#suffering suffering. wailing clawing at the walls.

[blackwaxidol]

hypovolaemia is so stupid. just make more blood, idiot...

[gemissleeping]

Moonlight & Masks

Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Newly turned Death Eater Theodore Nott is tasked with hunting down Harry Potter and the Order Operative protecting him. Only to discover the person he hunts happens to be the one he loves.

Length: 1.8k

Notes: Back from the dead (I am so sorry things are hectic and I don’t want to release a chapter I’m not feeling) with this little one from @thatdammchickennugget’s Hogmarch Challenge! Death Eater Theo. Use of the killing curse. Angst as always because we know I live for the drama. For those of you wanting more Veleveteen, in my head this occurs in the same story universe (which I know isn’t the same as an update pls forgive my sins). Not proofread, we have deadlines to meet.

The sting of lightning hung in the air as she weaved through the trees. The thundering footfall still pressing behind her. Lungs burning with need, she pressed on. Dizzied from the turbulent descent she and Mad Eye had suffered.

Alastor. He was dead.

She hadn’t even been able to take his body from the dirt where it had fallen. And the Death Eaters certainly wouldn’t afford him the dignity of a proper burial.

Tears clawed at her cheeks as she bounded over the tree roots twisting across the forest floor. Thinking only of Mad Eye, the way his voice had simply ceased when the curse had hit him. No cry of pain, no strangled wail. Only silence.

Her grip on her wand tightened as her tears ran hot. The taunting laugh of one of her pursuers echoing through the trees as they crashed after her. The darkness spinning endlessly around her. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Gone were the rules they had been taught to play by. Humanity sacrificed for power. Thoughtless with rage, she cast back her wand into the leering shadows. Letting the words fall from her lips before her heart could catch them.

Avada Kedavra

The green light felt as though it tore right through her as it ricocheted from her wand. Scattering through the trees and hitting its mark with a crack. Ripping at her chest with blistering heat, forcing her ribs apart until the spell dissipated. The laughter ceased. That same absence that had followed earlier resting through the trees. She was dragged to a still.

The force of the spell brought her to her knees. Bark breaking the skin of her palms, blood blooming as she fell forward in agony. She felt it being torn from her throat just now; some vital piece of herself. What she had given to cast the curse. The crack rung through her ears. Trailing her even as its ringing grew soft, faded into the background of the forest’s creaks and stutters. She could feel the heaving of her chest, dizzied by the absence that had been dug into her.

Before she could break upon the forest floor completely, the snap of a twig behind her brought reality rearing back. Whipping to face the darkness, she searched the teasing shadows that surrounded her. Nothing answered but the wind. She pushed herself up on bloody palms, staggering towards the nearest tree. Catching the glint of a metal smile hit by moonlight as she turned. But it was too late.

The Death Eater was on her in a second, wand jammed to her throat. One hand wrenching her head back by the hair. A mutilated snarl coming from the unmoving mask.

“Potter.”

She still had Harry’s face.

The figure towered before her, gloved hand pulling harshly at her hair as she strained against their grip. More tears pricking at her eyes as she faced the smooth and indifferent wall between them. Both of them were wearing masks really. But the thought brought little comfort to the nausea biting at her.

She was going to die someone else.

Wand to her throat, she closed her eyes. Preparing for the flurry of hot green light. Perhaps it was what she deserved, it could be a mercy. This way she would never have to truly face what she had done. There was no doubt in her mind that the person before her would finish the job. And yet she waited, but nothing came.

Opening her eyes once again she found him watching her carefully. Blue eyes clouded with something foreign, his silver mask lodged in the dirt at their feet. Looking at her with nothing but quiet restraint. She felt her throat close at the sight of him, all defences leaving her as she stared up at the boy before her.

“I asked something of you, when I saw you last,” Theo spoke lowly, wand still jammed to her throat as though he didn’t fully trust the person he saw before him. “Do you have an answer for me?” His voice fell flat against the forest air, low and heavy as his empty eyes.

His words sent another wave of dizziness crashing through her. The events of the past ten minutes threatening to bring everything up from her stomach. She wanted to fall into his chest and let his robes soak up her tears. To slice her palm clean across his cheek. Fall to the forest floor and not get up. Beg him to finish the job.

But instead, she did as she was told; she stayed quiet. Like the good little soldier they had taught her to be. Counting the freckles and moles that dotted the skin of his cheeks like they were her favourite constellations.

“Answer the question,” Theo snarled again, shoving her back forcefully. Back hitting the jagged edges of bark with an audible crack as a groan left her. Still she didn’t speak, blinking up at him as her head spun from when it had made contact with the tree.

“I’ll do it Potter,” he hissed lowly. His wand cutting further into her throat as she struggled to breathe under its pressure. He barely seemed to notice, staring down at her with empty eyes. “Don’t think I won’t just because you have something I want.”

She only watched him carefully, trying not to let herself give it away as she watched him. Staving off the clouds of memory that threatened to consume her at the sight of him.

“No?” He chimed, a sharp edge to his warm voice, “Very well.”

He drew a breathe, anger taking him in its burning grip. But just as the curse he had planned to cast was forming a whisper of air on his lips; she felt it. The rippling beneath her skin. Pulling and tugging and melting at the fibres of her. She bit her tongue as the pain of it ripped through her. Reforming beneath the skin as everything cracked and popped in and out of place. Until only she remained, swimming in Harry’s ridiculous hoodie.

Theo still had her pressed against the tree, all colour drained from his face as he watched the skin seem to melt and reform on her bones. His hands began to shake. She watched him with distant eyes, trying to hold onto what little restraint remained.

“What’s wrong?” She asked hoarsely, her throat aching from the potion’s due course. Theo’s wand still hesitantly pressed to the delicate skin of her throat. “Can’t do it anymore?”

It happened like the break of a dam. Her name fell from his lips in a rush of credence. Lips falling apart at the sight of her before him, what he’d almost done without realising. His wand dropped in a stagger, as though she had struck him. The darkness of the forest enclosing around them.

“You left me there,” he breathed suddenly, as though it hadn’t meant to come out. She blinked up at him as confusion swept her. But the lost look he carried only washed away as his eyes hardened.

“What?” she breathed.

“You left me there alone,” he spoke again, ignited with a sudden rage. His words were like kindling to her own. Her brow cracking with anger.

“No, Theo,” her voice shook, “you left me.” Theo looked to the ground, shaking his head gently in denial. He took a hesitant step forwards, as though to reach for her. But she stepped back, her spine hitting the tree. “Do you know how much I had to go through alone before I got out of there? Because you were too busy running off with Draco, or-”

He closed the distance between them with a blistering intensity.

“Do you know what it’s been like since? Without you?” It came out in a boiling whisper. “He wants your head almost as much as he wants Potter’s,” Theo’s eyes softened at the words, swept up in whatever memory they procured. “And I just have to sit there and take it, listening to the vile things they plan to do to you. Knowing there’s not a single fucking thing I can do about any of it, except for-”

He didn’t have to say it, the break of his voice said enough. The way his eyes fled from her own. He had meant to kill her.

“Why don’t you do it then?” She whispered, eyes brimming with more tears. Looking to the boy she had loved since she was too young to understand the word. “It would save me the-”

“Stop it.”

“I deserve it, don’t I? For leaving you. You said so yourself, in your letter. I read it you know.”

“No, I didn’t mean-”

“I know you’ve cast it before-”

“I said stop,” he bellowed, pressing himself against her in a flash of pent up fury. His body flush against hers as his chest heaved with the weight of his rage. “Even if I wanted to,” he whispered, his lips brushing lightly against her ear, “I can’t.” His hands tightened into fists, “He wants to do it himself.”

He peeled himself away from her, as though every inch of his skin that couldn’t feel hers was the worst form of torture. Drinking in every part of her except for her eyes, which he couldn’t bring himself to meet. She searched his, begging him to pull himself to meet hers.

“Is it that?” She breathed, fearful eyes rounded as she looked up to him. Searching for that thread that had always hung between them. His eyes grew tense as he saw what thoughts lay in hers, “Or is it because-”

“Stop.”

-you love me.

“Don’t,” he snapped, but even the sharp edge of his voice couldn’t distract from the despair swimming in his eyes. “Please,” he breathed, his head dipping towards her neck in defeat, but not daring to brush the skin, “don’t.”

He wanted to hold her, let his fingers trail across her cheeks, brush his thumb over her eyelashes. Just to make sure it was really her. Not some cruel trick made out to test his loyalty. But instead he let his breath fan across the bare skin of her neck. Knowing it was the only way he could allow himself to touch her.

“It was you I asked after,” his confession fell dead against the skin of her neck. He heard the breath she drew as though it was taken from him. Felt himself unravelling being so close to her now, after months of waiting and silence and searching.

Fuck it.

He’d be flayed for it, but everything could be damned. None of it mattered if he could feel her lips on his again. His hands flew to the delicate skin of her cheeks. Palms soaking in the remainder of her tears as his lips met hers. They parted effortlessly for him, welcoming him in as though she had been waiting just as he had. The softness of her lips balancing against his hunger. Her head tilted towards him, completely at his mercy beneath his calloused palms. Just as she should have been all this time.

[moon7jay]

OKAY (p.sh)

Warnings : smut, rough sex, degradation, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Dedicated to •┈┈⛧ @hoondrop

Sunghoon didn't think of it much when you let him into your apartment without a single word when usually you'd be huffing and puffing because he showed up unannounced. He didn't think much of it when you slipped off your dress silently and laid on the bed, spread open, waiting for him to use you however he wanted.

He attributed it to you being really needy. Sunghoon was too lost in his own lust to notice how you cried out his name when he slipped himself home inside of your wet heat in one painful thrust. Your nails dug into his back and your hazy eyes fell on his expressions of bliss, hot pants falling from his mouth, brows furrowed and eyes fixated on your heaving chest. He wasn't even looking at your face and an acute pain started to bloom inside your chest.

"Fuck-oh god-never been inside a pussy so fucking good ,you were just made to be fucked" He grunted, pelting his hips harshly into you. His touches were rough, palms groping around your body in a desperate abandon, leaving bruises in their wake. Usually you loved it, your body welcomed the familiar sting and the pleasure that came along with it, but the bruises from your inside were looming on the surface today, making you feel like an open, gaping wound.

He buried his face inside the crook of your neck, folding your body in half, his thrusts merciless as always. "fucking slut, can't stop coming back to this tight little cunt, you should get paid for it" he panted in your ear. His words were hitting you as hard as his thrusts were, the hollowness in your chest intensifying by the second. Soft sobs started leaving your lips before you could stop them.

"Yeah ? Does it hurt?" He asked coming up to rest his forehead against yours, looking you dead in the eye for the first time since he came over. His eyes were dark in lust, hot breaths of exertion falling on your lips while his hips kept pounding you into the sheets. You nodded, your vision becoming blurry as you were unable to control the onslaught of tears that was wracking your body. "You can take it, just keep letting me use this hot little body till I'm fucking satisfied" His movements became rapid, you could tell that he was close. Your walls were breaking down with each snap of his hips, pain beginning to constrict your throat. Your breaths were becoming shorter, sobs becoming ugly, the physical pain transcending into emotional one.

You hated it, hated feeling so vulnerable and raw, especially in front of someone who didn't give two fucks about you. Maybe it was the stupid feelings you had started harbouring for the boy above you that were begging him to notice your suffering. To see you, look beyond the relief that your body had to offer and peek behind the mask which was your face. To hold your aching body till it didn't feel like something was clawing it's way out of your chest, till you could voice out your grief and give this empty feeling a name.

Sunghoon's mind was beginning to get clouded over by the feelings of ecstasy, his hips stuttering, feeling his high approaching closer. Even though his body was responding to the pleasure you were giving him, something about the way you were looking at him was filling him with unease. He had never seen you crying so much during sex and something inside him was telling him that this was something else. Those weren't the sobs of pleasure that were racking your tiny form underneath him, your wails sounded like cries of actual pain and he wasn't sure what to do. His high faded into the void the more that he focused on your quivering lips and flooded eyes, his hips coming to a halt inside of you. When you didn't stop wailing despite the lack of his assault on your lower body, sunghoon's chest constricted in panic. Did he hurt you? what the fuck was going on?

You were jolted out of your agony by the feeling of two big palms cupping your face.

"Y/n? Hey, hey, calm down" Sunghoon's panic filled voice penetrated through the viel of tears covering your eyes. It took you a while to notice how he wasn't inside of you anymore, the aching between your legs was lost somewhere between your grief stricken cries. You pushed him away and curled into yourself, wrapping your hands around your middle to find some sort of comfort. Rocking your body back and forth to calm your stuttering breaths. This was all you had. For as long as you can remember, this tiny stroke of comfort was all you had to ground yourself to reality. The fact that someone else was witnessing your breakdown was making you feel defenseless. "G-Go please" you sobbed and closed your eyes to drown out your surroundings.

Sunghoon's brain was going into overdrive. Seeing you like this was something he had not thought about even in his worst nightmares and he felt helpless. He didn't want to leave but at the same time he didn't want to push your limits either, so he gathered his clothes and dressed himself as fast as he could. There was an intense urge to hold you that was blooming in his chest, but who was he kidding? He couldn't comfort people for shit. Sunghoon didn't do emotions, he didn't do feelings and he sure as fuck didn't care about anyone, so why were you making him feel this way?

As he took one last look at your naked body curled into a fetus position, your cries tearing through his heart, sunghoon did what he did best. He left.

As you stared at the empty screen of your phone with no calls or messages from sunghoon, you could hear the distinct sound of your heart breaking. One would think you would have gotten used to that sound by now. How pathetic.

Did you not know how it was gonna end from the beginning? or when you decided to be vulnerable and scare him away ? Did you really think you meant something to him? That you meant more to him than just a warm body to fuck? How many heart breaks would it take for you to realize that you were just convenient? Convenient and replaceable and so so naive. You wouldn't call yourself naive tho, you were just desperate. Choosing to ignore reality to live in momentary illusions of happiness. You guess this is what becomes of people who come out of broken homes, searching for little specks of love where it doesn't exist, deluding yourself till the glaring reality decides to shove you back to where you came from. Somewhere along the way, you had come to terms with the fact that you couldn't make people love you. You had always lacked that ability, to make someone want you, to make someone stay.

You picked on the scab of wound on your knuckle mindlessly, chuckling to yourself as tears started streaming down your face again. You out of all people should have known better. You had so much love inside of you and no one to give it to. And what was excess love if not grief? Where do you put this agony? How do you get rid of this aching need to be enough for someone else?

He must be with some other girl right now, some girl who didn't ruin his pleasure with random breakdowns and ugly sobs. Someone who wasn't so difficult and unlovable and excruciatingly clingy. you kept scratching till the healed skin was peeling off, making way for warm blood to ooze out. A sigh fell from your quivering lips at the familiar sting, wondering if he stayed when other girls asked him to.

Sunghoon downed his 6th shot of the night and yet, he was wide awake and functioning. He'd been sitting in this godforsaken bar for days but no amount of alcohol could take you out of his head. You were like a constant itch at the back of his mind. What fucked him up the most was the fact that he missed you. Utterly and desperately. And not just your body, he missed YOU. He missed your giggles and he missed your flustered smiles. He missed the way you sassed him when he teased you. He missed watching his big palms engulf your small ones.

The past few days had been enough to bring him to the glaring realization that he needed you. He cared about you. Your wails were still ringing in his ears and your broken voice when you told him to leave was haunting him at nights. His dark circles could attest to that. His hands shook with the desperate need to call you and hear your voice but he was a coward. He left you in your worst moment and the guilt and shame was eating him from the inside. What would he even say to you? You probably hated him now.

His mind drifted off to the conversation you had with him a few weeks ago. He'd been getting ready to leave when your soft, hesitant voice had spoken the words which changed the trajectory of his life. "c-can you stay?" you'd asked and sunghoon had looked at you like he'd seen a ghost. Your tiny figure had been wrapped in your white sheets while you peered up at him nervously, your fingers fiddling with the stray thread on the duvet. "can you stop being fucking clingy?" He'd replied, regretting his words as soon as he'd seen you visibly flinch. Then truth was that he'd been afraid. He was scared then and he was scared now. Scared of how badly he'd wanted to stay.

He downed another shot and hoped it would be enough to give him the liquid courage for what he was about to do.

You didn't know what to expect when your doorbell rang in the middle of the night. You were lounging on your couch in the living room, staring blankly at the romcom playing on your television. Your first thought was to ignore it, the emotional distress of the past few days had taken so much away from you physically that you had little to no strength left in your body.

But whoever was behind that door was persistent. Ringing and ringing till you couldn't help but heave yourself up from the couch in frustration.

You yanked the door open and froze. It took a few seconds for you to process the fact that he was standing in front of you and another few seconds to stop yourself from running into his arms. You swallowed harshly and stepped aside to let him in. His eyes were fixated on you and you were looking anywhere but at him. Not quite ready to face your demons just yet. You weren't surprised to see him at your door to be honest, he couldn't stay without sex for too long.

At least you are useful for something, you thought. You were in the middle of slipping off your top's strap down your shoulder when his voice interrupted you. "What are you doing?" He asked, making you look up at him, staring at him blankly. "Getting undressed" you replied in a solemn monotone like it was the most obvious thing in the world but he shook his head, his gaze intense "why? "

"Isn't that what you're here for?"

Your genuinely confused question hit sunghoon like a slap across the face. He knew that he had been treating you like shit but why were you treating yourself like this? It made him want to puke. He shook his head again and willed his heart to calm down "I'm not here to have sex with you"

His words sounded like static to you. Oh. He was here to break things off with you, because of course he was. Did you really think he was going to come back to you for sex after what you had done when he could have any girl he wanted for the night? You really were delusional. You bit your lower lip to stop it from wobbling when you felt tears gathering at your waterline. So this was it then? You really had driven another person you loved away from you successfully.

"I-im sorry, j-just don't hate me please" you spoke through gritted teeth, blinking rapidly to avoid crying in front of him again. If he couldn't love you, you wanted to make sure he didn't leave hating you. You honestly wouldn't be able to live with yourself if he did.

Sunghoon watched your cowering form inching away from him and he was overcome with an intense urge to wrap you in his arms and keep you close. You looked so scared and small standing there, asking him to not hate you. Silly little girl, he thought. How could he ever hate you?

He rubbed a shaky hand over his face to choose his next words carefully but you interpreted his actions the wrong way. Your throat constricted and you fisted the hem of your top tightly. The feeling of desperation was beginning to overpower your rational thoughts, what were you going to do if he left? Your feet moved before you could stop yourself and your shaky fingers were tugging on his shirt softly. When his dark eyes met yours, you couldn't stop the tears from pouring down your cheeks. "G-give me one chance, I won't ruin it this time" you hiccuped through your sobs. "Y/n- " please sunghoon i-i'll be so good and s- so quiet, just u-use m-your words were cut of by a sobbed gasp escaping your lips when sunghoon pinned you against the wall behind you forcefully, his body pressed firmly against yours. You stared up at him with wide teary eyes and he looked angry, the vein on his forehead throbbing visibly. "Stop that" He spoke sternly through gritted teeth and cupped your face in his palms, resting his forehead against yours. "Stop treating yourself like a fucking object y/n, this isn't you" His lips captured yours before you could react and the softness of the kiss caught you off gaurd. You didn't remember the last time you had been kissed with so much tenderness and you couldn't help but sob into his mouth, your hands fisting his shirt desperately. Sunghoon didn't stop kissing you. More like, he couldn't stop kissing you. Hoping that he could convey with his kiss, all the words that he couldn't say. His hold on your face was soft and you couldn't help but press yourself closer to his body, seeking warmth, looking for comfort. He pulled away briefly, his forehead still pressed against yours and he stared right into your soul. His thumbs reached up to wipe your tears and you hiccuped through your sniffles. "would you believe me if I said that I'm here to stay baby?" He asked softly. The sweet nickname was something he'd only called you in throes of passion sometimes, so the fact that he was consciously speaking to you with so much affection made your heart hurt. Hope fluttered like butterflies in your stomach and you searched his face. You wanted to believe him, you wanted to get lost in his affection even if he was lying, so exhausted from your emotional turmoil. Your eyes flooded with tears and you sobbed a pathetic "no" while you shook your head. Sunghoon closed his eyes and rubbed his nose against yours, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. "will you give me a chance to prove it to you?" He asked, his hot breath warming up your mouth. You bit your lower lip and buried your face into his chest, unable to stop yourself from crying your heart out. This felt like a fever dream and you wanted to stay in it a little longer. You wanted to feel his arms around you, holding you closer in a way only you had ever done to yourself. He wrapped your body in his embrace and sighed in relief, he couldn't comprehend how he'd gone so long without the feeling of you in his arms. "please baby, you're like air to me and i know that i have hurt you and i won't ask you to forgive me but these past few days have been hell and i don't think I can survive something like that again" He whispered his truth and it felt like a heavy weight had been lifted off of his chest.

He hated that he was always so afraid of his own feelings, hated that you were turning him into this emotional person that he was not. His words made you tighten your hold around his shoulders and you peeked up slightly to stare into his eyes. His eyes that were staring at you with so much adoration that you couldn't help the blush spreading across your cheeks.

He pecked your nose "let me inside your heart baby, I want to know what hurts you and makes you bleed, I want to swallow your pain if it's the last thing I do"

Your breathing had evened out from hearing him speak and you were suddenly coming to the realisation that he was asking you to give him a chance at loving you. Sunghoon wanted to love you. Your heart was beating rapidly across your chest at the possibility of your feelings being reciprocated and yet at the back of your mind, you couldn't help but question. Were you ready to let him in like that? would you be able to take it if he left you stranded again? You didn't know. But what you did know was that you were tired of running away.

"Okay" you whispered and his lips were immediately on yours, kissing you like his life depended on it, in a way it did. "Okay" He whispered back into your mouth and swallowed your whines, pressing you closer to himself, tasting you like he'd never given himself the liberty to.

There were so many things you wanted to ask him and so many feelings he wanted to express. But for now, okay was enough.

[pukanavis]

[18Trip] Toi Shiramitsu Mayor Novel "The Day I Became an Angel" Chapter 1 | The Ritual Room

Part 1 | Part 2

*Before you choose to continue, please note that the novels contain major spoilers for the main story of the game, and it is recommended that you only read them once you have finished the main story!

There’s a ritual that Grandfather told me about, one that the heads of the Shiramitsu family have passed down for generations.

It’s a mandatory process in order to be blessed with the powers of an angel, apparently.

Subsequently, I was determined to try my hardest. Once the 9 day long ritual ended, they said that an angel—Oshisha-sama—would settle within my body. I told myself without a shadow of doubt, that I would make it through.

“Ah…aah…uhgg…”

When they first locked me away, I felt scared, panicked, I called out for my brother to save me, and wept for hours. When I no longer had the strength to even cry, I finally began to feel a semblance of peace. I was cold, tired and starved, but I promised myself I would persist. At times, I couldn't hold back the strange groaning sounds that slipped out. And yet, and yet…

“Uu…aah…”

The mucous membranes in my parched throat dried out, making it painful to even draw a breath. I was so thirsty that spots began to fill my vision.

I told myself to keep going.

“Aah…”

My fingers, devoid of nearly all their strength, clawed at the ground. There was a strange design painted across the floor. Mother said it was a summoning circle that would bring forth Oshisha-sama.

I scratched at the circle, almost as if I were tracing the lines.

In order to earn Oshisha-sama's favour, it is imperative that one must be near death. Oshisha-sama won’t come otherwise, they say.

“Does...Oshisha-sama like it when...people are on their deathbed…?” 

My voice was hoarse. It didn’t sound like it belonged to me. It reminded me of the wailing ghosts I saw around town, the ones that had suffered miserable deaths.

I thought it was a little strange that Oshisha-sama liked people on the drink of death. He is an angel, after all. I had always imagined angels as beings that saved those in need.

“Ah, ah…aah…”

Even so, Oshisha-sama was going to save me from this pain. He and I would form a bond and then…and then…uhm…?

My head was screaming. I struggled to form a coherent thought. I was trying my hardest not to fall asleep, but my consciousness began to slip away from me. My body was trying to make me rest, but I couldn't. It was the one thing I couldn't let happen.

I leaned against the wall in an attempt to keep myself awake but with no strength left in my frail neck, my head slumped backwards.

My eyes landed on the sole tiny window in my cell, the only thing that allowed light to seep through. 

The dark, cloudy sky beyond it seemed to go on forever.

“...”

They say that the family my brother and I were born into—the Shiramitsu family—have been possessed by angels for generations.

Many of their children showed a sense for the paranormal and possessed clairvoyance, psychic abilities and a talent for divination…they used these powers to provide aid to others and steadily amassed a following of believers.  Mother and Grandfather say that our family is famed within those areas.

“It is the duty of the Shiramitsu family…to help people.”

Just as they had told me, I too had psychic abilities. I could see ghosts and phantoms and even speak with them if they were open to it.

Ani-sama doesn’t have any psychic power…I must have hogged it all to myself while we were in Mother’s tummy.

Instead, all the masculinity and coolness that I lack went to him. Ani-sama has always been my very own shining hero…

“...”

My thoughts were a scattered mess and it began to feel like I may never again be the way I once was.

Maybe I really had been just a step away from reaching my limit. I could feel unconsciousness creeping up the longer I remained in that state. Grandfather warned me not to fall asleep, but what fate would I meet if I happened to faint?

Would I become a failure if I lost consciousness? Would they be mad at me?

No, no, I’m not afraid of anyone being upset with me. What scares me is failing and not being able to become a source of help for everyone.

I have to keep going. I have to do this, for everyone. I have to.

But…but my body, it wants so so desperately to just—

“Toi!”

“...!”

—The sight I saw at that moment…

“Toi, are you okay!?”

The sight beyond that little window—

Before I knew it, the skies had cleared and light began to pour past the glass.

“Ah…”

The shadows cast by the barred window piled onto one another, swallowed by a single silhouette. Backed by the gleaming moonlight, was my brother—

“Toi, Toi…!”

It was as if a new God had just descended onto Earth.

Oh no…what do I do now? I was waiting for Oshisha-sama, but God had shown up ahead of the angel. Maybe I had already died… No, that couldn’t be right.

“Ani…sama…!” I called back.

My brother's face crumpled with guilt. He called my name in a pained voice. Ani-sama was distressed…because of me.

Please, don’t make that face. Don’t feel sad over me. I’m okay.

I wanted to hold him in my arms.  I wanted to assure him everything was okay. I wanted dearly to touch him one more time.

I wanted to take away my brother’s pain, no matter what may happen to me. I wanted to heal his sorrow.

I didn't even need to be the one to do it. Please, someone, anyone—

And then it happened.

“Are you my next host?” a voice echoed in my head.

Part 1 | Part 2

[tightjeansjavi]

Sing me a Lullaby Darlin’

Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: I have no words for what I have created. I am a monster and I blame The Civil Wars for this one. It’s all their fault.

Summary: You soothe Joel’s constant nightmares of his daughter dying, and his fears of losing his younger brother Tommy, by singing him a lullaby.

~word count : 1.5k~

Warnings: so much fucking angst. Literally I have tears streaming down my face from how much angst is in this. Triggering themes of child loss, trauma, depictions of graphic violence taking place in the mind. Dark thoughts, depression, mentions of using alcohol, drugs, sex to cope. Nightmares, emotions, comforting themes, some fluff at the end. (+18) minors dni !!

Song used:

“You Are My Sunshine” cover by The Civil Wars

Joel Miller never knew how to evade his endless nightmares till he met you, his sunshine. For the years after Sarah’s death, Joel suffered day in and day out. He found himself lying awake at night, imagining himself crafting a sledge hammer with his worn, damaged hands. He pictured himself cutting his chest open, right down the middle, and wrenching his broken, bleeding heart from his chest. He would smash his heart over, and over again. Broken sobs eliciting past his lips as he would beg a higher power to make the pain stop. Make his daughters gasps, and screams of anguish cease from his mind. He begged that for every time he would close his eyes, he would no longer see her body tumbling in the dry grass. He would no longer see the blood pooling through her shirt, or her lifeless, cold eyes staring up at him.

He begged, and begged, and begged. No one would listen. There was no higher power to hear his cries, his pleas to make his suffering end. The grief, aguish, and turmoil would continuously crash into him, like waves on a rocky shoreline. He often found himself struggling to breathe, clutching at his chest as tears blurred his vision. He’d let out a wail, punching his fist into the wall, feeling his knuckles split, the skin raw, and bleeding. He’d punch the wall over, and over again. Sometimes, on the worst nights, he’d bite down on his fist to block out his heart wrenching sobs. When his tears were spent, and his voice raw, and broken, He’d wrap his arms around his chest, hugging himself tightly as he would rock back and forth, his mouth open, with no sound coming out, just a wheeze of a struggled breath.

He’d find himself turning to copious amounts of drugs, and alcohol. Whatever he could fucking get his hands on. He’d risk his life smuggling this shit into the QZ because it was the only temporary solution to numb his heart, and his mind. When the drugs and alcohol would wear out, he’d turn to sex. Burying himself into a body felt good in the moment. That high would soon pass and leave him in his filth. Joel Miller believed that there was nothing in this fucking god forsaken, shit-hole world that could ever keep his nightmares at bay. Then he met you, and everything changed.

Now, when he closed his eyes at night, he was met with peace. There were no screams, no bullets, no images of his daughter’s tumbling body. There was no blood, no lifeless cold eyes looking up at him. Now all he could see was you. You’d hold each other every night, legs and hearts entwined. Breaths in sync and heart beats slow, steady, calm. You had pacified his nightmares, drove them deep down into the cold dark earth. You soothed this broken man with soft touches and words of love.

Joel nearly lost you one Spring. You nearly bled out in his arms but he would be damned if he’d lose you too. He couldn’t possibly fathom it. He had the chance to save you and he fucking took that opportunity swiftly. He vowed to never leave your side, and you kept his words like an oath. Deep in the caverns of your chest, where your heart laid, beating for him.

Joel’s younger brother Tommy not responding to his radio calls is what finally broke him. The nightmares had clawed their way out from the depths that you had sent them. They tore up the dirt, the flowers that you had implanted into his soul were shredded to nothing. They turned to fucking dust as the darkness encased around his heart once more. You spent years sewing your man back together. Since that day, the moment you met him, you were subconsciously healing him. Needle and thread in hand, you had taken the bits and pieces of his heart that were left and sewed them back together. The pieces, and fragments that were missing, were regrown. Stems sprouting and flowers blossoming. You had turned this man’s soul into a garden where he was safe to flourish. All your effort, all your hard work was turning to dust before your very eyes.

You refused to give up on him when he needed you most. Yes, he had grown cruel. Yes, he had fallen back into his old patterns, his old ways. Yes, he didn’t hold you on most nights, but you knew that your Joel was still there, hidden behind a vast expanse of thick, putrid thorns.

You’d poison yourself over and over if it meant that you’d get him back. Joel was too deeply entwined into your soul for you to not care. When he was suffering, you suffered with him.

So when your sunshine awoke one night in a cold sweat, calling for his daughter, as he looked around in a frantic state. His eyes were wide, his body trembling, hands shaking.

He kept sobbing Sarah’s name as you were knocked out of your dreamless state. You heard his sobs as you sat up, slowly bringing your arms around his shaking form, your touch was gentle, tender.

“Joel. Hey, Joel. Baby, you’re okay. You’re safe, I'm right here. I have you.” You spoke softly, your tone soothing and low, afraid to startle him anymore than he already was.

He was clawing for you immediately, his hands grasping your arms tightly as you held him. His sobs continued to rake over his body, leaving him a blubbering mess.

“Darlin,’ she–she��Sarah–my baby girl!” He gasped, struggling to breathe as you slowly slid your hands under his shirt, rubbing soothing circles into his sweat soaked skin.

“You’re safe Joel. You’re safe. I’ve got you baby and I'm not letting go.”

“They took her from me–they fuckin’ ripped her from my fuckin’ arms!” He wailed.

“Joel, shhh. Baby, I know. I’m so sorry.” You had gently grabbed his face in your hands. He had tears streaming down his face. They were hot and heavy tears, flowing like a river. His vision was blurred as he looked at you.

“Why’d they fuckin’ take her from me. Why? My baby girl..and Tommy. Where’s Tommy?”

You had kissed away his free falling tears. Your lips were soft on his skin as his eyelashes fluttered shut, his grip on your arms loosened as you soothed him.

You couldn’t stomach giving him the answer as to why the government shot his baby girl. You couldn’t give him the answer because he already knew why; you both did.

“Joel, what can I do to help you? Please, tell me. I’ll do anything for you baby. I can’t stand to see you suffer like this every night. It fucking tears me up inside. What can I do to make it go away? There must be something–”

He let out a broken chuckle because you, his sweet girl shouldn’t have to deal with him. Not when he was a shell of the man you once knew.

“Sing me a lullaby, darlin. Sing to me, sweet girl please.” He rasped while you gently cradled him against your chest.

He was clutching your shirt between his fists, his breathing jagged as his tears continued to flow.

It was a simple request for you to sing to him. You’d do anything for this man that you had learned to love so deeply, so unselfishly, so openly.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.” You began to softly sing to him, your own tears beginning to stream down your cheeks, while you threaded your fingers through his sweaty hair, gently scratching his scalp.

Joel’s eyes slowly fluttered shut as he listened to your soothing voice. He could hear your heartbeat against his ear, where his tear stained cheek rested against your chest.

“The other night dear, as I lay sleeping. I dreamed I held you in my arms. When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken so I hung my head and cried.”

You could feel his breathing grow steady, his body went slack in your arms as you continued to cradle him.

“You have such a pretty voice, darlin’” You heard him whisper. “So pretty, so sweet.”

You glanced down at his face, casted by the soft moonlight. For a brief moment, you saw his features soften. The permanent furrow between his brows ceased to exist. You couldn’t help but admire him in these tender moments. Seeing him in a peaceful state for once. The thorns that were wrapped tightly around his heart, building a thick poisonous wall, were rotting away and being replaced with new green stems that would soon bloom again. The thorns would be replaced with flowers, beautiful, pure, flowers.

You brushed your fingers against his forehead, sweeping away a stray, sweaty curl as you leaned down and whispered, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. I won’t let them take my sunshine away..”

“I promise.” You whispered.

You held Joel in your warm embrace for the rest of the night. He did not have another nightmare, with you by his side. You protected him from the darkness that once consumed him entirely. You were his sunshine, and he was yours.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Demon!Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Chapter 11

Warnings: murder, general death, Azriel, gore

Word Count: 3,549

-Part 10-

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It’s been simmering away long before he turned you. Maybe even before he met you. Bubbling and festering deep in the marrow of your bones, suppressed and denied over and over until it became something awful and ugly, untameable and unstoppable once it’s leash finally snapped. Wreaking devastation with wide-grinning teeth, talons that snicker-snack through flesh, crushing corpses beneath its leather covered paws.

You can feel it cracking open an eye, a slimy, translucent film beneath its lid, opening blearily, fully fledged at last, and ready to wreak havoc on everything around it.

And you know just the place to begin your destruction, how to set the doomsday in motion.

The twisted fucker that got you into this situation in the first place.

—————

It’s been a long time coming, this selfish sense of justice that you need to bring.

How many other women and innocents have they murdered in the name of mild boredom. The devil makes work for the idle, and their palms are softer than cotton. Easier to shred through.

Night hasn’t even fallen when you crawl up the walls of the palace, built in the centre of the citadel, able to see the priestess’ temple from the high crenellations. In a fleeting thought, you wonder what she’d think of your actions, if she’d condemn them or turn a blind eye for the sake of your own suffering. But she won’t be spared either—she should have warned you. Not sat you down over a cup of tea and given out her own simpering story.

Your claws hook over the balcony, effortlessly hauling yourself into the boy-king’s chambers. Take in the gaudy and lavish spread, undeserved opulence at its finest, long past the line of decadence. Nobody needs a golden chamber pot beneath their bed, no matter how well they eat.

Heightened senses pick up the beat of two hearts outside the door, filthily-paid guards positioned at the entrance, and your forked tongue flickers out over dark, rubbery lips. Drool drips onto the floor, but you pay it no mind, snaking silently across the marble before flinging the doors from their hinges. Blood splatters and bone splinters beneath the force, glittering talons making a wretched mess of the spurting bodies, unthreading sinew as you crush their lungs beneath your paw, the steel of their weapons nothing against the raw hide coating leathery limbs. At your back, your tails thrashes, gouging slashes in the stone as spikes slice through marble, putting breaks in the castle that nearly broke you.

Your nostrils flare, picking up the scent of someone young, blood too sour to enjoy laced with the overripe flavour of age. The sag of skin practically a flavour in and of itself as you skitter down the hallway, scrambling up the walls, clambering along the ceiling as you spot a familiar pathway, ones you’d been forced up when you were human. A human woman with bare feet and scrappy clothing, still shot through with remnants of sickness.

The great hall looms before you, and your pulse spikes, screaming for you to loose hell on the people within. Your back arches in a stretch, easing your muscles into working condition, warmed from the earlier blood-bath.

With a flick of your great, thrashing tail, the massive doors cave in, being flung from the frame in a crash of dust and stone. It doesn’t even take a minute before the guards within are splattered upon the pristine walls, dripping blood and viscera onto pretty, marble floors. Staining the stained glass red.

The boy-king screams, a high pitched wail that grates on your ears as you slither through the hall, only to come to a stop at the foot of the dais, watching as an acrid smelling liquid drips from the too-large throne where he’s cowering. Blacked-out eyes flick through the room, but the advisor is no where to be found, fury lighting you ablaze, rage rippling through your soul as magic pulses through the room, shattering the glass, sending bloody fragments raining down on the gardens below.

You hardly feel his tiny bones crack beneath your palm, as simple as squashing a fly—the difference being you’d feel bad about the latter, stealing food from the spider. Hot flesh is crushed into the floor, leaving a mushy pile of indiscernible parts dripping from the throne, iron mixing with ammonia.

Again your nostrils flare, heart pounding with bloodlust as you search for the man who’d sentenced you. Who’d been responsible for casting you out into that forest, beyond reason.

A broken cry sounds from the entrance, and you whip around, rubbery maw sharpening into a grin as you find your meal, held upon narrow, shaky legs that wouldn’t make more than a mouthful. His eyes are round and terror-filled as they take in the hell-beast you’ve become.

Shadows writhe at your wings, crowing them in a corona of darkness, tail thrashing and tearing at stone.

The advisor stumbles back on doddery old legs, stumbling and tripping as he falls on his bony behind, hands scrambling as he frantically pushes back from you, like a baby trying to crawl away. Razor-sharp teeth glitter, kept clean and pristine, waiting to be used.

You prowl forward, excited to take your time stripping his skin from his skeleton, feeling it peel from his flesh. Claws click on the marble floor, ticking like the second hand of a clock as you revel in the rising scent of his terror, so many wonders afforded to you with this new body.

His mouth opens in soundless scream, a wet gasp rasps from dry, old lips, hot breath wheezing from sinking lungs.

You press your paw over his chest, pinning him to the ground as his skeletal hands weakly rub at your fingers, trying to remove the great things from spearing him entirely as they curl into his back, tearing at sagging muscle. You wish you could gloat, could tell him who you are, see if he remembers what he did to you. See if he remembers being the one to suggest leaving you to the devil you’d sold your heart to in order to be cured from the plague.

His eyes are wide and glassy…the old man with already fading hair and wrinkles that swallow his eyes beneath flaps of loose skin.

The memories pour in, the rope biting into your wrists, weakness coating your muscles…eyes as black as the devils. The look alone had been enough to have nausea roiling in your stomach, threatening to upend it right there on the marble floor you’d been shoved to. Eyes that had swallowed you whole—black like you’d never seen black. Dark as pitch.

(alarmingly void, more than anyone’s have any right to be…and lacking in definition. Just one solid layer glazing across the obsidian coloured surface. Depthless.)

Terror-stricken blue eyes stare up at you, watery and weak as they strain and bulge beneath the pressure on his chest.

Ice glazes through your veins, blood freezing over just as a wave of pure power slams into you, throwing you back through the hall.

Your head cracks back against the marble, spine aching from the shockwave and you slide down onto the floor, collapsing behind the throne before slithering back to your feet, snaking down the dais. Eyes locking with cocoa.

There’s a brief moment of sorrow that flashes. It’s hardly noticeable, and passes before you can fully grasp it, but it’s enough for her to slip in.

Elain raises her thyrsus, knocking its base against the floor, a thrumming wave of power gathering in a shield as your talons clack against the stone, warily prowling forward, mouth watering to sink into his flesh. Cocoa flicks through the room, finally taking in the carnage—the blood splatters, and splintered fragments of bone dripping from the dais you’re standing on. The warped and crushed corpse of the young king.

“What have you become?” She breathes vehemently, delicate brow narrowing over cold eyes, shields rising up and locking down, sceptre spinning in her hand as she sets one foot before her, the other behind at five o’clock, pointed outward. A snarl rips from your chest, watching as she takes up a defensive position between you and the exit—between you and the rasping advisor. Between you and your meal.

Before you can think properly, you’re darting forward, faster than a shadow, shooting across the floor as talons crack down on her shield of magic, the staff appearing as a way from her to convert her power into a weapon. Burning rage pounds through your skull, yearning to obliterate as magic gathers at your fingertips, rubbery lips stretching into a grin when it coats your claws, slicing through her barrier.

She’s thrown back in the room, robes skidding through cooling pools of blood until she reaches the threshold of the caved-in doors. Glee beats in your chest as you skitter forward, the sound of leather stretching as your grin widens, showcasing gleaming rows of razor-sharp teeth, ready to rip and shred to your pleasure. The staff has been knocked from her tender hand, and she grapples for it as you scuttle closer, speeding up the closer you get until darkness is building at your back and your wings are flared in a display of dominance, keeping her pinned to the bloody marble with shadows.

Incisors glitter in the light as your jaws part above her, preparing to bite down and end when steel wreathed in fire slides beneath your throat. “Step away from her.”

Eyes flick up, jaw locking as stinging, searing pain lances down your right collar bone, bleeding into your shoulder as your gaze locks with a whirring, mechanical eye. Golden and russet narrows with unforgiving fury, glowing like the flames from a forge as the blistering steel raises in warning before pulling back. Fire sparks across the floor, aiming for your limbs to burn you alive as he spins, making to slice the blade across your throat.

Darkness flares out of nowhere, colliding with rampant and furious fire, and you’re thrown back as another figure joins the fray. One that’s packed with deadly power, great wings wreathing his back as he looms over Lucien.

“Step aside, Azriel,” the male hisses, flame licking up the walls, heat sweltering.

“Put the blade away, and I’ll consider letting you keep your other eye,” he drawls lowly, syllables dragging like gravel from his throat. Fury gathers in the room, settling like oil over your skin, so heavy and greasy you can feel it practically weighing you down.

“Look around,” Lucien snarls, flame deepening with sizzling rage, held in check by a leash of thread. “Your mate has killed dozens of humans, as well as trying to murder mine.” His power flares on that last word, as if instinct is roaring at him to protect but he’s restraining it. “Put. Her. Down.”

Even through your haze of anger, the words clang through, reverberating across leathery skin, hackles raising at the threat.

Azriel shifts on his four great paws, wings flaring menacingly as a snarl rips from his throat, settling between you and the male. “You look after yours and I’ll look after mine,” he growls, darkness taunting flame, building steadily at his back.

A little further behind Lucien, Elain shakily pushes up from the pool of blood, a trembling, pale hand reaching for her staff, brimming with a pale light. With a flick of her wrist, the magic flares, beaming like a spear for the unprotected underside of his throat. Faster than thought, faster than instinct, you’ve shot across the marble, skittering beneath his front left paw, jaws snapping viciously as your own power grates against Elain’s before sending it careening off, gouging marble from the crumbling castle.

Tension ripples as the four of you are locked in on one another, senses keyed to the slightest movement, waiting for the coil to snap so the others can be torn to shreds.

The room explodes in glittering black, razor sharp talons clicking skittishly as power splits your two sides apart, blasting a wall of physical adamant between you, just translucent enough for Elain and Lucien’s figures to be wrought in shadow.

Azriel’s body lowers, both in a bow and in a circle of protection, paw shifting forward to keep you tucked beneath him. Instinctively you follow, curling back into his power, tail pulled tight—ready to lash out.

The darkness simmers away, revealing the tall, powerfully hewn figure of a male. Wickedness practically drips from his finery, raven-black hair pushed neatly back from his brow as sharp violet eyes settle coldly over the scene. A wave of dread ices across your skin, a weight dropping in your belly as you take in the immense power that’s rolling from his shoulders—a god.

Azriel doesn’t so much as breathe different, but his shadows gather beneath you, thick and lush like a rug of black wool, drawing his magic in closer as a circle of protection. A suggestion of defence.

“Azriel.”

The voice is deep and icy, dripping with malice, and the spines at your back prickle. Your own magic weaves through with his shadow, hiding in plain sight but ready to spring free as fear pools in your stomach.

Violet flicks through the room, taking in the splatters of blood, dripping viscera, then his gaze locks with yours. It’s a new kind of fear, you realise, being singled out by a being so much greater than you are, and you shrink away, pushing back into the protective power of the male above you. His stance broadens, covering more of you as great paws settle further apart, braced for sudden movement.

“What happened here?” The god doesn’t remove his attention from Azriel, but it’s clear the question is not addressed to him. The shadowy wall fades entirely, and your gaze shifts to the two figures opposing you, Elain having gotten to her feet, robes soaked in blood, staff gripped dismally in her hand with grim determination.

“Your brother let his mate run free,” Lucien replies lowly, tone like gravel—lined with restraint. “She tried to kill Elain.” Fire brightens before again banking, as if being soothed by the reminder of her presence at his side. Sharp, violet eyes once again cut to you, “is that right?”

You manage a quiet snarl, fear drumming in your pulse, paws shifting like a great cat preparing to pounce. Muscle coils tight with terror at being faced with the god, having his attention settle like ice over skin, preparing to rip away. His sharp eyes narrow on you, and you pull your magic tighter.

Is that right? He repeats, and you recoil into Azriel’s chest, flinching as the god’s voice echoes through your mind. Through your peripherals you can see as a frail body starts to life, gangly limbs trying to heave up his torso as the king’s advisor return to consciousness. Once again you shift on your paws, hissing viciously at the trembling man, blood and vomit coating his front as he takes in the four beasts before him. Five.

“She wouldn’t kill Elain,” Azriel growls from above you, shifting his paw to block your line of sight from the advisor. “I wasn’t asking you,” your god replies coldly, attention pinning you to the ground as violet bores into you. “She won’t be able to speak yet,” Azriel bites out, power thrumming at your paws, curling up your arms, brushing at the leathery hide you’ve been coated in. “She changed less than a week ago.”

“Then why weren’t you watching her?” Lucien growls sharply, eyes blazing.

The god casts a warning glance at the fiery male, but does no more than that, evidently also seeking an answer.

Azriel shifts above you, and you can feel the oiled gears of his mind clicking effortlessly, spinning his information into a silky web. “I was,” he growls, gaze turning to the god appealingly. “You know as well as I do everything is well warded. The only way she could have escaped is if someone let her out.”

“If someone let her out?” Lucien echoes disbelievingly. “Those wards are practically impenetrable. It would be impossible to unlock them from the outside.”

“Lucien’s correct,” the god drawls icily, gaze drifting to Azriel’s, warning glittering in their depths. A timer counting down as his patience begins to fray, the metallic scent heavy in the air. Azriel makes no obvious moves, but you can feel his frustration curving around your bones, wrapping you tight to him.

It seems the god senses his hesitance, pouncing on the second of indecisiveness. “Don’t try and hide things from me,” he bites out coldly, power weighing heavily in the air, so intense it sets your iron stomach churning.

A muscle feathers in Azriel’s jaw, before charcoal eyes raise to violet. “She wasn’t going to make it,” he growls lowly, resentment coating his tongue. “Elain can attest to that.”

Violet flicks to hardened cocoa expectantly, but the priestess is already watching you, peering beneath a strained brow. Her jaw is tight, but she gives a curt nod, fingers still bone white around her staff. “That’s true. We both saw her before,” she answers, gaze briefly meeting Lucien’s. “She was feverish and already going into delirium. It’s unlikely she was going to survive.”

The god’s attention returns to Azriel, the edges of his irises slightly thawed but remaining hard.

“She was going to die,” Azriel repeats, words pulled taut as they leave his tongue. “She had to go through the Pit, or she wouldn’t have survived.” The three figures stiffen preternaturally, colour draining as something cold and awful settles uneasily across the room.

“The wards were likely weakened from residual magic,” he grits out, still keeping you wrapped beneath his shadows, as if trying to keep you hidden from them. “Enough for someone to get through.” You press a little closer into the lines of his body, tension beginning to drip away, releasing its hold on your heart. “They’d already tried to take her once. They thought this would be their chance to get back at me.” Shadows writhe across the marble floor, flaring with concealed rage, fury manifesting in his power.

“You think your brothers caused this?” The god asks slowly, eyes once again touring the room, filled with drying gore. Azriel nods, and you begin pulling slowly at your magic, gathering it close to your skin, preparing to jump.

Tension and fear knots your stomach, twisting in vicious carvings as you keep yourself coiled tight beneath the solid frame of Azriel’s form, keeping pressed tight.

Cold violet flicks over the squashed carcass of the young king, distaste passing through his features. “You’re telling me your brothers created a gap in your wards, and she managed to do all this before you noticed?” The god drawls skeptically, voice clean-cut like glass. Azriel’s talons pierce the marble floor. “She went through the Pit,” he repeats lowly, “she’s much stronger than—”

The advisor starts in your peripherals, body jerking to life as the contents of his stomach is heaved upon the floor.

Your tail cracks like a whip, coil snapping free, splattering pieces of flesh against the already blood-caked windows.

Body obliterated in the blink of an eye, before curling back tight to your paws.

Silence buzzes across the room, four pairs of wide eyes watching as bits of intestine drip from the sill, pooling in a gouged-out puddle in the floor. Almost immediately Azriel’s own tail is curling around you comfortingly, shadows stroking at your sides as if to lull you back into a state of ease, soothing the wild drum of your heartbeat, tail twining with your own.

Cold power raises from the floor, darkness thrumming in warning as tension buzzes in your ears, having them flatten against your head.

“How much blood did you give her?” The god’s tone puts fractures into your bones, like rock grinding against rock, grating on your soul.

“As much as she would take,” Azriel replies quietly, and you feel his attention brushing affectionately over your leathery skin. Silence reigns heavily, stretching out as you huddle back into his power, wanting to escape from the immense power of the god.

“You did what?” Elain breathes, eyes wide as she stares at Azriel, grip tightening on her sceptre. She seems to be the only one of the three capable of formulating a response, something blazing in her eyes. “She was going to die, Elain,” he snarls protectively, body settling closer to you. “Because you neglected her,” she hisses, brown eyes cold and hard as they bore into the male. “You plucked her up out of her life, you refused to properly care for her, you were the one who refused to teach her anything because she wasn’t what you wanted.”

Azriel’s snarl is like thunder breaking across the heavens, marble trembling beneath your claws, and you settle against the sound.

Yet it doesn’t seem to bother the priestess.

“If she was the one who tore all these people to shreds,” she breathes, pale blue light blazing from her staff. “It is because you put that anger into her.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut

[loveinhawkins]

connected to this

Sometime during the bat-proofing of his Upside Down trailer, Eddie’s hit with a wave of vertigo so bad his ears ring.

He has to stop in his tracks, clinging onto the chain-link fence with one hand. He lets his head hang low until the dizziness passes. Breathes slowly.

At first he thinks the faint thudding noise is just an after-effect, but then he glances up to see Dustin scrambling onto the trailer roof.

“What’re you doing?” Eddie asks blankly. “We’re not going up there until—”

He breaks off at the look Dustin gives him over his shoulder—eyes bright with a frenzied determination.

“We’ve gotta block the vents,” Dustin says.

There’s something… off with his voice, Eddie thinks. He can’t put his finger on it.

“Okay,” he says hesitantly. “Good thinking, man.”

He joins Dustin on the roof, just watches him for a couple seconds, perplexed: he’s working so fast.

Too fast.

Eddie’s heart jumps into his throat when Dustin loses his footing; he yanks him back from the edge in a flash, forces out a chuckle, “Woah, hey, take it easy. We’ve got plenty of time.”

Dustin doesn’t look at him, doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s heard.

But he’s holding onto Eddie’s wrist so tightly Eddie swears his bones creak.

The ‘concert’ goes fine—Dustin delivers his countdown with precision, but his eyes always slide to a point that’s just slightly to the left of where Eddie actually is.

What the hell did I do? Eddie thinks.

He can’t come up with an answer.

“One!” Dustin bellows, and they’re off; Eddie makes sure Dustin’s always in front of him, feels like their feet barely touch the ground…

And then they’re inside.

We’ve made it.

Eddie sinks against a wall, breathless. “H-holy shit—”

“Shh!”

Dustin’s standing, one hand up. Listening intently.

The sheer noise of the bats on the roof is awful—scratching, clawing, chattering. Like mice in the walls, but a million times worse.

Eddie suffers through thirty seconds of not talking before it bursts out of him, and maybe it’s tempting fate, but he can’t help it, the panicked urge to voice it is too great, “I think—think everything’s holding. They’re…” He swallows. “They’re not gonna get in.”

Dustin nods faintly.

But there’s a rigidness to him that sets the hairs on the back of Eddie’s neck on end. He looks like a hound on the scent. Ready to bolt.

“Hey, um…” Eddie stands and nods up to the Gate meaningfully. “Think we’ve done all we can, Henderson. We were good decoys, and… uh, no deviations, remember?”

Dustin laughs. It’s a terrible noise; Eddie’s never heard him sound bitter before.

“Oh, now you want to go,” he says with uncharacteristic venom—but Eddie knows all too well how that can mask a deep, unimaginable terror.

Eddie opens his mouth—intending to reassure, to say something, anything—before he realises that above them, it’s all gone quiet.

Dustin comes to the same discovery a millisecond after he does. “What’s…” He trails off and finally looks Eddie right in the eyes.

He sprints to the front door, pulls it open.

Eddie curses. “Are you insane? Get back, shut the—”

But the only thing that comes through the doorway is the chill of The Upside Down.

A rumble of thunder. The bats screech, but it sounds like…

“They’re leaving,” Dustin says numbly. “Why are they leaving?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Eddie says, even though he feels sick to his stomach. “That’s not for us to—hey! Dustin, don’t!”

He lunges forward, but he’s not quick enough; Dustin slips right through his fingers, and Eddie watches in horror as he tears across the trailer park, and Eddie follows, of course he does, but he’s always a step behind, always too late to help—

The bats grow louder and louder. Lightning illuminates them, a monstrous cloud in the sky: they’re circling up ahead, and it makes Eddie think of vultures and carrion.

And he sees…

Dustin lets out this wail, a painful keen; Eddie feels it reverberate inside his chest, almost as if it comes from him too.

He catches up (too late, too late), and suddenly he is Wayne, pulling a child into his arms, urging brokenly, “Don’t look, don’t look,” even though when told that any kid’s first instinct is to—

“Let me go!” The scream sounds like it’s tearing Dustin’s throat, splitting him in two. A grief too much to hold. “Let me go, you asshole—Steve! Steve, please.”

“D-Dustin. You can’t help, he’s—” Eddie’s eyes burn. “He’s beyond…”

One solitary chime.

Eddie shudders, almost laughs—because if there was to be a vision designed to torment him, surely it would be this one; God, he’ll take it, he’ll take anything so long as it meant—

But Dustin freezes in his arms, and Eddie knows that he can see the clock, too.

With a gut-wrenching cry, Dustin fights to break away again.

“Don’t,” Eddie repeats, but it’s no use; Dustin hits him right in the jaw.

He falls to the ground, but the pain is nothing to the tug he suddenly feels in the back of his mind; he thinks of when Steve whispered, “He's here. Henderson. That little shit, he's here. He's like… He's in the walls or something. Just listen,” and Eddie could only stare in bewilderment, because some things are just impossible, aren’t they?

Aren’t they?

Eddie pushes himself up with his hands.

Dustin’s not running towards Steve.

He’s running towards the clock.

Until… he isn’t. He just stops, halfway to it. He looks over his shoulder, looks back at Eddie with heartbreaking uncertainty.

“I can—I can do it, right?”

It shouldn’t make sense—it doesn’t make sense, but Eddie inexplicably finds his mouth opening.

As if from somewhere deep within, he says, “Sure you can.” He doesn’t understand where the words are coming from, is just abruptly certain that he believes them with all his heart. “I know you can.”

Dustin takes a deep breath. He nods.

Runs.

Eddie watches him go—he doesn’t look away, not until the world is lit up, a burning white, and he simply can’t do it anymore.

[kkl1nch0r]

title: woes of an immortal (blade x gn!reader)

angst. this is angst guys. i was feeling emo. please don't come for my throat if your soul is shattered like mine was when I typed in the last words LOL!

-------

Since when did once an abomination seek and find its inner beauty?

Since when did a monster find their claws worthy and able to cradle the body of their dead love gently?

Since when did a beast, its fangs eternally stained with the slaughterous voices of its sin, bound and sliced cleanly from its vices, learn to find itself worthy of affection?

Blade was the first to be.

Once his weary eyes, deprived of desire, gazed into yours– the savage tamed by the saint– everything prior to his misery (as well the whole of his suffering) had been snuffed out. Much like the blowing out of a candle with its constant need to burn, all there was left was the stub of wax. Unhealed scars, bleeding wounds, a wailing soul.

I’ve changed, repeated the immortal abomination. I’ve changed.

You had held his cold cheek firmly and told him things you alone cannot remember– only a man who had lived so mundanely could recall the very words you had uttered.

But at the merciless hands of death, who can blame for one to forget? Even those who have lived with such purpose and ambition cannot remember every word they have spoken on their deathbed.

Your deathbed was his lap, your pillows were his trembling hands, and your last breath was just as shaking as his. Your vision faded, coming into focus to see blades ugly ass eye sigh this is shit

I bring misery, he says, his voice sounding like a cry heard from the other side of a wall. I have brought this upon you.

“Do not blame yourself,” you whisper, and he begins to cry– it's a mourning howl. He’s wailing; there are no signs of him stopping, as his tears come down upon your face like rain. A scarred, quivering hand clutches yours, and your heart breaks– as much as you wish to squeeze back reassuringly, there is no strength left in your body to reciprocate his gesture. No more energy to dispel his worries.

Blade tires himself out by crying; he lets out a choked sob, having lamented so hard his voice is broken, scattered like his essence. He had been begging for death just then; why did he wish for life now?

“Blade,” you whisper weakly, and it brings another wave of sobs. Blade doesn’t know he torments you with his sorrow. You lie in his arms helplessly as the man strangles himself with his cries.

Oh, it sounds so sad. So terrible, to know that you are about to pass on and he, immortal as he is, can do nothing about it– can do nothing about his death, nor yours, and can only watch as time flies by; to wait for a person who will never come back, nobody to answer his calls. Nobody to return to; nobody to look for in the bustling crowds of the Xianzhou.

Nobody to confide in, love, protect– Blade brings your hand to his lips– a gentle kiss placed on your knuckles as you manage a weak smile, lifting your hand to hold his cheek. He so desperately presses into your touch, tears trickling down his cheeks, barely able to hold back his grieving cries.

“You…” Swallowing thickly, you try to form a coherent sentence. “You haven’t changed.”

Not one bit? Blade asks sadly, pressing his lips against the palm of your hand. The shake of your head answers him, and Blade breathes in deeply, but it hitches, and he shakes with an effort to control his silent crying.

“Not one bit,” You reply with effort, and it's surprising how such a simple phrase seems to take the breath from you. Blade nods, and you exhale resignedly, bits of the world blurring into one. They say death is peaceful, but the man looking at you tells you otherwise.

“Remember me,” You say finally, and the last fragmented vision of Blade’s face blurs into nothing. Your body scatters, fading to ashes of what remains:

You are the ghost of a memory– sometimes Blade will see your figure standing in the midst of a parting crowd– there are times when you are there and moments when you aren’t. As Blade gazes at his empty, bloody hands, he begins to wonder if you were merely a fleeting dream.

But there is nothing he can do to change about it. And so his piercing wail reaches the sky, the rumble of thunder in the rushing of gray clouds, the rain purging the very essence of what made up just a fraction of his life.

Never has Blade felt so insignificant, as he recalls the words you had whispered once before.

I’ve changed, he’d repeat. I’ve changed.

You are just the same, you had said. When one’s life changes, the soul remains as is. You are better now– better, but just the same.

Blade kneels in the dirt.

Just the very same, Blade thinks, but without you, I feel truly different.

[greetingfromthedead]

Mayfly of Love (Vash x GN!Reader)

Plot: Vash is tormented by a nightmare of losing you and his guilt for causing the Great Fall.

Series: Tempest Wind, but made to work as a oneshot

Pairing: Vash x GN!Reader

Rating: Everyone

Tags: no use of "y/n", nightmare, angst, violence, blood, injuries, death, worry, hurt / comfort, tenderness, cuddling

Word count: 1.8k

Author's Note: Another chapter of my large series made into a oneshot cause I am still proud of what I wrote so I am making in accessible to those too who don't want to read the whole thing.

You have been separated from Vash's side as the people pool into the streets. Vash pushes back, trying to reach you; your outstretched hand is snatched away from him as the grasps of the people pull back on you and grab hold of him. The voices are shouting and wailing so loudly that they drown out yours; all Vash sees are your lips moving before you disappear completely. Vash's hand still uselessly reaches out to where he had seen you, but the bodies carry him further away.

"Mayfly!" he shouts out.

"Murderer!" A voice stands out from the crowd, and as he looks for it, he sees a familiar little boy pointing at him. "Murderer!"

"It's all your fault!" More voices become clearer. "You did this! Demon! Devil! Murderer!"

The hands are just grabbing at him, pulling, and pushing him. He is at fault for their suffering; if it wasn't for him, they wouldn't be here fighting for their lives. The children wouldn't be starving, and the citizens wouldn't have to drink dirty water from the next town over just to survive another day. They could live in a better place, in paradise.

"You pave your way with the corpses of our people! You monster!"

The hands get more aggressive as they force him to his knees; he feels them clawing at his skin. Vash accepts his punishment; he can't fight back against all these people like this; he can't hurt them; he has caused too much pain already. He hears the voices cry out, some to God, some to their loved ones. The sky above Vash gets hidden behind the heads of people towering over him. He curls up, covering his head, ready for the onslaught. But he feels teardrops on his skin instead, and as he raises his eyes slowly, he sees the crying faces, blame in their eyes.

"You killed our future! You killed our children and our mothers! You monster! You don't deserve happiness! You don't deserve relief! Nobody loves you! You deserve to suffer!" The cacophony of voices in the crowd speaks as one. He realizes that the hands are letting go, no longer tugging and clawing at him. "You don't even deserve the relief of death!"

Slowly, the people in front of him step back; more and more of them start retreating until a path is created through the crowd. His eyes trail upwards along the ground. He doesn't see the people or their faces; they are just walls of bodies.

"You don't deserve happiness. You don't deserve love." The voices quiet down; they sound like whispers as the last people move aside and reveal a red form on the ground. Vash's eyes refuse to see the truth, but his legs already try to find traction and move him forward. He doesn't even get to stand up properly, staggering towards you. He sees you lying in a pool of blood, your limbs bent unnaturally, and your skin covered in wounds. Vash falls down over your mangled body, his hands reaching out to pull you into his arms, but you are so limp and lifeless that it doesn't feel like you; his arms refuse to believe it could be you. His eyes track along your body, looking for signs that you'll be alright, but the blood continues to trickle out of the wounds, your skin is still broken, and the light in your eyes has gone out.

"Suffer! You deserve to lose everyone! Everything you love shall turn to ashes!" The voices around him keep chanting, and they fill Vash with rage like he has never felt before. This is injustice; you don't deserve to suffer for what he has done. Is this really what people are like? Taking out their anger on others? Part of him wishes he had enough bullets for everyone surrounding him—for everyone who would do something like this to you. It feels like his mercy died with the flame in your eyes. His face twists in a hateful frown.

"Mayfly..." his voice breaks as his forehead gently leans against yours, still bruised and with a gash leading into your hairline, "Come back to me."

He won't kill them. It would destroy both Rem and you; it would betray everything he stands for. But this is nothing but a conscious choice, as the rage flows through him like a river. He lifts his head, and his fingers push your eyes closed. He looks around, but he doesn't see the people anymore; they are just faceless beasts to him. Instead, he focuses on some sheets flapping in the wind, and he gets up, his movements rigid and stiff. He pulls down the white fabric to return to you and wrap you in it, covering your mutilated body with it, to hide you from the eyes of the townsfolk.

"I'll keep you safe till you come back to me. I promise." He whispers gently as his arms scoop you against his chest. Your feet dangle limply as he picks you up, and you feel strangely heavy in his arms; it's not the weight of you but of Vash's guilt. One of your arms slips out of his grasp and hangs loosely out from under the sheet covering the rest of you completely, your face included.

"Suffer, monster!" The voices continue, but they are nearly completely drowned out. Vash starts moving through the people; they part as he moves, a neutral expression on his face, a mask of denial he has forced onto himself.

Come back to me... He keeps thinking, knowing full well how selfish that is of him.

The sheet around you stains with your blood. You just need time. He will give you a hundred years if he has to. He will wait a millennium for you to return. As long as he remembers, you will live. He has to believe that, or he loses himself too.

He faces forward, the people moving to fill the gap behind him again. His steps are forced; only one thought is hammering in his head. Come back to me. The voices are drowned out; they are just background noise like the wind. The wind. It ruffles his hair, strokes his cheeks, and whispers into his ear. The wind blowing through the street whispers his name.

Vash...

He stops in his tracks at the familiar voice and looks around; the people are gone. It's just him in the empty ghost town.

Red...

The same voice swoops past his ear, grabbing the linen from his arms and blowing it up into the sky. He realizes his arms are light, your body has disappeared, and all he finds as he looks down is a singular blue iris in his hand. He twirls it between his fingers as he watches, enchanted.

Love...

The wind whispers again, but this time much closer. It doesn't disappear into the empty desert; its breath lingers for a while longer, and he gets to focus on it. What he sees first is a dark sky dotted with stars, but right in front of him is a silhouette he knows well, breaking that view. As his eyes focus better, his hand reaches out. He feels your warm, soft skin under his hand as his palm finds your face.

"Mayfly," he exhales with relief. "You came back to me."

"I would always come back to you," you say with slight confusion in your voice. You hadn't left; you laid right beside him under the blankets. Your hand had been resting on his bare chest when you felt his racing heart and erratic breathing. He mumbled something with sorrow in his voice, but you didn't make out any of it. You decided you would relieve him from the probable nightmare by waking him; you had said his name, but that didn't help. You had to sit up and actually shake him lightly, still calling out to him for Vash to open his eyes.

He sits up, supporting his weight on his elbow. He is still holding your face, his gaze so tender that you wonder what he had dreamed about. You see the reflection of the night sky in his eyes. His red coat slips off his shoulder, and he doesn't seem to notice the cold air against his skin. Your hand traces gently over his chest.

"You can go back to sleep. I'll keep watch, both over the desert and over your dreams. No more nightmares. I'll keep them away." You smile at him, gently pushing him back onto the mat. He still looks dazed, as if he saw a ghost.

"Lay with me. Please." His voice is pleading as he relents to your push and lays down.

"Of course," you say gently. You would be with him anyway, but it seems like the nightmare truly shook him. You tuck him in with his blanket before pulling yours a bit more over both of you. You slip under his blanket and settle partially on his chest to keep him warm. Your head rests close to his shoulder, his arms wrap around you, and his cheek snuggles against your hair for a moment before laying back onto the pillow. Silence falls over the desert again as his breathing calms down. All that disturbs the fragile quiet is the buzzing of some worms around you.

"At this point, I don't know what I would do without you." His voice is quiet. "How strange it is. I feel like we were never strangers, not even for a moment. You've always been in my heart; I can't explain it. You are so familiar to me that it has felt less like getting to know you and more like remembering you. Maybe in another time or a different place, we existed together once before, hand in hand.

I never want to lose you; it's selfish of me, but we've already gone over our selfish sides. Still, I don't want to cause you pain either." He stumbles with his words, not finding quite the right ones to describe his thoughts. "I want you to be happy and I've never loved anyone quite like this, so I might not be good at it. But I will try. I will try to keep you safe and make you happy. And I will learn every way to love you the way you deserve. My sweet Mayfly."

"I love you too," you whisper.

Vash has a light and tired smile on his lips. He said what he said because he wanted you to know that you are loved by him; he didn't expect you to say it back. He didn't even expect you to quite pick up on all that he was laying out to you, but of course you would; you have always been able to see right through him.

"I love you." The three simple words he has kept back cross his lips, unable to be contained anymore.

Read more Tempest Wind HERE.

Did you like this? Go check out my MASTERLIST and drop a follow for any and all future projects!

[soapppp]

CW: ABO, extreme past sexual assault and abuse

Soap who assumes that Ghost is just like every other Alpha. He’s arrogant, rude, mocking, so why wouldn’t he be prejudice? What reason was there to assume that Ghost would revel in the idea of taking Soap with or without his choice? He makes fun of Soap for being short, for flirting with others, but the only good thing he does is what he doesn’t do, which is bring up sex in any way. Not heats or ruts, nothing. It’s one of the reason Soap Jose to actually get to know him, allowing his inner Omega to have a ally in him. But never would he trust Ghost with the vulnerability of a heat.

But, then they get stuck in a snow storm. The mission was simple and they’re safe in the well built cabin, but Ghost had expected to be home in time that he could take leave and suffer his rut in peace.

Soap wakes up in the middle of the night to see Ghost on the wall, panting as he holds himself up by his elbows. His mask is off, his shirt clawed open with a few drops of blood sounding like gunshots through the storm.

Soap picks up that Ghost is rutting instantly and feels dead in his spine, knowing the other will want anything he can fuck and that Soap is basically a neon sign in a desert to him. Soap is taking note of where his weapons are, making a plan to survive out in the storm and call for help when he hears it.

A loud, heartbreaking sob.

Ghost was crying. Worse, he was weeping like a child lost from his ma. His cries are deep and pitiful, full wails breaking out like screams and through it Soap can hear him pleading, saying things like,

“Please, stop, I don’t want it!”

“Don’t make me please!”

“Don’t touch me, not again!”

“Please, I want my ma…”

Soaps dread shifts to pure grief as he processes his words, releasing what had to have happened to his Lt.

Soap feels sick nonstop for the next few days as he helps Ghost into the only bedroom and routinely feeds and waters the broken man, listening to him sob without break. He tries hard not to cry when Ghost screams, loud and full of fear, whenever Soap accidentally touches him. He tries to smooth him with calming words, assuring him that Soap won’t make him do a thing and whispering promises of Simon’s Ma coming to see him soon.

Later, when Ghost explained how she had been killed but his rut makes him forget, Soap swears to protect him during his rut whenever he needs.

Not just for Simons sake, but his Ma as well.

[syringesyrup]

Heyya! Can you write something about Dew and angst? Idk about the topic just need to suffer I guess?

well. u asked!

Erm? tw for panic attacks and mention of abuse?? kinda….tread lightly 🧐

So maybe punching Swiss in the face after a heated argument wasn’t his best idea. It wasn’t like the two of them hadn’t gone toe to toe before. It was pretty much the only time they interacted with each other when they weren’t fucking. But the look Swiss had given him when he saw the blood drip from his own nose scared Dew. When it came to fight or flight, Dew rarely chose flight.

There was just something in Swiss’ eyes that made him choose flight this time.

“You fucking cunt.” Swiss growls as he approaches Dew, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and reeling his arm back. His bloodied hand balls into a fist and Dew jolts at the gesture. He yanks himself away from Swiss, clawing at his arm as his knees give out and he stumbles to the ground. He balls in on himself as he scampers away from Swiss and back into the corner. His hands are over his head now, claws digging into his scalp as he tugs at his hair and wraps his thorned tail around himself. He can’t look at Swiss. He just waits until the blow lands on him. He’s sure to put up a fight once Swiss’ fist collides with his body, but right now he just can’t. He can’t find the courage to fight tooth and nail with the multi ghoul.

Dew starts shouting out as he hears Swiss’ heavy footsteps approach him. His body jolts and the spikes of what once were beautiful fins on his body spike up defensively.

“No, no, no!” Dew shouts before a sob breaks through his throat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He tugs hard at his hair. He’s not sure why. “Don’t hit me! Do-don’t! Please don’t fucking hit me! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry!”

He continues to babble and wail as he feels Swiss’ weight on him. He’s going to pick Dew up and slam his head against the wall or choke him or something-

Swiss picks Dew up and that’s when it all shatters. Dew screams, loud and high. He hasn’t called for help like this in so long. Not since they lost Terzo.

“Adiuva me!” Dew shouts as he flails against Swiss. “Let me go! D-don’t!”

He can’t even hear himself anymore. He’s acting like a child right now. Sobbing and flailing and kicking his feet. He feels himself get dragged out from under the stairs and into a room, despite his screams and begging. Swiss really is going to fucking kill him.

He hears the door lock as he’s set onto the floor. It’s cold. Tile. A bathroom, maybe. He curls back in on himself and tries to find the nearest corner to crawl into, but then Swiss is on him again and Dew sobs harder. He can’t make out Swiss’ bloody face through his tears, but he can imagine the murderous look on his face.

His feels thumbs press into his eyes and sobs. Swiss was seriously going to gouge his fucking eyes out for this.

But he doesn’t. He only rubs Dew’s tears away and clears his eyes, his hands impossibly gentle on Dew’s face. Dew freezes as he stares up at Swiss with wide and red eyes. Swiss stares down at him, his eyes shiny and glazed. Dew didn’t think he hit him hard enough to make him cry.

“Baby.” Swiss sobs, sucking in his lip as he looks down at Dew with teary eyes. “I’m not gonna hit you.”

Oh.

“Huh?” Dew mutters shakily. Swiss is still holding his face gently, rubbing circles behind his ears with his fingers. If Dew wasn’t so upset, he’d be purring at the sensation.

“Fuck, Dew.” Swiss sniffs. “What the fuck?”

“I-I’m sorry.” Dew says, knowing he’s done something wrong. Swiss sounds too upset.

“Shut up.” Swiss cries. It makes Dew jolt and Swiss whines at his reaction. “A-are you scared of me?”

Dew stares at him. No. Never. It’s Swiss. It’s fucking Swiss. He’s unserious and funny and charming and unbelievably calming despite Dew constantly banging heads with him.

“Yes.” Dew says. He doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s the truth.

Swiss frowns and backs away, standing up and backing towards the door. Dew whines loud and panicked, scampering on the floor like a kit.

“N-no! I’m not! Don’t leave!” Dew sobs. It gets no reaction from Swiss as he grabs hold of the doorknob, twisting it before it pops and Swiss opens the door. Dew panics. His blood runs cold and he crawls towards Swiss on the floor reaching for him.

“No, no, no! Not again! Ifrit, don’t leave!”

The air runs cold. Colder than Dew could ever handle, even as a fire ghoul. He shoots back against the wall, hands flying to his mouth as new tears drip down his face. Swiss spins his head around so fast that Dew hears his neck crack. Dew stays impossibly still and silent as Swiss stares at him. His eyes never leave Dew as he slowly shuts the door again and locks it.

“What?” Swiss says so quietly Dew can almost barely hear it.

Dew doesn’t speak. He can’t. He can’t fucking speak.

“Oh my fucking God.” Swiss says. Blasphemous.

Dew only shakes his head. He removes his hands from his mouth and shakes them. He’s trying to speak, he swears he is, but nothing is coming out. He’s trying so fucking hard to explain himself. Why can’t he just fucking talk?

Swiss kneels in front of him and grabs hold of him. Dew flails for a moment before Swiss pulls him in against his chest, holding him tightly. Dew resists for a moment longer before melting against Swiss, sobs wrecking though him as he digs his claws into Swiss’ back and holds him. Swiss adjusts the fire ghoul in his lap, letting him sit there instead of on the cold tile. Dew wraps his legs around his waist and squeezes, trying to communicate something. Swiss doesn’t expect him to be able to. That’s fine with him.

“I got you.” Swiss soothes. “You’re safe.” His hand, large and warm even for Dew, presses against Dew’s neck and rubs soothing circles into his skin. He feels Swiss pull his hair back and tie it up out of his face. How strangely thoughtful of him.

Dew whines against Swiss’ shoulder, trying to get a word out. His body still refuses to let him get a single sound out. It’s so frustrating. It’s infuriating.

“Stop trying to talk.” Swiss says. “It’s not gonna make it get better, firefly.” He runs his hand down Dew’s back, soothing and gentle. Dew gives up and gives in. He’d rather be doing this with Aether. Aether has seen this side of him. Hell, Mountain has seen this side of him. But Swiss? This is weird. It’s uncomfortable and new and Dew hates it. He’d rather be anywhere else.

“Can I carry you upstairs?” Swiss asks. “Can I give you a bath?”

Dew stills. That’s awfully kind of him. What’s the catch? What’s he trying to get out of Dew?

“Stop thinking.” Swiss scolds. “I just want to fucking help you, okay?”

Dew doesn’t need help. He can bathe himself. He’s not some stray kit who has bugs who needs someone to clean him and care for him.

“Let me take care of you. Just tonight.” Swiss says, leaning away from Dew slightly. “Please stop denying yourself some fucking kindness already.”

Dew stares at him for a moment before looking down. His brows are knit together tightly before Swiss places his hands on his face and lifts his head. He watches Dew with sad eyes as he sighs, brushing a stray hair out of his face. It falls back immediately, making Swiss smile sadly.

“I’m just gonna run the bath for you and make sure you’re okay. I’m not asking for anything else, Dew.” Swiss reassures. Dew stares at him before slowly nodding. That’s fine. He’s okay with that.

“Okay?” Swiss checks. Dew nods again. Swiss nods back. He lifts Dew up, letting the fire ghoul adjust himself as he presses his face into Swiss’ neck. He really doesn’t want to be seen like this right now.

“There we go.” Swiss sighs. “I got you. I’ll take care of you, baby.”

Dew would really like that.

[worlds-okayest-fag]

THE ULTIMATE SHOWDOWN OF ULTIMATE DESTINY

written for the @favcharacterpoll , kipps vs. kermit round.

(co written by @krash-and-co because I can't write fight scenes, so thanks krash <3)

here's the fic on ao3

From the dark of the night outside, Kipps knew there was no way he would be seen.

The night was dark, his footsteps silent, bag heavy with the weight of chains, duct tape and rope. Lucy and Tony had offered to come with him, but he knew this must be done alone. As he stepped up to the front door, he tested the handle only to see that it was unlocked. 

He was expected, then.

He heard nothing from inside the house, saw no lights on, nor any other indicator that there was someone home, but he knew better. 

Goggles in place over his eyes, he crept inside, careful to keep his rapier from bashing against the doorframe or the walls of the entry hall. He walked down the dark hall until he saw a thin ray of light coming from a door that had been left ajar.

Quill stepped closer to the door, stopping just outside the room, but before he could lay a hand on the dark-painted wood, it creaked open on tarnished hinges, revealing a thin figure sitting behind a warn dark wooden desk.

“So,” Kermit the Frog started, in that high creaky voice. “You're the loser who thinks he could take me down. What makes you think that a nobody like you, Quilliam Kipps, could defeat someone like me, beloved by all old and young, older than time itself?” 

“Oh, you know, maybe the fact that I'm 3 feet taller than you and have a sword.” Kipps replied smoothly, not at all terrified of this glorified sock puppet. He reached behind his back, finding and door handle and locking it. 

It was now or never.

Kipps strode towards Kermit, dropping his bag to the floor, he rolled his shoulders to release the tension built up and slowly drew his rapier from its sheath.

"Ooh, little guy thinks he's tough, huh?" Kermit taunted.

 He stood up in his chair. The shadows on his face made him look eyeless, one smiling, huge, gaping mouth.

Never mind that. Kipps was surely stronger. He had real arms.

"I think I'm gonna kick your non-existent arse--" Kipps took a step forward-- "all the way up to your mouth hole."

Kermit chuckled. "It's nice to have dreams, Quill."

And whatever Kermit said next was lost to Kipps, for at that second the puppet launched himself directly in Kipps' face.

Before anything else was heard, there was the sound of the clang of metal hitting the floor.

His only defense.

Kipps scrambled to free himself. The puppet clung harder. Kipps felt himself hit a desk, a wall, something unidentifiable; he grasped desperately at empty air to find something to hold on to.

He was going to fall.

"We're making such a connection!" said Kermit, voice strained.

"Mhh-mhhh-mrrff!!" said Kipps. He clawed at the muppet clung to his face like a barnacle. "Fight fair!" he managed to get out.

"Oh, Quill." Kermit did not loosen his grip. "You don't fight fair."

"What would Miss Piggy say?" Kipps yelped, shaking his face like a wet dog.

'"Get his ass, mon chéri!"' Kermit made direct eye contact with Kipps while saying this, which was not only oddly unsettling but distracting enough to send both of them sprawling to the floor.

Coincidentally, right next to Kipps' rapier.

He groped at his side, felt the familiar charms and gems.

Held it tight for dear life.

"Hey, uh, what are you doing?" asked Kermit.

"Animal control," Kipps replied snarkily.

Kipps flung his rapier in the air.

It arched beautifully, although barely seen in the dark room. Yet Kermit's eyes widened.

With a soft poke, it's metal tip punctured his back.

"Oh, agony!" Kermit wailed, leaping from Kipps. "Agony, suffering, death! Oh, oh, oh--"

He suddenly froze and gave Kipps a look. He removed the sword from his body.

"I'm full of fucking stuffing, dipshit."

Kipps gave a battle cry and lunged for the frog. He grabbed him by the arms and shook him.

 "If we promise to end this now," he panted, "I won't kill you like I want. If not..." Kipps mimicked cutting his throat in the typical gesture for 'I'm going to murder you.' "And I mean that literally."

"Hey, hey, we aren't animals here!" Kermit stammered frantically. "We didn't agree to--"

Kipps slammed him against the wall. "YES OR NO?" he shouted.

Kermit wavered for a second, and Kipps took this opportunity to pull Kermit from the wall grabbing a tighter hold on Kermit, and he dragged him toward his bag. 

Kipps threw Kermit to the ground, pinning him down under his knee. He unzipped his bag grabbing out the rope and duct tape, and within seconds, Kermit had his mouth taped shut and his limbs tied together.

Kipps shoved Kermit into the bag and was walking back out the door before Kermit could even start screaming again.

Maybe he should have bacon and eggs for breakfast.

[inkwell-and-dagger]

The lab was all Ruaridh knew.

Not even their own name. They were only called "Subject" here, not that. They supposed that should've been a bad thing, to not have a shred of autonomy in this painful, horrid life, but.. to them, it was normal. In fact, they were used to it. The constant whirring of scientific devices helped them sleep at night, and they loved the foreign feeling of paper beneath their fingertips, the gentle sound of pages turning as they delved into another book. That was really the only thing they had to keep themself occupied.

They'd never been outside. The unfortunate test subject was taken early enough that they couldn't remember anything of their old life; only the lab remained in their memory. Sure, they'd read plenty of books about all types of fauna and flora, and a tiny window in their cell confirmed that there was life outside of this mundane laboratory. But the window was far too high up to see anything but the sky, changing from blue, to white, to grey depending on the day. Sometimes, they'd hear a gentle patter of something on the roof of the hidden lab, and it frightened them for a while — but they were used to it now. Apparently, it's called rain.

Surprisingly, they'd never, ever thought of escaping. You would think they would've, considering they spent countless days being injected and experimented on, dragged from room to room in this endless labyrinth run by one, horrible being, to be cut open and examined, assessed meticulously for 'changes'. Sure, it was painful, but they thought that was normal. That all of this was normal. Being chained to the corner of a dark, dingy cell, having to make a little nest in the corner out of blankets to sleep in at night, hardly even knowing what the feeling of sun on his scarred, almond skin would feel like — it was all normal.

Until it wasn't. Until their beliefs began to change.

Until they began to change.

At first, it was just a general aching. Their limbs hurt, and no amount of rest would fix it. Their gums seemed to pulse in pain, to the point they couldn't stand eating for a couple days. Even then, their appetite seemed to diminish, and suddenly they weren't very interested in being fed whatever 'nutritional' bullshit the scientist gave them. Everything hurt; down to their fingers, they felt stiff with discomfort. The scientist would just scribble something down in a notepad when they tried to ask for some kind of relief.

Then, their senses grew more sharp. It was painful, to say the least. They began to see every little crack in the walls of their cell, every speck of dust on the little window, every dried drop of blood still remaining on their loose hospital gown. The poor lab rat could hear everything, from the aggressive rustling of documents and files, piles of pages dedicated to their suffering, from outside of their cell. Their own shallow breaths in sync with their captors. It was sickening.

But nothing would've prepared them for the actual process. The sound of the fragile bones in their frail body cracking and moving, arms elongating and bending backwards until Ruaridh was sure they'd crack. Fingernails growing into claws, fangs replacing their canines. They weren't used to this body — this monster that had replaced them. Their legs were too weak to support their own weight, having to use all four limbs to move around. The tail— oh God, the tail. A searing pain penetrating their senses, a pulsing agony in their lower torso and forehead, until blood coated the floor as new appendages sprouted out of their very skin.

They couldn't help but wail for the first few days after their change. Every movement was agonizing for them, every attempt at talking was met with only small noises. The floor felt too hard under their skin, the hospital gown too itchy for their liking, but they still possessed enough dignity to keep it on.

This wasn't normal, the remaining part of their conscience would scream. It wasn't normal to put an innocent human into this sort of torture, to turn an innocent human into a husk of their former self, a broken monster that would just be thrown out onto the streets. And that was exactly what had happened to them.

The foreign concept of rain pattering steadily down on their skin as they grew accustomed to their new body, they spent months trying to survive on the streets of this new, frightening place. Strange devices and 'vehicles' made them wince as they screeched past, unfamiliar voices and faces staring down at them in disgust or fear. They kept to alleyways, narrow places, just so they wouldn't be seen. The rain wouldn't stop.

Ruaridh couldn't remember the last time they ate. The last time they'd looked into someone's eyes and hadn't felt fear, or shame, or embarrassment. The last time they smiled. The last time they slept peacefully. The last time they walked only on their two feet. The last time they were in a warm, albeit dingy, room. The rain wouldn't stop.

The alley was, what one would call, a home. Sure, it was cramped and dark and sometimes people would pass them and be afraid of this frail, disfigured monster, but it was the only place they had. The only place they felt was even somewhat safe. The rain wouldn't stop.

They were used to the footsteps. Used to the laughing, or the alarmed sounds of fear, or being ignored entirely. But one pair went closer than the others.

The rain stopped. They heard it pattering, but they couldn't feel it on their skin, on their head, soaking their hair and hospital gown until they were a shivering mess. No, they were being covered. An umbrella, perhaps.

Yes, an umbrella.

"You poor thing. Let's get you inside."

° • ^ ° • ^ ° • ^ ° • ^ ° •

just a quick little rundown of my new OC'S lore, Ruaridh Mullen!! I love them so much <33

[aquinnix]

Hermit-a-Day May 27 - Grian

“Don’t look at me like that.” 

“Like you care about me.” 

“Liars!"

Grian threw his fist through the air, striking uselessly at nothing. He continued to flail, tears blurring his vision. Pain erupted up his arm as his fist hit the wall, hard. 

He jerked back, flexing his fingers and wincing at the sting. 

“I’m not pathetic!” 

He was screaming now, his throat raw and torn. He wiped his bleeding knuckles on his sweater before whipping back around and punching the air yet again. 

“I would rather die than do anything with your…” 

Grian cut himself off by tripping over his own feet, landing roughly on his shoulder. He wasn’t bothering with words anymore, screeching a whole host of unintelligible noises as he stared daggers into the ceiling. 

“You’re the ones who don’t deserve any of this you monsters!” 

He scrambled to his feet, kicking wildly in the air. 

“I will never let you hurt them ever again.” 

The words were stern as slow, nearer an animalistic growl than human speech. 

“Grian?” 

“Don’t think you will ever have the right to call me that.” 

He stumbled forward, crashing into the wall in front of him. 

“Grian? Are you alright?” 

“I said…” 

Grian spun and ran blindly in the direction of the voice. 

“Don’t call me that!” 

He punched, this time meeting a soft yet firm surface. Grian wailed on his newfound target, clawing and biting and beating. 

“I’m going to make you suffer! Just like I did!” 

His throat was raw and the words were painful but he didn’t stop until his body gave out from under him. His bruised and battered form fell to the ground, exhaustion finally pulling him down. It was then that he realized he was covered in blood, his skin red and sticky. 

He checked himself for any open wounds, finding nothing but minor cuts and scrapes. 

Grian turned to see a broken figure lying beside him. 

He rushed to kneel beside the body, his own eyes no longer glazed over, truly seeing what he had just done. 

And a single tear fell down his cheek.

[burning-thistles-bt]

Fernpaw legs shook as she stepped as quietly as she could into the apprentices' den. With a shaky intake of breath, she slowly inched forward, staring at the trembling mass of gray fur so pale, it was almost white in some lighting---but not here. No, it looked black in the dark of the den, not an inch of moonlight seeping into the thick ceiling of the apprentices' den.

She swallowed with another intake of breath, trying not to think about how loud it sounded in the... silent and too empty den. "Tulippaw?" she whispered. "Are you... are you alright?"

A shrill wail pierced through the cold midnight air and Fernpaw shrank backwards, the fur along her spine fluffing up. Her heart raced so fast she thought it had burst straight out of her chest and flopped on the ground in front of her. Her own breath stuttered then sped up, chest heaving up and down.

"They're coming for me! They're coming for me---I can feel them breathing all around me! Their jaws, their jaws!" Tulippaw screamed as he thrashed around, his eyes wide and his paws flailing out, claws slashing at the ground as they curled irregularly.

Fernpaw stepped backwards from her brother. Her entire body shook and then, suddenly, she gagged and coughed, feeling a strange, sickening, horrible feeling squeeze at her chest and throat so viscerally she might throw-up.

She saw a dark shape lurch forward from the darkness and she startled backwards, the large, towering forms of dogs flashing in her vision. "Hey, hey!" the shape said as it crouched beside Tulippaw's side---Elderpaw. Their sister. It was just their sister... just... the three of them... three... Ashpaw... "Hey, it's alright, there's no---"

Tulippaw's claws slammed into Elderpaw's side and she yowled. The sound made Fernpaw's vision so dizzy that she wasn't even aware when she had fallen to the floor.

"Fernpaw!"

Fernpaw stared at the bramble-woven wall of the den, numb and suffocating without breathing.

What... what had she done...? She had just wanted to get rid of Lionstar's dastardly offspring! Not... not...

...Oh StarClan.

Oh StarClan, oh StarClan, oh StarClan above, forgive her, please, for the thought of spending eternity suffering in the Place of No Stars was too great for her to bare.

With a horrible, sickening feeling of dread building in her chest, she realized exactly what had happened to Ravenwing when he had killed Graystripe.

And what was going to happen to her now that she had done the same.

Related.

[jaguz123]

Thermodynamic Lawyer

aka: a chonny jash fanfic

yes ! hello ! idk if this is how it works really , but i've decided to cross post stuff onto here as a test i guess

... will release new parts, hopefully i can figure out how to navigate tumblr in the meantime

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They stood there. Almost seamlessly. They fit into the image so well, as if they were meant to be there. But they were pasted there like patchwork- glue and shreds of paper stuck to their edges ruining their view. Freud had underestimated the power that they held, grimy fingers reaching for any ounce of influence over his sovereignty, hissing and clawing at each other.

He watched the advisors in action with a gloomy look in his eye. They threw everything they could at each other. They screamed obscenities, they slammed each other's skull in the wall… And Soul laid there, staring. He could do nothing but glare at them and their profane forms. He couldn't tell if his head was in the clouds or if it was six feet underground- fiberglass fanned across his skin, cotton in his ears. He was resting, watching as they fought, far too tired to bring out his trident.

He could offer the usual assurances. Tell them that they were the same. He could stand like that, better than them, but they looked at him as if they knew something he didn't.

Always and forever, he thought. Better. Superior.

Yes, he watched the Avian screech and sob as the Automaton ripped into his flesh with an almost guilty look in his gaze. Unwilling to indulge in his anger, and yet he committed the integral act anyway. To commit the atrocity wasn’t what was bad- it was to give into the emotion that oversees it. Mind was filthy nonetheless. Heart was soaked in the core-rotting metaphor synonymous for the trivialities of suffering that- meaning something important maybe in some other world- he had forgotten the name of. It was likely an overused proverb. Decayed trite and worthless, frayed at the edges by its repeated utterances. Paper can only stand the test of time for so long.

Soul thought, The first law of thermodynamics states… That if 2 systems are in equilibrium with a third system,- 

The Weeping Angel struck the machine in front of him with a harsh cry, wings flaring, screaming in agony, “Your fault! Your fault, you knew it, you know it! You- god, I missed! I wish I hadn’t of missed!” 

-then they are thus in equilibrium with each other. It is common sense. He lightly coughed into his palm. He watched with dying interest. His body still felt exhausted. So did he. The only difference between him and his weighted body was the fact that one listened to what he wanted, the other completely disregarded it. Guess which was which.

“Alright,” He sighed, finally at least somewhat fulfilled with his rest, tired of their bickering- “uh… Now, if I must-” grappling for his line… What did he always say here again? “You two are one in the same… Why do you always fight?” He drew out the last sentence, begging the clock to stop ticking, wailing for the bird to stop its call. Asking so kindly for the ruler to stop his parade. Not a soul in that room would listen. 

Again, they looked at him with that snobbish look of theirs. They looked tired of that bullshit of his- maybe they were just blind to their own- looking at him as if he were a child fresh from the womb.  He would crawl his way back up their expectations again maybe, perhaps he’d drag his broken body up the bell curve and label himself the average- average life expectancy, of course, if he wanted to hang by the rope then they all would.

“Are you… Blind, or something? I’m fighting for your case.” He was a thermodynamic lawyer of sorts- oh, that sounded familiar. Where’d he hear that from? Whatever. It didn’t matter. The sentence wasn’t that grand anyway. 

It appeared as though they had finally separated from their quarrel- they had found their bodies, but not their eyes. Pathos might finally come together with Logos to rise against the hypocrisy of Ethos, discreditable sources and quotes from lawyers of the past, the one who had held himself in contempt- and the third-eyed joke of a man.

(nothing against will wood btw this is just for the story)

“And… What do you think you hold against us? A noose?” Heart hissed at him, before turning around and stomping away. Mind stood rooted there like a dead tree managing to stand the weathering of lifeless bark, tolerating every force pushed against it even in its death. 

“Do you propose we sit down and have a chat?” Soul asked. He ignored how the canvas in front of him was blank. He disregarded how the clock struck twelve, pushing the ticking out of his thoughts as if it had a lack of relevance. Really, it was the most important thing he could hear at the moment. He was aware of the glare shot at him. He wouldn’t turn his back on a fucking knife, so he kept gazing at the machine-like creature in front of him. Shame he couldn’t grow a face on the back of his head to keep an eye on the mirror behind him.

“No, no- I don’t suppose I do. Just a word would be fitting.” That look. That pathetic look. It was almost pitiful, the look you’d offer an overly optimistic child that still thought the world was sunshine and rainbows and friendship bracelets at school, ketchup stains on your shirt and your hands filled with scribbles of marker. 

“Oh-” The talk would be long. Or at least agonizing. Coming from the man who had glared at himself through the glass, he knew what to expect from that attitude. To expect anything more was to expect the faceless author trying to fill some self-set quota to come up with her own clever lines, desperately scratching the surface of such demands to figure out how she even saw herself at that point.

At best, the reflection was blurred, the outcome hazy- he might slip out of this with only one or two bruises to his identity. He could try to get the superego under control, but the rider of the horse was only as strong as he willed himself to be. The mount could rear him off easily.

“You don't know yet. You truly have no idea. Of course, nothing new from the man that copes by making Tally Hall covers-" He paused for the presumed effect, “-you really are just this brand new breed of pathetic that I don't even know what to name you as.”

Soul started back with a grimace. Oh. Okay. Shit.

He blurred it all out. The anaesthesiologist had done his work well. He couldn't feel the knife digging itself into his chest, he couldn't feel it dragging chunks of his flesh out. He watched as it happened with a hollow stare- apathy was the main numbing agent. He wished he could just sink into repose like he had before. The reprise of the situation would happen again next time. Reprise? Repose? They were synonymous. Again and again, until something breaks. Something would put him to rest and he would wake up again like he had before.

“I am the lawyer fighting for your case, I am the jury arguing against you…” Soul whispered, drawing his breath near and close, almost afraid to share anything with the man in front of him. "Thermodynamics states that you are the same… The same as he… Threes, not thirds!” 

The Automaton leaned down at this, glancing at his disheveled form with slight confusion. He asked, "Pardon?”

Soul didn't listen. He was too busy hearing the ringing of the Bell curve, skull pounding in rhythm with the metronome, painting himself as the sane minority. It's the same as insane, if you really think about it. The right to a stable mind is an unobtainable privilege, but it is wholly possible in the eyes of the beholder. If only Soul was his own protagonist, then he'd be able to behold the fruits of his labors quite well. 

He leaned his head back with an almost tipsy look in his eyes, a laugh in his throat swirling with a gag. 

“Oh you think you're so smart for that… Don't you!-” He found himself suddenly hissing and lurching forward, before reminding himself of his own foreword and recalling the fact that lawyers probably don't harm their clients. Even if they're unwilling. No, he was a good person. He was whole. The other two were just parasites that had happened to stumble about. Why did he still defend their right to exist? They refused to acknowledge that they were the same.

He refused to acknowledge that the three of them were insane.

He held that thought at his lips, before standing up and nearly attempting to spit it out with a heave. 

Mind rushed towards him, joints grinding against each other artificially. He stared at him with the eyes of a snake, like some peasant trying to rid the king of his crown. Tridential regicide! God!

“No! No! This talk is over! Not another word from you!” Soul gasped, scrambling away. He collapsed just a few steps into the hall, dragging himself the rest of the way to his room.

The second law of thermodynamics states that energy cannot be created or destroyed- that it can only change forms. You could suppress your urges in one field to invest in another- but you can never shove down your own zeal completely.

Soul slammed the door shut, falling down completely, laying on the floor with an almost awestruck expression on his face. The very root of his issues had clawed its way out of its own grave, told him what was wrong with what Soul always did, and crawled his way back down again. The visage was rotting, the corpse was alive- the carrion was walking, its eyes on the prize! The price was anonymous, probably costing nearly two thirds of a dollar, but pest control was sacred! He needed them gone!

And even though the war would never be over, the causation of depression nearly always fighting against him and the two passengers along with him- if he could get rid of those two neat sections of the load, maybe the boat would finally stop sinking.

Or maybe it would drag him down deeper. Maybe without his two counterparts, he would be weaker. Maybe none of them were meant to tear away from the abyss, born from the sacred flesh in which their forms were sculpted from. 

Such a disgusting thought. They always swarmed around his head like flies or vultures, maybe he was the dead man walking here. Maybe that was why Heart's gaze was blind- Mind's was fresh- and his was merely atrophied from a lack of true vision. 

His ego had told him to shun away the evidence of their faces and their uncanny resemblance. It had told him to neglect how they were lacking and completing, and he had listened. He hadn't even turned to look back- as it had stolen away the whites of his eyes too, and it had sealed the half of his decent side into some merciless black. 

The closed system that he had barricaded and built around himself was loosening. It was leaking energy he would never get back. Entropy was freezing him in that very spot, the thing that kept him moving- going against the laws we have accustomed to build reality- had begun shattering in midair and fizzling out like dying oil lamps or active fireflies. He was unsure which was which, he was unsure if he would ever be sure. 

Those laws must be nonsense. If they had any stable foundation in reality, why did they desert him in the most desperate throes of looming consciousness? He didn't want to admit that he might be wrong, even if that would make him right, because there's always the possibility that the assumption of self satisfaction was to be a lie. His hands laid outstretched towards the sky, reaching out and, with dying resolve, attempting to reach for that final dream that lay beyond even the most final frontier. Fragile at closer inspection, ready to shatter, and even more ready to drag itself together because of gravity. Again, and again- and again.

No matter how many times he said again, no matter how many times he yelled cut- no matter how many directions he yelled into the void, it would happen again. The world would cleanse itself of the memory- the good and the bad. The fact and the fiction. It would recall the lines drawn between Ethos, Pathos, and Logos. The rest was irrelevant. The evidence was trite. It all existed inside of their head, things being made up inside of their individual pseudo-consciousness. What was the difference between truth and false when one lacked the confidence to attempt to differentiate between the two? Nothing.

Soul was- he was- oh, who was he fooling here if not himself? He was nobody. Not even relatively close to the identity he was supposed to be. If anything, he was cripplingly tired, and that didn't help a damn thing. He lay there with the very black sunken eyes Heart owned, and he spoke with the same sharp tongue that Mind was too preoccupied with using to detect it in his voice. Just because they only found the flaws in him that they were concerned with didn't mean that the others didn't exist. 

Heart and Mind were the same. He was different. He had to be different. Mediation was impossible then if he couldn't rip himself away from the other two. They could never be whole if they truly were the thirds they were supposed to be. They were three, and he needed to pacify them so they would finally fade away. Then he could be one. Not just one with Whole- but one as Whole.

Something in him doubted that. 

He would recite the laws. He would split off and separate himself from the bad apples, he'd roll back to the tree- the tree towering so high over them. The tree that he would have to be.

Survival of the fittest, a lawyer in the making. His finality. His solution. The one he strived for- and he was so unbelievably close. He had to ignore that nagging voice holding him back. 

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AN: mid as shit ... but anyway planning for there to be three chapters in total

barely beta read/looked over ... my neglected child , we're dying like soul's ego and likely fanon god complex