#I did what I could to stop the ink bleed from the black but there was only so much I could do

[deadhawke]

My attempt at watercolor-ing in possibly my over all favorite TriMax panel.

[heartkaji]

WINBRE BOYS + THIRSTY TWEETS !

inc : sakura haruka, suo hayato , ren kaji, togame jo contains explicit language + celeb au

SAKURA HARUKA !

“ume’s left ballsack says : do you think sakura’s pubes are white or black or are they divided into both like his hair ?”

kill sakura now.

he’s a red cheeked mess of sweat & nervous system shivers. he’s practically hyperventilating as you laugh beside him, melting into a puddle of molten blush cheeks & ultraviolet bone. he shakes at a frequency not unlike ultrasound.

“oh my fucking god sakura—well ? what do you have to say to the fans ?”

you elbow the quivering boy. if you were any less of the devil you are you’d forcefully refuse the question or at least answer it in his place—you did know the truth firsthand after all. but you’re the serpent in the garden & seeing sakura squirm is like an apple down your throat. sakura is still blinking eyes & flushing nose & palms bleeding sweat bullets so you’ve had to grab the phone from his hands in fear it might fall from the way they quake & quiver.

“ what the fuck kind of question is this ? where are your parents ? guardians—?”

“baby, that question could apply to you too.”

“shut up !”

SUO HAYATO !

“slut4suo69 says : i need to know what’s under suo’s eyepatch. is he blind ? does he have some cool sexy scar ? does he have no eye at all ? not that i care. i’d fuck the shit out of his empty eye socket — three holes are better than two !”

“oh.”

you burst out laughing. this is the first time you’ve seen dagger mouthed suo hayato speechless. his mouth is hung agape as he seizes the phone from your hands & reads the tweet over & over again as if it’ll cause the digital ink to melt off & fly away. each time he reads his mouth gets drier & you swear you can see blisters bruling on his tongue.

“this is the most vulgar thing i’ve ever seen.”

“so true ! now answer it.”

you tuck your hair & dip your head over suo’s shoulders to get one last look at the tweet before facing the camera.

“though i can’t match your freak with the whole eye fucking thing, i too, slut4suo69, would absolutely love to know what’s under my boyfriend’s eyepatch.” you bat your lashes at the bedazzled brunette & loop an arm around his elbow. “the fans & i wanna know, suo. do tell.”

“i’m pretty sure i’ve told you this before, angel—“

“aht aht ! no thousand year old dragon bullshit, hayato. we promised to answer all the questions truthfully, remember ?”

suo heaves a sigh, breath heavy & chest tight as you rest your head on his arm. his thumb traces lazy swirls & zig zags over your knuckles.

“i see. if the fans wanna know, who am i to refuse, hm?”

REN KAJI !

“isagi solos your fave says : i need kaji to suck me the way he sucks his lollipops. hear me out y’all—his tongue swirling over your clit, teeth grazing your folds as he—“

“aight that’s enough,”

you giggle as kaji pulls out the phone between your palms. you reach over his lap for it, pathetic attempts to grab the device from his hands while kaji raises it higher & higher. his palm burns against your stomach to keep you away.

“i fucking hate the internet, bro. don’t y’all have hobbies ? friends ? occupations ?”

you’re giggling & snorting as kaji cusses out the camera. “and i swear, word to my mother that whoever wrote this is is like, twelve. what in the wattpad is this ?”

kaji pulls out the cherry red sucker resting in his cheek. “this shit don’t even taste sweet anymore, man.” he flings the candy angrily into a silver can sitting across the set.

you bury your head in the sleeve of his jacket, a red nosed, puffy faced mess of sweltering eyes & plum heavy cheeks. your snorts are muffled in the linen of his sleeves. “heaven knows i love my fans but fuck, i cannot wait for some of you to rot in hell.”

“god ren,” you clap your hands in between teary eyed giggles. “i’m trying to breathe baby please stop..!”

“fuck no. you horny bitches need to be euthanized. eradicated. like hello ? is this what our lord and savior jesus christ died for ? are these the kind of sins he repeatedly has to forgive ? he’s better than me for real cuz i can’t take this anymore.”

kaji walks off the set but you’re too busy wiping tears & sniffling nose to follow. “somebody ! tell him to come back..!”

TOGAME JO !

“kubzscouts is my wifey says : fellas is it gay to want togame jo to slide into you slowly, teasing your entrance with light strokes as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear like ‘you can take it baby, that’s a good girl’ as his big fat coochie crusher69 slips into—jo i don’t want to read this anymore.”

you look up at him with pretty peach painted lips bent into a pout. his palm stops teasing at your thigh momentarily before picking up again, “m’ not quite sure i want you to read it either, pretty.”

you report the account without even waiting for togame’s approval. he cracks a smile when he notices your cherry drenched cheeks & red dyed ears.

“someone seems jealous.”

“and i know that someone isn’t me jo, so which of your other a-b-c-d looking ass bitches are you talking about ?”

togame whistles playfully, palms trailing further up your thigh. his touch is a ghost burying your nerves in sap & soil. you pretend your skin doesn’t ache from the way he draws hearts on your knee.

“now, now. i think we both know i’m a loyal man, yeah ?”

“who’s we ? kubzscouts over here is describing bedroom you with awful precision.”

he lets out a boyish laugh. “she missed a few things, though. don’t i always kiss it first ?”

© ─ heartkaji ; do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload

[kaledya]

Don't worry for the word "sir" 🌸🌸 its just in my langage its just Madam or Sir I suppose (there is an attempt for like they/them things but its very hard cause all my langage has two gender to it female or male and all the sentence is conjugated for be one or the other!)

[This is why in posts and notes I always talk about Lolicia as 'she' because its more easy, it comes more naturally]

Ahah you're so sweet Butler Kaledya, I thank you kindly for your delightful service *bow head with a quick smile* 🌸 Too Sweet, cover by Reinaeiry is so great ! I always think of Alastor when I hear this song of Hozier ! _

'Judy and Nick in Hell', the perfect say to Hürrem and Giovanni. By the way (my fun moment ship name ?!) :

  - Hünni (so cute sound like honey)   - Giovem ?   - Foxbird 🤣 _

Oh the episodes are that long ? That is probably why I stop looking at it, cause I like good historical drama normally. _

Addolorata 'means "grieving" in Italian, from the title of the Virgin Mary, Maria Addolorata. It is most common in southern Italy. It is the equivalent of Spanish Dolores.' (behindthename site source)

That is why Val calls Addolorata 'dolores' ! Its the Spanish version of her name. _

Serenity has a all clan of Hellhounds to named, i think she has the right to not be always creative ! And yes Lucky is a bit too simple ? Or its like Lucky Luck. _

Oh, I'm so happy, I thought I missed something in the information about Paimon but its okay.

And yes you are in the logic, Luci could keep his natural "human" beauty less animalistic (in the au) and not be corrupted like the other angels because he is a Archangel.

Yes I saw a drawing you did (in a ref sheet for Charlie I believe) and a post explaining the blood type. Its interesting, tell me more !

For me it was - Gold blood for angels - Orange blood for nephilims (mixed angel/human, I think it is called)

In my head all the Hellborns (Aristocrats, Succubus, Imps, Hellhounds) have black/indigo blood ? Like ink. Yes.

And Sinners have like black blood mixed with red blood.

Red would be the color of corruption/evil whatever (because in SSAU Roo has red hair and her principal color is red, right?) And I was thinking, the more a Sinner take souls in contract and act more 'demon-like', the more red their blood. Perhaps even eyes can be found in the blood (in demon form)

Because for a demons to take souls his natural but for a formal human demon its corrupted even more and they become more 'monster' than themselves ?

For exemple : When Alastor and Lolicia make the alliance, we can see Alastor's blood being black and red.

And I think If I write Alastor's demon form  and he gets hurt and bleed, we could see eyes pattern in the blood spilled ?

I think all Overlords could have that type of blood and the eyes make them 'heavier' and this is how they can measure their power before entering The Tournament (Overlords headquarters in my ff) but it can be only in AA ! Its whatever you want.

Tell me what you think ! _

And for Constantine arranging a marriage for Hürrem is what she wants (at the beginning) be part of the Goetia fully and be dedicated to the aristocracy, but perhaps the more time she passes time trying to find Lilith with Giovanni, the more she will be open to want something else ? (Especially her who is a HUGE romantic) But it's not sure at all, cause being part of the Goetia is her goal since forever, it will be difficult to change her dream and the sacrifices she is willing to make to make it happen.

So interesting ! Can you, if you want, tell me more about Elrond ? I know he is 18 and he is the twin brother of Octavia, right ? So the son of Stolas and Stella ?

I think he is adorable!

What does he think of his dad loving a Imp ? Does he lives in his dad or mother palace after the divorce ?

Will it find it rude of Constantine to propose him a future bride that is not fully Goetia (a quarter demon bunny) ?

What is his powers related to ? For exemple Stolas its the prophecies and stars.

His he gay ? Curious. That *slay* on the doodle just give me a hint ahah.

The Goetia are very tall in general. How tall is he ? Is he considered more classical pretty and Octavia more 'rebellious' on her style ?

I will stop. Stop me with the questions !

_

I didn't know for the 30 tags and the ':D' ! That is funny !

And yes I can imagine! *Giovanni and Hürrem in the car. Hürrem is driving and let her phone open on the side. Giovanni takes it discreetly and she doesn't see it.*

G *reading a random radioapple smut ff*: "The king let his hands carress the antlers of the Overlord and whispered in his ear thousand and thousand of years of depravity.."

*Hürrem almost make an accident, flushed, turn the head still driving and try to take her phone back.*

H : Giovanni ! Stop ! Give me my phone back ! G *laughing and moving the phone away continues to read* : "they're in heat season..." Oh waw, who would known that you were into such things? Oh cute. H : I swear, if you don't stop I will crash the car right now. G : You will not ! Its a rental ! H :Giovanni my phone!

*chaos* ahah. _

Yes, Serenity being a doctor is an accomplishment in her time!

(And I don't know for 'People of Color', in my country we don't define people by the color of their skin, but first with their nationaly (are you part of our country) and then the origins of each side of your families on different degrees (parents and grandparents) and when we mention color its more in a joking way. So I don't know enough on the topic of this in America either ! I'm sorry.)

((Even two days ago I was watching an American show 'White Lotus s2' and they talk about 'affiliated white friends' ? And with the person I was watching we where just like "???" What does that mean ?))

Racism and sexism is the worst. Its a level of stupidity I'm not willing to talk about im sorry ahah I will get mad too.

The only exemple I know like Serenity backstory his in the serie Outlander (third season i think) 1950s the hero, Claire, move in in America, and she is a nurse during WWII and she wants to become a doctor. She faces a lot of sexism. And in her faculty she becomes friend with a man who is a Black American of origin and he faces racism. So they both try to make their ways in this hard climate. (At the end they both become surgeons so slay!!)

People's opinion are worth to listen before making a verdict, of course !

_

Me too i cant wait ! I'm glad you like it Thank you for your time and have a nice day !🌸🌸🌸

THANKS! I'm seriously relieved and thank you for your clarification!! And yes, I can understand why you use 'she' for Lolicia.And translation programs usually automatically specify it as 'she'For example, translation programs always indicate Charlie as 'He'.(I hate this thing, it requires constant editing)

I'm glad you were satisfied with my service, madam.

And yes, the lyrics and the way he sings the song really gives off the Alastor vibe.

--

MY VOTE IS DEFINITELY FOR HUNNI, IT'S TOO CUTE!!!

YOU'RE so Creative!!!

--

And the meaning of Addolorata's name is really beautiful!!

And I don't know why, but I think it fits Lolicia in its meaning!

And it was a really clever detail that Val called they by the Spanish equivalent of their name!!

--

Yes! There is a limit to human creativity!

--

Yes, in a way, the purer something is, the harder it is to corrupt it.

Charlie and Constantine's birth conditions cannot be called normal. After Lilith's fall, although she tried many times with Lucifer, she always had a miscarriage.

This is because Angel blood (gold) It is like an acid that melts/burns demons/Or corrupt ones.

And because Lilith is a corrupt ancient human In a way, a child from her and Lucifer died while still in the womb.

There is no need to give too much detail. Lucifer and Lilith prepared a spell over the years to ensure that the baby did not die, and this time was really tiring for both of them, but the result was successful!!

The bloods had finally found balance, but they were founded on a kind of constant balance of destruction followed by renewal.

That's why Charlie and Constantine have copper/resin colored blood, and this blood is something that harms sinners/hellborns, just like angel blood.

(This is not the case with sins because they do not have the old purity in their blood only Lucifer had)

So, without going into too much detail, this is the story, but you can change this as you wish!!

---

I totally agree with your thoughts about Bloods.And it's a very clever idea to increase the redness of the sinners' blood as they become corrupted.In a way, red is the color that represents Roo and evil is something created by humans and the blood of humans is red.

THIS IS A SERIOUSLY GREAT IDEA!!! It is both aesthetically pleasing and very logical, both visually and in terms of storytelling!

After all, evil is Roo, and the more you contain it, the more it will come out.

I totally agree with your idea about the balance of Bloods and Sinners with red and black, I think it's a really great idea.

And It's really good how overlords entered the Tournament like this.After all, they are the most monstrous of sinners.

And for some reason, while doing this, EPIC's Monster song is playing in my mind.

--

I understand perfectly well. She thinks the only way she can be accepted is if she becomes a complete Goetia.And yes, maybe this may change with her experiences, maybe she will never deviate from her decision.Only the future will tell.

I'm seriously curious about Hürrem's decision regarding her future!!

And I have a question. As far as I know, a king can remove the 'Bastard' mark from someone and declare them fully noble.Why does Hürrem prefer marriage and engagement instead?(I seriously have no knowledge about this, can you explain)

---

Yes! Elrond is Octavia's twin brother and he is 18 years old and I'm so glad you like him!?

-He holds a grudge against his father for this. Apart from cheating on his mother, he sees it as an insult to his mother that he cheated on her with an imp the lowest races. And because of what his father did, he hates the fact that mother and father are constantly fighting at home

And and he Stolas feels that he didn't care enough about Octavia during these events.

-First of all, It is truly a great honor to have a engagement proposal brought to him by the Prince; even among nobles, Constantine is a rare person to interact with.That's why I think Elrond would be honored if something like this happened.

Ultimately, he will marry under any circumstances, but it is a really big deal for the person she will marry to be recommended by the Prince.

I think he will wonder why at first, but I don't think he will care much, after all, Hürrem is still a Goetia.

And I think he will try to get to know Hürrem and if he loves her, I don't think he will mind her being a hybrid.

-His powers are like the powers of Stolas, as well as the glacier powers that come from her mother's side

-Lmao that doodle really gives that Hint.😂 But no He is a Material girl and a Diva but he's not gay he's Pan.

-Yes, he is the exact opposite of Octavia, he is generally a luxurious and classically dressed person who likes to spend time with nobles.

In terms of height, he is close to stella, but he continues to grow even though he is not a full adult.

And thank you for your questions, I hope I answered them!!🌸🌸

--

THEY'RE IN WHAT????? LMAO

And I really laughed a lot while reading the dialogues you wrote. It's great to have a scene like this And Hürrem's panic was also very entertaining lmao

""GIVE ME MY PHONE, GIOVANNI"

*He continues reading "HAH, they say that those who look the most innocent actually have the deepest thoughts, fluffy feathers, I didn't believe it until now, but you are like living proof."

*with an embarrassed face* "SHUT UP AND GIVE ME MY PHONE!! (⁠ʘ⁠言⁠ʘ⁠╬⁠))

(Note to self, don't look at Hürrem's internet history)

And imagine this information goes to the Report

Serenity: Giovanni, thank you dear for giving the report of the last 28 days, you have made good progress even if you still do not have access to full information.

How is your relationship with your partner, whom Majesty has put forward?

Giovanni: She is a very nice, a little excited girl. But she does not act like a Goetia, she is a sincere person.I haven't learned much about her hobbies, but she seems to like reading fanfic.

Serenity: What is a fanfic, is it something like a book?

Giovanni: I feel like it's better if you don't know, but if you want, you can tell the Prince to look at RadioApple, you'll be amused by his reaction.Anyway, Hürrem is waiting for me outside, I shouldn't keep her waiting any longer, after all, there is a huge hell we need to investigate.

*runs out the door quickly*

Serenity: ?????

(By the way, the funny thing is that if they investigate RadioApple, both Constsntine and Serenity will suffer the same level of emotional damage lmao)

---

"People of Color''Thank you for your explanation about And The reason ı put that sentence to article is was for native English speakers, so that I can be warned if I said it wrong.But thank you again for your explanation, I learned about your point of view!!

--

And the dialogue in White Lotus S2 is really weird, what does that even mean???

I seriously agree, sometimes I watch movies that deal with these topics and I'm like this."How can people be so stupid argggg"

--

And yes, I have heard of Outlander!I watched it for a while Seriously, that characters. I'm so glad they achieved the thing they wanted despite all the difficulties!!I mean, even people who just want to help people are treated so unfairly. At least those two went through all that and achieved their dreams.

Thank you again for the time you took to answer.And I wish you a good day too🫂❤️❤️❤️

[lostelfwriting]

Prompt: Stamp Length: Short Rating: Mature Additional: Marking/Tattoos, Possessive Behaviour

++++++

At first, the idea sounded ridiculous. "I can't get a permanent tatoo," Hob argued. "The ink bleeds out of my skin within months. I tried everything."

"Do you underestimate my power, Hob?" Dream raised an eyebrow at him, making him squirm. He wasn't trying to reject the offer; he just didn't believe it was possible.

"No, of course not. I underestimate whoever would be putting the tattoo in place." Then, it finally clicked. "You... would do it yourself?" he asked, a blush rushing to his cheeks.

"Nobody else is allowed to lay eyes on you in this way, lover of the Endless," Dream growled possessively, closing the distance between them and pressing Hob up against the wall. "Did you thik I would propose marking you in such a way and let a mortal do it?"

The blush on Hob's face had a lot more to do with arousal than fear or shame. He squirmed, growing hard as his lover manhandled him, and tried to sound relatively normal as he said: "I didn't think about it too deeply, love. Of course, it makes sense you would do it. I just... didn't think."

"You are usually so sharp," Dream hummed, a smirk growing on his lips. "I wonder what has impeded your cognitive functions..." He pressed their bodies closer, trapping Hob's prick against his thigh and making him whine. He knew very well what stopped Hob from thinking when Dream suggested he got a tattoo on his thigh so Dream can see it every time he sucks his cock.

"Dream," Hob half sighed, half groaned as he tried to roll his hips against the delicious friction of his lover's body, but Dream wasn't leaving him enough room to do so.

"Let me put my mark on you, Hob," Dream suggested for the second time, basically purring the words as he watched the immortal squirm.

"Yes," Hob replied, because it was never a question of whether he would accept – he would, always – he just didn't know it was an option.

Mere seconds later, Hob was lying on his bed, his clothes dissolved into nothing. For a moment, he was horrified that Dream had managed to vaporise his clothes, but then he remembered that he wore one of the dreamstuff sets that day and Dream could do with that as he pleased. Understandably, Dream preferred when Hob wore the clothes that he had gifted him.

If Hob's prick wasn't already hard and leaking, he would tease Dream about his impatience. As it was, he didn't want to risk prolonging it any longer. He reached for his lover, who was kneeling between his spread legs, but Dream shook his head, a smirk still playing on his lips.

As every time Dream used his powers in the Waking World, Hob's brain struggled to understand what he was seeing, and he had to let go of his sense of reality and just force himself to roll with it. Dream raised his hand in the air and the shadows in the room began to bleed towards it, cojagulating around his hand before they seeped into his fingers, turning them ink-black. When he was satisfied, he turned to Hob, looking him up and down once before his eyes focused on the soft and pale skin at the very top of Hob's inner thigh.

Helpfully, Hob spread his legs even wider, providing better access to the spot, but Dream still hesitated. "I will be able to remove it when you no longer wish to bear my mark," he said.

Hob frowned. This was not a good time for Dream's self-doubts to rear their head. "Love, that will never happen," he said firmly. "I would be honoured to bear your mark even if we were no longer together. But you know that we will be together forever, so, pointless talk. Now give it to me before I figure out a way to take it from you. You know I'm a greedy bastard and I will find a way."

"Indeed," Dream smirked and pressed his blackened fingers to Hob's thigh. The blackness bled from his skin into Hob's as if they were one being, and it felt that way, too. As if in that moment, they were one, connected on all possible levels. Hob groaned in pleasure, overwhelmed by how good it felt to be Dream's.

The mark was Dream's sigil surrounded by runes and little hieroglyphs that twisted like ropes, tied in knots and surrounding both the sigil and Hob's soul. It should be unnerving to be owned so thoroughly but it wasn't. It was fucking brilliant.

"Dream," Hob sighed, reaching for his lover once more when all ink was transfered to his skin.

"Not yet, my beloved," Dream said, batting his hand away. "I need to make sure I got it right," he explained as he laid himself on his stomach, his eyes never leaving the sigil as he wrapped a hand around Hob's cock and guided the head to his lips. "Perfect," he purred, still watching the mark as he begun to suck.

[best-wishes]

Don’t Look Back Part 8 - Epilogue

Beware, it’s the final part, to find the beginning of the story, it’s here

CW: Major Character Death, Child Death, Mourning ---

Hob watched as the paper burnt into the fire, a black wave invading the white page. The smell of burnt ink and paper sent him back to another life, long ago, in France, where his life had taken a fateful turn. Had he been wrong, to go back in time? Or was he only changing now? Did it matter? Hob never wanted to live the perfect life. He relished making his own mistakes. They weren't a loss, as long as he learnt from them.

And one of the lessons he had learnt was that eternity could not be faced alone.

"Hob Gadling," a deep voice rang behind Hob.

Hob turned away from his contemplation of the fire, and walked toward his guest.

"Morpheus, my friend."

They both sat in their usual seats. The Lord of Dream visited often enough that Hob had set up a permanent chair for his friend in his office. Every time Hob looked at that chair, something warm settled inside his chest. He was not in this on his own.

"Is it today?" Morpheus asked.

"It is." Hob confirmed.

It was the day of Robyn's death. Hob had not remembered the exact date from the previous lives. The first time, he had not been sober enough to remember which day it was, when they brought his son back from the pub. The second one, he had been in prison for too long, not keeping track of the time.

"Robyn had gone to the local pub with his friends. There will likely be a fight, and he will be stabbed and bleed out."

Hob looked at his hands. He felt unreal, like a character that would know that they are in a play.

"I did nothing to stop him. I tried, at first, you know. After Eleanor's second death, I attempted everything I could think of. I tried saving people that I knew would die. Diverted their fate, warned them of the danger. It never worked out. I even tried killing one, and got caught."

"Messing with Destiny's book does nothing to stop my sister from collecting her due." Dream explains.

"I inferred that myself after the first life, yes. But I had to do it, because I had to do everything I could to save my son."

Dream acquiesced.

"You are a better father than I am," he said.

"I am not sure."

"You did everything you could to save your son. I did not try saving mine."

"I tried everything, and I failed. You see, one of the most difficult lessons to learn as a parent, at least for me, was that I had to let him make his own mistakes. It is tempting to warn them of danger, to outright forbid what is not good for them. Often, they won't listen, and you pester them. They need to make their own mistakes, and learn from them. Sometimes, they will draw a widely different lesson that the one you drew from the same mistake. Sometimes, what was your mistake is their joy. But most of all, the right to be wrong is what allows us to grow. And that is a lesson that you most certainly mastered way better than I do, my friend."

"That does not stop me from regretting doing nothing." Dream muttered. "I failed him."

"Morpheus, don't. It is tempting, when we see our children's failures, to consider them our own. And for decades I wondered what I failed, as a parent, that my son should die at twenty. But doing this is a way to negate their agency. How would you feel, if your father berated himself for the mistakes you made. Would it not feel infantilising? Would it not deny that you are your own person, making your own choices. I know I would have my father thinking so about me."

Hob had postulated that, for Dream to have siblings, he should also have parents. Seeing the doubtful expression of Morpheus, his father, if he had one, was not likely to take responsibility for any of his offspring's errors.

Hob closed the space between them, letting a hand land on Morpheus' shoulder.

"Your son made his choice, like I am letting mine's do today. You can deplore it, but do not let it weight on you."

Morpheus looked into Hob's eyes, and a ghost of a smile graced his lips.

"Look at you, Hob Gadling. I thought I would be called to comfort you on this tragic day. Instead, you are comforting me."

"That's what friends are for."

"And what a friend you are," Morpheus answered, placing his hand over Hob's.

 ---

"I saw a production of the Love of Sisyphus, yesterday," Hob told Morpheus. "It was as weird as it always is, seeing someone playing me. The idiots had given it a happy ending."

"That will not last. The great stories always return to their original forms."

"Is there an original form to this one, though? Will Shakespeare never wrote it in this life. When I was accused of being in league with the Devil, and to be clear, you were the one they called the Devil, they confiscated all my belongings, including the copy of the play you gave to Eleanor. We almost had to start all over again that day. Good thing you are good at answering calls."

That day, Hob had been confronted by Ned and the guard about his friendship with the mysterious dark man he kept meeting and that no one else knew. Because it was Ned, Hob knew it was useless to try talking it through. Running was his only option. Good thing he had taken the habit to carry a bit of paper with Morpheus' name on it, in case of emergency.

The Lord of Nightmares had appeared in all his splendour that day, black cape swirling like a cloud of smoke, striking all the assailants down with dreadful visions.

Hob Gadling had reinvented himself, and the legend of Robert Gadlen, best friend of the Devil, had been born. Hob had seen a play about it as well. It was so inaccurate Hob had been choking with laughter for the whole thing.

"After all," Hob added, "would you not say that, in the end, Hob did get a happy ending?"

---

And this is the end. If you read until here, thank you so much, I hope you liked the story despite its flaws.

[drangeax]

You Know It's Not The Same As It Was

Pairing: Terra/Aqua

Rating: M

Chapter 1: Shadows

Summary: Terra and Aqua try to navigate their relationship after twelve years apart. But what do you do when the person that you love is your biggest nightmare?

Read on AO3

Aqua glares at the freshly marked X on her calendar. The red ink mocks her, bleeding into the whiteness of the page like a wound refusing to heal. “Another month already? That can’t be right,” she mutters, flipping back in disbelief. Time was a thief, stealing the days while she wasn’t looking.

Her fingers skip to the past marks, each X a reminder of sleepless nights and endless hauntings. Three in a row last week. Nights she woke in panic, nights the cold bony hands of the Realm of Darkness tightened around her throat—an ever-lingering specter hovering over her, dragging her from the deepest slumbers as if she didn’t deserve sleep.

She sighs and returns her marker to the small supply bin atop her desk. “It’s like I’m not even trying…” she says, leaning on the desk, a leg bouncing non-stop. She shouldn’t be so hard on herself, not after everything.

I’m so tired. So tired.

Aqua closes her eyes, her new way of ‘resting’. She can’t have nightmares if she doesn’t sleep. And she could go without it for an unnatural length of time. Her leg bounces faster. It wasn’t worth it if it let her looking like a corpse was livelier than her: dark bags under the eyes, muddled thoughts, spacing out…mind not there from exhaustion. Her head tilts back heavily. She shakes awake. This isn’t working.

She sits on the comfy chair by the desk, her eyes glossing over the projects she has yet to finish; paper stars and shiny wayfinders waiting on her. She pulls a black ribbon she’d fashioned into a bow for Xion…little things to keep her mind occupied. 

Her leg threatens to start bouncing again. She stands up to the full-length mirror across the room, bow still in hand as she examines her reflection; a daily compulsion—a way to prove it’s just the boring old mirror she’d always had. She lifts the bow to her hair, looking for the right spot. She clips it on. It’s too small to make a difference, too bland to stand out. 

Smile.

She can’t. Not when she’s slowly retreating into her shiny shell of everything’s fine. She’ll spiral, she’ll dwell, she’ll overthink. A thousand problems forming in her mind

…I was wrong. This could’ve been handled better. Did I do the right thing…?  

“Stop. You promised yourself you would put an end to it,” Aqua says, turning on her side and gazing at herself. “Smile…”

You’re never fully dressed without a smile! Ven had said once.

And smile she does. It almost comes naturally now, her eyes reacting the way they should, her lips curving the way they should—it does make it easier to banish negative thoughts. It’s a temporary bandage for a deep wound that requires stitching.

“Ah, there I am. Morning, Aqua.” 

***

Aqua crosses the archway to the kitchen, a buttery bread-like smell wafting in the air as she steps in. Pancakes! Her mouth waters in anticipation of the fluffy confections—the taste of real food. She catches sight of Terra handling breakfast. Her expectations grow even more.

Ven sits at the table a few feet away, working on a stack of chocolate chip pancakes. “Morning, Aqua,” he greets between mouthfuls, manners forgotten.

She smiles and ruffles his hair playfully. "Morning, Ven," she says, sitting beside him.

“Augh, not my hair again,” he complains, attempting to fix it. “I was going out later…”

Aqua chuckles. “Well, guess you’ll just have to do it again.” Her eyes catch a flicker of movement.

A small paw emerges from under the patterned tablecloth, snatching a chocolate chip from Ven’s plate. Chirithy, Ven’s Dream Eater companion, knows it’s more than welcome at the table, yet it often acts more like a house cat than the sentient being it is.

Aqua glances over her shoulder. Terra continues to flip pancake after pancake, unaware of her presence. Or he’s deliberately ignoring her again. She leaves the chair and leans on the marble counter dividing the kitchen and dining room, chin resting on her hands while watching Terra work. Her eyes wander on his back, on defined muscles and scars peeking from under his tank top, without fear of meeting golden eyes.

She clears her throat softly. “Good morning, Terra,” she says, her voice hesitant.

Terra doesn’t answer. Disappointment slaps her in the face, and relief comforts her simultaneously. At least she tried. She’s about to retreat when she notices a rhythm to his movements and the earbuds in his ears. His gummiphone is on the far end of the countertop. He’s just lost in his music, a habit he developed after their return. It helps me stay sane, he’d once confessed. 

Sane and a rusty safebox full of secrets, waiting for the right key. 

Terra feels around for a bowl of batter on the countertop. Aqua slowly pulls it away. He turns. Their eyes meet briefly, his darting away before she gets a chance to—their dance of avoidance making a comeback. She tilts her head, waiting for him to process their closeness, half of her grateful at the lack of eye contact, the other craving it.

“Morning,” she repeats, offering him the warmest smile she can muster, a fragile peace offering.

Terra returns a tight-lipped smile, points to his ears, and carefully takes the bowl, avoiding contact. He resumes his cooking. She sighs. At least he smiled back—a faint glimmer of victory. 

She returns to the table with Ven. Shortly after, Terra enters the dining area with a fresh stack of pancakes and sets it in front of her. A second later, a steaming cup of coffee appears beside her plate as if by magic. 

“I hope you still like them like that,” Terra says, sitting next to her, but leaving some distance, too little and too much for her. “I might’ve gone a bit overboard,” he adds, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flickering away from hers.

A bit? she thinks, eyeing the towering stack. There’s enough for two, maybe even three.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he says, adding powdered sugar, a dollop of whipped cream, and blueberries from their small harvest. 

“Wow…” She takes it all in, the aroma, the sight, the intentions behind it. You shouldn’t have. “It all looks so good,” she says. “Thank you.”

His hand moves slightly toward hers. He stops and turns his attention to his food instead. Why does he deprive himself of what they both miss? 

Right, it’s her fault. If only she’d kept calm…

“Terra, pass me the syrup,” Ven says. And there goes Terra’s attention, right with the bottle as he discusses his plans for the day with Ven. Plans that don’t include her.

She doesn’t dwell on the thought for long; her stomach is very aware of the food before her. So she digs in, etiquette aside, and savors the warm, sweet bursts of flavor. Oh, it’s so good! She takes another bite and another and another—delicious! She pauses to sip her coffee, strong and bitter, the perfect complement to the sweetness.

And then she feels eyes on her. Terra and Ven watch with a mixture of amusement and surprise. 

“What is it?” she asks, lowering her fork. “Do I have something on my face?”

Ven snorts, mumbling something under his breath, and Terra chuckles. She rolls her eyes at them playfully. Another one of their inside jokes.

“Are you guys making fun of me?” she asks, feigning offense.

Terra shakes his head, his smile bittersweet. “It’s just the way you eat now,” he says, a hint of wonder in his voice. “It’s…something alright. I didn’t think you’d eat all of it.”

“You could give Lea a run for his money. Not that he has much,” Ven says, drowning his last pancake in syrup. “Oh! We should totally have an eating contest!”

Aqua stares at the last bite on her fork, suddenly self-conscious. Ven rambles about the logistics of a food competition, and she sneaks in a final bite. Terra tries to dissuade Ven from his absurd idea. The conversation shifts to ice cream, music, fruitball, and eventually racing. It’s impossible to keep up, but Aqua doesn’t need to. She fades into the background, content with their voices and the warmth of her coffee in her hands.

She smiles effortlessly, a glimmer of hope flickering in her eyes.

To an outsider, it’s meaningless chatter. But to Aqua, it’s her old life peeking through the penumbra of uncertainty around her. A beacon calling her back to the world she knows, a world she feared she had lost.

But then, her stomach growls again, ridiculous considering the stack of pancakes she devoured. Her eyes wander to Terra’s plate, barely touched and irresistibly delicious looking by the second. Is he going to eat that?  

As if sensing her thoughts, Terra subtly pushes the plate toward her, not missing a beat in his conversation with Ven. He knows her too well—now, before, and always. Aqua doesn’t hesitate, shamelessly claiming the plate. Food should never go to waste. Never. Not when it tastes twice as wonderful.

In the early days after their return, Aqua had found it hard to eat, her appetite absent and her body refusing to cooperate the harder she tried. It was Terra who had patiently coaxed her back to health, spoonful by spoonful, offering warm soups and hearty broths, always accompanied by endless cups of his fragrant, healing teas. She couldn’t blame him for the concern behind every single one of his actions.

She’d starved for so long…

Tired. Cold. Afraid. Every waking moment in the Realm of Darkness had been a battle against the encroaching shadows. Yet she pushed on, driven by sheer will. Then came the hunger, a gnawing, unrelenting beast that consumed her thoughts, reducing her to something primal. All she had left was a single ration, untouched since that fateful night—the night she confronted Terra. No, not Terra— Xehanort.

And she had been ravenous. 

I’m hungry, I’m so so hungry. The words had turned into a maddening mantra, blurring the lines of taboo. Her sanity frayed—she snapped.

Aqua laid her trap. Aqua waited. Aqua did what she had to do.

A tremor runs through her body, the echo of that desperate act still reverberating in her bones. The cup slips from her grasp, a dark stain spreads across the tablecloth like a creeping shadow. Cold dread coils around her heart, squeezing tight, her surroundings dissolving into the void that haunts her nights.  

“What the—?” Ven jerks up, trying to avoid the spreading spill. “Aqua?”

Aqua doesn’t respond. Aqua is not here. Aqua is but an echo of the past right now.

Ven waves a hand in front of her face, his voice tinged with concern. “Aqua?”

She doesn’t even blink.

“Terra,” Ven calls urgency rippling through his voice, pulling Terra’s attention.

Without hesitation, Terra drops the dish towel he’s holding and rushes to her side. “Aqua.” His voice is soft, almost pleading. She doesn’t react. He reaches out, his hand gently resting on her shoulder, squeezing just enough to remind her he’s there. “Aqua…” His voice pierces through the fog, the warmth on her shoulder, tethering her to the present.

Slowly, Aqua blinks, eyes clearing as the kitchen comes back into focus. Her eyes shift from the stained tablecloth to Terra’s hand, firm and steady… still on her shoulder.  

What happened?” Terra asks.

“I…I was…” She trails off, searching for the right words. But what could she say? Sorry, I was reliving a decade’s worth of horrors? No. She’s supposed to be the strong one, the one that holds everything together. “I didn’t get much sleep last night,” she lies. “I’m just a bit tired.”

Terra’s eyes narrow, seeing through her words easily. “I think we should cancel training today,” he says, crossing his arms, his tone gentle but firm. “You need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” she snaps, the sharpness in her voice surprising even her. Ven shifts uncomfortably, trying to break the tension.

“We could always train with Riku,” he offers, forcing a sheepish grin. “But, honestly, your training’s way better.” Terra shoots him a look. “But, yeah…you should definitely rest.”

“It’s not that we don’t want you to train us,” Terra says softly. “But you need to take care of yourself first—” 

“I said I’m fine,” Aqua interrupts, her tone harsher than she intends. The room falls silent. Neither Terra nor Ven pushes further. 

Ven’s gummiphone chimes, cutting through the tension, offering a lifeline. He glances at the screen, relief flooding his face. “Looks like training will have to wait anyway. Roxas is about to pull of some insane skateboard stunt, and I’m supposed to catch it on video.” He looks at Aqua, his voice hesitant. “I mean, if that’s okay with you?”

She rubs her temples, exhaustion settling over her like a heavy blanket. “Ven, you don’t have to ask for permission,” she mutters, her voice weary.

Terra moves toward the sink, turning the faucet off as if to busy his hands, his back tense. “Still, we like to keep the Master of the castle informed.” 

Aqua cringes at the title. Master of the castle. Master Aqua. It never feels right, not now, not ever. She had asked him not to call her that, yet part of her wonders if he said it to provoke her, to bridge that distance between them.

Her hand grips the back of the chair, and she shoots him a warning look. What are you doing? Terra meets her gaze briefly, his brown eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite read before he looks away, picking at imaginary imperfections in the counter. 

“I’ll tag along,” Terra says, his voice directed at Ven but his gaze drifting back to Aqua momentarily. “If you don’t mind.”

Ven hesitates, his eyes flicking between them, sensing the undercurrent but staying away from it. He taps a quick text into his phone, it chimes three times. “We better get going,” he says nervously, already halfway out the door. “Terra, you coming or…?” 

“I’ll catch up,” Terra responds, his words hollow as he remains in the same place.

Aqua feels the weight of his gaze settle on her, the familiar steps of their broken waltz repeating. She picks up the tilted cup and moves to the sink, rinsing it slowly, the cold water numbing her fingers.

He clears his throat, breaking the quiet. “Is there anything you want from Twilight Town? Spices? Extracts?” His words are tentative as if he fears it might mess up.

She places the cup on the drying rack, watching the water droplets slide down its side like tears. “No,” she answers softly. “I’m good.”

A pause follows, a heartbeat of silence that stretches on, filled with all the words they can’t find. Terra steps closer, the scrape of his boots on the tiles drawing her attention. His presence pulls at her—a gravity that makes her body tense and her heart quicken with longing and fear. 

“Come with us today,” he ventures, the words hanging between them like a delicate threat. “It’ll be good to get out…a change of scenery.” 

Her fingers tighten around the edge of the sink. She hasn’t left the Land of Departure since their return. The thought of stepping beyond these familiar walls fills her with dread. “I wish I could. I need to stay and look after this place,” she says, her voice clipped.

“But eventually—” 

“Yes,” she cuts him off, finally turning to face him. “Eventually. I know. It’s in the back of my mind if that’s what you want to hear.”

Terra sighs, the sound weary and full of resignation. He studies her for a moment before speaking again. “So…did you sleep at all last night?” 

“Barely anything,” Aqua admits, crossing her arms. She hates this routine, hates the way they dance around the same conversations, circling unhealed wounds. 

“Nightmares?”

She nods hesitantly. 

“Was it me—”

“Let’s not do this right now,” she interrupts. Yes, it was you again. Yes, you hurt me again. Yes, I was afraid again. But saying it out loud would only deepen the chasm between them.

Terra steps closer, his presence overwhelming, suffocating in its familiarity. Her body tenses, and she resists the urge to pull back. His hand hovers near her face, fingers trembling slightly as he tries to caress her. She almost lets him—she flinches, the reflex beyond her control.

The hurt that flashes across his face makes her stomach twist with guilt. She hates herself for it, hates the way she recoils from him, even when she needs the warmth of his touch.

“Do you need me to leave for some time?” His voice wavers. He’s offering her an escape he dreads she will take, a way to push him away completely if that’s what she needs. 

She wishes she could scream away the storm brewing within her, mind torn between Yes, leave, I can’t do this and No, stay. I need you. But the words stick to her throat. 

He sighs deeply. “I understand. You need your space. I’ll be more than happy to—”

She reaches out before he can finish, her fingers brushing his. Terra hesitates, then laces his fingers with hers, their connection fragile and tentative.

“Talk to me,” he says, squeezing her hand gently, his touch warm against her cold skin.

“I want things to be the same as they were.” The confession slips from her lips, raw and trembling. “I miss us… ”

Terra lets out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow. “I miss those days too,” he says. “I miss sleeping next to you…I miss when you weren’t afraid of me.”

“I’m ready for us,” she lies, her chest aching at the sadness in his voice. She isn’t ready—she doesn’t know if she ever will be—but she wants to be.

Terra’s gaze softens,  sadness lingering in his rich brown eyes as he shifts closer. “Can I…hold you?”

His words are more than a request—a test she knows he hopes she’ll pass.

She closes her eyes, forcing herself to nod. “Y-yes…”

Terra moves slowly, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her close. His embrace is warm, and for a moment, she allows herself to sink into the familiarity of it. He rests his head on her shoulder, his breath soft against her neck, a ghost of the kisses they used to share. She shivers, her body responding to the memory of a time when closeness wasn’t tinged with fear. 

He nuzzles her hair, and a delicious shiver runs down her spine. He cups her face and leans in for a kiss—but then, golden eyes flash in her mind, eyes that search for her weaknesses, eyes that aren’t his. His gentle hold now feels like a cage. 

Her body tenses, the moment fracturing.

Terra must sense it because he pulls back, his face clouded with regret. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and kisses her temple carefully.

“I need to catch up with Ven,” he murmurs, his voice thick with something he’s trying hard to hide. “He’s probably halfway to Twilight Town by now.”

He pauses at the archway, glancing back at her. “You’ll be okay on your own, right?”

“I’ll be okay,” she lies, her back still to him.

Terra lingers, his presence heavy, before finally turning and walking away, his footsteps fading into the distance.

As soon as he’s gone, Aqua collapses against the counter, her hands trembling as they grip the cool marble. The warmth of his touch lingers on her skin, slowly fading, like the remnants of a dream as reality settles in.

I’m sorry…I’m so sorry, Terra.

[steddiebang]

Tessellation

Author: @maryofdoom l Artist: @sparkle-fiend Posting on Friday, November 17

Steve is a knight. Steve wants to be rescued. Steve knows how to swim. Steve is tired of the ranch. Steve is pretty good at stitches. And Steve has been told that the Void is endless. Eddie wears a knight’s favor. Eddie is a tiefling bard who’s here to save the day. Eddie is a rusalka. Eddie has a way with horses. Eddie is about to bleed to death in the guest room. And Eddie has seen the Void from the other side. Six stories, six universes, ad infinitum. Steve and Eddie.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

This tale I shall tell you, Of Stephen of Harrington in Loch Nora, Of his friends and retainers, Those who in jest called him King. I shall tell you of his noble and selfless deeds, Of his prowess on the field of battle, Of his faithful companion Torsten de Henderson, To whom he gave wise counsel. And I shall tell you above all how he came to know Edward de Munson, whom he loved so much. —the Chronicle of Robin of Buckley

…On and on he went, and in his single-minded pursuit, he did not notice the forest as it changed. The old oak trees drew closer to the path, the moss grew thicker on the rocks, and a faint melody could be heard, like a harp played by the wind. As the path curved around a large rock, a small spring revealed itself, with a crystalline pool of water, no larger than a mill-pond, but inside it—floating there, among the water-lilies and fallen leaves—a young man with long dark hair, pale as death and with ink-black drawings on his arms visible through his fine linen shirt-sleeves.

Now Stefan Ivanovich was no stranger to water, for he had learned to swim in the wide river, and he dove in straightaway to save the young man from drowning. The pond was deeper than he had first thought, and the water was colder than the first breath of winter, but Stefan Ivanovich was sure of himself in the way of those who have never known real danger, and before long, both he and the young man were safely back on the forest floor. The young man coughed and spat and said—

"Thank you, Stefan Ivanovich."

And at this, Stefan Ivanovich forgot what he had intended to ask—which was how the young man came to be in the pond in the first place—and said instead, "How do you know who I am?"

"Everyone knows who you are."

“That may be so, but I do not know you.”

The young man smiled, soft as springtime and sweet as honey. “My name is Eddie.”

“There is no one by that name in the village.”

“And you know much of the village, Stefan Ivanovich?” Eddie pointed, not to the path that led out of the forest, but to the pond, and said, “Look there, and you will see how much you know.”

—The Tale of Stefan Ivanovich

*

“Another.”

Stellan sizes up the man at the bar before refilling the mug. It’s late and the rain outside shows no signs of stopping. The couple lingering at the weatherbeaten table in the center of the room lean in toward each other, the woman laughing at some private joke as she brushes a bit of strawberry blonde hair away from her face. Soft lute music comes from the far corner, where the shadowy figure who’s playing now has been nursing the same drink all night. But this man is the only other customer left inside the Hawk-in-Loch this evening. His hands are steady, though, and he looks at Stellan askance.

“Coming right up.”

He sets the full mug back down in front of the man and resumes wiping down the bar, but when he reaches the end, he stops and looks more closely at the customer in the corner, who’s playing the final notes of their song. They’re some distance away, and the lanterns do need to be cleaned, but it’s clear that the customer’s skin is a deep red. And it looks like…yes, those are horns on their head, black and curved and gracefully pointed.

Stellan’s heard of tieflings, of course, but it’s somewhat of a surprise to have one walk into the Hawk-in-Loch and spend the night playing the lute at the corner table.

—Show Some Initiative

*

Steve gave Nora one last pat and closed her stall door. He left the barn and walked alongside the corral. Eddie was inside, along with the tall black stallion they called Judas, for the way the horse could turn traitor in an instant. Eddie’s uncle, Captain Munson, lean and weathered like the fence rail on which his forearms rested, did not speak as Steve stopped next to him. The horse’s nostrils flared as Eddie approached, each regarding the other with cool suspicion. Steve was unconcerned, though, for he knew that Eddie had a way with animals of all shapes and sizes.

"How's he coming along?" Steve said.

"Your boy or the horse?" Captain Munson said. "Neither one's broke yet."

The brim of Captain Munson’s hat did not move, but Steve could tell that he was no longer watching Eddie and the horse. He was watching Steve, judging the effect of his words. Watching without appearing to watch was a useful technique in Captain Munson’s formidable arsenal. Steve wondered if Captain Munson had picked it up during his time with the Rangers and if it could be taught to someone who lacked that particular experience.

—A Change in Management

*

Steve gets to his feet to face the source of the voice. Another black-clad figure, helmeted and painted like the others. This one’s design, now that he can see more clearly, is a massive horned demon’s head, tongue lolling, fangs dripping. “Look, I’ll give you whatever you want, just let the rest of them go—”

“You honestly think I’m going to kill them?” 

“I don’t know who the hell you are!”

“And who the hell are you?”

By now Steve has gone from fear to fury. “I’m Steve Harrington, the captain of this ship, and you—you are—are a—”

But when the demon takes off its helmet, he’s stunned into silence. For a moment Steve doesn’t believe it, because that fall of dark hair, those deep brown eyes, and that otherworldly pallor are like something dredged up from his subconscious. But it is none other than Eddie Munson, in the flesh, standing before him.

“Who am I, Steve?” Eddie says, quietly, in his real voice.

—Unavoidable

*

“You ever think…” Eddie trails off. Steve looks out at the trees beyond the fence, bare branches against the cloudless sky. The haze is turning golden as the light changes.

“Think what?”

“If there’s anything else.”

“What do you mean, ‘anything else’?” Steve tilts his head ever so slightly to look at Eddie, out of the corner of his eye. “You and I both know there’s something else.”

“I don’t mean that,” Eddie says, “and I don’t mean that either,” and he points up at the sky. “What if…” A prolonged inhale. “There’s a world somewhere out there where we won?”

“Like a different dimension?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Eddie exhales and it sounds like a sigh. “Or maybe a world where none of this happened at all.”

—Going Dark

Read more on November 17!

[queenofcats17]

The Ink Demonth 29

This day's theme was Queer.

So, I decided to focus on how weird Audrey probably seems to everyone around her. This takes place in the King's Heavy Heart AU.

============================================

Audrey Klein was a queer child. Everyone agreed.

Although, admittedly, no one could quite explain why they thought she was so queer. By all accounts, she looked like any other child, and especially like her father when he'd been young. She played with other children, she did well in school, and she enjoyed reading, drawing, and pestering her older cousins and adults with questions about the world. She was a bright young girl who was just as sharp and no-nonsense as her Aunt Esther.

But there were some strange things about Audrey as well. She'd never broken a bone. No matter how many times she'd fallen out of a tree or off playground equipment, she'd never broken a single bone. Some passed it off as her just being lucky, while others swore they saw her limbs... bend instead of break. Like rubber. And if anyone ever saw Audrey bleed, which wasn't often, they swore her blood looked black. It didn't smell like blood either. It smelled like... ink.

And then there were the drawings.

From the time she'd been very little, Audrey had only seemed interested in drawing one thing. Bendy the Dancing Demon. Alice Angel and Boris the Wolf had featured sometimes, Boris more than Alice, but Bendy was usually the main focus. And... sometimes... she drew a man with a ponytail in a grey vest and a red bowtie. Usually, she drew him frowning, attached to Bendy with what looked like a chain. Always, he was drawn in a dark space.

When asked who the man was, she would reply, "That's my daddy. He's with my brother right now. But they're not getting along."

When pressed by adults to explain what she meant by this, she refused to offer any additional information. That had been a common theme when she'd been young. She'd often spoken of her father who was with her brother. She said they were somewhere secret, along with a lot of other people. She said her daddy did something bad and now everyone was stuck. Esther had always claimed the stories were just the stories of an imaginative child, but it was hard to miss the concerned look in her eyes whenever Audrey started telling the stories.

As Audrey had gotten older, she'd stopped talking about her father and brother and ceased drawing them. But she always came back to drawing Bendy. No one was surprised when she went to work for Archgate after they acquired the rights to Bendy.

Audrey was a queer girl. Everyone agreed.

But no one had any idea just how strange she truly was.

[quillheel]

04.     entry made after experiencing a nightmare. ( for kim mayhaps? :0 )

DEAR DIARY... // always accepting!!!

poised vertically among a dozen and a half of its brothers on a shelf that is not cramped, but in equal measure begins to lose its space, is a notebook. hands pluck it out by the top ridge along the well-made blue spine, the skin of it covered carefully in a deep navy, the papers a pristine white. inside, the handwriting is dense and thick and fast, bunched together on each line, a code with it's cipher in the language itself. it has not sat here long. the date on the inner cover like the notice of an eviction in black, fluid pen; '50 - '51.

you open it. its pages rustle as though a guarded cage has been opened, rendered vulnerable, almost meek despite the intimidation of straight iron and pressed paper, rustling like a snarl. you sit with it, you learn it, it learns you. it is uncomfortable with what is asked of it. you ask anyway.

you reach back into the memory it holds. it gives way, like sticking your hand in the guts of a soft oily thing, or jello, reaching for a pearl in a clam-shell.

━ I have had more nightmares in the past two weeks than I have in four months. I don't know how much longer I can do this.

Maybe the stress is getting to me. Seeing the recently deceased is never good for your health, but I can't afford to take leave. If I did, all the ground I'd been covering my entire career will be torn out from under me. I'm lucky. I think it's more than just the corpses.

I keep watching him die. There is blood drawn. Kortenaer aims higher. Shoots. The bullet ruptures his liver as a virulent bomb inside of him. he is unconscious after an unimaginably painful half-second. Someone shouts. I panic. I attempt to stop the bleeding. I do not see de Paule. She aims. Shoots. I wake up in the 57th infirmary. I am forced to ask what happened to him instead of being told. I am informed there was nothing they could do, dead within the two days I am unconscious, an excruciating death as the liver and gallbladder poisons his bloodstream even as the bleeding stops. I do not get to see him again. I do not even know if there is a funeral held. The trial never happens. They were gone. We remained. I remain.

The dream changes often, sometimes being so abstract as if only pertaining to the color of his existence or Martinaise itself, but the point remains the same. somewhere in Jamrock, another little light blinks out.

This hasn't happened since Eyes, and never this constant. I wish I could call him.

I don't know. I'm tired. I want to hear his voice. I want to talk to him again. It's late. He'd answer.

The ink is allowed to dry for a long, long time. the pearl is clutched in your right hand. your reaching the end, oblivion, always cut short.

I'm going to work on the Kineema. I can't really, the only thing to do is something to I want to do with him, but an unnecessary tune-up is enough to keep my hands busy.

Maybe then I'll be able to go back to sleep.

[shallyne]

Bleeding Ink

Just a quick thing I wrote.

Words: 630

TW: death, blood, mention of stabbing

Rhys is bleeding out after an attack and there is no one to save him. Or is there?

Rhysand was dying. Being in danger wasn't new to him but he never would have thought that he would end up bleeding out in a forest so far away from home. Groaning he tried to sit up straighter but a sharp pain had him slumping back. Rhys leaned his head against the tree and looked up. The last rays of sunshine broke through the canopy of leaves as he took his last breaths. This was it, this was the end. Maybe his family would never know that he died, maybe they would just think Rhys ran away from home, from his responsibilities. The forest began to blur and he closed his eyes when a wave of exhaustion overcame him. Rhys tried to open his eyes again but failed, he was so tired. The grip on his stomach slackened, his hand, crusted with his blood, hitting the floor.

For a moment he thought he let out a gasp but a moment later two hands cupped his hands. The person said something but Rhys could only make out "you hear–". Before everything went black he felt two fingers on his neck and then he was enveloped by a lilac and pear scent.

Rhysand awoke with a pounding headache. One hand instantly wandered to his stomach and luckily he could find no trace of the stab wound. A dream, it was just a dream. A nightmare so vivid that he could still feel the lingering whisper of pain.

"Hello." whispered a soft voice beside him, making Rhys sit up straight in a minute. His hand slid to his dagger, that wasn't there anymore.

The girl jumped back scared, watching Rhys with wide eyes. They looked at each other in silence and Rhys took the chance to fully take her in. Wavy golden-brown hair hanging loosely over shoulder, her blue-gray eyes curiously watched him. Freckles adorned her cheeks and her nose. Her full mouth twitched as if she didn't know if she should smile or frown. The girl wore only a simple, white dress and no shoes. What caught Rhys's attention though was the pair of iridescent wings that peeked over her shoulder.

"What are you?" asked Rhysand.

"I'm–" her gaze went to his hand that still rested at the empty sheath of his dagger and took a small step back. She shook her head, confused. "I'm Feyre."

Rhys looked around the room. Everything was made of wood, even the floors, the walls and the ceiling. "How did I get here?"

Feyre stood straighter and clasped her hands together as she said. "I carried you."

Rhys's gaze snapped back to Feyre. "What?" he asked because he couldn't believe it. She looked so fragile, as if her bones could snap any minute.

"I found you bleeding in the woods. I was able to stop the bleeding right there, mostly. Enough to carry you to my–" she cleared her throat. "Enough to carry you here and tend to your wounds."

Rhys swallowed as he looked down at himself. If Feyre wouldn't have told him, he would think it was all a dream. There wasn't even a scar left from the attack.

"I'm sorry for your shirt." Feyre said. "I had to cut it off you." Rhys's gaze met hers and she didn't look sorry at all. Rhys swallowed and she instantly gave him a glass of water. "I also have soup ready for you if you're hungry."

"Thank you." Rhys answered, emptying the glass in a few big gulps. "I owe you one."

This time Feyre smiled brightly, revealing her dimples. Her eyes glittered with mischief.

"What?"

"Deal!" she squeaked.

Rhys winced when dark swirls of ink spread on his left arm, a twin on Feyre's right hand. "What did you do? What are you?" he snapped. Feyre only marveled at their tattoos.

[tavyliasin]

BG3 FicFeb SFW - Day 8

A little more of Tav's past slipping through into the present, fears born not of the darkness itself as it first seemed to be... Short below the cut, very mild CW for implied trauma. ----- -----

Day 8 “It will be okay as long as we’re together.” 

Tav shuddered at the sound of another keening wail in the dark of the Shadowlands, brandishing her torch at every shape in the ink-black surroundings that looked too much like they were moving, bleeding through the page of reality. Her white-knuckle grip would’ve splintered the wood in her hand if she were holding anything weaker. 

“Darling? Is something wrong?” His voice was like a distant echo, barely filtering through her focus on every cracking twig and falling leaf. 

She continued, her other hand clawing at the leather wrapped grip of the sword at her hip, as if daring the darkness itself to stop taunting and leap. Hours of walking, with barely a flame to light their way, the flickering light only adding to the eerie way the landscape itself seemed alive with those that were no longer. 

“Darling?...” Astarion tried again, his hand on her elbow sending a jolt of fear through her entire body, feet damn near leaving the ground, sword suddenly unsheathed with half a yelp. “Good gods - stop! Enough. We have to go back. You are exhausted, seeing things that were never there.” 

“We can’t, not until we’ve found the missing Tieflings. We need less sleep, it’s fine - Astarion there are children unaccounted for out there. There. Where the restless dead walk cloaked in darkness.” He could feel her arm trembling as he kept hold of her elbow, she still did not sheath her blade.

“My love… You can rescue none of them if you fall prey to the Shadowcurse yourself. Please, come back with me. Tomorrow we will start again, and the day after that, and the day after still. But not tonight, not like this, and there is no chance of you sending me back alone - I can see that look in your eye.” He sighed, his grip on her arm loosening as he stepped around in front of her fully. His free hand found her chest, the cool feeling of his touch over where her heart ached in its rush to break free from her ribs with the adrenaline. The fear. 

“That’s the thing, isn’t it. I have you, and you have me. I know we’ll get out of this one way or another, even if we didn’t have a room full of snoring companions who fight beside us.” Tears stung her eyes, a hot pain that welled up from the back of her memories. Nights in the dark, the alleys of the city holding living shadows of their own that sought to swallow the screams of any foolish enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Out there, they have nobody. For a long time, they’ve not had anyone besides a camp full of strangers, elders who aren’t their family.”

“And in them, you see everything you were.” Finally he understood. It wasn’t fear of the darkness leaving her shaken to her core, nor was it simple exhaustion robbing her of her better senses. This wasn’t about saving strangers they’d barely met - in each Tiefling she felt a part of her own past reflected back at her in a harsh light that was not fitting for the cursed lands they stood in. “You will not save them by having them trip over your corpse, nor will you serve them by sacrificing your safety for a couple more fruitless hours of searching.” 

“You don’t know that, they might be just around-” 

“You said that at the last fork in the path, at every corner we have rounded. They’re most likely at Moonrise - safely locked up where the shadows cannot reach.” He tried to be reassuring, but quickly realised the error of his words just too late to bite them back into his lungs before they were heard. 

“That’s what worries me most. The danger within might just be greater than that which the walls keep out.” She sheathed her sword, and rubbed at her eyes. “You’re right, though. I surrender. I can’t go raiding a tower when I’m exhausted.” 

She paused, finally letting go of the hilt at her belt, relenting to lacing her fingers through his as she took the vampire's outstretched hand. “Tomorrow. First thing.” She challenged his gaze, emerald eyes meeting crimson, yet she didn’t find resistance there. Only a resolve that matched her own with a quiet strength in the way he squeezed her hand.

“We will find them. All of them. I promise.”

[feverinfeveroutfic]

sunburn | bleeding me

“God, what in the Sam Hill is he doing here, Sam?”

Alex stood in the doorway with his hands clasped onto either side of the frame. His long black curls spread over his shoulders like that of a mane, and his shirt hung open and revealed his bare chest as if he had just ventured in from the set of a hot scene from a movie set; the small streak silver at the crown of his head dangled down into his face like the plume of a lingering rain cloud after a storm. Sam and Joey lay flat on their backs following the Cherry Suicides’ show: she had nestled up next to him as if she was about to kiss him and then make out with him along the way, where he had folded his hands over his chest and let those thick, coarse black curls sprawl out from the crown of his head like the spilled ink from a well that had tipped over onto its side.

Sam flashed back on that evening in Syracuse, when Joey punched Alex in the nose, and things were so tense between those two men that she could slice it with a knife.

”I’m here to make things fun, Joseph,” he retorted.

”The hell you are, get the fuck out of here.” Joey sat up and flounced over to him. He pressed his hands to his hips as he stood right in Alex’s face.

”I need you to stop this,” Alex told him with a straight face. “Dude, we’re on tour together. What message is this going to send to our fans? To Anthrax and Testament fans? That bad blood is the way to go?”

”You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause Sam’s right there right behind us,” Joey quipped, and he turned to Sam herself, who rolled over onto her side and balanced herself up on her elbow as if she was posing for her photo.

”He has a point, Joey,” she pointed out. “I really don’t like how you guys are so combative towards each other, especially since you guys are like my best friends.”

”You’re takin’ his side?” Joey demanded, stunned.

”Did she stutter?” Alex quipped. “She said we’re her best friends. Look at it this way: if it were me, I wouldn’t want my best friends to bicker, either.” Joey shot him a dirty look.

”Prove it,” he commanded.

”What do you mean, prove it?” Alex snickered.

”Prove that very tidbit to me, Alex,” Joey commanded.

”Alright then, I will.” He moved in and pecked Joey right in the lips, which in turn caused him to move his head back and look on at him with big eyes and lips a-twitching.

”What the hell was that,” he muttered.

”Hey, you said it yourself,” Alex pointed out with a shake of his head. “Samantha as our witness.” He turned his attention over to her. “Right?”

”Right!” she declared, and she resisted the urge to laugh.

”Well, if you’re gonna do that, do it with feeling,” Joey scoffed with a toss of his black curls back from his shoulder and a pressing of his hands to his hips.

”Be careful what you wish for, Joey,” Alex warned him in a singsong voice. He looked on at him with those deep rich blue eyes, as deep as they could ever be. Sam licked her lips as she anticipated what she believed could be something to dish to Marla and Belinda when she saw them again back down in New York.

“Is that a challenge?” Joey asked him in a lower tone of voice.

“Could be. I’m Jewish, we like a little challenge every now and again.”

“I’m Italian and Iroquois, so—you’re preaching to the choir there.”

The tension was even more palpable than ever. Sam froze as those two boys leaned in to each other.

”Kiss me, you animal—” Joey closed his eyes and moved in closer to Alex’s face. Sam still lay there propped up onto her elbow, and she held still as she watched her boyfriend and the boy whom he had a feud with lock lips. The palpable anger between them manifested into something else, some kind of fever of a different caliber.

Joey’s long and lanky hockey player body entwined with Alex’s slight, soft little body in the most bizarre fusion that Sam could only compare to an underwater volcanic eruption.

One kiss led to several. 

Alex leaned back against the frame of the door with his shirt all the way open. He put one foot up on the frame right behind him to steady himself. He closed his eyes as Joey moved his lips down to the side of his neck: those little cherry lips parted and his soft smooth skin seemed to shine under the fluorescent lights over their heads. His spidery guitar player fingers crept up Joey’s ass and up onto the small of his back as if about to take off his jeans. Meanwhile, Joey’s fingers crept up into Alex’s jet-black hair down at the roots: Sam saw him give him some little tugs all the while.

“Get down on the floor and fuck me,” Alex groaned out.

“Why?” Joey demanded in between fierce, scorching kisses on the side of his neck and collar bones,

Alex gripped onto his hair to hold him steady. Sam never moved a muscle.

“Because I said so, that’s why,” he sneered.

“You filthy little bastard—I’m older I get to say what we do,” Joey sneered right back as he held onto the zipper of Alex’s jeans. Alex himself swallowed and locked eyes with him for a moment as Joey undid his pants for him.

“I got your hair,” he retorted in a low voice: those lush locks sprawled down those prominent beautiful veins of his forearm, a meeting of tendrils with some blood mixed in.

“Yeah, well, I got your little fat cock—” Joey then reached down the front of his jeans to give him a good feeling.

“You ain’t gonna make me cum unless we’re flat on our backs, you fuck,” Alex grunted in between fondles. He then opened his lips and let out a gentle moan.

“You sure about that?” Joey demanded. Alex’s knees buckled, and he slid down to the floor. Joey lay down on top of him and kissed his bare chest to get him off some more. All that black hair, and those smooth dark lips on that glassy skin. The two of them were at it like molten lava there on the floor. Alex breathed harder as Joey climbed on top and rubbed his dick against his own.

“I just remembered,” Alex sputtered.

“What’s that?” Joey asked as a small pearl of precum emerged from his head.

“Samantha is still right behind us.”

“Oh, no,” she quipped, and she couldn’t resist her own laughter. She rolled over onto her back but Joey was quick to climb on top of her. “Oh, man, this is definitely going to be something to tell Marla and Belinda later—getting down with two boys.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Joey told her with a kiss on the lips. Alex joined in with a kiss on her exposed waist. Both of them still angered, and both of them primed in a way that she could only dream about. The two of them were going to make her rise and more than she had ever had in her life.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Fanfic Snippet

I made Martin cry.

I will not apologize.

(all unedited, not final version, etc. and so forth)

Kayne bothering Martin, who has had the WORST WEEK.

———

Three days have passed.

Three days without Jon.

Three days of feeling like his heart was left back there on the cold, gray beach, bleeding into the sand.

Three days, too, without the Fears being brought into the world, so… that’s good, at least.

Martin wipes at his eyes again. Takes up his notebook and Eloise’s ink.

“There’s a game I play when I’m alone,” he murmurs as he writes, trusting Pepper to keep to the road.

“There’s a game I play when I’m alone. Imagined rounds of hide and seek. A call and response, Seeking anew, Seeking another to be so dear.

“There’s a game I play when I can’t sleep, Breaking the rules of time and place. Imagining touch, Imagining you, Unprompted and sweetly divine.

“There’s a game I play when I…”

A tear splashes on the paper, smudging his words.

“Shit,” he mutters, putting the book aside (open, praying it won’t smudge further), wiping at his eyes, gripping the reins. “Shit.”

He almost wishes the Lonely were here in this world so he could retreat into it. He’d still be without Jon, but he wouldn’t feel it as much. Nowhere near.

“Oh, that’s not a healthy thing to think,” he mutters to himself, and wonders again how the hell Jon is resisting the call from all fourteen.

For something to do, he reaches into the back and takes out Kayne’s black book. He still doesn’t know why he was given it.

Now, it says, Patience, my little creme puff, over and over and over again.

“What’s the point of this?” he mutters at it. He’s sure Kayne can hear him. “You’re doing it all wrong, you know,” he informs the book. “I thought you didn’t want the Fears brought here. Well, Jon needs me. So if this is your plan, it’s a really stupid one. Short-sighted, apparently based on… entertainment, or something, instead of the actual issues at hand. I swear, it’s like you actually want the baby tentacle god to win.”

Pepper stops.

“Come on, girl, I don’t have time for this,” Martin mutters, jostling the reins.

Pepper won’t move.

Martin sighs and dismounts. “Of all the days to get stubborn on me, you had to do it right now?” he soothes, wipes his face again, then pets the mule’s. “What’s wrong? Do I need to check your shoes? What’s happening, girl?”

And Pepper says, “Just trying to keep you from being exploded.”

Martin yips and stumbles backwards.

Right into a hard, hot form that is person-shaped, but definitely not a person at all.

Martin leaps forward again.

Kayne laughs. “Sorry, sorry! I couldn’t help it!”

“Wh… leave the mule alone, for the love of god!” Martin says.

“She’s fine, I just borrowed her for a second!” And then Kayne switches the laughter off, like pulling the plug on a machine. “And really, I had to do something to prevent your little self-immolating tirade. That was rude, Martin. Very, very rude.”

Maybe Kayne has trigger-words, too, though Martin isn’t sure which ones he used.

He’s also fairly certain the use of his name is not a good sign, but he’s too miserable to stop now. “Maybe I did it on purpose. Maybe I wanted your attention.”

“Oh, like burning statements to get my eye, hoping you can survive the fallout? Oh, oh, no, my dear one. All you’ve done is leverage my pride against my ever-present desire to kill you (which, to be fair, I desire to do to everything all the time, but still). Very risky. A dangerous step. I absolutely loved it. Don’t do it again.”

“Don’t give me reason to, then,” Martin says, not even sure why he’s pushing, why he’s toeing the line even further (does he want to be hurt? Is that it?).

Kayne is suddenly right in front of him, hooking one foot around Martin’s ankle to make him fall, and catching him with one hand between his shoulders like a dance partner. He’s so close that Martin can see through Kayne’s eyes into time, space, eternity, nightmare, falling, terror, gravity, inversion, pain -

“No,” Kayne says, slowly, a clear warning. Then he drops him.

Caught in whatever hell spins behind Kayne’s eyes, Martin lands like a sack of wheat, and gets the breath knocked out of him. “You… you said - ”

“‘You said, what do you want, how dare you talk through my donkey,’ wah wah wah,” says Kayne.

And Martin is suddenly not here.

He’s in the Panopticon, cheek stinging from flying debris, staring up at Jon who is so beautiful and so terrifying and so infuriating and -

I didn’t think you’d go through with it! Not without me!

And Martin is horrified at the rage in his voice, at his fury toward his love, at his choking fear that by doing this, Jon might have lost himself, and  -

I can’t believe you’d do this! That you’d leave me like this!

And Jon looks at him and Martin sees Jon is still in there, and that is somehow worse because it means they’ll both have to go survive the consequences, and no one will be spared -

You swore to me! You swore to me, you bastard!

“Stop, please stop!” Martin shouts.

“Hm?” says Kayne, looking up from apparently buffing his nails on his shirt. Then he hits with one more memory.

I knew that you couldn’t help yourself. You never could! I knew you’d lied to me, that you were going in alone!

Tears blur the world. Martin is on his knees, head down. His heart might have actually exploded.

“Lesson learned, muffin?” says Kayne.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. “Go fuck yourself,” he gasps.

“I could, muffin, but I don’t think this planet would survive.”

“Ugh.” Martin manages to stand. He’s shaky; feels like he’s going to throw up. Well, that didn’t accomplish anything, he thinks, and wonders if Anabelle would still think him spider-worthy if she’d seen this little train-wreck.

Kayne chuckles, low.

Somehow, Martin pulls himself onto the cart. His heart hurts so much that he can barely breathe around it.

Kayne leaps. Suddenly, he’s astride Pepper (who does not seem to care), backwards, facing Martin. “You know, though, I’m being unfair? It’s not really your fault I’m in a bad mood. I thought today was the end, after all.”

Martin stares at him. “The end?”

“Mmm, yep. I thought this was it. The end of life as-is, because of course Hastur was going to have his way. But then do you know what happened? Do you? Do you?”

The Fears aren’t here, and Martin knows. “He didn't give in.” Pride lifts his chin. “I told you he wouldn’t.”

“Martin. Martin, Martin, Martin. Don’t be obtuse.”

“I’m not being - ”

“Did he give in before? Is that what happened? Is that why the whole story went swirling like vomit down the toilet bowl? Is it, Martin? Is it?”

Ah.

No. It was not what happened.

Jon hadn’t given in at all, and that was why it went wrong.

Kayne wants him to make the connection, to dig out his trauma, to plug together terrible currents that Martin strives to keep apart. 

But Martin already has done that. He even thought he’d come to terms with what happened.

He’d realized, finally, how depressed Jon had been. How the weight of the whole suffering world had landed on Jon so much harder than it had him, because while even the bits Martin saw were too damn much, Martin could look away.

Jon could never close his eyes.

Martin knows that if he’d listened more, heard what Jon was saying, really understood how low Jon was, he’d have better anticipated what happened.

But he hadn’t. And then Jon drowned in hopeless sorrow, and Jon lied, and Jon decided to end the world instead of waiting to figure it out together, and Martin understands why.

Understanding doesn’t really make it better.

Martin feels like he’s holding a beloved teacup, a thing he treasures above all else, and sees the crack running through it, and doesn’t know how to make it whole. “Look, we haven’t…” He hates how he sounds - small and wobbly and beaten. “We haven’t talked about it, all right? This isn’t how I want to process it, either.”

“Oh, yes, yes, because first it was about keeping him alive, and then it was about stealing eggs for survival, and then it just was in the past, and you moved on, and it’s all okay because nobody would ever talk about it again. I get it! So sad.”

Of all people, for Kayne to understand this so well was deeply unsettling.

Kayne smiles. “Do you know how often I’m wrong?”

“At least once,” Martin says.

Kayne laughs.

Pepper shifts; the laughter bothers her, too, so Martin feels a little less pathetic for hating it.

“I mean, it’s still a given - he will lose,” says Kayne.

“Now, wait a minute - “

“But things got a little complicated today, and I think he’s going to take a much longer time to do it than I thought. Which means this is going to draaaaag ooouut, and who wants that, right?”

“I don’t - ”

“It’s filler. I don’t want filler. Nobody wants to see Goku get his driver’s license. No one wants to watch the Ceaseless Watcher change in response to what your lover becomes. So that means we need a script doctor, you get me?”

Martin feels like ice water just splashed down his spine. “It’s changing?”

“Your beloved is basically immortal, you know. He doesn’t age. Unlike you.”

Was Kayne going to drop bombs with every sentence? “What? Wh… what?”

“So I was already feeling just so depressed at how long this was all going to take, and how ugly it was going to get - but then Hastur cheated.” And the delight that stretches Kayne’s face now makes it anything but ordinary, anything but just some guy, anything but sane and human and recognizable, like some horrible ancient mask of clay being pulled by many hands.

Martin leans back, breathing quickly. He can’t look away. He dearly wants to look away.

“He cheated, so I get an advantage, because that’s the deal.”

Martin knows Kayne wants to be asked. “Ad… advantage?”

In that split second, Kayne is off the mule and into the cart, face an inch from his own.

Martin scrambles sideways and nearly falls off.

Kayne catches him. Suspends him, really, gripping his shirt in one hand like Martin weighs nothing, holding him horizontally over the ground.

Martin freezes.

“I’m sending you that cheat,” says Kayne again, “and you’re going to play from there and make it all interesting for me again. Oh, oh, and since you’ll want a clue - ” He lifts, just a little, impossibly raising Martin’s hips off the seat, leverage meaning nothing. “He’s taken the Archivist to the Dreamlands.” And he lets go.

Martin falls onto the ground.

When he scrambles up, feeling bruised, Kayne is gone.

Pepper flicks her ears.

This was… this was a lot.

He leans against the wheel, trying to process.

So Jon’s not aging. The Beholding is changing. And there is so much Martin hasn’t dealt with.

So much he hasn’t said.

He should have said. Why hadn’t he said?

Because it felt like we had time, he thinks, and wipes his eyes. “I forgive you, Jon,” he whispers. “I already did forgive you. But oh, gods, it hurts.”

He should have said this to Jon’s face.

He hopes he’ll still have the chance.

This crack in the teacup, Martin is certain, can be fixed.

But it’s going to have to be repaired from both sides.

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

Hi Peahen mom! If you could, maybe a Au bad ending thought:

What would have happened if Megan did break Melinda so badly that she hated the world but she turned her into something even more dangerous as the biggest threat in New York City? Can we have a short version of it. The fractions were shocked seeing this but it hurt seeing someone broken. Can we see a short scene of it?

((Hello anon dear. Hope your well. I guess in a way what would happen if she became the villain right? Well, let me see what I can write.))

((Guests for this are a few from @demon-blood-youths but here ya go.))

Silver butterfly mun/Peahen mom

This was not suppose to happen!

This wasn't true.......

Right?

The fractions of NYC was standing there in shock with eyes wide in horror, seeing someone they were not expecting to see again. The area of New York they were fighting in was burning. However, that's not why they were in shock and seeing Jaron struggling in Rust and T-bone's holds as he was worried with tears.

They look to see the one that started all this standing there. Megan was in front of Melinda who was stabbed in the heart by her. She was bleeding looking down while feeling the black tendrils keeping her down on her knees.

She thought Megan listened to her, even letting her hug her close. She wanted to help her but it seems even now, Megan didn't wait it.

"Damn you bitch!" Ink heard Jinx shout with the other leaders worried but angry too. However, Megan didn't hear them but remains focused on Melinda who was looking down bleeding from her chin and chest with the shirt soaked in blood.

"Damn you. Why won't you just die?!" she hissed pushing the blade deeper that Melinda coughs blood up on the ground shaking.

"I'm done with you. Your worthless, blind, and useless now. I keep telling you again and again I don't want your help." she pushes the blade deeper.

"I never need your worthless help!" Melinda coughs again panting from the pain. "And I don't ever want to see you darken my shadow ever again!!" she laughed pushing the blade even deeper into her chest to see more blood spilling from the wound.

"........" Melinda was crying but she was wincing from the pain but she was hearing loud shouting and screaming in her head like she was arguing with herself.

"Awww what's wrong? Finally going to shut up? Good? I'm sick of hearing your voice anyway."Melinda tries to reach for the blade but she winces from the noises, Megan's voice, and hearing the others and her fraction shouting.

"Get away from her, Megan! Just leave her alone!" Rust shouted but Megan laughed to force her down even more as Melinda was bleeding to death. However, she was crying while feeling the pain and the burning of the blade.

"......."

'I don't understand. I just wanted to help her....but my words don't even reach her. I'm still seen as the useless trash to her..' Melinda thought while feeling her body losing strength.

'Even with all that..she still.....won't let me help.....I'm still useless to her and the others....'

Melinda slowly closed her hand into a fist shaking but tears were seen running down her cheeks.

'Why?..I just wanted to help her..I just wanted to help you. And yet you still HATE me that much? Do you want me to die that badly? I don't know what else to do. I don't like this feeling. It hurts..it hurts so much....' She winces from the blade digging deeper to grit her teeth.

'I...I can't do this anymore. No matter what I do, this world is just as bad as her. All the others I knew...this life..I don't like it anymore.....I'm d..done...I'm done. I can't do this anymore.' she tires to get the blade out but she was cutting her hand with blood seeping through.

Just stop...stop. Stop stop stop Please make this pain STOP!!' she screams in her mind to something suddenly snap.

"Finally, heh, Finally Your done! I'll be sure you are dead for real!!! Hahahahahaha!!!" Megan laughed seeing Melinda bleeding as the others were screaming. "As I said...YOU. ARE. DO-GAH!!"

Suddenly blood spills from Megan's body as her eyes were wide. Something grabbing her and yet, she was forced to kneel in front of Melinda who looks quiet. She still lays on the ground weak before slowly sitting up to look at the ground. Melinda slowly reaches to grip the handle of Megan's blade embedded into her chest. Right there, Megan saw her slowly pulls it out while looking to it. Her silver eyes were hidden but she only lifts her head up to look at Megan who actually tensed up.....wait, was she scared?

Something was wrong. Very very wrong.

"....W..What the hell?" she hissed but Melinda looks silent before a light chuckle was heard from her.

"....I'm...done...I'm fucking done...." Melinda whispered sounding angry all of a sudden.

Ink and the others were confused but Taz was suddenly scared, smelling something...deadly and dangerous from Melinda. Her scent changed drastically. Timmy was scared crying feeling and seeing something around Melinda like her aura was no longer full of light but malice and anger. Gerald was scared and Ping was seeing to hide behind him.

'What is this!? What is this feeling!? W..why am I scared? This isn't...this isn't......' Megan was forced to keep down but Melinda only tilts her head to slowly look at her with a colder expression walking towards her.

"Huh?!? How are you-damn bitch! You know better than to-" but as Megan tries to attack her using her tendrils, they got stopped in mid air. They then got torn off as Megan screams but felt something slam her down to the ground as Melinda walks to look down at her. She sends two more at her but Melinda grabs them in her hand but saw them get burned as she looks to it. Megan was shocked but she saw Melinda get close to her but looks to her as her eyes met with silver eyes. "!?"

"....What's wrong? Scared?" she speaks in a quiet tone but Megan feels her body cracking as Melinda was looking to her while breaking every bone in Megan's body. She coughs blood up while feeling this but she only felt her demonic flow through her that she was felt something shatter within her that she looked more murderous.

"You...You fucking.." that's when Melinda held a hand up to close it into a fist, crushing Megan as she brutally killed her. The others gasped seeing this but she looks to Megan's dead body while slowly standing up but she was looking to slowly see the blood spilling.

".......Melinda?" She heard Ink's voice but slowly looks in her direction seeing her tense up. Her silver eyes were darkened but they looked lost. Dead from the gentle expression. She only look she saw and felt was anger. Pain. and....shattered heart. Melinda only looks to Ink but she slowly showed a cold smile. The others took a step back but Rust and T-bone had to hold Jaron back since they felt something bad that they shouldn't get near her. He was crying but he was upset. This shouldn't be happening. What did Megan do to her!?

".............."

"M..Melinda? What's wrong? You.."

"......Finally....I'm so done with being nice. I'm done with being broken so much that it hurt. Though...I guess she was right....seems this world is horrible hmm?" Melinda slowly shows her face but Ink's face pale seeing her face. Her eyes were indeed dead but her tears were black instead of being normal. She only sees her shirt coated in blood before seeing something forming behind her.

"No matter though.....what's the point of being nice and helping everyone? It just ends in pain and betrayal so...why not just break it?" she hissed but she held a hand out showing some flames but Jinx blocks it while getting in front of Ink while ready to defend her close friend/sister. The others were worried but silver flames burst around Melinda as they darken to her looking with a insane expression ready to fight everyone.

"Melinda, stop it! It's us!" Jinx said but she glares. Ping, Gerald, Timmy, and Taz was scared. Their eyes were widen in horror but everyone saw a disturbing monster formed but they was tugging on Maggie, Breezy, and T-bone's shirt crying.

"We need to get out of here! Something's wrong!" Timmy said.

"H..He's right. Something s...scary is happening...this isn't Melinda. Megan did something b..bad to her.." Taz said.

'We need to get away from her. She...she's..' Ping said in Breezy's head.

"......She's g..gone..." Gerald said but everyone was worried but saw Melinda still burning the area but before Ink and Jinx did anything, Vivi quickly blocks a flame attack but looks. They had to retreat but she saw T-bone grab Ink and Jinx and carries them.

"Hey!"

"Put us down!"

"We gotta go!" He said as Vivi made a portal to everyone running through while Melinda tries to send the monsters to them but they got away before the portal closes. She looks silent but slowly lowers her hand while her silver eyes were glowing. However, she slowly smiled to look at her bloody hand then sighs.

"..Oh well, I'll find them later......for now...I guess I have some work to do." she whispered to turn and walks off while knowing something did happen but she was silent.

The gentle Melinda was broken but thanks to Megan, that side of her has been killed.

[lightvsdark18]

Twisted Wonderland- Your Secret Is Killing You

Continuation (1) (2)

Alice tosses and turns in her bed, sighing in frustration at her inability to fall asleep. She turns again to see a faint green light behind her curtains, making her get up and walk over to the window, peeking out to see the firefly-like lights dancing outside. She quickly grabs her rode, throwing it on, and heads downstairs to greet Malleus.

"Good evening, Katelynn. My apologies for visiting you so late at night, but there's something I wish to speak to you about," Malleus's words make her heart race slightly.

"What is it?"

"I have noticed you have been growing weaker and slower since yesterday, and more so today. You have been unease and a bit reserved around me like you are afraid. You barely talked today, or even looked at me during our conversation."

His gaze pierces her intensely like he is searching for something.

"Are you blotting again?"

She feels blot running out of her nose and quickly wipes it. "Of course not, what makes you think that?"

He step forward. "I took care of you for two weeks while you were blotting. I understand what the signs are."

She backwards away. "Malleus, I promise you I'm not blotting. I have been stressed out because of an upcoming test in Professor Crewel's class. I want to get-"

He steps closer. "Katelynn, don't lie to me. It hasn't been that long since you stopped bleeding blot. If it has resurfaced, please inform me. I want to help you if it's true. I'm sure the Shrouds can find another way to-"

She backwards away again and slightly yells, "I'm fine, Malleus! I'm not lying when I say I'm-"

She vomits blot onto the concrete path which causes him to dodge the black substance falling before his feet. Terror paints her features at her secret being revealed. No, no no. I didn't want him to know!

He freezes in place and looks up at her in concern. "Kate-"

Out of fear she bolts inside her dorm, slamming the door and leaving him staring towards the shit door. He feels afraid, slightly angry, worried and rejected. His thoughts run wild like the world is falling on top of him.

Why didn't she tell me? Why she is blotting again? Why did she run away? Snow begins to fall around him, freezing the air as he disappears from the dorm.

The morning arrives, she is greeted by Grim entering her room and flopping on top of her covers. She sits up and squeezes the creature's cheeks as he complains, chuckling to herself and telling him to go get ready. Maybe she'll buy him some chocolate croissants if he waits patiently for her. He hops down from the bed and runs out of the room in excitement for his treat and tells her to not make him wait long.

She chuckles at the creature, then the events of last night starts replaying in her mind. She sighs and throws her blanket off to begin her morning routine before heading out to the school.

The cool air blows on her face once she opens the door to the dorm and watches Grim dash out just to stop in fear. The inky substance was still there. "Shit," she curses to herself.

"Kate-" he looks over to her, clearly unnerved by what he is seeing- "wh-what's that?"

She stares into his eyes, thinking of what to say. "You already know, Grim," her voice comes out as a light whisper.

He curls up into himself, looking up at her like a scared child when he asks, "are you... blotting again?" He didn't want to say it, to admit the problem returned.

"Let's get to the cafeteria before there's no food left for us." She approaches him and picks him up to carry him away from the black ink.

"Hey! Answer the question." He raises his paws up in protest.

"You already know what the answer is." She glances down at him. "Do you want me to say it?"

He drops his paws down to his chest. "Why didn't you say anything? We could go to Ortho or Idia and ask for-"

"No!" She pauses. "Sorry for yelling. Ortho already knows and is keeping an eye on me." She takes a deep breath. "A lot is going on with me right now and I don't want anyone else to know about what's happening. Please, keep this between us."

He looks defeated, but slowly nods as they continue down the path to the school.

~~~~

Alice walks towards the courtyard and takes a seat on the bench. Grim told Ace and Deuce, and the two continuously asked question after question about what's going on with her. She tried to brush off by saying she's going through some personal, but Ace kept pushing for an answer.

Out of frustration, she walked out to get some air before he could lecture her. She glances up at the sky, thinking about if she should tell them just to be reminded with what Crowley said. It's useless to say anything because they won't believe her, no one will.

Ugh, it has to be him, who else could represent Maleficent? Malleus is the dorm leader of Diasomnia and resembles her perfectly... But I wish, I hope I'm wrong.

"Katelynn." She jumps and turns to face the person behind her. Malleus.

"Hey Malleus, how has your morning been?" His pointed gaze informs she can't brush what happened last night under the rug.

He walks around the bench and takes a seat beside her, crossing his legs and sitting elegantly. He looks towards her. "Tell me the truth, what is going on?"

She faces her body forward as she lies again, "I'm, going through some personal stuff. I rather not get into it, especially with how personal it is. It has been plaguing my mind for awhile and I been trying to think up a solution."

He is quiet, not purposely trying to make her uncomfortable under his stare. "Do you not trust me anymore?"

"What?" She whips her head towards him. "No, no. I trust you, I just don't want to pile my baggage onto you is all."

"Katelynn, you're growing more and more unwell. Shroud told us, told you that talking about your problems, about your worries will decrease your blot. Talk to me."

His expression is close to begging, begging her to open up, to inform him on what is happening to her.

"... No." She gets up from the bench and quickly walks away, but he grabs her arm.

"Why are you being difficult? I want to help you, Katelynn, why are you making it hard to do so?" She doesn't look at him. "If it makes you uncomfortable, then tell me enough for me to understand. Please, I'm worried about you."

Her lip quivers, fighting against the urge to say it. He won't believe me if I said it, so "what's the point?"

"Huh?"

"What's the point in telling anyone, telling you? You won't believe me if I said it."

"But I will-"

She snaps her attention to him. "No you won't. And even if I told you, it probably won't change anything." She tries to pull her arm out of his grip.

He grabs her other arm and has her face him fully which she points her head away in response. "How do you know?"

"I just do, and with my luck I could make it worse if I do talk about it. The problem may arrive sooner instead of later. As much as I want to say it, I know I can't talk about it because no one will believe me and take my warning seriously."

"Warning? Warning on what?"

Her body tenses up at what she said. "Just forget it." She once again tries to break free from his grip, but he wraps one of his arm around her waist and grabs her chin to focus her gaze on him.

"You're not leaving until you tell me."

"Malleus, just forget about it. Let me go." She struggles against his strength, pushing on his chest to no avail.

He asks her again and again as she fights for her freedom, growing upset at the conflict they are having. Blot rolls down from her nose, growing more and more distress.

"Answer me, Katelynn!"

"Why do I have to?! It's going to happen and there's nothing I can do to stop it!"

Blot rolls down her cheeks as she cries and starts to shake. "There's nothing I can do to stop it, no matter how much I don't want to go through it again. Why am I so useless? Why do I have to be so helpless? I'm tired of it all. I just want it to be over already."

Her shaking, broken voice rips his heart to pieces as she lays her face on his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. "I'm scared, Malleus."

He hugs her, holding her close to him as he listens to her cry her heart out, asking himself what is scaring her so badly? What does she mean she doesn't want to through it again?

He soon decides to take her back to Ramshackle and stay by her side for the rest of the day. He hooks his arms under her back and legs, and carries her out of the school. She grips his jacket and stains his clothing with her black tears while whispering "I'm sorry" repeatedly.

He hushes her and nuzzles against her in an attempt to comfort her as he continues to walk. The door swings open and enters the space as the ghosts greet them. They ask questions on what happened and why Malleus is here, but he doesn't answer. He carries her to her room and sets her down on the bed.

He takes a seat and wipes her eyes, then stands to walk over to the bathroom and returns with a wet towel to clean her face. His movements are gentle as his face is empty. She speaks up only to be silenced. The ghosts watch him drape her jacket over the chair and remove her shoes, gloves and tie.

They agree to leave the two be and float off to a different room. He rubs her back, brushing her hair out of her face and just sit in a painful silence.

~~~~

It has been a few hours since they returned to Ramshackle. The two sat on the sofa to watch movies on the TV the VDC team bought. She leans against him as his arm wraps around her shoulders and holds her close to him. Her clothes were changed into pajamas and had a blanket around her to keep her warm.

However, his shirt and tie still has blot on it and was offered a big hoodie for him to wear, but he declined. The air feels tense and uncomfortable from both of them not speaking. The movie keeps the lounge from being completely quiet.

Until Alice breaks that still air. "I know you want to talk about it or at least acknowledge it."

He looks down at her. "I don't know, will you deny me to the permission to acknowledge it?" She annoyingly glares at him as he smirks.

"... It's not something I can easily say. I don't want to acknowledge it because if I acknowledge it, it will come true." Her eyes grow sad at replaying that conversation. "... I was laughed at."

"Hm?"

"I told someone and they laughed at me. Even when I showed them proof, they didn't believed me and made me feel like a fool."

He furls his brows and asks who it was. "That's not important, just understand why I'm silent."

He frowns angrily and disappointedly. Her face quickly grows anxious and has blot running down from her nose. He picks up the towel and wipes it off. She takes the towel and tells him she can do it herself.

"Yes, but it's entertaining to embarrass you."

She furls her brows at his smirking face and tap his cheek with a fake slap. He pretends to look betrayed and goes on how could she repay him like this after he has done for her. She laughs softly.

His face soon turns serious and questions, "this thing you're worried about, when will it happen?"

"When will it happen?" She looks up at him confused.

"You said you didn't want to go through it again. You faced this issue before."

She bites her bottom lip. "... Yes."

"Then you know when it may approach?"

She dwells on the question. She always had dreams of one of the Great Seven before an overblot happened. How many dreams did she have before an overblot?

"I don't know how long, but I think I have enough time to figure out a solution."

I think I had three or four dreams before it happened, and I only had one dream of Maleficent. I think I do have enough time, I have two more dream left before he overblots.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes-" she smiles- "I believe there's enough time to figure it. Thank you for asking that, it puts my mind at ease for a bit."

He smiles and hugs her tightly. "I'm glad, hopefully whatever that scares you doesn't happen. I hate seeing you scared."

"Oh, I thought you would find that entertaining," she teases.

He smirks. "Depends on who's scaring you."

"So you want to scare me? How mean. And there I thought you wouldn't act like a big scary dragon in front of me, not like you could."

"Is that a challenge?"

"No it's a threat." She laughs at her comment.

He chuckles and hugs her fully, then blows air on her cheek and makes a fart sound. She smacks him on the cheek and gets pull towards him for him to do it again.

The day continued on like normal, except for Ace, Deuce and Grim who just found out that day about her blot. Ortho speaks about her condition and promises he's keeping an eye on her to ensure it doesn't worsen. Jack and Epel questione the four on what is going on and where Alice is at.

Ortho answers she's feeling sick from her immune system being affected by the blot and can easily become ill by groups of people. The two are skeptic but doesn't press the issue because she has been acting off the last three days, it's better to leave it be.

The school day ends and everyone heads back to their dorms. Ace, Deuce and Ortho walk Grim back to his dorm with Alice's bookbag in Ortho's hand. He wants to check on her to see if her condition has worsened.

The four didn't expect to see the black substance on the pathway to the door, or Malleus sitting on the sofa with her. He hushes them for she fell asleep and they quietly ask him what is he doing in Ramshackle. He explains he knows and retells what happened last night.

The group frown at now knowing why it's outside. Ortho scans her body and informs the decrease of blot. The first years sigh in relief and wonder how long it take to disappear completely. Ortho looks concerned.

Malleus stands up and tells them they should let her rest, retreating his jacket. Ace looks annoyed because he wanted to talk to her and yells at her for not telling them. However, Malleus informs him to not get mad at her, she is going through something difficult and doesn't need hostility.

Grim doesn't care, he promises himself to make her answer him once she wakes up for scaring him. Ortho chuckles and gesture for everyone to leave. Deuce quickly places a cookie on the table and threats Grim to not eat it. The creature complains.

The four walk out and head back to their dorms, waving a goodbye before stepping through the portals. Malleus frowns heavily as he approaches the doors. Silver and Sebek panic at seeing the black strain on their highness's shirt, questioning on what happened.

Malleus requests for one of them to inform Lilia he would like to see him is his room, then walks off without another word.

[motownfiction]

secret

Will sits across from Lucy at the dinner table on a Friday night. It’s just the two of them, which feels rare, even though it’s been years since Emma moved out. Their house is the revolving door of friends and family members that Lucy always wanted it to be. But tonight, it’s just them. And Will would be lying if he said it wasn’t a little exciting.

He loves his family. Loves his daughters and his granddaughter and even his nerdy son-in-law. But since they were sixteen years old, time has never been just for him and Lucy. The moments he gets with just her, alone … the moments where she’s still that know-it-all at the front of the class who never raised her hand to answer a question because she didn’t think that was realistic … they’re rare enough that Will feels like an anthropologist whenever he gets them.

Tonight they’re sharing a very simple spaghetti. Lucy’s already on her third can of seltzer, which Will goes into the suburbs and buys in bulk, just for her. Her lipstick bleeds onto the can, and Will loves her for it. He loves her when she gets lipstick on her chin. She’s so … her. It’s not a description, but he knows she understands. Lucy’s the kind of person you have to see to believe … the kind of person that once you get to know her, you get all twisted up, and you just can’t stop.

“Why do I feel like you’re still a secret?” he asks.

Lucy snorts over a sip of black cherry water.

“Me?” she asks. “How could I be a mystery? I’m like sixty years old.”

“You’re not even fifty-six,” Will says. “Stop rounding yourself into the grave.”

“So, now I’m dead. Nice.”

“That’s not … I try to turn a phrase with you, and you go and turn it around the way you want to hear it.”

“You married an English major.”

“No, I married an eleventh grader.”

“Who you knew was going to be an English major. You were in eleventh grade when I married you, too, and I knew you were going to grow up and be a lawyer.”

“You did?”

“Either that or a kindergarten teacher. There really didn’t seem to be an in-between with you.”

Will laughs. He takes a bite off his fork and thinks a little more. Lucy’s always been able to read him like a book – one that she speed-reads, one where she can easily predict the end. It’s cliché, but she knows him better than he knows himself. That’s why she presented him with a navy t-shirt instead of the baby blue one he was wearing when he came home from work. Can’t eat spaghetti in a light-colored shirt. He’s destined to spill all over himself that way.

But Lucy … for as well as Will knows her, he’s sure there’s always more. She’s deeper than even she knows. Will knows that everybody’s a contradiction, but of all the contradictions in the world, Lucy is his favorite. How could he possibly learn everything about a woman who writes angry notes in her margins in bright pink ink, who focuses so much on whatever she’s doing that the whole world falls away, who can tear apart a chicken wing like nobody he’s ever seen, who can do near-perfect impressions of both Joni Mitchell and Bill Medley? Will knows that there are other amazing women in this world. He’s raised three of them. It’s just that Lucy is the one he loves.

It’s just that Lucy is the one he wants to keep learning about, for now, even for long after he’s gone.

“Can you tell me one of your secrets?” Will asks.

Lucy laughs.

“What makes you think I have secrets?”

“I dunno. Something about your eyes. They have a look. A secret-having look.”

Lucy laughs again. She leans closer to him from across the dining room table and points at one of her eyelids. She’s wearing blue eyeshadow – an unusual look for Lucy, but a beautiful one. If you ask Will, all of Lucy’s looks are beautiful. She was born that way.

“I borrowed this eyeshadow from our seventeen-year-old granddaughter,” Lucy says.

Will sits back and applauds. When he smiles, he feels just like he did when he was sixteen and sitting across from Lucy in the diner. Like he’s gathering up secrets that nobody else knows. Like he’s falling into the bewildering woods of Lucy, and he doesn’t want anyone to get him out.

“I thought it looked familiar,” he says.

“Perks of becoming a grandmother at thirty-nine.”

“What are the perks of being a thirty-nine-year-old grandpa?”

“Hot wife?”

Will laughs. She has no idea.

“I’ll take it,” he says. “I’ll take it.”