#Write every damn day

[doctorbrown]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 31 / 31 * PEPSI FREE — ACROSS TIME 」

[plush-rabbit]

The One Where Adam Steals Lucifer's Babe

Word Count: 4.9K A/N: I had an idea about this, but I wanted to get it out. This was supposed to be headcanons, but it turned into a story!! woo(•_•)  This is also not done. Like I wanted it to be be headcanons so bad, but i need to establish a plot line because im like dumb. um, so yeah. if this does become anything more, i think max three chapter Its written as if Adam is a sinner so yeah!! -

Dating the King of Hell should be easy- nothing short of bliss and love. And it is easy being with the King of Hell, when he has to make appearances, and he has to put up a front. But being with Lucifer is much more difficult. You know he’s not over Lilith, and you aren’t even close to being a replacement for her. And yet, he keeps you around. You can trick yourself that he still wants you, that maybe he does enjoy being with you. But lying to yourself doesn't make anything easier. You walk out of the castle without a word to Lucifer, childishly hoping that he’d figure out that you weren’t there on his own. On your stroll to nowhere in particular, you check your phone constantly, hoping to see a missed message or call from him- some type of form that he still takes notice of you. You have to silence your phone when you feel tears prick your eyes at the empty screen.

You wind up in some sleazy bar, a bit too tipsy, and far too melancholic  to do anything more than swirl a glass of alcohol with melting ice. You watch the condensation drip down the side of the glass, creating a ring over the coaster. Beside you, the chair scrapes, and your spirits are lifted. It’s Lucifer! He’s chased you down and now he’s going to apologize and proclaim his- your shoulders fall when you realize that it’s not Lucifer. The realization leaves you cold and far lonelier than you initially were. Instead, it’s Adam- the First Man. You wonder for a brief moment if he even still calls himself that.

“Mind your fuckin’ business,” he sneers, sitting beside you. He lifts his hand, and the bartender pushes a glass and a bottle towards him, muttering something about a tab under his breath before turning his attention elsewhere. 

You heard he had become a Sinner- the very thing he sought to kill for entertainment not that long ago. However, you had yet to see him since he was stabbed by Niffty. You wonder if his new form has a hole in his back now.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he tells you, malice tinged at his words, but he makes no real motion to actively wave you off. You’re sure he would have if he was still divine.

A closer inspection reveals that he’s in far worse shape than you could have imagined. A beard that’s in the awkward phase of growing out, deep bags under his eyes, and gaunt cheeks. Hell has not been kind to him. But, what else could you have expected? He was an exorcist- the exorcist- and now, he’s stuck in Hell. Honestly, you should be surprised that his head isn’t mounted somewhere.

You turn back to your drink, and wipe a line of condensation off. “I’m surprised you’d even show your face around these parts,” you mumble, taking a swig of your drink. It burns going down, and you try to hide your displeased expression.

“Fuck you,” he hisses out, taking a long drink from the bottle.

“You know, as a former exorcist, I’d suggest being nice to demons around these parts.” You raise your hand at the bartender, and he walks over, and places the tab in front of you. “You never know who you’re gonna piss off next.” You leave a hefty amount, enough to cover your drinks and leave a pretty tip. 

“What? You’re gonna sick Lucifer on me?” You turn to him, embarrassment hot on your cheeks, and he wears a crooked smile. “Your face and his are plastered everywhere I look.”

With a sigh, you push the check away from you. “Must suck for you,” you mumble. His response is to take a drink from the bottle. “I hated having my picture taken before,” you tell him, unsure if he’s even listening or not. “I felt that they never really got my good side.”

“I’d get photographed all the time in Heaven,” he says in a low tone after a moment of silence. “Bitches could never get enough of me.” You scrunch your nose at the word, and fold the straw wrapper into squares. “Fucking loved it.”

“Wish I loved the camera.” You cross your ankles together, tucking them under the seat of the stool. “I hated being looked at.”

There's a pause in the conversation, long enough that you believe the small talk has ended. You could go back to the castle but if Lucifer hadn't taken notice of your absence, you'd surely have a breakdown. Maybe you could go to the hotel. Charlie would understand. “You still get your picture taken?” Adam asks, his voice startling you. 

You tilt your head to the side, underneath the seat, your legs twist around themselves. “Not as often as I used to. I think it was more like uh-” you wave your hand around and the folded wrapper unfurls itself- “shock value? I think. Like the King of Hell downgrading to some resident.” You smile bitterly. “Not even a Goetia or anything.”

“A Goetia?”

“These magical birds.” You look at him. “You’ve been in Hell for a bit, haven’t you? I’m surprised you haven’t heard or seen them.”

“I don’t get out a lot.”

“‘Cause you’re hated?” You ask, a wicked tone laced in your words. Adam responds by  mocking your voice with the same question. You scoff with a smile on your face. “I wonder why, if you’re such a peach.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

It’s silent. And you watch as the bartender grabs your drink, leaving the coaster behind. A memory of drinking with Lucifer pops into your head- his honeyed smile as he pours you a glass of wine that you would have never been able to afford, to even be aware of such a delicacy that existed in Hell. Never would he have taken you to some dingy bar where less than savory individuals reside. 

You’ve been taken care of. Pampered and adored for a considerable amount of time, before all the light had dimmed. You should have never allowed yourself to get used to such treasures. You glance over at Adam, and wonder if he can understand. “Do you come here often?” You ask him, crossing your arms over the bar. He chokes on his drink and slams the bottle down. He gives you a bewildered stare and you raise your shoulders defensively. “What? I’m just asking,” you say. “The bartender looks like he knows you.” You catch the bartender’s eyes and he quickly looks away. “Or at least enough to keep a tab open.”

“There’s not much to do around here,” he answers.

You fill your cheeks with air and let it slowly blow out through pursed lips. There's plenty to do- sort of. Minus the drugs and sex, most of Hell's greatest features are stuck in other rings. “There’s the Cannibal Sector,” you offer. “You gotta be careful but Rosie is nice and she sells pretty things. I have this hairpin in the shape of a human hand.” Adam gives you a look. “It might be a real hand, huh.”

“The fuck are you even doing out of your castle.”

You deflate. “Rough night,” you say with a sigh. “What about you?”

“Rough night,” he answers

You nod in solidarity. “I’m not usually a drinker,” you confess. “The taste is a bit too bitter for my liking. But being at the castle just wasn’t-” it’s not for you, the pampered life, acting as a placeholder, the King- “I didn’t want to be there.”

When Adam fails to say anything else, you feel embarrassed to even say something like that to the former angel beside you. He wouldn’t care. He shouldn’t care. Why would he ever worry himself over the likes of you, when your supposed partner couldn’t. He sniffs, and places the bottle down. It’s nearly empty. 

“Where do you want to be then?” His eyes are still golden, unblinking as he stares. 

Gold meets your own eyes, and you flicker to the horns over his head, curling overhead much like his former exorcist mask. You look back at his eyes, at the way he holds the bottle loosely. “I don’t know,” you confess. 

There’s a moment of silence, and he finishes the last bit of alcohol. You wonder how many he usually drinks before he goes back home. “You wanna come over?” He asks, and there’s a shade darker that brushes against his cheeks, and he tries to ask nonchalantly, but he toys with the words, and he swallows too harshly for him to not be worried about your answer. As if he’s asking some forbidden question. But, you’re lonely, and you don’t want to be alone in a bar longer than you already have been. 

You look at the exit, half-hoping that Lucifer would be there, ready to take you to his home, and a part of you is glad that he isn’t there. You look back at Adam, and nod your head. “Lead the way,” you tell him.

The sound of the bartender yelling behind you about a tab, has you smiling, feeling as if you’re dining and dashing despite you having paid for your portion. Adam doesn’t seem to care, walking without breaking a stride, just waving his hand without looking back. 

It doesn’t take long before you’re climbing up steps that need to be looked at, rust falling off with each bounce. You’re sure that you can hear something unsavory going on in a room, but a whistle from Adam has you scurrying along. There’s no reason that you should know anything more than you already do. 

You enter his apartment, and take a careful look around. It’s messy- clothes strewn across, dishes left out, and you feel pity for him. A single couch is close enough to the rather small television, a coffee table that has paint chipping and dents is one of the few pieces of furniture in the rooms. A sliding door is closed, a few broken blinds giving you just a glimpse into the outside. “You certainly,” you pause, trying to find something nice to say, “have a place,” you end defeatedly. You stand near the door, clicking the lock into place, as if that would protect you from any dangers out in the world. Perhaps you should be worried about Adam, about the angel who would bear his fangs and be drenched in blood, too excited about senseless murder. But you catch him kicking things under the couch, trying to spruce up the place even if just by a smidge.

“Fuck you,” he says without conviction. He grabs at a pile of clothes and tosses it on top of a chair, leaving the couch clear for you and him to sit. Smiling softly, you take a seat. He places himself close to the arm rest, and watches as you look around. “I uh, I clean- sometimes.” He sounds unsure of himself.

“I like cleaning,” you tell him, grabbing at a magazine on the worn out coffee table. It’s some tabloid, and you see a snippet of you and Lucifer in the corner. You turn to the page where you two are supposed to be. It’s titled as “Issues at Home?” You frown, and turn to another page. “I like organizing and stuff. Um, it helps uh, Lucifer. He does a lot of projects.”

“You don’t got any?”

“I have hobbies, but they come and go.” Your eyes skim the page, talking about Velvette’s new clothing line. You pull your lips into a thin line, a part of you wants to wear her outfits, but you aren’t sure you could pull them off. “It’s all just-” you flutter a hand in the air- “you know, stuff.” You place the magazine back on the table. “What about you?”

He smiles and leans back on the couch, the cushion creasing under his weight. “I like to play the guitar.” You perk at the mention, and watch as he rests his hands over his stomach. “I was in a band. Played the guitar, got all the chicks that I wanted.”

“Were you good at the guitar?”

He nods his head. “Oh, you should’ve fucking seen me. I was like a fucking god on stage.” He holds his hands out and mimics a guitar. You huff out a laugh, and watch as he lets his hands fall. “I got to fuck whoever I wanted. And I mean, who wouldn’t want to fuck me? Look at me.” he tosses you a lazy look, matched with a sly smile, and you can see how people would be attracted to him. “I was the first dick– of course, everyone wanted me.”

“What songs would you perform?”

“Rock mostly.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Crowd went wild.”

“You’d perform in heaven?”

He shrugs. “Most of the time. If I felt bold, sometimes the band and I would do a show on Earth. I’m telling you humans would just throw themselves at you, begging to be fucked in some grimy ass restroom.”

You scrunch your nose. “Sounds gross.”

“It was,” he says with a faltering smile. He cocks his head to the side, and there’s a softness to his words. “Gross as shit, but the girls were hot.” 

You cross your ankles together, and turn to face him. Your arm cushions itself between the couch and your head to watch him. “Do you not play anymore?” you ask hesitantly,

He sucks on his bottom lip, teething at the skin, before letting it go. “I haven’t tried to summon my harp- guitar- shit, thing, since I’ve been here.” He closes his hands into a loose fist and kicks his legs up on the beaten coffee table. “There’s this pawn shop a few streets down, and they have this guitar for sale.”

“Are you thinking about buying it?”

“I have other shit to worry about.” He gives you a look, a fleeting sense of  exhaustion and acceptance that washes over him, that makes him feel a bit more real, a bit more like you. “It isn’t even that good.” He sounds like a child, trying to justify something to themselves. “It’s beat up, and the strings are probably worn-” he shakes his head- “it's not worth it.” You open your mouth to reassure him that it probably is worth it. That despite the condition that it’s in and the price for it, if he wants it, it's worth it. Even if he could never play it, even if it’ll never be restored to its original beauty, it would be his. You only manage to suck in a gulp of air, when a knocking at the balcony door grabs your attention. “Some fucking bird that keeps bothering me.” He looks over at you, and glances back to the door, and back at you. “I have a balcony. Wanna sit outside?”

You nod quickly, closing your mouth. “Yeah.” 

He walks past the door, and leaves it open for you. Just like when you entered, you close the door behind you, half-heartedly hoping that it won’t lock behind you. His balcony holds two chairs- both different kinds and both equally as rough looking. A part of you wonders where exactly he got this furniture. There’s a dying plant shoved in the corner, the leaves brown and stem wilting under the weight of the dying leaves. 

“Quit judging,” he snips. 

You scoff, a smile teasing at the corner of your lips. The air of Hell is cool, wind breezing over your skin and you stare down into the streets, watching as Imps and Sinners live their lives, peacefully uninterrupted. Sitting down, your breath hitches when the chair dips under your weight. It’s quiet between the two of you, silence in each other’s company where you both just stare at the world in front of you. 

You can see the holy light from the embassy, and you can see Heaven’s light- the rings that are protected by wings. It lights up the night sky far better than the pentagram ever has, and sitting under the light of it, makes you wonder if anything is different in Heaven since Adam’s death- or rather, reincarnation. “Do you miss Heaven?” You ask, before you can register the weight of the words that it holds. You turn to him, almost scared of any answer that he would give.

“That’s a stupid question,” he spits out. You don’t respond, and you stay looking at him. He turns his head to avoid your gaze, his legs stretching out in front of him. After a beat of silence, he looks ahead of him. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “I do.”

“What do you miss about it?”

“Full of fucking questions, aren’t ya?” He stays silent, and after a moment, he lets out a soft sigh. “Everything.”

“There’s not many stories about Heaven down here. You know, minus the ones that we all know. The golden gates-”

“Pearly gates,” he corrects. You look at him, and he has his eyes casted down. “They’re pearly.”

“The pearly gates,” you correct, “the clouds, the happiness and peace. I just- Other than that, there’s nothing else to go off of. But I guess, why would I know. Heaven seems so far away, like some mythical place.”

“Your boyfriend doesn’t talk about it?” Adam asks with a sneer.

“No,” you answer without hesitation. “He doesn’t like talking about Heaven. Sometimes-” you lick your lips- “Sometimes it feels like he hates everything and everyone down here. Like he can’t stand the idea that he’s stuck here.” You scratch your neck, and pinch your legs together. “It’s like the memories of Heaven are too painful.”

“That magazine said y’all were breaking up.”

“Maybe,” you answer.

“You can talk about it if you want. Would make this night a helluva lot more interesting.” You look at him. “I’m all ears.”

“And horns,” you tease.

“Fuck you,” he says with an impish tone.

You smile, and kick out your legs. Your phone buzzes, and with hope, you believe that it’ll be Lucifer. Your heart sinks when it’s only a notification from Sinstagram. With a frown, you silence your phone. “In the beginning, it was easy to forget that he was married. I mean, I always knew. He has her portraits hanging, and he talks about Charlie constantly.” You smile bitterly and scratch at your phone case. “I don’t blame him for that, but-” you shrug- “it hurts knowing that he still clings to her.” When Adam stays silent, you continue. “He can be kind- real attentive and sweet. But sometimes, when he’s had a uh-” you struggle to find a word- “a bad day, he gets real low. And I hate to admit it, but he gets clingy and it’s nice to know that I can still serve him in some way.”  Your fingers pinch at the bridge of your nose, and you let your hand cover your mouth. “But then, there are moments, where it feels like he’s actually looking at me- where he’s just everything,” you say wistfully, your hand stretching out in front of you, clasping around the night air. You glance at Adam, who watches your hand as you pull it back to yourself. “Sorry, I uh, I didn’t mean to ramble.”

“So why’d you leave then?”

Perhaps you’d get a biased opinion- you’re aware of how Adam feels over Lucifer, and practically every other inhabitant of Hell. He thinks of himself above any other, his own pride being the very thing that made him unaware of Niffty running towards him. You chew on your lip, your hand scratching over your neck. You need to speak to someone. No one else at the hotel will ever give you a straight answer- or at least the answer that you want to hear.

With a sigh, you kick your legs out in front of you. “I like Lucifer.” You can feel his eyes on you. “But, sometimes,” you drag the word, and your body feels hot, “it’s like he’s not present in the relationship. He gives a lot, but he hardly ever asks for anything.”

There’s a pause. “What could you even give him?” he asks in sincerity. 

There’s a pang in your chest, wrapping tightly, threatening to crush your bones, and leaving you a battered and broken mess on Adam’s balcony. You can’t give him anything that he doesn’t want. He has his daughter, he had his wife, he has his title for better or for worse. All you can offer is a moment of content, and even then it seems that you can no longer do that.

You shrug your shoulders at an attempt of a weak answer. “I know that he’s still not over his wife. Or ex-wife. I'm not too sure of the title and I hate to ask. He gets all mopey and deflective.” You kick at the ground, and insecurity hugs you tightly, and drips into your words. “He stares at portraits of her, and well, it’s hard to compete with the literal Queen of Hell, when I’m just-” your jaw stiffens, and you look at the ground through blurring eyes- “me.” You stand in her shadow without even having met her. “Even when I dress up, I feel like a child playing pretend. I don’t- I’m not like her.” You’ve stared at her portraits that still hang in the palace, and they consume you. Her smile, her delicate hands, and the elegance that is so evident in portraits.  It feels childish to compare yourself to someone so regal and poised. 

“Yeah,” he sighs. “My ex was pretty hot.” Your eyes widen, and you turn to him. “They both were.” He lets out a sigh, and keeps his eyes fixed in front of him.

“Adam,” you squeak out. “I’m sorry.” You shake your head, blood rushing to your face, making your body uncomfortably warm. “I hadn’t meant- I didn’t mean to talk about her with you. I’m so sorry.”

“The fuck are you apologizing for?” He asks, eyes narrowed and mouth twisting to an ugly sneer.

You cross your arms over your chest, bringing them to an ‘X’ where your hands curve over your biceps. “It’s just that I’m talking about Lucifer and your ex-wife.” You frown when he gives you an ugly look. “I just- I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He gives a shrug of his shoulders, his gaze still focused elsewhere. “Lucifer already talked shit about how he banged both of them. It's whatever.”

Your brows furrow, and you watch as Adam pats his pockets, fisting a hand into one of his pants pockets. He fishes out a pack of cigarettes, grabbing on and sticking the tan end of it into his mouth. He motions the carton at you, and you pull your mouth into a thin line. 

“If you're gonna bitch about smoking, you're one lame sinner.”

“Eve? He slept with Eve, too?”

“Oh shit.” The cigarette hangs between his teeth, until pulls it back into his mouth. “You didn't know.” He almost sounds apologetic. He grabs at a lighter and it takes a few clicks to light the white of the stick.

“He doesn't really talk about his sex life before me.” You slump further into yourself, your nails scratching over your skin. “It's in the past. I know I shouldn't be hurt over what he's chosen to share with me, but-” you toss your head back, and in the red sky, the stars are dim. “I don’t know. It just feels like another kick on a shitty night, ya know?”

“I’m shitty?” He almost sounds offended. 

“No, no” you shake your head. “If anything, you’re like the one good thing out of this night.”

“Yeah, well, you ain’t so bad yourself.” You turn to him, your head cocked to the side. “You got a nice body. If you weren’t stuck here, I would’ve bagged you already.” You stretch your lips thin, and Adam shrugs, blowing out a puff of smoke.  “You’re easy on the eyes.”

“Thanks Adam,” you say hesitantly. He holds out the cigarette towards you and you wave your hand. “I’m good.”

“So what now? You gonna go back to him?”

“I don’t even think he knows that I’m gone,” you say honestly. The confession makes you feel lighter than you thought it would. “It’s comfortable with him. It’s easy- I don’t have to worry about things, but, I also don’t have to worry about anything. And sometimes, I want to worry. I want him and I to argue about dumb shit, and I want to worry if he’s coming to bed or not, and not being resigned to the fact that I know he won’t.”

The silence is broken by the scraping of the chair, and you watch as he rises, stretching his arms above him, the cigarette pinched between his fingers. “Eve tolerated me,” he says quietly, letting out a breath of smoke. You look at him, biting at the inside of your cheeks. “She loved me for a while. She was devoted to me. But I uh- I’m pretty sure that was because she was made from me.” A hand cups over his side. “Blind loyalty or whatever. But when she bit that apple, whatever she felt for me was gone.” He speaks quietly, and slowly, as if the words and the thoughts of it were slowly piecing themselves together, a puzzle that he had long put away in order for it to never make sense. “She didn’t care what I did as long as I left her and the-'' someone below lets out a scream, and Adam turns to you, his face flashing a moment of vulnerability before he looks away and puts out the cigarette under his boot. “Well, Eve was Eve.” His brows soften, and he looks tired. “I didn’t tolerate her.”

“Meaning?” You ask quietly.

He shrugs. “I did love her. She had a part of me after all.” He looks over at you, and his hand tightens over his side, pulling at the fabric. “But that’s not important anymore.” He turns away, and walks back inside. You scurry after him, making sure to lock the balcony door behind you.

You stand awkwardly in the room, unsure of what to do next. Truth be told, you had planned to spend the night in some dingy motel if Adam hadn’t sat beside you. But now you’re here, in his dingy apartment, truths and insecurities laid out for the two of you to bear witness. A part of you wants to bid him goodnight, and maybe when you’d see him out in the streets, you’d give him a  cordial nod, and remember how he listened and talked about his ex-wife, and he’d remember you in positive light, despite you only being a mess of insecurities wrapped in sin. 

But now, you don’t want to leave. At least a part of you wants to continue this conversation, to keep the comfort wrapped tight around you. You tap your foot against the ground and Adam looks at you, his eyes staring at yours, unwavering from yours. You hadn’t realized just how powerful he stood beforehand. 

“You can stay if you want,” he says slowly, unsure of the words that he’s saying. “Take the couch or whatever,” he attempts to sound indifferent, but you can hear the sincerity in the words, uncomfortable, but sincere. “I got a spare blanket you can use.” His teeth are sharp, and they peek out to tease at his bottom lip.

“Really?” You ask, eyes wide and you take a step forward, and he looks away. “I can?”

His mouth thins into a grimace, and he gives a forced shrug. “Do whatever you want.”

You look at the couch. It wasn’t uncomfortable to sit on, but you’re sure you’ll wake up with a sore back. However, you don’t want to go back to Lucifer, and you don’t want to go to some dingy motel where you’re sure you’ll drink until you’re sick. Looking back at Adam, you nod, a smiling teasing at the corners of your lips, and he finally looks away from you.

“Yes!” You clear your throat. “Yes,” you say in a softer tone. “I’d like that. Thank you, Adam.”

“Whatever.” He walks into his bedroom, and you sit on the couch. He returns with a blanket, and he stands at the end of the couch, looking at you. “I’m not making you breakfast or anything. You gotta figure that shit out on your own.” You nod. The only real worry that you have is that your phone’s battery is at an uncomfortable percentage that you aren’t sure is going to last you.

“I hope Hell is nice for you.” He raises his brows at you. “It’s shitty and the smell of decay is always kinda there, but sometimes, it’s nice down here.”

“Hell is supposed to suck.”

“And it does,” you say with a shrug. “But not all the time, Ads.”

“Don’t call me that.” He tosses a blanket at you- it’s thin and threads have begun to unravel at the seams, but it’s soft. “I’m turning off the lights.”

“Goodnight,” you call out, holding the blanket close to you. You can only smile when the response is a closed door.  

[sejanusarchive]

There’s so many layers to Sejanus being devastated by Marcus’s fate. He hates how the districts are treated by the Capitol, hates the cruelty of the Hunger Games, he feels the same emotional pain he would have felt being a tribute himself, if not even more, having to watch completely safe from afar, unable to do anything to put an end to the senseless slaughter, while guilt gnaws at him for not risking getting picked to participate himself, for having escaped. No innocent child deserves that, and it gets even worse when one of the children picked is someone he personally knows, someone he used to share a routine with, someone he used to spend hours alongside in a classroom.

And that child isn’t just someone, that child is Marcus, the kind boy who, while not even being his friend, went out of his way to help him when he got hurt, completely unprompted, just out of the goodness of his heart. That boy is a testament to what Sejanus already knows, that everyone seems to keep forgetting, which is that humanity at its core is and can be better than how it’s currently behaving. Not to mention how that was probably the last time Sejanus ever experienced an act of such pure, unconditional kindness. And that simple gesture was so impactful on him, it was enough to cement Marcus’s presence in his heart for all those years and then the rest of his life, and it no doubt helped shape Sejanus into the person he became. Someone as good as Marcus shouldn’t be going through all of that, and it drives Sejanus crazy. If the Hunger Games were too much for him to handle before, now that Marcus is involved, they're unbearable.

But there’s more to Marcus. He is also a safe memory to Sejanus, one who undoubtedly often comforted him when he was feeling at his worst. And he’s one of the main things Sejanus thinks about when he thinks of District 2, his home. Home, which despite the fact that he lived there during the war, despite all the suffering he witnessed, despite the reality of the current living conditions there, is still Sejanus’s happy, safe place; it’s the place he belongs to, the place that could fix almost everything for him. But he can never return there. It has to exist only as a memory, kept safely locked away and untouched in his mind and heart.

But when Marcus arrives in the Capitol, he brings his home with him too, he is the physical manifestation of it. Sejanus’s desperation doesn’t just stem from the fact that it’s Marcus, the innocent, kind-hearted boy, undeserving of such cruelty; but also from the fact that that’s his Marcus as well, the one whose existence is synonymous to his home, his sweet boy from his memories, his comfort. Marcus being there doesn’t only mean the pointless, unjust death of a good person, Marcus being there also means the death of Sejanus’s home, its image no longer far away, safe and untouched, kept only in his mind. Now it’s here and crumbling in front of his eyes. He already knew the reality of things, but it was just that: knowledge. Now he’s face to face with it, face to face with the fact that neither Marcus or his home are or will ever be safe. And, worst of all, he has no way to save them, or anyone else, he’s powerless and completely hopeless against the cruelty of the Capitol, against their fate; and now more than ever, since he’ll have to witness the death of the boy whose memory so often brought him hope before.

In the end all that’s left of both of them, for Sejanus, is a small chunk of marble, made from the same material as his District and carved into the shape of a heart, because that’s exactly where Sejanus’s own is: home with Marcus. We learn he has carried it to his new life in Twelve, immediately before we learn the only pictures he’s taken with him are of his family and his classmates in Two, of him, home for one the last times, standing with Marcus right behind him. That heart is the last physical object connected to Two and Marcus that he’ll have with him for the rest of his life, the last symbol of what he lost and will never get back, of what he couldn’t save or help. But it’s also the one object connected to them that he brought with him when he regained faith, when he felt like he could finally make a difference and actually help people in the districts; the last symbol that things could still get better and not all hope is lost.

For Sejanus Marcus is a kind and innocent kid; he’s the good in humanity; he’s a safe memory; he’s the marble heart because he is hope and comfort, and despair and helplessness, and home, and because he is deeply rooted in his own heart

[moraysoiree]

heels

Awestruck, Rook wraps his arms around your body, enjoying every second of you looking down onto him from above, just like you should. Perhaps he would very much prefer to be at your feet at all times, conquered, vanquished, and powerless.

characters: Rook Hunt x gn!reader tags: smut, dom!reader, reader is shorter than Rook, gn!reader ('reine' – french for 'queen' is used), clothed sex, heels, biting, mentions of blood, slight humiliation word count: 1354

Halloween is the busiest time of year, and most important in terms of boosting the prestige of your alma mater, too. All the more reason to spare no effort in preparation. And so you do, making sure to look your best in the vampire getup Pomefiore have chosen this year. The last touch to your look being the highest heels you could find in Vil’s wardrobe, the deadly and imposing creature of the night image is designed to inspire the basest of fears in the onlooker and pin them to the ground for the taking. And you get the chance to see it in action rather quickly, with your lover as lab rabbit, no less.

As you enter the still empty Hall of Mirrors, the first one to notice you is Rook. He freezes completely right in the midst of a conversation, staring at your form as you approach him, making it more and more obvious that your heels give the usually much shorter you a rare opportunity to tower over him. His conversation partner long gone (everybody knows how insufferable you two are together and prefers to avoid those displays to the best of their ability), Rook comes closer to you, admiration written all over his face as plain as black ink on white paper. ‘Mon amour,’ he takes your hand to his lips and presses a kiss, looking up at you in reverence, ‘Your radiance is most blinding today.’ His eyes travel up and down your body, soaking in this new position you two find yourselves in. ‘Had I known high heels would impress you so, I would’ve worn them much sooner,’ you giggle. ‘Nothing is ever to escape your attention, as expected of the possessor of my heart,’ he laments at being discovered so easily, but you stop him with a finger to his lips. ‘Meet me in the sideroom in an hour,’ and you’re gone with a quick kiss on his cheek, leaving him longing and yearning for your withdrawing presence.

Awestruck, Rook wraps his arms around your body, enjoying every second of you looking down onto him from above, just like you should. Perhaps he would very much prefer to be at your feet at all times, conquered, vanquished, and powerless. ‘You are positively enchanting today, mon amour. I feel like I would do anything under this mesmeric gaze.’

You are stricken with a curious idea at that declaration. ‘Anything at all?’ you question, all but baring your teeth in a carnivorous smile. ‘Anything, ma reine’, he echoes and kisses a lock of your hair gently, as if to underscore his intent. It takes you a lot not to let out a chuckle of anticipation for what’s to come next.

‘Kneel,’ your voice is firm and leaves no room for debate. Not that there would be any, really, with the way Rook’s eyes widen a bit, laying his emotions to you out on a plate. He processes the order, his eyes crease in delight. Without a word, he complies, slowly descending before you as his hand finds the slit of your dress and slides up your leg. His gaze unfalteringly fixed on yours, Rook kisses your thigh time after time, leaving black lipstick marks all over. His eyes are deep and hungry, you’ve ever seen him look like that at you – as if you are the most fascinating and delicate songbird an archer could lay his gaze upon. And this archer, as of now, is caught in the headlights and at the edge of the arrow you are pointing at him.

With a smile, you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug, making him fall back a little in surprise. It’s painfully obvious how much this little game of cat and mouse is affecting him. Rook’s expression becomes a tiny bit frenzied in agitation, you know this look to emerge a short moment before he loses control. ‘Uh-huh,’ you chide. ‘Was it not you who said he would do anything for sa reine?’ His face falls theatrically and he throws his hands in the air in defeat, ‘I beg you to pardon my frivolities, but however am I expected to stay still when overwhelmed with such all-consuming beauty? Will you grace this lowly servant with your forgiveness, votre majesté?’ You giggle. ‘I will, for I am a kind ruler,’ you catch yourself thinking that that just now has sounded like a very poor impression of Crowley, but throw this annoying face (or mask, actually) out of your head immediately. ‘Now, how shall my chevalier repent, I wonder,’ you hum. Then your eyes sparkle, and you put your heel onto Rook’s chest, making him fall back even further as he caresses your calf and lowers his head to leave kisses there, too. The way he holds your shin is nothing short of a person holding the most exquisite of treasures, worshipping every inch of your skin with his lips.

His face is thoroughly flushed, and the hooded eyes, fixed on yours with an overflowing desire, leave little to imagination. ‘My, what a peculiar hunter! How he enjoys being driven into the corner,’ you drawl as you slide your leg down to a very telling bulge in his pants. ‘What an unusual display.’ His breath hitches when you press down, fingers tightening around your ankle. ‘Ma reine claims to be merciful, only to mock her poor servant so’, he sighs and shakes his head in fake dejection. You ignore his jests, silently lower onto his lap and push him down by the shoulders, still meeting no resistance whatsoever. You feel Rook grasp your waist with his hands desperately, but don’t break eye contact even for a moment, as you know that your prey will leap onto you the second you lose vigilance. You wrap your hand around his neck and close the distance between your faces, kissing his jawline. ‘Look at you, completely at my mercy now.’ ‘And wouldn’t have it any other way, mon amour,’ Rook whispers, not even trying to hide how he revels in this defeat. You tighten your hand on his neck, and snake the other one between you to cup his dick through the clothes. ‘Tell me?’, you urge him playfully. ‘You are the most fascinating creature to ever grace the lands of this world,’ he manages in a shaky voice as you continue stroking him through the velvety fabric of the fancy vampire costume. He looks the most breathtaking like this, elegant and strong yet still overpowered and bound to your will of his own volition. ‘Were you a wild savannah beast, I would gladly be devoured by your razor-sharp canines and torn by your knife-like claws, if only to surrender to your majestic beauty one last time and quench your bloodthirst,’ white-hot wave engulfs your mind and you clutch his dick harder, letting go of the neck just to yank his head back by the hair and clamp your teeth down on the tender skin so hard as if drawing blood is truly what you intend to do. He comes with a moan, and you keep stroking him through the aftershocks without unclenching your jaws. Only after you feel Rook still do you stop and raise your head to look at him.

The sight awaiting you is gratifying: ragged breaths escaping his chest, parted lips with smudged black lipstick, and, all the more thrilling, the delirious and disoriented look in his half-lidded eyes – it satisfies your hunger better than any hearty meal ever could. You leave a tender kiss on his forehead and get up, leaving Rook down on the floor beneath you, motionless and utterly ruined. You plant your heels on both sides of his head and look down, making sure to commit this sight to memory. ‘Come on, mon petit lapin, it’s high time we got back to work,’ your right shoe nudges his cheek softly and you leave, the clacking of your heels thinning out as you exit the room. Paralyzed, Rook moves no muscle in his body, his glassy eyes just boring the ceiling with a thousand-yard stare.

‘Beauté…’

[skinnypaleangryperson]

[placeinthisworld]

the way people still defend ts and her private jet that is only continuously damaging the ozone layer is….so funny.

[shannonsketches]

I just think Toei gives Vegeta a lot of shit for a guy who's maintained his rank within the top ten most powerful beings in the mortal realm since he was like five years old.

[apuff]

thinking about love in danger days

this is part of my conspiracy theory that that album is aroallo, but i've always gotten the sense that romance and romantic attatchment is much less important to danger days than any other mcr record. with bullets&revenge it's quite obvious as the demolition lovers take up like, everything, and the black parade has a heavy focus on a romantic relationship as well. 

while i do think there are lines in it that are romantically coded, there is a definitive lack of emphasis on it- like it's nowhere in the plot at all. 

i do think danger days represents a very familial type of love though. while other albums visit a sense of "i want you, i need you, i miss you, i hate you,", this is more like…"i love you, i want to protect you, i'm sorry"

i find this especially strongly in s/c/a/r/e/c/r/o/w:

"Nevermind about the shape i'm in, I'll keep you safe tonight"

"love, love, love won't stop this bomb"

"run, run, bunny, run"

and other songs: 

"i'll find you when the sun goes black"

"just save yourself and i'll hold them back tonight"

"how long until we find our way in the dark and out of harm"

relevant things i can't cover with just quotes are planetary go, oft-theorized to be about party poison and kobra kid, as brothers, leaving battery city together; sing, about the killjoys' last message to the girl while saving her; goodnite dr. death, phrased as him saying goodnight to children; and summertime, which i can't discern the meaning of but seems more like a family type of love. 

i think it makes sense that danger days is like this, seeing as it features main characters that take care of a child main character as opposed to main characters that love other main characters of the same age/ability. 

another thing i noticed while re-listening to the more sentimental songs for this essay is that there's just a distinctly different vibe to it. So much of it is focused around wanting to protect people, keep them safe and out of danger (<- ha that's the name of the album) and loved. i think this also makes sense, because the killjoys live a very, well, dangerous life without much security, and they'd want to provide what they lack the most. another semi-related thing i noticed is just how much of an emphasis there is on childhood in this album. i feel like there's a vibe of youth or teen-hood throughout the earlier ones, but this is just VERY strongly about kids. again this makes sense cause not only are the killjoys teenagers (a type of kid!) they also have a proper little kid to watch. 

also, i wonder how much of this stuff was due to gerard becoming a parent. just something to think about 

[beeextraordinary123]

Holy shit. I was doing a little AO3 wrapped for fun, and I realized that in the Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media tab, What Was Stolen is the 15th highest fic based on number of hits for any rating of fic, and the 5th highest fic for teen rated fics. That’s INSANE. I am delighted and shocked to realize just how many words I have written and published this year, and just how many people even tried to read them. If you are even one of those hits, thanks for making it a wonderful year for thievery, flirting, heartache, yearning, and knight training. I love writing my dramatic ass story, and I can’t wait to bring it to its end in the new year.

[moonlightspencie]

another post about reblogging

because by the way, guys: 4% of the people who read this fic reblogging or commenting is crazy. don’t get me wrong, i appreciate the likes, but as writers try time and time again to say, it’s much more meaningful to reblog (and/or comment)

i feel like the whole point of engaging with other fans is to… engage with them. i appreciate liking more than the silent readers, obviously, but you know what’s 100x better and actually fun? getting to talk to the people who read something i wrote. being on the site that is pretty much synonymous with fan content at this point and having 4% of the people who’ve interacted actually share with me or others that they liked it is disheartening.

call me ungrateful if you want, but ask anyone who’s been on this site for more than 5 years: it didn’t use to be like this. i miss being able to interact with readers

i get more interaction on dumbass shitposts from mutuals who don’t read all my content bc it’s not for them or not in their fandom, and you know who i appreciate a million times more than the silent likers? the folks who don’t even read my shit to begin with but comment on things! because we’re talking and having fun!

anyways

[ruelpsen]

I’m the anon who suggested thinking about your crush sitting on you and now I have a new thought. Edible gas bubbles. Like at a dinner party you see a big bowl of multi-coloured circles that look like dense large boba balls. You take a couple not really thinking about it. Then about 40 seconds later your stomach feels weird. You pat your belly gently and immediately release a large belch. Then another. And another. You ask about them and everyone gets giggly.

I'd look to L/ondo for an explanation. He'd smile, those pretty fangs and pretty eyes sparkling as he gazes at me with arousal. I belch again and he wraps an arm around me, drawing me in close. I stand next to him, blushing sheepishly as I try and fail to stifle another belch. The other C/entauri around us giggle at me in my embarrassment.

"There's no need to be shy, darling," he'd say. "What was it I told you to do at this party? To let l-"

I cut him off with yet another loud, rumbling belch. I moan from how good it feels, only to clasp my hands over my mouth the second I remember we're not alone. The other partygoers laugh heartily.

"As I was saying, I told you to let loose, to enjoy yourself. And I mean for you to enjoy yourself in every possible way."

With his free hand, he reaches over to the table with the bowl and grabs a pair of the colorful balls, handing one of them to me before popping the second in his own mouth, quickly chewing and swallowing.

"In our language, they're called tuchanta. Edible balls of gas, meant to-"

He pauses for a moment and presses a fist to his mouth, somewhat suppressing a deep, rich belch.

"Gods, that felt good," he sighs to himself. "That expulsion is precisely their purpose. To free up room so we may continue to indulge to our hearts' content!" He gestures to the one in my hand. "Come, dear, eat up for me," he says directly to me, his voice sultry and sweet. "Perhaps, sometimes, we indulge in them solely for the sensation and the pleasure it brings..."

With that encouragement, I pop it into my mouth and chew it. It's sweet, fruity, and leaves me hungry for more. I swallow and look up to L/ondo, blushing less from embarrassment and more from arousal. He pats his stomach and allows a rumbling belch to slip out. He follows it up with a wink, as I feel the members on his side against me begin to stir thanks to his own arousal. I bite my tongue to stop myself from moaning again, both as a result of his belching and arousal and because of how bloated I'm beginning to feel again. L/ondo senses this and puts his free hand on my stomach, forcing out of me an explosively impressive belch. The other C/entauri hoot and holler in an encouraging response, clearly enjoying how appropriately burpy I am.

"Fuck," I gasp breathlessly. L/ondo himself belches again, and I can't help myself any longer. In front of everyone, I pull him into a passionate kiss, feeling him stiffen further as I belch against his lips. There's cheering and whistling for us now, and L/ondo belches against me in turn. He breaks away but keeps my face close to his, whispering so no one else will hear him...

"I know how hungry you are, darling. Now go and eat to your heart's content for me. When you'd like to retire to my quarters, come find me. But make sure you bring some tuchanta with you, enough for the both of us."

With that, he pulls me to his side again and addresses our fellow partiers. "Everyone, keep an eye on my dear little love here! Clearly he knows how to belch like a C/entauri-" he pats my belly to get me to belch again for effect- "but let's show him how to eat like one too. Make sure he gets nice and full for me, yes?"

Three more of those tasty balls are pressed into my hands, along with some sort of tasty-looking pastry. Oh gods, this night is only just beginning...

[presidentofthelipglossclub]

no bc deadass the rescue bots are straight up mean as hell. like, they arent evil or immoral they’re just rude. to the point where they’re meaner than the decepticons ok like megatron kept avoiding actually gettind rid of starscream despite the constant murder attempts but heatwave was willing to get rid of two of the other bots (blades after he abandoned a rescue bc of an avalanche and blurr bc blurr). heatwave is more ruthless than megatron which is so damn funny. blades keeps insulting people for no good reason (sometimes it makes sense but like quickshadow’s accent and how she talks made him so upset). chase is harder to see but he’s willing to do anything to follow the rules and he tends to repeatedly bring up other people’s issues (i dont think i have to explain but like example is little white lies. that whole episode). boulder is very sweet most of the time but the instant heatwave gets in on it he does too. multiple times in the show this has happened (off the top of my head when blades got the scoop claw hw and boulder were laughing at him and when hw made fun of blades boulder laughed, also heatwave was saying blurr was super annoying and boulder agreed).

to be clear this is a good thing. i wanna see more complex characters who are still fundamentally good people!! you can be callous, have low empathy, be egotistical, get angry, make fun of ur friends and still make good choices and still help people. you at your worst and you at your best are still both you, but your worst being bad doesn’t mean your best isn’t good. especially because morality wise the rescue bots are the best people. i mean, they aren’t war criminals (or regular criminals), they don’t physically harm others, they don’t put others at risk (at least not intentionally), and they literally had to pretend to be actual machines while risking their lives every day. these people who treated them as essentially slaves were who they had to protect. and they did it, over and over again, without hesitation. and i think they deserve to be a bit rude for that, and because their meanness comes from caring. if they didn’t care they wouldn’t bother to speak up and be heard, even if it’s in a disrespectful way. but they do.

anyways idk rescue bots brainrot and the concept of a fundamentally good society have been eating away at me.

[some-pers0n]

Every once in a while I think about the ship I've been obsessed over for close to two years now and feel like I'm ascending to another plane of reality. Like sometimes you just encounter a ship that hits every single mark and is perfect in every regard and you're left stunned how something like that can even exist

[nadiajustbe]

On those nights when Morgan was still a very young baby and lying in his crib (and he was never quiet by nature, he's a combination of Howl and Sophie, you can only expect a walking hurricane of chaos), he would, as is typical of all babies, often scream in the night. It was very rarely a request to be fed or the cause of any pain: both parents quickly discovered that he was just waking up in the middle of the night and wanted to be naughty.

Therefore, it was usually Howl who went up to calm him down. Not because he wanted to, by any means: no one wants to get up in the middle of the night for a screaming baby, and he could have slither out of that, too, if he wanted to, but Sophie started cursing at him and forcing him out from under (their shared, mind you!) blanket. And maybe, just a little bit, he really wants to be a good father - unusual, stupid and cowardly, but still a good father.

Normally, Howl would just lean over the crib and start singing the one and only lullaby in Welsh that he remembers from his childhood: people love to sing lullabies in their own language, no matter how widespread it is. I love to remember how many Ukrainian lullabies have survived precisely because of how often they were sung at night from the heart of a parent's love.

Sophie didn't understand a word of it, but it worked surprisingly well: Morgan was falling asleep in seconds, and she found herself beginning to drift off to sleep as well. Howl would come back to bed looking like a winner, and Sophie wondered how he managed to do it every time with the same song. Especially in a language that was rarely spoken in Morgan's household: it was easier to speak English when both the child's father and mother knew it.

There were also days when Sophie was given the "honour" of calming her son. Usually, it was when Howl came home drunk from a rugby meeting or had some late-night work commitments. There were, of course, times when Sophie simply decided that she loved him enough to let Howl keep his precious sleep for one or two days.

Then she would sing a lullaby that she had inherited from her mother, which she remembered through her father, but now they were both dead, so, well, the song was rightfully hers. It certainly wasn't the mysterious Welsh notes, and it took Morgan a little longer to fall asleep, but Sophie must have been a good singer because it worked in the end. She returned to the sleeping Howl, thinking that, after all, she had two children. One is not even a year old, the other is a couple of years away from turning thirty.

One day, she decided to ask him what the lullaby he was singing was all about, and when Howl shared the translation, they were both surprised to find that the two texts had quite similar motifs: they both featured a shooting star, ancient fields, and stormy winds. Howl joked that shooting stars would never let him go, not as a child, not now.

The most interesting twist to this lullaby story came when, at around 1+ years old, Morgan started adding Welsh words to his vocabulary as he learned to speak, mixing languages. Howl thought this was a great addition: after all, not all people in Wales speak Welsh, let alone boys from parallel worlds. Sophie was not so optimistic: she was certainly happy that their child was learning new words and picking up his second native language quickly, but she did not want to ask for a translation of what her own son was saying, not even from Howl, and certainly not from Ben.

Howl assured her that with age he would learn to distinguish between them and that English would come to the fore, willy-nilly: again, there were barely two people in his environment who knew Welsh, even if he visited Megan often. Sophie would like to understand him right now, but for now she just has to accept the moments when her son points to an object and makes an incoherent set of sounds, and Sophie has to guess whether it is just childish chatter or just another Welsh word.

[cordeliawhohung]

People are so fucking outrageous you take some time for yourself that you told us you were taking and now they're up in your asks demanding stuff tell them to pay you for it, sincerely someone who doesn't mind waiting for whatever you post

on god i literally spent the last few days driving hours on end and just got back yesterday, today is my first full day back home. and i've been traveling out of town for the outreach clinic i have to work at the next few weeks, and even then i've still been writing allskdjf

lmfao i don't want to shit on that anon too much, and i'm def not trying to be rude or anything, but i'm also going to hijack your ask real quick to address stuff since i do have quite a few new followers.

while some users might not mind questions regarding when someone is updating/if they have anything planned for an ongoing series, and things like that, i specifically have it in my rules to please not do that, which is why i got a little short with them even though they arguably weren't being rude or malicious (unlike a few anons in the past have when asking things like that). this one is especially annoying because it's been literally eight days since i last updated for that, and i have other series i've been working on! like even though i'm not posting for it, i've still written a couple thousand words for pet!au, and i just finished a chapter for in limbo i'll have up for early access here in a bit, and then on tumblr probably tomorrow or wednesday.

but mostly, the reason why i specifically request that people don't ask if i have plans/when i'm updating/if i'm updating something is because i literally have an irl life. i've been pretty open recently about how i've been traveling and the work i've been doing, it's not a secret or anything lmao. it just feels... tone deaf, you know? like you come into my inbox not talking about the work, or what you like about it, or otherwise engaging with it, but just to ask if i'm giving you more, like i didn't just do that a week ago. hell, even if it's been months or years that's still rude imo because if you like something enough, then you'd probably be doing more than just asking for more, ya know? at least that's how it comes across to me. and like i said before, some people really don't care, which is why i made sure to specify it in my rules, because i do care. it ruins my mood to write and create because then it feels like a chore and people are waiting on me just to consume it and then beg for more rather than tell me what they actually enjoyed about the work lmao.

anyway, no hard feelings against that anon at all, i'm sure they didn't mean anything by it, so please don't show them any hate or anything. but just use this as a reminder to read the rules of the blogs you interact with please. or at least don't be surprised when you do something that irks them and then they're annoyed at you because of it lmao.

sorry about the rant in the tags

[onyxsboxes]

Sometimes you think you're doing fine. Then you look at how you've behaved over the past weeks/months. And well, you were wrong.