voce modula dulce cum avicula melos decantatur V/ Jam vicino transitu prophetali spiritu Elisabeth dona

– Cui nec apex neque iota. Responsorium VI – Nocturnus II.

R/ Cui nec apex neque iota mandatorum deperit / ut amica pulchra tota mortis horam comperit cui mox Christus aperit V/ Ecce inquit instat hora in qua vigor deperit meliorem sine mora migrans vitam reperit

– Tantae signa gloriae. Responsorium IX– Nocturnus II.

R/ Tantae signa gloriae venerentur hodie recreata cuncta / cujus vita recitat quod octonos suscitat mortuos defuncta V/ Post laborem operum ad quietem superum transit mater pauperum Marthae vice functa //

De convalle paupertatis ad aeternae quietem gloriae transit mater pietatis Elisabeth gemma Ungariae cujus membris unctionis liquor manat sub roris speciae quo diversae lesionis dolor omnis sanatur variae o mira vis virtutis hujus sanctae regalis vidue quae salutem caecis mutis surdis claudis confert assiduae defuncta.

_ Ossuaires – Office for Elizabeth of Hungary by Pierre de Cambrai - Villard de Honnecourt métier, memoires and travels of a 13th-century cathedral builder. Vol.1 Graindelavoix, Björn Schmelzer (2012, Glossa – GCD P32107)

[youhavethewrong]

UM ACTUALLY I THINK YOU'LL FIND THALorem ipsum odor amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Montes diam massa interdum maecenas blandit. Netus consectetur praesent eu dictum laoreet, vitae interdum. Fringilla enim dis ante nunc nullam sem maecenas feugiat metus. Nec risus varius sed felis vulputate pharetra. Aenean commodo potenti proin, dictum nunc magna. Metus proin volutpat nostra ultricies pellentesque diam. Ac arcu elit porta nulla pretium aenean.Rhoncus gravida laoreet senectus litora erat co

[susieporta]

𝗜 𝗰𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗶

Genitori che escono di casa alle sette della mattina, tornano a casa stravolti, stanchi, sfiniti se va bene alle 17, alle 18; magari prima devono passare anche a fare la spesa o in palestra, vedono i figli sì e no un’ora per pranzo (se va bene).

Figli che passano l’intera mattinata a scuola, il pomeriggio impegnati in 1000 attività oltre che nello svolgimento dei compiti, che sembrano essere, stando a quanto mi viene riferito, sempre più gravosi e impegnativi.

Genitori e figli si vedono 2 ore scarse al giorno, forse.

E cosa avviene in quello spazio tempo?

Quel breve spazio-tempo dovrebbe essere preziosissimo, dovrebbe essere custodito gelosamente, dovrebbe essere protetto e soprattutto dovrebbe essere un distillato di presenza, coscienza ed energia da scambiare gli uni con gli altri.

Il genitore dovrebbe sintonizzarsi col figlio, accoglierlo nel suo essere unico, nutrirlo laddove è manchevole, inibirlo laddove eccede, dosare le parole da dire e da non dire.

Questo, in uno stato di addormentamento, è impossibile e si trasforma nell’imitazione di qualità che non si hanno, delineando un’atmosfera sterile, rigida, vuota.

Spessoh questo spazio è svuotato di qualunque significato, è abitato da corpi stanchi e spesso provati e non diviene un vero e proprio incontro, né un vero e proprio scambio ma

si trasforma in

una recita, un teatrino, una messa in scena dove si pongono le domande di routine, le stesse che si farebbero ad un conoscente che si incontra a fare la spesa o per strada. “Com’è andata a scuola, stai facendo i compiti?”

Il figlio di solito si limita a rispondere che va tutto bene o a rispondere con frasi di circostanza e solitamente non fa alcuna domanda al genitore e quindi la domanda che sorge spontanea è: genitori e figli hanno delle reali relazioni o sono soltanto coinquilini?

Ahimè spesso la risposta è la seconda e cioè semplicemente si condivide una casa, uno spazio abitativo, delle abitudini routinarie, ma dietro questi gesti rituali non vi è alcuna “coscienza” intesa come consapevolezza, presenza, attenzione, scelta: vi è piuttosto una ripetitività di faccende sempre uguali, di domande sempre uguali e di risposte sempre uguali.

I figli costruiscono relazioni al di fuori della famiglia: sono relazioni virtuali oppure relazioni che intrattengono con i pari, in ogni caso i genitori non hanno idea di chi siano le persone che frequentano i loro figli.

E peggio ancora non hanno idea di chi siano i loro figli.

La biologia non basta

a determinare l’autenticità delle relazioni e soprattutto non è sufficiente quando la famiglia è chiamata ad essere un effettivo sostegno per i figli.

Questi non percepiscono i genitori o la famiglia come una rete a cui aggrapparsi nei momenti di difficoltà, e finiscono per chiedere consigli ai loro pari, ai social, alla chatGpt, quando va bene a qualche empatico docente.

Molti genitori hanno l’assurda pretesa che solo perché hanno messo al mondo dei figli questi gli debbano rispetto, gli debbano gratitudine e debbano obbedire alle loro richieste che risuonano come imposizioni da parte di perfetti estranei che non fanno dei loro comportamenti un esempio di virtù: ho visto genitori predicare ai figli di non fumare con la sigaretta in bocca, di non stare al telefono mentre stavano chattando, di non gridare gridando di non farlo.

Le relazioni, tutte nessuna esclusa, richiedono primariamente autenticità, un’autenticità che può derivare soltanto dalla connessione con la nostra essenza: se un genitore è disconnesso da se stesso non potrà assolutamente connettersi né con il figlio, né con nessun altro, ma soprattutto non potrà aiutare il figlio a riconnettersi alla propria di essenza.

Questo verrà percepito dal figlio come un grande, grandissimo tradimento che difficilmente verrà perdonato o forse verrà perdonato a parole e anche a gesti, ma non nel profondo, nell’intimo.

Se da un lato l’importanza della famiglia viene sovrastimata e si renderebbe necessario far sì che l’educazione e la crescita del figlio vengano demandate ad un “villaggio”, dall’altro possiamo osservare come questo non avvenga, ma ci sia una frammentazione di frequentazioni scollegate tra loro che poi rispecchierà la frammentazione interna dell’identità dei giovani.

Ma la famiglia intesa come famiglia biologica pretende ancora di avere un primato sui figli, così come certe cosche mafiose rivendicano potere e autorità sui loro gregari, ma per farlo occorre garantire qualcosa in più rispetto a quello che garantiscono le cosche: non basta offrire un tetto dei vestiti e anche una lauta paghetta mensile, sempre che non si voglia somigliare a una cosca, occorre nutrire le relazioni dandogli energia, dandogli amore, dandogli presenza, donando consapevolezza, donando esperienze condivise che non siano semplicemente una condivisione di spazi fisici, ma che siano uno scambio a partire dal mondo interiore.

Occorre saper donare il confine e non perseverare nella fantasmatica e disfunzionale idea che dentro una famiglia non debbano vivere segreti, né porte chiuse, che è quanto di più patologico possa venire in mente.

Occorre anche donare l’assenza quando necessario, un’assenza che diventa presenza interna, che diventa dialogo interiore, che diviene valore condiviso, terreno condiviso, un’assenza in cui coltivare la propria individualità sostenuti da dei veri adulti.

Ed è proprio questo il problema: viviamo in un mondo senza adulti basta osservare i nostri politici coloro che ci rappresentano per comprendere questa amara e triste verità.

Più che di famiglie possiamo parlare di coinquilini, di eterni ventenni che hanno imparato la recita del fingersi adulti, perché sanno mantenere un lavoro magari anche una casa, sanno pagare le bollette, sanno provvedere a loro stessi nei bisogni di base, ma emotivamente affettivamente non si sono mai smarcati dall’essere tardo adolescenti.

Ego riferiti, centrati sui loro bisogni, smaniosi di ricevere attenzioni tramite like, cuoricini, perennemente in preda alle bizze del proprio ego, irrisolti, frammentati, spesso in crisi esistenziale, di coppia, persi tra le le reti dei vari amanti, quando virtuali, quando reali, le nuove figure di riferimento genitoriale oltre che assenti fisicamente sono assenti anche interiormente, così come spesso un ventenne è totalmente concentrato sul soddisfacimento dei propri bisogni primari e pensa e sente che -anche giustamente per quell’età- tutto il mondo gira intorno a lui, così questi adulti vivono pretendendo di voler essere presi da esempio.

In un mondo senza adulti, le case sono spazi condivisi in cui ognuno coltiva segretamente la propria solitudine.

Poco si differenziano da quei luoghi in cui si abita negli anni universitari in cui ognuno sta nella propria camera, si condividono le bollette, si condividono alcune problematiche e poi ognuno si rintana nel proprio lettuccio a smazzarsi i propri problemi e le proprie intime sofferenze; anzi devo dire che spesso esiste una maggiore solidarietà e una maggiore intesa fra coinquilini che tra i membri di una stessa famiglia.

Claudia Crispolti

Inizia ad ottobre 2025 il nuovo percorso di 𝐎𝐬𝐚 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐲: il lusso della profondità, il percorso

ideato e gestito da me, finalizzato a 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞 le persone alla propria coscienza, a renderle più 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐢, più presenti, più 𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐢 e a costruire relazioni significative e sane incluse quelle con i 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐫𝐢 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐥𝐢.

Se vuoi partecipare, scrivi 320 25 99 693 e potrai prenotare un colloquio di selezione 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐨 direttamente con me e avere tutte le informazioni che desideri sul percorso Osa.

[gottawhump]

Discipline

Carlisle

CW/TW: vaguely implied noncon, pet whump, minor caretaking a grown whumpee, BBU/WRU, shock collar. Carlisle’s a bit older here. For BBU Community Day 3: Discipline. @bbu-on-the-side it’s three days late, but it’s done.

Ellis. His new Pet, from the Shelter, is named Ellis.

He helps Carlisle keep his room clean, brings him snacks while he studies, listens to him reading stories until he falls asleep in his cot at night.

Ellis is a constant in his life, more than his parents who are often away on business or the household Pets, whose faces change regularly. He is always there.

So when the boy comes home from visiting friends one day, he notices when Ellis is not there to greet him. He is not puttering around the big house, making himself busy and useful, helping out the Domestics at their chores.

Carlisle’s stomach drops out. Sent to a farm upstate, he thinks bitterly. But surely his parents wouldn’t do that to him, get rid of his Ellis without at least talking to him first? He’s not sure.

He finds the man in his clothes closet, curled up on the floor, tears silently streaming down his scarred face. When he sees him, Ellis smiles up at him. It looks as real as all his other smiles have been, but this time Carlisle sees how he puts it on over his pain.

He kneels down next to him, even as Ellis tries to rise to his knees.

“What happened, Ellis?”

“I-I disobeyed an order. Carlisle couldn’t believe his ears. Ellis never disobeyed. “I’m all right, young Sir. Dis-dis-discipline is a nec-necessary and, and humane part of maintaining a Pet’s training. It’s my fault. It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

“But what happened?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you.”

it takes a while, as he settles Ellis onto his cot, taking off the hard black shock collar and gently replacing it with Ellis’ soft bright green leather collar, getting him a drink of water, before he gets the whole story out. Direct questions are useless; he has to ask around the topic, gleaning the truth from the Pet’s answers.

What he thinks happened enrages him.

He hides his rage behind a practiced smile. People-his parents-tend to dismiss angry teenagers. He keeps his voice calm and reasonable.

“I want Ellis.”

“He’s already yours.”

He ignores the mild condescension. “No, I mean, for real. I want him signed over to me.”

“You know you’ll inherit all of the Pets when we’re gone.”

“I know, but I want Ellis to be mine now.”

“Why the urgency?”

If he isn’t supposed to know, he can’t bring the real reason up. But Pets aren’t the only ones who can talk around an issue. “He’s useless today because of how someone disciplined him earlier. I don’t want that to happen again. If he’s mine, legally, then I’m in charge of how and when he’s disciplined.”

There’s hesitation, and he braces for more argument.

“Fine.” A few mouse clicks, a few keystrokes. “It’s done. He’s completely your responsibility now, Carlisle. I hope you’re ready.”

“I am.” Well, he thinks he is.

That night, Ellis wakes Carlisle up with his nightmares, something he hasn’t done since the first few months after bringing him home from the shelter. He goes back to sleep quickly, when he sees their familiar bedroom, once he apologizes.

“You’re a good boy, Ellis.”

Tagging for Old Friends: @painful-pooch @justplainwhump @redwingedwhump @maracujatangerine @honeycollectswhump