#tw threat of violence

[serickswrites]

Used to It

Warnings: emotional abuse, threat of violence, captivity of sorts

"Whumpee, you are the most useless waste of space I have ever seen!" Whumper shouted as Whumpee walked into the room carrying a tray of tea cups and biscuits.

"I'm sorry, Whumper," Whumpee said bowing low.

"You are late! Really, I'm going to have to beat it into, aren't I?"

"Yes, Whumper, you probably will need to," Whumpee agreed. They raised their head an inch. "Would you still like me to pour the tea?"

Whumper flipped over the tray, sending the cups and saucers flying. The china broke as it struck the wall, the biscuits bouncing off the floor, and the tea creating a large puddle at Whumper's feet. "We don't want it now! Caretaker was just here for a quick visit and you took too long!"

"I'm sorry, Whumper. I'm sorry, Caretaker," Whumpee said as they bowed low once more. "Let me clean this up."

"Whumper," Caretaker said, finally finding the words to speak. They had no idea Whumper was like this. Had no idea Whumper treated their servants so poorly. "Really, it's not that bad. I only had half an hour before I needed to be off, that's not enough time to prepare all of this. Really, don't worry about it."

"No, they need to learn how to be a proper servant. I was told they were the best. That they had learned from the best. And they've given me nothing but trouble. Maybe I should cast them out. That would serve you right to be so useless! Or perhaps a daily beating is what you need."

Whumpee didn't say anything but continued to clean. Caretaker felt so uncomfortable listening to Whumper berate the poor servant and watch Whumpee agree with everything Whumper said. "Whumper," Caretaker tried again. "Why don't you go outside, you can walk me out. I'll just go freshen myself up for the journey."

"That's a splendid idea. I do hope that your visit wasn't ruined by Whumpee's complete incompetence."

Caretaker stood up carefully. "Not at all. I'll meet you outside."

Caretaker didn't move until Whumper left the room. "Let me help you," they said as they knelt down next to Whumpee. "I'm so sorry they treated you that way."

Whumpee didn't look up. "It's ok, I'm used to it. And besides, I've had much worse things happen to me. This is nothing."

Caretaker didn't want to think about what traumas Whumpee had experienced if they thought this was nothing. "Well, at the very least, let me help you."

"It's ok, Caretaker. Really, I can take care of this. You said you have a long journey ahead of you. Go freshen up."

"Thank you," Caretaker said after a pause. "Whumper called you Whumpee, that's your name? Whumpee like the lost royal of our rival kingdom? I only ask because that's an unusual name around here."

Whumpee finally looked up at that. They watched Caretaker carefully before answering. "Yes, the very same."

"Unusual name around here."

"It's a family name," Whumpee said quickly. "Thank you for your help," Whumpee stood up. "I really must be on my way."

Caretaker watched with growing dread as Whumpee walked away. They had no idea how Whumper got their servants. And they had no idea how or why the lost royal from the rival kingdom came to be a servant in Whumper's home.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@pepeniascat @artisticdemon

[yourfriendlybi]

Tree Children & an Old God

Auther comment: This was made a while ago and it's formatting is a bit of a mess, a little...

What path has led me here, the artist thought aimlessly. Currently, the mighty God of Creativity, The Protector of the Scripts, is being used as a pillow by two young teens. Hell, one of the kids was on TOP of him, using Ink as some sort of bed! 

Wait–

Ink cranked his neck to the side. Ew, Nightmare was drooling on him. Sighing, the artist tried to move Nightmare over, the teen wouldn’t budge, instead hugged the artist tighter in response.

“looks like you got your hands full, little brush.” A voice called out. Ink snapped his skull up to the voice, seeing it was simply Reaper, he relaxed. 

Ink chuckled. “Yeah, you could say that.” he smiled at the other God.

“so, you remember why you summoned me?” Reaper crossed his arms on top of his scythe, relaxed on it.

“Right.” Ink glance over the other sleeping teen, Dream, who was currently snoring peacefully. Ink looked back over at Reaper, “Can you teach Dream on how to fly?” the artist asked, his eyelight was yellow sun and an orange question mark.

“he… he doesn’t know how to fly?” Reaper sounded confused.

“Reaper,” Ink paused, “his mother is a tree. So no, he doesn’t know how to fly.”

“y-you mean that tree-” The God pointed at the tree with golden and midnight-colored apples. “-the one you three are laying under?” Reaper questioned; he was extremely confused. “also, how is his mom a tree?”

“Reaper, just answer the question, please.” Ink exhaled a sigh.

“sure?” Reaper answers, finally.

It was sunrise by the time the Nightmare and Dream woke up, Mister was still asleep, purring. Nightmare tried to get up but got pulled back down. Groaning, Nightmare harshly pokes Mister cheekbone over and over, trying to wake him up.

“Huh?” Mister grumbled under his breath.

“Can you let me go?” Nightmare asked, laying the side of his head on Mister sternum. The brown cloth felt soft and fuzzy on Nightmare's bones.

“Right, sorry kiddo.” The skeleton let go of the teen. Nightmare slid off of Mister, standing up and held a handout for him, in which Mister took and pulled himself up.

“So, what are we gonna do now?” Dream piped up, he was already up and standing.

“Brush our teeth first, then we can head to the nearby village.” Mister said, walking over to the stream. The Apple Twins followed him and chatted to each other.

“Do we have to?” Dream complained, he hated brushing his teeth; the “toothpaste”, as Mister called it, was spicy.

“Yes, Soleil (Sunshine), we have to. You don’t want your teeth to look like Mr. Deck? Do you?” Mister tilts his head to the teen.

“...No…” Dream shook his head.

“If it helps, I can get you another flavor, when I leave.” Mister suggested, he really should’ve given both the twins different flavors.

“Can I get a different flavor too?” Nightmare sheepishly asked.

Mister sighed. “Yeah, I’ll get you both different flavors.”

Ink had his hood up, shadowing half of his face; currently he was at the village’s plaza, trying to pass the time and probably get a few things for the twins. Speaking of the twins, the duo was holding hands, pointing at the stalls, and simply chatting away. The artist looked over the two, smiling fondly.

“Mister!” Nightmare called out, taking Ink out of his thoughts.

“Yes, Clair de lune? (Moonlight), did you both need something?” Ink asked.

“What’s your favorite color?” Nightmare asked, titling his head.

“Hmm, that's a tough question…” Ink paused and thought for a bit, “I guess, light greens and yellows…”

“Huh, didn’t think you were a green person.” Dream mumbled.

“I’m just full of surprises.” Ink chuckled.

Ink was paying for three small wooden jointed dolls, wanting to paint the twins and himself on the dolls later. The artist smiled at the salesperson, handing them a few coins and taking the dolls. He heard shouting and turned around, seeing a human raising their fist to his twins.

Something twisted in the artist's empty ribcage.

Speed walking to twins and the stranger, Ink asked “What seems to be the problem, sir?”

“Get your kids under control!” The human shouted at Ink.

Ink walked in front of the twins, standing right in front of the human. The artist's eyesight's were a bright red crosshair and a X.

He grabs the human shirt and drags them down to his level, whispering, “If I ever catch you threatening them again, I won’t hesitate to boil you alive, do you understand?”

The human nodded furiously.

“Good.” Ink sweetly says, letting go of the human’s shirt. Turning around, walking down the path that leads out of the plaza and into the forest. 

“C’mon kids, let’s go back to the Tree.” He called out to the teens, which in response, followed the artist.

Dream and Nightmare were racing down the old dirt path, skirting to a stop once they saw a figure by the tree. The twins glanced at each other nervously, they started walking toward the figure. As they got closer to the figure, they realized that the “figure” was a person.

The person was dressed in a black robe, with a rope tied around their waist and neck. They were wielding a scythe.

“Is that the Grim Reaper?” Dream whisper to Nightmare.

“Hey Reaps!” Mister called out to the Grim Reaper.

“Mister, you know the Grim Reaper?” Nightmare asked, startled from this new information.

“Yes, Mister is a very good friend of mine.” The Reaper replied, 

“What.” Dream blankly said.

“Anyways, your caretaker asked me to teach you,” Reaper pointed at

Dream, “on how to fly.”

“What.” Dream said, again.

Credits:

Ink!Sans - Comyet

DreamTale - JukoBlog

Reaper!Sans [ReaperTale] - Renrink

[willisjagerman]

(Ooc- another story point, this one in a different method. Thanks again to @krowsselfindulgy for beta reading. I will be putting warnings again at the beginning of all the parts. This is a four part story. Tw: violence, guns, gun use, gore, injury, implied past abuse, fighting, forcing someone to pray, verbal abuse, being hunted, weapons, and death. That’s all I can think of but I will try to as more if they come up.)

(With that part 1/4 of Maxwell’s Hunt. Warnings: mention past death, weapons, being hunted)

Willis is tired. He runs all he can yet the creatures and things in this forest seem to keep catching him. He knows some of those things are human. He knows some of those creatures he knows. Yet every time he comes back they’re different.

What he could have sworn was a teenage girl with a lighter became a monster of flame and teeth. So many teeth.

What was a boy in blue became a mass of glitches and the tics of a clock that he could only get glints of.

What he was sure the figure of Gary was not so, instead a new figure took his place, still human but one of unjust laws and crazed mentalities.

He doesn’t want to talk about what all he saw, what those people changed to or what creature’s true forms blurred into. Especially not that Richie boy. Willis knows not all of them where human, though those too shifted.

He’s sure that these are somehow projections of what Maxwell would think they’d look like in this place. All monsters of some kind.

Willis has been killed and or beaten many times, but he cannot die. He just comes back. Wakes up back at Maxwell’s house with the overgrow plants and chipping yellow paint. He never considered going into the house. It never crossed his mind but if it did he would know it would not work. The woods stretched on too long to be possible. Forever changing to keep him there. He knows this is Maxwell’s doing as well.

Willis has actually yet to see Maxwell though. This time when he takes of running, it’s not far before he comes to a meadow. The moonlight cast a soft glow over the place. While a peaceful and nice place like this should calm Willis. He advances into the meadow, collapsing in the middle for a short rest.

[theautumnriverleaves]

fyi the same brother that told me that if i were a man hed punch me in the face hard enough that id need an ambulance after also said that clearly im more fucked up than he is bc ive been in therapy 8 years and havent "gotten fixed" and he "graduated" (couples) therapy in 8 wks

[mushroom-for-art]

Just a lil extra for the A little different, was meant to be in the original and I want nuuh too tired then woke up more to do it anyways lmao

A little difference later

Tunnels twisting, turning branching off dead ends looping backwards. The orange hued mewtwo stopped quietly growling in the back of her throat as she looked around before loudly snarling at another. Her teeth bared energy summoned in her palms before pausing.

The crystal reflected her perfectly as she slowly approached, she touched the cool material of the floating blue crystal looking at herself and longing to be with another like her. She frowned looking at her hands as images flashed in the back of her mind. She opened and closed her hands, where were her claws?

She looked back to her reflection. She shut her eyes tight to block out the thought of the horrid twisting morphing forms of her siblings' floating bodies trying to recall them as they were. She peered at herself with one eye anxiously, no extra fluff or horns. She touched her horns; they didn't look spectacular in any way. She lifted her foot, 2 toed.. No claws or hooves.. She was.. She was just bland..

She'd never felt like the odd ball till left in her isolation. She had time to think now to see her differences or lack thereof. The others had been so varied..

Psychic claws appeared over her digits as she frustratedly clawed and slashed the crystals surface, slashing out her reflection at her face before she heard a quiet gasp.

She turned her head sharply to the tiny human. They stood frozen staring up at her in green clothes and hat. She turned slowly to face them slowly baring her teeth beginning to snarl as they reached for their bag. Humans reaching meant trouble. Grabbing annoying little shapes with other creatures to battle.

The green soft plush smacked her face as the human yelped in shock and ran away quietly screaming in sheer terror as a bellow of rage ripped from her throat. Her eyes hatefully gazing down at the offending item thrown her way.

It was, small, a strange little shaped thing green color lighter underbelly and smile. She slowly crouched down her palm resting on the head of the item. It was soft under her fingers. It's face distracted her as she slowly picked it up.

She kept it with her as she navigated the twisting turning cave system finally reaching the other side and escaping. She'd only gone in there looking for temporary shelter but had to go deeper to avoid more aggressive creatures.

She slowly delicately landed at the end of a familiar cave walking inside to the clutter of things she'd accumulated, various stolen items from human that got in her way. Clothing layered the floor of the cave with cushions which she'd stolen from campsite scattered across the floor on top with more clothes and other soft materials thrown on top and used to create a soft laying area. She carefully placed the weird green plush she'd grown fond of in her sleeping spot before lying down to stare at in thought.

Slowly she pulled it into herself and tears began to roll down her cheeks as she curled up on herself squeezing the soft plush close to her body as her breathing became difficult. It was so small. She needed to keep it safe…

[angstfactory]

"That's the point," Vicente stepped in closer briefly as he hissed these words so hard, the damn vein in his throat seemed to pulsate from it. This thing truly had no idea how much he was having to hold himself back. If they weren't in broad daylight-- if he didn't have a fucking cover to protect here in Raven's Peak... His eyes widened then narrowed dangerously as the fake-Juni caught herself before dare calling him that again. They had no right to call him anything, they had no right to even be here, tainting the memory of a good woman.

A damned infuriating, incredibly stupid idiot basketcase of a woman who had selfishly not considered anyone else in the biggest decision of her very shortened life... But still a good woman.

"Bullshit," he snapped, moving away from the creature like he was too disgusted to stay in vicinity. In truth, if he didn't move away, he might try to remove the face for them. "You're a demon, aren't you?" Vicente assumed, turning back around with that glare permanently affixed to his brow. "You're the reason that sinkhole has opened-- you're why it stinks here," the man suddenly inhaled loudly, as his lip curled, "God, I can smell it on you." That faint sourness. Maybe if he'd been one of those overgrown dogs or bloodsuckers with a better nose, that smell would have assaulted his senses. Being human, though, and a trained one to boot, it wasn't as obvious. But it was certainly a far cry to the spices and vanilla with a hint of flour burned into the hunter's core memories. "Why have you come?" he demanded. "What are you about to do?" Vicente could feel it in his bones, that something was going on.

~~*~~

"That wouldn't kill me, it would just send me back for more torture," she tried for light hearted but her eyes dropped back to the ground almost immediately. She didn't dare look up even though he had released her and quieted for the moment. Her feet should be moving and carrying her away from this danger but she just couldn't move. It had always been about him in the end anyway.

What had happened to change him so much?

You died, she thought darkly. This was all her fault. It wasn't like the demon had given her much time to write a note to explain. All she had wanted to do was save him from an eternity of torture. No matter what the demon had said, she just knew that he didn't deserve that punishment. He was a good man. Of course, that was while she was human. This side of him was something she'd never seen before.

"I don't," she sobbed, "I don't get any pleasure out of this. I am sorry, mi-" she cut herself off not wanting him to take it too far just because she pushed him over the edge. She dabbed at her eyes to keep the tears from falling, and to cover what he clearly didn't want to see, "I don't have another face. I'm sorry this one doesn't please you any more."

[untoldsoup]

This is Chapter Three part TWO! Please read chapters one, two and 3 (part one) FIRST!

Note: any derogatory comments about Mario being a little person will get deleted and you will be blocked.

PLEASE READ TAGS

Tags: tw:cartoon violence /tw:(mild) body horror/ tw:blood/ tw: injuries/ tw: minor character in danger/ tw: verbal abuse of a minor character/ tw: manipulation/ tw: major character death/ tw: minor character death/ tw:death threats

So happy I managed to get this update out on schedule. Thank you all for being patient waiting two months between updates, these pages take time! Anyway, this is the end of the flash back, we will be back to the present with the next chapter! And well, things are heating up, as you can see :)

I spent a lot of time on this, so if you like it, let me know! thank you all for reading :)

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

Previous: chapter 3(part 1)

Next: chapter four part one

Start from the beginning Here!

This is a sequel, please read "Change" comic first!

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was taking an exam at school, except Chica from FNAF was there and if I made one wrong move she’d fucking kill me.

[punk-in-docs]

A song of brides and hounds: part III

— Emperor Geta x Reader (Salacia)

— 4.3k words.

— Read all parts here: Part I — Part II — Part III — Part IV

Summary: You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa. Salacia. And now you are sent to Rome for your father in the Senate. There you will catch the attention of Geta; in all the wrong and darkest of ways— any reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated 💙💙💙

TW: for this chapter - mainly violence and some gore, also Caracalla being a nasty little bitch -- enjoy!

The servant girls’ hands are kind.

They undress you softly, and handle you with such reverence. Strip from you the ruined stola and tend your wounds.

They wash your feet, ply your cuts with a herbal paste of yarrow and uva ursi, wrap you in bandages. They rub new sweet smelling oil onto your unwounded skin.

Pick off your old jewellery and finery to be discarded. Slip you out your shoes. Lay you bare. Stood before them in naught but your skin as they tend you.

One is wetting, oiling and combing your netted hair to silky serenity again. Another is cleaning the wound on your elbow. All traces of dirt - and your previous life along with it - slowly removed.

Stood you in a shallow golden tub of warm water that laps at your ankles. Milky with oils and soaps. They put rose petals in the water. You watch them swim and dip.

You beg for one of the girls to keep the fibulae broaches that held your now damned dress to your shoulders. Your very last essence of home. Venus was enshrined in those very broaches. They gave you hope. Carrying a small kind piece of goddess with you. Laying your devotion to the majesty of the ocean on your simple shoulders.

They guided you to rooms draped in blue and gold. Stars moulded on the ceiling with the ornate marble that drips from every wall and corner. Giving the false illusion of a night sky. The flat ceiling between them clouded with bursts and puffs of dark blue that indicated churning night clouds. Boundless skies. Endless seas.

It felt like showing all the maps of the world to a caged bird.

Soft feminine blues befit these chambers. Statues and devotion to goddesses crown the walls and doorways. Urns of large stemmed white flowers. One wall holds a table lined with a huge offering of fruits, dried and fresh. Some bread and cured meats and oiled small fish. And an amphora of wine and goblet for after your bathing.

The air in here is scented all floral herb and clean. Too clean. No hint of sea salt or dried weed that tumbles on the shore to bake in the sun. It’s unfamiliar.

The huge slab of the cushioned bed is draped with silks and gauzy canopy curtains the colour of dove feathers. You don’t want to look at it. You dread thinking what will happen in it tonight.

A large maw of balcony gapes at another side of the room. This shows you the wall of rain outside. The violent tumble of thunder that must be shaking the very hills and peoples of Rome.

You feel as if the sea is raging because you’ve been stolen from it. Now it seeks vengeance on the land. Lashing and storming mercilessly until you’re found. Back where you belong.

Unlikely. It will have to rage on.

You stand, undressed, unseeing. Uncaring for the wealth of the room you’ve been pulled into.

The maid behind you, Oriana, a sweet and silent blonde, is scooping your hair back from your neck to comb and ply it with vanilla and orchid oil. Dark sweet musk.

Geta had specifically requested it.

Your head servant is a maid called Aeliana.

She has an accent you can’t place. It’s pretty, her tone husky. She had wonderful raven hair spilling silky and free over her shoulders, eyes dark as cassia bark, almond shaped. Long lashes. The epitome of tranquil beauty.

The colour of her dress is different to the rest of them. Indicating her higher status. Rusty red and it readily compliments the natural darkness of her skin. She wore golden bangles threaded on each wrist, and her touch is cloud soft.

She has a scar that intersects down from the middle of her forehead, across her left eye and cheek and ends there. Skin twisted and healed shiny. An old wound. It makes her striking to look at.

Worse still; She catches you staring.

Lowers her eyes as she tended you. Layering the sticky wet herbal treatment to your wounded elbow.

“Does my appearance displease you, my lady?” She lapses into silence for a moment or two.

“If you’d prefer I could send for another handmaiden to come tend you-“ She asks. Not harshly. There’s a hint of shame to her tone.

You look to her. Fearful of offence.

“I am not displeased. Forgive me. To stare so openly is rude.” You mutter. Eyes falling to your feet again. You watch rose petals sway on the water. You swallow thickly.

If she’s amused at your asking her, a servant, for forgiveness, she doesn’t show it. She calmly counters;

“You are Empress Salacia of Rome. You are allowed to stare at whomever you wish.” She tells you plainly.

Your eyes water. You bite inside your lower lip before you respond.

Not yet I’m not. And I don’t want to be.

“How came you by the scar?” You ask. Knowing full well you won’t like the answer. She gently washed your shoulder with a cloth.

“The Emperor.” She tells frankly.

At your doe eyed expression of horror she elucidates.

“Not Emperor Geta. His brother, Caracalla. Emperor Geta’s temper may be foul and quick to boil. But, Caracalla he is… far crueler.” She explains.

Your mouth purses into a thin line.

Oriana has finished oiling your hair. Now she was styling it into waves. Decorated with ornaments of netted gold. Geta requested it down as opposed to the normal bridal style. Emperors have what they want.

“What was the reason…” You sought. Fearing the answer.

“I was too slow in bringing his wine one night.” She offers. Plucking a vial of oil from the side table and coming back to rub it into your bare arms.

You squeeze your eyes closed. Ignore the tickle of tears that threaten your scrunched eyelids.

This is the savage world you must inhabit now. Try to navigate with sharper hungrier teeth and deadlier instinct. You don’t feel ready. You must become lionhearted and fierce. Carry knives. Be ruthless.

You hear your mothers reverent voice in your head. Sweet sea child. You were not made that way.

“I am sorry for your pain. Aeliana. But I am grateful for your warning.” You decide.

She nods. “I thank the goddess’ for you. Empress.” She smiles at you.

Before going to the side to fetch your tunica recta, and the belt you’d wear on your waist in a knot of hercules. Which tradition dictated only Geta was allowed to undo.

Your husband.

You wince. Aueliana notices.

“Your majesty?” She seeks. Sensing your unease.

“I am nervous.” You tell her. You confide your worry in this woman with kind eyes and soft hands.

“It is expected of a bride to be nervous.” She awards you.

“I’m not a normal bride.” You confirm fearfully. She can see them shaking in your gaze. Threatening to breach your lash line.

She nods in understanding. You’re sure they all knew. The reason that placed you here. Spread like wildfire on dry plains through the servant halls.

“I know little of managing a husband. Of… starting a family.”

“If I may, your majesty. Your family is a noble one, yes?” She asks.

You nod. You lived in one of the richest houses in Corsica. You were never lacking in money or ribbons and new jewels. But at best you were a senators daughter. Not the ideal stock for an Emperors wife. Not the type to be governing one great nation.

“My grandmother is a well known seer in these parts. A healer. Purveyor of white magic. Many a time she has seen things that have yet to come to pass…” She explains as she wraps the belt around your waist. Speaking as she does.

“She foretold your arrival. Said the future of Rome would be written by rain and storm, when blood spills on the ancient serpent stone.”

Serpent. Synonymous with the Traitor. Two faced and shedding skin. Blood spilling, the death of your Brother. Rain on the rocks- this storm hammering down. You can’t believe it.

“What if Rome is your destiny?” She explains. Her voice kind and brave as the candles flicker and the storm rages on.

“Then I pray the goddess’ convey me the strength to survive it.”

“I will pray too.” She takes your hand. It feels like kinship.

They stepped you out of the tub and began to pat you dry with cloths and then dress you.

With each pass of their hands wiping the water from your skin, it removed you further and further from yourself.

Aeliana rubs a sweet balm like texture onto your pebbled nipples before she robes you. Said it was to increase your fertility. She also lines your eyes with burnt kohl.

They pulled your dress on around you. Let it fall into beautiful waves. You stood sedately and let them manoeuvre you.

Your skin positively draped with as much fragrant oil as it could take. Anointed with your new life as it drips off you in unbearable sweetness. Decorations not of your choosing put into your hair, on your ears, around your neck, on your arms. Strangled by someone else’s finery.

Slid fine golden sandals onto your feet. Aeliana brought a flame red veil and pinned it in place over your head. It floated down to your shoulders. Securing a crown of myrtle flowers over it.

It may have been gauzy fabric; rich and fine. But it felt like iron to you. Iron veil and a crown of thorns.

When they finish readying you, they bow and leave you alone to eat the fresh bread and fruits. Drink the sweet wine. Night closes in around you.

You didn’t ever picture the night before your wedding being like this. Alone and noiseless save for rain. You pictured the noise and gaiety of your sisters, dancing in their fine dresses. How they’d carry golden stalks of wheat to signify your prosperous marriage - how it would bear fruit. Be blessed by gods and fortune.

Your mother would bind your hands to the man you’d marry. To the man you’d love.

And you are here. Miserable in cold indifference. Clothed in perfumed oil and silence. With only your dour thoughts for company.

You pick at your offering of food. Feeling the milky eyes of those female deity marble statues watching you carefully. Judging. Maybe even disappointed.

When the doors next shudder open as the guards outside push them open, a divine older woman comes striding slowly, surely, into the room. Confidence woven into her steps like the very fine lavender purple cloth folded around her shoulders. A beautiful sage green palla. Her hair is dark and braided masterfully on her head. Shot through with bolts of silver.

You recognise her from coins. From statues. The Dowager Empress of Rome. Julia Domna.

She looks wise as Minerva. Goddess of education indeed. All of Rome had heard tale of not only her beauty, but her mind. Sharp as an arrowhead. A gentle mediator between her rabid sons.

Out of sheer politesse and nerves, you bolt out your seat and bow your head to her. Words shrivel on your tongue. Royalty is stood before you. Here you are plucked from the dungeons. You feel unworthy.

“Rise, my child.” She bids you. Holding out a hand laid with jewels on nearly every finger. Standing before you. Close enough to discern some of your beauty through the veil.

She examines you. Not unkindly. The way you’d expect a mother to examine the vessel that will carry her sons legacy. She’s discerning.

“Let me see my sons choice then…” she bids. Hands crossed in front of her, diplomatically, as she lets her deep set, serious eyes become acquainted with all of you.

Choice? Or chattel?

She walks around you. Eyes your hair. Your build. Your hips. The way you’ve been presented like a prized sacrificial swine before the crowds on Saturnalia.

And she doesn’t appear to find you lacking

“Goodness. You really are beautiful.” She says. It sounds mournful. Introspective. As if she didn’t intend on you hearing it.

“He’s made a fine choice.” She lauded

“Corsica, I hear you hail from?”

“Yes, Dowager.”

“I want to know one thing.” She says. Voice hard as newly forged steel. A shiver runs your spine. So she could be terrifying if she wishes.

“Are you a traitor against Rome?” She demands. “There are spies who would conspire to align themselves with this great house, under false guises, to murder my sons.” She speaks, crossly. Eyes aflame.

She has bite after all. Lions teeth and knows full well how to use them.

“I am no spy. I am not a murderer I have no guise. Like you. I only want to protect those whom I love.” You answer calmly. Placid easy waves. Gently now.

She smiles. Though something curious still lurks in her eyes.

“Then we are on the same page.” She awards slyly. You feel as if you’ve passed a test.

Her smile crooks on one side. Relieved.

She turns to the doors. The great sway of her earrings are big as chandeliers as she moves. Stunning gold. Bands of gold also cross her well formed upper arms. Every inch a woman of gentility and riches. She is perfumed with lavender. Oil made from dried plants fetched all the way from purple fields in Aquitania.

“My son grows impatient to see his bride. Come. Salacia. It is time.” She offers her arm to you.

Apparently your destiny lays in wait.

~

The wedding was a short and simple affair. The Dowager Empress led you to the grand rooms where they were to be held.

Grand, just like the rest of this humongous sprawling palace.

When you see Geta, he is clad in so much gold and armour. A blinding white cloak draped off his form. Armour golden. Carved with gods and victorious hero’s of battle. Golden laurel crown adorns his head. His smile at the sight of you makes you blush with attention.

You are suddenly grateful for the veil. It manages to hide you from every stranger in this room. You can make out Caracalla. Some other senators. Other guests you’ve no idea who.

The celebrant, a rather portly priest, ordered the evil spirits away. Asked for the fire spirits to bless you. He invoked Janus to watch over you from single people to a joined couple. New beginnings.

When it is time, he takes your hand and carefully threads an engagement ring on your finger. It is weighty, pure gold. An imitation of two dog heads joined together. A round sapphire cradled between their mouths. As if they’re fighting for it.

Remus and Romulus. It reminds you of him already.

You dare to meet his eyes as he does it. He looks ravenous. Umbra catching you where you stand. Swallows you whole. You don’t think you can get used to it yet.

“Wherever you go, there also go I, as your wife.” You speak.

The dowager Empress binds your hands together with blood red linen as the rest of the vows are read. The way his fingers turn and grip the inside of your forearm - firm pressing, hot like a brand - it makes you shiver.

Then comes the time for the marriage to be sealed with a kiss. Hands freed.

Your stomach is squirming unpleasantly as your stranger of a groom steps forwards to lift your veil. When he lifts the red gauze from your vision, you keep your eyes lowered until the last moment.

You feel the urging of his eyes. You could hear the fierce nature of his words as if he’d spoken.

Look at me. Salacia.

He looks entirely too boastful. His perfect little nymph. Caught and landed at last.

Hepulled you in by your waist. Locked his hand around your back. Gave you a kiss that was certainly gentler than before. Softness of his lips was maddening when the rest of him was all armour and metal. But you still felt the edge of his teeth on your lower lip. Bursting new pain from where it had split.

It was official. You had been dragged out a golden net cast in the sea. And now property of the Emperor of Rome.

You had no time to let your thoughts wander. There’s been quite the celebration planned for after. He walks beside you as congratulations ripple around you from nobles, senators, generals and high officials of the courts.

You ignore the way Caracalla sneers a particularly vile look your way when you pass him. Plotting.

You are lead to an opulent triclinium. Open to one huge side, guarded by pillars, which overlooked a garden where fountains trickled and plants bloom even in the storm that’s still brewing. Spitting rain on the landscape.

There are torches at the sides of the rooms, huge bowls boasting orange flames that lick at the walls, and freshly plucked flowers, still green branches and fronds sit in urns to the side. Filling the room with petals and heady nectar scent.

There’s a huge swarm of lectus’ in the centre of the room. Bronze laid with cushions. All pointing towards a huge table were bread and wine goblets awaited. You’re not used to how the room echoes. Unused to the sheer amount of people and formality that fills it.

The wine is poured freely by silent servants who sweep in and out. Some of them carrying plates as huge as carriage wheels. A whole roasted boar with grapes spilling out its mouth is brought in. Trays upon trays of cooked moray eels, cod and oiled anchovies. A whole platter of stewed nightingale birds, arranged around stalks of herbs and plums.

There’s fruit and bread the like of which you’ve not seen before. White bowls filled with cut purple figs and waxy oranges. Apples and yellow golden pears on tiered stands. Grapes and dried apricots heaped in dishes. It’s dazzling. So much wealth thrust before you.

You have a cup of sweet honey wine and take some of the unleavened bread. Watching as others around you gorge and toast with their goblets. Drinking strong wine and telling jokes and bawdy stories.

You feel disjointed from it all. You feel the Emperors eyes pass over you. The dowagers too. You are a source of mystery and intrigue.

Plucked from misfortune and placed here at the feet of gods.

You do feel when your new husband slides some pieces of fruit, or fresh breads onto your plate. A small bunch of sweet red grapes. His head may be cocked to conversation in this room. But his attention remains somewhat on you.

“Eat. Wife. I do not wish to force you.” He commands you. Prodding food and more wine in your direction.

Nursing his own cup and barking at the servants when he wanted more. You know his tongue must be stained with the taste by now. Sour purple. You wonder if you’ll taste it later in another of his animalistic kisses.

It feels like there is a boulder in your stomach. You swallow. You sip. You try to breathe. It all feels too restricted.

“Refill my wife’s cup.” Geta demands of the nearest servant. You flinch at his cutting commands.

You meet the servants eyes for a second and flicker them a smile. They look to the ground as they fill your cup. Their poor hands shake. You thank them. They don’t respond.

You’ve a feeling his plying you with wine has more than one ulterior motive. To make you loosen. Make you pliant. Make you slip down easier in his crushing grip.

“I have no appetite.” You admit weakly.

You can’t stomach the way the fat on the meat before you glistens. These poor stewed birds with clipped wings. The gutted boar. Glistening fat and dead meat. Same as the way of those poor flayed men in the coliseum.

Butchered animals. One and the same. The way blood sprayed out on the biscuit brown dirt under the sun. The way viscera glistened bright when spilled free from once living flesh. How these animals looked served on a platter. There’s no difference.

You take some grapes. Pick them from the vine. Bite into some apricots. The fruit rots on your palate. Fine sugary flesh and it bursts on your tongue like ripe putrefaction. You place it gently back on your plate.

“Do they not have fruit in Corsica?” He asks. It’s vaguely mocking.

“We had lemon trees in the gardens. An olive tree in the courtyard. Over 200 years old.” You state quietly. Not taking your eyes off the plate in front of you. You picked and prodded at it.

“You have more now. You are Empress. You have anything you want.” He impressed on you.

“I miss the ocean. The sun on the shoreline. My sisters.” You mutter.

“Don’t risk sounding ungrateful.” He threatens.

Geta followed the path of your reluctant hand with his eyes. He then scans across all of his guests. People of the senate. Rich merchants. Fellow royalty.

They come to snipe and drink wine and watch this new wedded spectacle.

“They are all dull.” Geta decided.

You wonder if the only source of amusement he could delight at was seeing people being beaten to black and blue paste in the coliseum. To have to see the spray of blood to feel something.

“They are intrigued. Their Emperor has placed a traitor in his marriage bed.” You comment.

Geta turned to you. “That sounds like treason to my ears.” A warning.

“Perhaps.” You answered. Boldly.

“But is it inaccurate? It is what they are all thinking.” You add. “You’ve wedded yourself to someone disloyal. Someone who is not their kind. They are curious.”

Geta scans his eyes over everyone again. Their laughter. The flow of wine. The way they stab and cut into food and fruit like they’re half starved. None of them quite meet your eyes.

Perhaps they don’t wish too.

His hand finds the meat of your thigh. Flesh firm and warm.

“They will believe what I tell them too. Wife. You only need worry about your loyal duty to me. Nothing else.” He makes clear.

You go back to pushing bits of fruit around your plate. Taking no more sustenance.

“No doubt you are unused to such finery.” Caracalla pipes up. Seeing you toy with your food. “I wonder what they eat in Corsica. Peasants sea food?”

You meet Caracalla’s eyes across the tables and mountains of rich food.

Getas eyes were dark. Fired by lust for you. That’s what you saw in them when he looked at you.

The same could not be said for Caracalla.

You saw nothing. Just darkness and his love of cruelty. Geta unnerved you. But it was Caracalla who scared you most. It was like gazing into a tomb. A bare skull eye socket. You’re certain nothing but darkness refracted back. Splintered twisted darkness. The purest distilled form of malice.

“Perhaps you are jealous, brother. The fact that I will have heirs meant for the future of the empire. And you will… not.” He snaps. Petulant.

“If she makes it that far.” Caracalla sneers. Daggering a smile right at you. A sneer that make you feel cold. He’s twirling a dagger in his other hand. Eyeing you with sick lustful interest.

He wants your goodness too. He wants it so he can spoil you for himself and ruin Getas legitimacy. By whatever means necessary. Geta has cruelly inserted you into this feud.

“And who’s to say the heir will be yours… who knows where her eyes will stray.” He jabs. Eyes widening as he leers.

Geta stabs into his food. Glaring at his smaller twin all the while. Eyes dark as shadow cloaked black jewels.

When some servants near you move from pouring wine, the sight of the persons impeded by them, slowed your world to a halt, ringing gongs in your ears when you caught sight of someone you recognized.

Macrinus.

The food in your mouth turns to ash which you can hardly stomach swallowing. Your gaze locked on the man as he lays content at your wedding feast. Drinking wine and roaring laughter with Caracalla. Garbed in robes of rich Aquarian blue trimmed with gold pattern.

Exactly the gracious easy way he had been when he dined with you and your father in his home.

His smile remains as he locks eyes with you. And raises his glass in a toast in your direction. You hear him drink to your new name with a blazing smirk aimed your way. “Empress.”

You mumble a pithy excuse. You don’t know if anyone hears you or if they’ll even look up from their plates when you get up and rush to leave.

Caracalla snorts as you race from the room on the verge of tears.

“She’s a flighty one. Your Empress. So full of tears.” Caracalla comments loudly. Cruelly. Turning his head to meet the acid stare of his brother - and the Dowager Empress as she lowers her goblet from her lips. Eyes cool as metal.

“Maybe if you shoved your cock into your broodmare, brother, as you doubtless plan to do this night. Maybe that would settle her down? Or maybe a good beating from the guards will see her right, make her see her place… maybe let a few of the guards bend her over a lectus and see to her first? Loosen her up a little for your uses.”

“Caracalla. Enough.” The dowager snaps. Lightning power in her voice. Tone fashioned from a fury storms could envy. Her dark eyes glow with it.

She turns to Geta and lays a gentle pacifying hand to his arm. “See to your bride, dear. She looked unwell.”

Geta sighs a snarl. Glaring at his brother as he does as mother suggested.

She watches him leave. Turns to her other son with barely concealed ire.

Caracalla snorts into his wine with the other guests. Making sneering, high handed remarks.

“Such marital bliss.” He mocks to the guests. Twirling his favourite silver dagger in his other hand. Laughing as he played with the dead meats on his plate with a sneer. His tooth winked golden in the light.

~

Tagging in the hopes this finds its way to the right people- thank you--

@ceriseheaven @lurkingprincess @ramona-thorns @joequinnswhore @iliveforotps @eddiesskittle @roosterisdaddy36 @rose-tinted @lluviamg06 @ravensfromvalhalla @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @gvtosbith @munsonswhoresposts2 @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @anaisweird @cinnamoncunt @red-lipstick-bisexual @wheels-of-despair @tvserie-s-world @callmeloverr @ho-for-joequinn-fics @bettyfrommars @rip-quizilla @songforeddiemunson @usedtobecooler @peachesandfiends @littlelioncub43 @heyndrix @babybluebex @blueywrites @joejoequinnquinn @cool-nick-miller @sheneedsrocknroll92 @rehfan @pedgito @dracomaledicte @gamingaquarius @mypoisonedvine @sharp-and-swift @chaptersleftunwritten

[serickswrites]

Or Else

Warnings: restraints, captivity, torture, slap, physical violence, threat of violence, defiant whumpee

"You're going to give me exactly what I want, Whumpee. And I want to know all of Organization's plans." Whumper said as they loomed over Whumpee whom they had bound tightly to the chair.

Whumpee smirked, looking as nonchalant as possible while roped to a folding chair. "Well we both know I'm not going to do that."

"You're going to tell me! Or else!" Whumper said through gritted teeth, their eyes narrowed.

"Or else what? You're going to spend more time with me? That's all you've got, Whumper."

"You'll be sorry," Whumper warned.

Whumpee rolled their eyes. "Give me a break. There's nothing you can do that will make me talk."

Without warning, Whumper backhanded Whumpee hard across the face. Whumpee's head rocked to the side with the force. Fortunately, the chair stayed in place as Whumper had bolted it to the floor hours before. They hadn't wanted Whumpee trying to escape.

Whumpee pouted. "That was uncalled for, Whumper."

Whumper raised a clenched fist. "TELL ME!"

"Make me," Whumpee's eyes glinted with defiance. "There is nothing you can do, Whumper. I will never, ever tell you."

[rey-townsend]

Oh, he was a real mess. It had been some time since Neylani had come across someone so lost and scared-- mostly of himself, actually. Which, actually, was a good thing. It spoke of the type of person he must be, if he was this upset and torn over even the possibility of harming another soul. The woman raised a hand in an effort to command his attention and focus. "You should not be speaking to me in that manner," she chastised. "Do you hear yourself? Every other word is F-this and F-that-- you learned vocabulary for a reason, sir, I suggest you revisit yours." Of course she would have to comment on his jarring use of sentence enhancers, because it made him more difficult to understand. He was too riled, spewing expletives a mile a minute almost.

"Now you listen," Neylani came in closer to him, her tone and features just as serious as before, "you need to take a moment and collect yourself, take a deep breath, because I can't just let you walk away until you do." Not in the state he was in right now. Neylani couldn't risk the possibility of him stumbling across a wayward townie that just happened to look at him wrong or something. Wolves, especially the newborn, could be wholly unpredictable at times. "Come," she held out her hand, "take a walk with me for a few minutes. Tell me your name."

Avery was on edge, he could feel it, and he knew coming out there was probably not the best of ideas... but well, lately he had been full of those, really bad ideas. Besides he did thought things were getting a little better. He was just trying to enjoy his drink when it happen, that annoying drunk trying to get a reaction out of him, and he tried, he really tried ti ignore it, but as soon as his glass was knocked over, so was Avery's last nerve "Hey, you fucking asshole! what the hell is your damn problem!" He gets up, because now all sense of reason has gone out the window, but before he can do anything he feels himself being pretty much dragged out by his shirt, "What he fuck, lady!?" Avery huff, though part of him is glad she's there to stop whatever was about to happened. "I'm gonna get banned? he started it!" Oh great, yes, being a damn child is was gonna help his case for sure! "You nearly ripped my damn shirt, Goddamn it!" he huffs as she finnaly lets go, Avery fixes himself as he looks over the woman, "What's my problem? what's his fucking problem?! I was minding my own fucking business he come up to me!" he feels it, the rage, even if she defused some of it when he pulled him like that, its still there, which is very evident by the way his eyes glow as he's stating at her, "Shit! Shit! just--I--" he breaths out as soon as he realizes how close he come to lose it, to harm someone, trying to calm myself the best he can, "fuck, sorry I--" Avery runs a hand trough his hair, "I'm--I shouldn't be here, around people. I thought I could, that--that it was better, but it's not--I--I--was gonna rip his fucking head off, fuck!"

"I just need to go, okay? I should had never--I can't be around people, fuck! I should've known better..."

[obae-me]

hii, i hope you're having a good day. I love your writing and I was wondering if you could do the "bros being protective" with diavolo, barbatos, simeon and solomon.

The people have spoken! And I shall answer! Please accept this as a late holiday gift! We shall have more protective headcanons! I hope hope hope I did the datables justice!  

They’ll Always Protect You Too

TW: Mild Violence. More violence is implied. Threats. As Always, Read Safely!

_____________________________________________

Diavolo

It was a miracle. Somehow, you and Diavolo managed to find a time where you could spend the day together. And by miracle, that means you assisted the prince into sneaking out of his own castle. Otherwise, you'd both never get to be out on your own. Sure, the ruler of the devildom could by all means order everyone to leave him alone, but the both of you knew that either Barbatos or Lucifer would find some way to keep an eye on him.

So, feeling like a rebellious teen in a cliché Coming-of-Age movie, Diavolo snuck out while Barbatos was distracted. He tried to disguise himself by wearing casual clothes, wearing a jacket with a hood over his head. Of course...it didn’t hide him all too well. There’s not many in the Devildom with his grand stature and booming voice. But one could hope...and pretend. 

He wanted this to be a normal day with no royally annoying responsibilities.

Of course, he hadn't really done anything like this before, so he didn't know quite what to do, so you suggested walking around. You could get something to eat, window shop, whatever you both wanted.

For a time, everything went swell. You both had a bite to eat, making sure no pickles were involved. You looked around shops, and while people were absolutely turning their head to make sure that they really did see the prince of their realm strolling down the street, no one said anything or bothered you two. 

That was till Diavolo got a call. He’d been found out, and from the sounds of it, a fretting Barbatos was on the other line. It’s odd to hear the butler worry so much, so with an apologetic grin, Diavolo stepped away from you for a moment to assure Barbatos that all was well. 

You turned, going to pace just a few steps down the street before a demon bumped into you, staggering you backwards. Their D.D.D. fell out of their hands and onto the floor. “Whoa! Sorry there,” they actually apologized. 

“Oh...uh...no worries.” Still a little stunned from the abrupt encounter, you bent down to pick up their device for them.

The demon snatched it from the ground before you could even touch it. “Say, weren’t you just at Café Lament earlier?” Finding it a weird question, you struggled to respond. This, they took as a confirmation. “I knew it! You looked familiar! The human for the exchange program, yeah?” Again, they didn’t give you much time to answer. “Aren’t you staying at the House of Lamentation?” Why did they want to know so much about you? And why were they not letting you speak? “Who was that demon with you then? Didn’t look like any of the Seven Sins.” This was beginning to lead down a road that made your stomach churn. “Are you out here alone?”

"They are not." It was a simple declaration, but a strong one, a wave of power washing over you both, raw magic filling the air, flooding your lungs as if you had just inhaled a cloud of smoke. The other demon felt it too, freezing in place, suddenly aware that they were messing with the wrong person. You were gently pulled, being suddenly moved behind Diavolo's back. His first instinct was to put himself between the two of you. He did not shout, he did not fight, he simply stood there, slowly lowering his hood to reveal his face. "If there is something you need from them, you can ask me."

The demon's eyes grew wide from sheer panic. If there's one rule down here demons do follow, it's to not tick off the prince. They stuttered, immediately falling into this act of false respect, bowing their head towards their ruler. "I-I was simply curious about the program, your majesty. Of course, I only wanted to learn about your wisdom first-hand and I-"

"Enough," Diavolo simply raised his hand, the demon silencing immediately. If he did so with a spell or simply sheer intimidation you did not know. "You are dismissed." Those words were laced with magic so powerful, you almost turned and left yourself, but Diavolo kept his arm near you...kept you close.

For the other demon, however, they began to walk backward, their body betraying them as the order from the prince flooded their bones. They kept moving with their head bowed till they were several feet away from you. Only then did they snap out of it, looking around them in a fearful daze before they ran off.

Diavolo remained in place, shoulders squared, suddenly aware of the whispers of others, the public looking on. He whispered to you, guiding you away from everyone else, using his body to keep you out of sight. “Let us...return to the castle.” He said nothing till you both were on castle grounds, the gate shutting behind you. Then he turned, his posture sagging slightly as he no longer felt the need to be so regal. His words were assertive but not aggressive. “Are you alright?” 

How could you be truthful when someone like Diavolo was right in front of you? You knew he was a prince, but sometimes you forgot...how real that royal status was. “I’m...I...I’m okay.” 

His lips parted as his jaw dropped ever so slightly. His eyes narrowed in a bit of pain. “You don’t need to act around me. My title is simply that, just a title. Sure, I may be a prince, but don’t you see more to me than that?” 

You looked away from him for a moment, but then nodded. He was more to you than just a prince. “I’m a little frazzled, but they didn’t do anything to me. You came just in time.” 

He managed a smile, sighing in relief. “I’m glad for that at least.” He gestured towards the castle, the two of you walking. He fell back just enough to stand with you shoulder to shoulder. “I’m sorry today didn’t go quite as planned. Shall we spend the rest of the day here with just us? No one will bother you. You and I are free to be just who we are without having to fear the consequences.” 

Barbatos

For the love of Diavolo, give this man more of a break. 

Even on his day off--his royally ordered day off--he still was thinking about grabbing groceries and other various items for the castle or for Diavolo. “The dining hall could use new drapes,” he had said. “I am running rather low on tea, what if a guest arrives?” He had fretted. “As it happens, I am currently on the hunt for a particular set of antique measuring cups,” he informed you. Perhaps work never really ends as a demonic butler. Although that last bit of information did seem more personal than the others...

So, the heavy duty of convincing the butler to do something for himself for a change now rested on your shoulders. At the rather desperate request of the prince, you might add. Of course, at your simple suggestion of heading out, he expressed how happy he was to do something with you. 

Sometimes two and two really does just equal four. 

So you both took the time to go on a lovely stroll. To avoid getting him to think about work, you brought up the idea to find a more scenic route of the town, leading him away from shops and places where he could start checking off his errand list. 

He agreed, leading you through a lovely public garden and up to an overlook, the two of you peering down at the busy buzzing demons that scurried around the Devildom. 

Then your peaceful moment was interrupted by a ringtone. With a polite ‘pardon me for a moment’, Barbatos took the call. Guess someone finally contacted him with an offer for the aforementioned antique measuring cups. Good for him, he deserved something nice like that. 

You allowed him his privacy, wandering a little ways away to look at a lovely flowerbed with several glowing flowers. Only, as you crouched down to observe the petals, some stranger did the same thing right next to you. “Aren’t these gorgeous?” The demon asked, acting unfazed as you flinched, startled at the sudden appearance. 

You stood, moving around to the other side of the public flowerbed to give yourself some personal space. “Y-yeah, they’re...nice.” 

…The demon mimicked your movements, coming around so they were shoulder to shoulder with you. You felt like you could hardly breathe with them being so close...

Now was the time to leave, you figured, before the situation escalated. So you took a step forward...only to find the demon was now blocking your path, standing directly in front of you, hands in their pockets, keeping you from moving on. “Why the rush? We were having a good talk, weren’t we?” What talk? The single mention of the flowers? “Stay with me a while...We have a lot we can talk about.” Their hand outstretched to grab you. 

All the sudden, a swirling portal crackled into existence behind the demon. Neither of you had time to fully comprehend what was happening before rattling chains shot forth from the other side, wrapping around their limbs, entangling the demon in their grasp. “Wh-what is this?” The demon shrieked, struggling. They had no time to ask any questions. With a brisk tug, the demon was pulled into the magical void. 

When the portal closed, Barbatos was behind it, tucking his D.D.D. back into his pocket. For a moment, you could’ve sworn the relatively calm and neutral expression had vanished, a frown and furrowed brows framing angry glowing eyes. But you blinked and that image was gone, replaced by his typical pristine smile. 

“I...what was that?” You asked, head still spinning at the whole situation. 

He took a few steps closer to you, making sure that you were unharmed by checking you over. “That was me simply doing my upmost to keep the city streets free of...” He had to actually pause to think of the proper word. “Needless commotion.” 

“Where...where did they go?” You couldn’t help but ask. 

“If you really must know, just to one of the castle’s holding cells. There they can mull over their mistakes and relearn some common manners.” You stared at him, wondering what to properly say in a situation like this. Something seemed to chip away at him the longer you looked at him. “Trust me,” he ended up saying. “I had seen enough to know where it was going. I won’t waste time when it comes to you and your safety.” Once more, a flicker of honest emotion brushed over him. Just for a second. A look of worry, of pain. “Not again.” Then it was gone, and he simply smiled once more as he brushed away a winkle in your clothing. “Shall we head back to the castle?” 

“What about those cups you wanted to get?” 

He put a gentle gloved hand on the back of your shoulder as he turned you towards the direction the castle was in. “I can always retrieve those later. There are more important things to attend to right now. Tell me, what kind of treats would you like me to make for you today?” 

Solomon

He...he asked you to come because of some emergency...The voicemail had been brief and cryptic. Something about ‘the end of times’ and ‘terrible mistakes’--it was hard to make out the message when a sound like roaring wind kept washing out his voice. So of course, you ran over to Purgatory Hall as fast as you could, breathless, prepared for an apocalypse, only to find him standing outside waiting with a smile. Cheeky wizard. Had he really done all that just to get you to come spend time with him? Not that you necessarily felt like complaining. Living in different dorms meant that you didn’t see each other as often as some of the others. 

Besides, it always felt like he was busy doing something. Not that he would ever tell anyone what it was he was working on, some spell or plot of some kind. Something that he always taunted was just out of your magical league, or something that your mortal mind would struggle to comprehend. Possibly just all a scheme to get you to study harder…and possibly one that was working. 

Anyways, that was no longer the point. The focus now was on what you would be doing for the remainder of the day. He had a list of all the Devildom’s most fascinating shops, ones that contained relics and essentially fancy highly-sought-after dust-covered objects. You agreed to go along with him on the exception that you both would go out and get something nice to drink. After making a mad dash all the way over here, you were now quite parched. Any longer, and you would yourself be a relic. 

He laughed at your joke and that was that, going so far as to buy you a drink from one of the local cafes. Now you were both ‘even’, as far as he was concerned, perhaps making up for his little crank-call earlier. 

Speaking of a call...

You recognized the sound of some of the brother’s voices on the other end of Solomon’s phone, all shouting through the speakers. Apparently some sort of cursed spell went haywire and was causing havoc through the House. When there’s something weird, and it don’t look good, who you gonna call? King Solom--Nah, doesn’t have the same ring to it. Although, Solomon really should think of charging some kind of fee for fixing so many magical mishaps. 

That train of thought aside, Solomon gave you a slight humorous roll of the eyes, walking away from you as he tried to solve the problem over the phone. 

You figured you’d check your D.D.D. Maybe the group chat had some fun messages in it. You’d hardly even unlocked your device when a demon approached you out of nowhere, backing you up against a wall. They were uncomfortably close. 

“Excuse me,” you scoffed, going to move out of the way, but the demon slammed their hand against the wall, keeping you from moving. But that wasn’t going to stop you. You ducked under their arm and backed up. 

They glared, still silent, still not sharing their intentions. They started to approach you again. 

Time to go. 

You dashed into an alleyway, rushing through till you were on the other side, trying to blend into the crowd. You didn’t dare look behind you yet, simply swerving around people and weaving yourself through a maze of pathways, trying to ensure you’d lost the demon. 

The moment you finally decided you’d turn around, someone grabbed your arm. 

Before you could even think it through, your mouth was already speaking a spell. “Spirit of wind, protect me!” You quickly turned, palm facing your attacker. 

A burst of wind rushed from your body. The impact was so forceful, it pushed you back, falling to the ground while the person who had grabbed you was a few feet away from you. They groaned a bit under a mess of now wind-swept white hair. 

It was not the demon. It was Solomon. 

You quickly got back up on your feet and to his side, pulling him by the arm to help him stand. “I’m so sorry!” As you were helping him, you noticed some bruising on one of his hands, all focused around the knuckles. “I thought...there was a demon and they...” 

Before he spoke, Solomon simply chuckled, straightening once he was properly upright. “I was worried about you for a moment, but it seems maybe I shouldn’t have been.” After he dusted himself off, he scanned you over for injuries. “Are you okay?” 

Still trying to catch your breath, you looked around, trying to spot the demon that was chasing you. “I...think so, I don’t see them around.” 

Something flashed behind his eyes as he smiled. “You must’ve shaken them off. Good job. And that spell you casted? It was nearly perfect.” 

Once the facts were starting to settle in, you realized where you were...how far you had managed to make it before Solomon caught up with you. You were nearly on the street you normally took to make it back to Purgatory Hall. Had you run this way subconsciously or...was there more to it than that? You raised an eyebrow at the other human. “How...How did you find me?”

He hummed a bit, amused, putting a finger to his lips. “A sorcerer never reveals his secrets.” He then used that finger to point down the street. “We’re nearly home anyway, so why don’t we head back?” 

Before you moved, you wanted confirmation for your suspicions. “Did I hurt you?” You gestured towards his hand, and for a second, you watched his all-clever expression fall into an exhausted one. 

“You did not, no. Don’t worry about me.” He looked at his knuckles and let out a single breathy laugh. “Didn’t even feel it. Guess I’m getting older, huh?” 

You shook your head at him, a bit in disbelief both at the joke and at the thought of the ‘wise wizard Solomon’ throwing back-alley punches. “Guess I owe you one, don’t I? Thank you for saving me.” 

The joking halted, Solomon waving you over so you could walk side by side as you headed back to the Hall. “No need to thank me for this one. I’m just glad to see you safe...even if you did hit me with a spell.” Okay, so there was still a little joking. “But if you still feel like you owe me, how about...staying with me for the rest of the day?” 

  Simeon

The angel had been working much too hard as of late. Not only does he have to watch over the Devildom’s smallest guardian angel, Luke, but he does have to essentially manage the Devildom’s oldest human, Solomon. On top of those two, he was working on a new writing project. Night after night he would work on this manuscript, writing himself right into a horrid bout of writer’s block. A travesty in two parts. 

It had been decided. Simeon needed some fresh air. 

Spending some time outside away from the responsibilities of Purgatory Hall would do him some good both physically and creatively. Maybe being around you for the better part of the day would bring down some divinely timed inspiration. 

Regardless of the outcome, Simeon simply beamed when you came all the way over to the Hall to ask him to come with you to the heart of town. He was quite literally glowing, a faint light shimmering behind the silhouette of his body. Of course, he did feel a bit guilty leaving Luke and Solomon home alone together, but he promised to bring them both home a little gift. He was always sweet like that.

You let him tell you what he was working on while you both walked, glad to hear him talk so passionately about something of his. He shared with you his outline, his plot, his main character...and you couldn't help but notice some...similarities between your story and this protagonist of his. But you couldn't be fully sure if that was his intention, after all, creators take bits and pieces of the world around them to make their art. But...knowing him...and his stories...it was absolutely based off of you.

However, before you were able to question him on his choice of character creation, he got a phone call. Without thinking, he answered it, not even checking to see who was calling. Luckily, it was only Luke. Unluckily, the angel was very upset, apparently near tears at some scary movie Solomon had shown him.

With an empathetic 'oh dear', Simeon stepped aside to do his best to console the little angel.

You watched him move away from you with a little smile, shaking your head a little as you wished Simeon the best of luck in your mind.

“Excuse me,” a sudden voice called out from behind you. You turned to face a demon, one you had never met before. “I was wondering if you could help me with something.” 

Immediately, a little feeling settled into your gut. One might call it paranoia, the other would call it intuition. You didn’t trust this demon one bit. “I...uh, am not sure I’d be of much help. Perhaps if you asked someone else you-” 

“I didn’t want to ask someone else, I wanted to ask you.” …Man did you hate it when your gut was right. The demon stepped closer, the look across their face a bit more sinister than before. “Are you saying you don’t want to help me? That’s rather rude.” 

You took a step back, and then the demon grabbed your wrist. 

All the sudden, a bright light flashed behind you. The demon quickly let go of you, shielding their eyes as they were suddenly blinded. What was it? An explosion? A flashbang? Then the light faded, the sound of footsteps coming up behind you. 

The first thing Simeon did was gently lift your wrist, making sure you were unharmed. It was a bit sore, sure, but nothing terrible. He ran his fingers over it before letting your hand fall back to your side. With a slow turn, he looked at the demon and smiled. 

He said nothing. Not a thing. Just stared, an unwavering ring of light around his irises. 

The demon didn’t like that. Blinking spots out of their vision, they growled.  “Damn angel.” 

“Do you wish to atone?” Simeon finally asked, his usual friendly tone now a serious one as cold as Lucifer’s. The demon didn’t reply, considering their options, wondering if they would rather fight or flee. A spotlight then seemed to shine over the demon, every part of them uncovered under this warm glow. The warmth then seemed to grow hotter, the air humming with magic. “Or would you rather experience Celestial Retribution?” 

You struggled to see with all the light, trying to shade your view with a hand in front of your face. But you heard the demon run more than you saw it, listening to them curse obscenities before scrambling away. The light only faded after the demon was long gone. 

When you were able to see the angel again, his face was covered in shadow, his head tilted downwards. “Simeon...” 

In a few quick steps, he suddenly had you in a hug, releasing his nerves and his anger in a long sigh. “Thank heavens you are alright. I’d never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you.” He pulled himself back and rested both hands on your shoulders. “You’re not hurt right?” 

“Yeah, I’m-” You were going to say ‘yeah, I’m not’ but were cut off by the angel before you could finish. 

“You are?!” He actually raised his voice a little, emotions running high through him. 

“I meant no! I’m not!” 

He dropped his hands and took a deep breath, collecting himself. “Forgive me.” He put his hand over his chest and closed his eyes, waiting until he was properly composed before reaching that same hand over to you should you want to take it. “Shall we both head back to the Hall? I think we both would feel better away from the crowds. Plus, I think Luke would feel much better after seeing you again.” He still looked at you with worried eyes. “Don’t stray too far from me. I don’t think my heart could take another scare.” 

[untoldsoup]

This is a sequel!! Please read "Change" first!

Cover art

Chapters One and Two: you are here.

Chapter Three: here

------

This took a long time to make and I put my heart and soul into it so let me know what you think!! I'm hoping to have chapter three out by March but its a really big chapter so it will take some time :)

Anyways, this is the start of the comic! I jump right into things so hopefully it isn't to confusing. Also this is pretty much the last time you see Bowser's human form, it's mostly koopa from here on out. This comic will be pretty long so its going to take a long time to finish but I hope everyone will enjoy it! I will have content warnings for the next chapter as things start to get crazy moving forward.

[heyheydidjaknow]

I haven’t played this stupid game in 6 months. This is a sequel to Prospects, this time featuring Bailey.

Agreement

The envelope shook in your hand. “This should suffice.”

Bailey took it from you, not bothering to meet your eyes as she slit the top and took the slip inside. Whitney, dressed for the ride ahead— or fight; whatever came first— in his sweats and t-shirt, stood with his back to the door. Despite your assurance, he had insisted on sitting in on this final transaction as if the mountain of cash you had worked yourself ragged to obtain would not be enough to settle the score, as if your being there were not dependent solely on your value as a worker, as if Bailey— who now looked up at you over the check between her fingers and her half-rimmed glasses— would care beyond that if you were gone.

The ground swayed beneath your feet.

Bailey leaned back in her chair, gesturing to Whitney with the check. “This was your idea?”

You could not bring yourself to look back at him, but you could imagine his expression. It was the same as when you had when you had met Briar and Avery a few days before; cool, unflinching, as though you were an item at a pawn shop he was trying to get a good price on. You supposed you were, in a sense. “Yes.”

Bailey nodded slowly, taking in your figure, your stance. You squirmed under her gaze. “And the child’s yours, I take it?”

“Yes.”

She considered as much. “You know,” she mused, “your… what would the word be? Fucktoy?”

He scoffed. “For our purposes, property.”

“Oh, hardly.” She leaned her elbows on the desk, fingers lacing together under her chin. “Not officially at least, not until our terms are settled.”

“What terms are there to settle?” You picked at your cuticles, heart pounding in your throat. “Is that not how much—“

“That’s how much my best earner was worth before.” Her smile was sweet like cough syrup, sharp like whiskey. “I’m a businesswoman you understand; it would hardly make much sense for me to part with my greatest revenue stream for its raw material costs.”

You looked back at Whitney. He kept his eyes trained on the woman in front of you. “And how much would it take for you to part ways with your charge?”

She sighed in mock contemplation. “Oh, I don’t know.” She sucked her teeth. “Another fifty percent ought to do it.”

The words echoed in your ears. You swallowed back panic as you went back to staring at the floor.

“Fifty?” His sneer was audible. “The fuck you take me for?”

“Someone desperate.” She gestured to you. “Someone willing to take when they can get and leave.”

“A bitch, you mean.”

“So long as we’re being frank.”

“You—“

“Do you know how much that child is worth?” You shut your eyes as you felt her own take you in. “Do you know what sort of market you could appeal to with a matching set?”

You heard a rustling of cloth behind you. Whitney’s voice was as cheerful and bright as you had ever heard it. “So long as we’re considering the lives of people that matter,” he smiled, “I’m curious; how much is your life worth?”

There was a pause, a laugh from Bailey. “That bitch,” she sighed. “First that file—“

“This actually isn’t Laundry’s, surprisingly enough.” You heard the clinking of metal parts as he gestured to you. “Friend of a friend who lives in the country; I promised him the deed to this shithole if your position found itself empty.”

Despite yourself, you turned to face him. He held the pistol in his hand with the confidence of a man unfazed by its weight. In the back of your mind, you wondered if he would be tried if he went through with it, whether the cops would come or care or whether they would write it off as the result of one of Bailey’s “ungrateful brats”. You could not for the life of you decide which would be preferable.

“So,” he continued, finger twitching, eyes shining, “I think it best if we tried renegotiating terms.” He gestured to you. “Either you take the money and I take your cash cow off your hands—“ He steadied his aim, “— or I redecorate your office with your insides and you get to find out whether the contents of that envelope are worth shit in hell.”

You cast your gaze back towards her. Bailey looked between the two of you, lips pursed. “You’re more desperate than I thought.” She pushed her glasses up her nose and reached into her shirt pocket. “Let me give you some advice, kid.”

You shut your eyes again at the click of the safety. “Hands where I can see ‘em.”

She pulled out a carton of cigarettes, tapping one out and sticking it between her lips. “He isn’t a better person than I am, you know.” She took a lighter off her desk. “He’s not going to take better care of you than I am, isn’t going to wish you off to some fairy tale land where you’ll never know hardship; if anything, he’s going to fuck you over harder than I do.” She lit it, took a drag, smiled, exhaled.

“You fucking—“

“And you.” She pointed the cigarette at him. “Whitney, yeah? You think your life’s going to get better by being a father?” She leaned her head on her free hand. “I’ve been stuck with this job for thirty years now; the only thing that thing—“ she waved the cigarette in your belly’s general direction, “— is good for is an accessory to the walking ATM it’s stuck in.”

You could hear his voice shake; with what, you could not tell. “So help me God if you say one more thing about my fucking kid—“

“Let me say my piece.” She stood up, taking another drag and blowing it in your face. “If I were you,” she sighed, “I’d see if Harper couldn’t make an exception to get that thing out of you while it’s not breathing. Short of that, I’d ship it here.” She leaned forward, resting her hand on the surface of her desk. “But if I ever find your brat at my doorstep,” she promised, voice lowering, “if I ever see you or that thing here again, I’ll make your time here look like a stay at the Ritz-fucking-Carlton.” She stuck the cigarette back between her teeth, tilting your head up to look her in the eye. The resemblance between her and Whitney was apparent; you wondered if that was just what the eyes of monsters looked like. “I will make your child pay for however much you would have made me twofold, and I will sell their body— whole or piecemeal— to any dumb fuck who asks for what I’m sure will be a pretty young thing like them. Do you understand me?”

You could not breathe.

Her grip on your jaw tightened. “Are you deaf?” She brought you closer, and you whimpered at the sensation. “I asked you a question. Do you understand me or don’t you?”

You shut your eyes as her nails dug into your skin. You dug your own into your palm as you forced yourself to nod.

She kept you there a moment— for what, you did not know— before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your eyes shot open, and you swallowed back tears— of relief, of sadness, of panic— as she released you, collapsing to your knees and gasping for air. “Good.” She took the check, slipping it into her pocket before sitting back down. “Leave before I change my mind.”

You pulled yourself to your feet, practically tripping over yourself to cling to Whitney. He glanced down at you, letting you bury your face into his shoulder as he took one last look at your former guardian. Wordlessly, he pulled the two of you out into the hallway, past the children gathered by the door, past the garden and Robin and the stairs and the threshold and finally, with a smile of untempered relief and satisfaction, across the street, into the truck parked there, and away from that miserable town, and as you watched the buildings you had come to know as parts of your home flew past, as you watched people you recognized from school rush into the forest and students— like you, you registered vaguely, desperate for money, for purpose, for anything— lean against street corners, you wondered if this would be any better, if this was more desirable, if this was emancipation or a different, crueler kind of ownership.

You mumbled a goodbye to the bus stop as it passed. Only then did the tears really start.

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was being chased by Michael Myers and eventually got him to stop by telling him if he didn't, I'd turn him into Scythian Leather. Don't Google that.