#the whole “hell is a dark forest” and “i got no problem with you going off on this dude” exchange?

[deconstructthesoup]

I just had the sudden and immediate realization how similar the Pilot Program and the Dead Boy Detective Agency are

Like

"Girl who's got an odd name due to either being famous or growing up in famous circles and has magical powers that are best used to charm and learn things about other people, and also has a history of being a bit of a menace, unintentionally or no?" Great, we've got Sam Britain and Crystal Palace, though Sam hasn't quite reached Crystal's level of bitterness.

"Person who's very into fandom spaces and gives off the vibes of being chronically online, is clearly recovering from being a major shut-in, and is a big fan of pink, whimsy, and romance?" K Tanaka and Niko Sasaki are out there, causing chaos with the best of intentions.

"Jock boy who's always trying to make sure that everyone has a good time and fits in, tends to act on impulse---especially when helping his friends---and goes everywhere with an enchanted piece of sporting equipment?" You're lying to yourself if you don't think that Whitney Jammer and Charles Rowland would bond over the magic sporting equipment alone.

"Deeply traumatized boy with endless very niche knowledge stored up in his brain that was likely learned as a direct result to everything he went through, has a history of being left behind and ignored, and has seen Hell itself?" Someone get Evan Kelmp and Edwin Payne blankets and therapy, please.

[that-one-malereader-enthusiast]

𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐞 · 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

ׂ╰┈➤ ◖ 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 & 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 ◗

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐜𝐨 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

cw : MDNI - S2 Arcane Act I & Act II [slight spoilers], events after the last ep in S1 Arcane Act III, chem-baron male reader, crime boss male reader, heavily occurring dark themes, mentions of blood, mentions of self-loathing, mentions of suicidal tendencies and thoughts, cutting, mentions of drugs, mentions of depression, mentions of Vander, mentions of alcohol abuse, smoking, slight one-sided love, obsession, Arcane is allergic to happiness, I'm still coping, if I must suffer, so will all of you, angst. wc : 3.7k

__________________

now playing : Wasteland (from the series Arcane League of Legends) - Royal & the Serpent

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

When a tree falls over in the forest and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

You'd call bull.

But when one of the pillars of Undercity topples over...the whole of Zaun goes to shit. And everyone can feel it, see it — hell, hearing it isn't even the half of it.

For the masses, chaos ensured as there was now a massive power vacuum for the spot he once held. Things were going belly up, both under and topside. It seemed almost as if it was the end of the world, just as it felt like a bad dream — no — a damn nightmare. For the Undercity, it was utter madness and a power struggle. For Topside, it was mourning and brewing with panic as well as sadness after an attack on their pinnacle of life — the sudden attack on their councilors.

For you, it was as if the world stopped. As if the oxygen in your lungs was suddenly taken.

For you, the world was truly ending.

With the only person who even cared about your pitiful existence gone, what was left for you now?

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

The doors of the Last Drop swung inwards as your shoulder bashed against it, knocking them open with reckless abandon. You knew that set of doors had been through far worse in its days. Still standing the test of time and against every sober man ready to get drunk, business Zaunite, outsider, or enforcer pigs that pushed through them.

Stumbling your way to the bar, you looked worse for wear with every step you took. Blood stained your clothes, some fresh and dripping off your fingers, most sinking into the fabric of your clothes and sticking to your skin. Some of the ruddy fluid even flecked against the side of your face, either from someone you injured — and most likely killed — or from your own injuries that could barely be seen past the layers of dark clothing you wore.

Anyone who'd laid eyes would stand back and away from your battleworn form, as you looked to be in no mood to speak with the likes of anyone that was still there at those ungodly hours.

Whatever hazardous music that blaring from the jukebox sounded like sirens howling in your ears, an irritable grunt leaving your split lips. You had half a mind to stomp over there and kick the damn thing down, but what would be the point?

You barely wanted any more attention drawn to you as it was. It wasn't as if you were going to stay mingle, not with hell practically brewing on the horizon and spilling into the Undercity every minute of the day now.

You could care less for whatever poor sod that was shoved or knocked over while hobbling your way over towards the bar, you weren’t in the mood to deal with any more problems, your plate already overflowing as is. Your body swayed, nearly tipping over as you snagged a bottle from the countertop — whether the bartender left it out or someone who was ransacking just forgot about it — it was now yours for the night.

Making your way past the bar, you stumbled to get up the stairs, shoulder knocking into the wall with every small trip before you finally got to his office door. Slowly lifting your dominant foot up, your grime coated boot made contact with the door, kicking it in, now finding yourself in the somewhat lit room known as Silcos’ office.

A shot of pain seemed to surge through your abdomen — a subtle reminder of your current injuries — as you hobbled over towards the chair in front of the desk, pulling it back before plopping yourself down in it.

You slumped back, one arm lazed over the back of the chair and the other holding the bottle of booze, hanging loosely between your legs. Your bloodshot eyes scanned the desk in front of you, looking at the various tools and objects scattered along it, including a rather colorful ashtray, a mug, the mapping of Zaun and its regions, and a turned shot glass.

You could hear the slightest squeak come from the spinning chair in front of you before a voice came into focus. “You look a mess. I don’t pay you to lead a trail of blood to my door.”

“You don’t pay me shit, don’t fuck with me today. Not in the mood,” you sneered, taking a swig out of the bottle as your eyes gazed over the back of the ruddy colored chair. Leaning back into your own wooden chair, you could feel the freshly stitched skin on your waist start to stretch, a fresh dose of pain making your eyes flutter. “Bozos’ out there are rioting at this point. Can’t even get a handle on my own fucking people now with these petty turf wars.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“Yours damn it!” You yelled out, standing up faster than your mind could register. Slamming your hand down against the desk, lightheadedness took over before you stumbled back, catching yourself on the chair as you slumped into it once again. 

The world started to spin and a wave of nausea hit you like a train, a familiar buzzing flaring behind your eyes. You clutched against the neck of the bottle you were now nursing, lifting it up to your lips before letting it go down like water. The taste alone was starting to become a numb sensation, the burn you once felt against the back of your throat and the warm that normally swirled and swarmed in your chest faded a long time ago.

Your eyes felt heavy, as if you were going to pass out at any moment. The pain that not only surged through your stitched abdomen, but tore through your shoulder seemed to keep you grounded. Your free hand came up to touch against your left shoulder, finger dipping into what felt like a hole just below your collar and near your armpit. You taken plenty of bullets in your day, though the one currently in you was causing you more misery.

But in a sick way, you wanted it to stay. The pain nothing but a reminder.

The suit on your body looked tattered and torn, noticeable even with the dark colors you happened to adorn. The tie around your neck was undone and the fabric torn, your collar messily put together, just like the rest of you. Your vest was singed as well as part of your dark dress shirt, the straps against your chest and over your shoulders with your gun holsters tucked under your arms, were dirtied and worn. Your face was just as badly roughed up as your clothes, maybe worse.

“You’ve let yourself go.” There was a sigh at the end of his voice, sounding with disappointment. “You let a matter so feeble practically turn you into a stray mutt begging for scraps, yet biting any hand that offers.”

“You didn’t complain when this mutt was fighting for you.” The tension that seemed to settle in the front of your head was making it much harder to concentrate, a groan leaving your lips.

“And yet you ate out of my palm like a domesticated beast. I am not complaining, I’m stating a fact.”

You rolled your bloodshot eyes as you looked down at the bottle in hand, the neon lights refracting into the bottle, giving it a mirror like glare that shone back at you. In the garbled reflection in the bottle, you could see your completely disheveled hair, out of place, stray strands falling in front of your face — some your natural hair color — some with streaks of gray from either your continued age or stress. For all you knew, it was the combination of both. There were dark lines under your eyes, eyes that seemed to no longer hold any light like they used to.

Your tongue ran over your split lip, tasting the once dried blood as you grinned at your reflection, giving off a half hearted chuckle before gripping the neck of the bottle even tighter, the veins in your arm bulging and your knuckles growing pale from the stress of skin being stretched.

The chair gave off a small squeak again, the flick of a light barely getting your attention. “Seems you have found comfort in a bottle. For a while now, I assume? You say, ‘just one drink to get me up’ then it’s, ‘just one drink to get me through the day’, which turns into…”

Suddenly the sound of glass shattering filled the room, your chest rising and falling with extremes as you glared up towards the chair. “You don’t get to judge me! No, no — you, you don’t get that right! Not any more!” You once again stumbled to your feet, practically leaning over the desk, one hand holding the edge while the other reached into your locking before pulling out a switchblade.

He let out a scoff of a laugh as he heard the blade flick open. “Your temper will get you nowhere. You bare your teeth, but you wouldn’t dare bite me.”

“My fucking temp— as if you ever cared about that before!” You slammed the blade into the desk, embedding it within the wood before practically snaring. “This is all your damn fault! I’ve…I have done so, damn, much to keep everything from falling apart! Yet here I am back here asking for your help!” You couldn't help but to let out a harsh laugh, your words slurring. “Damn it, even Sevika is out here charging into the front line to defend you a…and your damned beliefs!”

“I never told you to carry this burden.”

“I know!” You cried out, slamming your hand into the desk yet again, the throbbing now surging through your palm nothing in comparison to the pain that seemed to ache in your chest. “I never asked for this! This…This responsibility! This was your shtick! This was your idea, of…of Zaun, to finally be this independent city of fuck all! And yet you up and…and just leave us when shit hits the fan! Why!” Your voice slowly started to shake, breaking away from it's normal stern, bold state. “Why did you suddenly up and leave when you know I need you!”

Silence came in response.

You looked down and balled your hand up, trembling as it pressed into the desk. “Why,” you croaked out quietly, the power that once filled your voice disappeared as the polluted feeling that fogged your heart started to seep into your lungs yet again, taking your breath away, as if you were being deprived of oxygen.

“I don't...I don't understand.” Your head low, staring at no spot in particular as you drawlled on. “You were…always, always careful. Maybe a little in over your head, but who isn't down here. Everyone knew the price to go against you, so why? What…What happened?” Your question seemed to fill the room with a stale silence that was there from the beginning, desperately waiting for his voice to come, for that chair to spin and for him to reply with some strong winded monologue. 

But there was nothing.

Your heart took another blow, aching in a way that made you want to carve it out of your chest with the very blade you wedged into the wood. To crush it with your own hands. At least then you wouldn't have to worry about the feelings that were overwhelming your drunken form. “Why…” You echoed. Your voice seemed to go dry as you questioned again, your vision blurring for a moment before a stinging warmth dripped down your cheek, splashing down into the map below.

You stood there, frozen, hunched over the desk while slowly moving a hand up to your face before gliding your fingers across your skin, feeling the wetness yet again.

Were you crying?

It started as a small laugh, a hiccup, growing into a small wheeze and snicker, all before your laugh escalated drastically. Your voice rang through the room as you belted out an almost hysterical fit of laughter, blinded by my tears in your eyes as your laugh turned into broken sobs. “The first time in years! I cry…over you!”

You laughed again, pushing yourself off the desk before falling back into the chair you were once in, nearly tipping back completely as your legs kicked and sprawled out before you.

You felt as if you were drowning, unable to surface no matter how hard you tried. The water around you suffocating you, choking you till you were completely deprived of air, constricting your lungs and flooding it with poison, toxins that flowed in the waters within the Lanes. The filth you were born in, the fire you'd die in.

Your hands went up to your face, the heels of your palm pressing against your sunken eyes to stop the sudden flow of tears, like acid against your skin.

Your arms then fell limply to your sides, as if you'd gone boneless. Your eyes drifted towards the ceiling, childish laughter echoing in the back of your mind as soft blue streaks blink in and out of existence.

“We…We are so fucked.” You'd closed your eyes, wishing that darkness could consume you whole in that very moment, that the pain would suddenly come to an end. It was as if the whole world was against you, all at once. Only he knew how to handle situations like this, always there to see over the Undercity, always keeping things in line.

He kept you from falling apart.

And yet here you were.

In a hole that you were unable to climb out of, fragmented and shattered.

“Sevika is doin’ her best. You know that, she's one of your best after all. My own people are going off and indulging in these dumb turf wars with the other barons while I'm trying to pick up the pieces that you left.” Your hand brushed against a broken shard of the bottle you'd destroyed, the liquid still sticking to its surface.

“Smeech, that dirty, ugly looking weasel. Trying to act like a big shot now. They know not to mess with me but…I don't know. The fight you saw in me, it's just…just gone.” You then cursed out, a sudden reminder that flashed in the forefront of your mind.

“And Jinx, god—” Your heart ached even more for the poor girl. You knew the relationship those two had, and as much as you tried to keep yourself from forming a bond, you were practically there from the beginning. 

When she was born, when she lost her mother on that bridge, when she lost her entire family, when she gained a new one. 

It was a shame that you knew she'd seen you as father figure as much as Silco was, maybe even more. Growing up, she'd gotten the normal lectures from Silco but you inspired her, helped her with her gadgetry. But when she was older, bolder, you knew she wasn't that little girl anymore. The nights she cried and screamed in her sleep, nightmares about that dreaded day, etched into your mind. Crying out for her sister, of all people.

“She's your…She's your daughter! How could you damn it!” The heat in your eyes seemed to get worse as more tears wanted to rise and fall down your face, but you refused to shed more tears. “I can't take care of her! I mean — I know, she's grown up! She can take care of herself, but you know she can't do this without you! You were her everything!” You could feel the anger rising in your chest yet again, making your vision turn red.

Was this your punishment? For sitting back and watching as her world was destroyed? For not stepping in when you knew Silco had taken it too far. Him and Vander, they were practically brothers, the same ideals, fighting for the same cause just as you did. Wanting freedom from the trenches, from being treated like scum compared to Topside.

And yet everything went to hell after she died. After Powder's mother was killed. Her kids…those kids...they deserved better. Vander deserved better.

Silco deserved better.

If this was your punishment for turning a blind eye, for ignoring the blood that had been on your hands for too long — this was too much for you to bear alone. Too ruthless of a punishment to last.

“She's a mess without you…you know that. I don't know what to do, I'm not…I'm not like you. I'm not a good role model, hell you turned out to be a really great father. How could I top that? I…I don't know what to do, what to say to her—”

You bit against your lips harshly, tasting your own blood against your tongue yet again. “You were always the better one of us when it came to speaking. Hell, even holding a conversation. At least you normally had the last words.” The silence was deafening.

You knew you were using her name as nothing but a scapegoat towards your actual feelings, not ashamed, but feeling unworthy of claiming them. Just as you felt unworthy of him.

Gripping onto the shard in your hand, you brought it to your face, looking at the sharpened point before looking down at your arm. At first, it was a simple line, feeling like nothing more than a paper cut, but you'd started to put more pressure on the shard. The slow drags raised your skin, splitting it and blood bubbling up to the surface. 

You didn't stop, ignoring the stinging bite that came with it as the piesce of glass twisted and turned. Once you were done, you watched the blood tilt in the direction your arm did, looking at the bloodied word now etched into your skin.

“If only it was this easy, y’know? To numb the feelings you left me with. The pain…you left me with. This fucking burden — of emotions I never, never asked for.” You were tempted to make another line, to cross out the — his name — entirely, but the strength in you was completely gone.

What was the point of continuing?

Everything around you was already burning?

Why not sit and burn with it?

You could feel yourself blurring in and out of consciousness as you once again called out for him.

“Please…say something, Silco. I don't…I don't know what to do! Everyone is talking, whispering, saying shit that doesn't make any sense! But, to hear that you're gone? That…that you might be somewhere dead?” You scoffed. “Call me crazy, but I'd rather hear about you running away like a coward than dead. But that isn't you, is it?”

You laughed an almost sickening laugh before muttering to yourself. “Just like…Just like Vander. Vander went on a long trip, away from here, with his kids, never to be seen again…”

Sitting up, you couldn't help but to stare at the unoccupied desk in front of you, your eyes drifting up to the empty chair once again. You stared, blinked and stared at that fucking chair, all before letting out the most gutteral, painful, ear piercing scream you could let out. Your lungs burned as you let out every bit of rage and pain and suffering you could, your mind flashing with images of him.

By the time your scream died down, your own ears were ringing as before slumped over once more, your vision starting to dot with black spots from how hard you'd pushed yourself in those few moments.

You sniffled lazily wiping against your nose as your eyes fell shut, too heavy to lift as you desperately clawed towards unconsciousness, for darkness to take all what light remained, leaving you with nothing.

Just as it currently was, just as it'll always be. 

You could still smell him now, the scent alone making a small smile appear on your face. The cologne he wore in mix with the cigars he smoked, clinging onto his clothes and practically staining the room in his scent. 

“You know better than to take such a pathetic way out. You've got too much fight. I should know…” His voice settled in the back of your mind as you felt his arms slip over your shoulders, tilting your head over as his hands gently framed against your jaw. “You are not a helpless mutt, you got around just fine without me before. What difference is there now.” The ghosting feeling of his touch made you shudder, breath hitching and your heart racing.

“You've become my weakness…” You muttered, eyes still closed as your head gently bobbed up and down, trying to keep balance so as to not tip or lean out of the chair. Your eyes only cracked some, the world coming in twos.

His voice curled around your ear, speaking to you in the only way you knew how. “You've truly convinced yourself so far, when really, we both know you feel nothing.”

“You feel nothing.” You echoed.

“You feel nothing.” He repeated.

“You feel nothing.”

Your eyes peeled open to an empty room yet again, the phantom scent still burnt into your nose and the voice echoing in the back of your mind. Your eyes were  dull and liifeless as you stared at the chair once again. “I swear Silco…I swear, I'll find whoever did this to you. To us. I'll make them pay for the suffering they've caused all of us...” The aching in your chest seemed to fade, though the physical pain still lingered.

You took a cigar out of your breast pocket, one that he'd given you the last time you'd shared words together, a drink together, before seeing his — your daughter, half dead on the bridge you'd all once fought on together. Seeing her in such a state, it felt like the cycle of hurt was never ending. That the suffering seemed to continue.

You'd never seen Silco so distraught, panicked, desperate. And once again, you turned a blind eye to others pain. You knew that he'd went to the doctor, and you knew Singe would do more damage than good — from the man who made Shimmer, such a drug that even you fell victim to just to forget. To forget the pain, to forget the struggles, to forget him. 

You'd then taken out the lighter, a familiar click ringing in the air. It was a trophy, something you'd borrowed from Sevika from time to time, Finns lighter being one of the few things you liked about him before his timely death. A deserved death. A vulture trying to pull a lioness like Sevika to betray Silco. It was truly his loss, blindsided and put down like the damned dog he was..

The flame lit up the end of the cigar, the embers burning with a mix of a purple and pinkish hue as you took a long drag. You could feel the a wave of power course through you, burning in your lungs but dulling the pain in your body. The high you got from shimmer from even the smallest amount was enough to sustain you, sobering you up enough to think. Your eyes seemed to glow just the dimmest of violet hues before returning to their normal state. Letting out a huff of smoke from your mouth, you spoke aloud once again.

“For her…for fucking Zaun.”

You then stumbled your way out of the room that you'd wreaked havoc in, closing the door gently behind you. You knew you'd barely make it out the front door, better to pass out downstairs than out in the streets. Not like anyone would be looking for you in the basement.

But what you were acutely unaware of was the person sitting with her back against the beam in the rafters, a hand over her mouth as her violet eyes watched your form finally leave the room.

Oh, the misery.

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

a/n : SUFFER AS I HAVE—

[youngyoo-apologist]

OG Choi Han they could never make me hate you cause if some random rich boy was yelling at me and telling me my family deserved to die like a day after it happened and all I wanted was to know how I could get help I’d beat him up too

This plus the added fact that the Harris Village people were the first people to take Choi Han in and take care of him after years and years in the dark forest. Like he’s obviously not going to be mentally stable after all that, and he was so young when everything happened to him like I cannot blame him at all. I don’t think I can ever hate OG Choi Han like ever, he’s flawed, he has problems, but I love him dearly. He deserves the world. This kid who had to fight for his life, was taken away from his family, and in the process had to give up parts of his own humanity to survive, and like went to war two years later, they could never make me hate u OG Choi Han…

Like yeah violence is bad I guess but OG Cale had it coming(saying this as an OG Cale fan, I love him, but he was mean as hell when he was younger!)

If I’m honest, I think they were both in the wrong to an extent. Like OG Cale shouldn’t have said all that no matter the circumstances, and OG Choi Han shouldn’t have beaten him up so much. But u say mean shit and you get hit, that is how it will work when you’re talking to the guy who just saw his entire village get murdered like idkkkk man

I understand where OG Cale was coming from, but he had many issues and while he wasn’t an awful person, he was capable of doing bad things because of his own internalized pain and emotions that he never got to properly process because of his emotionally distant childhood and relationship with his father who should have been there for him more when he was younger.

Okay speaking of his childhood, Deruth isn’t the WORST father in the world but there are a lot of things he could have done better. I think a lot of Deruth’s flaws come from his fear of failure and messing up. He’s scared of doing the wrong thing, and so he sticks to doing what he knows and using what he knows best. That’s why he uses his money, that’s why gift giving is his way of showing affection, he knows that it is one thing he cannot mess up.

The problem is that money and gifts is NOT what OG Cale needed. I think what that guy needed the most was a parent who wasn’t afraid to talk to him, to ask him questions. Not to say that Deruth gave up on OG Cale, but I think in a way he gave up on OG Cale by giving up on himself. Deruth didn’t trust himself to have the capabilities to talk to OG Cale, which is why he never did. It’s because that Deruth was scared, and didn’t trust himself, that he could never face OG Cale

If Deruth was able to trust himself a little more, and pull himself together, I don’t think OG Cale would have turned out the way he did. As a kid, he probably thought the only way he could help his family without relying on anyone(no doubt this whole ‘I have to do it myself’ thing came from the fact that he couldn’t rely on his father when his mom died, and instead was acting as a pillar of support for his father when it should have been the other way around) was to sabotage himself, the only heir. If he was shown to be unfit to be heir, then everyone else would have no choice but to direct their hatred towards him instead of his family.

If Deruth had talked to his son at least ONCE when he was a kid, asking him why he was upset or why he did the things he did, I think OG Cale would have told him. Why? Because he’s a kid!! A kid will obviously want to rely on his father, if he just had one sign telling him that he didn’t have to do it alone I’m 90% sure OG Cale would have said something.

Basically, while Deruth isn’t the worst father, he’s not really a great father either. I think he does do his best, but he has issues with communication lol

OG Cale and OG Choi Han are both complex characters and had their own reasons to behave the way they did. The thing is with people is that they’re complicated and have layers, so the situation with them would have layers behind it as well with multiple co-existing truths and stuff

[axcel-lucci]

Secrets...?

Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Previous part --- next part

My masterlist

A/N: @jadedrrose it's been a while :)

After the two had left, the crew helped dice cleaning up.

Of course they talked to him about various subjects, lots of it just asking him "how is (y/n) as a kid?", "Is this whole island yours?", Or "do you have pets?"

"My starling... When she was younger, her and her father always... Let's say they always cause mischief. Literally, there would be times I'd see them covered head to toe with mud and sometimes scrapes on her knees because they crawl around spaces in the forest..." Dice answered before staring out into the forest, "that forest's big. She even got lost before... Good thing Luci found her in time before it got dark... Also, they have a treehouse out there... Luci would ALWAYS renovate it... Even though (y/n) isn't here anymore... it's like he refuses to acknowledge her absence..."

"That's... Does (y/n) know...?" Ikkaku asked

"If she knew, she would stay here... I know that kid. She'd sacrifice the world for her father... And he'd do the same to her... Even Luci knows that, and isn't afraid to acknowledge it. So... Yeah, we ain't telling her. If she finds out Luci refuses to accept that she's gone, in this island, she'd stay. You wouldn't want that for your dear captain, would you?"

Law sighs before shaking his head, "but... She needs to know"

Dice shrugs, "she does. But not now. She's smart, I'm sure she'll find it out and would see the little hints Luci drops unconsciously. Also, don't worry. It's not like things like me hiding such a fact would hurt her dearly. Sure it would, but she never holds grudges that hard."

"Mhmm... About that." Law rolled his eyes

"Yeah, yeah what-" Dice was cut off by a loud explosion outside, "for fuck's sake, did they just break into the fucking bomb warehouse?!"

"What...?"

Looking outside, it was just (y/n) and Lucifer "playing" with firecrackers.

Something Dice never let them do by themselves because either Lucifer burns himself or (y/n) gets ashes all over herself, causing it to burn her skin.

Though this time, Dice just sighed and watched from the window, "you know what? They're old enough, they can manage. I just hope Lucifer doesn't burn his suit, that shit's expensive"

"Like you'd have a problem with that." Shachi snickered

"Yeah well, that's his favourite suit. He wouldn't let it burn, would he?" Dice narrowed his eyes.

Meanwhile...

"Yeah, and the trajectory of this would cause these crackers to scatter..." Lucifer explained before lighting it up.

"Just don't burn yourself, ain't that your favorite suit?" (Y/n) asked as Lucifer hands her his coat.

"Don't worry! I won't." Lucifer chuckled as (y/n) shrugs

"If you say so."

...

"I say after this, they'd be hungry as hell... That or they just go training and playing with sharper fucking swords..." Dice hummed

"Play...?"

"Yep."

"Since when did Lucifer-ya train her...?" Law asked, watching the two play in the snow with firecrackers

"I don't know, maybe... I'd say 7? I have no idea." Dice shrugs

Later...

"I... Don't have my axe... At least not anymore..." (Y/n) muttered sadly.

"Axe...? She wielded an axe...?" Law muttered as Dice hummed

"Yep. An axe double her size and heavier than her by a ton." He smiled, "she loved that axe to bits... But it was shattered to pieces by one of her uncles... It broke her dearly. And I doubt nothing could ever replace that axe"

"Oh? Why don't we make one instead?" Lucifer smiled as (y/n) looked at him

"What axe could have been better than Axcel...?" She frowned

"Oh, I don't know... Nothing could ever be better than the other... But I'm sure... You'll love this axe just as much." Lucifer shrugs as he uses his magic to form a great double headed battle axe, colored in black with a blue edge... (Y/n) will just tell you what it is; "here..."

Lucifer hands her the sword that is definitely twice her size and double her weight.

It took some time to process once she had it in her hands making her gasp, "a double headed axe, made with fine high carbon steel, coated with a black glossy finish," she smiled as she ran her finger along the edge of the blade, "blue magic coated edges to prevent it from ever getting blunt... Sharper than the world's sharpest knife.... A sturdy handle... A well known bandaged grip... With..." She gasped in realization, "MY NAME IN GOLDEN PLATING ON THE HANDLE!!"

Lucifer visibly laughed at her excitement.

She didn't even notice a blush started to form and warm her as she describe the axe in full and running her fingers along EVERYTHING as if fixated with the axe.

"Is it good?" He smiled as he placed a hand on his hip

She grinned, still continuing to lovingly stare at the big axe, "wait... Oh my gosh... The black finish has gold sparkles!!" She excitedly expressed as she turned the axe side to side to see the sparkles shine in the faint light

"Well?"

"This. Is. Fucking... PERFECT!!" she yelled as she hugged the axe and squealed, "imma name you axie!!"

Dice laughed a bit, "it's not everyday you see her be so fixated with these... you know? And it's really cute"

"It... It is..." Law sighed with a soft smile as she sees (y/n) excitedly expressing how happy she is with the blade... The biggest smile he's seen on her face.

"Well? Do you think you can adjust to it?" Lucifer asked

"Well... Let me see if I still got it." She hummed as she swung the axe around in calculated form and strength, "I think I got it. Hehe."

"Good. Want a round?"

"Alright! I don't know if I can adjust to axiel like what I did to Axcel... Though I'm sure that through time, I'd be able to adjust."

"That's the spirit, kid." Lucifer smirked

"Do you guys need a timer?" Dice asked as he pulled out a watch

"Oh! Yeah, two minutes." Lucifer nods with a smile

Dice chuckled and motioned everyone to get out of the space in the middle before grabbing his whistle, "alright... Don't go easy on each other, got it?"

"Papa, can you be a little not easy...? I'll try to adjust to this axe" (y/n) requested

Lucifer laughed a bit, "I'll try honey." He answered before summoning his own greatsword.

A big sword with sharp edges, same colour scheme as (y/n)'s axe.

"Ooohhh! Your weapon looks like mine! Just a sword...!" She points out making him nod

"Yep yep!"

"Alright, ready...?" Dice counted, "and... Go!" Blowing on the whistle, the two soon charged at each other.

But (y/n) was the first to land a hit which Lucifer effortlessly deflected.

Their movements were fast despite the big weapons they hold, sparks of metal clashing against metal soon filled their own little "battlefield", it's like as if they're in sync to each other...

Their movements were calculated and precise, as well as the position of their every move.

It was clear that if these two were to fight alongside each other, Lucifer would defend and (y/n) would offend, vise versa.

But now, (y/n) stayed closer to the ground as possible as to Lucifer who try to keep himself in the air as much as possible, one dives while the other rises.

It was like a dance of blades, a beautiful display of swordsmanship... Though their weapons are not mere swords.

"Holy shit..." The crew breathes, watching them fight.

For someone like (y/n), anyone would think she's only capable of little things and not helpful in a fight against one of the two leaders of a very infamous gang leader, Lucifer.

And yet, they fought as if they were clashing for the power itself, their own strengths rivaled as their eyes flare with the thought of a win.

That was until Dice had blown into the whistle, meaning that the time was up.

The two immediately stopped to breathe

While panting, Lucifer couldn't help but laugh, "you've gotten quick... Starling. That was impressive."

She laughed as well, "not too bad yourself for an old man"

"I am so not old." He smiled warmly, despite the raging cold outside the manor walls, it was warm...

Warm inside the manor, warm inside this room... Warm inside his heart, knowing that despite his flaws and errors, he's got a loving husband and daughter... All to himself.

"You should've seen your face when I struck you first! Hah!" (Y/n) laughed as Lucifer looked offended

"For your information, I was just taken a back. I didn't expect you to be that quick" he defended.

The two "argued" on who's much better...

Though for Dice, they were both perfect. His small smile as the two eagerly argued on who is more better... But he knew that how hard they try, they'll always be at the same level... It has always been like this. And he's glad it never changed.

"Some things never change?" Law asked snapping Dice back to reality

"Oh uh... Yeah." He chuckled

"I hope it's not too bad, we need to leave by tomorrow..." Law says, "our log has set and (y/n) has healed..."

"I know..." Dice sighed, "aww... We could've at least had a simple double date before you guys leave, would that be possible? I'd arrange all of it, don't worry."

"Hmm? That's fine by me but, I don't know if it's the same for (y/n)." Law answered

"Law!" (Y/n) called as she jumped into his arms, "did you see that? I was so much better than the old man!" She laughed

"Hey! I'm not old!!" Lucifer pouted, "Dice...!"

Dice merely laughed before nodding, "he's not old, just REALLY really ancient."

"Hey!"

Later...

"Oh! A double date...?" (Y/n) hummed as Dice nodded

"I think that sounds perfect!" Lucifer beamed with excitement, "that way we can get to know Trafalgar even better."

"Exactly" Dice nodded, "since you guys will be leaving tomorrow..."

"Ahh... That..." (Y/n) sighed, "sure. We can have the double date."

...

"Law, does this look alright?" (Y/n) asked as she stepped out of the bathroom in her room wearing a beautiful dress (it's up to you what the dress looks like)

"Oh... It's more than alright." Law smiled as he fixed his tie.

Dice has said that the date would be somewhere fancy, considering the two, Dice and Lucifer, likes spending a shit ton of money.

"Here... Let me help" she hummed as she fixed his tie, "there..." She giggled a bit

"Thanks" he leaned down to kiss her softly.

That's when Lucifer decided to burst open the room, "hey-! Oh..." He paused for a moment as the two pulled away from each other to look at him.

"P-papa!" She yelled in embarrassment, "learn to fucking knock!"

"Sorry, sorry..." He muttered, "anyway... Are you guys ready?"

She just sighed, "yes... We are..."

"Awesome! Come on!"

At the restaurant...

"Oh wow... I didn't expect that there's such a restaurant in this island..." (Y/n) hummed as a hostess showed them their seats, it was somewhere private...

"I know, right??" Lucifer grinned, "Dicey-boo just has a knack for finding places like these, ain't that right baby?"

"Definitely..." Dice chuckled, "come on... Let's sit."

Law, being the handsome gentleman that he is, pulled the chair out for (y/n) as she sat, "thanks..." She smiled at him as law smirked a bit before sitting beside her.

Later after they had ordered and settled in, Law noticed how fancy the restaurant is, and kind of wondered that even though they were infamous gang members, it's like the public only knew them for their money and fame.

"So... Law..." Dice called snapping him out of his thoughts, "how did you two meet?"

"Oh... I met her at a bar, she was a bartender there and there was a big commotion that prompted to her running away with us..." Law narrates while thinking

"Ah... I see..." Dice nods slightly

"Hey, Law... Quick question, what made you want to become a doctor? I'm sure as hell it's not to help people..." Lucifer muttered, "is that offensive? I guess it is considering doctors help people..."

"Actually... That's pretty valid, I wanted to become a doctor because my parents were one as well... Also my devil fruit requires some level of medical knowledge to wield." Law explained

Lucifer nodded and drank some wine.

"Law..." Dice called, turning to his serious look. It reminded (y/n) of what is about to come; "how much do you love her? I mean you'd understand, she's my only child."

Even Law himself knew it was somewhat coming before sighing.

"I love her. A lot..." Law said

"A lot can run out pretty quickly." Dice narrowed his eyes at him while crossing his arms.

"Dice..." Lucifer called

"And you live a dangerous lifestyle. How can I guarantee you won't put my daughter in any danger once you're both married?" He snarked

"Dad... No-"

"(Y/n)-ya... I'll handle this..." Law said as she sighed

"Alright..."

Dice raised a brow with a small scowl on his face.

"I may have lead a very dangerous lifestyle, but... I have lost so many loved ones that I am not letting that happen ever again" he answered, "I will protect her for as long as I am still alive. Even if it gets me killed because of it. Just this once... May I marry your daughter?"

Dice hummed and looked at law up and down to observe how willing he truly is.

When there was no indication that he was faking it, dice scoffed and closed his eyes, "alright. Under one condition..."

(Y/n) and Lucifer lit up for a moment and looked at each other with slightly wide eyes

'did he really just...?'

'he just did!!'

It was a silent conversation but it was... 'meaningful'?

"Anything..." Law nodded in determination.

Dice looked at law before leaning forward with his elbows propped on the table.

"Give me grandchildren" dice grinned innocently.

Law smirked darkly, "that can be arranged on our honeymoon..."

"Wait... What?!" (Y/n) gasped

[luminecho]

echo what the fuck. all i know about warriors cats is that there are prophecies and the church is evil???? THERE IS A CAT HELL???? DID THEY HAVE TO FIGHT CAT DEMONS????

JGHJFGHDFGSDHGFJHK yes actually! they did!

so there's cat heaven and cat hell (StarClan and the Dark Forest respectively). it was a point of arcs 3 & 4 that in the dark forest, where all of the Evil (TM) cats go after they die, sometimes those cats will visit the living in their dreams. They visit those who are experiencing turmoil or conflict with their family, friends, etc. and manipulate them and train them privately to get stronger. cats would wake up from these training sessions still bearing the wounds they got during the battles in their dreams.

at the end of arc 4, omen of the stars, the dark forest successfully raised an army and has come down (up?) from. uh. wherever cat hell is located geographically. and they attack the living cats from the clans and it's a whole war and starclan warriors have to come and help. many starclan and dark forest cats were killed (because yeah, you can die twice. and if you die when you're already dead you're Double Dead and you disappear from existence)

so yeah they had to fight demons

but the thing with Ashfur is he was in starclan even though he tried to murder three people because uuhhh. "his only problem was loving too much." so cut to arc.... uh. 6? he was like "fuck yeah i can keep being a creepy abusive stalker to my ex" so he POSSESSED THE BODY OF HER HUSBAND for a while and then. uh. some shit happened. idk i haven't read that arc. but he ended up physically dragging squirrelflight into a portal to the dark forest

[mask131]

Dante’s Hell: The best... well “least worst” part of Hell

In this series of posts I will focus exclusively on Hell itself, as described and depicted by Dante in his poem. There is a story beyond just having a guided tour of Hell, and the story begins before the protagonists even enter Hell – but for the sake of simplicity I’ll just focus on Hell. The only thing you need to know is that Dante was chosen to have a private, guided tour of Hell to see and learn everything about it, and report it all to the living world  (or rather a fictional, unnamed version of Dante) – and his guide to Hell is the famous poet Virgil, one of the greatest poets of Ancient Rome, resurrected as a “shade”. That’s the basic.

 I) The Gate of Hell

Let’s begin with the beginning… The Gate of Hell. Located somewhere at the end of a “deep and rugged road” in a “dark forest” that might be entirely metaphorical to begin with. The door to Hell isn’t described itself, but Dante reveals to us that an entire poem is written in dark letters right above it, a warning to all about to cross the gates. One line of this poem became particularly famous and stuck in popular culture, the famous: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here”. However it is but one fragment of the full poem:

“Through me you pass into the city of woe, through me you pass into eternal pain, through me among the people lost for aye.

Justice the founder of my fabric moved ; to rear me was the task of Power Divine, Supremest Wisdom, and primeval Love.

Before me things create were none, save things eternal, and eternal I endure. All hope abandon, ye who enter here.”

[Note: this isn’t the most recent, translation, as you can note it is quite old in orthograph, and not everybody agrees with this translation, but it is the most widespread one on the Internet, so that’s the one I’ll use. My books have other translations, but I’m not going to make a full comparison here.]

So, what does this poem tells us? Very important things. The first part of the poem is a warning people about where the door leads: Hell, realm of eternal pain and woe, where all the souls are “lost”, aka damned. The second part of the poem however clearly points out that the Gate of Hell was created by God himself, out of an action of supreme “wisdom and love”. The poem goes on to say the Gate of Hell was created before any living being ever existed, and that it is eternal (and by extension Hell too). Finally, the last lines point out that entering Hell means losing all hope – because when you are sent to Hell, there is no hope. You have no way to get out of there. You’re stuck forever. In Dante’s world, there is hope if you go to Purgatory, which is a “temporary Hell” from where you’ll reach Heaven. But here? Hell is for those beyond salvation. For eternal damnation, without any possibility of being saved.

Which is a very interesting concept, because here you already have a hot Christian topic brought up… I will digress a bit here, but you know how all those “fire and brimstone” preachers and fanatic Christians like to shout about “eternal damnation” and “endless torments”? Well… they’re not exactly right. It is true that Christianity did create an “eternal punishment” in the form of Hell to scare people out of sin – but Christian authorities also very clearly understood the big problem of imposing endless torments, in a religion where the god is all-loving and all-forgiving and only wishing the best for everyone. So, what Christianity did was reconcile the two concepts by saying “Well… Hell is eternal for a time”. You know about the whole “Judgement Day” thing? If you are American, it probably means “apocalyptic end of times” and “the Rapture where all the good living people go to Heaven” or something like that. That’s some weird American beliefs I got a hard time understanding when I first discovered them, because I was raised on the “good ol’ Catholic faith”, and so I was with the “original” sense of the Judgement Day. Judgement Day is also called the “great resurrection”, because it is said that on this Judgement Day, last day of the world as we know it, all the dead will return to the world of the living, gain back a new body, and be judged again in front of God. Originally this “final judgement” was used in early Christianity because there was not any clear concept of Hell yet – Christians believed people would just wait in some sort of eternal darkness after their death, and then be judged for their good or bad behavior at the end of the world. The addition of Hell and Heaven as places of “immediate” judgement seems to be quite redundant with this “big final trial”… BUT Christianity reused the Judgement Day belief to get out of the whole “hell dilemma”, by claiming that Hell is “eternal”, because Hell will only end with the world and time itself. So… it is eternal, because it will last to the end of time. But at the same time, God is kind and merciful enough to not let the damned souls in Hell forever, and so at the end of all things, all the damned souls we get a new judgement and get access to the great big, new paradise-world prepared for them, with all evil wiped out of creation and Hell not existing anymore.

That’s a lot of theological mumbo jumbo, but this is the kind of shit you need to get used to when entering the actually very complicated beliefs of Christianity (especially Catholic Christianity). Anyway, if I recall well Dante himself will actually ask Virgil somewhere during the poem about Judgement Day, and Virgil will deliver Dante’s (the author, not the character) own take on this concept.

 II) The Vestibule of Hell

It might surprise you to learn that the Gate of Hell… doesn’t actually lead to Hell directly. No, it rather leads to a place commonly referred to as the “Vestibule of Hell”, or “Ante-Hell”. What immediately strikes Dante upon entering this place is the noise. LOT of noises: sihs and cries and shrieks and lamentations and shrill outcries, and cadences of anger, and raucous groans, all forming a sonic “whirling storm” throughout the “starless air of Hell”. This comes back several times throughout the poem – Hell is actually a very noisy place (at least in the upper levels).

Virgil presents to Dante the souls trapped in the Vestibule of Hell, who are actually the “sad souls who lived a life, but lived it with no blame and no praise”. Basically they are the neutral souls, all those people that lived without doing anything bad, but without doing anything good either, out of cowardice, or laziness, or opportunism, or whatever. Due to their absolute neutrality, Heaven cannot accept them in their ranks, so they send them to Hell, but since they are not sinners per se, Hell relegates them to its very doorstep, outside of its actual circles for “real” sinners. Here, the souls, nameless and shapeless, constantly follow a banner that keep whirling and moving in the wind without any clear direction or goal – it just wanders aimlessly, and the souls have to follow it forever, the same way they “went with the tide” or “went with the flow” in their life. And, since these people made themselves “hateful” as much to God as to His enemies (Satan and his demons), they also get punished – here by hornets and wasps constantly attacking and stinging them as they run behind the banner (we even have a lovely description of their blood, tears and pus flowing onto the ground, where maggots feed of it).

[A quick note here about the “body” of those damned souls – the “shades” of the sinner. Here, Dante uses a logic used by most Christian artists. When it comes to traditional depictions of Hell, you see the sinners with bodies, right? But the thing is that Christian recognized that after death, you just became spirits and souls, since there is nothing material beyond our world – and this is the whole point of the “resurrection at the end of times”, when the bodies of the dead will be given back to them. It is also why Christians refused incineration for a very long time, believing the body needed to be buried to be able to be “recreated” at the end of days. Well what Dante used – which is an explanation similar to the one used by Christians – is the “pagan” logic of the “shades”. In Hell and Purgatory, the souls are given back a humanoid-shaped body, but a “shadow” of a body, that looks human, can perform basic human tasks, and can act and react like a human body – it can bleed, be cut, etc etc… And yet is not made of flesh, bones or organs, but rather of some sort of air, aether, shadow or whatever material spirits and souls are made of. A sort of mock-body only designed to receive punishments but unable to maintain actual life in a physical or material world.]

What is even more interesting here is that there isn’t only human souls in the Vestibule of Hell… But also angels. More specifically this group of angels that, during Lucifer’s rebellion against God, stayed neutral. They did not help Lucifer and his armies and did not turn into demons, but they also did not protect or defend God and thus were cast away with the other rebellious angels. These fallen spirits were the first residents of the Vestibule of Hell, punished for standing out for themselves instead of staying “faithful or unfaithful to their God”, and now mingling with the nameless, faceless masses of the neutral humans.

This is a bit of lore that is NOT part of Christian canon, even though it is present in many folktales and folkbeliefs, and Dante’s choice of this legend is tied to the whole context of the “Divine Comedy”. I said it before, Dante likes to put his enemies in Hell – he uses his “Inferno” poem as a way to criticize everything wrong with the Italy of his time, and as a way to publicly denounce or insult famous people of the time or people he had a more personal quarrel with. And one of Dante’s BIG topic in Inferno is a big civil war that happened in Florence and in which he was involved – a civil war that led him to lose a lot of things and left him with a lot of grudges. It was the conflict of the Guelphs and Ghibellines – and due to living through this conflict, Dante has a big, BIG obsession with punishing in Hell those that cause strife, divide communities and cause civil wars. On the flipside, this also shows why he hates neutral people so much he basically throws them in a cheap, knock-off version of Hell – having been himself a partisan in this long political conflict, Dante view very badly those that tried to stay neutral in the conflict as the rivalries, oppositions and persecutions basically tore his home-city (Florence) apart.

 III) Acheron

Beyond the souls of the neutral, Dante spots a crowd of souls by the shores of a wide river, “waiting eagerly in a dim light”: it is the souls of all the recently arrived damned of Hell, waiting on the “sorrowful shore” of this “livid” marsh of dark waters called Acheron. They wait for a boat, driven by an ancient, white-haired old man, a demon with eyes like burning fire or glowing ambers – Charon. Yep, we are here talking about the river Acheron and the ferryman Charon from Greek mythology! The first of many Greco-Roman elements Dante uses in his Hell.

Upon arriving, Charon promptly tells the “perverted souls” that they better forget all hopes of seeing Heaven, because he is here to lead them into “eternal darkness, ice and fire” – and upon hearing this, suddenly all the souls start shivering with fear, and cursing everything in their life, and they weep. Some even try to not enter Charon’s boat – at which points he has to beat them in with his paddle. Virgil explains to Dante this strange behavior by a specific phenomenon – if all the souls amassed eagerly on the shores before, it was because of the “Divine Justice”, whose immense power turned the souls’ fear of Hell into a “desire” and attracted them like magnets to the river… only for Charon’s arrival to break the spell and make them realize exactly where they are, and where they are going.

And Acheron forms the real true “barrier” that separates the “fake” Hell that is the Vestibule, from the “real” Hell awaiting further…

Oh yes, and all the souls of Hell are naked. It is confirmed at this point of the poem.

 IV) First Circle: Limbo

Now, a brief theological explanation for what “Limbo” is. Because Limbo isn’t Dante’s invention: at one point in the Christian history, people started to wonder “Hey… You only can get into Heaven if you are Christian right? But… there were plenty of good people before Christ was born. Heck, half of our Bible is about good servants of God that existed before Christ was here! So what happened to them? Are they sent to Hell just for being born in the wrong century? That’s unfair!”. To resolve this problem, Christianity completely invented a new afterlife: the Limbo of the Patriachs. A place that is not Hell, but not Heaven, and where all the good and decent people that had no way to become Christian would go (because again, in a Christian logic only a Christian can possibly reach the true, Christian Heaven). The Limbo of the Patriarchs basically hosted all the good people who lived and died before Christ, and all of the good people that lived in countries where Christianity never arrived – people who didn’t deserve Hell, but could not live according to Christian teachings and so are not considered “true good” people either. There was another Limbo, the Limbo of Infants, with a similar purpose but a very different “clientele” – it was the Limbo hosting the souls of children, infants and babies that died before they could have a chance to be baptized (Christians had an obsession with baptizing their children as soon as they were born, because due to high infant mortality, there was strong chances the child would die before he could become a good Christian). This concept of Limbo stuck for a while during the Middle-Ages and then was quietly… gotten rid of, as times passed and the Church realized how problematic this all was. Nowadays the Church has more of a silent position on this subject – they don’t teach the existence of Limbo anymore or approve of this belief, and claim all infants who died before baptized go to Heaven, but they also do not strictly say “Limbo doesn’t exist and we were wrong for centuries”. It is quite of a “We don’t talk about it and do as if no one knew about it”.

Anyway – all of this being sorted out, Dante does use the concept of “Limbo” but he makes it, interestingly, a part of Hell rather than a separate realm. Mind you, it is quite a pleasant part of Hell – as I said in my intro, the “higher” the circle of Hell, the closer it is to the living world and the further it is from the devil, and the lesser the sin and punishment is. In fact, Dante is quite struck by the fact that all the screams, wailings and screeching of the Vestibule are now gone, with the First Circle being merely filled with… sighs. Sad sighs everywhere, but no true sound of pain or torment. As Virgil explains, in this version of Hell, this Limbo takes in people that were not sinners, but simply were never baptized and never knew the “true religion” of Christianity, which does ban them from Heaven. Virgil himself was actually a denizen of the First Circle being before “hired” to guide Dante throughout Hell – in his own word, these are not damned souls of sinners, but souls lost “by default” and that feel no guilt (unlike the other residents of Hell). And the only “punishment” these souls have is to know that they are “alone”, cut off from the hope of ever reaching Heaven, denied the “true God” and its love/wisdom/truth. So the souls of these men, women and children just… wait around. Dante even calls them a “forest” at some point, because they are numerous (Limbo is the biggest of all circles) and the souls are “as thick as trees”.

In Limbo, there is a special place different from the darkness of sighs forming the rest of the circle: a great and beautiful castle of light. The souls in it have a different fate from the others – they get to live in this beautiful palace of shining light, surrounded by seven walls and doors, and with inside a fresh meadow full of calm and quietness. As Virgil reveals, these souls actually gained the favors of Heaven and thus have a much more pleasant stay in Limbo than the others. And how did they gain these favors of Heaven? By becoming famous in a good way, by shaping the history and culture of the world (in a good way), and by leaving behind good and helpful heritages that made them worth of a little piece of fake-Heaven in Hell. Dante first, of course, as the poet he is, places the famous pagan poets: Homer, Horace, Ovid, Lucan… He then goes on by citing famous pagan rulers, warriors and heroes, some historical some mythology (Electra, Hector, Aeneas, Caesar, Penthesilea, Lavinia, Orpheus…), followed by the great philosophers (Socrates, Plato, Diogenes, Empedocles…) and various great and famous scientists (Euclid, Ptolemy, Hippocrates…). As you can see there is a HUGE focus on Roman history (again, the whole Divine Comedy is Italian-centric), and a big focus on Greco-Roman Antiquity (we are here in the beginning of the Renaissance, an era which idolized the Greco-Roman Antiquity as the “golden age” of humanity). But Dante still includes other “noble and virtuous pagans” among the residents of the shining castle – for example Saladin. [Fun fact: the fact that the castle has seven walls and seven doors has been interpreted in various ways by people, from them representing the seven arts, to them being the seven virtues].

Dante also has a brief theological talk with Virgil about another specific topic of the Christian religion: the Harrowing of Hell. You see, in Christian doctrine and belief, when Jesus Christ died at the Crucifixion, he went into Hell and stayed there for three days. Then, he resurrected by getting out of Hell – and in the process, he got back all the souls from there, cleaning them of their sins and evil, and getting them into Heaven. Basically this belief and legend claims that the Christ completely reformed the Heaven/Hell system, and said “Okay, now Hell’s criteria are obsolete because I redeemed the sins of humanity and opened a new way to Heaven. So I’ll take all the souls you had until now, bring them with me up there, and you start all over again, okay?”. Dante, upon seeing so many souls in Limbo, is a bit confused and asks Virgil if the Harrowing of Hell truly happened as the Church teaches it – and Virgil confirms that it did happen, oh yes, the Christ did save the people of Hell… or to be precise he took with them only a part of the residents of Limbo – and those were all Biblical characters who treated with the Hebrew God/proto-Christian God. Noah, Abraham, Moses, Abel, David, Israel, Rachel – those are the ones he took with him, leaving the others in Limbo. Remember the story of the Harrowing of Hell, it will become important latter.

 V) Minos

Now, Dante and Virgil leave the First Circle and start their descent into the Second one… But oh wait! There is something blocking the way at the edge of the Second Circle. Or rather… someone.

King Minos. In Greek mythology, Minos was one of the three “Judges of the Hades”, human kings renowned for their wisdom and justice who were hired by the gods to become the judges of the dead in the afterlife. But here, Dante reinvents the figure of Minos. He is still a judge of the dead, but a “grotesque and snarling” figure, with a long snake-like tail. All the damned souls, after crossing the Acheron and the First Circle, must go in front of Minos and there they are compelled to confess all of their sins. Minos listen and judges them, by deciding on which of the Nine (well, rather Eight) Circles of Hell they will go. He renders his judgement by having his tail wrapping around his body – the number of coils he forms indicates the Circle the damned will have to be “hurled into”. Because one of the things that are recurring in this poem is that Dante can never see the next Circle – or barely see it. Whenever he looks above the edge of each Circle, all he sees is a deep, dark, bottomless abyss of shadows and cries, so each new level is a true surprise.

Minos briefly tries to distract and frighten Dante (previously Charon tried to refuse Dante access to his boat on account of him being alive, and tried to tell him to take “other boats at other ports”, only to get shushed by Virgil – something very similar happens here) – Minos explains to Dante that he should not trust or be fooled by those he will find in Hell, and warns him that excited Hell will be much harder than getting out… But Virgil tells him to basically shut up, and not block their “fated journey” ordered by the higher powers themselves. So Minos lets them pass… into the Second Circle.

[villain-in-love]

🌍🌍 for Nanbaka? I feel like this is one you expected me to ask first. Also, learning about Katerina was very interesting! (@canarycurse)

I wonder, was it the reblog about eating corpses from the cemetery that prompted you to ask this… Thank you for asking anyways, and sorry for the delay in answer (I'm currently trying to get used to studying in university and it's hard).

Okay, so!

Fact number one: While she’s got her insane level of regeneration and immunity to illnesses that affect living things, Zero still can get “sick”, although it’s incredibly rare. But when she does, it is a problem, because no one has any idea what exactly could have gone wrong and how to treat it.

Like that one time when she unexpectedly threw up what amounts to a whole goddamn human body, all blood, bones, and tissue. Or when her eyesight suddenly went down (turned out it’s because her cell was too dark and pretty much empty, so her body tried to shut down her eyesight as “unneeded”. That was during Zero's probation/punishment period in men's Nanba after her escape attempt, to give context to such strict conditions).

Zero usually has pretty horrific proposals for the treatment, like when she took out her eyeball and tried to give it to doctor Okina for examination. Or when she insisted on being vivisected, and when she was told to go to hell with this idea, she just proceeded to try and do it herself. All to satisfy her own curiosity, obviously. She dissected other things before, doing it on herself should be even easier, right?

In any case, she doesn’t suffer much if her body malfunctions – she still doesn’t really feel pain. Though she can feel disoriented and uncomfortable… as well as mildly annoyed by the possible inconvenience.

Fact number two: One of the most unexpected things about Zero is her fondness for music. She likes singing to entertain herself, and she’s quite good at it, having a good memory and an ear for music. It’s not uncommon for Zero to casually break into a song whenever there’s an opportunity. In fact, she was humming to herself and improvising melodies even before she learned any actual songs and before she knew how to speak human language properly.

But here’s another thing: while she is indeed a great singer, actually hearing Zero sing is a weird experience, to say the least. Partly because she rarely sings using her own voice. Not only that, but she can start imitating voices of the people you know and heard, and then you can clearly hear those familiar voices being ever so slightly distorted. The unnatural way it resonates that you already got used to hearing when Zero speaks in her own voice, but becomes noticeable when she mimics someone else.

Most of the time Zero sees no point using her default voice and just imitates the voice of the original singer, including the exact intonations and pronunciation that they used. And it can be odd to suddenly hear her sing in a clearly male voice, or a voice of an old woman, or in a voice of… something that was probably one of her old friends from the forest.

[demon-blood-youths]

Navarro and Rust are not going to fall for this crap. Like Dante, they also have enough of the bullshit. They came here to save a town and repay their debt to Ethan and his fraction for helping them out not to be used and serve some liar that belongs to most likely...unscrupulous company that might use the pills for their own greed and ego. So to hear that this guy hired the twins because they're professionals is insulting to them. What was the whole point of everyone being here?! Maybe letting the twins deal with this former client of theirs would be a good idea.

"Wait." Ink said, making her friends stop as they listened to their leader. With her hood up over her dark hair covering her eyes as she tilted her head to the side with a hum sound as if she is trying to think.

"You're right. Let's call Ethan." Ink said, crossing her arms.

"Ink! Are you serious? You can't be serious! This guy-" Navarro asked while Rust was holding the informant by the collar. The informant looks relieved, upon hearing this.

"I am." Ink tells Navarro that there is no cheerful disposition in her voice. This got the second-in-commander to quiet himself and listen to his leader. "Let's call Ethan like you said so you.." Ink addresses the informant, "Can tell him on the phone like you told us so we can get the story straight, right?" Ink asked to which the informant nodded vigorously with a sheephisly smile. "Yes, yes! Of course!"

Rust wanted to punch this guy in the face but he wanted to heard what his leader had in mind.

Ink rubs her neck, looking to the side. "Knowing him, he might know what to do with you. I just want to make sure before we do anything we don't wanna regret later." Making the informant confused and utters, "What?"

"Ethan might know the best way to solve the problem in his own way." Ink's bangs cover her eyes, saying this."He might hand you over to the Horrors or find a way to make you take responsibility for what you did." Ink said. Now Rust and Navarro understood what Ink is planning to do.

"Wait what?!" The informant is now seriously confused and scared. Ink now looks over to the informant as her grey eyes glow under the shadow of her hood, looking over to him.

"You stole the pills from the Horrors and those guys are messing the town up looking for them and you. You need to take responsibility for this. You're going to tell Ethan for what you did and you're going to take responsibility for it!" She tells the liaison directly, "Whether he deals with you himself, takes you to the Horrors so you give back what you stole to solve this problem and say sorry to them. Or maybe we can just leave you so the Horrors find you first. It might make them go back to the forest so they don't have a reason to stay here ..." Ink said.

"Does anyone got anything to say on that?" She asked the others now. Silence fills the hall as she would like to hear everyone's thoughts on this. Rust and Navarro goes to give their answers,

"Ya know?" Rust said. "That's a good idea. Givin this asshole to Ethan is better than nothin." Said the blond. "Yeah let's call him and see what Ethan says."

Navarro voiced his agreement, "Ethan isn't the kind of guy who likes to be bullshited for this kind of crap."Navarro said to which Ink went to call Fosh to connect with Ethan to relay information to him. Before they do anything, they heard a huge boom and felt the earth shake. This surprises the teens as the building shakes a little with dust falling over some buzzing flies.

"What the hell?! I just heard something blew up!" Navarro said as he fell on his behind on the floor.

"No way...no way in hell..."

"Huh?" Rust blinked his eyes at the scientist who just chewed on something as he said something. What the? Between his teeth, it's something he recognized. Green glowing pills and then he heard something, he looked to the left, and saw the man injecting his left arm with a needle.

"Hey! What the hell are ya-?" Everything happened so fast, the blond teen got blindsided as he was sent flying across the town hall and crashed through the wall to outside. He bounced roughly across the ground before hitting a tree before it fell over to the side.

"RUST!!" Navarro and Ink shouted as they saw their friend lying on the ground before coughing, holding his side. "Fuck!" The blond cursed under his breath.

Navarro and Ink look at the informant.

"I, Ramon won't let this chance slip by. I won't let you all interfere with my work any longer especially you brats!!" The informant as he begins to transform. One of his arms became twisted and transformed into a grotesque bulkier arm as he has spikes all over his body. Then an eye pops out from his shoulder.

What the fuck?! What the fuck?! What the fuck?! What the fuck?! What the fuck?! WHAT THE FUCK?! Navarro's thoughts raced through his head. "What the ...hell? YOU GOTTA BE SHITTING ME!" The bomber speaks, "HYDE pills don't do that!" Navarro shouted.

"Like I said.....they're an inferior product! I refine them into something more!" Ramon roared.

𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 @demon-blood-youths’s 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, Dante propped his fingers over the side of his head and made a saluting gesture toward the trio of teens.

Ink, Rust, and Navarro, got it.

Keep reading

[man11c]

Xavier x Reader - Maybe a few more lessons. Pt 6.

Plot - During second term, you join Nevermore academy. One of the first things you do is join the archery club, and from there you get to know Xavier Thorpe. At first he seems head over heels for Wednesday, but maybe at some point he'll see something in you? In school, you go through many dilemmas which you need to solve.

Part 6

────♡────

After Xavier and you finished the project, you didn't see him as much. You'd see him in some of your classes, and he'd catch you after school to chat to you or then again at archery. That was really it. You had no other excuse to see him.

You always noticed Xavier would disappear after his last class and would be gone for what seemed like hours. You overheard his friends talking about sometimes. Curiosity struck you, but you weren't one to go snooping in other business but what harm could it really be? After all, everyone wanted to know where Xavier disappeared to for so long the moment bell rang.

When you were anticipating for the bell to ring, it always seemed to drag out. Minutes seemed to take hours to pass. The seconds flicked over as you tried to patiently wait. It lasted a whole eternity before you got to the final stretch of class. Only a minute or two left before the end of the day. You thought you'd be mummified in your seat at the rate time was moving at. Yet finally, the loud and annoying bell you had been so desperate to ring finally made its appearance. You could finally let out a sigh of pure relief as you jumped up from your seat, putting things away. From afar, you kept your eye on Xavier. Xavier looked over to you and shot you a smile before he walked away from the class. He always remembered to say some sort of goodbye after class, or even something small like that.

Usually, you'd be strolling out of class, nowhere important to be but yeah, no - not today. You walked quickly out of the class to see where Xavier was headed off to. It turned into some sort of sneaking game. You walked out into the woods, it was strange for sure but it didn't matter yet. You tried to make little noise, avoiding the things in your path sat down to make you fail and expose you. Even mother nature was against you in this moment.

The walk wasn't long until Xavier made it to his location, and his companion, which he didn't know about... from the outside, it looked grubby, some worn down shed? Why the hell did Xavier drag himself all the way out for... this? And it had a padlock and everything. How strange, still your couldn't help but just imagine what could be inside in such a place. What could Xavier be hiding away in the woods. Well, you'd soon find out wouldn't you...?

You saw as Xavier slipped in, and you stayed behind a tree from a far. You groaned, you couldn't see anything from where you were standing. So you just had to wait, in this forest which you already forgot the path out of. That was a problem for later. It didn't seek long for Xavier to leave the shed for a moment and walk off. You took that moment. Heading right inside, and all your wild assumptions far off anything that was inside. Drawings, paintings. So much art, some grotesque snd grim to look at. Other so beautiful and delicate. You stared in awe as you looked at all the paintings. "Wow..." You said to yourself as you took a few steps around the dark room. You looked with admiration at the paintings but you couldn't help but notice multiple discarded paints and drawings of Wednesday. All shoved into one corner to hide them away. You went to look at them, stroking your fingers along the canvases that had been coated with paint and charcoal.

"I didn't know I had a secret admirer of my paintings." A sudden voice from behind you which caused you to get startled. Xavier stood at the door, his silhouette glowing agints the light outside. You turn slowly on your heel to bring yourself face to face with Xavier. "Don't worry, it's not the first time someone intruded into my studio... sure they had other reasons for it." Xavier didn't seem phased at all. "Xavier, your art is beautiful." You tell him, looking at his approaching tall figure with wispy hair. "They are so... powerful to look at." You turn back to look at the paintings around the room. You looked closely at the details on the paintings. Xavier stood there sort of flustered from your comments, but he tried to play it off. "I'm, I'm glad you like them (y/n). I spend a lot of my time in here painting. I would make too much of a mess in my dorm if I tried to paint." He laughed as he stood next to you, your shoulder scraping against his arm. "Why would you hide this? You should be showing these off." You rip your eyes away from the painting to look at Xavier. But he kept looking at the painting with a dim look in his eyes. A shaft of air around you, shifting up from the ground up onto your skin. Crawling up your legs.

"Not everyone looks at them the way you do, some are too weird to show. And most of them are from my dreams." Xavier told you, finally bringing his eyes back down to you. He could see the admiration in your eyes. His paintings were genuinely liked, even at their most raw state. "And then again, I got blamed for being a monstrous killer... so let's say that's put me off aswell." Xavier inhaled a deep breath.

The way he said it himself made you look at him confused, but it didn't look like he'd tell you any further. "It's nice to have someone like you liking my paintings. It inspires me, really." Xavier looked down at you, bits of hair falling from his ear. His eyes looked into yours, so intently, but it wasn't weird. His eyes held something you couldn't explain. It was silent. You were too busy looking into Xaviers eyes. At some point, you got slightly embarrassed of this and looked away to the side. "I noticed all your paintings of Wednesday, the way you painted her... it was so elegant. You are really good at capturing the beauty of her." You changed subject, assuming this would be something he'd be dying to talk of. Instead, he looked off... an expression of a person who has given up on something so dear to them. "Yeah, that'll be the last of them." Xavier walked over to them and turned them away, showing the canvases face against the harsh wood. Had he really given up on Wednesday now? "I'm like a dog chasing my tail. I go in circles again and again to try catch her, yet to no avail." Xaviers tone grew somber. He seemed so calm, but the hurting in his heart showed through under his reserved manner.

The topic changed not long after, and you sat and watched Xavier drawing. You didn't know what it was, his canvas opposite you. In the silence, there was sounds of a pencil gliding across the canvas and the soft bristles of his paintbrush mapping out things in his mind. Xavier looked so concentrated, his eye focused, and his fingers wrapped around his paintbrush. Holding it with so much love. You could tell he loved this. "I think, this might be the most beautiful addition to my work yet." Xavier voice cutting through the silence that hung around you. Excited you walked over. And what you laid your eyes on. It was ethereal.

Your mouth parted, yet no words left your mouth as you looked into your own eyes. And Xavier hovered behind you, looking down at you with a small gentle glint within his eyes. His eyes clung to the small features of your face, how your lashes were long and parted just right. How your nose sat on your face. He just looked at you, lost in your features meanwhile, you were too lost in your own. Wet paint sitting drying upon the big canvases. "It's to show my gratitude, for helping with the project and making archery more enjoyable. Thank you (y/n)."

You couldn't even process his words, but his voice mused through your ears. "Xavier... I'm? I don't know what to say." You tried to make up a sentence, but you had swallowed all your words, leaving you speechless. "Don't say anything, just... enjoy it." He raised his hand to the painting. You saw how the painting brought itself to life. It was you laughing and generally just being happy. You turn to look at Xavier, your eyes saying a lot more than you could say properly.

───────────────────────

I absolutely adored writing this. Oh my god... I made myself smile smh I love artist boys

Part 7 out now❗️❗️

Word count : 1446

[clarrissanewt]

Can you do a Harry×reader (female) like angsty angsty (I like breaking my own heart). So Harry and Reader are best friends (assuming it's golden Quad) and it's 6th year...She has feelings for Harry since 4th year but wasn't sure because she thought it would lead problems in their friendship, Ron knows about it and she is really close to Ron than Hermiome (platonically ofc) as Ron chooses to talk to her about his feelings about Hermione. So once Harry slips out that he has a crush over someone to reader, she is hurt and excited at the same time, like what if its her? She talks to Ron about it and Ron too thinks it's reader...Ron gets really excited and teases Harry about who he has a crush on (let's say Harry wasn't scared Ron would freak on Ginny) and asks if it's reader, but Harry's like "NOOO SHE IS JUST A FRIEND! Well umm..its- well really, its Ginny". So Ron doesn't know what exactly to say to Reader so he avoids the subject but Harry talks to reader about his Crush on Ginny and she is all hurt and broke. He asks her tips and tricks to impress girls and she as a good friend obliges. Ron feels terrible so he consoles reader and is all sweet with her (as a FRIEND) and even the twins knew so they send her gifts and letters to keep her happy,especially George. But how can she pretend to be not affected when all she gets to see Ginny and Harry together around?

I think it got pretty long hehe and like a selfish person I wanted to add more but I think it would become wayy too long which would be real selfish so...I hope u find the plot good and umm..yeah take care.

Be Like Her

Pairing: Harry Potter x fem!reader

Warnings: angst, innuendo, mentions of death

A/n: sorry i went too angsty at the end 😭

“Ronald Weasley, this is the last time I say, you shut your gob!”

“That’s not alright, honestly,” the red-haired Weasley looked at the dark ceiling, his face stoic yet perfectly readable for his best friend, “you got to pull up your nerves and tell this to him… not meant to be rude or anything, but you need to get your pants out of the twist-”

“Put up that man face in front of Hermione, you bipolar ginger Weasley!” Y/n shrieked in an effort to mob out the pariah comment Ron made in the apparently empty common room.

Much to Ron’s relief (yet not to Y/n’s), the girl in question wasn’t there.

But when a pair of green orbs (she swears she can see whole forest inside those eternal boundaries) met her flustered ones, and a small encouraging smirk was passed to her by none other than Harry Potter himself, it was stupid, gremlin, Ronald Weasley who decided to cough in the most pretentious way he could.

Oh well, burn in hell, Weasley.

“Before she comes, I call it a night.”

“What got your pants in a twist, mate?” Harry laughed from the other corner of the room, meeting a threatening scoff from the Weasley.

“Honestly?” Y/n saw a wave of bushy hair flashing in front of her orbs as Hermione entered the common room in her ‘Brightest Witch’ speed and settled in front of her raven-haired friend. “He needs to sort out his priorities. He has not even started his essay on ‘Non Verbal Spells’ that Snape gave us and to be honest, he won’t be satisfied until you submit at least a bunch of ten scrolls,” her brows puckered as she turned to the not so lighted corner of the room, and waving her hand at Y/n, pointed to the seat beside harry, “and in Ron’s writing, he needs to conjure not less than a dozen.”

“Ron is going to get Snape goaded tomorrow,” Y/n gave out a short laugh as she lowered herself on the allotted chair.

“Y/n!” She saw Ron poking his head from the hallway of the dorms, “Don’t be a bottom tonight!”

Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth as she suppressed a shriek of amusement and watched as the blob of red-hair flew back inside before Y/n could hex him to obliviation.

Harry’s orbs lingered on his best friend’s frozen expression, her slightly open mouth and he could see her tongue poking out the slightest in an attempt to keep her lips wet despite hearing Ron’s terrifying choice of words.

With a small smirk, he nudged the girl as she turned to him, still feeling hot in face.

“You wrapped a wanker already? Huh, L/n?”

“What- ofc n-no!” Y/n blinked between her two friends who were panting yet laughing shamelessly at her cocked up situation. “You both know, Ron’s mind- his mind goes places!”

“You both have lost the plot,” the bushy-haired girl shook her head in a chuffed manner as she picked up her Five Thousand Five Hundred and Fifty Five Tricks To Ace Non-Verbal Spells, ”But bespoked, man up, Y/n.”

Harry tried not to laugh again as Y/n stuffed her face into her cold palms while Hermione trudged towards the girls’ dorm, sending a stiff salute of two fingers in their direction- six years of friendship with three absolute tossers had definitely changed her.

“Come on, Y/n, hoover it up,” he tapped her shoulder cautiously. “You know, we don’t mind all this.”

“You bloody wish,” he heard her muffled scoff, “Ron’s pulling out my non-existence sex life.”

“Blimey! You know, none of us would be pissed with you sex life, unless its with that Malfoy-”

“Oh, sod off, Harry!” “Alright, alright,” he raised his arms in defence as she turned with a murderous glare towards him, “don’t skive off now. I- uh, I wanted to tell you something- actually I should have told this to you earlier but,” he sighed and rubbed his temple in a dilemma. “Do you mind if I squeeze in with you- er, and in your chair?”

She replied to him with another sigh, and ignoring the wild backflips whirling in her abdomen, she scooted to a side, leavin the other half for him.

For once in life, she mentally stabbed her selfish persona, don’t be an absolute dickhead. Harry is you bestfriend and you don’t go fanticizing snogging your best fri-

“So, I've got a crush.”

The very moment these words rolled off his tongue, her orbs fixated their way into his, before offering him a smile.

It all felt so rame, an alluring force making her think, what if it's her? While the other darker side chewing her to contemplate, what if it’s someone else?

“Wicked.” There was no doubt that her voice sounded low, but Harry being his oblivious self just thought that it was her Piss-o-meter pounding loudly on hundred.

So, he let her go.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

“You gotta be abso-bloody-lutely kidding me!” Ron’s face hung low in disbelief, and quite to Y/n’s uneasiness, he was very much confident. “It’s absolutely you, I bet upon Merlin Boobies!”

“I don’t know, Ron...there’s a lot chance it’s not me-”

“Rubbish- Mate, come here!”

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut in absolute reprimand; there should have been a perfect time and place where she should have told this to Ron, not in their way back to the common room when Harry was asked by Snape to stay back for five minutes because chewing away Gryffindor’s house points was his ultimate goal.

“Heard you drool over someone!”

“Umm, sorry?”

“Y/n told me, you got a crush!”

Tightening her grip on the bag, she turned to the boys, one with a frozen expression on his face while the other looked like the gremlin he is.

“I’m sorry, Harry, you know what kind of tosser Ron is,” she hastened to explain. Harry, on the other hand, continued looking at her, how her brows moved dramatically in absolute guilt, her orbs never meeting him. And with another string of apology, she had run away.

“It’s Y/n, isn’t it?”

“What?” He furrowed his brows at his friend, unmindfully walking into a piece of armour.

“That crush...don’t be shy, it’s Y/n, right? I must say, that’s wicked-”

"NOOO, Y/n? She is just a friend!” The raven haired boy jumped away in shock. “Well, umm..it's- well really, it's Ginny."

｡･:*˚:✧｡

Two days, twenty two hours and two minutes, Ron counted, he still hadn’t told Y/n about this. No matter what pounds of pestering he received, he just couldn’t.

And what exactly was he supposed to tell her?

Don’t get your hopes high now, Ginny’s the hag mate likes.

Oh, this fucking wizarding world, and this fucking Boy Who Lived.

But after whirling all around this deadend for the millionth time in his mind, he made up his mind- no one was at fault, really.

“Hey, Ron?” His blue orbs, swathed in dilemma turned to Harry, who, judging by the unmatchable bouncing of legs, was obviously nervous. “Have you seen Y/n?”

“WHY?”

Harry turned abruptly to Ron, his dodgy screaming effortlessly bringing everybody’s attention.

“Had some work...for DADA.”

Ron rummaged for any signs of him being Wonky Potter, but nonetheless told him about her whereabouts.

If Harry opened his goddamn mouth, more than Y/n, it would be Ron who would be gutted.

As the green orbed boy made his way towards the library, his heart jumped for joy when he saw Y/n walking out- perfect timing.

“L/n! Here!”

Y/n, with an absolute angelic, soft smile, paced towards him, the heavy library books (which, no doubt, were toppled into her grip by Hermione), bouncing as she reached him.

“Everything alright?”

“Umm, yeah… are you free right now?”

And when the answer was yes, Harry made his way to the castle’s balcony, the view of the Great Lake lapping against the rim of the grounds and the sight of stars dusted in the velvet of the sky, making Y/n anticipate something good.

“Don’t tell this to Ron,” he bopped his fist onto her shoulder as she gave a small giggle, but the look in her eyes seemed apologetic; this was his best friend- someone he can’t find again even if he strived his level best.

“So, you remember about the person I talked to you about?” His hand slithered slowly into the pocket of his sweats, his orbs still fixed onto Y/n as she hummed in anticipation. “It’s...it’s Ginny.”

If it hadn’t been Harry Potter himself, even a chap passing by could have seen the shudder running through her body, though her face didn’t show any loss of composure, all her hopes were charred.

“Your quill, I forgot to return it today morning.”

Nibbling on her lower lip, she snatched the quill from his grip, still trying to process what happened.

“It’s- it’s quite alright, Harry. And about Ginny…” her breath seemed to pierce her lungs at the upcoming words, “I’m sure- I’m sure she likes you too.”

Even though the whole evening was spent with Harry rambling about Ginny, only one question gnawed at her soul- where was she at fault in all this?

｡･:*˚:✧｡

“If Y/n would have been here,” Harry’s voice seemed too dead for such a bright day of his life, “she would have been her godmother.”

Ten years since war, ten years since he lost his best friend, life didn’t seem alright to Harry. Not even Hermione, not even Ron could say something that could lift the puncturing ache of his heart.

“I’m never supposed to remind you of this again,” Ron ran his palm through his niece’s slightly haired head, all the guilt bubbling in his heart. “But Y/n lived all those years loving you. She gave up on you just for your smile...she is the strongest woman I’ve ever seen.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to smile when I know that Y/n could have been alive? She could have been here!”

“You remember her last words?”

Harry didn’t say anything, he felt too numb to be reminded of all those things again. But a terse nod was enough to satisfy Ron, Harry knew.

As he looked at his daughter, Y/n Lily Potter, he smiled; she wanted him to smile.

“She is the strongest woman, just like you said, Ron,” his daughter wrapped her tiny fingers around his as he whispered her to sleep. “Be like her.”

[hassedah]

hi! idk if you do scenarios, but... can I request a scenario where ethan comforts elo/MC after ivan's neutral ending?

Ethan comforts MC after Ivan’s neutral ending :

Hi !

How are you ? I hope you are well!

I don't mind doing scenarios, but as English is not my first language, I'm afraid it won't be very well written. In all cases, this is the scenario you asked for.

I hope you enjoy it! ^^ Have a good day and take care of yourself!

---

One week. A fucking week Ivan was cooing with his new chalice. Loïc here, Loïc there. Ivan didn't even hurt him once, while he nearly slit your throat the day after you met. You still have the scar on your shoulder and it seems it will never go away. Sometimes you even dream about that night and the day he almost killed you too. You've been through all this and for what reward in the end? Your home is no longer yours.  Ivan left you for a former best friend who almost killed him, and the only reason you still have your memory of past events is because Beliath took your side against the other boys. Otherwise you would probably be living outside with nowhere to go. This thought makes you start to sob again, you feel more alone and isolated than ever.

You fled the manor as soon as it got dark. Soon after Ivan and Loïc woke up, you couldn't stand to hear them laughing in the living room. Ivan was never like that with you, he was more busy threatening you or pushing you around, or making bad decisions or holding back from bleeding you out. You don't even understand why he slept with you in the end? Was it out of spite, did he really want to, or was he trying to get his ex's arms back into yours? You feel stupid, but you know that you are not responsible for anything. You had hoped for much more from this relationship of love in particular, a lasting love.

After running breathlessly through the forest as much to try to tire yourself out as to hope to forget for a moment what was happening to you you ended up climbing a tree to cry. You don't really know how long you were there before you heard him coming. Probably long enough to worry the boys at home. His voice echoes from the bottom of the tree, he sounds annoyed, but that's not really surprising coming from him who's still angry with you.

"Fuck! MC. What the hell are you doing in a tree?! We've been looking for you for hours. The others are going crazy!"

You don't answer him, preferring instead to slide a little further into the shade of the branches. After a few minutes of silence, you feel the tree move. Ethan arrives right next to you, grumbling in Finnish after the nonsense he does for you.

“Don't tell me you're still crying over that clown," the doctor growls. -Leave me alone, please. -Oh no, if I leave you here alone, Aaron will kill me. You're going back with me. I don't want to get yelled at because of you!”

Lastly, nobody would have listened to you anyway. The others blamed you for Ivan's bullshit, as if you hadn't spent your time trying to stop him from doing them. You're not his mother, for God's sake! But no, it had to be your fault, you had to look out for him, seriously, you ending up bleeding to death on the floor was only a problem because it would kill their poor little treasure!

“It's going to rain, you're going to get death” Ethan warns you, still standing next to you. You don't really know why he is so silent. You would have expected more mockery from him, especially after his detestable behaviour over several months. In the end, you don't answer him.

“I warn you, I'm not treating you. -I didn't ask you for anything that I know of. And it's not as if you care about what happens to me."

He raises his eyes to the sky but does not answer you immediately. The whole thing with Ivan leaves a bitter taste in his throat. He's realised how badly he's behaved, probably much more than he should have, and now he doesn't know how to bury the hatchet with you.

"Come on, MC. Stop complaining. We're going home now."

He insists, but doesn't dare to push you to make you move. Yet it would be easy. He could throw you over his shoulder and climb down the tree like King Kong climbed his skyscraper, but he is afraid of making things worse.

“I have to stop complaining! If Beliath hadn't intervened, you would have put me out on the street! I have nothing, I'm all alone. I have no friends, no family to take refuge in.”  you finally crack in a scathing voice.

The rain starts to fall. Ethan doesn't answer you this time, but he understands how you feel and a knot forms in his stomach. He has spent so much time alone after his transformation trying to form bonds with other people, bonds that always end up breaking. He realizes with some guilt that he is partly responsible for your loneliness. It's true that apart from Ivan and Beliath, no one has really tried to talk to you. If you were with them, so much the better, if you weren't there... well... so much the worse. Nobody really tried to integrate you or gave you that impression. Everyone went about their business, just making sure Ivan didn't inadvertently kill you. It's not easy to live, it's hell.

It's been raining for several minutes now, you're a little sheltered by the branches but not enough to keep you from getting soaked to the skin. Ethan still hasn't spoken and you're still crying. The doctor is totally lost in thought and the more he thinks the more he realises how often he's been obnoxious to you. You hadn't done anything to him, while on his side he spent his time pushing you around and scaring you, he tried to turn the others against you and Ivan without thinking for a moment about the consequences this could have on you, only because he is often in conflict with Ivan. Very clearly your situation was not enviable. In fact, it's surprising that you haven't gone crazy before, that you managed to stay sane when your world had just fallen apart.

"I'm... sorry... -For what?" you ask, sniffling. -I'm sorry I was such a jerk to you. I blame Ivan but I shouldn't have taken it out on you to hurt her..."

You sniffle as you wipe your cheeks. You don't know how to react, or what to say to her. You weren't looking for an excuse when you said that. You just wanted to vent your frustration a little.

“I knew it was going to end badly anyway..." Ethan continued. I told so. -Do you really think I want to hear this?!"

A long silence followed your remark before Ethan spoke again.

"What I mean is that Ivan is an irresponsible little prick. -Why do you hate him so much? It's not a reproach. I just don't understand. -He's selfish, irresponsible, always complaining. You have to look after him all the time, make sure he's okay, make sure he doesn't hurt anyone. He never takes responsibility for his crap, he lies constantly. He puts everyone at risk and never listens to us. -Why isn't it the same with me? -You've been here less time and ... when you think about it, you probably have more reason to complain... We haven't made much of an effort to integrate you... me even less than the others.

You nod but don't answer anymore, slowly the downpour overheads starts to subside. You still sniffle a bit, but this discussion that confirms your emotions without rejecting them and Ethan's confirmation that your pain is legitimate makes you feel better.

“And we should not have listened to Vladimir, turning you into a chalice, really? We should have turned you into a vampire, that would have solved a lot of problems. Besides, you're not as stupid as Ivan, you would have adapted more easily..."

“Do you really think it would have made a difference? you ask quietly. I think I would have felt just as alone -You wouldn't have had to be with Ivan. -Mmh... yes, that's right.”

You don't really know if it would have been better. Even being alone, in this situation, at least there was Ivan. He wasn't much help, but at least he was there. You sigh, lost, you know that you haven't been able to see things in a positive light for some time now, but you can't help it, your thoughts keep coming back to the things that make you sad.

“You would have had an easier time defending yourself, Ethan continued. Ivan would have done his own thing on his own without you being affected... 

You stay in the tree for a while without saying anything more. Then, when the rain finally stops, you climb down the tree, and Ethan goes before you. The branches have become slippery from the rain and he can't help but worry that you might fall. You'll have to walk for another fifteen minutes before you reach the manor. But you just hope that Ivan won't be in the living room laughing with his new chalice.

Silence might have fallen between you on the way back. Ethan was walking right beside you, no doubt attentive of the noise around you as you rubbed your arms to warm them, but after a few short minutes of walking the vampire spoke up again.

"Listen, MC. I know it's not easy right now, especially with that silly prancing around the manor with his chalice all day... and I know we haven't always been on good terms but... it'll get better. -I don't know... I don't think it's ever going to get better... I'm so lonely. -Don't say that. You can come with Beliath and me to the Moondance tomorrow, You'll see a bit more of the world and we'll introduce you to people. You'll probably have fun. -I thought you didn't want me there... -Only fools don't change their minds. And it will be better than climbing a tree alone or running alone in the forest when a murderer is attacking young girls... at least it will be less dangerous... -Ah... I had forgotten about him... -Well, not me... Besides, with this rain, it was difficult to find you. I had to search for a while before I spotted you. -I'm sorry, -That's ok. As long as you get back in one piece. And if anything happens to you, it would hurt the others... Ethan finally tells you. -You think?!”

The hope in your voice is perfectly audible and you feel almost stupid and guilty for daring to hope that someone cares about you. But after all, it's normal to need people to care about you, to feel that you matter to other people.

-I'll be sorry too..., sighed the vampire. -What? -I didn't come out to get you for the sake of drama, rain and tears, I'll leave that to Raphael..."

You smile and feel much better than when you left the manor at the beginning of the night. It may not be much in the end, but knowing that you matter to other people warms your heart. In the distance, you can see the manor taking shape. The next few days will probably continue to be difficult, but you'll be fine as long as you're not alone.

[beyondspaceandstars]

Treacherous (3)

Relationship: Druig x Reader Warnings: light angst Summary: Soulmate!AU - Soulmate tattoos are incredibly rare but you’ve never felt really proud to have one. Everyone else around you gushed over it while you found the whole thing ominous and a little inconvenient. Truthfully, you were never really convinced you’d find your other half… That is until a random camping trip leads you to a quaint village run by a dark and brooding man who just so happens to be your soulmate. Stuck in the forest with nothing else to lose, you agree to join his world, his little village, and see if there’s actually love behind the markings.

‘Treacherous’ Masterlist | Masterlist

Druig returned to your place hours later to let you know preparations were in progress for your stay in the village.

He also informed you he was requiring you to attend lunch with the other villagers. He said it so casually like it was a given like you wouldn’t have a problem.

"What?" You said. "Lunch? Out there? With everyone?"

Druig nodded. He was leaning on the doorframe of the home’s entrance. You were on the couch, where you had decided was the safest spot for you to hunker down.

"Can’t I just eat here?" You pleaded. "There’s a kitchen—,"

"Oh?" Druig’s brow raised in surprise. "And did you go hunting for food to cook in that kitchen? How about harvesting crops, did you do that?" He mocked you.

You were on the verge of rage. "Why must I attend lunch?"

"Because we never have visitors and your presence is raising questions," Druig explained calmly. "We owe the people an explanation for who you are and why I have allowed you to stay." He paused. "We must also discuss your role here."

"My role?"

Druig chuckled. "No one gets to sit around idle in my village, my dear."

You shifted in your seat, uncertain. "Well, did you have a role in mind?"

Now that you thought about it, this whole thing could go very bad, very quickly. You hardly knew this guy still — your "role" could be being his personal…assistant. What the hell have you done—

"Can you teach?"

Oh, that wasn’t where you thought any of this was going. It was so normal.

"Teach?" You said. "Like, you want me to be a teacher?"

Druig shrugged. "We have quite a few little ones. It’d give our current teacher a break."

You contemplated the idea. It didn’t sound horrible really. You weren’t a teacher by trade, but had some experience with tutoring. You also had a brief but lucrative babysitting stunt under your belt. You could…manage.

"What would I be teaching?" You asked.

"General education," Druig said. "Reading, writing, math, science… We have packets made up that outline everything."

Pockets? A whole school agenda? This place really was a whole society just dropped in the Amazon. A hidden treasure.

And you of course had to give some props to your soulmate. A man who has led, what you presume to be, generations in this secluded beauty. There was a tinge of pride in your heart and you hoped Druig felt it.

"Fine," you said. "For as long as I am here, I’ll take on the role of teacher."

"You say this like you plan to leave," Druig said with a teasing smirk.

You rolled your eyes. "I said we’d test it out for now. Plans to stay forever are not on the table."

"Maybe not on your table."

You sighed. "You really want me here."

Druig pushed himself off the doorframe and crossed the living room to where you sat. He got close, frankly closer than he had ever, and placed a gentle hand on your cheek, forcing you to look up at him. Warmth came over you as your eyes met.

"I told you, I’ve waited seven thousand years for you, my lady. I can’t lose you so quickly."

You felt tears in your eyes but you weren’t sure where they came from. As Druig pulled his hand away, you caught sight of his moon tattoo and your heart skipped a beat.

The conversation was over after Druig’s declaration. He said lunch would be served soon and you didn’t even want to ask how he knew the time of day — you were yet to find a clock that wasn’t the sky — and allowed him to lead you to what you assumed was the dining hall.

As you entered the building, you saw a sea of people all sitting around an elongated table. There were two empty seats at the head, presumably reserved for you and Druig. Overwhelmed by the people and what was to come, you instinctively grabbed Druig’s hand. He looked down at you, a little twinkle in his eyes, and squeezed your hand. There was no denying his touch was electronic, no matter the context in which you were feeling it.

"Good afternoon," Druig greeted the crowd…in Portuguese. You cringed mentally In your parent, you apparently hadn’t realized the villagers' main language was not English. You took some semesters of Spanish in school but you didn’t think that was going to help you a ton. You were lucky you could make out ‘good morning’ because then Druig flew into a speech you couldn’t follow. The only thing you picked up on was your name and Druig occasionally pointing to you.

At one point in the speech, he lifted your wrists together, showing off the soulmate tattoos. There was a loud cheer from the villagers that made you blush. Druig only gripped your hand tighter.

He ended the speech by, what sounded like, thanking the villagers for their time and telling them to enjoy their lunch. The crowd of people nodded in thank you and dug in.

You looked out at the sea of bread and stew and fruits as Druig led you to your seats. He pulled your chair close to his. The villager on your other side began filling your bowl before you even realized what was going on.

Once your dishes were stacked with food, you mumbled an awkward thank you and turned to Druig. He was in the process of accepting what seemed to be congratulations from an elderly villager. You waited until she was done before saying to Druig, "I don’t speak their language well."

Your soulmate patted your knee with his free hand. Who would’ve guessed him to be the touchy kind?

"That’s fine," Druig said. "You will be accompanied by me and I can translate. For times I am not around you will have a translator — that is, until you learn the language."

"Learn it?" You gaped.

Druig nodded once again like you should know all this. "You live here, my lady. You will know the language."

You looked down at your food shamefully and disconnected your joining hands. You could tell Druig didn’t like that but you ignored the bond and dug into the stew. The stew was lovely and warm. The bread was just as pleasant… But as you cautiously ate and savored every bite, you realized it would all have been better if half the village wasn’t looking at you with such wonder.

You shifted uncomfortable as you tried not to meet anyone’s gaze, your eyes were solely focused on pushing a carrot through stock.

Druig must’ve felt your discomfort because he pushed aside any earlier reserves he had and asked what was wrong. He borderline demanded to know why you were feeling as you felt.

You looked at him, surprised. "Oh," you coughed, "it’s just, um, they’re all staring at me."

Druig’s eyes briefly scanned the villagers at the table before turning back to you. "And you don’t like that?"

You nodded slowly and the next thing you knew, Druig was flicking his hand beneath the table and all the villagers’ eyes turned that shocking gold again. Under his control, you don’t know exactly what he did, but in total sync, the villagers’ heads turned towards their food. They began eating robotically.

You gasped and pulled on Druigs arm, trying to get him to stop.

"What the hell are you doing?" You snapped.

Druig looked at you shocked. "I’m getting them to stop looking at you. Is that not what you wanted?" He asked, dumbfounded.

You rubbed your forehead, overwhelmed. "Yes, but that doesn’t mean you should do…that!"

Looking a bit reluctant, Druig flicked his wrist again and the trance over the villagers ended. They looked around briefly confused before Druig began speaking. Seconds later, the people were clearing the table and exiting in an orderly fashion, leaving you and Druig alone in the dining hall.

"Is that—" you motioned to the empty table "—a common occurrence around here?" You thought back to the scene he had made when you first arrived.

"When necessary," Druig said.

The next question hung in the air like a bomb ready to go off. "Will you ever do that to me?"

The silence that followed was heavier than expected. Druig fiddled with a loose nail in the wood of the table.

"No," he eventually said. For a moment you were relieved, until he added, "Not unless I have to."

You turned to him in surprise. "What does that mean?"

Druig faced you slowly. You felt a shiver come up over you as your gazes met. Whatever he was feeling was undistinguishable to you but you just knew it was…off.

"I will do anything to assure your safety, are we clear?"

His tone left no room to argue but you were tempted to. Who did he think… You felt your tattoo begin to itch. You placed your hand over the outlined sun in an attempt to silence it.

"Just make sure it’s your last resort," you pleaded. "Please." While the villagers never looked in pain when under Druig’s spell, the thought of being fully under his control, completely submitting to him, made your stomach uneasy.

"Of course," he agreed. "I’d take no pleasure in the action."

You scoffed. "You don’t seem to have any trouble bending the minds of your villagers."

Druig shook his head. "I have to with them. They need to be led, guided, so they can prosper and evolve. So they can live in peace. With you… You’re different. You feel different. I have faith, I have trust in you."

You held back a laugh. "You don’t even know me."

"Don’t I?" He challenged, lifting his wrist, the soulmate tattoo shining like a pure diamond.

It was hard to argue given that over the course of just a few hours the bond had allowed you to feel like you knew him, but you were still skeptical.

"I don’t know," you admitted. "Who knows what this all means?" Subconsciously, you began rubbing your wrist.

"What it means," Druig began, "is that we mean something to one another. Whether we figure it out now or decades down the line, we were meant to be sitting here. You were meant to be sitting here."

His words calmed you slightly, but you still held some concerns.

"What if you were meant to find me in New York?" You asked with a little laugh.

Druig chuckled, shaking his head. "From my understanding, that city is…too much. The people, the noise, the chaos… How could it compete with this?"

That sense of pride show through you again, even if your soulmate’s motivation for the village was a little jarring.

"It is impressive," you said. "You created your own metropolis."

A faint blush crept upon Druig’s cheeks which made you smile.

"You should be proud as well, my lady," he said. "You too will be helping this community thrive in no time."

"It’s just a teaching role," you said with a shrug.

"Shaping young minds is admirable."

"You assigned it to me—,"

"For a reason," Druig said with a smirk.

You cocked your head, confused.

"I told you I had a feeling about you, my dear," Druig continued. "I have many, many feelings."

A shocking, burning heat came over you. You didn’t have to dig deep to understand what he was feeling. Now, you were the one blushing.

You look away to avoid embarrassment over your reaction to him.

"May I go back to me — err — the guest house now?"

"I am going to pretend I didn’t hear that slip-up." Druig stood from his seat. "And, no, my place should be ready by now." He grabbed your hand and pulled you to stand beside him. "Soon, we’ll call it our place."

You weren’t sure how to respond to such a thing so you just nodded. Druig looked pleased as he led you out of the dining hall.

[wolfstarlibrarian]

HELLO I was jw what were your favourite fics featuring POC Marauders without the shitty stereotyping 💜

Also thank you librarian for your content. Honestly this is the top tier rec blog in the fandom due to your amazing taste.

Well THIS is a great ask! It’s nice to see fans looking for authentic diversity in fics as opposed to tokenism. Just about all of these fics have been listed on various library lists, but hopefully people enjoying seeing them listed somewhere convenient. Also, this is just a VERY SMALL selection of fics featuring Remus or Sirius as POC, so if you’re looking for more of a certain representation, just send an ask!

Also, a note to authors looking to include representation (other than their own ethnicity) in their next fic: make sure that you read first hand experiences from multiple sources, research with advocacy groups, and THEN try reach out to a peer who can potentially beta/do a sensitivity read for you. It's important that we all try and learn as much as possible on our own before asking our peers to work as our educators. ❤️

POC Wolfstar

Black James & Cuban Sirius

Be My Baby by @remus-john-lupin It’s the summer of 1963, and 18 year old Remus Lupin discovers dance, love, and even himself. (A very romantic and very gay Dirty Dancing AU.)

Latino Remus

Forget-Me-Not by @halictus-writer

For someone who just woke up with amnesia and a bad concussion, Remus Lupin isn't too dispirited. He'll get through it with the help of his friends, taking it one day at a time, as Sirius says. The only (other) problem? There's something important that he's forgetting.

Retrial by phoenixgal

Remus Lupin, host of the popular podcast Retrial, decides to focus on the case of Sirius Black, a man convicted of murdering his high school best friend, for his upcoming season. Remus has gotten too close to his subjects in the past, so he promises himself that won't happen this time.

Desi Sirius

Young Hearts Intertwined by @goodboylupin

There’s a special kind of magic to a wartime wedding.

Latino Remus & Desi Sirius

A Lucky Mishap by softiejace Of course this would be just Remus’ luck - the library printer breaking when the deadline for his term paper is coming up. And to top it off, the pretty boy he’s been running into all week is there to witness his moment of misery… but maybe he can turn things around?

Sephardic Jewish Remus

Candles in the Darkness by @miraxb

In the winter of seventh year, James, Sirius, and Remus are all carrying their own burdens and fears for the growing darkness in their world. Together, they find comfort and light at the Hanukkah celebration in the Lupin household.

Half Syrian Remus

I Tried Writing Your Name In The Rain, But It Never Came, So I Used The Sun Instead by @prefectmoony

Don’t get Remus wrong. He loves his friends, he does! Loves them to the moon and back in fact. They’re his people, his favorite part of everyday, his found family. He’d do anything for them. But the thing is that doesn’t take away from the very simple fact that his friends are fucking ridiculous. Remus knows this, has known it for five years now. But it doesn’t stop him from startling awake on the morning of his sixteenth birthday surprised by the sound of fireworks exploding in their dormitory and a raucous chorus of “Happy birthday Moony!” being shouted into his ear with jaunty gusto.

Chinese Sirius

got a fascination (with your presentation) by @alifeincoffeespoons

When Remus thought of Oxford as a child, he envisioned turrets, laughter, and an unnameable, unforgettable magic. He did not envision vomiting his breakfast all over himself while standing in the halls of St. Catherine’s College.

Cut Your Bangs by @notmycatsname

"There’s something about him that catches Sirius’s eye. His voice is a little whiny, almost off-key. Sirius has heard it time and time again in the bands that Lily plays through their speakers at their apartment but it sounds more genuine, almost heart breaking, through his voice. Remus’s voice."

Black Remus, Desi Sirius & James

Palo Alto by NachoDiablo

Modern AU set in Silicon Valley. It's easy for Sirius to ignore his mixed-up feelings while he's got Remus all to himself, but when Remus starts dating again, Sirius is forced to figure things out before Remus moves on for good. Or before James and Peter strangle them both.

Japanese Remus and Taiwanese Sirius

kavaluan (means white lily here) by @claudiafekete 1926, Taiwan. Japanese empire's prized colony. Remus needed an interpreter. Sirius volunteered.

Philippino Sirius

Problems with Narrative Structure and the Rules of Manly Engagement [+Podfic] by @xinasvoice

"There were easily six hundred people living in the Paramount building in downtown San Francisco. That was a lot of neighbors to get to know, but it only took a single day of living there for Sirius to notice Remus."

Latino Remus & Japanese-American!Sirius

Discards by @picascribit​ When 21-year-old assistant librarian Sirius spots a cute hipster college student at the Seattle Public Library, he just needs to figure out a subtle way of determining whether he’s into guys. But Remus’s life is more complicated than Sirius knows.

Native American Sirius

Grimsfall by @remus-john-lupin

There is a legend in the old city of Grimsfall that a large, black creature used to emerge from the forest at night, and anyone who met its gaze would be driven to madness before the thing dragged them into the depths of hell.

Mexican Remus & Sirius

A Whole Queer County Fair by @bigblackdogfic Two queer Mexican kids talking, having sex, and feeling their feelings in Arizona.

Indigenous Australian Remus

Among The Gumtrees by WolfstarGarden Sirius inherits his uncle's farm, but finding the right farmhand isn't as simple as he'd hoped: Sirius just couldn’t help but wonder if fantasising about his straight farm assistant was maybe one boundary breach too far. On the other hand, perhaps Remus shouldn’t suck on the end of his pen while lost in thought.

South American Remus

The Delegate by @wanderingbandurria

It’s 1921, and Sirius Black is a sailor that wants to prove himself as a political agitator. He sets foot in a lost, forgotten port in South America, where he’s supposed to help with the local organization of syndicalists. He’s not expecting to meet a brown-eyed man who is there to help put his words into Spanish. A man that’s really not interested in anything but doing his job. Nothing more.

Thai Sirius

Whatever Words I Say -orphaned fic

When Remus Lupin is hired to control the antics of famous lead singer of the Marauders, Sirius Black, he knows he has his work cut out for him. Sirius is contrary and has absolutely no chill, and loves pissing off the press. Remus feels up to the challenge, but he certainly does not expect to fall head over heels in love from the moment he meets the charismatic singer.

Something Beautiful -orphaned fic When Remus Lupin’s ex talks him into a drunken tattoo mistake, he goes to his friend and co-worker Lily for help. Luckily her husand’s best mate is a tattoo artist who can help with the cover up. Unfortunately for Remus, the tattoo in in a rather compromising area, and he’ll have to get over his embarrassment. Luckily for him, Sirius Black is just the man for the job.

So many fics and yet so many more to go! As always, feel free to reblog with your own recs!

[onecanonlife]

Tommy and Wilbur fell apart a long time ago, and there was never any time to mourn the pieces of what they were.

But here's the most important thing: Tommy doesn't give up on the people he cares about.

(Or: on grieving, graves, a past that refuses to let go, and learning to look forward at long last.)

(word count: 5,619)

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

“You know,” Tommy says, “I never really got to—to mourn you. Not properly, anyway.”

He’s not sure what response he’s expecting from Wilbur. He’s not sure why he’s saying anything at all. He’s not sure why he’s here.

That last one is a lie. He scuffs the ground with his shoe, and then pretends that he didn’t.

“I wasn’t expecting you to mourn me,” Wilbur says, in that stupid, even, condescending tone of his, the one that he uses whenever he thinks Tommy has said something incredibly obvious, when he’s got an idea in his head of how things are and what people mean, regardless of the way it all actually is. “In fact, I rather thought you wouldn’t. Shouldn’t, even.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” He has no patience left. No patience left for the look in Wilbur’s eyes, no patience left for the way he focuses straight ahead, barely sparing him a glance, no patience left for the way he speaks, measured and calculating, every word he says carefully weighed against the end result, curated for intent and impact. No patience, and he had precious little to begin with. “I’m not even—this isn’t about you.”

Wilbur raises an eyebrow. It makes him look like a prick. “Oh?” he says.

“Because I would’ve,” he continues, doggedly. Now that he’s started saying it, he’s damn fucking well going to finish it. “But, y’know, you blew it all up, so we had to rebuild, and then I got exiled” —His voice doesn’t waver at all— “and then shit just kept on happening, so I never got to decide. How I felt. I never got to think about it.”

Wilbur laughs, then, and it’s the laugh that he hates, because it’s the laugh that’s not genuine. He knows what Wilbur sounds like when he’s happy, and this isn’t it. Hasn’t been it for a long time.

“Not sure there’s much to think about, there,” Wilbur says, and he scowls.

“Shut up, you prick,” he says. “And yes there was. That’s not something you get to choose. What I feel.”

“I’m not trying to—” Wilbur starts, but he shakes his head, going back to talk over him, because no, he’s not doing this. Not today, and not here.

“You are though, aren’t you?” he says. “You always do this. You go, you go mimimimi, I’m Wilbur, and I understand everything about how people think and I’m always right and you are all wrong, and you, I dunno, man. You just. You just don’t. You don’t know. You think you know things, but you don’t. You’re not always right. And I’m—I don’t fucking know why I’m bothering with this right now, but it’s not so you can tell me that I shouldn’t be. Because that’s not something that’s up to you.”

“Then why are you bothering with this?” Wilbur says, and his voice isn’t unkind, but it’s not kind, either.

“I just said I didn’t know—”

“Because if you’re asking me if you should mourn me, you already know what I’m going to say to that,” Wilbur says. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s the fucking problem,” he says, and tacks on a quick, “Not like that,” but Wilbur’s face has already hardened, and yeah, there’s a million better ways he could have put that, but that’s the thing about talking to Wilbur. His brain is never firing on all cylinders, as it were, because it’s too busy trying to figure out if he should associate him with warm summer days and the haze of potions and a strummed guitar or explosions and drifting smoke and blank eyes and the awful realization that what he thought would make everything right didn’t do anything at all, and that nothing would ever be right again.

And before the both of them, L’Manberg’s crater stretches out, vines trawling over the edge, leaves sprouting from between the rocks, sunlight catching on the pool at the bottom, the flag fluttering lightly in the wind. Before the both of them, L’Manberg’s crater has grown over, time pressing itself into the cracks. Before the both of them, L’Manberg is a crater. It wasn’t always.

“You make everything so fucking difficult,” he says.

“It’s what I live for,” Wilbur says.

“It’s what you died for, too,” he says.

Wilbur pauses.

“No,” he says. “It wasn’t.” But for once, he doesn’t elaborate, and Tommy glares at him. Only for a moment, because there’s no point in glaring when someone won’t see. Won’t look. Wilbur has his eyes turned to the crater, and Tommy has his eyes turned to Wilbur, and something about that is how it’s always been. The vines have grown over the earth’s old wounds, but Tommy can’t help but feel like they’ve curled around his ankles, holding him to the spot, the moment, and every moment that came before.

I never got to mourn you, he doesn’t say again. I never got to mourn you, and I feel like I should. But you’re here, and what the hell am I supposed to do with that?

Wilbur won’t hear him. And if he does, he won’t understand.

-----

He collects bits of the past like buttons, or stamps, or memories.

He has his discs. He’s hesitant to play them, even now. Hesitant to take them out of his enderchest. He has his home, still in the same spot, all this time later. His hill, his hole, his garden, their bench. He sat on that bench and heard Wilbur, once, reaching out from beyond the grave, and Wilbur told him he was proud, and something in him ached in the same way that his scars now do when it rains.

He has some of Friend’s wool. Just that, just wool, because he doesn’t know how to knit, and he doesn’t know who would teach him. He can sew a little, but it was something born of necessity, of the need to patch up uniforms and close the tears over freshly dealt wounds, and he can still feel the needle pricking into his fingers, again and again and again. He never could figure out how to hold it so that it wouldn’t. He bled for L’Manberg in more ways than one.

Deep inside a chest, he has two uniforms. Blue and red and white. One is a size too small. The other is several sizes too large, and always will be.

He still goes to pray, sometimes, though not as often as he did. He got the chance to meet god and found no one there, so it’s a little tricky, these days, being faithful. But he’ll go to Church Prime, because no one else really does, so he’ll have the whole building for himself as he strides up to ring the bell, to ask for guidance and favors, to pay his homage at the feet of a higher power that he cannot believe cares. On the best days, he’s tempted to try to conduct a service. But there’s no point when there’s no one to hear it but himself. Even he can’t bring himself to put on a show for empty pews.

He prays, and nobody answers, and sometimes he can’t help but remember the void, the tearing, ripping nothingness, raking him to shreds again and again, where he was not alone and yet nobody came.

He considers visiting Tubbo. But Tubbo has his own life, and a mansion he hasn’t moved into, and a town that Tommy does not belong to, and an allegiance that Tommy does not share. He considers visiting Ranboo, but that’s either the same as visiting Tubbo, or it’s the same as visiting Techno and Phil, or it’s the same as visiting Wilbur.

So he looks at his discs and doesn’t play them, bunches his hands in wool that he has no use for, and calls out to a god he can only now offer false homage. He holds to the past, and wishes he could believe he has a future. Wishes that he didn’t see obsidian and curtaining lava whenever he closes his eyes.

-----

The first time he hears Wilbur play again, he hides in the forest like a fucking coward.

The guitar is strummed hesitantly, haltingly, interspersed with silence every few seconds, as if Wilbur is struggling to find the old positions, struggling to move his fingers just right. He wonders, then, if limbo took away his calluses. He didn’t think to look. Thirteen odd years without playing a guitar is bound to make anyone rusty. Tommy wonders if Wilbur’s fingers will bleed if he presses down on the strings hard enough, and then he banishes the thought from his mind, because something in him revolts at the idea of Wilbur bleeding. Of Wilbur trying and trying to play until he—

There is something to be said, here, about using yourself up in the pursuit of something greater. There is something to be said, here, about holding matches ‘til they burn down to the skin, about stairs without handrails, about things that are never meant to be and yet claw their way into existence anyhow. There is something to be said about pushing too far, too quick, and flying too high.

Wilbur’s not singing. Is just going from chord to chord. And Tommy hides behind a tree, pressing his back against the bark, because it has been so very long. Wilbur didn’t play in Pogtopia. Wilbur barely played in L’Manberg. The last time he heard the twang of this instrument was sitting by a campfire, plans for a van in the works, the night sky starry and welcoming above them, his chest warm in a way that had nothing to do with the flames. And Wilbur smiled at them, smiled at all of them, and his voice was light and sure, his notes soaring.

Wilbur’s not singing. After a moment, he starts humming, softly and meandering, and each turn in the melody hits like a wrench, like he’s dragging the notes out behind them, yanking at the tune whenever it goes somewhere he doesn’t like. It’s a lot of leaps and skips and jumps, a lot of highs to lows and then highs again, and something about it sounds like wailing. There are no words, and there is no happiness.

But he’s playing. He’s playing, and does that count for something? There was no music for such a long time, no music in the darkness and no music even in the light, and now there is music in the grey twilight, and it is not happy music but it is music. Wilbur is playing again, and Tommy’s not going to cry, because what kind of pussy cries about hearing a guitar? So he doesn’t cry, but he doesn’t venture out from this spot, either. He stays there, and listens as Wilbur sends his voice shooting up into falsetto and then back down again.

It’s good that there are no words, maybe. They’d be sad. He can tell.

“That sounds nice,” Ranboo says, all of a sudden, and Tommy jolts at the same time that Wilbur’s hand must jerk, a discordant clash of notes, something that can’t even be called a chord. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“You didn’t,” Wilbur says, after a pause. Tommy almost creeps out to see his expression, because he can’t picture it. Can’t tell from his voice what his face is doing. “I was just about done anyway.” There is another pause, and a rustle of clothing. Standing. The crunching of leaves underfoot. It’s nearly autumn again, and already the leaves are changing, falling.

It would be wrong of him to resent Ranboo. He’ll never admit it aloud, but he likes him. Rather a lot. Hiding it is probably pointless now, though that doesn’t stop him from trying. But Ranboo is occupying the space that should be his, that once was his. There is a van in a forest, and a guitar song winding its way through the branches and the roots, and everything is different and everything is the same, and the new story is written without him in it. He doesn’t know what he wants, but he thinks it is not this. He thinks it is not to be left behind.

And Ranboo does not know Wilbur well enough to hear the lie in his voice.

They go off together through the trees. Tommy stays. Runs his hand across the tree bark, and tries not to put his emotions into words. Better to let them drift along as is. Better not to give them voice, because whispers turn into shouts all too easily, and there is not enough space here for shouting.

-----

There’s a thing about graves. There’s a thing about graves and who gets one, and who doesn’t.

He didn’t think about it at the time, the fact that Schlatt—Schlatt the tyrant, Schlatt the enemy, Schlatt the man who had Tubbo executed—got a funeral, and a tomb, has one even to this day, and Wilbur got rubble and a room sealed off and untouched. Didn’t think about the fact that there was no burial. Didn’t think about the fact that there was no gravestone to deface or to ornament with flowers or to kick or to scream at or to kneel beside and speak to or to cry or to do any or all of those things. He didn’t think about it at the time, because there was rebuilding, and then there was a house on fire, and then he doesn’t like to think about it.

And there was Ghostbur.

Wilbur hates Ghostbur. It makes him angry, the way that Wilbur hates Ghostbur. Ghostbur was good, and Ghostbur was kind, and Ghostbur tried his best, and Ghostbur did not deserve to die in the way that he did, terrified, with no one there by his side, with only shouted numbers to soothe his terror, and Ghostbur does not deserve to be stuck in a train station for all of eternity. So he makes Ghostbur a memorial, because it’s all he can do, and the first time he’s next to it at the same time as Wilbur, he meets his eyes squarely. A challenge. A dare. And Wilbur looks right back at him, and then to the gravestone, and his lips curl into a sneer.

And he says nothing at all.

He says nothing at all for a long time. Until he does, and it’s all made so much worse.

“Would you rather he was here, instead of me?” Wilbur asks, and it’s all very even and nonchalant, so much so that it might have him fooled if he didn’t know better, hadn’t heard time and time again exactly what Wilbur thinks of the ghost he left behind him.

“The fuck kind of question is that?” he demands.

“An honest one,” Wilbur answers.

“Right,” he says. “Because you don’t lie anymore, or whatever the fuck.”

“I don’t,” Wilbur agrees, and that is a lie. Tommy would be insulted if he weren’t so tired of it. “Really, I’d like an answer.”

“What does it matter?” he snaps. “He’s not here anymore. He’s not here anymore, and you are. No changing that. I’m fucking stuck with you. You’re like, you’re like a leech, you know that? A leech in my brain.”

Wilbur smiles tightly.

“I’d rather be a leech in your brain than dust in the ground,” he says. “Like he is.”

“Shut up,” he grits out. “Don’t—just don’t fucking talk about him.”

“Alright, then,” Wilbur says. “I won’t. If it upsets you that much.”

And he doesn’t. And the grave stays.

And it is not until later that he thinks about the thing about graves again, about who gets one and who does not. There is no grave with Wilbur’s name on it. There was no soil to lay him to rest, only cold, hard stone, a room undisturbed, a monument to destruction. And had there been time, he would have thought about it more. Would have taken it upon himself, perhaps, because the thing is, in the end, that maybe Wilbur deserved better than to be remembered as the man who destroyed his nation. Deserved better than to be remembered solely by the ravine’s dark corridors and the smoke that clung to him like foreshadowing and the way his eyes looked dead, dead, dead for a long time before Tommy watched Phil plunge the sword into his chest.

Because he was not only that. It hurts to think about, how he was not only that. But sometimes, things that hurt to think about ought to be thought about. Because Wilbur was shattered edges that Tommy knows only now that he could not fix, because Wilbur did not want fixing, but Wilbur was also laughter and a gentle hand on his shoulder and the words “I’m proud of you” that lit him up like sunlight, and he was kind and he was kind of a dick and he was brilliant and Prime, maybe Tommy should have known. Should have known that there was going to be a fall. But he looked up to Wilbur like a child to a shooting star, and it’s a long time before children understand that shooting stars aren’t stars at all, and that the wonder of them comes from self-destruction.

But before Wilbur fell, he shone. A beacon in the dark. Hope, freedom. And before he was those things, too, he was Tommy’s brother. Just that, and nothing more, because more was not needed.

And he received no grave.

It’s a question of time again, and a question of mourning, and a question of how he was ever supposed to grieve when there was no time for it at all, and when a ghost shadowed his every footstep and dripped blue from cold fingers and insisted that nothing was ever wrong. But for the first time, he wonders how Wilbur thinks about it. Graves, and ghosts. And who gets a grave, and who does not.

Who is mourned, and who is not.

Who is given up on, and who is not.

The question echoes once again: “Would you rather he was here, instead of me?” And this time, Tommy hears no taunt in it, no mocking, no cruel joke about the ghost who deserved so much better. Only bitterness, and exhaustion, and resignation. Like Wilbur already knew what answer he would be granted.

That’s a realization of some sort, that Wilbur believes he prefers him dead. It’s a realization of some sort, but he doesn’t know what kind.

There’s ghosts and there’s graves, and there’s the living and there’s the dead, and both are left waiting for relief that never comes. It’s thirteen years in a train station and it’s months without knowing what to think, without having space to breathe, without being able to process that his brother was unwell and then that his brother was gone. It’s too much time and too little, too much distance and too little, and Ghostbur did not deserve what he got, but neither, he thinks, did Wilbur.

That thought feels right. And wrong all at once. Bitter, heart-wrenching. That Wilbur deserved better. They all did, that he knows—but Wilbur did too. And that thought is muddled up in all the rest, and he doesn’t know what to do with it, but it’s there. If there’s anything to be done with it at all.

-----

Here is a fact: he kept Dream alive for Wilbur’s sake.

Here is another fact: he doesn’t know if he regrets it.

Because here is the thing: he remembers that day, remembers the pain and the fear and the devastation, and he remembers the moment it all turned around, cowering behind Sapnap and behind Eret until the time came to step forward, to take the axe in hand and deliver the blow, to deliver himself to safety, finally, finally. And he remembers the words bitten out from Dream’s mouth, panicked, desperate, and he remembers what he said. He will never forget.

And the decision, in that moment, was far easier than it had any right to be.

It became harder, later. Because he made the decision thinking, in large part, of the person that Wilbur used to be. Of a quick, charming tongue and flashes of smiles and music and song and leadership and knowing what to do, always, and Prime above but Tommy missed that person. And so maybe he deluded himself. Maybe he thought, in that dark room, with the portal swirling behind him and the entire server at his back, that he could get that person again. That Wilbur would return, and that it could all go back to the way it used to be. Discs spinning in the sunrise, the server at peace, his brother with him.

But death put those thoughts to rest.

Because death proved to him that Wilbur had only gotten worse. Because in death, Wilbur was happy he was there, did nothing but talk to him and make him play competitive solitaire as he was torn apart atom by atom. Because Wilbur—he became so very certain that Wilbur, if released, would bring nothing but harm to the server again, would tear everything down, because there was something in his voice, in his eyes—

But that was then. And now, Dream still lives in prison, rots but lives, and Wilbur has a burger van in a forest with a friend and spends most of his days lounging about or making eyes at Quackity or talking up a storm but doing jack shit, and Tommy doesn’t know what to make of it, and doesn’t know how to admit that maybe his idea of what Wilbur would be like and what Wilbur would do wasn’t entirely accurate.

And he still doesn’t know if it was worth it. Worth the constant fear, worth knowing that one day, Dream will be out, will come to him, will try to finish what he started. He tried to prevent it and only made it worse, only led Ghostbur to his doom by his innocent, trusting hand, and Dream resurrected—

A monster, he would have said, once. He no longer knows if that is fair.

Because here is another fact, one that he is only now beginning to understand: Wilbur is very, painfully human. He’s always known, and yet he hasn’t, because once, he thought Wilbur hung the stars and the moon and all things bright and glowing and good, and he thought that Wilbur could never be so human as to be fallible, and then it turned out that he was wrong. And it was easy, in the aftermath of that, to figure that Wilbur was perhaps some kind of monster instead, and everyone around him said as much.

But that, he thinks, goes too far in the other direction.

His hopes will never be realized. He will never have the old Wilbur back. He clings to a past that clings to him right back, that has him in a chokehold and will not let go, but Wilbur is something else entirely. The rest of the past does not live and breathe, is contained in his overflowing chests, in uniforms that don’t fit him, in the church’s empty hall. The rest of the past is made of things he can hold, but he has never been able to hold Wilbur. Not then, and not now. And there is no hope of making of them what they once were.

There is no going back.

So was it worth it, then? To keep Dream alive, and to receive this, this man who varies between manic energy and calculated calm, who speaks with a whip in his tone at some times and unbearable softness at others, who proclaims Dream his hero and then claims he would have killed him, if he could, for what he did? Was it worth it, and is it worth it, and how is something like that measured at all?

Wilbur is a tightness in his chest when he speaks and a ghost that won’t leave and a ghost that died and a thousand words like a thousand stinging hornets and no picture that could encompass all of them, all of what they are and were. Wilbur is Wilbur, and Wilbur is not safe, not anymore, and perhaps Wilbur is not even good—but there, that, that is wrong, and he won’t make this mistake twice. Wilbur is good, it’s just that he’s forgotten that, and Tommy is so, so very tired of having to be the one to try and remind him. And Wilbur is empty space and Wilbur is a space too full and overflowing around the fractured edges, and Wilbur is too bright and too loud and too quiet and too little and too much, and even now, even still, Tommy does not know where they stand.

Was it worth it, to have this?

He doesn’t know. But sometimes, he imagines what it would be like if Wilbur were still dead, if Wilbur were never, ever coming back in any shape, in any form, and his throat closes up and his eyes sting, no matter how much he has laid out his hatred for the man, his regret at going into the prison that day. He tries to imagine a world without Wilbur in it, in which he has given up on Wilbur, and even now he doesn’t like it, even though maybe he should, and that is, perhaps, answer enough.

-----

“Why do you keep coming here?” Wilbur asks him.

“I dunno,” he says, instead of a hundred other things. “Why don’t you ever fucking leave?”

Wilbur just looks tired. There are bags under his eyes. Tommy thinks he can guess why; he so rarely slept during their exile, but Tommy is thinking about limbo, and train stations, and how whenever he closes his eyes, part of him is convinced that his heart has stopped beating. He wonders if Wilbur, for all his sunrise-obsession and constant movement and moments of utter wonderment at the world around him and the way he doesn’t move whenever a creeper approaches him, feels the same way.

“There was a reason I asked Ranboo to do this with me instead of you,” Wilbur says, suddenly, apropos of nothing. Tommy feels himself still. “I mean—actually, I asked Phil, and Phil was all, oh, Wil, go and make friends, and I was like fuck you I’m not twelve years old anymore but Ranboo’s pretty great so it worked out. But I—I guess what I’m getting at is that I don’t get it. Why you choose to keep coming ‘round here anyway.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “What’s not to get?”

Wilbur shoots him a look, eyebrows going up and mouth slanting all sympathetic-like.

“Tommy,” he says, slowly, as if talking to the child that Tommy has not been in a long, long time, “I’m not what you want.”

Several answers form in his head, and then dissipate just as quickly before he’s able to reply. “‘S that right?” he says, and something boils within him, hot and snapping and popping.

“I can see it when you look at me, man,” Wilbur says, and he doesn’t even sound upset. “You’re—and I mean, I don’t blame you for it. I was awful to you, Tommy. I don’t deserve anything less than your scorn. But you and everyone else, you’re all waiting for what I’m going to do next. You’re all waiting with bated breath. Scared of the next disaster I’m going to cause. So you don’t—you don’t have to be here, Tommy. Not if you don’t want to be.”

There are so many things he could say. Your disasters always cause the most damage to yourself, is one of them, and then there’s a simple, you think I don’t know that? Because how many times has he told himself that same thing? That he doesn’t need to be here? That it would be better for him if he wasn’t? And some part of him must listen, because he’s not actually here all that much. He has other things to do. A life outside of this, outside of this forest on the edge of a fake desert and a van that makes pretty shitty burgers and one Wilbur Soot, like a portrait from the past and yet nothing like that at all, because portraits are shadows, still images, permanent and unchanging, with mo mutable future, and Wilbur Soot is none of those things.

He has a life. He has Tubbo, still, even if it’s all changed. He has others. He’s not alone.

Wilbur’s right that he doesn’t have to be here.

“Stop fucking doing that,” he says. “Stop trying to make my decisions for me.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he says. “You always are. It’s my fucking choice whether I want to be here or not. And I’m making that choice. Not you. Me. And sure, maybe one day you’ll manage to get rid of me for good, but you’re gonna have to fucking work at it, and I don’t see you trying.”

“I thought you didn’t want me here, Tommy,” Wilbur returns, and the words seem to fall so effortlessly, like easy acceptance, and why, why is it this of all things that Wilbur seems to take in stride? Why is it this and not a thousand other things? Why is it this and not the fact that despite it all, despite every warning sign and every indication that maybe it might be better for him to give up after all, Tommy is still here?

“I didn’t want you gone, either,” he snaps, and Wilbur falls completely silent. So he continues, because who knows when he’ll have a chance to say this again? That’s the thing about chances; they’re difficult to count, impossible to anticipate, and he bollocksed up the first one he got, to try to break through. “I never wanted you gone in the first place. So maybe I don’t—maybe I don’t fucking know what I want. Because I never got to just live with that. There was never a chance to—there wasn’t even a fucking grave for me to visit. I never got to figure anything out, and now you’re back and nothing’s the fucking same, so maybe I don’t know what I fucking want. Maybe I don’t fucking know if I want you here, but I didn’t want you gone. I didn’t want you to be dead. And then you were. You just were, and I couldn’t—did you expect me to be alright with that?”

It’s a question of mourning, and a question of graves, and a question of chances and who deserves them. And Wilbur just looks confused.

Fuck him.

There’s so much more to say, and he can’t say any of it at all, and the past chokes him like a knot of vines or a clump of flowers in his throat, but he’s still breathing. He’s still breathing, breathes again, whatever, and Wilbur is the same. They’re the same in a lot of ways, maybe. On the other side of the final death, trying to hold onto and release the years gone by all at once. Moving forward, but stuck in quicksand, and they’re never going to get out if they don’t let each other.

“You’re my brother,” he says, and that’s all. As if that explains everything.

And maybe it does.

Wilbur blinks.

“Ah,” he says.

��Yeah,” Tommy says. “Fucking ah.”

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur says.

“You’d better be,” he says.

And impossibly, the vines uncurl, and the flowers come floating up, and when he takes a step forward, it comes easily.

There is a van in this forest, and it is not the same van. Some distance away, there is a crater in the ground, and nature has draped itself over the ruins of the lives they once had, and the flag still flaps at the bottom, and they are never, ever going to be able to rebuild what they lost. The crater will always be a crater, a scar in the earth. Healing, healed, grown over and stitched shut, but still a scar.

And there is a man standing in front of him who is not the same man that he knew. Not the same man that he claimed for his family, and who claimed him in return.

But he is not the same, either. Perhaps nobody and nothing is. The past clings, and he clings tighter, but perhaps he needs to loosen his grip, because despite everything, there is a future out there, somewhere past the next sunrise. They are going to get older. They are going to live. So he has his discs and his uniforms and his wool and his prayer, and he has this, too, because it is his choice. To take a step forward, and wait to be met in the middle. To dare to turn ahead, to believe that there is something awaiting him. The both of them.

And he thinks he might finally be able to let himself grieve. Grieve, and let go. Grieve the dead, and what they had, and what they might have, and grieve for the fact that there was no grieving, no grave.

And then, let himself hope that they will have better after all.

-----

The next time he hears Wilbur play, he steps out from behind the tree.

And maybe the song is a little less sad.

And maybe nothing will ever be the same as it used to be.

And maybe it will be alright.

[mellowyandere]

One Hell of a Logical Ruse Part 2

Reader: F

Characters: Toshinori Yagi (All Might)

Summary: Toshinori's anxiety over your absence quickly gave way to anger as he tired of your attitude. His own version of a punishment was in order.

Length: 6.7k

Warnings: non-con spanking, yandere themes, bathing, non-con, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, size kink.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Based off the pre-established fic You’re Ours to Protect. 

Toshinori and Hizashi were pacing the kitchen, phones in hand as they tried to get Shouta to respond. You had been missing for upwards of six hours now and the pros were on the verge of losing it. Their sleepy counterpart had stated he wouldn't need the two blonds help, but try as they might they couldn't help the anxiety clawing away at their minds.

"Fuck Toshi what if she got hurt? I know she's capable 'n all but the woods! There's god knows what out there!" The smaller blond was vibrating he was so wound up, the mental image of bugs crawling all over you and coyotes tearing you to pieces sending him into a panic.

All Might's anxieties were a bit more practical, imagining you finding your way to the road and trying to hitch hike away from them. What if a villain found you and hurt you? Nowhere was safer than home with them.

"Shouta is fully capable of finding her, any minute now and he'll give me a call..." The words were meant to bring Hizashi comfort, but he was struggling to convince himself as well. His phone was clutched in his large hand, its silence on the verge of killing him.

When it finally rang he almost threw it across the room as he fumbled it. Slamming the answer button he brought the phone to his ear.

"Where is she, is she hurt, is she alright?"

"Calm down she's fine. Dirty and upset, but otherwise relatively unharmed."

Hizashi bounded over, ears perked so he could listen in on the conversation. His perfectly aligned teeth worried his bottom lip at his husbands word choice of relatively. So he was a bit rough on recovery.

"I'll send you our coordinates, she managed to get pretty far into the endless forest. Good thing that contact of yours set up this quirk or else she would have reached the main road hours ago."

Toshinori heard your disgruntled yelling in the background at Shouta's newest revelation before the line went dead. His phone pinged and he made a mental note of where the two of you were. Taking a deep breath he puffed up his chest, taking on his more muscular appearance before running out the front door.

-----

An endless forest. Go figures. From what you could tell the further you wandered into the woods the deeper they actually became. You weren't exactly sure how they got in and out the house around the quirk, but the path you took was clearly not it.

You were currently sitting on the ground, back to Shouta as you simmered. Now that he was no longer plastered on top of you your anger was rekindled. You could feel his eyes burning holes into you, but you were far too pissed off to acknowledge him. It was a good thing he seemed to know when to leave you be, not bothering with conversation after fucking you into the forest floor.

The only thing he'd done since violating you was get his capture weapon, dragging you along so he didn't lose sight of you again.

Your head was still pounding from when you had hit the ground earlier. Combining that with how filthy you were and Shouta's cooling cum on your inner thighs, and you feel like absolute shit.

The sound of a loud thud behind you caused you to flinch. You didn't have it in you to turn around and face the number one hero right now, not sure if you would be able to handle whatever expression was on his face.

"Oh goodness, Shouta she's a mess what did you do?"

The dark haired man simply huffed in response, eyes rolling at the number ones concern.

"Just get us home, she needs a bath."

You hated when they talked about you like you weren't there, as if you were just some pet or child instead of your own autonomous person.

All Mights heavy footsteps approached you, stopping just shy of touching you. When you made no move to acknowledge his presence he sighed deeply, tutting at your behavior, before scooping you up bridal style. You closed your eyes to avoid looking at him, turning away from his broad chest.

"Shouta you can just grip around my neck from behind, it will only take a couple minutes to get back."

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes at his words. He had covered what took you six hours in mere minutes.

As soon as Eraserhead had confirmed himself secure All Might took off. Wind rushed passed you as he soared high above the canopy. You peeked your eyes open, trying desperately to see where the forest ended, but much to your dismay the nearest city looked to be hundreds of miles away, and any possible roads were obscured by trees.

"Take a good look Y/N," Toshinori murmured to you, voice rumbling against your ear. He didn't need to say more, you understood him loud and clear. Escape won't be possible, even if you get out you can't outrun me, and even if you hide it's only a matter of time before we find you. Your tears of frustration fell more freely now. Way to rub salt in the wound.

When you landed a minute or so later Shouta wasted no time in dropping off the giant while Toshinori quickly brought you inside. Hizashi greeted you at the front door, a strange mixture of relief, anger and disappointment swirling in his emerald eyes.

"Oh no baby look at yah. I got the water runnin' in the master bath in your room Toshi come on lets get her clean." Toshinori followed Hizashi upstairs, refusing to put you down. You all trailed through his bedroom, simplistic design leaving the space void of personality, until you ended up in his bathroom. The room was large, to accommodate the size of its owner, with white marble tiles on the floor, accompanied by white walls and white appliances, giving the room a sterile feeling.

"Hizashi, Shouta, I'll take care of her for now." You had expected a bit of protest from Hizashi but he merely walked out with a sad nod.

"Take it easy on her okay, it's partially my fault she got out..." Shouta mumbled, following his husband out of the bathroom. The door closed with a soft click and for the first time since coming into this house you found yourself alone with All Might. He was normally so busy you barely ever saw him, but now here he was, gently lowering you to the floor.

He stepped away from you, running his hand under the large free standing tubs faucet to test the water temperature. Hizashi had left everything he'd need to clean you up, towel and spare clothes included.

"Go ahead and strip." His voice was colder than normal, an edge to it that filled you with unease. Turning to finally look at him you sucked in your breath. His eyes were fixated on you, searing you with a look that was equal parts disappointment and wounded. He was still in his muscular form, kneeling impatiently beside the bath.

Heat rushed to your face as you slowly began to peel off your filthy clothes, until you were standing in front of him in your bra and underwear. He quirked an eyebrow at you as his frowned deepened.

"All of it." Anger and fear mixed dangerously in your mind as you glared at him.

"I can clean myself."

"I don't recall asking if you could. Strip, now."

When you made no move to comply he threw his head back in exasperation, heaving a large sigh before standing to his full height.

"I have had enough of your behavior young lady. I understand your frustration with us, but we're doing this for your own good. Would you really rather waste away in prison?"

"I'd rather you assholes just kill me already or something, this whole playing pet thing is really starting to piss me off!" His face dropped, teeth grinding against one another as his mind processed what you said. You had no idea how villains got the nerve to fight him, right now it was taking everything inside you to not back down and apologize.

"Kill you? Are you serious right now!" He stomped up to you, frame looming over you threateningly as his eyes blazed with fury.

Swallowing hard you steeled your nerves, you had nothing left to lose so might as well give him a piece of your mind.

"I was perfectly fine before you fuckers brought me here! I don't need you! The fact that you had to prevent me from using my quirk is proof enough that I don't need you! Sure I might not have had much, but it was mine! My life to own and do whatever the hell I wanted with, not yours to take!"

"The moment you decided killing people was the only way to solve your problems was the moment you lost the rights to your life. As heroes in this world, and enforcers of justice, you are sentenced to our care. Now stop arguing with me and strip."

Puffing out your chest you narrowed your tear stained eyes and fixed him with the nastiest look you could muster. "Fuck. You."

In that moment you saw something inside him snap. Mouth pulled tight in a terrifying scowl, he had you maneuvered faster than you could comprehend. One moment you had been standing in front of him, the next you were strewn over his lap, facing the floor.

You yelled out in anger, clawing at his calves through his cargo pants. You knew what would be coming next, but your brain didn't want to slow down to think about how humiliating it was about to be.

"If you want to act like a child then you'll be punished like one. Count. One for every hour you were gone. Be grateful it's not more."

"Let go of me you fucking assho- aH!"

His large hand made contact with your clothed ass, the slap muffled by the sound of running water.

"Count."

You bit down on your bottom lip hard, tears leaving trails as they washed the dirt down your face. You waited with bated breath, the stinging on your ass for now was bearable enough.

"Y/N, you will count on this next one or I will double your punishment. I'm done playing games with you."

You tensed on the expanse of his massive thighs. You didn't want to count, didn't want to give in, but deep down you knew you'd never win.

His hand came down again with another resounding smack right on top of the first hit. You let out a sob from the impact, choking out a soft "one" as your self preservation instincts kicked your ego to the curb.

"Good, only five more to go."

Your head hung in shame as you waited for your punishment to end, jolting and squeaking out numbers every time he made contact with your burning flesh. To his credit he applied the same level of force with each hit, but every time he made contact the intensity of your burn increased until finally you cried out a broken "six".

You felt so pathetic, strewn across All Mights lap. You used to be so independent, never did you imagine this would be your fate. What happened to your self confidence? The fire inside of you that pushed you to rid the world of villains felt smoldered. Doused by the degrading nature of your stay with the three pro heroes.

It made you want to curl up in a ball and cry until your head pounded from exhaustion. Today was simply getting to be too much for you to mentally handle. From your failed escape attempt, your pathetic attempt at self defense against Shouta, learning running was a pointless waste of your time, to now getting a spanking like a fucking child from All Might himself. The list of losses just kept adding up, and none of them were in your favor.

You were openly sobbing, and the fact that you were crying was pissing you off even more, making for a horrible cycle where you simply cried harder. Toshinori gently moved you around in his hold until he had you clutched to his chest, gently shushing you as you clung to him. Despite how wrong it was you found comfort in Toshinori as he rubbed soft circles into your back, grasping small handfuls of his t-shirt as you stained the white fabric with tears and dirt.

"Everything is going to be okay, I know you've had a bad day and being locked up isn't easy for you. Just give it some time Y/N and you'll see that things here aren't so bad with us. We're here for you, and we're never going to tire of you, even with that stubborn attitude of yours."

Toshinori waited patiently for your sobbing to turn into soft hiccups before peeling you off of him. He removed what little clothes you had left and then lowered you into the tub. The drain was unplugged since you were still filthy, and sitting you in a full tub of water would murky up the clean bath.

Grabbing a large cup Toshinori filled it and poured water over your naked body. You watched with unfocused and puffy eyes as the proof of your failed escape attempt swirled down the drain. Only when the water finally ran clear did Toshinori put the plug in. The lulling warmth progressively crept higher up your body, your head bobbing as you grew sleepy. Toshinori turned the water off once the water had reached your chest, leaving it a good bit from the lip of the tub.

You heard the rustling of clothes but paid the source no mind. You didn't so much as react when the now naked hero stepped into the bath, shimmying down until you were surrounded by him. The water level rose drastically with the addition of the 560 pound man. His thick thighs were splayed on either side of you, solid abdominal muscles pressed into your back.

You heard the pop of a bottle before two large hands gently began to lather your skin in body wash.

"I'm not sure how you like your hair cleaned princess. Whenever women find out I use two in one shampoo they give me a look like I kicked a puppy so I'll just leave that to you for another time." He chuckled softly as he spoke, massaging the tightness out of your shoulders before moving down to your arms.

He spoke so casually, as if all his anger from earlier evaporated with the ending of your punishment. You found yourself grateful that he moved on so quickly instead of lingering on your emotional degradation.

You felt his cock stir a bit as he came back to your chest, cupping them and working the soap onto your skin with more attention than he'd shown your shoulders. You stiffened a bit, but since he made no further move to grind himself against you, you remained in his hold.

"I'm sorry for being rough with you, I'd much rather do something relaxing like this than bring you pain." He pulled you until your head was laying on the expanse of his chest, the deep pounding of his heart mingling with the ringing in your ears. It was almost relaxing, minus the growing erection pressed against your lower back.

Reluctantly his hands left your breast, moving further down your body. He rubbed the soft expanse of your stomach, humming happily at your lack of resistance to him. Only when his hands drifted further did you begin to stir a bit.

"Now young lady I need to make sure all of you is cleaned up okay? You're behaving yourself so well I'd really hate to ruin the moment."

"No, no. Please. Just this one thing.."

His hands paused. He hated how broken you sounded right now. Pulling back he raised his arms outside the tub and rested them along the edges. You relaxed a bit as he retreated.

"Alright Y/N, do you need any soap?"

Sighing softly in relief, you were glad that he was willing to give you this. It almost made you feel human again.

"Nah, it's not healthy to use soap down there."

Toshinori merely hummed in acknowledgement, sliding further into the bath and pushing you along with him as he got comfortable.

You cleaned your core gently, it was still a bit sore from what Shouta had done earlier to you. Only once you deemed yourself spotless did you get soap to lather on the parts of you Toshinori had not gotten to. Speaking of, his breathing had gotten a lot deeper. You peaked back at him noticing his head uncomfortably resting against the tub as he drifted into unconsciousness.

Peering down his naked body you couldn't help but gasp softly as you took note of the large injury covering part of his abdomen. You turned towards him, sending ripples through the water as you cautiously brought your hand to the deep scar. You knew that All Might had been injured enough to force him into a smaller form, but seeing the injury first hand was something else entirely. Who on earth had been able to hurt this titan of a man?

You hadn't realized Toshinori had woken up until his large hand gently covered your own. Meeting his soft gaze you were taken aback by his sad smile.

"The man who did this to me, some say it would be best if I just killed him already. But that's not what heroes do, that's not what Nana would do."

Taking hold of your body Toshinori moved you until he had you straddling the smallest part of his waist. Since you were both completely naked you kept your eyes trained on his injury, heat rushing to your cheeks at the intimacy of the position. His hands rose from the water, gently cupping your face and drawing your gaze to his own.

"When I look at you sometimes I can see her. Your strong will, your intelligence, how beautiful you are... but you're not the same person. Not in a bad way, no you are unique. Your own individual, and someone who I've come to love, even if you don't feel the same way."

His blue orbs were hypnotizing, almost as if he believed if he tried hard enough your own glassy orbs would mirror his loving gaze, or perhaps he'd see it hidden in the depths of your irises.

This moment was far too intimate and personal for your comfort, it was so different than anything any of the men had done before. In a way you almost preferred when they failed to acknowledge you as an equal, it made it easier to hate them. But right now, sitting in the warm bath atop Toshinori, you could feel your resolve slipping.

You didn't want to bring attention to his confession so you decided to try and divert the subject.

"Who's Nana?" You had never heard of her before, not even in tabloids referring to All Might. Toshinori's hands froze on your face, eyes scrunching up as he contemplated on how he wanted to answer.

"Nana... Nana was my mentor. Though calling her that doesn't feel right, she was more like a mother to me. She's the reason I am who I am. Without her I'd be nothing."

Past tense, he was using a lot of past tense. It didn't take a genius to interpret why. His forlorn expression filled in the gaps, so you didn't bother to ask what had become of her. He saw you in the same light he saw this woman?

"Y/N, will you sleep with me tonight?"

Taking note of your hesitation he continued speaking before you could voice any protests.

"Coming home and realizing you were gone.. I was so worried, so afraid I'd never see you again. That you'd be taken away from me, and I don't know if I can handle losing you. I've lost so many people that I cared deeply about, I refuse to lose you too."

How in the ever loving fuck were you supposed to refuse him now. Even though you were still mad at him from his earlier form of punishment you couldn't find it in you to hurt him right now.

"Yeah that's fine, but just tonight. You probably put off a ridiculous amount of heat or snore or something..."

Toshinori flashed you his signature smile before bellowing out a laugh. The water rippled and your body jostled along with his hearty chuckle.

"Me? Snore? No, it'll be the coughing that might get to you haha-ack"

Pain flashed across his face before you felt his body rapidly shrink beneath you with a large puff of smoke. He scrambled upright, causing you to fall against him as he hacked out a lung. You awkwardly placed your hand on his back and rubbed small circles as one of his arms gripped you tightly for balance.

"So-sorry I think I was in my muscular form for too long."

He looked a bit sheepish, using the back of his forearm to wipe off some blood that had dribbled down his chin. You merely sat there, doing your best to look anywhere but him as he collected himself.

"The water's getting cold, come on let's get out princess."

You stood up first, awkwardly stepping over his legs and out of the tub. You were a bit embarrassed that he kept his eyes trained on you the whole time while his hands hovered to ensure your safety. A pile of large fluffy towels were set to the side of the tub on a stool. Grabbing the one on top you began the process of drying off.

You heard the sloshing of water as Toshinori stood up, followed by the sound of the plug being pulled and water draining. Looking over it amazed you that even in his smaller form he was was still intimidating. Wiry muscles clung tight to his frame, the angles of his face casting shadows across his eyes. Stepping out he grabbed a towel and proceeded to dry himself off as well.

"Hizashi left you some clothes it would seem... though they look a bit uncomfortable. You can borrow a spare shirt of mine, I also have a spare toothbrush on the top right hand draw of the counter if you want to hide out in my room tonight."

You very much wanted to avoid Hizashi, not sure if you could handle whatever he'd have in store for you right now. Out of three men here, he made you the most nervous. Even now, as you held the scandalous lingerie up to the light you knew he was still going to want his share of punishment.

"I'll take your shirt offer, as well as the hiding out offer. I don't think I can handle him tonight."

Toshinori hummed in acknowledgement before heading to his bedroom and shuffling about before reappearing with one of his large white t-shirts. He had on boxers now, which he must have bought specifically for his smaller form because they hugged all of him rather snugly. Tossing the shirt your way he meandered about the bathroom, preparing for sleep.

You both finished around the same time, leaving you to awkwardly shuffle towards his gigantic bed. He followed behind you, large hand on the small of your back to encourage you onwards.

You wanted him to sleep on the other side of the bed but weren't sure exactly how to voice your desire, especially when he followed so closely behind you. Pulling back the sheets you slid under the cool covers, and yet again Toshinori somehow found a way to leave you with no space.

After turning off the bedside lamp his long limbs quickly ensnared you, pulling you close and tucking you into his embrace. He was warm, but not unpleasantly hot.

Just for tonight. You'd give him this just for tonight. You were also beyond exhausted, your limbs heavy as you sunk into his ridiculously comfortable mattress. Your mind, which had been drifting off ever since the bath, finally dipped into unconsciousness. Your soft breathing filled the air as Toshinori watched you finally succumb to slumber. Smiling softly he lovingly stroked your cheek, planting a kiss to your forehead before giving in himself.

-----

Waking with a jolt you were thrown off by limbs harshly clutching your body. It took you a moment to remember that you weren't in your own bedroom, meaning Toshinori was currently holding you like his life depended on it.

The room was pitch black so you had no idea what time it was, but figured it was still way to early to be awake. His grip on your body was borderline painful causing you to groan out in sleepy annoyance.

"Toshinori, damnit, wake up. You're squeezing me too tight," you grumbled, wiggling a bit to try and jostle him awake. He was murmuring in his sleep, deep voice grumbling against you with the way he had you pressed against his chest.

"D-don't go... no no. I am here... please."

His body was trembling, caught in a nightmare that you couldn't see.

You raised your voice a bit, trying harder to wake him up but he still wouldn't release his grip on you. Only when you accidentally elbowed him did he finally react to you.

With a harsh gasp he threw himself on top of you, pushing you into the mattress. His blue eyes were a wild blaze, messy blond hair framing his angular face. His long bangs were plastered to his forehead from sweat, lungs heaving to swallow air.

"Y/N?"

He looked so lost, eyes clouded with tears as his brain finally registered he was no longer trapped in his own personal hell. Groaning out in discomfort he lowered his body on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He wrapped his arms around you, trying to ground himself.

"Ah, I'm- I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up... fuck." Moving down he rested his head against your chest, as if he needed to hear your heart beating beneath him in order to assure himself you were really here.

All you could find it in yourself to do was sigh in exhaustion, body going limp as you relaxed beneath him. It was a good thing he was in his smaller form, since he wasn't attempting to keep any of his weight off of you. You closed your eyes, not quite ready to ask him what his nightmare had been about.

He sniffled softly into your chest, arms unwinding from your waist to gently rub against your exposed flesh. His shirt had drifted up your body, leaving your stomach and lower half exposed.

"May I, may I touch you please?"

"You already are..."

"Oh, uh- yeah it would seem I am. Could I touch you, um down here?" His hand trailed down, knuckles softly brushing against your bare thighs.

You cracked your eyes open to look down at him, his own glowing orbs pleading up to you.

"Toshinori can we just go back to sleep? Please?"

Biting his bottom lip his hand continued to drift closer to your naked core, eyes averting from your own as he thought about what he was going to do next.

"I know I'm not around as much as Hizashi and Shouta but gosh I just- I need to feel you right now. The way they talk about you, how perfect you feel, I need you."

"I-I'd rather we just sleep, Hizashi is still mad at me an-"

Toshinori slid up your body, silencing your protests with a kiss. His hand slid up all the way, using his own thigh as leverage to keep you from closing yours.

His tongue delved into your mouth, fingers finally meeting your outer folds. You struggled beneath him, breaking the kiss.

"Toshinori please, I just want to sleep." In reality you were scared. You had seen his length before, and you'd be a liar if you said it didn't intimidate you. That coupled with the fact that tonight had been going semi-well with the pro, him finally having his share of you would cement your fate in this house even further. His fingers had paused, body still as he took you in below him.

"You don't have to do a thing then princess, I'll take care of everything. Just lay back and relax I promise I'll make you feel good."

"To-Toshinori please, I just want to sleep," you looked deep into his eyes as you pleaded with him, hoping somehow you could find the part of him that knew this was wrong. He gave you a sad smile, his eyes still a bit glassy from his nightmare.

"Just think of this as the last of your punishment then. I still don't think you realize just how terrified I was when I came home to an empty house."

You shook your head, sniffling a bit as tears formed. You tried to push him off but he merely took one large hand and easily secured both of your wrists above your head. His other hand resumed ever so gently teasing you, working on getting you aroused.

"Just lay back and relax alright, then we can go back to sleep. I just-I just need to feel you right now. Need to make sure you're really here."

You worked your bottom lip with you teeth, eyes closed so you no longer had to look at him. His thumb trailed up to press light circles against your clit while his middle finger began to delve a bit deeper, teasing your sore hole. Your body had gone slack, tired of the fact that this was just another situation in which your powerlessness was painfully on display. You didn't have it in you mentally to put up a fight.

Toshinori moved his slim hips until his clothed cock was pressed against your right thigh, rutting against you while he worked you open. He gave a gentle peck to your forehead before trailing kisses down your face to your mouth. He captured your lips with his own, freeing your bottom lip from your teeth and moaning into your unwilling mouth.

You didn't work with him, not giving him the satisfaction of your consent, but he wasn't deterred. He simply moved down, back arching as he made his way to your chest. His erection left your thigh as he finally settled on his stomach between your legs, allowing him to comfortably take your right nipple into his hot mouth.

He nipped at the sensitive bud, long finger pushing into you at the same time while he continued to work your clit. His movements were slow as he savored every moment, sleepy mind basking in the warmth of your body.

You tried to drift back to sleep, thinking that perhaps in the emptiness of unconsciousness you could avoid your punishment, but Toshinori was surprisingly very skilled when it came to manipulating your body. You shuddered beneath him when he gave a particularly hard suck to your breast, his lean digit rubbing against the spongy spot on your inner walls that had you clamping down on him in return.

His pace was torture, just on the cusp of bringing you satisfaction, but he seemed plenty content with dragging this out. You wiggled below him in annoyance, attempting to grind down against his hand in anger and desperation. If he was going to force himself on you then the least he could do was not torment you about it.

With a soft sigh Toshinori released your nipple from his mouth, a small trail of spit connected to his lips. Opening your eyes you glared down at him, while his eyelids were hooded in an amorous gaze.

"Tell me what you need me to do for you princess."

"Let me sleep."

Toshinori gave a sleepy chuckle before peppering your chest with lazy kisses.

"You're more than welcome to try."

Resting his head against your chest he continued to pump his finger excruciatingly slow, easily pushing all the way in to his knuckle, thanks to how wet you had become, before dragging out with a languid come hither motion against your sensitive walls.

You could feel your heart accelerate as he lazily stroked pleasure into your slack body. The way in which you velvety walls clamped down on him far too telling of his skill. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn't so damn good at this. In some sick and twisted way though, his loving movements quelled the rage inside you.

Did you want this? Tears slipped down your face as you realized that some fucked up part of you just might. Toshinori hummed softly into your flesh while he lazily worked you closer to your climax, the endorphins flooding your brain working to wash away your inner turmoil. His thumb rubbed gentle circles on your clit while he nipped and sucked on whatever flesh he could reach.

Once he realized you were close to finishing he simply added another finger, stretching and wiggling the two digits to help open you up. You moaned softly at the intrusion, hips bucking as you gave in to him. It didn't take him much longer to finally push you over the edge, but he didn't stop like you had hoped. Adding a third digit you inhaled sharply at the burning sensation, stretched walls still spasming from your orgasm.

"I'll make sure you're ready, don't worry about a thing. Just a little bit more, you're tight but I'll fit."

"It- you won't fit, please you know you won't."

As if to prove you wrong he pushed a bit harder then you were prepared for, burying three of his fingers knuckle deep and forcing a pained whine from your throat. He began to move, getting on his knees and arching his body over your own while continuing to stroke your now sensitive and stinging cunt.

"As I said earlier, just think of this as the ending to your punishment."

"But Hizashi hasn't-" Toshinori cut you off with a pointed look.

"That's not my fault now is it?" You cringed away from him, his cold tone from earlier in the night caused your chest to tighten in fear.

He sighed lowly at your frightened expression, before giving you a small smile and another gentle peck to your forehead.

"Just lay back and relax alright?" He gave your captured wrists a light squeeze as he spoke, large frame hovering over you as he continued to scissor his fingers inside you. The burning sensation from being stretched out began to subside as the familiar warmth of pleasure took hold of you once more.

"There we go, just like that. The more you relax the easier this will be I promise."

Finally pulling his devilish hand away from your soaked pussy he made quick work of shimmying out of his underwear, long cock springing free. The tip was red with a good bit of pre-cum dripping down his intimidating length, some getting lost in his neatly trimmed curly blond pubic hair.

You had flashbacks to the first time you saw it, a bit relieved that in his smaller form he lost a bit of girth. But holy shit if this 7 foot 2 inch giant of a man wasn't packing heat.

Heat flushed Toshinori's face as he watched you take him in. He knew his size could be a bit alarming, which is why he was well versed in the art of foreplay.

Bringing himself down on top of you he lined his tip up with your entrance, free hand helping to guide himself in. You could feel him, gently rubbing himself on your outer lips to gather your slick. His raspy breaths ghosted across the hot expanse of your face, while he closed his eyes, letting out a low groan as he began to push in.

"Sh-shit yes, just like that, ah fuck it'll be a tight fit."

You whined as he began to work on sinking into you, his hand leaving his cock in favor of gently wrapping around your throat.

Despite his best efforts his fingers hadn't been enough preparation when compared to his cock. Gasping in pain you thrashed beneath him. He shushed you gently, fingers stroking your throat delicately as he speared you open. Little by little he rocked his hips into you, holding you down while you cried out in pain.

"So good, you're doing so good. The worst is over okay princess hold out for me."

You hardly knew what he meant by worst part when it felt like he was never going to bottom out. He brought his face down beside yours, huffing and groaning into your ear until finally he was flush with you, cock buried to the hilt. You were breathing hard, small whines and whimpers slipping past your lips at how he stretched you.

"Oh shit. You- you're fucking perfect."

"Too much, it's too much plea-" much to your frustration his mouth met your own again in order to cut off your protests. He pressed your head into the pillow to try and prevent you from pulling away from him again, hungrily following your escape attempts. The hand he had around your throat receded, only to snake its way between the two of you so he could continue teasing your sensitive clit.

His hips began to move again, assuming he had given you plenty of time to adjust based off the way your pussy clenched around him as if begging for more.

He starting off with the same tempo he had been doing for the majority of the night, so slow it was as if he was teasing you. But as the burning sensation in your poor cunt eased you realized he was doing it for your benefit. He wanted you to enjoy this, needed you to find pleasure and comfort in him. After all this was your first time with him, he wanted to make sure you weren't afraid when he came back for more.

As your whimpers subsided, replaced with hushed moans, only then did Toshinori begin to pick up the pace. Finally he released your mouth from his kiss, both of you gasping for air. He showered you with praise as he fucked into you, deep gravely voice never letting you forget just how much he cared for you.

For your part all you could do was submit to him, letting his deft finger and cock bring you back to the brink of orgasm. Your warm walls fluttered around him as he took you closer and closer, the resounding slap of flesh on flesh filling the room as he lost himself in his own pleasure. He was grounded only long enough to see you through, but as soon as you began to convulse around him, hips bucking and pretty mouth moaning obscenely, his mind blanked out.

He abandoned your clit, hand coming up to join the other and thread his fingers through your own. He hammered into you, painfully drawing out your orgasm as he chased his own climax. The juxtapose of him lovingly holding your hands to his feral thrusts was giving you mental whiplash.

"Yes, yes fuck. So good for me, don't ever leave me again. Shit - fuck I can't lose anyone else."

His thrusts were erratic, your whole body forced to move against his. You had assumed he would cum in you, just as Hizashi and Shouta had already done, but right before he finished he pulled out quickly. Pressing the head of his cock into your skin, hot thick surges of cum covered your stomach. The excess quickly began to drip down the side of your body, mingling with your sweat on the sheets below.

Coming down from his high, his hands were still intertwined with your own, skinny body heaving from exertion. For your part your heart rate had mostly settled after your second orgasm, leaving you effectively spent under him.

You had managed to keep your eyes closed while he had fucked you, only now opening them to find him observing you fondly. Releasing his hold on you he leaned over to his bedside table and grabbed a spare handkerchief, using it to wipe off his cooling cum.

Only when he deemed you properly spotless did he toss the cloth to the floor and flop down in the bed beside you. Drawing your weary body against him he folded around you, capturing you once more in his unrelenting grip.

"I know you haven't been here very long, but I can't help but love you so much it hurts. I'll be good to you if you're good to me okay?"

A meager "m-kay" was all you had it in you to respond with, but it was all the man wanted to hear. With a satisfied hum Toshinori pecked your forehead with one last kiss before you both succumbed to sleep.

[superphantom]

Enthralled with the idea of Danny from Danny legit dies and has a physical corpse but can still kinda be human au and the Winchesters from just regular canon bumping into each other while... hiding bodies.

Three teens carrying a fourth by his arms and legs into the woods. Would they even be able to tell that it’s Danny’s corpse? It’s gotta be pretty much cooked through at that point. Hold on, I’m going to write something rq, apologies for any mistakes/bad writing but the concept is just too fun. If you think so too, go ahead and try your hand at it, this has so many excellent interpretations.

Edit but not really cuz I haven’t actually posted anything yet: I’ve only read back through this once but I’m pretty happy with how it’s turned out, just wanted to add a quick warning for horrific death and descriptions of a corpse and all that. 

--

Digging graves always sucked, naturally. It’s hard to plow through a good six feet of rocks and dirt and bones and whatever other crap might be waiting below the surface (one time, in some backwoods in Ohio they’d hit a bathtub around three feet down. Never got an explanation for that one). But, of course, the muggy pits of July made things much worse.

Sam had shed his top layer in the car, and was now down to a single shirt. He probably would’ve taken that off too, had it not been glued onto his back from sweat. Dean, who’d made a dig at Sam earlier that night for not being able to “take the heat like a man” still wore his flannel over his shirt, though it was beginning to soak through.

Laborious elements aside, what really made grave digging so tedious was the inability to fill it with anything else. It wasn’t like they could play music or anything, when they were in graveyards they had to keep a low profile, and all the other smart places to go hiding a corpse don’t get radio reception. And talking? With the amount of dust and dirt they kicked up, not to mention the work itself, it was more like trying to reason with a bully as they threw sand in your face. Gritty, painful, and overall, not worth it. So the brothers dug side by side with only light from a half-dead camping lantern and the singing of insects to keep them company.

Sam hit a rock with the tip of his shovel to knock it loose from the wall, the scooped it up and heaved it over the side of the grave. It was still only about knee height, meaning they’d have to put in another two hours minimum if they wanted to get the man hidden.

He’d been working with a witch to dodge death as he cheated his way through some shady business dealings. Actually, he’d been fairly easy to subdue- probably why he needed the witch in the first place- but once Dean had yanked the hexbag from where it hung around his stick-figure neck he’d begun to convulse and when he stopped, well, he wasn’t going to start convulsing again. That, however, was a problem for tomorrow.

Sam knocked a few rocks loose this time, letting them pile around his feet then launching them all over his shoulder at once. With the sound of metal clacking against rock gone, he realized Dean had stopped digging and was leaning against the handle of his shovel cautiously looking out into the woods. Sam moved in next to him and tried to figure out where he was looking.

“What are y-“ he asked. Dean shushed him before he could finish, then signaled for him to listen and pointed just past a thick bramble, to a gap between two trees. It would’ve been impossible to spot without years of hunting experience, out about 100 yards away were little moving. They weren’t even shadows, it was simply just movement in the dark. “Dude-“

Dean shushed him again, and shot him a dirty look before pointing more forcefully in the direction of the movement and focusing back in place. He gestured once again for Sam to listen. For a few moments they stood in silence, barely breathing. It was faint, but Sam began to make out what was unmistakably English. a dull beam of light swung around towards them then went back to facing the other direction, effectively re-blacking out the figures. Sam reached back, not taking his eyes off the movement, and now occasional glimpses of light, and snapped off the lantern.

It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the dark. Once they could see each other again, Dean tilted his head to the left, pointed a few times with two fingers in a two directions then held one finger against his mouth. Sam nodded and they both began creeping in opposite directions with the intention of surrounding who or what was having a chat out in the woods at night.

Sam moved as if he were gliding above the forest floor. He could vaguely make out Dean doing the same, though he was now could see Dean about as well as he’d been able to see the... three? He hovered further. Definitely three people (or, by his guess witches), earlier. Now that he was getting closer, though, he began to take note of a few things.

There were three short witches(?) standing fanned out around something slumped on the forest floor, their dying halogen flashlight held limp in one of their hands, flickering sadly. The witch farthest from flashlight-witch and closest to Sam held a shovel, though didn’t make any moves to use it. None of them moved, they all just stood there and stared at whatever was at their feet.

He signaled to Dean that he was going to go in from the front. He was pretty sure he saw the shadows nod to him, so he took that as an okay. Like a mouse on cotton, he positioned himself just far enough into the forest that they couldn’t quite see, Dean doing the same but behind them.

“I- What do we do?” the one holding the flashlight muttered. His nose was awfully clogged, it sounded like he’d been crying.

“I don’t know, Tuck.” The one holding the shovel answered. She also sounded upset, but more like she was doing everything she could to push back tears, a tone that Sam knew very well. “Danny, are you sure you wanna do this?”

The one in the middle, Danny, shook his head. Each of his arms reached across his middle, like he was trying to hug himself, or maybe more like he was trying to make himself look small, trying to hide. “I-“ his voice cracked and he let out a few sobs. The leaves and sticks made a simultaneous crack as he fell down onto his knees, folding over himself and shaking with pure, cutting sorrow.

Flashlight, or Tuck apparently, and Shovel got down beside him, hugging him from either side. They held one another and sobbed, one of them, Shovel, creaking out some pained “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”’s between wordless wails. From the looks of them, they couldn’t be more than 12 years old. Or maybe they could, Sam wasn’t a pediatrician. They were undoubtedly much too young to be in the middle of nowhere, all alone in a fragile mental state doing who-knows-what.

Sam looked to Dean then gestured with his head to let him know he was going to talk to the kids. Dean shook his head and violently gestured with his gun at the kids. Wait. Not /at/ the kids, beyond them. He’d neglected studying the white-wrapped body in front of them. That explained the tears. He couldn’t help but feel for them, even though for all he knew they’d just murdered someone in cold blood. He looked back to Dean and nodded, then signaled again.

Keeping his gun at the ready, but tucking it behind his back he slowly and deliberately stepped out of the trees, intentionally making noise so they’d see him coming. Tuck looked up with bloodshot eyes and a runny nose. Danny and Shovel tensed but didn’t further acknowledge him.

“Um, hey,” he said, trying his best for nonthreatening and landing at the border of creepy and awkward. “Are you guys good?”

Tuck’s eyes flooded with tears, but he got up on shaky legs, trying to pull Danny and Shovel up with him. They weakly joined him, leaning against one another for support. Despite the warm night, all three were trembling.

“I’m, uh, I’m not here to hurt you,” Sam started, not really sure where he was going with this, “I’m Sam Winchester, what are your names?”

Tuck gave him the same watery stare he’d had the whole time, like Sam was the saddest thing he’d ever seen. Shovel looked up next, she was more angry. Maybe her smeared and ruined makeup should’ve made her look silly, but all it did was add to the aggression she exuded. He could see her squeezing both her friend’s shoulders and tugging them very slightly to the left, wordlessly signaling- or at least trying to- an escape plan. Sam pretended not to notice.

“I just wanna know what happened here,” he inched his way towards the corpse. As he got closer he could smell burnt hair and flesh, another thing he was all too familiar with. He didn’t break eye contact as he squatted down and gently pulled the sheet back from a tuft of what he assumed was hair.

He bit the inside of his cheek upon seeing the boy. Fried was the only word that could describe him. His mouth hung open, as did his eyes- or at least, what was left of them. Ooze had dribbled from every orifice and re-solidified in horrible mauve blobs. His hair was barely more than a charred mess, his skin was peeling and bubbled in places, and so discolored Sam could barely make out the dusting of freckles across his nose. This was a death in agony if he’d ever seen one.

He folded the cloth back over the boy’s head and straightened up, pulling the gun from where it had waited behind his back.

“Alright,” he said firmly, “I’m gonna need some answers.”

Danny looked up, letting Sam properly see his face for the first time. His red-rimmed eyes widened at the sight of the gun, lips tightening into a thin line. It was a look of fear and resignation. He ran the back of his hand across his nose. Sam noticed a dusting of freckles on it. He looked to the sheet and then back to Danny, then checked once more.

“What the hell is going on here.” Sympathy gone, Sam allowed himself to posture intimidatingly. Whatever freaks these- these- these... freaks! were, they weren’t about to get away with cooking some kid alive. “Talk.”

The “or I’ll shoot” was silent, but understood. Danny cleared his throat, one hand rubbed nervously on the back of his neck.

“It- I-“ he stuttered, then in a barely audible trembling voice he said, “I, uh, I think I’m dead.”