#and i feel like she's hurting her image especially by focusing too much on being a victim over things that happened years ago even now

[overthemoonwithme]

Midnights is giving me Lover/Rep vibes but with a more sophisticated aesthetic

[turtletaubwrites]

Everything’s Fine. ~ Part 2

Thank you @lonelystarsstuff for the request for a more angsty part 2, I hope you like it!

Pairing: Sanji x Fem!Reader & Zoro x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1383

Part 1

Summary: You've been seeing both Zoro and Sanji for awhile now, and now they've each been seeing one of your friends. How well do you handle sharing your boys after some time has passed?

Rating/Warnings: Fem!Reader, Reader Insert, Polyamory, Angst, Pet Names, Established Relationship, Jealousy, Relationship Drama

A/N: These blurbs are from the We've All Got Needs series (sometime after part 9), however won't fit in that storyline because I've got other plans. I hope you enjoy these, and the drama coming up in future installments!

Sanji Seeing Someone

It’s supposed to be my day.

Sanji leaned over the table to kiss Nami softly. You tried to look away, but they both looked so happy. So lost in each other

You lost your appetite. Luffy took your food, of course.

Wouldn’t want to waste it, and see Sanji hurt. 

Not that he would even notice now.

I hate this feeling. I shouldn’t be thinking like this. He’s been so good with sharing me. 

But you couldn’t get the lump of nausea out of your throat.  

You noticed that he’d focus more on you during your days, but he still went to her. Still praised her, still winked at her, still kissed her when he handed her the same treats he’d made for you. 

She grinned at you, and you desperately wanted to feel happy for your friend. But you couldn’t get there. 

“Y/N, dear?”

Your eyes closed for a moment as you were almost out the galley door.

Turning slowly, Sanji stood with his plate of breakfast looking confused. You usually stayed with him after meals on his days. 

His brows furrowed as he saw your breathing, too angry to keep your body steady. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“It’s nothing. I just need to catch up on work.”

He left his plate on the table, moving toward you with concern in his eyes. He reached toward your face, and you couldn’t stop yourself from stiffening at his touch. He looked liked you’d slapped him.

Fuck, why am I being such a bitch?

But you couldn’t shame yourself out of it. 

Nami is so useful to the crew. I’ve been doing almost nothing since I started seeing the boys. I need to remember why I’m here in the first place. 

Especially if Sanji can’t even remember when it’s my day for his affections. 

“Y/N, are you mad at-“

“I’ve been spending too much time in here everyday. I need to do my part.”

“O-Of course, darling. Can I bring you anything while you work?"

“No, thank you.”

You hated every second of this, but your mind kept getting flooded with images of him with Nami. 

It’s true. I’ve been so lost in being pampered, I haven’t been myself. 

You left him in the middle of the kitchen, determined to find yourself again. 

I can’t forget why I’m on this ship. 

You propped yourself up with your field notes next to Chopper, realizing you couldn’t remember the last time you worked beside him. 

I won’t lose myself again. 

As Time Passes

As more time passed, you found yourself getting engrossed in your work again. It felt good to me practicing your skills, being creative with your projects, and being useful. The scent of dried flowers pressed to preserve their shape. The scratch of your pencil softly capturing every detail of the specimens you’d picked up on the way.  I’m going to find plants on the Grand Line that no one has seen before. I’ll find out their uses, I’ll help people.  You found yourself spending less and less time with the boys, even on their days with you. 

Sanji seemed hurt when you'd first asked for more time to work, but he was quickly caught up in more time with Nami. The festering anger you started to feel made you sick, and you kept focused on yourself. 

He always liked her more than me anyway. 

You pushed that thought away, but after time went on even your time together was feeling strained. 

Until Sanji started going overboard.

You woke to a soft knock at your door, and he paraded in with breakfast in bed.

“My beautiful, Y/N. I’m sorry, I couldn't wait a moment longer to see your perfect face this morning.”

“Sanji-”

“Not to worry, dear. Whatever you need today, I am here to serve. I’ll make your favorite latte to help you focus on your work if you like. Or a back rub to help you relax?”

You laughed at him, still not fully awake.

“Sanji, I’m fine. I’ve just got some work to do.”

“Will you be making supplies in the kitchen with me?”

“Not today.”

Sanji swallowed, his shoulders slumping a bit. Feeling guilty, you took a breath.

“How about I stay with you after lunch for a bit before heading back?”

His eyes lit up, and he practically ran toward you, showering you with kisses. 

“Thank you, my sweet, every second in your presence is heavenly. I’m so lucky to have you, my darling. My beautif-”

You couldn’t stop laughing now, gently pushing him off so you could get up. 

You pulled him into a hug, having a feeling why he might even be more over the top lately. 

“I’ll see you at lunch, Sanji.”

You sighed into his soft kiss. Your hurt was still there. It didn’t feel like it used to with him. 

I guess we need to talk about it. 

Zoro Seeing Someone

“Hey, Needy?”

You’d followed him out on deck, happy to watch his morning training routine before he took you in the shower again. 

Robin waved at you with a teasing smile as she found a spot on deck to read. Blushing, you looked back at Zoro, only to find his eyes trained on Robin.

Your gut twisted uncomfortably, and you felt too awkward to stand and watch him like a cheerleader while he looked at her.

Fidgeting for a few moments, you went back inside. 

He can find me when he’s done. 

You had your head in the cupboard, looking for more ideas to share with Usopp for his ammo.

“I wondered where my Needy girl was hiding.”

For the first time since he gave it to you, the nickname didn’t feel comfortable.

I don’t just want to be needy. I want to be needed. 

You turned to find him glistening with sweat, breathing heavy, ready to take you over, make you forget everything. Again.

“I’ve got some work to do, Zoro.”

His head tilted, brow tensing slightly as he looked at you.

“You alright, Needy?”

Letting out a breath, you touched his hand, the skin hot in yours.

“All good, I just want to get some work done today.”

He stared for a minute, seeming to size you up. 

“Alright weirdo, see you later?”

“Mmhm.”

You turned back to your work, waiting to hear his footsteps out the door. 

As Time Passes

As more time passed, you found yourself getting engrossed in your work again. It felt good to me practicing your skills, being creative with your projects, and being useful. The scent of dried flowers pressed to preserve their shape. The scratch of your pencil softly capturing every detail of the specimens you’d picked up on the way.  I’m going to find plants on the Grand Line that no one has seen before. I’ll find out their uses, I’ll help people.  You found yourself spending less and less time with the boys, even on their days with you. 

A heavy knock at your door jolted you from your work. Standing from your desk you opened the door to find Zoro leaning against the frame. 

“Hi, what’s up?”

He frowned at you.

“What’s up with you, Needy?”

With a sigh, you stepped back and let him in. 

“I’m working on monographs from the last island. I’d like to finish up before we land anywhere else, it takes a lot of time.”

He crossed his arms.

“I didn’t know you wanted a break today.”

“We don’t need to have sex every time it’s your day, Zoro.”

His brows tensed, body stiffening at your words.

“That’s not what I meant. I… I mean we. We haven’t even talked today, Needy. I thought it was our day.”

Your head fell back to look at the ceiling as you sighed, stepping further away from him. 

“I’ve got a lot to do, Zoro. I’m not like you, the fighters, and the devil fruit users. I can’t fight. I have to use my other skills to be useful.”

His face softened, his arms uncrossing to reach for you.

“You are useful to this crew, Needy. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. 

You wanted to believe him as he held you, but you couldn’t get the image of how he looked at Robin out of your head. The respect, the admiration. She was so strong, powerful. He’d never look at you the way he looks at her. 

“Th-Thank you. I really need to get back to work, Zoro.”

He kissed the top of your head before pulling back to look at you. He still looked concerned, but he let you go. 

“You’d tell me if something was wrong, right, Needy?”

Your stomach dropped, a feeling of nausea and shame swirling in you. 

Why can’t I just tell him how I’m feeling?

But you couldn’t form the words, feeling too hurt and ashamed with yourself to manage it. 

“Everything’s fine.”

Thank You For Reading! 💜

TurtleTaub Fanfic Masterlist

Buy me a coffee ☕🙏🏼

[steviewashere]

The Sound of Silence

Rating: General CW: Internalized Ableism, Quick Mention of the 'R' Word (It's Not Written, Quite Literally as 'R' Word)Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Season 4, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute Steve Harrington, Negative Self Talk, Miscommunication, Mean Eddie Munson (For a Split Second It's Part of the Miscommunication and the Plot), Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Neurodivergent Steve Harrington (Implied), Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Sweetheart

I should say before this that a lot of Steve's thinking here, a lot of the metaphors and such used, are from personal experience. They are things I think about myself when I'm mute. So be civil and kind about this piece.

💛—————💛

Steve Harrington is a man of few words on most days. He does talk, he loves talking sometimes, has so many things to share. But on a lot of occasions, Steve can’t muster the strength to say hello. Can only make sounds, hums and gasps and subtle clicks. And often times, he hides away when he gets to that point. He’s been like this for as long as he can remember. Though, the first time it happened, he’s not sure what really caused it. Just that something was too much, or he was too little and then it all began. There had been therapists and specialists and urgent care doctors. A lot of conversations between him and his parents that often ended in him being yelled at. Something about him too far left of ‘normal’. And he knew, when the bad stuff came, that part of him may just be this way.

Now, years later, he can put some recognition to what silences him. Sometimes it’s the lack of comfortable sleep the night before. Or it’s the social energy completely drained out of him. Or it’s a particular jab that somebody makes. The raised voice that pushes him over the edge. A nightmare so harsh it rips him of not only the ability to mutter whole sentences, but also the ability to crawl out of bed.

He’s only clarified this with a select handful of people. The people in his life that were closest to him or that would understand. Robin was the second. Words written on a steno pad in the middle of the night, three days in a row where he hadn’t been sleeping properly, nightmares of a cold bunker and rough hands. Notes passed in quiet lulls, pencil scratches the only sound. She only looked at him with a sort of empathy he’s never been privy to. Her eyebrows scrunched in concentration as she focused solely on conversation in written text. He didn’t have to beg with her, which he thanked whatever god gave him her presence in the first place. Then, it was Nancy before their breakup. She could just tell. Her notes accommodated him. Space he took up was always welcoming. And her voice carried softly to his ears, gossip and pet names and gentle praise. Even if she broke his heart some time later, he would always remember her better than alcohol stained and too tipsy to make sense. Max was most recent. She, surprisingly, didn’t tease him for it. Didn’t make him feel bad. More sad than anything. Her voice was raspy in her hospital bed, “I’ll be your voice, Steve. You can be my eyes.” He could see the white, nearly iridescent glaze that permanently altered the blue color underneath. There were no words exchanged after that, but he placed his hand in hers and squeezed.

The others either didn’t notice or were too intimidating to tell. It’s not that they’re scary. But they can be harsh about certain things. And he just wasn’t ready. His voice, the absence of his words, have always been a soft, insecure, and vulnerable part to him. Laying out his cards face up on the table was too much.

But he probably should’ve considered Eddie to be one of those people that he can trust. Especially since Steve lets him move in, take up space in a spare bedroom, rummage through his cupboards. Maybe because they’re roommates. Maybe because they’re friends. Maybe because Steve wants more.

———— It was a bad night. An even worse day.

The images flashed under his eyelids every time he blinked. Blood and loose skin and wet muscles. Echoing screeches of those creatures that ruined his nearly blank torso. That sadness rippling from Dustin. His wobbling lip, wet eyes, the snotty nose, and strained yells for help. Steve’s stomach turns with every subtle movement of his body. Every single time he stretches, the scars moving with him. 

In retrospect, he shouldn’t have gone to work. Not when he woke up, throat scratchy and the seizing of his chest overwhelmingly intense with every sobbing gasp. Or when he realized, the energy somewhere else, that mustering words was the heaviest burden to bear. He shouldn’t have gone to work, where he gets yelled at for not communicating. For not counting out the change. For not selling the new movies. Where he’s called things he’s heard since he was a little boy, ‘Dumb’ and ‘Stupid’ and the infamous ‘R’ word.

He’s out of it by the time he’s able to sit down in the driver’s seat of the car. Part of him wants to bang the softest parts of his palms on the harsh, stiff leather of the steering wheel. Another piece of him wants to lean down into those same hands, pressed into the sockets of his eyes hard enough to speckle his sight with black spots, and cry until there’s nothing else to do but go home. There’s the encroaching need to scream, to hum behind his lips, wiggle his arms until they’re too tired to move, too heavy to lift, a worse burden than speaking. But he knows that it’s too open to break down in Family Video’s parking lot. So his drive home is ninety percent heaving breaths and squeezing the steering wheel to remind him he’s nearly back to his bed; his safety away from the world, somewhere where he can recharge, power through this, get back on track.

Though, he’s drained when he goes home. Exhausted. Beaten down to just a bag of meat and blood and bones. The Beemer is parked in the driveway. And he jiggles his keys in the door. And slips his shoes off, hangs up his jacket, places his wallet in the little dish in the foyer. Each step of shedding his work skin like tiptoeing on a bed of nails. Barely even makes it two steps before he’s bombarded by Eddie’s constant, erratic, and chaotic nature.

“Hey, Stevie!” he crows. “I made dinner while you were on your way back. It’s on the stovetop, covered it in foil so that it retains the heat. Oh, and I did the laundry, cleaned up our bathrooms a little bit. Made progress with the physical therapist on my bad leg and I—“

Steve sighs heavily through his nose, blinks sluggishly, and places his palm out to stop Eddie. He tries to say anything, something. But all he does is open his mouth, squeak in the back of his throat, promptly close back up, and sag. Shakes his head, sidesteps, and clambers to his bedroom.

Undressing himself like wrestling with bears. Climbing under his covers as if his comforter is a taut iron sheet. He can already sense it, the shift from charismatic Steve Harrington to odd Steve Harrington. Can’t even suppress the aching, sizzling pang that shoots through. Naked skin to his cold bedsheets. Blanket heavy. The darkness of his bedroom will coddle and consume him, he’s sure. 

Tomorrow is another day to try again. And maybe he’ll finally be able to explain himself.

But of course it’s not that simple. Of course his eyes are crusted over and burning like he spent the entire night crying. His whole body aches. And, unsurprisingly, there’s no way to conjure words from deep in his chest. Just whistled little breaths. Coming short and strained from his nose. He stays in bed for the rest of the day. Blearily, he wonders how Eddie’s doing. If the dinner from last night made it to the fridge. Wonders if the phone has rung at all, because he should be going to work.

He tries it. Tries speaking to the lonely, cold, inky blackness of his room. As if seeking for a light. The sounds strain and garble. Like his emotions are honey and he’s gargling. Choking on it. It hurts. He wonders if speaking should be like death, like a demobat tail wrapped around his tender skin, squeezing with razor blade spikes, tugging on him as stiff and thick ropes. Wonders if Eddie can hear him struggling.

Wonders if Eddie can sense him as a shadow in his own darkness, half of a man, barely a person. Thinks that there’s a million ways to explain himself, the words on paper as he did with Robin, or if Eddie will pick him up like dead star fragments and piece him back together as Nancy did, if he’ll just have to wait this out and whisper it in the fragile, sterile, fluorescent light of his childhood home—it’s a hospital in a way, maybe Eddie can perform the role of Max. Steve would offer his legs to take over for Eddie’s bad one, if he’ll be the boisterous noise that should be croaking from him any moment.

Futile, however much he wants it to work. Steve curls himself tighter in his blanket and goes back to sleep. 

Tomorrow will be another day. And he’ll be a full person again, tomorrow.

Some day, surely, he thinks on day three.

And the same on day four.

And when he can smell his skin like molded vegetables in the drawer of his fridge, only then does he stand on doe like legs, awkwardly ambling to the shower. He is twenty years old, mute as the day he was born—breathless and making noise if only to mark his presence; he thinks of himself as the stain on his bedspread, that is his presence, he’s sure. Twenty years old, moving like the toddler his mother was worried about. Crawling backwards. Unable to lift his head on his own for too long. He wonders a lot in the silence of his own existence. It doesn’t end now, in the shower with steam clearing his nasal passages. Ponders, Will I always be this way?

Surely.

The dirt swirls in invisible tornadoes down the drain. Those are his words. Still gone. Through the pipes and out to the sewer. He stands on the plush rug protecting the warm soles of his feet from the cold tile. An overly used towel, threadbare and rough, wrapped around his waist. He slips into pajamas easily enough. Hair sopping and wilted into his eyes.

Tentative creaks down the stairs. Shuffling if only to take up space. Frozen to his spot in the kitchen doorway. There, in the kitchen, shrouded in amber light with a warm mug of what appears to be hot chocolate, is Eddie. He looks up from the pale brown liquid in his cup. His eyes are richer than that of what he drinks. And Steve is startled by how sad, though ferociously angry they are.

“I know this is your house and you’re allowed to do whatever the fuck you want, but you can’t just be a piece of shit to me,” Eddie rasps. His voice is nearly hollow. Penetrated by shrapnel between his teeth. And Steve also wonders if that’s what he’ll sound like after this. This limbo he can’t control. “Seriously, Steve. I thought you were, like, changed or something. Thought you were supposed to be this good guy now. Not a douchebag, remember?”

‘Douchebag’ spits from him like acid. Steve is burning. He is sizzling. Can’t help the trembling in his hands. Or the subtle, missed by Eddie, flinch that forces him back a step.

He looks away from those molten eyes of Eddie’s. Towards the floor. At his bare feet. Going cold against the hardwood. Wants to throw it all up. The explanation. His thoughts. Every little other thing about him that’s always made him some sort of spectacle in his parent’s marriage. Am I the cold, he asks to nobody in particular, or am I the body drowning in it?

Eddie sniffles. Clears his throat. Sighs disappointingly.

Steve is five years old. His dad is sitting at the table. He is being scolded for not speaking up. Steve is eight years old, covered in mud and pink lines from being scuffed on the concrete. He is being scolded for not speaking up. Steve is eighteen years old, bloodied, beaten blue, sweaty, and soot on his new shoes. He is being scolded for not speaking up.

He is traumatized. And he is tired. And he can’t explain, no matter how much he wants.

“Maybe I should’ve expected this,” Eddie mutters, “being friends with Steve Harrington was always a sort of fantasy anyway, right? Who could like a freak?”

It’s not loud, though it disrupts the quiet Steve thought could never be broken again. He sobs. Wretched and screeching. The tears like a flash flood. His chest caving in. All the sounds escaping him, garbled and messy and drowning. He is drowning. He is different. He’s a freak. And Eddie must know, but not like Nancy does. Or he must have found something, the steno pad. Must’ve talked to Max, something.

He collapses into one of the dining chairs. A heaping mess of blood and skin and bones and meat. Just this. He is this with nothing to explain for it. 

Out of the corner of his eye, though blurry, he sees Eddie stand from his chair. Making some sort of aborted movement. And, without much thinking, Steve scrambles his hands forward, wrapping them tight on Eddie’s forearms, tugging him in too close. Forcing him to stumble into his knobby knees. Fingers still squeezing, fingernails biting into Eddie’s soft skin.

“Hey, whoa, whoa,” Eddie’s whispering, “Stevie, hey.” He crouches down, arms encased in Steve’s terrible hold. It’s almost hard to picture, the space and positions between them. Eddie’s wobbling on his own feet, probably sore and aching on his bad leg. Though, there’s a palm warm on Steve’s cheek. Wiping away at the tears. Trying to, at least; more keep streaming. Fingers carefully scooting into his hairline. Massaging on his scalp, pruning with the cold water in his hair. “Steve,” he murmurs, “hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry. That was—I’m sorry, Steve. I really am. That wasn’t okay.”

He doesn’t know what comes from him next to cause Eddie’s eyes to widen in both surprise and horror, but it must be something awful. A scream. Loud and piercing and high pitched. Shooting from him like a bullet, shattering everything between them. Shrapnel from between his teeth.

Eddie frees from Steve’s grasp, wrapping his arms around his shaking back, bringing him in gently. Rocking him from side to side until he’s only whimpering. Petting down Steve’s hiccuping back. “You’ll be okay,” he whispers against Steve’s ear. “I was being mean. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

Eventually, he pulls back some. Putting a small amount of space between their bodies. Steve is shaking from it all. Unable to do much. Eddie soothes a hand down his left arm. “Tell me what’s going on? How come you’ve been pulling away?”

Steve shakes his head. Placing a tired and limp hand on his throat.

“You lose your voice? Are you sick?” Again, Steve shakes his head. And Eddie goes quiet for a few slow moments. Until, a lightbulb seems to shine bright and shatter over his hair, amber light still causing him to glow, despite it all. He scrambles up off the floor. Squeezes Steve’s shoulders. Lightly says, “Stay here, okay? I’m gonna go find a pen and some paper. Be right back.”

When he’s back at Steve’s chair, the both of them significantly calmer, a brand new steno pad is in his hands. He hands it off with a chewed up ballpoint pen. “Tell me by writing it down.”

And so Steve does. Gives it back. Lets Eddie read his chicken scratch scrawl.

‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me,’ is the first thing. Followed by, ‘I’ve been like this since I was a little kid. When things get bad or I just don’t have the energy, it’s like my body forgets how to talk.’

“Oh,” Eddie whispers. He blinks at the paper and looks up to Steve. A sad little smile flashes on his face. “Okay, Steve. I—I think I get it. Kind of like when my day gets really busy and then when I go home, I just shut myself in my room and listen to music until I fall asleep. Kinda like that?”

Steve shrugs and reaches for the paper again. Writing, ‘Sort of. But it’s for a long time. Like…You know now. Sometimes I don’t talk for weeks. Sometimes it’s a few hours. But I get like this a lot.’ When he’s finished and Eddie goes to speak again, Steve immediately writes some more. Eddie’s mouth shuts with the soft click of his teeth.

‘Am I really a freak?’ Is what Eddie reads next.

His head shoots up from the paper. Eyes impossibly wider than they’ve ever been. Startled and desperate and unbearably sad. “No,” he murmurs quickly. “No, Steve, you’re not a freak. What makes you think that?”

The pad trembles in Steve’s grasp. He doesn’t want to write it, wouldn’t even want to speak it. But still, he sketches, ’You asked me, “Who could like a freak?”’ He tilts his head at his own words. Ducks back in, his hands shaking too much and his eyes moist. ‘It’s okay if you think so. I’m kind of used to it.’

Eddie snatches the paper from Steve’s offered grip. He swallows heavily and locks eyes with him, they’re still so sad. He wonders if that’s what Eddie’s seeing, too. “Stevie, no,” he whispers. “No, I was talking about myself. I thought you were mad at me. Thought you didn’t like me. I don’t think of you that way.”

Steve nods, sagging with relief. And with it a few tears spring loose from his eyes. A hand softly cups his jaw, thumbing at his fat hot tears. He closes his eyes and sighs. “Not mad,” he forces, his voice like raw, out of the box grits. It hurts, but he swallows. “You are my friend,” he musters before falling silent again.

A soft, sad hum emanates from Eddie. His hand tenses on Steve’s skin, but it holds to him gently, like he never wants to let go. “You’re mine, too, you know that? I’m genuinely sorry for what I said,” Eddie says. The apology sweet and drenching. “That wasn’t okay of me. I’m sorry.”

There’s no words Steve can press from within him. He lays his hand over Eddie’s and squeezes. Eyes now open and darting between Eddie’s own. He pushes their joined hands further into his cheek, sighing with it. Boneless in his chair.

“Okay,” Eddie mutters, “I understand, sweetheart. I get you now.” His thumb soothes more. Petting—caressing Steve in a way that makes his stomach flutter. “We’ll get you through this,” he promises, “I won’t go anywhere.”

💛—————💛

[unabashednightmarepizza]

𝐿𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑐𝑦

“Wait, so... HARRY IS FREAKING RELATED TO THE STRONGEST PEOPLE WIZARDING WORLD HAD EVER SEEN?! DUDE, HOW MUCH MORE COULD YOU BE OVERPOWERED?!”

“NOT TO MENTION YOUR GREAT-GRANDMOTHER IS ABSOLUTELY HOT AND COOL!”

“Oh Merlin's beard, they are a bunch of losers...”

You laughed at your daughter's exasperated sigh and ran around to gather some clothes and prepare beds for your guests while they were fawning over many artifacts of the Gaunt family and the memorials of your friends. It was a nice change of things, with never having any people around to teach them and all, seeing the many astonished faces of those next generation of witches and wizards were mesmerizing. They were eager to learn, know more about you- especially the girl, Hermione and the red-heads Ron, Fred and George who very irritatingly reminded you of someone certain- after making sure and calming them down that none of that would ever hurt them as long as you didn’t want them to do so.

Meanwhile though, Anne wasn’t having a good time with all the... noise in the house. She was playing with the end of her sleeves, a trait she had gotten from her father whenever he was stressed. Anne was much like Ominis, and it wasn’t just in appearance. She never took pride in her family origins, the Gaunts, after she learnt what they had done to both you and her fathers.

All the torture her father Ominis had gone through, all the sleepless nights and all the screams of muggles while he had to cast spells on them... even if he cried not to do so, forced by his parents... The screams he must have let out after Crucio whenever he was hurt by them, whenever he had to hurt someone...

All the images of you, bloodied and hurt by their actions, forced to slain them all, forced to watch as everyone you ever loved die just because her bastard uncle couldn’t keep it in his pants that resulted with the abomination of the Wizard world being born, and a curse forcing upon her family because of the blood connection you two had to them,something nothing would ever erase...

She was disgusted by them. By their sick ideologies, by their mere names and by having the same blood as them...

But, then again... She also had her father’s blood, the ever kind and loving man who despised anything related to dark magic. The one that would wake up in the middle of the night to tend to her or her siblings when you would be too tired. The one that danced with little her in front of the fireplace of their cozy house, the one that told her and her siblings of stories about his time in Hogwarts, more specifically after he met you, the love of his life and he was changed for the better, eventually leading him to leave his family behind for good.

She didn’t forget the day when he called her to him, and requested to be always there for their mother and write everything that happened down in her many diaries, a hobby she had picked early in her life.

Now that she looked back into the memory with softening eyes, it was almost like her dad knew he didn’t have long to live and that thought made tears swell in her cloudy eyes.

“My sweet Anne, I know that you believe the world is amazing and that you could achieve anything... I wish I would be able to see it but, take care of your mother for everyone okay? Don’t let her get lost in the dark for so long.”

And she remembers her nodding, her little, child mind not understandimg the severity of the situation and how danger was coming closer to her family day by day.

But she remembered how he lovingly caressed her hair, and hugged her for too long... Too long compared to other times he did, like it was... his last time doing it. And if he focused enough, she could still feel the tears her father shed right onto her neck.

My brave girl, I’m so proud of you... I’m sorry I wasn’t the dad you deserved...

This was the last thing Anne ever heard from any of his fathers, both saying the same, unaware of the shared sadness, unaware of what was cursed on them.

“I believe we aren’t really welcomed, huh? Sorry for my siblings by the way, if they irritate you, just tell me.”

Anne whipped her head to where the raspy yet masculine voice came from, her wand out to sense whoever was there but upon seeing the usual Weasley aura, she gave a smile. “No worries, I have dealt with much worse...” she stopped at the end, not sure how to call him when the male sat down with a kind smile.

“Charlie, Charlie Weasley. At your service, mi lady.” Charlie made a reverance, a dramatic one, not thinking much about it or how she couldn’t exactly see him. But the soft giggle she let out and the small, soft yet firm hands of the petite woman, Charlie looked up and gave a smile.

“You seem like someone who enjoys smiling... Energetic, like a puppy.”

“I thought you can’t see though?”

“I can’t... But it doesn’t stop me from making jokes, and seeing your soul.” Anne said with a serious face, wearing her most strict voice to make it more scary. They both stared at each other and soon burst out laughing while holding their stomachs. It has been a long time for either of them, laughing that hard and genuinely. It made her guilty for a second, after all the deaths that was on her hands, it wasn’t fair to those who died.

She was alive, smiling and laughing while... They were 6 feet underground..

That was what she made her believe, after all. She was sure they were somewhere around, hanging around her like ghosts and mocking her-

“Then, I take the ‘puppy’ comment as a compliment, Anne. Is that okay for me to call you?” she nodded slowly as Charlie’s words slowly pulled her out of the darkness that always took over, feeling shocked yet grateful for the boy begore her and she followed as he sat down on one of the chairs, suddenly feeling more than one eye on her as she also did the same, unconscciously.

“Your family are all watching, are they not?” she asked with a smile, and Charlie raised a brow at the curious eyes his sister and brothers were giving to him behind her back but tried to look like they weren’t eavesdropping.

“Yes, they do... Though they are shit at hiding it. Sorry for the language.” He sighed as he rubbed his neck shyly, making the older girl giggle and summon a glass of water. “Don’t be. I had 4 brothers as well and I know how it gets... Besides, just because I look like a noble, doesn’t make me so elegant. My mouth is much worse than a sailor when I get angry.”

“Hard to imagine really, you look so...” Charlie trailed off as he took a look at the woman that sat before him. She wore a thight, black dress with one of the collars those pure-blood women wore. She was wearing an emerald necklace, perhaps once belongt to her father and old enough to be a heirloom or a reminder, maybe a gift. But what made him stop wasn’t any of her clothing or blood status, or her family background.

It was the way she held herself. The way she was so calm, yet protective. The way she was smiling at him as if she saw him, and how her opal eyes were so beautiful... Pretty and mesmerizing enough that he could get lost in their cloudy gaze-

“What? Weird? I guess, I do, since I’m blind and-“

But obviously, Anne didn’t know any of it. She was used to being told this, poor fragile thing people would say. Guess, the sins of your parents were on you with this blindness...

As if they knew her family.

She used to react harshly when she was a kid, the usual Slytherin temper often coming out at the prospect of her loved ones in danger. It was a trait her mother often teased her fathers with, all the while trying to scoop her up in her arms so that she wouldn’t burst magic at the people. She never liked those who mistreated her parents for something they had no control over, such as blindness or the scars that decorated all three of your faces,  judging her because of her inability and treat her like a glass.

She was strong in her own way, her parents were the Ancient Magic Wielder, Master of Dark Arts and the Strongest Wizard, the Heir of Slytherin, after all and she mustered magic at such a young age, proving herself to others all the time.

But it was never enough, she craved more... Something human.

Her life has always been a fight, and the only human emotion she knew was danger, fighting and pain.

So, just imagine when Charlie looked at her softly- the softest look a man had ever looked at her with, especially after her father- and how shocked she was. Yet, her heart was filled with a warmth, a warmth of the spring sun shining for the first time and Anne couldn’t help but wonder why her mother even reacted that way to the Weasleys.

They were people that lifted her mood, even after such a short time of getting to know them... The man sitting before her, more than anyone, she believed.

“Beautiful... You are beautiful.” Anne widened her eyes and looked down hurriedly, feeling a blush erupt all over her face. Both young adults suddenly felt shy as Charlie’s siblings let out a loud cheer. Fred and George yelling a Good job, brother! while Ginny teasingly cooed at how sweet it was of him to say that, giggling at both of their red face as she disappeared behind one of the polished white door.

“I-I... Uhm, thank you Charlie... That was... sweet of you...” and awkward silence settled in, Charlie looked out to see that you were sweeping the backyard when your eyes caught Harry’s, who was looking at the pottery you had there as a memorial of your husband with eyes that held nostalgia and a deep emptiness. The boy experienced so much pain over the four years he spent in Hogwarts and none of them were pleasant memories. Between that prophecy and Voldemort, Harry never got to be a kid.

And now, as if his problems didn’t run too deep, he learnt truths about his life and family... And suddenly had what he always wanted right in front of him.

But...

Even when he was supposed to be happy, he felt... Angry? Heartbroken? Sad? Empty? He didn’t know what he was feeling.. On one side, he was happy to have a family but the other part... That part wanted answers, that part wanted you to explain everything to him. Why let Voldemort kill his parents if you loved them so much? Why did you not try to take care of him? Why, why, why...

“You know, not only do you look like your father but you act like him too... Heard you often got in trouble, like father like son..” your voice reached to him, making him flinch suddenly and turn to look at you with wide eyes as you tended to the flowers and gathered all that was left in the garden. He watched you, still frozen in his spot as if you weren’t affected by them at all, by the revelations you did, by how everyone was shocked inside as Anne explained the most part...

As if the gravestones right next to the pottery was all of his imagination.

But, he couldn’t help taking slow steps towards you, as if he was enchanted and stood before you  just a few steps to where you seated down. You knew he would come to you, you knew he had a lot to talk... A lot to get angry and ask answers for.

And you would give them all, slowly through time.

“I still remember James, and how he used to cause chaos around here. Running in the pottery as his aunt Anne was doing it, begging to do the same  yelling out that he was capable too... No need to say, I would often find him covered with mud and water.” Harry smiled softly as tears filled his eyes, not that you would see while you checked some of the flowers in the garden and briefly looked at the pottery that used to break your heart as the slight, barely-there image of Ominis would occasionally appear to you, clad in his apron as he would lifg his face whenever he heard your steps and hug you, getting mud all over your face and kissing you, your heart and soul clench painfully in your chest that often resulted with a doubling pain.

But your grandson was more important, and you had to do this for him... For everyone.

“He was very capable of mischief, but he was so adorable and loving. So energetic and full of hope, admiring me and Anne as we did magic... I thought he was an Ancient Magic wielder too, but was wrong. Thankfully so, if I must admit...” You murmured the last part quietly so that Harry eouldn’t hear your relief .

No one could blame you, right? Especially after how James was killed.

“... Rumor has it, you also took after him.” You came to stand next to him, not daring to touch him in case he wouldn’t want it. He looked up to you with his eyes that screamed Lily, his shiny pearls cascading down slowly which made your heart strings pull and touch his pale cheeks to wipe them.

This must have already been too much for him, but though you wouldn’t explain whole details, you would tell him as much as he wished to learn for now.

But even when he cried softly, much like how James used to when he was a kid, you could see the teasing and curiosity behind his eyelids, which eventually made you smirk under your breath as well.

“The usual Gryffindor-who-wouldn’t-follow-rules... I thought it would be different over time, with each passing generation. But I guess every single one of the children that came from us had the same fierce, passionate and adventurous side of me and Ominis.” He widened his eyes at the meanimg behind your words and gaped at you, while you looked at him amused. How did you even know it?

“You know I’m in Gryffindor? How...?”

“I was always a part of your life Harry... Not that you realized.” He stayed looking up at you, heart suddenly getting warmer at knowing someone always had an eye on him. But he was still young, and he had James’s hot temper that would leave to regret and pouts. His next words left his lips without his control, and he immediately regretted how harsh it sounded after witnessing your smile slowly falling.

“Then... Why didn’t you take me? Surely, you know the Dursleys...” he couldn’t help but spit their names angrily, remembering all the pain he went through and how easily all of it could have been avoided. If you were trully that powerful as you said, if everyone trully feared you and Anne... “Why didn’t you help my parents if you are that strong? Why didn’t you protect me?”

He wanted to scream, shove you off, demand answers, blame you for everything and no one would blame him. Harry experienced so much at such a young age, when he was supposed to live his best one and knowing that he could have gotten this, with a loving family that would stay with him no matter what rather than his aunt that often blamed him for everything and the abuse he had to face so young...

And you knew... You knew it all, but he didn’t. And you couldn’t exactly tell him everything, but you could hold him and make him see how dire the situation was.

“My precious, I tried... I even threatened Dumbledore with destroying the Hogwarts and Ministry, your aunt going as far as using magic on him...” You held onto his face thightly, wiping his angry tears away. “But Voldemort was also after us and we were on run already... Though I wanted nothing less than to take you with me, I couldn’t. Not when a curse was on us, not when the Dark Lord that came from us wanted to kill us... I thought they would be better for you, since they lived in a steady house but... I forgot how some people were...” you looked down in shame after that, your own tears falling as you let out some of the stress out of yourself.

Harry’s hand shook in shame, wanting to comfort you as the world around stopped. He never thought Voldemort would be after you and Anne either, thinking that he only wanted him. But it was clear now: None of you were ever safe, and you did what you believed was right. His anger from before dissolved and he shyly took a hold of your hand, making you lift your gaze and gasp quietly...

For it wasn’t just Harry you saw, but James whenever he would come crying to you after getting injured, it was Ominis who would caress your face first thing in the morning as you prepared breakfast and the kids slept, it was Ominis who comforted you when the news of the Gaunts searching for you both reached to you...

It was your family that had to endure all the pain a human being could ever bear.

“Life hadn’t been kind to you... Had it?” Such a simple question shouldn’t have affected one so easily, perhaps not at all. But Harry wasn’t anyone, he was just a boy wo longed to have a family, a boy whose dreams were finally coming true. So, solely for that reason, Harry could no longer deny the emotions that ran through him, simply clutching your hand that held his face so softly, a mere ghost of the woman who died protecting him. He suddenly hugged you, burying his face to your neck as he seeked comfort from his last family.

For the first time, he felt like he had someone who didn’t have too much expectations from him.

“I... I'm scared. I don’t know what to do, how to do all of this! I don’t want to be the Chosen One, I just want to enjoy my teenagehood!” you shushed him gently, rocking him back and forth as your arms snaked around his waist and to his back and squeezed him thightly. You were, once again, reminded of how James would wail loudly and your sons would immediately seek you out for comfort when they were little and that only made your tear fall harder as your hand massaged Harry’s scalp softly, making him relax onto you.

“I’m sorry, darling boy... For being the reason of your suffering. When I first learnt about you, I prayed for the first time that the prophecy would slip past you... Unfortunately it didn’t and I would call you either a stupid or naive if you weren’t scared but you are no longer alone.” Both of you chuckled at your comment, Harry slowly pulled away from you and gave you that half-sad and half-happy smile as you side hugged him, bot being able to stop yourself from coddling your grandson. You comfortingly rubbed his shoulders as you both gazed at the memorial stones where six names were written.

Six names that was important to you and your family once.

Ominis Potter.

Sebastian Sallow-Potter.

Anne Sallow.

James Potter.

Lily Potter.

Regulus Black.

The last name caught Harry’s attention, the same surname that could never be a coincidence surely peeked his interest. Why was that surname was the same as his godfather’s?

“Uhm... Why does the last one have the same surname as-“ he started as you let your eyes wander to where he looked, a deep pang in your heart hurting very badly at the name written on it.

“Sirius? Oh well...” you briefly looked at the stone and then back at the two men who you considered as sons after James introduced you and then back at Harry, with a somber smile at the vision of curly, black hair and grey eyes appearing right before your own. ” It’s a long story, Harry and it is late... Maybe I will tell later, tomorrow. Let’s get inside.” You urged him inside softly, pointing to the door where everyone was seated safely. The garden was big and enormous, and the walk back was long. Longer than normal but longer enough for you to get one last thing out of your chest.

One thing you always itched to say to James, and every single person that came from you.

“I am the reason these all started again, and I will fight tooth and nail to defeat him... You don’t have to fight alone Harry, not anymore. I can’t take that Chosen One title back from you, but I can definetly protect you from it.” Harry didn’t stop you, just continued to walk next to you as sadness and warmth flooded him.

Sadness because of how badly you blamed yourself and how no one ever thought of you to be innocent, warmth because how loving and protective you were.

Definetly a great change after everything he had seen.

“I know I did many unforgivable, stupid mistakes. Mistakes that resulted with many deaths, tears and sorrow. And there isn't a day that I don’t regret over my actions, these burial stones being the reminder of them... I know I was wrong, and I don’t expect you to forgive me because Merlin knows, I wouldn’t do it if I were you-“ you were adamant on going on, doing anything so that your grandson wouldn’t hate you... so that he would understand you. This, the guilt, was one of the many things that kept you away from him for so long and though you knew it was stupid...

You didn’t want him to hate you.

But what you didn’t know, Harry would never hate you. As long as he lived, you would be the woman he would cherish and respect endlessly. And though he was still a kid, he understood how you struggled.

Being the Chosen One ran in the family, I guess?

“Grandmother, it’s okay... Though I don’t understand everything, I know you are innocent. As well as Aunt Anne...” he took your hand softly and smiled widely, showing his pearls and how true he was being. A shy look soon settled on his face and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, making you pinch his cheeks and making him whine.” Besides, we have all the time to talk about everything, no? I can’t wait to hear more about-about everything! How did you meet with Grandpa? When did you attend Hogwarts? Were you cool like those wizards and witches we heard about? Do I look like Grandpa?”

A huge grin overtook your face as you hugged him thightly, actually crunching a few painful knots in his shoulder but neither one of you cared when both of you found what was lost once.

Not when you both accepted the other as family.

And as the night breeze made both of you shiver, you patted Harry’s back when you two stood in front of the door of the house, to make him get inside before turning to look at the memorial of your lovers and family.

At least, you were finally able to keep your promise to them, albeit a bit laye... Though it was at great costs... Cost of Dark Magic.

“I wonder what you would do if you learnt the true me, my boy...” you muttered under your breath as you let your magic unfold, the golden, black, and dark red color of it illuminating your face as the darkness settled in deep in your heart.

The same darkness that clouded Sebastian...

The same one that clouded Voldemort.

 You didn’t know what future would bring but there was one thing you were sure as you let your magic disappear and get inside the house, closimg the door thightly behind you after looking at the horizon...

Anyone who touched your family, would have to face the darkest witch of all times.

[bluecatwriter]

Director’s cut ask game: ⭐️⭐️ (aka whatever story you want to talk about!)

Thanks so much for the ask! I scrolled through my fics and chose one of my ensemble pieces, "Waiting,": "It's mid-October, and as the group stays in Varna listening for news of Dracula's whereabouts, Jonathan observes the way that each person deals with the growing suspense of waiting." (Spoilers ahead...)

-I think I started drafting this fic after I'd finished my first run of Dracula Daily back in 2022, but it sat half-finished for several months before I finally started working on it again. As is evident from the huge number of my fics that take place during the week in Varna, I'm a bit obsessed with that part of the book: the waiting feels unbearable, and of course my mind starts spinning stories of what everyone is doing to pass the time!

-I decided on Jonathan's perspective here, because I thought it would be interesting to view each person's coping strategy through one person's point of view. (I ended up doing this again in a different fic from Arthur's perspective, called "A Week in Varna.")

-The story has five parts, each focused on a different member of the Crew of Light (with Jonathan and Mina sharing the last section). I can't remember the original sequence, but I do remember that I reshuffled it a few times in order to get the narrative to flow.

-In the part about Van Helsing, I tried to show how heavy a toll all the waiting was taking as he tried to stay in control: keeping tabs on Mina's slow transformation, trying to do research, and so on. I loved the image of him praying the rosary over Mina while she slept during the day, too. And he's doing his best to try to make sure Jonathan isn't getting snacked on (but he's not very tactful about it). I tried to show Jonathan's compassion and empathy for him, even as Jonathan is withholding information from him.

-Beloved Arthur! He's the guy in the group who always has a granola bar in his fanny pack, and we love him for it. He is always golden-retriever-coded in my stories, but especially when writing from Jonathan's perspective. I did some minor internet searching to find a candy that someone would be likely to find in Bulgaria in the 1890s, but not sure if I succeeded. (If the violetki is anything like the drop hard licorice I ate in the Netherlands, I probably would not like it! Hopefully Jonathan does, though.)

-Quincey and Jonathan having an unexpected connection was a nice addition to this story, and looking back I can see some seeds for my later fic, "Step Into the Light." I liked the image of them sitting together in companionable silence, each cleaning and preparing their weapon.

-The section with Jack was the most fun to write, because he's being unbearably awkward and annoying to Jonathan right now, which is a dynamic that always makes me laugh for some reason. Though his dialogue is pretty ambiguous in the story, as I was writing it, the vibe I was going for was, "Trying to bring up the subject of 'what if your wife is eating you??' but wisely deciding to settle for some extremely ineffective flirting instead."

-The Jonathan/Mina scene in this one was the hardest to get right, but I'm happy with how it turned out. I wanted to show the ways that Jonathan is both supporting her (agreeing to pray with her every night despite All That going on with him) and putting his foot down (insisting that she drink from him every night). I also wanted to emphasize the different ways that they are dealing with God at this point— Mina through devotion, Jonathan through a dread and angry sense of waiting to see how it ends for him to make up his mind about what's going on. I'm one of those people who headcanons Jonathan as keeping his faith— albeit in a different, more mature form— in the end, but at this point all he knows is that Mina is hurt, and his teeth are bared.

-Speaking of bared teeth, Mina gets to drink all the blood she wants! #girlboss. This scene was pretty erotic but I ended up writing a more explicit version of it from Mina's perspective, which was really interesting, too. 

-I'm a bit too happy with the closing line: "Jonathan kept his promise to the professor— he did not need to tell him about the marks on his thigh, because he knew exactly what had caused them." BOOM. MIC DROP! But seriously, I liked how this tied the ending to the beginning scene, and how it shows Jonathan once again disobeying an old man telling him what to do by being sneaky about it. That's my boy!

Thank you again for asking! :D

(Ask game here)

[pain-is-too-tired]

Great now I'm thinking about Clarisse and Michael again.

We know from Michael's interaction with Percy later at Williamsburg Bridge that after Clarisse still refused to join the fight after getting the chariot, that he said some "choice words"

Knowing him, probably cussed her out a bit gdgdg

But honestly, I'm imagining him also calling her out on caring too much about her pride than lives

Because, for all the fighting to keep the chariot,we don't really know what was happening between getting the chariot and BoM. Other than Beckendorf's death.

And we see Michael's pride isn't something that he's completely obsessed with. If anything, his pride seems to be centered more on his cabin than himself. We don't know what it took to get the chariot, but I'm sure his cabin fought hard in the battle. Of course he'd want to keep it, his siblings earned that.

Clarisse's seems a little more focused on her own pride or the image of her cabin. She led the battle, so she thinks that the Chariot should be hers. Despite the fact they probably wouldn't have the Chariot if the Apollo cabin hadn't taken it, and as archers a flying Chariot is much more suited to their fighting style.

For how people talk about Michael, even in the books, he doesn't seem to be on the same level of attitude/aggression as Clarisse.

I think he just matches what he's given.

Clarisse is the one who started the fight with the chariot. That's why Annabeth specifically says she'll come to her senses. Because the Apollo cabin are just defending what's their's, maybe aggressively but they have even Chiron supporting that the chariot should be their's. Michael is being more on the defensive in a loud way. It's why no one goes to him and tells him to just give into Clarisse, heck Percy assumes Michael would still have the chariot during BoM. No one wants to just let Clarisse run over the Apollo cabin's achievements. Especially not Michael who's only been Head Counselor for a year.

Yet, Michael is the first to step away from it. But he doesn't let Clarisse just get by with still putting her pride first. He gives her choice words, likely out of lot of emotion, then just leaves.

And he dies. He dies defending Manhattan and his peers against Kronos. He let's Percy push him out of the way on Olympus, he doesn't fuss other than a sarcastic comment when Percy pretty much has Annabeth take over organizing his cabin. He let's Percy make the calls once he's on the scene, continuing to fight when he was just about to retreat. Than retreating when Percy actually orders a retreat. Only to come back when he sees Percy on his own after Annabeth is hurt.

He dies making sure Kronos doesn't get past them. Armed with nothing but one arrow and an idea.

And when Clarisse finally gets to the Battle, it's because her cabin and Silena left without her. She goes berserk on battle more so out of grief than duty.

I really do wish we got to see her reaction to learning about Michael's death/disappearance. Obviously she's had guilt over Silena's death. But she got to say goodbye. She got to be there for her and avenge her.

The last words she heard from Michael was likely him cussing her out.

There's one song I think about when I think about their relationship and it's Allies or Enemies by The Crane Wives

What happens now? Do we have another go? Do we bow out, and take our separate roads? I'll admit I've had my doubts But I want to be let in, not out But I want to be let in, not out Are we allies or enemies? This will be the death of me This will be the death of me All is fair in love, and war But I can't fight with you anymore This will be the death of me

Idk, just something about it hits. Really I don't think Michael necessarily hated Clarisse, I think he was disappointed and upset. And I feel like Clarisse would take his death hard, at least feel pretty guilty. Especially if she was close to him before hand. Heck even if she had just been close to Lee, she would feel lot of guilt for not being there to help his siblings.

And even more so. The last words they ever shared was out of anger.

And she'll never get to apologize.

[mama-qwerty]

So this is from an original I was working on, oh, about 8 years ago. I couldn't decide how I wanted to handle it, so I have 3 different beginnings for it.

(Yes, the character's name is Callie. I like the name and just used it everywhere because I hate coming up with names.)

~~~~~

Callie tried to stay calm. She really did.

But it was kind of hard not to panic when being chased by a nine-foot daemon. Especially one that so closely resembled a giant spider. But with twice as many legs. And very big fangs.

The other daemon, the seven-foot troll-like thing that had appeared on the other side of town, was behaving just as her master had predicted. It lumbered down the designated path toward the trap, herded along by the warriors trained to deal with these types of things. When they reach the clearing between the town and forest to the south, they would capture and dispose of it quickly and efficiently, before it had a chance to hurt anyone or cause any damage.

This monstrosity behind her, however, wasn't as cooperative. Or as respectful to carefully laid plans.

This one had stepped through an open rift hidden by the treeline on the outskirts of the forest to the north. Callie knew this area well – she spent many hours cataloging the foliage and wildlife there. She had just finished measuring the growth of a group of evergreen saplings when she felt the rift open. The prickle started at the base of her skull, making the fine hairs on her neck stand on end. The feeling intensified, traveling up the back of her scalp when the daemon appeared.

It stepped through, blinking its many red eyes. Callie stood still, eyes wide and heart pounding. The thing shuffled in the underbrush for a few seconds, seeming to test the firmness of the ground beneath it. Its body swayed uncertainly, as it shifted its weight over its many legs. An image flashed in Callie's mind, of a newborn fawn finding its footing.

Then it opened his mouth, uttering a high-pitched primal screech. Callie jerked at the sound. The movement drew the creature's attention, and it spun toward her, lifting itself up on its four hindmost legs. The screech came again, this time louder.

So the brunette ran. Despite its multitude of legs, the daemon was surprisingly slow. It moved clumsily, occasionally tripping over its own limbs. But it would right itself quickly, intent on the chase. And the hope for a kill.

Callie pushed her panic back, focusing her mind on one goal—get this thing to the clearing near the southern woods. It was a fairly straight shot through town, but that would have lead the monstrosity through the highly-populated market square. The more people about, the higher the chances of utter catastrophe. No, best to take a less populated route.

But every twist and turn she attempted to lure the thing to its imminent demise resulted in disaster. She'd tuck into an alley, and the daemon would destroy the buildings in its pursuit. When she zigged left, the creature zagged right, heading straight for the market square. It destroyed three shops and injured five people before she reversed course and gained its attention once again.

The trollish daemon's rift had opened across town, drawing the master scribe out to head the “disposal” efforts. Callie had stayed behind, with the intention of staying out of the way. Dealing with daemons wasn't her forte.

Oh the irony.

A stitch appeared in her side. She kept running, but every breath felt like a hard finger jabbing her in the spot below her ribs. The thing behind her bellowed in its endless rage. It was also catching up. She needed a new plan.

Plans were not her forte, either. There were always too many variables, too much to consider. If she had time, she could develop a few possibilities, compare their chances of success, ultimately deciding on the one that offered the best opportunity for disposal of the daemon with low damage and casualties.

But she didn't have time. The stitch in her side was growing steadily worse, causing her stride to stagger and breathing turn shallow. It wouldn't be long until the thing overtook her.

Panic, the unwelcome visitor slinking in the back of her mind, stretched further. Rational thought was impossible at this point. Now it was all about survival.

Each breath tore at her side, and she cut hard to her left. Villagers offered her questioning looks as she streaked past, and uttered screams when they saw her pursuer. Callie could only hope they dove for cover before the thing on her heels decided to pick an easier target.

Another hard right and she found herself in the large field to the east of town. Four large grain bins stood in the middle, each pair filled with the most basic ingredients necessary to carry the village through the wet, cold months of winter—the first two held corn, the remaining two wheat. If luck was with her, she could burrow into one of those silos and hide out while the daemon searched for her. By that time word would have gotten back to her master and the warriors, and they'd come tend to the thing properly.

The open field gave the daemon an easy view of her, and less obstacles to slow it down. Its many legs moved faster, the previous clumsy movements gone.

Callie cut around the back of the left-most bin. She slowed enough to allow the creature to close the ever-shrinking distance slightly, then curved around the next bin in an S-shaped course. The thing followed, barely squeezing its bulk between the tall stone structures.

Callie curled around the next bin, continuing her serpentine path. The painful stitch stretched all along the length of her side now, digging into her hip and causing her to favor her right leg. Every breath was agony. Her legs trembled. Time to stop running.

Curling around the last grain bin, Callie doubled back to complete the figure eight pattern. The thing registered surprise—as much as a daemon could look surprised, anyway—and swiped a clawed leg at her as she passed. She ducked, half-crawling around the base of the third silo to the foot of a tall ladder. It lead to a small platform at the top, where workers dumped the harvested grain through a small square door.

Ignoring the stitch currently ripping at her side and the wobbly feeling in her legs, Callie climbed. The daemon passed her once, missing her only by chance. It was still giving chase around the silos and hadn't noticed she was no longer on the ground.

Callie pulled herself onto the standing platform, and yanked open the wooden door. A small cloud of grain dust puffed forth, making Callie cough. The daemon below her roared in response. The brunette swore under her breath. Betrayed by her own hiding place.

As the creature doubled back, Callie leapt into the silo. She landed in the dry store of wheat meant to carry them through the winter. It poured into her clothes, making her itch. Dust billowed around her, getting in her nose, her eyes, her mouth, making her gag, sneeze, and cough. She sank for a few seconds, conjuring up mental images of suffocating at the bottom of the silo, but then settled to a stop with the wheat up to her chest. Through some effort, she shimmied and maneuvered herself to a more reclined position to prevent further sinking and possible entrapment.

Outside, the daemon searched. It circled the silos, roaring and growling in anger at the sudden disappearance of its prey. Callie closed her watery eyes and hoped the warriors would show up soon.

Two minutes later, Callie opened her eyes. Silence drummed at her ears, broken only by her own shallow breathing. Something wasn't right.

Slowly, she half-crawled, half-swam her way through the wheat toward the ladder directly under the wooden door. Her tired muscles objected, making her grip shaky and climb slow. All the while she kept her ears tuned to the area outside. No sign of the daemon.

Holding her breath, Callie gently pushed the wooden door open. She blinked against the bright sunlight, and cautiously peeked through the opening. The ground around the base of the silos, worn smooth by the foot traffic of countless generations, was rough and churned by the sharp, spiky feet of the daemon. But there was no sign of the creature itself.

Callie let out a long, controlled exhale and opened the door wider. She looked to the left and found the same churned path. Still no daemon. The door opened wider and she leaned out, listening for signs it had returned to the village to continue its rampage.

Instead she heard movement against the side of the silo. She turned, and ducked as one of the daemon's bony legs pierced the air where her head had been. Crying out, Callie pushed herself backwards, falling back into the soft, itchy wheat store. A second later and the wooden door was gone, torn to shreds by the daemon as it tried to reach the prey inside.

Heart thumping, Callie scrambled away from the thrashing monster. Having discovered the doorway much too small and secure to allow it entrance, the thing was now tearing the wooden roof to shambles. Daylight streamed in, as splinters and broken planks rained down into the wheat.

“Oh Gods oh Gods oh Gods!” Callie prayed, flattening herself against the far wall. The thing above her had just about broken a hole large enough to push through.

The daemon brought two forelegs down against the roof. The strike shattered the cross support beam, sending the entire structure into a free fall into the silo. It landed at an angle, creating an impromptu shield and cover for Callie.

This pushed the daemon into an even larger rage. It scrambled into the silo, landing on top of the broken roof. The thing's sharp, heavily armored legs poked hole after hole into the wood, as it kept two legs hooked over the top edge of the silo to support its large, heavy body. Despite this anchor, it was starting to sink into the wheat. It shrieked as the wheat swallowed inch after inch of its thick legs.

In a panic, the creature dug its claws into the stone wall, desperate for purchase. Callie covered her ears to block out both the monster's screams, and the skin-crawling sound of its bony exoskeleton scraping against the stone. Each swipe with a claw left a deep groove in the stone, and generated a rain of small sparks. Most blinked out of existence a second later, but a few managed to stay alight until they reached the wheat. The more the daemon sank, the more panicked it became, the more it scraped and dug at the walls. The more sparks were born. The more landed in the dry, dusty wheat.

Behind her makeshift shield, Callie could only hold onto the wall and avoid the thrashing and poking of the daemon. She herself was starting to sink further into the wheat, and she kicked to keep herself above it.

Between the wheat dust and overall stink of the daemon itself, Callie didn't notice the smell of smoke. It wasn't until she looked up through one of the daemon created holes in the roof that she noticed the dark clouds billowing out of the silo. That's when she felt the heat.

The daemon screeched, this time in fear. The wheat around it burned, and every attempt it made to escape only spread the flames. Its prey forgotten, the thing's only focus now was to get away from the ever-growing fire around it.

Screeching in panic, the daemon thrashed and kicked and bucked its body. Large holes appeared where its legs had punched through the walls, and burning wheat leaked out. Seemingly encouraged by the reaction, it kept punching holes into the stone, until the entire right side of the silo was more hole than wall.

Wheat, burning and non, poured out, pooling on the ground below. In some areas the falling grain smothered the flames, in others they spread hungrily. Soon the entire ground was aflame.

With less wheat to hold it, the daemon righted itself and scrambled toward the large hole it had created. As it pushed and shoved its way out, the rest of the silo creaked under the stress and strain. The still intact upper wall crumbled, causing the structure to lean heavily to the right.

Callie felt the silo lean, and grabbed the remaining roof around her. The wheat drained out, pulling her along with it.

The daemon, meanwhile, had managed to push itself through the broken wall, but the collapsing silo pinned it against the last storage unit in line. Frantic, the daemon pushed and scraped against the intact silo. Holes appeared in its walls, replaying what had happened to its neighbor just a moment ago. The wheat stored in that silo spilled out, adding to the flames below.

The broken roof slid along with the draining wheat, dragging Callie toward the trapped, panicking daemon. The entire silo crumbled, threatening to crush the girl if the daemon didn't get her first.

A large chunk of wall fell away to Callie's right, and she scrambled to escape. The daemon's struggling made for a difficult path, as it flailed its many legs wildly. At last she saw the outside world, and jumped the last five feet to the ground below.

Villagers ran toward her, some with weapons, others simply curious about the commotion. The daemon's struggles were weakening, its fight nearly spent.

“What happened?” an older man asked, his gnarled hands curled around a large pitchfork.

Before Callie could respond, the last silo collapsed. Two heavy chunks of stone fell directly onto the daemon's body, resulting in a mind-numbing crunch. Its legs spasmed, kicking at the burning piles of wheat below. The flames spread, eagerly devouring the remaining wheat, and the dry patches of grass close by.

Then, stillness. Thick black ichor seeped from the daemon's broken body, mixing with the wheat not already on fire. When flames touched the grain tainted with this foul fluid, they flared, burning bright blue.

“What's going on?” a familiar voice called from the growing crowd. “What's happened here?”

Callie turned to see her master push through. Garvan Tierney, master scribe of Westerbarrow, took in the scene with wide eyes. Confusion passed over his face, then he saw his apprentice. The confusion was replaced with a tired acceptance.

She offered him an embarrassed smile.

“I can explain.”

~X~X~X~

“For the good of the village, she has to go.”

Callie sat with her head slightly bowed, hands folded neatly in her lap. The Yarl stood with his hands clasped behind his back, a single attendant hovering by the door with a scroll and charcoal pencil. Every time his master spoke, he scribbled furiously to record the words.

“Yarl, be reasonable,” Garvin Teirney, the village's Master Scribe, said in a calm voice. “She meant no harm. In fact, she tried to lead the deamon away from the village.”

“And yet, here we are,” the Yarl said, anger edging into his voice. “Half the village's food supply gone, countless buildings damaged, and a fairly large daemon rotting on the edge of town.” He glanced at the girl to his right. “She may have meant no harm, but she caused plenty of it.”

Callie lowered her head, cheeks burning.

“She was alone in the forest to the north of town when this daemon appeared,” Garvin said, crossing his arms. “She was defenseless and understandably terrified. What should she have done? What would YOU have done?”

“Spare me your logical arguments, Scribe,” the Yarl said, waving a dismissive hand. “The fact remains this was not an isolated incident and you know it. She has caused catastrophe after catastrophe in the past.” He turned toward the door. “She must be gone by sundown tomorrow.”

~~

And that's where I petered out. It wasn't clicking with me so I switched to a different angle for it and started over.

[frigid-moon-fall]

Wanting to grow up quickly probably helped to hurt Leon's few relationships.

He can't be honest when he's focusing on being seen as mature. Even though he is pretty openly immature with Marian, it probably makes him hesitate a little or say something he doesn't mean even with her. A lot of thoughts and wants aren't okay to share because they're too childish--and he doesn't want to be seen as a child.

And they make a point of him having many childish traits, some of which are a little lost across the culture barrier. I wonder how many more he might have been hiding.

A lot of emotional needs for a lot of people go unmet because it doesn't feel like something they can ask for. It's not something that someone like them should ask for. "Someone like them" could be any kind of box that they think they belong in.

I know that sweets are the most obvious and comedically framed thing, but there's probably plenty of things in life that get treated the same as sweets for him. Things he'll deny himself if other people are watching because it doesn't fit the image he wants to project. Things he'll deny in any scenario because wanting something--anything--looks bad. It has to be insisted at him over and over and framed as something that someone else wants him to do so he has an excuse.

I'm kind of scared to talk about what that reminds me of exactly. It's something that you'll find is very very common (and in fact pretty rare to not be the case) in a specific type of media. It's something that's uncomfortable for audiences outside of the culture it was produced, and the reasoning for it being that way always has to be explained. I hate speaking so vaguely about it, but I don't think what crowd is left here is especially interested in it.

(Or, ignore all of that in favor of the aside in Tales of Fandom vol1 where apparently he's fine asking for frivolous things like imported eggs and sugar just for his flan lmao ridiculous little rich bastrd)

And, related to the previous post, I think that Marian herself has also unintentionally (and yet it was probably sadly inevitable) hurt his ability to bond with others.

He may also be close with Chaltier, and some continuities even place Leon as basically never having gone a day in his life without Chal being there. But Chaltier is still different. There's love there, but Marian is everything. She is every love to him, and she's been able to physically hold him through the worst of his youth.

And it's basically been drilled into him (at least in Proust's continuity, for sure) that nobody will ever love him like either of them do. Nobody will understand him like Chaltier does. Nobody will accept him wholly and unconditionally like Marian does. Even when that's demonstrably untrue with Stahn's unshakable belief in him.

It wouldn't surprise me if it was intentional on Mictlan's end. A real long con manipulation. It helped corner and put Leon right where he needed him to be, after all.

And in that, Chaltier and Marian are victims as well. They probably know that Leon putting that much value in them is hurting him in the long run, but can't really do anything to correct course. They've both tried. They've encouraged him to branch out and make more friends, to reach out to Rutee, and he fights it every step of the way. There is nothing that they can personally do to make him see that other people could care for him like they do. He has to be the one to take the blinders off and see and learn that for himself.

It's just a shame that he took them off just a few minutes too late.

tl;dr this kid's been spectacularly set up to fail from birth.

(Bonus: In Director's Cut where Marian finally has the chance to reject him, that could have gone incredibly poorly. We don't get to see the awkward aftermath that led up to them still being close and comfortable friends, but like, one wrong move could have probably cemented that mindset into "Not even Marian can love me" and isolate him further.)

[demonbirdsforever]

The Truth about Injustice

I sat upon my Throne, one leg over an armrest. As I stare at the images, shown within the small glass ball in my hand. I can’t stop myself from smiling maliciously. I begin to laugh, and laugh, and laugh before I truly destroy everything around me, I slowly get control of my emotions.

I rise from my Throne and head towards a rack with other similar glass balls. Each one focused on a particular person. Today I have much work to do. A show to put on and people to meet. Just before I head out I start to create my false personality. One that’s weaker and focused daddy dearest’s plans.

Oh! How hilarious it is to me that everyone thinks that Superman becoming a Tyrant was because of Lois and their baby dying. When really it was it was my doing.

I remember that day. As a powerful Empath, how could I possibly forget? I remember the pure joy Joker felt as he succeeded in his plans. I remember the deaths and the pain of the injured. I remember the shock and agony as realization hit everyone. Lastly I remember the feeling of my humanity crumbling. My compassion gone like dust on the wind and my morals no longer standing in the way.

So much had happened that day. Not even my “friends” had come out of it whole. I take moment to remember my so called “friends”. Starfire in particular makes me clench my fists so hard, I begin to bleed. It still boggles my mind to this day. She thought I crumbled because Beast Boy had died. Me?! The one who childishly summoned her own father. Causing the complete and utter annihilation of her entire planet. I felt there deaths! I felt my mother’s death! I was brought to my father’s hellish realm. I was 10! I am a powerful empath and I was 10 years old! It took me 4 years to escape that realm. Knowing and accepting that I would have to deal with my father for the rest of my existence. Did she truly believe that the death of Beast Boy would be the only thing to break me? How dare she! How dare that BITCH believe me to be so pathetic and weak as to crumble so easily. When someone dies around me it’s like losing a friend, each and every time. That day, I didn’t lose one person. I lost millions… I lost Lois too…

The mere thought of everyone believing that I broke over one man. Hurts my demonic pride like nothing else would. Was I truly so pathetic in everyone’s eyes? In Starfire’s? Damn you Starfire! I will break you!!!

Using my meditation techniques. I get my emotions under control again. I take a moment to look around and see the sheer destruction I had caused. Sighing, I take a few moments to repair and put everything back in place. Than I go back to what I was originally doing. Creating my fake personality and focusing on more amusing thoughts.

Once I was free of my humanity. I thought about just destroying everything as father would want, but decided I wanted some revenge and fun first. I mean it’s not like anyone here cares enough to realize what’s happened. Too focused on the explosion and poor little Superman. To ever register the type of suffering an explosion like that could cause an Empath. A quick death is too good for them.

It took a while and even now, I still have to be on my toes . Any mistakes could be the downfall of my plans. It first started with nudges on Superman and Wonder Woman. A nudge of emotion here. A altered memory there and a whispered thought at the right moment. Causing two people, who were originally inspirations. To being a Tyrant and a simpering woman in love. Wonder Woman was easy. Her great ability for Love became her greatest vulnerability. Superman was harder. Not only because of his experience in dealing with psychic’s but also because he was the centre of attention. Any changes done too much or too quickly and his closet friends would notice. As would people like Mr.Terrific and Martin Manhunter. It was also quite frustrating. Especially when I’d come back to find some of my work undone.

As time went on I moved from those two, outwards. Towards the rest of the League and others… Like the villains and civilians. Some like Batman and Nightwing were untouchable because they would have immediately noticed anything strange. So I had to go looking for someone more vulnerable like Damian. He was always an emotional person. Reverting him to his old childish self took some time but was an interesting experience. It ended up giving me a moment too precious to pass up. Causing Nightwing’s death and placing the blame on Damian was immensely rewarding. Especially when it lead to Damian turning on Batman. A “Friend” eliminated and a nuance focused elsewhere.

Thinking over all that I’ve done over the last few years makes me grin and the best part, was erasing Joker. Oh, people still remember the explosion. They even know Joker did it but they don’t remember Joker. It amuses me greatly when I told him what I did. Not everything. Just the erasing part. The look on his face was priceless. I even took a picture and have it hung on my wall.

Yes, it was tough and some would even say pointless but to me it’s well worth it. After all… who would ever believe that poor pathetic little Raven would ever be a real threat. Grinning I finish up and teleport to my next location. I have a show to put on… and a “friend” to deal with. Don’t worry Cyborg. I haven’t forgotten you…

The End by LadyLark

*I hope I didn’t do the Injustice Universe an Injustice.(Pun intended😎)

*For those wondering. A lot of the psychic stuff came from my reading Mercedes Lackey books. Including the false personality bit.

[pentuturbahasamelayubaku]

you don’t love me the way i love you (anymore).

did you see her when you’re looking at me?

the first time she notices this was when michael kaiser talked about a past lover of his. the dawning realisation that he’s not looking at her. he’s looking at the her he saw in his current lover.

she figured it wasn’t something worth dwelling on. after all, these things happen, right? sometimes, when you look at something or someone, memory or resemblance of someone or something will always manifest within that thing/person. you could look at an elderly woman and think “she reminds me of my own mom. i can feel the same warmth she had when she was around.”

you could see the memory of your deceased pet in an animal that acts the same way your beloved pet did. so really, there’s nothing for her to be hurt by. she may be an emotional thinker, but she’s grown to become rational overtime. instead of focusing solely on her own emotions, she focuses more on how and why things happen. it’s always been best for her that way.

and so, she supposes it’s as clear as the sky now, when she realises the reason behind kaiser’s strange mistakes. calling her by the wrong name, buying her things that she didn’t like, misremembering the simplest things about her. 

it’s because he’s started to let the image of his ex-girlfriend blind him. 

and she could only smile. he doesn’t even notice how her eyes swim with melancholy as he excitedly recites some event he had in the past with his ex-lover. at the end of the day, she stays there in his arms  — carrying a hurt that he didn’t even notice existing. despite everything, she treated him the same way that she did always. kind, loving, attentive. hiding how she feels in front of people has always been her strength, after all. she hates being vulnerable, especially in front of people. betrayal comes too easy when you’re honest, she learned it much too fast, much too early.

“you don’t talk as much as she does, though. she always talks about her day, the random things she’s seen. it’s like she’s the sun.” 

ah, so it’s slipped into comparison now. not only he saw her in his current girlfriend, but he even made the crushing mistake of noting the differences between the two. it makes her feel a little low about herself but she nods and sips her drink.

she can’t afford to get angry at the moment. anger to her is complicated. either it builds up after a period of time, or it explodes without warning. it’s often the former rather than the latter though.

but you don't love me the way I love you

no one should be okay with how they’re been treating. but kage is a woman whose broken beyond repair. she doesn’t behave how a human woman normally does. if you kick her down, she will stay down. if you humiliate her, she will smile and try to work out a possible explanation and still act with kindness towards you. so when kaiser said that we’re over... she could only smile. he wasn’t even ashamed when he said that, considering he was holding that woman in his arms when she walked in the cafe where they first met. 

“i hope you’re happy. that’s all i want for you.”

those were the words she spared him before going to order some treats and drinks she promised to bring back for her housemate. there’s no using making a scene and there’s no use demanding anything, either. she didn’t look back. he was the past the moment she realised the truth even before their relationship ended. no matter how he felt now, no matter what he may wanted to say, his reactions to her simple acceptance to the abrupt end... it was no longer a concern.

it’s not that I don’t care

but this love’s beyond repair

all she could do right now is make sure to keep floating. she had her housemate to take care of, and she can’t do that if she’s drowning, right? that night, though. alone as her precious housemate slept, she cried.

So look at you now I take a bow Thanks for all the lessons learned Showing me how We would end up Play with fire, you get burned

And maybe in another life It could be you and I Cause we could try a hundred thousand times again

It’s not that I don’t care But this love’s beyond repair So look at me now Yeah I’m better on my own

Now I’m better on my own

[mysaldate]

Ah, fair. I was interested in HCs based in canon. Things like hobbies Cecilia might enjoy, and her relations with Belinda and Eluard. Maybe something like what she fears most

Okay, let's get these HCs now that I finally played through the new VoW, I should be ready to tackle this. Forgive me for these being few and rather short, we don't have that much information on Cecilia so there isn't a lot to go off of.

Cecilia's hobbies HCs

Gardening – this one's easy. Cecilia already had a garden when she was married, she probably keeps up the habit by keeping temple and monastery gardens in check. It's nothing extravagant or fancy but it creates a humble proper image.

Music – There aren't many hobbies Cecilia still allows herself due to the nature of her work but whether she's listening to a traveling bard or a church choir, music is probably a big part of her life. Since she is blind, her other senses are all the keener, and that goes for her hearing especially.

Prayer – not exactly a hobby but likely what she would answer if anyone was to ask her. Praying to the Light became a routine that Cecilia performs daily. To her, it is important to strengthen her faith as well as protect the greater good from the Hypogean threat – and praying often and out loud helps her with that.

Relationship with Belinda

Cecilia probably used to like Belinda. Unlike Lucius, Belinda is more focused on dispatching the Hypogeans and ridding the world of corruption while Lucius is a protector of the innocents. This would already make her more acceptable to Cecilia, but the fact that Belinda is not afraid to jump into action even where Lucius may hesitate definitely elevated the girl in Cecilia's opinion.

That said, with her awakening, Belinda is now ripe to become a target for the Heresy Inquisition. She had disobeyed the temple and went off seeking power elsewhere, even if the power was to help save all of Esperia. I can't see Cecilia taking kindly to this and it very likely may have ruined their relationship.

On the other hand, I can't imagine Belinda herself was ever too fond of Cecilia. She probably feels for her because of what happened to her but Belinda doesn't seem to have a very high opinion of the Inquisition.

If the Inquisition does decide that Belinda is a threat, Cecilia won't hesitate to cut her down regardless of any possible previous fondness. And similarly, Belinda probably won't let herself be killed for helping the people of Esperia. This clash would probably ended very bitterly and with a lot of animosity if they both get to walk away from it.

Relationship with Eluard

Eluard is a tougher customer than Belinda. He was left at the temple's doorstep so in a way, he had the best background imaginable. However, because the Light didn't bestow any powers upon him, most of the church quickly turned against him and there were even whispers about him being secretly corrupted. Cecilia may have opposed those rumors at first if she knew Eluard but after some time, I could see her turning against him so as to not appear emotional.

Eluard is likely terrified of or disgusted by Cecilia. As someone who was practically forced into being an inquisitor and who wears a mask just so he can weep for the souls he is forced to kill, I can't see him thinking fondly of anyone who believes they are doing something good.

Similarly, Cecilia would be very disappointed and possibly enraged if she found out the real purpose of Eluard's mask. It is not out of the question for her to even attack him for this perceived betrayal.

They may work together when required but I doubt they get along as it is. Cecilia is much too happy to kill innocents if there's a shadow of a chance that they might be involved in something, and Eluard is much too respectful of even supposedly undeserving life. They won't hurt each other and they might even cooperate if necessary but neither of them will be happy about it.

[egcdeath]

ok i also can't decide if i like the tomshiv or the kendallrava dynamic more because they are both so good and juicy and have so many implications!! like the angst of watching the patrick you once knew and married slowly disappear is a great concept. just ignoring his slow spiral and the way that he blocks everything out in his attempts to reach the top because it's too devastating for you to confront and acknowledge. even if you tell it to his face that he needs to start seeing what's in front of him instead of trying to achieve being this impossible person that he's imagining his dad wants he won't listen to you. and imagine if you tried to move on from him if you're separated (but not legally divorced!) or at least attempting to put on the image of moving on and going on first dates again because apparently it's good for you to get your mind off things but your heart's not really in it and once he finds out he kind of loses his shit and he goes full pathetic "don't leave me" kendall mode. i love your fic about reconnecting with ex-fiance patrick in europe and if there is a happy ending to this kendallrava-like saga i think it would kinda be like that... maybe being in a beautiful place with your kids and where it's easy to be reminded of why you love each other so much is what he needs for it to click (if it's even possible) and you start seeing glimpses of his old self and all the new rough edges go away and it's what you need to bring you back together for good. but maybe that's too good to be true!

also on the tomshiv front you bringing up the chewy earlobes conversation is literally EXACTLY the charged tomshiv exchange that i was thinking of especially because they get so petty and playground-fighty and patrick fits that vibe so well lol. i was also thinking that we know tom met shiv when she was in a bad emotional place so imagine meeting patrick when he's young and being self-destructive and directionless and you give him the stability and love he needs during that time while at the same time you're beginning to establish your place in the company and in his life. for a while he's removed from all the company stuff and he's working on other shit (like shiv and her politics) but then once he starts focusing more on the company at the same time that you're working your way up and once you're married then the dynamic really changes and it gets more codependent because you truly need each other and the stability and control within your relationship even if you're also hurting each other and causing each other pain and it starts looking unsustainable. and like shiv freaking out on the night of her marriage because the intimacy and commitment and meaning behind tying yourselves together for life... it's so patrick. and then it's like tomshiv in s3 except more dragged out because no matter what you're two parts of a whole and you're not gonna leave each other because you've become so tied up and imagine the tom wanting a baby/family plot? even in s4 they had that absolutely devastating bedroom breakup talk that literally broke my heart but did they end up removing themselves from each others lives or signing any divorce papers? absolutely not lol if anything it brought them closer together and made everything more exciting because now all the ugly truths are out there and patrick absolutely fits that. succession is so well-written because the top-tier messy relationship dynamics that the writers created and how patrick suits that world... insane

i really do love both concepts so much but the great thing about writing is that i can write both and have my cake and eat it too!

i loveeee jealous pathetic patrick so i’m eating your ideas up rn. no matter how caught up he gets in the #Business of it all i really do feel like seeing you out on a date or like hearing about you going on a date through your children would genuinely send him over the edge. now i think patrick in the movies would probably send you like 30 texts and call you a bunch of times or just be a pest and general nuisance but i think kendall-coded patrick would be in your apartment waiting for you to come back home (you still have each others keys in case of an emergency—this is an emergency to him) and would just immediately start begging you to stay. trying to show you that he needs you and that you’d be missing out on life without him and in the moment you totally fold, but afterward you come to your senses and tell him that this can’t happen again (it happens again multiple times). i like that you gave them a happy ending though! i think they can totally reunite once patrick gets his everything in check and you learn that you don’t have to be his mother also.

i’m sooo glad we were on the same page about the chewy earlobe convo LMAO. it’s way too good and so patrick. i also feel like his backstory is kinda perfect for shiv. like for years he’s out doing his own thing (probably like sports management or something idk) but he isn’t in the best headspace and he meets reader and you’re so different compared to all of the people he’s been with in the past and you’re kinda exactly what he needs at that time and that kinda becomes a theme throughout the relationship. like no matter how terrible things are, the two of you end up being an emotional crutch for one another. like the scene where logan 💀 comes to mind, where tom and shiv are on bad terms with each other but she immediately comes to him for comfort. like that’s soooo patrick and reader to me im sick!!

i watched the first few seasons of succession YEARS ago so i’ve been refreshing myself on some tomshiv via clips on youtube and god they’re so tragic i love it. we haven’t even discussed the whole tom taking the fall and going to jail aspect but that’s so much to unpack!!!

the whole baby plot is also so interesting because the roles would be reversed. like reader wanting to have a child to cement her place in the family (also because she loves patrick but like. whatever) and patrick also does KINDA but has a lot of hang ups about his ability to be a parent because of his own parents. so much to think about.

also thinking soooo many thoughts about “come and live with me in a trailer park” / “i’d follow you anywhere for love” sooo many thoughts.

it’s all so interesting because a major aspect of patrick’s character (to me at least) is how honest he is, but in an environment like the one in this AU he’d kinda lose that whole part of himself. i think that would be so interesting to explore though!

[themomsandthecity]

"Dancing With the Stars" Alum Sharna Burgess Opens Up About "Intrusive Mom Thoughts"

Image Source: Getty / Alberto E. Rodriguez Australian ballroom dancer Sharna Burgess - best known for her role in "Dancing With the Stars" - is opening up about the unexpected side of motherhood. In a recent post on Instagram, Burgess shared her experience with "intrusive mom thoughts," which initially made her think "something was wrong with my brain." But they are a very "real thing," she said. Burgess explained them as "these super dark thoughts of all the things that could go wrong. All the ways I or life could accidentally hurt my baby. Falling down stairs holding him, sickness, a car accident.. the list is long but I won't share it. If you know you know." View this post on Instagram A post shared by Ｓｈａｒｎａ　Ｂｕｒｇｅｓｓ (@sharnaburgess) Burgess welcomed her son, Zane Walker, earlier this year with partner Brian Austin Green, an American actor known for his roles on shows like "90210" and "Desperate Housewives." "5 months in and I still get [intrusive thoughts] but I have learned to tame them and understand them and most of all.. realized I am not alone. That last one was a huge relief," Burgess continued. The dancer went on to explain why this sort of negative thinking occurs. "I guess it makes sense too, we have this massive responsibility suddenly upon us when we leave that hospital . . . in a diaper.. sleep deprived, emotionally charged but also depleted, trying to piece ourselves back together and let's not forget .. in pain. That new responsibility is filled with so much love, wonder and awe but nobody warns you about the equal amount of fear that now lives within you. It's the most excruciating love you've ever felt and its overwhelming, at least for me it was." According to Harvard Health Publishing, intrusive thoughts often stem from stress or anxiety - even biological or hormonal shifts (like postpartum bodily changes) can trigger strange or disturbing thoughts. Often, intrusive thoughts take the form of troubling images that might include "violent or sexual, or a recurring fear that you'll do something inappropriate or embarrassing," Harvard Health Publishing notes. These thoughts aren't uncommon, as the Anxiety and Depression Association of America estimates that roughly six million Americans are impacted by intrusive thoughts. "I shake it off and call in a memory that I can't wait to make with Zane. All of the firsts that he has coming." However, there are ways to cope. The National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) says identifying these thoughts, facing them head-on, managing stress levels, and focusing on healthy sleeping habits can all help with severity. Burgess shared two coping tools she uses, including deep breathing exercises. "1. Deep cleansing breaths taking in as much air as you can and hold as you say 'I release all thoughts that do not serve me' then control that breathe out imagining those words and the feeling they bring leaving you. Repeat repeat 2. When I need a quicker fix I physically swipe my hand in front of my eyes and say 'no' and imagine that image being destroyed and gone. I shake it off and call in a memory that I can't wait to make with Zane. All of the firsts that he has coming," she writes. When it comes to mental health - especially after giving birth - it's important to remember you're not alone. "You're doing great mama, remember that 🤍," Burgess said. https://www.popsugar.com/family/sharna-burgess-intrusive-mom-thoughts-49040011?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

[sepublic]

I dunno if there’s a name for this type of genre/setting, but. I’m really digging how S3 seems to be going for that type of story, often coming-of-age, involving a ragtag group of tweens investigating their suburban neighborhood, performing historical research and unraveling a mystery, in response to supernatural happenings. There’s a monster lurking out there, and they have not much beyond your typical, everyday household objects to defend themselves; And of course, the beloved flashlight!

Obviously three of our protagonists DO have actual magic, but I have to wonder if prolonged separation from the Demon Realm will cause a witch’s magic bile to run out... Thus forcing the kids into a time limit and making them struggle even further against the odds, esp since even their original strength wasn’t enough to defeat Belos’ monster form. This might be why Amity has her Palisman; Willow and Gus have more innate talent and thus ‘bile’ to run off of, but Amity isn’t as gifted and so runs out a lot more quickly, and has to rely on her staff as a backup.

Which, I guess is not unlike Belos, perhaps; I can definitely see him focusing on the kids’ palismen, as he deals with his own dwindling time and energy... Anyhow, I dig this type of horror story where the kids are forced to confront the hidden sins of their town’s past, as a literal ghost comes back from the dead to haunt them.

It’s a mystery and of course you have the occasional kind adult or parent struggling to make things right; Struggling against the danger that threatens the idyllic life kids are meant to have, because these types of stories I imagine are meant to shatter the illusion of a perfect suburban neighborhood, show there’s shadows lying beneath the picturesque surface and nostalgia. A critique of that nuclear family image, because of the skeletons in the closet... Typically the ones who don’t fit in, the outcasts from whom the protagonists are, and find acceptance in fighting the idyllic facade. They too relate to being unacceptable and hidden away, hence their connection to the hidden darkness they unravel. I guess that’s what’s at root behind the fundamental appeal of these stories, what makes them resonate with audiences so much, that and the rad aesthetic of course.

It’s all really a metaphor in a way for a protagonist’s struggle with their parents and their need to be accepted, even as the parent adjusts to a shaken-up status quo they’re totally unprepared for and how they can somehow maintain their duties as an adult amidst all this, accepting that this status quo isn’t so perfect after all. Like Paranorman, Stranger Things, Deltarune. I don’t know WHAT the name is for these type of stories is, but I’m delighted to see The Owl House naturally develop our protagonists’ circumstances into this kind of familiar, recognizable story. The perfect neighborhood isn’t so perfect actually, it’s all a social critique by the end of the day.

And of course, the beta AU aspects are noticeable, especially the baseball bat that is a common trope of these kinds of stories; Which just gets back to what Dana said about her original intentions for the show to be darker, even as it literally becomes so! She DID clarify that Luz and the kids were made younger and more cheerful, precisely as her own creative choice; To paraphrase, if everybody is edgy then nobody is edgy, the brightness of someone like Luz was chosen by Dana herself, not Disney, as a way to contrast with the surroundings.

BUT... That’s how it starts for the story! But as things develop and Luz’s character grows and is hurt, experiences the loss of innocence in coming of age stories... Yeah, I can see the vibes of the Beta AU always having been the intention for the crew, they just opted to have the cast evolve into that, instead of starting off that way! Which of course, creates the nice contrast between then and now that makes the darkness of recent events all the more apparent. I dig it.

It truly feels like such a natural and perfect way to portray Luz’s arc to evolve in her return to the human world, confronting what she’s learned of it since then, and coming to terms with how she doesn’t fit the mold that Gravesfield wants, recognizing its cruelty towards those outcasts, and unveiling the truth. All while finding her acceptance from her mother and peers... Because that’s what it’s really about at the heart of the story, what it’s a metaphor for. It’s the ideal and classic genre to explore and settle her issues back home, in a home that isn’t as normal as some might claim it is away from the Demon Realm.

This could easily be its own isolated, more mundane AU and I love the range this show offers; I’m almost surprised the show didn’t go for this setting earlier, but that’s only because there’s a time and place for it and the time is now after carefully building up to it. Luz is truly disillusioned with the human world after living in a different place and seeing how it easily could and should be better, which just allows her to really make a stand against it this time. Now she knows another life is viable and isn’t interested in returning back to this one. This could be the end of her hero’s journey with how Luz has come back changed; But unlike the classic version, the beginning is not her end.

[wallflowerimagines]

Could you maybe write something with an s/o that is super hands on? Like, if they wanna see Moreau's cool teeth or Heisenberg's scars they'll really get all up in their business, grab their faces and take a look? They're not mean, just curious and handsy

PS, this Anon sent an update for all 4 Lords plus The Duke!!!! So first time duke imagine add on, let's get handsy!

Alcina Dimitrescu

Please keep your hands out of her mouth, Darling.

Alcina is... barely tolerant of this behavior, but also a little amused. You are fascinated by her canines, despite the fact that they aren't particularly sharp or pointed like you keep assuming they are. You have this image of "vampires" I your head, and while Alcina is close to certain stereotypes, she doesn't meet all of them-- specifically the sharp teeth. You cannot seem to get over it, no matter how hard you try.

She will occasionally indulge this little habit of yours, but it's mostly because she loves you. Keep your hands clean and your nails clipped, or else she'll flick your fingers away.

Still, as much as she loves you, Alcina does have her limits when being poked and prodded.

She will only let you do it in private. Alcina won't let you stick your fingers in her mouth in public-- it's not appropriate or befitting of her station.

If you're too enthusiastic, she will playfully nibble on your fingers as a warning, and lick up the small bead of blood that comes from the cut. Is that vampiric enough for you? After all, you taste divine, Darling.

If you're so fixated on the fact that her teeth aren't as long as they are "supposed to be", well, Alcina is happy to show you the error of your ways💕💕

She will definitely use your fixation as an opening excuse for intimacy. I hope you're ready for it...

Donna Beneviento

Not okay with it.

Donna's veil isn't just for mourning-- she's also cripplingly self conscious of the scar on her face, and the Cadou mutation did not help her self esteem at all.

If you try to run your hands over her mutation, especially without warning her first? Donna will just shut down. Normally Donna and Angie will both chat and spend time with you, but after this Donna will completely back away from the relationship, and let Angie take over for her completely.

Angie is her safety net, after all. And you've just crossed a boundary she was not ready for, or even aware that you wanted to cross.

You have to explain that you mean no harm, but even then it's not a great scenario. Donna regresses almost completely if you don't warn her beforehand. You're back to communicating through Angie until you give her a genuine, meaningful apology.

You really need to push the idea that 1) you love her unconditionally and the scar will not affect that, and 2) you were only interested in touching it because you love her so much and you want to be familiar with every part of her.

Essentially: Always, always ask for consent with Donna before you go poking around. She can be alright with it in specific circumstances, but never assume, and never engage unless you have explicit permission. She needs to psych herself up beforehand.

(Still, if you ask and then press a kiss to the writhing mass that she hates so much, she will absolutely cry. There's something about that gesture that really gets across how much you adore her. It's... reassuring. Safe. It makes Donna feel adored, unconditionally. You love her to pieces, and this a gesture that reaffirms that.)

Salvatore Moreau

You... want to mess around inside his mouth? That's a little--WAIT HOLD ON NOT YET!!!

You have to warn him first, for your safety.

Moreau's mouth is full of acid, and as much as you want to get all up in there to check out his neat chompers, you have to warn him first so he can make sure you can examine him safely.

He's proud of his mutation, to a certain extent. The fact that you love him not only despite it, but because of it? It strokes his ego a little bit.

Still, he wants you to be safe. No sticking your hands in there without warning! Moreau would never forgive himself if he hurt you, so do give him a heads up if you want to take a dive in his mouth.

If he's feeling brave, he might actually use this as an excuse for intimacy like Alcina. He might wrap his tongue around your fingers or pull you in for a kiss if he wants too. You've got this focused expression on your face, and it's entirely centered on him... Salvatore couldn't resist even if he wanted to 💗

If you choose to mess around with the growths on his back, it's a little less romantic. They are very painful some days, and unless you are giving him a massage he will say no. It's not because he doesn't trust you! But Moreau needs to manage the pain, and depending on how bad the pain is on that specific day, that means you can't touch his back. Just remember to ask beforehand, and you're golden 💛

Karl Heisenberg

Hell YES

Heisenberg isn't self conscious about his body at all, to be honest. Sure he has scars, and while not All of them have good memories associated with them, he has a surprisingly healthy mindset about them. The scars are there because he's alive. He survived everything life threw at him, and he's still going strong.

While he won't tell you all the stories behind his scars, he will share the more palatable experiences. Some are from dumb mistakes he's made while doing metalwork, and he's more than happy to tell you the less painful stories when you have your hands all over him.

Because, yes, that is the best part about this whole thing. You cannot keep your hands off of him, and it is EXCELLENT. Karl loves it. He's a pretty handsy guy himself (to the point where you're starting to suspect he's a little touch starved), so he does not mind that you return the favor.

You trace his scars with this focused expression that's just so entirely absorbed, so fascinated, Karl gets hit with this weird mix of fondness for you and pride in himself. Seeing you so absorbed in him and his body makes him really want to do the same with you. He wants to return the favor.

The light touches you give his torso are so delicate... It makes him feel important and valuable to you.

Honestly, it's almost intoxicating. Heisenberg will absolutely trail off in the middle of a sentence if you run a hand across his chest. The feel of your hands on his body is so, so good. He likes physical contact with you, but if you specifically trace his scars? All bets are off.

9 times out of 10 he just can't hold back and pulls you in for a make out session. The last 1 out of 10 has a tendency to... escalate😈

The Duke

More than happy to indulge your impulses.

You being handsy is something that the Duke actually really enjoys. He likes to keep you nearby, and when you seem so obsessed with running your hands all over him it's much easier to keep you close and safe💖

You're the most focused on his hands and fingers because...uh...whoo... something about him with all those rings just really does it for you???

It's really nice to weave your fingers in between his, giving little kisses to the inside of his wrist or the tips of his fingers, and the Duke is always happy to oblige.

It's very charming, watching you coddle his hands like they're something precious. He feels a little overwhelmed by the reverence in each gesture, so he does his best to repay the favor.

The Duke will definitely smooch the tips of your fingers to reciprocate any affection you give him, and the kisses will continue up your arms, past your shoulder, and climb up to your mouth. It's a half silly, half romantic, but 100% genuine.

He loves you, and it's always entertaining to watch you squirm in anticipation as his kisses slowly approach your eager lips. The waiting is half the fun💕

[luminari-mc]

(Mammon x MC/Reader)

Prompt: "She doesn't compare to you. No one does.”

Genre: Angst, hurt(emotional)/comfort.

Pairing: GN!MC/Reader x Mammon

Summary: You and Mammon finally get to enjoy a well-deserving shopping trip just between the two of you. Just as you are about to hit the next shop, your attention is caught by an image advertised in the street.

Warnings: N/A

A/N: I wanted to try my hands at a prompt that is tagged as "fluff", but of course I ended up turning it into something angsty instead. But I like sad stuff, so that still works for me.

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

It wasn't often that you got to spend time with Mammon without having any of his brothers around to bother you. But you had made it very clear to them that these few hours after school would be spent with Mammon, and only him. And for today's trip, you two had decided to go shopping in one of the busiest streets in the Devildom.

Clothes and jewelry stores, malls- you had done them all. When most of this time had been spent doing window shopping, Mammon had still insisted on getting at least a few bags of purchased goods for each of you by the end of the day. After all, what was the point of going on a shopping trip, if you didn't end up emptying your bank account only to regret it later?

And so, thanks to the demon's wonderful influence, your arms had now several bags hanging off of them. There was a certain guilt still looming over your head as you realized way overboard you might have gotten with your purchases, but Mammon promised he would take care of any financial problems you could encounter in the near future because of that. You still wondered how he was going to manage it, him being Mammon and all...

"Damn, now THAT'S what I call a good haul! Look at ya!" The white-haired demon grinned as he watch you hop out of the store, the glass doors opening automatically at your presence to let you out. He placed his wrists on his hips as his own bags dangled in his hands. "What'cha got for yourself this time?"

"They actually had that jacket I saw in a magazine the other day!" The doors closed behind you as you showed the white bag which contained the jacket. "You were right, that store was amazing. I can't believe you never showed it to me before."

"Ha! Told ya the Great Mammon knew where the best treasures were! Consider it an exclusive info, because I ain't gonna share more if any of my brothers are around next time." Mammon turned around before flipping a few of his bags over his shoulder, as you instantly began to trot to get to his level.

"What? So all this time you knew about it and you didn't tell me? Just because Asmo comes with us sometimes?" You expressed shock, right before your eyebrows joined together. "Really, as if you couldn't have told me over text or something."

"And have you go without me?! Nah, ain't gonna happen- you'd just get lost and end up in the worst store possible." Mammon glanced your way, and you could only smirk at his poor excuse.

"Sure, you're right. I forgot that humans don't have the same flawless sense of orientation as demons do." Despite your obviously sarcastic tone, Mammon didn't seem to register it as he nodded at your words.

"Exactly! Even if I gave you the full address, who knows where you'd end up? I don't want ya to come and complain to me afterwards, so it's gotta be with me or nothin'."

Even as you rolled your eyes, you noticed Mammon's face slightly turning away from yours, probably to hide the extra shade of color that had appeared on his cheeks ever so discreetly. Even when he was in his usual tsundere mood, it was endearing to see how concerned he was for your safety. And just how badly he wanted to be alone with you.

"So, where to next?" You asked without really thinking, surprising yourself that even after your extensive purchasing, you still wanted to do more. Or maybe it was that you didn't want this date to end right away. The past few weeks had been nothing but the brothers interrupting each other when any of them found themselves alone with you, so getting to spend some alone time with one of them, especially with Mammon, deserved to be extended a bit more.

"Glad ya asked!" As if a battery had been plugged into him, the demon brandished his arm into the air, the bags swinging by his face and missing him by a few inches. "I got this whole place where they're sellin' tons of stuff for pretty cheap, but it's actually authentic branded things. See, they're actually sold to that one guy who then has to sell them to another guy, and..."

As you listened to Mammon explain how he was able to find "authentic stuff" (probably not that authentic, you were pretty sure about that) for less than a quarter of its original price, your eyes found themselves drifting to an impressive ad plastered on a building the two of you were walking by. Recognizing the habit of Majolish to put their models on display for everyone to see was pretty easy, but that wasn't what caught your eye in the moment.

What tuned Mammon down completely in your ears, were the models themselves. The second born, sitting on a stool with a ripped shirt and pants, a few accessories hanging off his neck and barely covering anything of his exposed chest. He looked serious, staring straight at the objective- and at you, while the light shined on him to completely capture his frame for the picture.

And sitting down in the middle of the shot, between his legs, was a female demon wearing a red leather dress, her head resting on top of Mammon's leg. The clawed hand dangling off his knee- covered in golden rings, seemed to taunt you, as well as the piercing yellow eyes she had. Saying she wasn't beautiful would be lying. In fact, she was absolutely stunning. A perfect model for a perfect shot. Just looking at her made you feel small, like a prey that was about to be devoured by a hungry beast, the longer you were looking at her.

But that's what demons were supposed to make you feel like, right?

"Hey!" Mammon called out from the distance he had put between the two of you since you had stopped walking beside him. "Yo, MC!"

Watching as you kept staring into nothing, Mammon rolled his shoulders with a furrowed brow before walking back toward you, his head tilting to the side as he noticed your dead expression.

"Huuh hello, Devildom to MC? In which realm did ya get lost this time?"

"They replaced it." The words that left your mouth were weak, almost too silent for him to hear. It's as if all of the energy you had had evaporated from your body in an instant.

"Huh?" Mammon grew a bit concerned at this sudden change. His eyes perked up at the ad you were looking at, as you continued.

"The shoot we did together." Finally, you spared yourself from the sight, your gaze dropping to the ground. "They already replaced it with another one."

As soon as Mammon understood why *this* ad in particular seemed to be upsetting you so much, his jaw was already clenching. He remembered the stars he had seen in your eyes the previous week when you saw yourself on the Majolish ad, posing beside him- a shoot opportunity you had gotten while accompanying him after RAD a few days prior. In the middle of his shoot, he practically didn't leave any choice to his agent and had insisted that you be included in the shots to promote one of the new pieces of jewelry the brand was planning to release in the upcoming months. Asmo, who was there to witness your reaction on that day the three of you went out, had even taken a hundred pictures or so of you posing in front of the ad.

Except that, the jewelry you had posed with, was now present on the new model posing alongside Mammon.

He had made sure to engrave that smile of yours in his head at the time, even going so far as to snap a picture of your face while you were too focused on Asmo to notice him. But now, there was absolutely no trace of that same happiness anymore.

"The fuck?" The snarl that left him shook the walls of his throat. "That wasn't supposed to be advertised before another month! Why'd they have to take ours so soon?!"

"It's okay, Mammon." The demon stopped growling as his eyes lowered on the hand that was clutching his arm. "I mean... I'm not a model. Figures they wouldn't put it up for long... I-I mean, look at me. Seriously, who would want to see my face being exposed for longer than they can bare? It's hard to imagine. I wouldn't probably have sold their product anyway, so... it's okay."

The look on your face was devastating. Despite trying your best to smile, the tears pricking in your eyes were threatening to roll down your cheeks at any second. Mammon felt his heart being stabbed with a thousand invisible daggers, he couldn't bear to watch you feeling insulted in such a way.

His bags were immediately dropped onto the floor, the demon no longer caring for any of the fragile items he may have bought. His hands swung forward to cup your cheeks, forcing your face up to look at him straight in the eyes.

"Hey hey, MC. C'mon, look at me."

You did your best not to let your vision turn blurry because of the upcoming tears, and stared back at Mammon, your bottom lip trembling weakly.

"I don't care what anyone, model agents or not, can say- you'd sell a thousand more times than any fuckin' models out there, okay? In fact, you're worth even more than their stupid jewelry!"

His thumb quickly brushed away a tear from the corner of your eye as his other hand came to rest on your temple.

"They just put that one up there because that model is famous. They don't care about what's really beautiful, they just want to boast their popularity to the rest of the world." The blue of his eyes seemed to radiate the closer he moved towards you. "But I know what's beautiful. And her? She doesn't compare to you. No one does."

You could only look down in shame as his hands never left you, closing your eyes shut to let a couple tears out before Mammon grabbed a tissue from his pocket to dry your face. He patiently waited a few seconds for you to calm down, soothing you with slow caresses of your hair until your shoulders stopped shaking.

"I'm sorry..." you muttered, sniffling as you passed a wrist over your eyes. "I don't know why that upset me so much..."

"Ya got nothing to be sorry about." Mammon retrieved his hands from your head, only to grab the bags that were hanging off of your arms. He somehow manages to hold them alongside his own behind him, before wrapping the other arm around your shoulder.

"Hey, I'd call this a day. How about I prepare ya a bath when we're home? Courtesy of the Great Mammon."

You nodded, your lips arching into a smile as you grabbed the hand hanging off your shoulder. The day was cut too short for your liking, but you didn't feel up for any additional purchases, or to properly enjoy your outing anymore.

"Will you wash my hair?" You entertwined your fingers with his as he gave them a gentle squeeze.

"Pah, of course! Who else but me could do that?" He huffed through his nose, shaking his head at such an obvious question. Your laugh ringing in his ears gave him a brief moment of respite.

But the demon furrowed his brows as he lead you into your walk back home, keeping you snuggled at his side. Holding the bags in his left hand, his white nails sharply digged into his palm the more steps he took alongside you.

Making them cry? Such a big, big mistake. One thing was sure, Mammon wasn't about to let that one pass.

"But before that..." The hiss that escaped his throat went unnoticed by the two of you as your head rested against his shoulder.

"I'll have a few calls to make."