#solomon’s murder is somewhere in there

[hogwartslegacypics]

In celebration of reaching 1,000 followers, here is 1,000+ pictures of Sebastian in one!

[r1ch1e-l1psh1tz]

I’ve seen a lot of people talk about the bigger picture of TGWDLM and Black Friday and how they represent things wrong with the system and America as a whole, but I’ve never seen anyone do that with NPMD.

So I think it’s about the American school system and how it’s failing every student.

You may be asking, “Michael, how the fuck does that even make sense?!”

Hear me out. When Steph says she’s going to go tell the principal about what Max did to Pete, Ruth and Richie immediately tell her that it’s not going to work and that they have “cool kid privilege”. In the real world, this is completely true, the amount of times me and my friends have tried to tell school staff about things popular kids have done, they downplay it.

The murder of Max, Richie, and Ruth actually has a play in this as well. Before they find out Max is missing, Solomon literally only cares about the outcome of the big game. In fact, everyone cares about, the outcome of the big game, not that Max has been missing for two weeks.

In Hatchet Town, Bryce’s reporter has the slow moment in the song, and starts singing about how before the murder of Richie and Max, the school/town was all cupcakes and rainbows. No one knew about the bullying, no one cared.

Both Richie and Ruth’s death happen in the school and it doesn’t even shut down for a couple of days. I would assume that a school would close down if it had two murders happen there, but Hatchetfield high doesn’t.

That’s all I really have. This has been in my head for months and I needed to put this somewhere lol.

[squeakyducky]

One headcanon for each OM! Cast

Lucifer

Sometimes absentmindedly hums along with the cursed record as it plays. MC caught him on the act and he swore them to secrecy.

Mammon

Owned a goldfish like Levi. He named it "nugget". But he only got to raise it for one day because his crows thought it was food and ate it.

Leviathan

Once listened to vocaloid songs and has already fallen down the rabbit hole. His favourite is Miku. Classic.

Satan

He's a hardcore fan of Sherlock Holmes, has finished all the novels, TV series and everything. He sometimes calls MC his Watson.

Asmodeus

Hates washing dishes with a passion because it always ruins his newly-painted nails. He always tries to persuade one of his brothers to switch with him.

Beelzebub

He never had the torture pleasure of watching mukbang eating videos because it triggered his tantrums once and blew up half of the HOL.

Belphie

He can't fall asleep comfortably if he's not hugging something, be it a pillow or MC. And he always drapes his leg over whoever he's sleeping with.

Diavolo

Thinks 5-minutes crafts videos are legit and he always tries to follow their ideas. Barbatos is so tired of it. Please save him.

Barbatos

Accidentally destroyed half of the castle trying to chase a rat down. He repaired everything in just a day because it's Barbatos.

Solomon

Tried to work in a hospital but instead got charged with food poisoning and attempted murder, the news spread worldwide and he was banned from every hospital in the human world.

Simeon

Uses Pinterest whenever he feels uninspired or feels stuck in the middle of writing a book. It was easier to use than other platforms for him because there were only pictures.

Luke

Watched My Little Pony and thought it was a good show. Only Simeon knows of this because he was too embarrassed to talk about it to others. His favourite is fluttershy.

Raphael

Got a wild idea to add pickles to the ice cream at 3am and it has become his new favourite food ever since. Even better when Solomon makes it for him.

Thirteen

Always makes sure to has some traps laying somewhere whenever she and MC are hanging out because someone Mammon always tries to interrupt their date.

Mephistopheles

He used to be a theatre kid and he is still one. Secretly. He thinks he's being slick but he's not. Literally everyone knows.

MC

They once tried to drink motor oil thinking it was beer. The situation shortened the brother's lifespan by a hundred years.

[necrotic-nephilim]

"I think you need a little something to remind you of who you belong to." - JayTim

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

god this one is so good. this idea just. sat in my brain goo for days until i had the time to write it. this takes place like. right around Search For A Hero and before Battle for the Cowl, i would say, with dead Bruce and all, but before Red Robin. very fucked up one-sided feelings bc Jason is Jason and i love him. it's like 3.6k words and my partner edited it for me so. enjoy <3

It took Tim longer than it should’ve to notice the change.

With Bruce gone, Gotham was in upheaval.

No matter how much Tim did, there was always more. A new villain to fight, a new gang to take down, a new murder to solve. Gotham knew that the Batman was gone, for good this time.

Which meant they knew someone, something, could kill Batman.

That made Tim the fresh meat to go after. If the Batman could be killed, it shouldn’t be any harder to take down his Robin. Tim knew that every villain would want a piece of him and he had to prove himself. And for a while, he did. Tim was personally targeted by rogues, ready to be the Joker to his Robin.

Then it changed.

No one was pulling their punches, necessarily. But there was a change. Gangs that once had no problem facing Tim down were running in the opposite direction. Rogues gave up too easily, with an amount of fear in their eyes that didn’t quite match Tim’s reputation.

He should’ve noticed it sooner.

Tim knew something was wrong, at least. But he’d been so slow to notice it; now he was scrambling for answers. He’d interrogated half a dozen thugs and none of them gave him anything. Tim used every trick Bruce had taught him and still. He had nothing. It was just confirmation that they were hiding something. He was missing something, and he had nothing to show for it.

It reminded Tim of how the tide receded right before a tsunami- a quiet, deadly calm rolled over Gotham.

Someone was pulling strings. Someone was going right over Tim’s head, probably planning a big attack to sweep Tim undertow to drown in the chaos. And Tim didn’t have a single lead.

Waiting was always the worst part.

And still, the fires in Gotham burned. Whatever was going on kept getting pushed to the back burner so Tim could stop everything from human trafficking rings to street muggings. He knew he was stretched too thin, too exhausted to hold himself up.

It was a matter of time before Tim got pulled into a merciless riptide.

He just didn’t expect it to be in some grimy alley, losing a fight to a second-rate mob that jumped him.

Tim should’ve gone back to the Batcave when his shoulder got dislocated an hour ago by Harley Quinn instead of just setting it and carrying on.

He should’ve called for backup an hour before that, when he had to face all the Gotham Sirens on his own, leading to the chase with Harley in the first place.

And he definitely should’ve stayed home from patrol altogether, with ribs that were still cracked from a run-in with Solomon Grundy less than a week ago.

But Tim didn’t do any of that. Because if he was going to carry on any part of Bruce’s legacy, it was this: fighting until his body gave out under him.

Tim just hoped if this mob killed him, they wouldn’t dump his body somewhere embarrassing.

Though it was starting to look less like if, and more like when. Tim didn’t like to be pessimistic in a fight. There was always something more to do, one final trick to pull out of his arsenal. Just like Bruce taught him.

This time, though. Tim wasn’t so sure about that.

There was blood in his mouth. Blood in his eyes. He could barely stand, let alone hold his bo staff. It took every ounce of worn-out effort to block the endless blows raining down on his battered body, let alone try to punch back.

Tim always figured he’d meet a violent end.

He wasn’t sure where his comm link had skittered off to. It got knocked out of his ear under a particularly vicious blow to the head, cutting Tim off from any hope of backup. He was in this one alone.

Someone kneed Tim in his already brutalized ribs. He doubled over and groaned, falling to the ground.

He needed to get back up.

Tim’s arms were too shaky to support his weight. He just collapsed again. A steel-toed boot was raised above his head, ready to come down. Tim just closed his eyes and covered his head as best he could with his hands. Better broken fingers than a broken skull.

The boot never connected.

Instead, Tim heard gunfire.

He knew some of the men had guns, but this was a different kind of gunfire. The automatic kind, coming from a different direction. All Tim could do was watch with wide eyes as his attackers started to drop like flies tinged with red.

The ones who managed to survive the first volley of bullets were scrambling around, yelling at each other in a foreign language. Russian, maybe? It was hard for Tim to tell with his head swimming from blood loss, eardrums pulsing to the infernal beat.

From the darkness, a figure jumped down, landing in front of Tim, holding an automatic rifle over their shoulder. Tim blinked hard, trying to make out who it was.

“I only gave you miserable fucks one rule,” a cold voice growled. “Who wants to remind me what it was?”

Damnit. Tim knew that voice.

He was beyond screwed.

All the men froze. Stuttered apologies and pleas came out of half of them, messy and incoherent. They all sounded positively terrified, cowering in front of the figure.

“We didn’t know it was-”

“-just wanted to scare him-”

“He came to our territory first-”

“-but we weren’t going to kill him-”

Jason Todd fired a few shots into the sky, silencing all of them. Tim swallowed a mouthful of blood, his own heart reverberating against copper-stained teeth.

“I asked what the rule was,” Jason repeated slowly. He cracked his neck and pulled a knife off his belt, flipping it around for show.

One of the men was brave enough to step forward. “No one’s allowed to touch Robin. Sir.”

Tim’s breath caught in his throat.

What the hell?

Jason nodded slowly. “And last I checked-” he made a show of turning back to look at Tim. Under the helmet, Tim couldn’t begin to guess Jason’s intentions. “-there’s only one kid with a big R on his chest fighting with a bo staff. I was being pretty generous with all of you. Protection from the cops, from other gangs. All for one fucking rule.”

“Why are you protecting him, anyway? Vigilante freaks cause us nothing but problems-”

The man’s yelling was abruptly cut off by the bang of Jason’s gun and his brains splattering across the alleyway. A smear of pink landed on his bo staff; there was no coming back from that one.

“I guess I should’ve had two rules. No touching Robin and no asking questions,” Jason hummed lazily, as if he hadn’t just taken a man’s life. He shrugged. “I’ll add it to the tab.” He reloaded the gun.

Tim grabbed Jason’s ankle. “Don’t…” he coughed up a mouthful of blood, “don’t kill them.” It was pathetic. He could hold his own in a fight against Jason. He had before. But now, Tim couldn’t even stand and was left with barely enough strength to even grab Jason.

Like shooing away an insolent child, Jason pulled his leg free and clicked his tongue at Tim. “I’ll get to you in a second. Wait your turn.”

Then, he let loose. And there was nothing Tim could do but watch in horror.

Jason tore through every single one of the men like paper. their bodies dropped one by one because instead of the gun, Jason jumped in with his knife. For the fun of the fight, Tim guessed. Because it definitely sounded like Jason was enjoying himself, flipping through the crowd and throwing out a vile quip now and then.

In seconds, it was over. A pile of bodies with Jason as the indisputable victor, wiping his bloody knife off on his jacket. He walked over to Tim, perfectly casual.

Maybe he was saving Tim for the finale, to be killed by Jason’s own hand around his neck. That was the only reason Tim could think of for Jason being the reason rogues had pulled back so much over the past few weeks. Jason wanted Tim’s blood for himself, so he could make some kind of statement out of killing Robin. Or something like that, anyway.

“Up we go,” Jason said with a grunt, leaning over to Tim up like a sack of potatoes. Tim was hauled up with Jason’s hands under his armpits, then tossed over Jason’s shoulder, with an arm supporting him around his thighs.

At least the dead bodies couldn’t judge Tim for how utterly embarrassing he must’ve looked.

“Put me down,” Tim tried to say, but the words were so slurred they sounded like one long syllable. His head was spinning. Tim had heard of double vision, but never triple. Was that a bad sign??

“It’s pronounced thank you, actually,” Jason said, walking off with Tim in tow. Each step made all of Tim’s injuries feel far worse and he hissed, uselessly trying to claw at Jason’s back, the material of his gloves squeaking pathetically. “As in, thank you for saving my sorry ass, Red Hood.”

“Fuck you,” Tim sputtered. He was getting blood all over Jason’s jacket and it was the only thing he could see, as his vision got more tunneled by the second. “Where are you…” everything hurt and consciousness was slipping away from Tim.

Jason said something. Tim didn’t hear it. His hands went slack, followed by the rest of Tim’s body.

His last coherent thought was a long string of expletives cursing Jason Todd out.

It took over a liter of blood to stabilize Tim. Stitches on his arm, stomach, and forehead littered his battered body. He was still unconscious on Jason’s coffee table, with a makeshift IV drip giving him fluids, stripped down to his boxers.

Jason was torn between being supremely pissed off at Tim getting jumped and being sickly fascinated by the sight of Tim being bruised and bloody. Perfectly laid out for Jason.

Maybe he should’ve thanked that Russian mob before killing them.

Jason knew it was just a matter of time before that mob caused him issues. They were no real loss to his empire. He was lucky he caught them in the act before it was too late.

One simple rule and some idiots went out of their way to ignore it.

Tim was Jason’s meat and no one else’s. Jason hadn’t been ready to mark his territory yet. This sped up his plan. There were so many steps Jason had to skip to save Tim. He had been waiting for Gotham’s trust in Robin to grow secure and rooted down, putting Tim on top of the world. Then a new Batman would step up, probably Dick. It’d leave Tim aimless and vulnerable, quickly forgotten by his city the moment they had someone in a Batsuit to worship instead.

And that was supposed to be the moment Jason swooped in and claimed Tim. Protecting him from all the big mean supervillains who were salivating for Tim’s blood that Jason had been holding back for so long.

He would be Tim’s fucking savior.

But a no-name Russian mob had to go and screw it up. Leaving Jason sitting on his couch, feet propped up on the same coffee table Tim was sprawled out on. Every now and then Jason nudged Tim with his boot, just to check how out cold he really was.

The latest boot nudge to Tim’s hip actually got him to stir.

Tim groaned, trying to move. His attempt to sit up failed pretty spectacularly. His arm gave out and he slipped, head loudly bonking on the coffee table. With the concussion he definitely had, that had to hurt like hell. Jason smirked, lighting a cigarette. Another pretty groan out of Tim’s mouth before he managed to open his eyes, blinking hard to adjust to his surroundings.

Jason didn’t rush him. He just watched as Tim looked around the safehouse, craning his neck. He ran his hands over his body, feeling the neat bandage work. Finally, his eyes settled on Jason, widening slightly. Jason could see the wheels turning in Tim’s bright mind, remembering what had happened.

Tim opened and closed his mouth a few times, presumably trying to decide where to start. Jason took a long drag and blew the smoke in the direction of Tim’s face, making him cough.

“Why?” Tim finally said. His voice sounded a little raw.

Jason arched an eyebrow, playing innocent. “Why what?”

“You know what,” Tim snapped. He gestured to himself. “Why are you… doing this? Telling everyone I’m off limits and…”

“And saving you?” Jason finished, earning him a lethal glare. About as lethal as a kicked puppy could be, anyway. Jason snorted and shrugged. “Because I can.” No point in sharing a plan that was all fucked up.

“I don’t need your help,” Tim said through gritted teeth. He tried to sit up, slower this time. He still didn’t manage it.

Jason stared at him. “I’m sorry, would you have preferred Nightwing scrap what was left of you off the pavement after those asshats were through with you?”

“I can fight my own battles.”

“And lose them too. Clearly.”

An angry noise came out of Tim’s throat. “Did you just want to save me for yourself, or something?” Tim prodded, fist clenched at his side.

“Probably not in the way you’re thinking,” Jason said. He flicked ashes off of his cigarette onto Tim’s skin, pulling a hiss out of him.

Tim frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Figure it out yourself. Isn’t detective work your whole thing?” Jason made a show of adjusting how he was sitting on the couch as if he was getting comfortable. He moved to prop his feet up on Tim’s leg, one of the few places on his body that wasn’t covered in injuries. Using him like a little footstool.

Oh, that really pissed Tim off. Jason grinned wickedly, watching Tim try and fail to pull himself free. There wasn’t much weight on his leg, but he was still too weak to get his body to cooperate, leaving him to sluggishly struggle.

Tim’s face twisted. “If you think you could convince me to be your sidekick, you’re out of your mind.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a lap dog, actually,” Jason tilted his head back. “Much more submissive and obedient, that way.” He didn’t hide the obvious innuendo in his voice.

Tim recoiled. “Very funny.”

“I’m dead serious,” Jason shot back. “I don’t kill for just anyone.” Contrary to popular belief, murder was purposeful, with Jason. If he killed a lot of people, it was for a specific reason. It was a careful image of the unstable madman to make people fear him. But in reality, it was all planned. Every single body in the grave was carefully counted.

“You’re psychotic if you think I’d ever… submit to you.” Tim’s mouth twisted just having to say the words, utterly disgusted by them.

Jason scoffed. “I think there’s a misunderstanding here, Drake.” He pulled a butterfly knife out of his pocket, flipping it open. “You already belong to me. Every criminal in Gotham knows you’re mine. You’re alive because I’ve allowed it. You’re protected because I called for it. It’s a done fucking deal.” He took his feet off of Tim’s leg and brought them to the floor so he could lean up close to Tim’s pale face. “Understood?”

Like a perfectly rational person, Tim tried to headbutt Jason.

Jason pulled back, more for Tim’s sake than his own. He caught Tim’s head with his hand, forcing it back down on the table.

“I didn’t ask for your protection,” Tim hissed, breathing hard. “You can go to hell, Jason. I can handle this city just fine on my own.”

“I don’t really care if you can or not.” Jason pressed the knife to Tim’s throat, a dangerous warning against any more stupid attempts to fight Jason. “You can be Robin all you want. You can crawl back home to that disgusting cave and play house with all the other bats. I don’t give a shit how you live your life, Drake. So long as you know you’re mine at the end of the day-” he shrugged- “we can take all this slow. I was planning to anyway.”

“You were planning to…” Tim echoed, turning the words over as it sank in for him. “You were planning… what? To make me fall in love with you or something?”

Jason gave another nonchalant shrug. “If that’s how you want to dumb it down, sure.” The plan was far more sophisticated than that. Jason didn’t just need Tim to love him. He needed Tim to crave Jason, need him down to the marrow, and dedicate himself wholly to Jason. Be by Jason’s side as a strategist and partner.

They would get there eventually. Soon Tim would see and understand things from Jason’s perspective. His approach just needed to be a little more head-on.

More fun for Jason in the long run.

It was hard to read Tim’s expression. Maybe Jason was too hopeful to believe there could be some kind of arousal or intrigue there, but he could at least tell there wasn’t nearly as much anger as he expected.

Nor was there any disgust.

For a split second, anyway. Then Tim seemed to snap back to reality, trying to pull away from Jason and the knife.

“Over my dead body,” Tim said with as much venom as it seemed like he could muster.

“You know, I’ll do you a favor, Drake.” Jason lifted one leg over the table so he could sit on Tim’s midsection, making him yell in pain. Jason was a heavy son of a bitch, and his body weight did no favor for Tim’s sore ribs.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tim tried to shove Jason’s chest. He looked a little panicked, like a caged animal.

“I think,” Jason dragged out the words, just for show, “you need a little something to remind you of who you belong to. So I’ll be nice, to make sure you don’t forget it.”

He grabbed Tim’s jaw and jerked his head to the side. Tim cried out and tried to get away. He hit Jason in the chest as hard as he could. Which given his current state, was about the same as being smacked by a toddler.

“You should probably stay still if you don’t want a knife in your eye,” Jason warned. He lifted the blade and pressed it into Tim’s cheek, going deep enough to scar.

He didn’t even have to think about it. Jason knew exactly what he was doing the moment he pressed the blade to Tim’s skin.

A mark that anyone would recognize.

A mark just like the one Jason had been given, years ago.

The letter J could stand for a lot of things. And right now, it stood for marking Tim as Jason’s territory.

Jason dragged the knife down and curled it upward. Then he went in for the second cut, dragging across Tim’s cheek.

Tim had the sense to stay perfectly still while the blade moved. Pained noises came out of his throat and he was giving Jason a death stare, but he stayed still.

A perfectly obedient lap dog.

Jason hummed in satisfaction when his work was done. He flicked the knife closed and slipped it back into his belt, watching fresh blood pour down Tim’s face.

Now they matched.

For good measure, Jason bent over and pressed a kiss against the cut, holding his lips there and feeling Tim’s breath on his skin.

Jason pulled away, licking the blood off his mouth. His first time tasting Tim. It definitely wouldn’t be the last.

“I’m going to kill you,” Tim bit the words out through grit teeth.

Jason just smiled. “Don’t you have pesky bat morals about that?” He climbed off Tim, flicking more ashes onto Tim’s skin from the cigarette that had stayed between Jason’s fingers the whole time. He lifted it to his lips, breathing in. “Your suit is over there.” Jason gestured vaguely to the heaped pile of Tim’s suit.

“You’re-” Tim sputtered on his words. “You’re just going to let me leave?”

“I told you,” Jason hummed, wandering toward his fridge, “you can go live your life. I don’t care. You’ll crawl back to me when I want you to.”

“Like hell.” A loud grunt came from Tim and Jason looked over his shoulder, watching Tim slowly move. Every inch looked painful for Tim, but slowly, he managed to get his stiff joints to obey him.

All while Jason watched, offering absolutely no help.

Tim got dressed with a lot of swearing and groans of pain, occasionally shooting Jason a dirty look. He put a small bandage on his cheek, then limped away, leaving behind the shreds of his dignity.

Jason just smiled, finishing his cigarette and stubbing it out on the floor with his heel.

Tim would be back. He would make damn sure of it.

[sebastianswallows]

A new family — Chapter 1

— PAIRING: dark!Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

— SYNOPSIS: Ominis gets tired of his family and how miserable life is with them after he graduates. So he follows Sebastian's example for once, and kills them in cold blood. Now that he has the mansion to himself, he discovers he would still like to have a family, but one of his own making.

— WARNINGS: angst, culminating in murder

— WORDCOUNT: 2.1k

— A/N: Following A Different Kind of Key, I got a prompt for breeding kink with Ominis. I decided to combine this with a fic idea I had included in a poll a few months ago, which was that Ominis kills his parents in revenge, and begins to appreciate the dark arts. I don't know yet how many chapters this will have, but get ready for a dark and manipulative Ominis, and smut 💕 Enjoy, my dears!

It wasn’t like Ominis to say Sebastian inspired him. But that was, in a strange twist of events, what ended up happening.

The day Solomon died changed everything between the four friends involved with it. Sebastian and Anne’s uncle was gone, Sebastian was the one who killed him and Anne was left distraught, their fifth-year-friend was there when it all happened, and Ominis was left feeling like the earth was pulled from underneath him, not knowing where he’ll land. During the following days, Anne buried Solomon and ran. He knew where she was, but was sworn to secrecy never to reveal it to anyone, particularly not to Sebastian. It was a difficult request, but Ominis expected it to be made easier by Sebastian’s inevitable indictment for murder, which was bound to come any day now — right?

Their friend, who even witnessed the murder, refused to turn him in. That left the weight of the choice to Ominis, but he was easily swayed. Why lose two friends when he’s already lost one? So he said nothing…

During the months that followed, the weight of all that happened hung over them like a sword, like a noose ready to drop, like a tipping avalanche. Yet nothing happened. They entered the sixth year, and then the seventh. Anne healed from the curse’s influence — it turned out that Rookwood was the real culprit — and Sebastian graduated from Hogwarts — with the commendations of all their professors — and it had almost escaped Ominis how surreal the whole thing was, but sometimes he reminded himself that Sebastian had gotten away with murder.

It was a struggle to push down just how impressed he was. Sebastian had gotten practically everything he wanted: Anne was cured, Solomon was out of the way in a permanent fashion, and their mutual friend, well, she was under Sebastian’s sway now as much as he was under hers. Complicity did that…

It wasn’t fair. His best friend had a brilliant career ahead of him in whatever field he chose, he had every opportunity now to look for his sister again, and his perfidious little friendship was blooming into a romance day by day — meanwhile, what did Ominis have to look forward to? A return to his parents’ clutches and some arranged incestuous marriage, no doubt.

It wasn’t fair. All his other classmates were cheerful to be done with school, optimistic, hopeful, happy. They had jobs and girlfriends and some were even due to marry. And Sebastian, disgustingly, behaved as if nothing had happened in fifth year, as if he wasn’t a murderer.

It wasn’t fair.

Ominis rode in the cabin with his two friends on the train back to London, where Sebastian was excited to go and apply for a position with Borgin and Burkes.

“You know you’d do better in the ministry…” their friend told him, the smile in her voice teasing but sweet.

“Funny,” chuckled Sebastian.

“You’re still afraid of them?” she goaded.

“I think they should be afraid of me,” said Sebastian quietly, leaning toward her over Ominis. “The score is still one-nill last I checked.”

“Yes, but they don’t know that,” she said, leaning toward him too so that they now hovered somewhere around Ominis’ chest.

“And I plan to keep it that way,” said Sebastian.

“Excuse me,” said Ominis, pretending not to know they were there and getting up briskly enough to knock them back.

“Omi—!”

“Hey, watch it!”

He grabbed his wand and went out of cabin, shutting the door behind him. He pretended to go to the restroom, and pretended to use it for the next 15 minutes, and pretended not to hold back tears of jealousy.

Things only got worse once he arrived home. His parents did not exactly welcome him with open arms, although he had excelled in his NEWTs and was among the best students of his year. No, they behaved as if he’d just been done with a silly distraction, that filthy school that took in mudbloods, and his filthy friends from lowborn families, and now his real life started, said his father, and the fun was over.

He lasted two weeks until he murdered them.

He considered doing it in their sleep, but he wanted them awake. It was the evening of the 17th of July, and it rained and hailed all throughout supper. Ominis pretended to retreat early for the night, leaving them all together in the dining room, tired and mellow with firewhisky.

The doors shut on their own as if by a gust of wind. The chandeliers and fireplace were frozen with a spell. And the dining room was plunged into utter darkness.

A decanter was knocked to the floor and his father was cursing, and his mother called out from the top of her lungs for the elves, but Ominis had sent them away. His sister was rambling something about the house being haunted. They were learning now what it was like for him, what it had always been like for him, although he didn’t imagine they could appreciate it. He cast off the disillusionment spell, he didn’t need it anymore, and summoned all their wands to him wordlessly. Disarmed and scared and in the dark, he picked them off one by one.

First, his sister. He surprised himself by not shaking at all as he did it. In fact, he had never been more calm — was this how Sebastian had felt?

Their mother became noticeably quiet when she saw the brief green light and heard a body fall, but it took a while until she found her, feeling around on the floor. She barely said her daughter’s name in anguish before Ominis killed her too.

His father was left, and by then he’d begun to suspect, calling his name and prowling through the pitch black in that lumbering way he did. Ominis allowed him to hear his footsteps coming closer.

“I know it’s you, you little rat,” spat Gaunt Senior, facing him but standing still. “I heard you say it.”

“And you’ll hear it again,” said Ominis coolly, “right before you drop dead.”

“If only your brother were h—”

“Avada kedavra.”

The flash of green enveloped his body as it collapsed to the floor, and then it was gone, and it was dark again.

Not that Ominis noticed a difference. All he knew now was quiet, and peace, and loneliness. He finally had a life work looking forward to.

The first order of business was to get rid of the bodies, which he accomplished by turning them into teacups and finding a place for them in the glass cabinet in the living room. Brushing his finger across one, he thought it felt different from normal porcelain — a bit more rough, less cold, like bone — but their shape and weight were otherwise quite perfect. He smiled as he put them away.

The next issue was what to do with his brother… Marvolo lived somewhere in London, and he had enough friends there already that his absence would be noted. And he would not come back to the Gaunt manor just because Ominis called. Even if he did, he’d inquire as to what happened to their parents.

Which brought him to the last and final point: how to explain their absence.

He spent the next hour packing their wands, their cloaks, a cauldron, a few ingredients, and a sacrificial dagger, and then he went off into the nearby woods. They sometimes went there to perform spells that called for incantations and ritual sacrifice of the local fauna, often not returning until morning, stinking of wet dirt and blood. He could say a spell went wrong, an animal attacked, and there was no trace left of them but a few less-than-savoury items.

It was quite a trek to make all on his own, even levitating the items behind him, which often snagged in the low branches and the weeds. When he thought he was far enough, he planted the cauldron in the middle of a clearing and stuck the dagger in the earth, scattering the other items all around in what might be a convincing pattern should anyone come look.

Morning found him in his bed, alone and dirty, but content.

Ominis smiled and turned on his back, and listened: quiet. No screaming, no fights, no one ordering him around, no threats of violence, no curses, nothing.

It took about twenty minutes for that to start to bother him.

His fingers toyed with the wand which rested on his stomach, and he thought about all the times he’d judged Sebastian for using the Unforgivables. A part of him still found it abhorrent, because Sebastian was never in such a situation as he had been with his family. However bad Solomon was, he wasn’t like the Gaunts. Meanwhile, another part whispered that he should feel ashamed.

“But I don’t,” he said to himself, speaking with nobody else to hear. “I’m not. I’m not sorry.”

And he wasn’t, for many days to come. When the house elves returned from the prolonged shopping trip Ominis had sent them on, he told him the same lie he had prepared — Mister Gaunt had gone with his family in the woods to perform a ritual but hadn’t yet returned, and Ominis was worried, oh but no need for the elves to go, they needed to tend to the house — and went through the coming days just as he normally would, and soon forgot he’d ever had a family at all. And yet the house seemed larger than before, and behind each corner he still suspected some malevolent force, within each sound a muttered curse or insult, and although he knew them to be safely dead, transfigured in the cabinet, he had moments in the night when he thought they had returned to take revenge.

It wore away at him, and he knew he had to resolve it with a change in circumstance: either he moved away, or he made the house livable again. He didn’t consider even for a second to write to his brother Marvolo, but he considered asking for Sebastian to visit together with their friend — until his thoughts settled strictly on her.

On a whim, he wrote to her, and her alone. The owl took a few days to return, and it brought to him a strangely mournful and yet exciting message.

Ominis had inquired about her health — she was well — and her search for work — not so well — and Sebastian.

“It pains me to say this,” she wrote, “but I do not know. Sebastian has been sent to recover something (I know not what) for Mr Burke. Part of his training, he said. As if he weren’t experienced enough in these sorts of things. I told him, as I’m sure you would have as well, that Mr Burke was only going to take advantage of him and gain a dangerous item at no personal cost, and is only using Sebastian’s goodwill and enthusiasm. He did not take it well and has yet to speak to me since. He said I called him ‘naive’, but I did nothing of the sort.”

Ominis chuckled as his wand vocalised the letter. It was blatant she did think Sebastian naive, just as it was blatantly true that he was.

“To be perfectly honest, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since, for various reasons,” she continued, “but I find my worries and upsets dwindle into something perhaps similar to what you felt at Hogwarts when Sebastian would get involved in these sort of reckless things — frustration.”

Ominis’ smile broadened. Her clear longing for Sebastian, her worry for his safety, her shameless affection, did not serve him — but frustration, he could work with. He picked up his dictation quill and a piece of parchment and sat down at his desk to write.

“My dear,” he started, “I am first of all happy to hear you are well and healthy, in spite of everything else seemingly falling apart around you. I am sorry, although not surprised, to hear about the novel way Sebastian has found to make a nuisance of himself. You have my full sympathies.

You have also, if you will not find it too forward, my invitation to join me at my parents’ mansion. I think it would be good for you. It is in a quiet and undisturbed area, close to London but surrounded by ancient woods. Without my family present, as they currently are — and we can discuss this too once you arrive — it is a most calming and comforting place, which sounds like just the sort of thing you need at present. You are welcome to stay for the remainder of the summer. It might help you find some balance in your life, perhaps even give you new energies to pursue employment — or other means of occupying yourself.

Please find the address enclosed.

Yours devotedly,

Ominis

P.S.: If indeed he does return in the interim, make no mention of this to Sebastian.”

[suzukiblu]

Billy adopts Conner! Billy adopts Conner! Billy adopts Conner! Pretty Plz w/ a cherry on top?

"'Situation'?" Captain Marvel echos, looking bewildered. "I mean, we can't like . . . put him in the system, right? So what's Batman even doing?" 

"Superboy will be staying at Mount Justice for now," Bruce says. He doesn't look at Clark as he says it. Clark doesn't look at him either. 

". . . Mount Justice is a cave," Captain Marvel says, clearly even more bewildered. "And Superboy is solar-powered. Isn't that kind of . . . I don't know . . . mean?"

"'Mean'?" Clark repeats in disbelief before he can think better of it. 

"Well, like–Superboy already grew up underground as it is!" Captain Marvel protests, putting his hands up nervously. "And he is solar-powered, right? Like, like a battery? So shouldn't he be somewhere with, you know . . . windows, at least?" 

"Well, there's a beach right outside," Hal points out with an easy shrug. 

"And it is not as if anyone will be locking the door on the boy," Diana says, raising an eyebrow. "He may go out and be in the sun whenever he so desires." 

"But he's not going to get as strong that way," Captain Marvel stresses in obvious dissatisfaction, folding his arms. "Isn't that how it works? He's gonna need lots of regular sunlight to help his powers develop? And he can't spend every day just sitting on the beach, he's gonna have other stuff to do, so it'd be better if he was getting, like . . . consistent ambient light in his normal environment and whatever. Wouldn't it?" 

Clark, personally, does not see why the weapon cooked up in a lab to murder him not developing quite as effectively or efficiently as it could is a problem, exactly. That seems like it should be the opposite of a problem, all things considered. Mount Justice being a cave isn't a bug, it's a feature. 

The wisdom of Solomon is apparently not reaching that extremely obvious conclusion, though.

[justrainandcoffee]

“When you wear nothing at all” (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc)

Alfie x Rose masterlist

Summary: After her birthday party, a masquerade that Alfie organised without her knowledge, the couple is resting alone in their house. A piece of cake and sweet words it's all they need to share. Of course, she notices that he's still wearing his mask and she knows why: the mask is a perfect excuse to cover his scar. But Rose also knows how to make him feel better "You know, Al? I like you more when you wear nothing at all."

Warnings: None. Although some things could be a bit suggestive but it's almost nothing.

Words: 1.7 k || I wanted to post this last night, but I couldn't.

1928

The party is over. The guests left Margate and only the owners of the house remained now.

Rose is sitting on Alfie, resting her sore feet on the armrest of the couch where both are. The shoes are somewhere between the entrance of the house and the living room. On her lap there's a slice of cake that both are sharing. Their daughter went with her uncle Samuel to sleep in his house, giving them the chance to be alone.

"Open," she says with the fork near his mouth, offering him a bit of it, he accepted it. "I didn't tell you but this is delicious, Al," Rose adds looking at him.

"Thanks, sweetheart. I'm glad you liked it."

"Everything you organized today for me was perfect, you didn't have to."

"No, maybe, but you deserved it, luv."

Alfie knows that he couldn't do it without her. Not just now, but always. Rose is the most important woman in his life. The only one in fact. And that party wasn't enough to compensate all the things she did for him.

In that living room only illuminated by the moonlight, the couple find a moment of peace.

"You know," she says looking at Alfie before eating another piece of cake. "I like you more when you wear nothing at all."

Her husband chuckled, misinterpreting her words "that's for later, Rosie."

She smiles at well "I'm not referring to that, Al. But to this."

With her finger, she touches the mask that he's still wearing. "Just this. Why are you still wearing it?"

"I like it and it cost several hundred pounds. I want to use it as long as possible."

The mask is indeed beautiful. It's gold plated and even has little gems on it. Alfie ordered two in one of the most exclusive jewelry shop in London. One it was for her and the other for him.

But Rose knows there's another reason. Since the attempted murder by Thomas Shelby, that fortunately cost him only his eyesight in one of his eyes and a scar on his cheek, something in him changed. The hats that he wears now are bigger than in previous times and if they decided to go out, he always preferred the nighttime. She understood, people were always judging. But not her, much less to him.

"Okay," she says kissing his other cheek.

Rose puts the empty plate on the floor and rests her head on his chest. Alfie embraces her tightly at the same time that she relaxes against him.

It's summer already, it's more than midnight and the calendar says that it's already 21th of June. The summer solstice.

Alfie partly believes in magic, he has to believe because his prophetic dreams aren't infrequently and sometimes are quite accurate. So he knows that his wife was born exactly when she had to. Because she's warm and radiant like the sunlight in spring but not suffocating like the summer sun. Sometimes, when he's sitting exactly where he is now and he sees Rose walking around the house, back and forth, and her dress following her movements, he can't help but think that she looks like a butterfly flying over a garden. A grumpy butterfly, but a very nice one.

And that's his Rosie, so different from him. Especially since the incident with Tommy, she's a being full of life and he feels that he lost part of it.

No party is enough for her, neither is an expensive mask and, sometimes, Alfie believes that not even him is enough for her.

"I love you," she says snuggling up and planting a little kiss on his neck.

"I love you too, pet."

"Let me see you," she says, trying to untie his mask but he moves his head back. "I see you every day and night. Why can't I now?"

"It'll break the magic, luv."

Rose giggles, "what are you talking about?"

"The magic trick where I'm the same as ever."

"You're the same as ever."

"I'm not. But I can pretend. Tonight no one stared at me like I was a fucking freak. Everyone was wearing masks and so I was, so I was one of them, too."

"They're our friends, Al. No one of them would stare at you like you think. It's in your head, Alfie. Not true."

Alfie isn't sure. It's true they were their friends but… The scar is that part of Alfie that he couldn't make amends with himself.

"If you take your mask off, I take my dress off. Come on, Solomons. I didn't show you my gratitude for the birthday party but I can start now."

"You're bribing me, sweetheart."

"How dare you?!" Rose leaves her spot on his legs and stood up. "It's business. You're a businessman, I'm a businesswoman. One thing for another. It's fair… the beach is waiting us, Solomons. This time the two of us alone."

Alfie watches her unzipping her own dress as she looks at him over her already bare shoulder. Her mischievous smile appears in her face before she starts to down the stairs and Alfie can't help but mimick her.

"Fuckin' 'ell…"

She's quicker than him. Far away in time were the days when he was the faster of the two of them, but he doesn't mind. Alfie goes after her and when he reaches the back door, he sees her in the seashore. The black dress she was wearing is now over the sand, like it is part of the landscape.

She's wearing nothing but her panties now. From the distance he can see the curves of her body, that one that he knows so well.

Alfie can't remember the moment he took off his mask, nor his shoes. Next time he's conscious of his actions is when his arms finally find her waist again. He starts to kiss her neck, as his hands go where only he can explore.

"Did you take it off?" she's not watching at him. Her eyes were on the sea when she hugged her from behind. And now are closed, feeling him.

"I did. You know how to convince me, luv. And how to make my ghosts go away."

She turns around and put a hand on his face, her thumb is caressing his scar with tenderness. Alfie his hands are on her hips and he leans in to kiss her. If any demon is trying to get in his head now, it's impossible because in his mind is only her.

Maybe he's not faster as he used to be, but he's still stronger than her and that's not going to change. Easily he picks her up and both end lying on the sand, one over the other.

"I like you more when you wear nothing at all," he says throwing away the last piece of clothing that she was wearing. His cocky smile is decorating his face and it makes her laugh. Both of them kiss again.

It's good that the beach is their private spot in the world because soon he's naked as she is. They know they're alone, especially at those hours and and during a night that it's far from being warm, but that apparently they don't mind.

The beach is quiet except for the sound of the waves and the words he's whispering in her ear. Rose is his arms now, after the moment they shared together.

"I love you," he says once more.

"Me too, Al. And to me you're the most perfect man on Earth. As always. I don't care about this," she says touching his face once again. "Besides, it gives you that appearance of bad boy."

He lets out a laugh that could be heard across the empty beach "bad boy, eh? Ya like that, ain't you?"

"Do you want me to lie?," she pushes herself away from him a bit, "I have sand in every part of my body and I need a hot bath. Let's go inside so I can show you how much I love bad boys."

"Again?" he props on his elbow to look at her who's already on her feet. Alfie is still smirking.

"The night is young, my love. And I deserve a second gift."

She winks at him and waving her hips, Rose starts to walk towards their house again. The woman can hear his footsteps behind her and smiles.

Maybe it's still her birthday night, but it's Alfie, apparently, who's going to get another present from her.

And for her, his happiness, is the best thing she can receive.

[fallatyourfeet]

Faded Shadows (Alfie Solomons x Reader)

Summary: Alfie never could have guessed how things would play out after you virtually forced your way into his office.

Word count: 1205

Warnings: Swearing, lots and lots of it. Alludes to physical abuse. And the reader is a newly widowed woman.

A/N: Okay, so this fic started off with playful intentions, but quickly grew pretty macabre. I take no responsibility for it. It just happened. It's not my fault.

Please feel free to send me a message/comment/ask, I would love to know what you think.

If you like this, please feel free to visit my blog and take a look around! You can find my masterlist in my bio.

It was true. The people in Alfie’s neighbourhood were hardly known for their fine King’s English. It's fair to say the Camden Town tongue was a little rough around the edges and not shy of curse word or two. And Alfie’s ears were certainly no stranger to the odd colourful word slipping from the mouths of the women in his life. But never, as a boy, teenager or fully grown man had he heard such brutal language coming from such a sweet-sounding voice. If everyone around him swore like sailors, then the faceless voice causing a ruckus from somewhere outside his office, surely wrote the sailor’s dictionary. 

Partly frustrated but mostly amused, Alfie dropped his pen to the desk and leaned back in his chair, listening to the string of words caught between the all the expletives. “Fucking let go of me you filthy c**ts, I’m gonna get in that fucking room one way or another... That bastard in there, had my bloody husband killed... and I wanna see his goddamn face.”  

Alfie’s amusement dissolved, replaced by an audible sigh of dread as he mumbled under his breath, “Fuck... a bloody widow.” Yelling out to Caleb, he demanded, “Let the woman in would ya, she ain’t gonna let it go.” Standing up he moved to the side of his desk, mumbling to himself again, “Might as well get this over with.” 

Coming through the door between two of his men, you ripped your arms from their grip, giving them the filthiest look as you did so. Your face was one of the sweetest things he had ever seen, but the look was so deadly Alfie had to hold back a chuckle. ‘You were a feisty one, weren’t you?’ 

Taking a deep calming breath, you smoothed over your dress. It was well worn and long out of fashion, but you were immaculate. You obviously didn’t have a penny to scratch together, but you took pride in yourself, making the most of what you had. And Alfie found himself warming to you already. 

Running your fingers through your hair, you tamed all the locks that had escaped during your scuffle with his men, and finally looked at him. Your expression had lost almost all of its venom, nearly matching the sweetness of your beautiful features and he instantly felt a pang of guilt. One, for being the reason you were now a widow, and two, for finding a newly widowed woman so bloody attractive.  

Lifting your chin in a show of defiance; or was it pride? you held his intense gaze, and if you felt a single ounce of fear, you did not show it. Either way, he thought to himself, ‘Hmph, beautiful and brave.’  

Clearing your throat, you spoke, your words suddenly devoid of any of the foul language he heard spilling from your mouth just moments ago, “Alfie Solomons?” 

With a nod, Alfie crossed his arms before him, “Yeah, that’d be me.” 

Taking a step closer, you also nodded your head, your eyes never leaving his, “My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and your men murdered my husband, Peter, three days ago.” Alfie opened his mouth to respond, but you held a single finger in the air, a silent, but very clear gesture to shut him up. The moment he closed his mouth you lowered your hand, and continued, “Did they shoot him on your order?”  

Alfie wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Sure, from time to time he lost a bit of sleep over the number of men that were tossed into shallow graves by his order. But the reality of standing there, looking into your expressive E/C eyes and taking responsibility for killing the man you loved, twisted like a burning hot poker in his stomach. He doubted he would sleep for months.  

A moment of silence passed, and your expression shifted with a touch of impatience while you waited for your answer. Moving his arms from across his chest, he shuffled on his feet, his hands coming to rest at his hips, it was almost defensive, “Yeah, I did... He was becoming too much of a liability.” Alfie almost cringed at his words. Although true, they seemed too harsh as he heard them slip from his lips. His bluntness had never bothered him before but using it on you felt like a crime. Raising his hands in the air, he quickly spoke again, wanting to rephrase a little more tactfully, “I’m sorry, forgive my bluntness... but your husband-” 

Taking him by surprise, you cut him off, “Stop. I don’t need to know the reason.” Alfie stood there, mouth open, completely unprepared for the words you spoke next, “You don’t know how many times I stood beside that drunk, good for nothin’ monster as he lay passed out on the bed, just wishing I was brave enough to push a pillow against his face.” Honestly, Alfie was at a loss for words, but you were not. Taking a step closer, you were almost close enough to touch. Searching your eyes, he tried to understand the gratitude they held, but he quickly understood when you spoke again, “I’m thankful he’s gone... but I’m thankful I didn’t have to do it myself... because I don’t think I could have lived with the guilt.”  

And that was when Alfie saw them, the faded shadows across your arms... around the base of your neck... and along your cheekbone. The ghosts of bruises partially disguised by whatever powder you had covered them with. Suddenly, any worries he had about sleepless nights, dissolved. The only guilt he felt was for not killing the bastard sooner.  

Words finally found their way to his lips, trying to lighten the rather heavy interaction, “Well, ain’t this a fuckin’ turn of events? I thought I was a goner when I heard you out the front of my office... Remind me to never get on your bad side, yeah?” 

For the first time, you looked a little coy, “Ah... yeah sorry about the language. My mouth has a habit of running away with me when I’m worked up... and your men just wouldn’t listen.” 

Alfie chuckled, “With a mouth like that, you fit right in around here.” Speaking the words flicked a switch on inside his head. This feisty little firecracker of a woman really would fit right in, and God knows he was drowning in paperwork. It was high time he could do with some help. If he was being completely honest with himself, the thought of having you close by pleased him in ways he couldn’t explain. And under his protection he could make sure he never had to see those horrible faded shadows across your skin again. He would make sure of it. 

Moving back to his seat behind the desk, he gestured to the chair in front, “Why don’t cha take a seat Mrs Y/L/N, I’d like to make a little proposition... and if ya accept, those men out the front will have no choice but to listen to ya.” Resting his elbows on the desk, he leaned forward and asked, your answering smile, lighting up the edges of his heart. “How well do ya know your way around a typewriter?” 

[asmodeus-mydearbeloved]

• Obey Me Shall we Date headcanons :P

— Satan feeds off of people's rage, wrath and murderous intents. He would amplify their rage to the point of murderous, and he's only smirking as he feeds off of you. (Except when he actually cares for you, he will try and stop himself just for your sake.) When wars come, Satan watches from a nearby distance and feeds off of the bloodshed. But- it does not mean he doesn't feel the injustice of it all, he does feel bad at times but what can he do? He's the Avatar of Wrath that lives for the war and bloodshed.

— Asmodeus feeds off of people's lust, especially towards him. Affairs and Brothels.. Anything that doesn't come with love, Asmo feeds on. Does not mean he likes non consent or very underage, in fact. He would see it as a complete disgrace, he would feel guilty for how he's actually feeding off that sick and twisted lust. And he's more than willing to kill the one who forced themselves onto children or anyone.

— Satan and Asmodeus are the children that Lucifer cannot take his eyes off of- ESPECIALLY when they are together. Often times, Asmo's flirting and seducing gets him to the point dozens of people lusts after him and will do ANYTHING to be with him. Then Satan comes in to put the admirers rivalry against each other, amplifying their anger to the point of actually killing each other, which is likely to start an entire war where only Asmodeus and Satan benefits from it, and they do not give af.

^^ "Aww Satann.. You didn't have to get them so riled up and jealous of each other that it starts an entire war..~" "You started it." "I can't help it, I'm just so perfect that anyone can fall for me! I didn't mean for it to turn out like this..~" "Yeah yeah.. Amusing, humans are so easy to be driven to murder..~" "Oh?"

— Asmodeus calls Lucifer 'Luci' and that will never change

— Solomon and Leviathan hangs out often in Levi's cooped up room, They usually game, watch anime or their favorite thing to do is watch or read anything related to TSL. Now they have Mc joining them from time to time

— Beel and Belphie both like headpats, I don't have any backing evidence except that they look like they do

— Asmo frequently scolds Satan to put his other arm in his jacket to the point Satan kinda just does it but then takes it off once more after Asmo's out of sight, Asmo found out about it and just left him be but that doesn't mean he doesn't dislike it at all

— Mammon names every crow he encounters and somehow he remembers everytime so when he walks down the street and notices some crows he'll be like "Yo! How's life Julian and Aria?"

— Satan has a bit of an experience with dealing with hairstyles cause Asmo sometimes asks him to do his hair while in a rush and he's doing his makeup

— Asmo and Mammon takes LONG getting ready which is why when they're all going out somewhere, Lucifer tells them 3 hours beforehand as to not be late. But somehow they always do end up late by 30 mins- or a full hour

— Beel akes a very comfy pillow which is why Belphie just sleeps on him when too tired

— Lucifer taught Mammon how to make flower crowns, so sometimes when they're near flowers. Mammon likes making Flower crowns and even gifted it to Mc, Mammon also made one for Lucifer before and Luci didn't mention it but he put a spell on it to make it not wilt and have it in his room as one of his most precious items

— Asmodeus broke a mirror once by punching it so hard when he first saw himself as a demon, he was terrified of his horns and black horns and thought he wasn't as pretty/pure as he was before

— Belphegor finds any place comfortable to sleep in, don't ask how but he once slept on the ceiling.

[too-much-gacha]

Sweet dreams 1/4

disclaimer: this switches between referring to MC as MC and referring to MC as you, also is this extrovert!MC? I feel like it isn’t but maybe? I’m not sure. Also also, this can be read as romantic or platonic. Except for Luke. Luke is strictly platonic.

It's pretty common knowledge that ever since MC started consciously using magic, their room at House of Lamentation slowly became something akin to a mage’s tower. Though not in a “mansion-size extradimensional space in a kettle” way, but more in a “prevents unconscious use of magic from affecting everything around them” way. In hindsight- a particularly useful feature, when one's aware of how easily magic slips from the human exchange student when they're asleep.

In the beginning, it was small things: the house smelled like melted chocolate, butterflies in the greenhouse would blink at you with their wings or nearby flowers would recite disturbing rhymes. Soon things escalated. House of Lamentation is filled with liquid and everyone jumps at Levi for summoning Lotan again, but it’s not him. The liquid is actually… blueberry jelly? And Henry is outside his tank conversing with Satan’s pencil case about the latest discoveries within curses and hexes and how they relate to raising the prices of brushes for dogs, and after an hour or two it’s gone. Or that one time when suddenly Solomon had to run around Purgatory Hall trying to catch various potion ingredients when they decided to crown Luke as their Princes of The Pot Garden and carry him around. Things got hectic during one of the retreats at Demon Lord’s Castle. The film glitches during one scene and now instead of a dramatic reveal of the murderer there's a seal spinning in circles and a giant goose is chasing Mammon and Asmo and honking about eating cement and stolen homework in the UwU-voice. They are no longer in the Demon Lord's castle but in the car park of a supermarket, or rather the castle is the car park. And Mammon starts screaming bloody murder when the goose catches him in its beak. Then everything vanishes and MC wakes up, assuring they were watching the whole time and didn’t fall asleep. The puzzle pieces started to fall together after that, and that was one mystery solved. But why was MC falling asleep almost faster than Belphie? Well, the poor thing developed something akin to athletic heart syndrome. With so many stimuli, events and tasks happening every day, it became a default to always do something, be somewhere, help someone, play games with Levi, go clubbing with Mammon, pet Devildom cats with Satan bake with Luke, stop Solomon from baking with Luke, tinker with Thirteen, tea at demon Lord’s castle and so many more. Neither of those things bothered MC, they enjoyed each activity, but it became a norm to the point that if MC did something by themselves or just simply did nothing they’d fall asleep. Fortunately, for an identified problem, a more or less optimal solution can be found and everyone has their own idea of what to do when “a wild asleep MC has appeared”.

Lucifer

You were lying on the couch in Lucifer’s study, scrolling through Devilgram, while you waited for him to finish work.

You were planning on playing a round or two of chess after he’s done, but then Lucifer hears a thud. Your phone fell out of your hand.

Lucifer would come and cover you with his coat before going back to his task. He can handle a little unruly magic

But ultimately, when little fire creatures start jumping out of the fireplace and dancing together in circles, he decides that maybe it’s enough for today.

He puts your phone in his back pocket and picks you up, carrying you to your room, careful not to wake you up. Little fire sprites following right behind him.

You get tucked into bed with a little goodnight kiss on the forehead

And maybe just maybe if he will sometimes finish the rest of the documents while sitting in the bed with you

or maybe he’ll just leave them be and fall asleep with you

Satan

A lovely afternoon in the cat café by the park, herbal tea, pastries, whimsical cats and…

And you fell asleep, just as Satan was returning with a new bag of treats

Cats were starting to swarm around you as if you were their personal heater

If you were at HoL, reading together in his room or in the common room, he might have waited a bit, but this was the middle of the Devildom, so it was time to head home, but not before he could snap the picture of you surrounded by cats and sending it to the Cats group chat

As he carried you on his back, he felt something drop on his nose. There was no rain in the forecast for today, but that was chocolate dripping from the pink cloud hanging right above Satan’s head in a comically cartoonish way. Great. Just what he needed

He gets you both to your room, both sticky from syrup

the cloud dissipated somewhere around the kitchen, but it didn’t take all the syrup with it

“Did I fall asleep?” you ask drowsy

“Yes, do you want me to wash your hair? It’s all sticky from the chocolate.”

“Yes, please” he wonders if you registered what he said or was the reply purely automatic.

He washes your hair and does the same for himself. You wake up a bit more.

“To be honest. I’m having some munchies.” you hug him as he towels his hair. “Do you want some crackers and hot chocolate?”

Asmodeus

Nothing like a little self-care day with you putting on masks, styling each other's hair, painting nail–

“MC darling, you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fi–” a big yawn escaped you.

“Aww, I think somebody is sleepy” he accentuates it with a few head pats “I will run you a nice bath, and we can then snuggle up under blankets” you hummed in approval

He returned to his room to you sitting exactly the same, you even still had a hand raised mid-air like you were waiting for him to apply the next layer of nail polish, but the nail polish was applying itself everywhere but your nails

You fell asleep. You fell asleep!?

In other circumstances, he’d ask someone to carry you so he wouldn’t strain himself (gotta keep up the appearances)

But there’s no time for that if he wants his room and cosmetics in one piece and still useful

He picks you up bridal style and tiptoes to your room

He might then finish your nails, but he’d much rather snuggle up to you. He still needs his beauty sleep

Luke

Oh no! You fell asleep, better take the bowl with popcorn from your hands before both of you have a huge mess to clean up

To be fair, Luke almost fell asleep himself. The film wasn’t as interesting as you both thought it would be

But he knew what to do if you fell asleep, he had to ask somebody to take you to your room. Easy!

Except, nobody else was at HoL yet, and Luke heard murmurs from the half-empty bowl. The popcorn people were raising and arming themselves up

He can do it himself. He’s a big, strong boy. He doesn’t need other’s help. If Asmo and Levi can carry you, so can he.

He hooked his arms under your armpits and started dragging you off the sofa. Slowly, carefully so you won’t hit the ground. But the popcorn people started to breach containment, so he picked up the pace

Unfortunately, you were a bit too heavy for Luke and walking backwards did not help. He tripped on the edge of the carpet and fell, and you woke up when the floor met your head.

“Ouch,” you blinked once, twice. The popcorn army crumbled before Luke’s eyes, “Wow, would you look at the time? Come on Luke, we gotta get you to bed or Simeon will have my head”

You took Luke by the hand and started walking away, while he wondered what would happen if you hadn’t woken up. Would he be eaten by popcorn instead of the other way around

[zablife]

Let Me Be

Alfie Solomons x gf reader

Summary: You aren't feeling well and want nothing more than to be left alone, but Alfie insists on trying to help where he's not wanted.

Author's Note: Exploring the idea of not wanting someone to take care of you when you're unwell.

Warnings: language, mention of illness (unspecified), reference to vomiting

You were pulled from the depths of your slumber by a sudden crash somewhere in the distance. You attempted to sit up, but the pounding inside your skull had you slumping over, clutching your head in your hands before you could move any further. To make matters worse you found the bedroom curtains open, spilling harsh morning light directly into your eyes. Another cacophony of metal hitting upon metal told you your boyfriend was busy in the kitchen and you groaned.

Falling back into the softness of your bed, you pulled the duvet up to your chin as you felt Cyril’s wet nose seek you out. He let out a whimper, followed by a huff as he rested his head on Alfie’s pillow, watching you carefully. “How does he have so much energy?” you asked your pet. “I feel like death.”

As you attempted to close your eyes, Alfie came bursting through the door with a tray of food. The door banged against the wall with what seemed to be thundering force, his footsteps reverberating loudly as he came closer.  His wide smile greeted you along with the overpowering smell of meat and you instantly felt yourself gag.

“Good morning, dove,” Alfie called to you in a cheery voice as he placed the tray next to you. 

“It’s not,” you said, covering your nose and mouth in hopes you could keep yourself from being sick. Cyril stirred beside you, taking the hint better than his master that it might be best to keep his distance. He jumped off the bed and ran, claws scratching against the wood floorboards as he beat a hasty retreat.

“What’s got into him? And why are you pulling a face at the food I made ya?” Alfie asked, furrowing his brow. Picking up the plate, he shoved the fry-up under your nose and you felt your stomach lurch uneasily. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Alf! Get that away from me,” you shouted, tossing the duvet from your legs as you suddenly felt far too warm, your palms sweating and your head spinning. 

“Yeah, alright,” he said, replacing the plate onto the tray and scratching his beard. “Not even gonna say thank you, Alfie. I love you, Alfie. You’re the most amazing boyfriend I’ve ever had,” he teased. 

Then he got a look at you in only his shirt and your lace underwear and he forgot all about breakfast. “Reckon when a woman looks as good as you, manners can be overlooked.” 

Reaching a hand to caress your ass, he grabbed at your ample flesh giving a good squeeze. Before you could shoot him a warning look, he realized how warm you felt beneath his large palm and pronounced with shock, “You’re sick, dove.”

You rolled your eyes, wondering how it had taken him so long to notice, but remained silent as another wave of nausea hit you and you took off running for the en suite, clutching your stomach. 

When you returned Alfie was loudly munching on toast, dropping crumbs into the sheets beside you as he ran a hand over your hair. “Tell ya what I’m going to do. I’m going to stay right by your side and take care of you all day. You don’t have to worry about a thing, love,” he said, sounding proud of himself.

You groaned into your pillow, looking over at him with a murderous glare. “Alfie, I love you, but if you don’t leave this house in the next ten minutes, I will use my dying breath to kill you.”

[anto-pops]

Hollow - Sebastian Sallow

Summary: It's been two years since you died. Two years since you'd jumped in front of Solomon and changed the trajectory of Sebastian's life forever. His hatred for himself knew no bounds, and no matter how much time passed, he knew he would never be able to forgive himself.

Word Count: 840

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of blood/violence, references to depression

A super short stand-alone drabble of pure pain because why not. It's here on Ao3 too :'))

Sebastian was drowning. 

His mind was a never-ending sea of grief, anger, and despair– choking him all hours of the day and threatening to suck him under every waking minute of his wretched life. He was always angry, fuming with the kind of rage that stirred hot and deep inside of him and burned anyone that got too close. He existed in a perpetual state of self-loathing that not even Ominis could pull him from, and it was no wonder why. 

The only person that could ever talk Sebastian down from shitty feelings like these was gone. At his own hands, no less. 

The same hands that had protected, soothed, and treasured you from the moment he met you, had taken you from this world in a split second. Another resulting tragedy of his visceral, untamable temper. It didn’t matter that he’d been aiming for Solomon, or that his intent behind the killing curse hadn’t even been directed at you at all. In the end, you had jumped in the way to stop him, and the green cords of the unforgivable curse had wrapped around you and forced your last breath from your lungs all the same. 

His hands used to fit perfectly with yours. 

He couldn’t fathom that so much time had passed already without you beside him. Two years ago to the fucking day. Seven-hundred and thirty days of unimaginable agony, to be exact. 

On the one year anniversary of your death, Ominis had found him shut away in the Undercroft screaming bloody murder, setting every last barrel and crate ablaze with the force of the damn sun. There had been no getting through to the brunet then, and there certainly wouldn’t be this year either– seeing as Sebastian had taken his anger off of the school grounds entirely to fan the flames of fury that burned bright behind his dark, hollow eyes. 

Sebastian clenched his bloodied fists and stared down at the mutilated corpses he’d been standing over for a while now. The Forbidden Forest was void of any light, save for a few strands of moonlight that broke through the canopy overhead, casting a dim glow on the mess before him. Hot tears swam in his eyes and blurred the horror scene that painted the ground, and his throat struggled to swallow the all encompassing thought that you weren’t here.

A sob heaved from Sebastian’s chest as he fell to his knees, pummeling the shit out of one of the already dead, messy lumps he’d been using as a punching bag. His wand was somewhere in the grass beside him, but he didn’t need it. Not for this. 

No one was there to stop him, and he was almost glad for it. 

Until he remembered that no one was there to stop him. 

Sebastian screamed, shredding his already torn up throat further as he punched and kicked the bloody heap until the tears finally started to fall down his freckled face. His fists sank deeper and deeper into the pale, marred flesh of the dead Ashwinder, the body cold and unmoving, and the foul coppery stench of blood was like a distant memory burned into his nostrils. 

The gaps between his fingers were too wide; your fingers used to fit there perfectly. 

Sebastian felt a bone within the corpse crack under the force of his punches. He couldn’t breathe. 

Cold blood met with cold hands, and Sebastian swore there used to be life in his extremities. It wasn’t enough, he decided, almost desperate to unleash the boiling rage inside of him; all of the frustration and hopelessness, every last lick of anguish and pain. 

He stared at his hands. The spaces between his fingers were like gaping voids, sucking in the tiny remnants of joy the world had left him with. His legs trembled and gave out from under him, his knees collapsing against the lifeless body beneath him and soaking his trousers with even more blood. It was a non-issue compared to the massive rifts that tore open in his psyche. Sebastian shifted and let himself roll to the side, the ground meeting his back with a thud, and the world spun for just a while longer while he blinked up at the thin strips of light that snuck through the branches overhead. 

The sight reminded him of how much you’d loved astronomy. You used to drag him all over school to stargaze for hours.

Sebastian couldn’t stop himself from reaching out, his dirty fingers spreading and grasping uselessly at empty air. He stared at the darkening sky, short gasps punctuating wordless sobs as more tears than he’d ever produced before rolled down the sides of his face and into his ears, moistening his hair. 

The Slytherin stayed that way for hours, digging his fingers into the grass to try and fill the aching chasm in his chest. It was the last time Sebastian ever let himself cry. 

His fingers never stopped spreading, and his hands never stopped searching. But they never found anything, either. 

[asmo-cosmetics]

i love the "crows following mc around in the human world sent by mammon to check on them" headcanon but imagining asmodeus doing something like that is infinitely more hilarious. your house is now infested with scorpions. they will not sting you they're just kind of chilling. the first time you see one you scream and try to kill it but it starts glowing bright pink. jesus fucking christ asmo. fine, whatever, just not in my sink please. someone bothers you and ends up in the hospital covered in stings. someone flirts with you and you see a scorpion crawling up their arm very slowly as if it is monitoring the situation. if you ever feel unsafe a bed of scorpions scuttles up from somewhere and forms a sigil around you that you're pretty sure you recognize as one of solomon's. this is usually more inconvenient than not. you made the intimidating cashier at a sephora scream like she was getting murdered. you fucking love him though.

[blue-razzslushie]

Hogwart Legacy AU: Ominis Gaunt

oh boy oh boy it's time chat

First Impression:

Ominis-

✮He's heard about a new student a few times, Putting their voice into memory when he heard them talking to (and insulting) Garreth Weasley.

✭Rather neural to them, until catching them leave the Undercroft. OKAY Sebastian. THE FUCK??

✭There wasn't anything he was specifically angry with them about, mainly was pissed at Sebastian for letting them in. Okay maybe he was a bit pissed at them for lying to him first time round,,,

Rory-

✭Okay who is this blonde fucker sassing them for literally no reason?! They didn't do jack shit calm down brotha!!

✭They could understand why he was upset, but bro direct your anger somewhere else (Rich coming from you Rory)

✭Despite that, Honestly thought he was pretty chill

General Dynamic// Relationship:

✭Honestly it was awhile before they could consider each other friends, more like friendly acquaintes. . . barely

✭Bonded originally by having to keep Sebastian in check. One of them comical things where they call him an idiot at the same time or something

✭Rather chill relationship, can hang out without actually talking and just enjoying the presence of the others company that sort of thing

In the Shadow of Questline:

✭They both agreed Sebastian would go too far with this relic thing. Trying to get him to stop but you know him.

✭When Solomon died, it of course came to deciding what to do with him. Rory was immediately for telling the headmaster, not that they didn't care about Sebastian. But they cant let him get away with murder can they?

✭Ominis wasn't really sure what to do, but he didn't want to send Seb to go to Azkaban. After a bit of convincing Rory decided to not tell and keep it a secret.

✭Despite the experience being harrowing and downright traumatizing. The two did grow closer as friends, so that's good.

After Quests/Future:

✭Even after all of it, Ominis and Rory weren't exactly close. After the battle under Hogwarts, Ominis was a bit worried, especially after hearing that Rory themself was down there and was in the hospital wing

✭He never visited himself however. Only time he came was when Sebastian went. He was glad they were alive.

✭They still hung out every so often, but not like a one on one thing. They mainly only hung out with the other when others like Sebastian or their other friends were around.

Sorry this one is short chat, honestly never paid Ominis too much mind in game and I don't thing Rory and him would be the biggest fans of the other. But anyway who should I do next?

[danceworshipper]

In the Shadow of Sebastian

Alexis and Ominis come to terms with the knowledge that Sebastian has gone too far off the deep end after killing his uncle, and make one of the easiest, yet most difficult decisions they've ever had to make. Alexis/Ominis, pre-ship. Hints of one sided Alexis/Sebastian and Ominis/Sebastian. Set immediately before The Choice at the end of Sebastian's quest line. Useful context: Alexis is a werewolf and an unwilling soldier for the Minister

It was cold in the Undercroft where they sat defeated, resting their backs against the stone wall and letting the chill soak through their robes. Cold, and still, and silent.

Alexis was grateful that Sebastian had left them alone. To hear anyone's heartbeat but Ominis' right now would have been too much. His, even, was testing her nerves, but at least Ominis' heart was slow and strong. Sebastian's hadn't stopped beating irregularly ever since he'd cast that blasted spell.

That heartbeat proved what Alexis already suspected: Sebastian was gone. Not physically, not really, but he was gone. He was a shadow of himself.

Broken.

Your first real kill hit you hard, as she had learned all too soon upon becoming a witch. Killing someone you knew was so much worse than killing a nameless enemy, or a dastardly foe who had earned it through wicked deeds. The adrenaline alone was enough to have you coming down for hours, but the guilt... Solomon Sallow had deserved a lot of things, but not this, and somewhere Sebastian knew it. He made a mistake that he couldn't take back. Now Anne, his one tether to sanity, was unwilling to be found, and he was lost.

Alexis never should have helped him.

"Ominis."

"Yes?" His voice was made rough from the tears she was kindly ignoring.

"I'm sorry."

"You should be."

Alexis let her head hang. Ominis had warned her that this was going too far, and she hadn't listened. She hadn't even listened to Anne. Weren't Anne's wishes the only ones that should matter in a situation like this? Just because Alexis would never stop trying to cure herself didn't mean that that was what everyone would want.

"I understand, though," Ominis continued. "I'm to be blamed as well. I never put my foot down the way I should have. Salazar, we share a dorm room and I never even thought to check his belongings. I knew what he was doing; I simply couldn't deny him."

"He has that effect on you too?"

Ominis huffed, amused but deflated. "Has it not been obvious?"

It hadn't been, though Alexis couldn't truthfully say she'd ever thought about it - ever considered that maybe Ominis gave in too easily for someone as against the Dark Arts as he was. Now it was easy to see. Hindsight was always clear.

No, Alexis had never paid much attention to Ominis' actions, because she'd been far too concerned with her own.

I could teach you, Sebastian had said, three different times, and Alexis had said yes each time despite seeing what havoc the curses could wreak. Something about how he'd offered, so eager to have someone who understood the pull toward Dark Magic, had had her tracing the wand movements he showed her, greedy for his approval.

Eventually she would have learned them anyway, she supposed. Minister Spavin had plans for her. The dark creature, wielding the Dark Arts like no other could. She would never be locked in Azkaban for murder - so long as it was no one the Minister cared for.

Knowing that didn't make it better. In fact, she was certain it made everything worse.

Ominis inhaled shakily. "Aren't you supposed to be convincing me that we mustn't tell anyone what he's done?"

"I told him I would," Alexis said.

She turned her eyes toward him. His head was gently inclined toward her, but his eyes were downcast as he wiped at them. They didn't even work, yet they showed despair as well as anyone else's. Oddly, Alexis found it pretty.

"Well?"

She swallowed and remained silent. Sebastian had begged her, saying that Ominis listens to you. I don't know why, but he does. Yes, Ominis did listen to her, and that was a large part of the problem. Alexis knew without a doubt that if she said that Sebastian should walk free, he would. But did he deserve to?

It wasn't fair for him to be punished when she never would be. But...

"He won't stop," she said noncommittally. "He'll never stop until Anne is either cured or dead."

Ominis laughed, bitter. "Even when she's dead, he'll never stop."

He was probably right. Death be damned: Anne would know no peace.

"If only you could have seen the madness in his eyes, Ominis. I don't think I've ever been more frightened of him."

"Of him? Not for him?"

Alexis winced - of course Ominis had caught her slip. She sighed, and shook her head out of habit, though she knew he couldn't see. "No," she said, like a confession. "Of him."

Silence fell again. Alexis squeezed her eyes shut. Her clothes felt restrictive all of a sudden. She felt trapped, like she was back at the Ministry being held down. The blasted gloves were buzzing, stronger and stronger, responding to her distress and forcing her magic to freeze in her veins, and she reminded herself to breathe in, hold it, and breathe out, until the buzzing stopped.

That was the difference between her and Sebastian, she supposed. Self control had been beaten into her. Never would she cast a curse like that on impulse. Sebastian had proved he had no control whatsoever.

"You know," Ominis said slowly, "I'm not feeling very convinced."

In spite of the situation, Alexis choked on a shocked laugh. "I'm not making a good case, am I?" she asked.

The smile on his face was painful to look at with how close it was to breaking. If only she could fix it.

"You aren't," Ominis agreed. His voice cracked.

"I'm not sure there's any helping him," Alexis said, sobering. "If he never stops, who's to say he doesn't get worse? What if he hurts someone else? What if one day, he decides that if he kills her and reanimates her, she'll be cured?"

Ominis shook his head. "He'll get worse. I'm sure of it."

"Then we have to turn him in," she said, wishing she could convince herself otherwise.

"They'll throw him in Azkaban, Alexis," Ominis protested weakly. "He's close enough to adulthood that they'll do it. You've been to Azkaban, haven't you? Even if they give him a lighter sentence because of his youth, Sebastian will never be himself again, you know that."

Her visit to Azkaban with Helen Thistlewood had been a maximum of thirty minutes, but Alexis had felt that she'd never be the same - and she hadn't been the one behind bars. It had made her ironically grateful for her own imprisonment deep in the Ministry, with horrible people rather than Dementors. But that old woman in Azkaban had been innocent. Sebastian was not.

"We have to," she said again, and hated herself for it.

Ominis' head thunked against the stone. "I know," he whispered. His eyes squeezed shut - Alexis wondered if the pressure felt grounding or if blocking things out was simply a human instinct.

Whichever it was, she followed suit, pressing her knuckles against her eyelids until she saw stars and then having to yank them away, because the stars were a beautiful green that had crackled at the tip of Sebastian's wand for one long, long moment after he'd dropped it. It was a green that might be woven deep into her own soul by now, never to be cleansed.

"I should be in Azkaban too," Alexis said softly.

Ominis made a noise of distress. "Absolutely not."

"I've killed too."

"You've killed horrible people, Alexis, and you didn't do it of your own free will."

"The noble thing to do would be to refuse," she argued. "That's what Natty says."

"And be put to death?" Ominis exclaimed. "No. You should never be at fault for protecting yourself."

Alexis felt the corner of her mouth twitch, and she couldn't stop herself from pushing her luck. "The same logic doesn't apply to you, I see."

She turned her head to look at him. He knew, of course, what she was referring to. His mouth opened as though he wished to argue, but shut again. How could he? If there was no blame on her, there could be no blame on him.

Could they use the same logic with Sebastian?

Alexis desperately wished they could. If there had been a single sliver of worry that Solomon would have killed one of them first... but no. He had attacked them, hurt them badly, but she knew deep in her heart that he would have stopped when they fell. Getting them expelled and ruining their lives wasn't enough to deserve death. Even if it was, now Anne, cursed and miserable, had no one. That alone made the curse truly unforgivable.

The only instance that could be justified was the Cruciatus, since if Sebastian hadn't cast it in the Scriptorium, they all would have starved to death. Self preservation: simple, easy. The Imperius could have been justified under better circumstances, but Sebastian's logic had been flawed. He'd had ample time to react. He could have used any other spell to save Anne, but he hadn't.

I had to, he'd said.

You wanted to, she'd thought, but agreed with him anyway, because that was what friends did, wasn't it? Supported them in public to criticize them in private? She'd just never had the time until it was too late.

Ominis sobbed beside her, burying his face into his legs and shaking.

Alexis' heart ached. Before she could wonder whether he'd want to be touched, her hand was on his shoulder. He cried harder, leaning closer, and though Alexis was about to break too, she pulled him close to her and held him.

"He was my best friend," Ominis said miserably. The use of past tense sounded like the slamming of a cell door.

"I know," Alexis said.

By the end of the day, Sebastian would be taken away. It was over.

[basalamander-corner]

❦ - The Shifting Tides: NEW WIP INTRO

We fight for a future we ourselves cannot see.

❝ Blood spills at the drop of a hat. Lives are taken every day. It’s up to you to decide whether or not you want to fight, or be devoured. ❞

Cursed by the blood of a goddess, Saran Turakina has known a life of being less-than-human. His people are holindal, once regular humans now given the ability to shapeshift into draconic forms. To improve relationships with the Kingdom of Askana, Saran’s grandfather has arranged a marriage with their prince. While on a seaward journey to meet his future husband, Saran’s boat is intercepted by pirates, and he’s taken prisoner for a ransom.

On a ship far from home, and with only his two closest friends for company, Saran is forced to come face to face with the pirate king: Viridian Kambiri, captain of the Howling Wolf and charming leader of the Wildlings.

As Saran traverses the maze of secrets and betrayals that fester beneath Askana, it doesn’t take him to realize there’s more to the oppression and hatred towards the holindal diaspora than the monarchy is letting onto. And the secrets they hide is one he must bring to the light. But if violence is the only way of stopping them, then does that not make Saran a murderer, like them?

And if so, how will he stop them without losing his soul in the process?

More info below the cut.

❧General Information

A series that has been on my mind for at least five years. The current version of this draft started in 2020 during COVID, although I’ve had this idea in mind since early 2018 at least. It’s currently taken some inspiration from We Hunt the Flame, The Tiger at Midnight, and Beasts of Prey, although it has evolved into its own story at this point.

I consider it somewhere between Young Adult and New Adult in terms of ratings: most content is aimed towards a 16+ audience. I consider the genre a low/mid-fantasy romance. There’s a bit of extensive worldbuilding, but canonically the series takes place in an alternate universe where the meteor that killed the dinosaurs ended up being imbued in magic. Said magic spread through the earth, and is what eventually caused the holindal mutation. In addition, this Earth has a ring system of a similar intensity to Neptune, caused by the colliding of Theia. If I have to describe the aesthetic, it is an Afro-Victorian world on the cusp of its own industrial revolution.

❧Featuring

The tropes of idiots to friends to lovers, found family, secret royalty.

Themes of coming of age, trauma recovery, rebellion and war, self-discovery, sins of the father, and the deconstruction of “if you kill them, you’ll be just like them”.

A transmasculine and vincian MC. A bisexual MC. A queerplatonic relationship between three major characters, one of the MCs included. An aro/ace major character.

A cast made up of entirely dark-skinned characters.

❧Trigger Warnings

Typical fantasy violence

Blood and gore

Childhood abuse

Physical and mental abuse/trauma

Panic and anxiety attacks

Queerphobia

Racism and xenophobia

Sexism

❧Tag list

Ask to be added or removed!

@sharliexth @thecrookedwriterspath @andromeda-grace @wildswrites @hottubraccoon @likegemstone @iriswords @starlightelegy @words-after-midnight @andromedaexists @writeintrees @thegrievingyoung @pure-solomon @aalinaaaaaa @tate-lin @gltownsend