#and they;re just scared lonely children

[cometblaster2070]

i am upsetting myself at ungodly hours by imagining how the scene in apple and raven's dorm room must've looked like after raven refused to sign.

like imagine apple sobbing the night away and raven tries to comfort her only to be rebuffed and she spends the entire night awake and staring at the ceiling while the guilt eats away at her as she hears apple's quiet sobs.

and apple's there feeling so hurt and angry and alone, and in that moment she probably wants nothing more than a friend, a comforting presence, but she can't even look her bsf in the eye because she's just so upset about what's just happened.

idk there's something about the two of them being so steeped in distress and sadness because raven can't force apple to understand her and apple can't comprehend the reasons for raven's decisions.

and the two of them love each other SO MUCH, but right then they're just stuck in that suffocating dorm room with only each other for company, wondering what they're going to do next.

[shapard]

Feather of Fate🕊️

Lucifer x Seraphim!fem!reader

Soulmate arc

A/n: A little bit late for Valentine, but here ya go! Idk when I'll continue this, but this has been stuck in my brain for a long time.

Goldwing

Chapter 1 > Chapter 2

You’ve heard about the story tales from your Mother Sera. How Lucifer has fallen because of his bizarre dreams.  To give humans a free will, which cost chaos to the world. 

As a punishment he was forced out of heaven with his Love Lilith. Sera claims that she wanted you to be safe, so there is one top rule she set up: Don’t Question heaven. 

You keep on holding tight to this one rule, not like your sister Emily. She gets into a lot of trouble when you’re not watching, which gets you also in trouble. 

Big Sister, Big responsibility, that’s what your mother always says. 

Sitting on the couch looking down at the apple sign on your wrist. It was a small apple with a snake surrounding it. It’s a Soulmate mark.

Every Angel gets a soulmate, so they get the perfect heir, some angels describe It as a heart pull and ache. You don’t really enjoy that you’re forced to love someone. It’s somewhere unfair that humans can marry someone they choose to love and trust. Meanwhile when Angels reject their bond, it will kill the two Soulmates in a span of time. 

Even when they’re too long apart it will show in a disturbing way. Aggression, Not eating, no sleep, the list goes on and on.

Putting your sleeve above your mark, not wanting anyone to see it. You got once because of it in trouble. Not a pleasant memory that you want to re live.

It does remind people of Lucifer, but he got Lilith, his soulmate. So that possibility is shrunk to zero. Why else sacrifice living in heaven for a woman?

Today was the meeting with Charlie the daughter of Lucifer. She wanted to talk about a hotel named Hazbin Hotel. 

…Time Skip…

The court room was all a mess, chaos has broken out whispering and hushes echoed through the pearly white halls. 

Emma broke the Silence with her soft singing voice “But she was right, Sera. She Showed us the soul can Improve. He saw the light, Sera. Checked all the boxes that you said would.” You Interrupted Emily and for the first-time in your live, you disobeyed the one set rule. 

“Prove a person deserve a second chance, now we turn our Backs, no second glance?” Sera looked towards you slightly disappointed but also guilty. 

Then the bomb was thrown in the room, extermination. It left you speechless. Why hide something like this and say it was for protection? 

It all went down so quick and with one move you started to doubt everything in heaven. Sera was scared, scared shitless that she’d loose Emily and you, but mostly you. 

You started to Ignore her and rarely left your room. The betrayal was harsh for you. You trusted your mother dearly and now you find out that your mother kills souls because she feels threatened. Threatened because of Lucifers dreams she said was once foolish. 

You started to break rules after Rules, causing a havoc in heaven when you leaked the Information about an extermination in hell. And in less than a week you were in chains in the courtroom. 

“Do you have any Idea what damage you’ve done Y/n?” Sera’s voice echoed through those now soulless halls. The seats now all almost empty. “What damage I’ve done? You call me the Imposter, but have you ever thought what you’ve done? You lied to your people AND your Family Sera.” 

Ouch, you never called her Sera just Mom. “Just do it already, I’m tired of hanging in here and watching my failure of a mother trying to push this longer.” You spat on the cold floor. The coldness reminds you how the last few days felt in heaven. Cold and lonely. “As you wish, do it.” her voice cracked, it was barely audible, but you could hear it. 

You shut your eyes tight and with a swift Moment you felt how your wings were cut off, your scream filled these cool, lonely court room. Sera was already gone, not wanting to see how she failed in one of her children.

The rest of your wings were ripped out of your back, making gold blood squirting all over the white floor painting it in a unique color. And then you fell, too exhausted to let out a desperate call for the comfort of your own mother.  

She didn’t even stay. 

Tears pooled lightly out of your eye. Even though heaven didn’t feel like home anymore, you’ll still miss heaven. 

The wind gushed on your Injured back making it only hurt more than it already does, you fell so fast, this is something you never really experienced you never fell as an Angel. But you fell, you fell deep and Landed on the ground. 

It the worst you’ve felt in these last hundred years of living. The bone that was connecting your wings with your body broke more into splinters at the impact. It had dirt sticking on your bones making you hiss as you tried to stand up making them move slightly in the dust. No success. 

You tried a couple more times, but you feel your stamina running out fast, so you just gave up. You laid there for a couple of seconds before you eventually pass out. 

Lucifer sat in his magic room, where his magical creations came from. The only thing besides Charlie what kept him happy. He took final glances at his old façade. 

It’s time to move on and move into the Hazbin hotel, even though he hates that radio guy, he does everything for his little Charlie. He walked out of his mansion closing it with a key. Taking a deep breath, he spun around and was ready to go. 

Something crashed loud in front of him, swirling all the dirt into Lucifers face. He coughed and waved the dust away. “What the fuck?” He looked at the cause for this early tumult, only to see a very beautiful woman in front of him. It didn’t take him a while to see that she was pretty bad Injured. His eyes dropped at the golden blood. “Oh no.”

The figure tried to stand up but fall multiple times and passed out after a while. No, no, no, no. Turning her around to see the damage, and it is bad. 

Three main bones ripped and broken apart, making him note down that she wasn’t just any Angel, she is a seraph. “Let me help you.” He carried her body very carefully, so he couldn’t do more damage towards her back. Teleporting himself and his other stuff in the hotel apartment, he laid you on his bed with your belly pressed on the mattress. 

He started to heal your back slowly and washed off the dirt from your face and the injury. He knew he couldn’t fully heal her wings back. But she could survive this with his help. And in an odd reason he couldn’t let her die. Some kind of pull on his heart making him already slightly attach towards the sleeping beauty. 

And this routine was repeated every day and when he realized her back was fully healed, he turned her on her back again. Seeing her now in all her beauty. 

“How can someone be this pretty?” he moved a hair strand out of your face and held your cheek. Stroking it a couple of times, it is as if he’s hypnotized. 

Shaking his head, he let go of her very quickly, “Lucifer you can’t just touch someone, she doesn’t even know you nor who you are.” He bit his long-clawed hand, debating whether he should go or not. 

In the end he left the room with heavy displeasure. Somehow not being near you made him angry. You were hurt and needed every protection he could offer. 

His mind screamed at him to go back to you, but he didn’t. This feeling confused the king of hell but, His mind and body were almost like two separate people.

 He pulled up his sleeve looking down at the red apple mark with a golden blue snake on it, like his halo. It was his Soulmate mark, he loves or loved Lilith dearly, but she wasn’t his mate. 

They both thought it may didn’t showed because Lilith is after all a human. Even when he had a soulmate, after landing in hell, he knew he’d never see his soulmate ever. 

He pulled his white sleeve again over the mark, not wanting to think about the what ifs. Maybe helping his daughter would keep his mind from you. “Let’s help Charlie.” 

After a while Lucifer still caught himself worried about you. 

You were laying on his bed for weeks, he healed you every morning and every evening hoping that you’d finally wake up. 

The arch angel Lucifer, and now king of hell, was worried about a seraph, what sarcasm. 

Getting ready for bed, Lucifer started to dress himself in his night gown and went to the couch. Since you’re sleeping on his bed, Lucifer decided to sleep on the couch. He didn’t want to disturb your healing progress

…

Hugging yourself into this blanket was heaven, and the smell of sweet apple and an alluring scent of musk. You never want to leave this place, for the first time since months you felt in peace. 

Fluttering your eyes open, you stretched you arms and legs, but one thing was missing. Your wings. And then reality came crushing down on you. You fell, from heaven. Your mother let you fall down the drain. She lied and didn’t even try to explain it to you. 

It was hard to breath as if you’d re-live the horror of falling from heaven down to hell.

You shacked uncontrollable making you Fall out of the bed. Out of habit you tried to fly those few centimeters. 

With a shallow thumb you fell on the floor. 

You winced from the Impact, and you tried to push yourself up with the next high object with shivering hands. 

This was a different gravity situation. 

Without your wings you slumped forwards, nothing to weigh your back. 

You pushed yourself upwards with the help of the shelf above you. The shelf lets out a creak from your weight and you fall back down with the shelf. 

The whole content on the shelf fell and crashed into pieces and you fell right into them. 

The ceramic pieces digged into your freshly healed wounds, you know that when you move, you’ll re-open the back wound. 

Out of panic your body began to move on autopilot.

With low groans and muffled screams, you leaned on the bed, golden blood smearing around the broken shelf and the white mattress. 

You started to sob at the pain. 

It was dark and all you wanted was to bathe yourself in the scent of that blanket. 

You searched for it. 

In the darkness you couldn’t quite figure it out where the blanket was but after a while you found it.

Holding the piece of cloth on your nose just to smell the comforting scent. You yelped when the light flicker on. A figure standing in the light. The figure was about 5’10 tall. 

You hid behind the blanket not wanting to look at the sudden appearance at the front door. 

…

Lucifer shot up at the sound of breaking ceramic. His mind told him to run towards the sound that came out of your room making him high alert. 

An Intruder? 

But who’d dare to come into the king of hells chamber?

Then he remembered that you were in his room, and without second thought he rushed towards your bedroom turning on the lights.

“You’re awake!”

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead's Sister in Law!

Re-upload due to complications.

Chapter 1

Dion x Fem! Reader

Warnings: possible yandere themes, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, slight incestual themes due to the content of “Roxana,” blood, mention of murder

Nsfw warnings: Lost of virginity (both parties?), fingering, oral (fem receiving), spit, reader does NOT get to finish, vaginal pain, HEAVY DUB/CON.

Disclaimer: I do NOT condone any of the harmful and dangerous actions/behaviors that takes place in this piece of fiction. These actions/behaviors should not be normalized or romanticized as they are extremely toxic and dangerous.

Minors/blank/blogs that don’t reblog fanfiction dni and don’t span like my posts or you will be blocked.

Overall story summary: you reincarnated into one of your favorite novel-turned-webtoons. However, you didn't want to become the female lead's sister-in-law...

Word count: 4542k

===

“The Way to Protect the Female Lead’s Older Brother,” also known as “ROXANA” was a rather dark novel that was adapted into a webtoon. And as luck would have it, the webtoon wasn’t finished, and you don’t remember all the details of the fan translated web novel you found online.

Now, why would that be a problem? Simple:

You reincarnated into it. Not as a main character, or even a servant to one of the families. You weren’t a child of Lant’s or one of his many wives. You weren’t a friend to one of his children, either. Instead, it was worse than most of what was listed.

Whatever God you managed to piss off had a silly little, petty revenge plan that was straight out of a third-rate horror novel with teenage girls fawning over it. And truthfully, if written right, the non-existent novel would have been a banger – but no, instead it was anything but. Or maybe you only really think that because of your position in this world, where your birth was simple, but painful for your mother, and you were lucky enough to be born into a family that loved and cared for and about you.

It was a noble family, to boot. Wealthy enough to live a comfortable life. Two siblings – an older sister who was already married at the age of thirty with a child on the way. The other was a 12-year-old boy who made it his life mission to be the most annoying little piece of shit on earth.

But as you lay on your back, hands holding your nightgown in place, all you could think about was how small Dion Argece makes you feel. The wedding ceremony just finished up hours ago, and here you are, back pressed against silk sheets as your now-husband hovers over you.

(Name) Argece.

What a horrible name and cruel faith.

Inky black hair that falls into his carmine red eyes that held indifference. His wedding-tux was still on, even the outer jacket with the silly lone rose in his pocket. Oh, what a shame – to be married to such a handsome man only for him to be obsessed with his sister and emotionally unavailable.

God despises you.

“Close your eyes if you’re uncomfortable.”

He unbuttons his outer jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and tosses it to the side. You should close your eyes, you think, because his face was nothing but stone. Not even a condescending grin. He doesn’t comfort you, either – at least not in the typical sense.

“Keep still,” his gloved hands grab your thighs and you let him open them, creating space for him to get closer. You want to push him away and run. But what good would that do? Why couldn’t the man just slice something and claim that the blood on the sheets was from your first night?

“I’m scared.” You speak without thinking, becoming stiff as his hands traveled from your outer thigh to the inner, creeping underneath your nightgown. His gloves feel cold and uncomfortable, touch borderline rough. “I – I need a moment. Please?”

He tilts his head, giving it thought. After a moment he removes himself, but annoyance radiates off him. Your heart beats faster as the second’s pass. You remain on your back. The ceiling is painted white, no decorations and the room was bare saved for a dresser, closet, mirror and a random chair by the window.

You will be sleeping in here, from now on.

“Can’t do it? Then don’t.” he’s annoyed, surely, otherwise he wouldn’t look at you like you were an insect. What a wonderful way to start the newlywed life. But it’s not that easy to walk away, and while it sounds like he’s giving you a say-so, he isn’t; if you don’t consummate your marriage tonight, then…

“… I’m sorry. It’s my first time and I heard there would be pain.” You shouldn’t have to explain yourself. But Dion wasn’t exactly known for his… compassion. Or basic human emotions, either.

If this was someone else, would you be able to do it? Where did everything go wrong? This didn’t happen in the novel; Dion didn’t get married. There wasn’t a grand wedding with the Five Ruling Families in attendance. Nor was there a steamy scene with this man throughout the novel, not even in the side stories.

How did you end up here?

“Then relax.” If you weren’t scared of losing your life you would have run him over. It affects everything! Then again, it wouldn’t matter to him – this is a duty. Not something he wanted, you’re sure, and even if he did it would only have his best interests in mind.

“… I’m ready.” You don’t answer him, because it would only lead to a one-sided argument. Even a wall listens better. Despite your wishes, Dion does the same as last – settles in-between your legs, and this time, you close your eyes.

“Good. Try to relax or it won’t fit.” Your cheeks burn at that, mind already picturing how it would look. Many men say things like that, even in your old world. It’s just a thing they said, like with many things. It doesn’t really mean anything, because if it did then…

His gloves are still on, cold and grip tight on your thighs. You were hoping he would be gentler. But as his hands travel up and up until they’re pulling at the edges of your underwear to slide them down, you realize he won’t.

There’s no slickness down there, your underwear dry and vagina even drier. You peek through your eyelashes, watching as he inspects the article of clothing. He tosses it a few seconds later.

“I’m only going to ask once – would you rather keep your clothes on or off?” It seems that with every second reality just hits harder and harder. This was going to happen. Nothing could stop it. And if hypothetically, if he were to stop this, what then?

Even if he sliced an arm to fake the night, what about later? A baby, Lant wants Dion to have a child. No. You couldn’t do that to a child, especially yours.

“On. Please.” You expect him to just shove in a finger or two, watching as your body jerks in pain. Instead, he lifts your hips until your bottom was off the bed and flips the flimsy skirt up. And then there’s a glob of something wet and gooey, legs twitching as it lands on your bare cunt.

“D – did you just… spit?” steading yourself on your arms, you look on in disbelief as your husband just spat on your pussy. A string of saliva hangs from his tongue.

Instead of answering you, much less look at you, his thumb comes into play and spreads his saliva over the surface of your cunt. It’s only when his thumb swipes over your clit do you let out a shaky breath.

Maybe he was feeling generous or maybe he was curious. Dion decided to rub the twitching nub over and over until your legs twitch and cunt clenched around nothing. The glove made it uncomfortable, but even so, you just tried your best to focus on the pleasure. You weren’t sure if he would give you pleasure like this again.

“You’re enjoying this,” he retreats his hand leaving your twitching and needy clit lonely.

A pathetic whimper escapes as you watch your husband take his glove off with his teeth. This man is everything you fear and more, a character that you should have never met. Yet the sight of him lowering his head to lick a long stride against your slit has your legs shaking.

His tongue is warm and slimy, causing your hands to clench the sheets as your head falls back. Another lick and another until it’s flicking your clit back and forth, sending warmth throughout your body. However, despite the pleasure he’s giving you, his grip is still tight, almost painful on your hips.

Your heartbeat doesn’t slow down as he continues. Your fear barely dies down in your chest, even as the tip of his tongue teases your entrance. You shut your eyes tight, a breathless gasp leaving your lips as he thrusts his tongue into your cunt.

“It feels – “a pause as you catch your breath, “weird, it feels really weird and – “

Dion repeats the action until you’re a trembling mess, sensitive from your mental state and the current oral sex you’re receiving. It’s hard to focus on either one, your mind constantly reminding you that you’re in a novel, about to fuck a man who’s jaded and possibly has a thing for his sister –

“Ah… wait, that’s a lot…” he decides to go further, bringing his thumb back and rubs loose circles into your clit. He’s still eating you out, but not like a man starved like you read in erotic novels.

Even so, your husband keeps at it. If it was a good or bad thing was up for debate – on one hand, while it does feel good, everything is moving too fast, your pleas for slowing down falling on deaf ears. It really is a lot, tongue fucking you while those loose circles on your clit become tighter, rougher. Should you just lay back and take what he gives?

Your mother would probably say so. Your sister would just pat your head and smile like it was expected. Normal. Take what he gives, especially if it benefits you in any way.

“…?” your eyes open at his tongue leaving your cunt with a saliva trail, his eyes glued to your twitching sex. His thumb also stops rubbing circles, instead going back to grip your hip as your back starts to become sore. Your ass is still off the bed and if he keeps you hosted up like this, then you really will snap in half.

But then he locks eyes with you.

“I thought you were scared.” Dion doesn’t let you respond, either because he doesn’t care or because it would ruin the ‘mood.’ He latches his mouth to your poor, abused nub instead. And sucks.

“H-hey!” one hand supporting you while the other grabs at his hair, you didn’t expect him to throw your legs over his shoulders. “That’s enough, really, no need to – ugh…” his mouth was warm and soft, but it sends your nerves on fire.

Good. Bad. Good. Bad.

Good, bad, does it matter anymore?

He sucks harder and your fingers tug harshly at his hair. You kick your legs but are unable to tell if it’s from pleasure or the flight or fight response he’s causing you. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t bat an eye, making it his life mission to suck you dry.

“Ah – wait, Dion – “

It’s at your whine of his name does he finally, finally stop, a ‘pop’ when he detaches his mouth from your sensitive and bullied clit. Your husband decides to lick one last long stripe from your entrance to your clit, all the while making eye contact with you. Your chest heaves as your mind settles, arousal overthrowing your thoughts.

“What is it?” Monotone, his voice is monotone and he’s not even out of breath. Your mother lied, there’s not even a hint of pink across those cheeks. It’s fine, though – no, it’s not, it’s baffling how steady he seems when your back is about to break, and you can’t even breathe.

Your eyes travel from his to his hair, where your hand is still grasping the strands. Mind still catching up to your body, you let go and draw your hand back, covering your eyes with it. Your entire body is shaky and legs sore. You’re not used to this position.

“It – it’s enough.” Your husband lets you pull your legs back, feet pressing against his broad shoulders as you bring them back down. The relief is almost immediate, a pleasurable and relief-filled sigh leaving your chest. You allow yourself to rest for a bit, your sensitive cunt and sore legs screaming for it.

“… O – okay, I think, I think that’s fine. Excuse me…” gently, you pull one leg up until your foot is flat against the bed. With a shudder, you trace your entrance timidly with two fingers, getting used to the touch. You’re not sure of how big he was, but you’ll use three fingers just in case.

You gape like a fish when his hand reaches out, grabbing yours roughly. You didn’t even notice the dip in the mattress as Dion got closer on his knees, face inches away from yours. Oh God, now what –

“What are you doing?” clearly annoyed, Dion doesn’t let you look away – not that you were going to – free hand grabbing your face, pointer finger and thumb on each cheek. It’s barely loose enough to leave no bruises. It hurts regardless.

“I – I was… prepping…” part of you wants to pretend that this man doesn’t know how to comfortably prepare you for pentation with his… but you know better. Because an inexperienced man wouldn’t know how to do things with his tongue like that, or where the clit was because –

“Are you still scared?” The hand that was holding yours releases it, opting to sneak its way to your cunt. His fingers were larger than yours, nimbler as they stroke your labia minora. Are the shivers washing over you from nervousness or arousal?

“… I’m scared of the pain.” By instinct, you knew he meant more than scared of sex – if you feared him. Still.

It doesn’t need to be said.

“Scared of the pain?” His eyes glow in the moonlight, bright red with absolutely no emotion. “Why?” he doesn’t break eye contact as his fingers inch closer to your entrance, stroking the opening, making your legs jolt. What a horrible man.

You remind yourself that this man only felt fear as a child – and even then, it probably wasn’t for very long. Nothing lasts for long, in this estate.

“Because I hate it.” You don’t break eye contact either, breathing in when one finger slowly sinks in, your walls now stretching uncomfortably. It’s not as painful as you thought it would be, your wetness mixed with his saliva making it easier. Your nails are about to rip holes in the silk sheets.

Like a curious animal, he tilts his head, curling his finger. It doesn’t feel good, it hurts, but you endure it even when you wince. Dion decides it would be a good idea to spread your legs a bit further, and like a bug, crawls between them even more. You hiccup when he adds a second finger.

They’re bigger than yours, they reach deeper. In your old world, did it feel like this too? You can’t remember.

“It’s going to hurt worse if you don’t let me finish this. Relax your legs before it hurts worse.” Pressure builds in your eyes, but you fight it off. “Save your tears for when it matters.”

You’re tired of him already.

He doesn’t move them, at first. It’s almost like he expects this, because as you adjust to something foreign inside you, he starts to rub at your clit, again. Softly this time, touch firm enough to feel but not hard enough to hurt. Or maybe you’re lying to yourself because you’re wincing, still.

When he starts to thrust them in and out, you force yourself to look at the ceiling, scared to see the expression on his face. You also don’t want to watch the show, scared it’ll already be bloody. Just a bit.

“It’s tight.” He states it like it’s the morning news. “And wet.” Your cheeks burn with both shame and embarrassment, shutting your eyes.

“… ugh…,” groaning, your hand reaches out to grab his wrist. “It hurts, a lot.” You sit up, back against the headboard, avoiding your husband’s gaze. Unfortunately, by doing this, your eyes land on your messy hole, light blood on his fingers as he pulls them out only to thrust them in again.

“It’s normal. The more you resist the worse it gets.” You give up, letting him do as he pleases, shutting your mouth.

The fingering still hurts as the minutes go by, but little by little the pressure eases down and when he arches his hand, he hits something soft and spongy. He’s rewarded the sight of your head banging against the headboard once, shoulder tense as you bite your bottom lip.

If only you could see that look in his eyes.

“Here?” He repeats the action, faster this time. You only nod your head, lips ajar, tongue swiping over them. Your hips have a mind of their own, raising as the heel of his hand rapidly smacks against your clit with his thrust of his hand.

You’re half there mentally and halfway in heaven, momently forgetting just who was here with you, who room this belonged to, and your entire situation to begin with. “Oh - wait, it’s a lot but – “

A third finger is added, and it starts to sting again. Another wince, another groan, but your arousal helps to keep the pain to minimum. All three fingers curl to hit that special spot that makes you see blacked out stars and pussy clench. All the while light blood coats his fingers, a sight he’s already used to due to his lifestyle.

It’s only when he pulls his hand away completely do you return from the skies, a small layer of sweet coating your forehead. Your hands are shaky as you look at him, only to be drowned back into reality when you’re met with those red, indifferent eyes that glow brighter than the moon.

“If you’re ready, lay on your back and spread your legs.” He undoes his pants while saying this, scooting back to give you some room.

With a heavy heart, you do so, laying on your back and spread your legs. You were fine just moments ago, so why is your heart leaping out of your throat rather than staying in your chest? Maybe it was because of the pleasure, or…

You’re scared, again.

You don’t look when something fat and heavy plops onto your pelvis. You don’t look when he brings you closer by your thighs. You don’t look as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds, catching on your clit.

“Relax or it won’t fit,” he reminds you before pushing the fat head in. At first, it’s a sting no bigger than an ant bite. But then another inch goes in, and you feel like a sword is cutting you straight up open, your legs tensing and hands grasping his forearms in a futile attempt to stop him.

Your nails dig into his sleeves, and you can feel the skin underneath. The tears build up as your face becomes hot, taking in deep breaths like it would soften the intruding body part.

“Big – it’s too big, it’s not going to fit – “

“… You look cute when you cry.” It’s sinister, teasing and everything that makes your stomach drop. His thumb wipes away your tears that’s already staining your skin. But he stops regardless, if only to shut you up if nothing else.

You think a few minutes pass but it’s hard to tell when he’s still inside, pulsing and you could feel every vein on his cock. It’s thick, it’s big and you don’t think you’re equipped to handle it, handle him. He’s everything that ruins your sense of self, that makes your dreams shatter and fear rot you from the inside out.

But he’s your husband…

But he’s your husband.

“Relax,” he inches in deeper, slower this time, but not letting you get a word in. Your nails dig deeper, and if it weren’t for his shirt, you would have drawn blood. Another inch, another gasp that leaves you breathless, grasping for anything that could keep you grounded. The only thing you could grab was him, however.

“Dion, Dion, you’re going to break me, I can’t – I can’t – “

“You can. You have to.” Was his voice raspy, just now? If so, it worries you, because you just remembered one very important detail – Dion Argece was, if nothing else, a sadist. Be it from his childhood trauma, or if he would be like this regardless of, he loved seeing Roxana cried.

It never occurred to you that he would love seeing you cry, too.

How deep was he? It feels you’re being speared open, his cock bullying its way into your virgin hole. You weren’t a virgin in your last life, but it didn’t hurt like this. It had hurt, felt like you were being ripped, but not enough to make you cry and breathless.

You think you can feel blood trickling down your ass crack. “Please tell me you’re almost there, please…” sniffling, you look up at your husband, the man taking your virginity in the name of ‘marriage.’ A mirror shatters in the back of your mind.

There was a flush across his cheeks. Pupils blown wide and a small grin on his lips. He was enjoying this. Your pain, your tears and perhaps even your fear – he was enjoying this.

It would have been better if he didn’t feel anything, you think. Just a stone statue that was performing its task. But even monsters had emotions, you guess.

“I’m not. Just endure it for a bit longer – I’ll stop once I’m at the hilt.” Was he a liar in the novel? You think he was, otherwise, the overtaking of the Argece family wouldn’t have happened. Lant wouldn't be dead. But things haven’t followed the novel to a T – this was proof enough.

“You’ll stop? Like, completely? You – you took my virginity, so that should be enough. Right?”

You hate it when he keeps wiping your tears away. Or when he slides in even more, your blood coating his stupid dick. You hate it when he brings one hand to toy with your clit, granting you pleasure that was just overthrown by the smothering pain traveling up to your belly.

He doesn’t answer. And that was enough for you to rake your nails down the back of neck, drawing blood in return. He’s making you bleed, so it was only fair if you could too, right?

Deeper and deeper until his balls rest against your bottom and pelvic meeting yours. Surprisingly, your husband keeps his word, letting you adjust to the new feeling. It feels heavy. It feels like a heartbeat, like a rod that was stuck. It felt awful.

How long did it take you to get used to it, in the past? No longer than fifteen minutes max, right? No, shorter than that. Then again, it didn’t hurt this much, but that partner was more loving, more caring, gentler –

“Who are you thinking about?”

The question breaks you out of your daze. You blink, once, before you question him back. He only glares in response.

Panic fills you when he pulls out, pain still there, blood still trickling down. “Wait, you’re – “

“I’m what?” he pulls out until only the head remained inside. You try your best to ignore the bruising grip he has on your hips. You’re going to be sore tomorrow. If you survive this, anyway.

God, if you’re listening, please let this night end peacefully.

“B-big. It’s going to hurt, please don’t…” dragging your hands down from his neck to his chest, your fingers dig into his shirt.

“Hm. A shame, really; you still must give birth, eventually. It’s better to get used to it now than later.” Your mind doesn’t catch up with your body, legs tensing when he slides oh so carefully back in, like he didn’t just push your worries aside like nothing. “Relax.”

“Dion,” hiccupping, you brace yourself, head nuzzling into his chest as your hold on his shirt tightens. When he pulls back out, you could feel every detail, every vein trail, his grith truly opening you. He graces you a mercy, going at a languid pace, minimizing the pain. His thumb never stopped rubbing your clit, either.

It goes like that, for a good while. Slow and steady, your hushed sobs dying on your lips, your husband careful with his thrusts, but not his grip. It was almost comforting, in a way. But you were still scared of him, and of what will happen after this.

“… I have a proposition.”

His hips stop and your ears perk up.

“You want me to stop, correct?” Dion pulls back until he’s on his heels, his cock dragging along your walls. You wince before breathing out. He doesn’t even try to hide the sadistic look in his eye as he sees the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. He almost grins in glee.

“Y-yes…” You don’t let go of his shirt. “Why…?” there’s hope inside you, but dread starts to rot it away.

“Jerk it.”

“…what?”

He was different from the novel. Extremely so, because you doubt that Dion would suggest a thing, much less give you a choice in the matter. That Dion would have either ignored you and this night or take you as is, no mercy, no humanity granted if this took place at the beginning at the novel.

When he doesn’t repeat himself, you pull yourself up until you’re resting on your knees. The sight of blood both on his cock and the sheets make you gag and thankfully, he doesn’t comment on it. Hesitantly, you take him into your hands, fingers barely able to close around it.

It throbs in your hand.

Your blood is coating your hands now, too.

Only silence is between you, your hands working him. Your thumb swipes over his head, circling it before stroking his dick up and down. Your other hand plays with his balls, massaging them. You’re not sure how long it would take him to finish.

Your core throbs in pain, and you become worried over the thought of peeing. It would probably hurt.

You want to sleep.

Without giving it much thought, just like your husband, you spit on it, a glob of saliva falling onto the staff. It throbs harder. And when you look at him, tired eyes and drool still dripping down from your tongue, still jerking him off –

“…Ngh…”

It’s almost cute, the way sperm spurts out and makes a mess on your hands. The very small and fleeting look of embarrassment on his feature is almost enough to comfort you. But when there’s barely a sheen of sweat adoring his forehead, unlike you was still recovering, you’re reminded that your husband was different from you.

There are no kisses, no sweet nothings shared between lovers. No stroking your hair or comforting your trembling form as your legs shake. Or even an offer to warm a bath for you, the warm water soothing your body. There’s none of that.

Not even a smile.

“Welcome to the Argece family, wife.”

Instead, all that awaits you is a restless sleep on a bloodied mattress with a husband who left after cleaning himself up.

Which God despises you so much and why?

[cosmereplay]

Day 9: In the shadows

Rated General, Evi/Sja-anat, Oathbringer spoilers

“He won’t answer my letters or spanreeds!” Evi grumbled to herself in a huff as she entered her bedroom. She was walking easily again, a scant few weeks after the baby’s birth, her second. “I will not have a nameless child!”

Sja-anat slid upwards, looking through a tall mirror inlaid on a stand, placed in the room facing Evi’s bed. She may have missed her husband while he was away, but she was no longer lonely, for Sja-anat kept her company, taking her secrets. These days, though, she kept more than she passed on to Odium.

The sun-haired woman, her only worshipper, sat on the edge of the bed facing Sja-anat. She had the infant tucked into a wrap dress, nestled close to her chest. She looked down, pulling open the top of the wrap to peek at her nameless child.

The baby awakened. He twisted, then let out a soft cry. He was still so very new to the world, and the present-ness of it caused Sja-anat to pause. Even now, he grows. He will never be this little again. She considered the nature of the passage of time as Evi removed her wrap, then tried unsuccessfully to feed him.

“He won’t latch. Why is this so much harder this time?” Evi cried out eventually, on the verge of tears. “I can’t even feed him. Those whitespines will take him away and give him to a nursemaid. He doesn’t need a nursemaid. He needs me. Why can’t I do this?”

Sja-anat watched and waited, knowing that sometimes Evi spoke her thoughts out loud, and could be startled if Sja-anat answered her. As she had already learned, it was possible to scare the human’s milk away. She floated between worlds, waiting for the perfect moment to speak, a time that would bring comfort rather than fear. She was certain it would arrive, just as certain as she had been that the child would arrive safely.

Evi rocked and kissed the infant, but he continued to mewl. She looked up, then, as if only just now noticing Sja-anat.

“I need to calm down,” she said. “I need a distraction. Spirit, please help me.”

There it was. The perfect moment.

“Name him,” Sja-anat said. “Name him tonight. His father has not answered for long enough.”

“You are right, of course, dear Spirit,” Evi sighed, and looked down at the baby. “The Alethi like to choose names that speak to the child’s identity. We should choose a name close to his father’s, so Dalinar won’t forget it.” She laughed, but it was sad laugh. The mirth couldn’t lift the heaviness of that truth. The Blackthorn had barely been aware of her pregnancy.

“The baby is of you,” Sja-anat countered, an anxiety urging her on. “He was made from your essence. He should be named for you.”

“He will know he is of me.” Evi cuddled him in close. “I’ll always be there for him, but his father won’t be. His name should be a reminder that he is of Dalinar.”

The words brought pain, but of course, Sja-anat kept her own knowledge close. She had her own favourite name. Re-lin, meaning ‘born unto darkness’, for the futures she saw for the boy were grim.

And yet, together, they might create something wonderful. They could be family.

“You wish his name to be ‘Son of Blackthorn’?” Sja-anat asked.

“Yes, well, not quite so directly,” Evi said, and her lips turned to a thoughtful smile. “Dallin,” she said. “Dal-lin. Born unto Dalinar.”

“I do not like it.”

Evi chuckled. “Well it must be a name you approve of, dear Spirit. How about Narin? Nar-in, born unto Dalinar.”

Sja-anat considered. “If you insist on naming him after the Blackthorn, add a part for you. His older brother is named only for the Alethi. Let this child hear some of your language.”

“We Rirans give our children their own names, as a new perspective for The One,” Evi said, then sat and thought, absently patting the baby, who had settled again. “Though there are favourites. If he were to have a Riran name, I might give him a more popular name, so he could hear himself as a part of Rira. Yah, for Yaysi? Yadallin? Hm, it sounds too similar to Adolin.”

“I do not like it.”

“Kei, for Kellai?”

“I do not wish for him to be named after a Herald.”

Evi looked at Sja-anat for a long time, thinking. “Re? It is a good name, and not from a Herald. I have known a few Res, all good people.”

“Re. For Rira. Yes.” Sja-anat hoped she had not answered too hastily. Re, for darkness, for secrets, for Evi.

“Redallin? No, I don’t like the sound of it. Renarin? Hm, that might be nice. Renarin.”

Re-Narin. Just as Re-Shephir was the Mother of Shadows, Re-Narin would be the Son of Shadows. Born unto the darkness of the days of the Blackthorn. Born unto Odium’s champion. Born unto death. Born unto long, hard days and longer, lonelier nights. 

“Born unto the Blackthorn and Evi. Born unto Alethkar and Rira. Let him know he is of two people, two worlds,” Sja-anat said.

"Thank you, Spirit," Evi said, and stepped forward to touch the mirror reverently. "I will burn incense and seal the name in the Riran way. I will tell the Vorin ardents. And I will seal my promise to name him with your blessing." She touched her forehead to the mirror, and Sja-anat could feel the warmth of her intention.

To keep him safe from Odium, Sja-anat would never be able to show a hint of interest in the boy. He would be born unto shadows, born of the love of those who could only watch from afar. In the future, she would do her best to hide him from Odium. Until then, this would be the only blessing she could give.

“Then it is sealed. His name will be...Re-narin.”

If you are thinking, hey, I would like to know why Sja-anat thinks that Evi worships her, you can read my fic Of Me (Rated Mature, 3000 words) and find out how they met in this AU

[adhd-puppet]

An apple a day keeps the doctor away. Dr. Wally Darling x patient child reader

This is my first ever story ever. I am working with a new Welcome Home AU that takes place on a children's hospital. Wally and his friends as the staff. I really like the idea and wanted to get my feet wet with a small little story/ prompt.

Y\N is a young child, who has a rare disease that makes their Immune system very weak. Sadly they spend more time in the hospital then at home. This has made them become very close with Wally and his friends kind of like a second family, but Wally is their favorite. Today he is finishing his rounds, as he sees Y/N he hopes to bring a smile to their face.

Dr. Darling was waking down the bright and colorful hallway, he was just about to finshie his rounds for the day. He always make sure to stop and see each of his young patents personality, many of them alone, their families having gone for the day. Just to help them feel more comfortable, he knew how scary it could be in a place like this and not always understand what's going on. He stoped as his eyes go through his list, he only had one more patent to see, Y/N. He sighs sadly to himself. Y/N was here often, more oftne then not, they had a rare disease, one that made their Immune system so weak a common cold could be deadly. Luckily they were recovering well and should be able to go home soon.

Because of just how often they were here, Wally and his friends became like a second family to the child. With their family having to work to pay the medical expenses Y/N didn't get to see them often. Y/N loved the staff and was not scared when they were there. Barnaby was funny and always made them smile and laugh when he stoped by. Sally and Julie kept their Imagination alive with their plays and silly stories. Poppy was like a mother, baking treats and goodies for them and the other children. Eddie always brought them to the hospital and made sure the trip was as easy for them as possible. Though they did not get to see Frank or Howdy often, the two were also kind and always taught Y/N something new whenever they met. Still Wally was Y/N's favorite, he was so kind, and made them feel less lonely and special, they loved his werid laugh and soft voice. Despite this all it hurt them all to see a child go through this. Shaking his head from the thought he put his best smile in and knocked on the door and called out, "Y/N I am here for your check up".

Y/N looked up from a book their were reading and smiles happily. "Wally!! Your here". Their voice happy but tried. The room was colorful, bright and closer to that of a typical child's room then that of a hospital. The room was Y/Ns, filled with toys, stuffed animals, books and many childish drawings of Wally and his friends. It felt, sounded and even smelled less like a hospital, so that they could feel at home.

Wally kept his smile on as he walks over to the bed. Y/N was on, to check on the medical equipment Y/N was attached to and the IV, making sure to re fill it with their mediation. "How are you feeling today? Any better?" He asks them, stopping his work to give the child his full attention.

"I am doing better, I did not cough a lot and I was not tried all day! I even got to go to the play room." Y/N says, before letting out a little yawn.

He lets out his trademark laugh, "you definitely seem better, in fact I think your be able to go home in a couple of days." He tells them, after taking another look at their chart.

"Really?!" They ask, their eyes bright a even bigger smile on their face.

He nods "Yes, your doing a lot better, I think just a little more time and we will send you home with some medicine." It was always a hope when they sent them home it be the last time, it never was, a couple weeks later they were back tried, sick and sad. If only a cure could be found. No child should be forced to miss out on life, school, fun and freedom. Then a little thought came to his mind, just a small silly thought. "Y/N how you ever head the expression, An Apple a Day Keeps the Doctor away?"

They look at him and shake his head, "No Wally, I never have, do you mean if I eat a apple every day it will scare you away?! I don't want to do that" They say shocked their eyes wide.

Again the room was filled with his laugh as be shakes his head. "No, silly it means that if you eat a apple everyday, you will stay healthy and won't have to see the doctor. You wont have to come here anymore".

"Wait...that would mean I won't be able to see you...and the others..? You guys dont like me anymore?!" Y/N looked upset their eyes starting to water, yes they hated to be sick but they also loved everyone here, it made being sick not as bad, and with missing so much school Y/N had trouble finding and keeping friends. For them they only had their parents and the staff here and the thought of not seeing them anymore was breaking their heart, their grip on their book getting tighter.

Wally bit his lip, his little idea quickly backfiring on his as he shakes his head quickly and gives the child a serious but still kind look. "No Y/N we never stopped liking you, your sweet, funny, strong and deal with to much for someone so young. What I mean is we want you to get healthy and enjoy your life, a hospital is no place for a child to grow up in. You should be able to play outside, go to school, and enjoy everything life has to offer. We all care about you and everyone who comes through these doors, but our goal is to make sure when you leave you don't have to come back". His voice was kind as he hopes he reaches the child.

Y/N wipes the tears from their eyes their voice a little weak as they speak. "Will...you re..remember m..me?" They ask this voice shaking.

He can't help but smile softly again and nod. "We will never forget you, helping children to life a happy life is what we love to do, and every time we help someone we know that their life is all the better after. It may be hard at first, but your strong Y/N, and once your healthy you can face anything your life will throw your way. I just hope you don't forget me and the others.." he says with a coy smile.

Y/N eyes widen at Wallys kind words their eyes still forming more tears as they lean forward and hug the small man. "Of ..c.ccouse not..I wi..will never...forgot..you guys." They say between their crying.

He was a little taken back, at the studden hug but carefully he returns the hug, patting their back, as he gently tries to help them claim down. Their crying getting softer, as the tried feeling came back. The warmth of the hug and the thought of someone caring for them helping to allow their mind to settle down. Wally carefully lays them down on the bed and takes the picture book and lays it on the nightstand. "I will hold you to that promise, and now I want you to make a promise to me."

"What is it ..wally?" They ask as they yawn and close their eyes. sleep just about to take them.

"That you will get healthy. Live a happy life and eat an apple a day to keep me away?" The only answer he got from that question was a single nod and a "I..promise Wally". Y/N falling into a peaceful sleep.

Wally sighs, as he covers them up and stands up to leave. "And I promise you, that we will find a cure, so that a apple a day really does keep me away." He made a promise and he would not break it.

[andywinter16]

Glaives react to their S/O having lot of pets

She loves animals and they love her back! 

Will coax you into getting more of them (cuz you know they could get lonely and sad)

be prepared that she spoils them rotten (no seriously, they won´t eat the food you usually bought them, but only the special and expensive one from Crowe)

 he knew you had lot of animals ... but not THAT MUCH!

will be absolutely thrilled when they nap on him (widened eyes while mouthing “ I was chosen!”)

some of your animals may adopt him as their own or like him much better than you (especially cats! for some reasons)

loves it! he´s farmer boy through and through

will definitively help you take care of them and show them so much love

will also advise you on how to take care of them properly (it´s his second nature)

“You have a zoo or something? Should i be scared of catching flees?” 

some of your pets may bite him (and he deserves that! but suprisingly good with dogs)

still would love playing with them (you´re questioning sometimes how they managed to broke something with their shenanningas)

makes them toys, cuz Soni is that good!

teaches them tricks and treats them like his own children

definitively talks to them like a humans and its truly endearing. (”Mr. Pawpaw would you like your wet food with losos or chicken?” “Mewrr mwrr!” “Ah, yeah I think losos is really good choice.”)

the BIGGEST smile on his face and then sneeze (boy is probably alergic on some fur, but that never stops him from petting them)

would rather die to his allergies while happily petting and cuddling your animals 

definitively takes photos of your animals while sleeping or when they do something cute (you have whole file in your phone with them)

Nyx is being careful with them. Not in like he would felt in danger around them, but more like ... he´s scared he would step on their tails or accidentaly hurt them

your animals loves him! Birds are chilling in his hair or his shoulders, cats and dogs are sleeping on him, ... you probably get the image

he will definively take them for a walks or to veterinary 

“Woah, you have a big animal family there!”

Will probably at first be like he doesn´t like them or indiferent, but he actualy adores them. Libertus also talks to them, but with that baby talk (He can´t helps it, okay? They are precious beings)

will bring you injured animals or just one he found on the street (”Well, they need love too, you know?”)

He´s indifferent to it, they are yours and he will respect that

lowkey is really enjoying their company and shennaningas (his face always softens so much)

Titus will also intruduce you to his helldog, who likes only him

[jokerislandgirl32]

I Have Two Odd Questions I Need Your Help With Guys…

So, I am trying to get back into writing for Zach and Violet, in particular I’m trying to get back into writing my big story with them, Wild Violets. Before I proceed any further, I am trying to figure out if including a few things in the story are acceptable, or if they would just be weird.

The first thing concerns the relationship with Zach and his twin brother Zeb. Zach and Zeb were very close as children, and I imagine them sharing the same bed together at times, platonically of course, throughout their childhood/ until Zeb’s death (around age 10-11).

They do this as a source of comfort when they are scared/sick/lonely. As they grow older it becomes less frequent, but when Zeb’s cancer takes a turn for the worse, Zach will creep into his bed at the hospital/home, and they will talk/take comfort in one another’s presence. So, it’s essentially platonic bro fluff between them.

So, my first question for you all….

I just imagine it is something like this:

Please let me know what you think! Thank you! The next question is like this one, and it’s linked below!

[homebrewsno1asked4]

TOIRE no HANAKO-SAN

Toire no Hanako-san

Art by Cesar Barrantes!

Legends speak of a lonely and wrathful spirit that dwells in bathrooms: Toire no Hanako-San, or “Hanako-San of the Toilet” – a lingering spirit, a pale and off-putting little girl dressed in red. Hanako’s origins vary, but all accounts agree that she was the victim of a heinous crime; whether murdered or bullied into suicide, Hanako-san suffered a violent death in a school bathroom.

Sometimes, children challenge their classmates to try summoning Hanako-san. In this simple ritual, you enter the girls’ bathroom on the third floor of a school, knock three times on the third stall, and ask if Hanako-san is there. Results may vary, depending on Hanako-san’s mood

If you’re lucky and/or kind, Hanako-san will appear, but won’t harm you. Still a frightful experience, but don’t worry: you’ve caught Hanako in a good mood! Use this chance to ask her unusual questions, especially about bizarre local events. These sorts of questions are Hanako’s specialty.

If you’re not so lucky and she doesn’t like you, Hanako-san will appear as a three-headed lizard and eat you for invading her privacy. And if you’re especially unlucky, a bloody hand will appear and drag you to hell via the toilet.

“Easy! I just need to get Hanako-san to like me!” You can try. But Hanako-san knows exactly what kind of person you are the second you enter her domain. Even if Hanako thinks you’re okay, she’ll change her mind the moment she’s attacked.

If forced into an altercation – if she’s trying to scare people off and they won’t leave – Hanako-san will trap her prey in her bathroom realm, whittle them down in her monstrous form, then try to drag the offenders into the drains as fast as possible.

Though Hanako-san prefers to terrorize rather than fight, she’ll fight to the re-death because of her undead compulsion and a desire to actually die.

Hanako-san can appear in any school bathroom, but she isn’t able to leave the bathroom. How can this be? Hanako-san leads a cursed existence; she can open the bathroom door, but it just leads to another bathroom.

Hanako-san’s presence resonates with the bathroom where she resides, thinning the boundaries between our world and the next, transforming all the pipes in her current domain into portals to the netherworld.

Toire no Hanako-San

Small (or large in Lizard form) undead, lawful neutral

Armor Class 12 (16 in Lizard Form)

Hit Points 90 (12d6 + 48)

Speed 25 ft., swim 30 ft.

STR 6(-2) DEX 14(+2) CON 18(+4) INT 9(0) WIS 10(0) CHA 15(+2)

Saving Throws Dex +4, Cha +5

Skills Arcana +6, Athletics +1, Insight +6, Intimidation +5, Sleight of Hand +4, Stealth +4

Damage Resistances cold, non-magic physical damage

Damage Immunities necrotic, poison

Condition Immunities exhaustion, poisoned, unconscious

Senses passive Perception 10, realmsense

Languages Common

Challenge 5 (1800 XP)

Proficiency Bonus +3

-

Innate Spellcasting. Hanako-san's innate spellcasting ability is Charisma (spell save DC 14, +6 to hit with spell attacks). She can innately cast the following spells, requiring no components.

At will: invisibility, prestidigitation (both Child form only)

3/day: misty step

Drain-Dwelling Physiology. In both forms, Hanako-san can move through and occupy a space as narrow as 4 inches wide without squeezing. Also, Hanako-san is constantly affected by the spell freedom of movement.

Frightful Encounter. Any humanoid that starts its turn within 30 feet of Hanako-san must make a DC 13 Wisdom saving throw. On a failed save, the creature is frightened for 1 minute. A creature can repeat the saving throw at the end of each of its turns, with disadvantage if Hanako-san is within line of sight, ending the effect on itself on a success. If a creature's saving throw is successful or the effect ends for it, the creature is immune to Frightful Encounter for the next 24 hours.

Mistrusting. Hanako-san has advantage on saves against charm effects.

Realmsense. Hanako-san knows the location and alignment of any creature that enters her lair. Also provides Hanako-san with expertise in Insight (included in Skills).

Transitive Space. Hanako-san can travel to any other bathroom in the material plane through a drain or toilet, or the bathroom door. If Hanako-san uses the door, creatures can follow her if they manage to catch the door before it closes.

Unusual Nature. Hanako-san doesn’t age; nor does she need to sleep, eat, drink, or breathe.

Weird Knowledge. Hanako-san has expertise in Arcana (included in Skills).

Actions

Multiattack (Lizard Form Only). In her standard/Child form, Hanako-san only makes one Deathly Touch attack, but she can also use Drag to Hell if it’s available. In Lizard form, she has three attacks - any combination of the attacks below.

Bite (Lizard Form Only). Melee Attack: +8 to hit, reach 5 ft., 1 target. Hit: 8 (1d6 + 5) piercing damage. DC 13 Athletics or Acrobatics vs. grappled. Next turn, attempts to Swallow. Hanako-san can grapple up to three creatures at a time in this way, but can only have one creature Swallowed at a time. If all three mouths are occupied, Hanako-san can’t use Bite.

Claw (Lizard Form Only). Melee Attack: +8 to hit, reach 5 ft., 1 target. Hit: 7 (1d4 + 5) slashing damage plus 4 (1d8) necrotic damage.

Deathly Touch (Child Form Only). Melee Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5 ft., 1 target. Hit: 5 (1d10) cold damage and 5 (1d10) necrotic damage.

Swallow (Lizard Form Only). Hanako-san swallows one of the creatures in her mouths. The swallowed creature is blinded and restrained, it has total cover against attacks and other effects outside Hanako-san, and it takes 7 (2d6) necrotic damage at the start of each of Hanako-san’s turns. A creature reduced to 0 hit points in this way stops taking necrotic damage and becomes stable.

Hanako-san can have only one target swallowed at a time. While Hanako-san isn't incapacitated, she can regurgitate the creature at any time (no action required) in a space within 5 feet of her. The creature exits prone. If Hanako-san dies, she likewise regurgitates the swallowed creature.

If a character escapes from Hanako-san after she’s reverted to her child form, they come out shrunken per the reduce spell.

Tail Lash (Lizard Form Only). Melee Attack: +8 to hit, reach 10 ft., 1 target. Hit: 7 (1d4 + 5) bludgeoning damage.

Drag to Hell (Recharge 5-6). A grotesquely long and soggy arm with too many joints emerges from a nearby drain and attempts to drag you into the netherworld.

Automatic hit, reach is anywhere in Hanako-san’s lair. 1 target. Hit: 9 (2d8) bludgeoning damage in the hand’s crushing grip. The target must succeed on a DC 13 Athletics or Acrobatics check. On a success, the target takes half damage. On a failure, the target takes full damage and is grappled; consider them restrained.

At the top of Hanako-san’s next turn, the grappled target can repeat the skill check. If the player fails this check again, the hand drags the player halfway into the toilet. 

Repeat the check a third time on Hanako-san’s next turn. If the grappled character fails this third check, the hand drags them down the toilet (dealing 36 (8d8) more bludgeoning damage as they’re squished through the pipes) and into any unsavory plane of Hanako-san’s choosing (typically one of the Lower Planes). If this character dies in transit, their soul is stuck in this destination plane and can’t escape unless they’re resurrected.

If you deal 12 damage to the hand in one round, it will let go of the grappled character. Damaging the hand also damages Hanako-san.

Hanako-san can have active arms equal to the number of drains in her lair (typically 2d4, unless she’s taken up residence in a very large bathroom); she just can’t summon a new arm until she’s successfully recharged.

Bonus Actions

Shapechange. Hanako-san can use her bonus action to morph into a towering three-headed lizard or into her standard form, a dead child. In Lizard form, Hanako’s Strength becomes 20, her AC becomes 16, and her size becomes Large, but otherwise her statistics stay the same. Updated damage stats are included in all attacks. Any equipment Hanako-san is wearing or carrying melds into her lizard form. Hanako-san reverts to her child form before fading away if she dies.

Reactions

Door Slam. When another creature enters a space within five feet of a door in her lair, Hanako-san can use her reaction to slam the door shut and lock it. Until Hanako-san dispels this effect or leaves to inhabit another bathroom, this door is affected as arcane lock. This ability works for any door in her lair: stalls, exits, closets, etc.

[ohwell-itsme-but-danganronpa]

Checkers: I was reading age regression stuff since someone mentioned them the other day, and got kinda scared, cause why is angel milk so popular?? They drink sweetened milk before bed and don’t brush their teeth or even rinse their mouth afterwards, that’s really unsafe!

the part that gets me is that the regressor is usually more around toddler age that talks in just kinda baby way, but they still make them fall asleep with a bottle like an infant (or sometimes the milk is their meal. as if they didn't have an adult stomach)

telling the caregiver to step out of my way, I am making that kiddo brush their teeth before bed

(ik some children will keep on drinking breast milk for as long as they're allowed, even up to circa 4 y.o. and my younger sister was in the group taking their time, with the night drinking being the main problem, but there was teeth brushing as soon as the first teeth appeared and the interest in the bottle is lost much sooner, like. without boob in the equation kids move onto other foods a lot more smoothly)

the ones that have hole in the handle so the baby could hold it despite the fact that they could not use it correctly on their own…

anyway, I feel like I should write an age-re fic now just so I could make them mac&cheese instead of the goddamn bottle

Ves: GIVE THEM SOME NUTRIENTS PLEASE

Checkers: GIVE THEM VITAMIN GUMMIES

Also, I think, Caretaker should be attentive to Little's rambles, engage in playing, don't put them down with realism. Little should feel heard, loved and safe, but also get to play a lot so they can really get the childhood experience they deserve. Maybe put up a swing in one of the doorways for them.

[old photo as an example, since most people probably see swings as an outdoor thing only] Read them bedtime stories. Give them puzzles and coloring books and plushies, but most importantly play with them, so they're not lonely. It's not enough to tuck them into bed and comfort them with hugs when they're sad, the caretaker has to rp whatever crazy mlp story the little came up with.

[prettyhighforawhiteguyblog]

A Vision of Heaven

All the parts of this world that is controlled by the billionaires and other oppressors, and all the other powers and principalities of The World work to keep us miserable, scared, terrorized, paranoid, confused, sick and harassed, imprisoned and enslaved, oppressed in every conceivable way.

Well Jesus came to free is from that.

It was like the first thing he said in his super fundamentalist hometown before the religious leaders got the crowd riled up to try and stone him.

Luke 4:14-20 Jesus returned to Galilee in the power of the Spirit, and news about him spread through the whole countryside. 15 He was teaching in their synagogues, and everyone praised him.

16 He went to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, and on the Sabbath day he went into the synagogue, as was his custom. He stood up to read, 17 and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was handed to him. Unrolling it, he found the place where it is written:

18 “The Spirit of the Lord is on me,     because he has anointed me     to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners     and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, 19     to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”[f]

20 Then he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant and sat down. The eyes of everyone in the synagogue were fastened on him. 21 He began by saying to them, “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”

22 All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his lips. “Isn’t this Joseph’s son?” they asked.

23 Jesus said to them, “Surely you will quote this proverb to me: ‘Physician, heal yourself!’ And you will tell me, ‘Do here in your hometown what we have heard that you did in Capernaum.’”

24 “Truly I tell you,” he continued, “no prophet is accepted in his hometown. 25 I assure you that there were many widows in Israel in Elijah’s time, when the sky was shut for three and a half years and there was a severe famine throughout the land. 26 Yet Elijah was not sent to any of them, but to a widow in Zarephath in the region of Sidon. 27 And there were many in Israel with leprosy[g] in the time of Elisha the prophet, yet not one of them was cleansed—only Naaman the Syrian.”

28 All the people in the synagogue were furious when they heard this. 29 They got up, drove him out of the town, and took him to the brow of the hill on which the town was built, in order to throw him off the cliff. 30 But he walked right through the crowd and went on his way.

So Christians, I don't care if you said the magic prayer and are going to heaven to live in some super sized garden of Eden or a city of gold.

I don’t want that. Adam and Eve jetted from Eden the first time a talking snake got them thinking about the pros and cons of living in that vegetarian prison for eternity with the judgmental perfectionist God of the Garden for company.

Nah. No thanks. We are all going to live with the God who is love.

It doesn't really matter what you believed. It doesn't matter if you are an atheist. God loves all God's children and they are ALL God's children. Especially the spiritually alone ones (whether they felt lonely or not) because God has a thing for especially wanting to heal the hurting and dispossessed of the world. And they dispossessed you of a loving God with all their fuckery. Not that you ever needed God to teach you how to love the things of God.

And we will live with God in a recreated world, healed and devoid of death and oppression. A re-created heavens and earth where our Triune Heavenly Family will wipe away our tears when we suffer.

But God will not suffer us to endure oppression anymore. And Death will no longer be a necessity.

God will rule directly in the recreated ever-living universe!

I don’t know how accurate the picture of the Trinity is. Maybe since God is whatever God will be, Heavenly Father, Motherly Holy Spirit, and Big Brother Jesus is just the way we got to know whatever God is. Other people met God as One (Muslims, Jews). And then there’s the Hindus. Maybe their understandings of God are more spot on. That would make for some weird systematic theology, but I doubt it matters all that much for us in the here and now.

Maybe the Trinity really is the best way to describe the reality of God to humans. Maybe that was a special revelation Jesus wanted his Special People to get proprietary access to. It helps with the poetry of the whole thing, but it isn’t necessary.

It doen’t matter what THE TRUTH is. We know God is good. We know God is love. We know God loves us. We’re all gonna be fine, no matter what it turns out the reality of God is.

But I’m sticking with poetry.

My prophecy. My rules.

Our Heavenly Father, motherly Holy Spirit, and our big brother Jesus will rule as a good royal family ought over the new Heavens and Earth and care for all the souls of sentient beings. They will all reconcile to one another and live in harmony. God will make this happen by the power we saw at work as Jesus loved us all the way to the Cross.

Colossians 2:14 & 15 [Jesus]canceled the charge of our legal indebtedness [the “sin” we just can’t bring ourselves to believe God would simply forgive us for just because we are God’s beloved children], which stood against us and condemned us;* he has taken it away, nailing it to the cross. 15 And having disarmed the powers and authorities, he made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross**

(see what the cross tells us: https://www.tumblr.com/callmekasandra/724123240095776768/a-story-for-you-its-a-new-myth-a-myth-is-not?source=share)

*fundamentalist bullshit that we just needed to hear in order to feel kinda ok in life

**the actual power of the cross.

God will stop the Freedom Wars forever. God will stop all the wars. God will stop all the oppression. When we get hurt (however one might be able to get hurt in the after life), God will personally wipe away our tears, instead of just being with us in spirit. We will never feel alone again

In this good present world, God is letting us make a go of it with total free will and almost no obvious major interventions.

Right now, God is giving humanity a chance to grow up all by itself, without an easy way to get the cheat codes. Humanity is getting its chance at trying things as best we can and has done some really amazing things! (I for one, can’t wait to see it ALL when I’m finally alive-alive and have an eternity to explore it all!) Each individual sentient being who pops into Creation, in whatever shitty situation we find ourselves popped out into, has their chance to just do their best with what they have and where they are on this planet. Sometimes resources are scarce. Sometimes there are accidents and disease or predators. Sometimes there are a few uncivilized people with too much money and power for their own good. Sometimes those people get a few billion dollars.

But it will not be so in The Kingdom.

God will provide for us lavishly. The velociraptor will dine alongside the raven just like pet rabbits and dogs do now.

God will no longer allow us to fight all our own battles all by ourselves. The Bastards had their chance against us all on our own, with whatever people and resources we could cobble together in life. Now the fuckers can deal with God. Then everyone will know [biblically] that we are, each and every one of us, God's most blessed and beloved children. Each special and beloved in their own unique way.

For us, that will be the best time of our lives for ever and ever.

I have no idea what goes on with the oppressors, bullies, and monsters who have also chosen how to use their free will and have been running feral, causing evil in this world.

I’m sure there is some sort of judgement. After all, God is a good judge and Jesus himself often described whatever is going to happen in judgement as the enemies the The Kingdom of Heaven getting unceremoniously tossed into a dumpster fire [Gehenna] while everyone else has a fancy dress party where everything, even the party clothes are provided lavishly by the Creator and King of all existence.

Apparently later you can be let in for a good shower and whatever other fate awaits you in The Kingdom of Heaven.

Whatever judgement is, that’s between you and God. None of my business but I’d rather not be anyone who has more than a few hundred grand to their name unless they got real fucking lucky.

That's all I know. I'm sure anyone who wants to can come in and join the party if they agree to act civilized and submit to God's rule. There are no rules under God's rule. Just play nice and be good.

Do some cool shit in a pristine creation where we can know the stars for truth! Swap stories with angels and whales and velociraptors. Whatever. Just be good. God will heal you. All of you. Better than new body, heart, and mind. Same old spirit. But healed in some fundamental way. I wonder what all I got stored on the old hard drive...

After healing us, God will set us free into a New Creation. A good Creation that is now filled with all the sentient creatures of the universe. And that includes the now-civilized and un-fucked up humans! Good news, Creation! God has finally rendered the humans harmless! All God had to do was take away their free will and something called sin, along with everything attached to it.

We will finally be able to live as humans. Be artists and explorers, scientist and philosophers, DnD players, and Shaolin monks. All just doing their civilized thing in whatever passes for what makes up Civilization in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Whatever Civilizations there may be will all coexist as part of a pristine recreated and healed Creation. Because this is God’s Kingdom now. And the only rules that might actually exist in God’s Kingdom will be reasonable and wise zoning rules.

What's kind of funny is that my people, the White, Christian humans who are the most worried about sin and following all the right rules… Well, I’m starting to think, we might be holding onto the remnants of the very worst religion of all time because it lets us feel holy while we do evil. What kind of religion leads to Belgium in Africa, The East India Tea Company, slaughtering or raping into submission while simultaneously robbing every single nation, language, tribe, and tongue in both North and South America, 400 years of chattel slavery, The Holocaust, Jim Crowe, Redlining, Tulsa, Rodney King verdicts, and Christian Contemporary Music?! A fucked up one. That’s what kind.

Well, whatever sin is, whatever hand you had in it, for whatever reasons, sin and your guilt is nailed to the cross and sin, death, suffering, oppression, greed, malice, racism, and all that shit, along with all who are consumed by sin, the Dragon, The Beast, and all their buddies are lumped together with Death itself to be dropped into whatever a lake of fire represents. (It doesn't sound good.) 

We will have our parties and live our good lives in God’s good [re]Creation. I don’t know if there could still be disagreements or accidents. But if there are, we will have a good Holy Family of judges and God will personally meditate the differences, slights, and harms as a just family of loving, wise, caring judges. When we don't personally like their good judgements, they will also wipe away those tears and comfort us in that too. 😊

[giftober]

Hello there!👋

I started this thing two years ago in my personal blog and mainly for myself but now I wanted to expand it a little bit. ;)

And what´s this? Well, a 31 prompts challenge that will run through all October but, for gifmakers only!

You can take this as just a guide to make a new simple basic gifset or one as elaborate as you like/can, we all know how much time a gifset can take . So, that´s up to you!

IMPORTANT: You don´t need to make all 31. You can make as much and as few as you want. And not exactly in order nor you have to post on time. Also the prompts are completely up to your interpretation. And if you want to combine prompts in one set, that´s ok too.

NOW, you can take this list, run with it and do it on your own with your own rules, and that´s fine. I made this for ppl to have fun creating!

However, if you want to make it and also share your posts with this blog, I will kindly ask you to follow a few rules:

Tag your post with #giftober2021. You can also mention this blog in your set for good measure but DO NOT forget the event tag ❗❗

You have to make your own gifs. The point of this event is to promote, encourage and support gif creators. I won´t reblog reposted gifs or gifs taken from the Tumblr search.

No explicit content. Also, no inc*st or p*doph*lia.

All fandoms are welcome! as long as you all respect each other! ☝

Since you don´t need to post in time, you can finish this after the month is over. Although I´ll check the tag less frequently then.

Any doubts you may have, you´re welcome to leave it in the 📧 inbox. I know it might be several others challenges for October, and make a daily set for a whole month sounds quite overwhelming, so please, don´t feel any pressure to complete this one! (in fact, you can combine prompts from other challenges, if they allow it too!)

And most importantly, have fun!!! 

Ele. :))

ps: taking this part to give my appreciation to @4marvels-universe Thank you so much for your help!😉

(Under the cut is the written list prompt, in case you want to copy paste them.)

Day 1: Smiling. Day 2: Flying/falling. Day 3: In pain/Hurting. Day 4: Tired/exhausted. Day 5: Angry. Day 6: Wearing any colour. Day 7: Scared. Day 8: Worried/Agitated. Day 9: Fighting. Day 10: Making faces. Day 11: Wearing accessories. Day 12: Filming/Behind the scenes. Day 13: Sitting. Day14: Hot. Day 15: Wearing casual clothes. Day 16: In the Nature. Day 17: Working. Day 18: Protecting/being protected. Day 19: Kind. Day 20: With animals. Day 21: Yelling/shouting. Day 22: Proud. Day 23: Waiting. Day 24: Faceless. Day 25: In love. Day 26: Cool. Day 27: With children. Day 28: Lonely. Day 29: Domestic. Day 30: Affectionate. Day 31: Free.

[dragongirl642]

I really love your writing and noticed your asks are open (i think). And, I checked your masterlist and didn't see RE8 listed as a universe you write for, so you can ignore this if you want. But, could I request Heisenberg, Donna, and Lady Dimitrescu reacting to a male dragon-shifter reader who has decided to make the character's residence their hoard, and as such, going to extreme lengths to protect them and the residence?

OOOHHH 😮😳 How did you know dragons (and by extent dragon shifters) are my favourite things in the whole wide world!!!!!

As a treat, you get all four of the Lords' reactions. 😎

For extra drama, the dragon-shifter (you) basically crash land nearby (after a loooooonnnngggg flight) and decide to take up residence in the nearest abode while you rest, and end up getting comfortable and liking the area so decide to stay.

You have a full human form, fully dragon form, and an in-between form.

Also, you have like saintly levels of patience.

Heisenberg

It takes him a minute of staring to figure out that the giant dragon in the factory, is not a hallucination, induced by either the drinking he was doing the night prior, or a trick of Mother Miranda's trying to destabilize him mentally.

However this quickly turns into a lot of yelling "what the F are you doing in my factory!" and "What the F are you!" while chucking metal at you.

You melt the more dangerous pieces and yell at him to "Cease this nonsense! You can't hurt me like this."

Heisenberg.exe has stopped working.

He's partially re-evaluating his life like...did I just get sassed by a giant lizard.

You take the initiative to tell the small angry man telekinetically chucking metal around to chill. "Listen, I'm just going to rest here a few days then leave. You leave me alone, and I won't Incinerate you."

He quickly weighs up how much he doesn't want you here vs how much it will piss Mother Miranda off if he uses the giant dragon crash landing in his factory as an excuse to do absolutely nothing for her.

He's a bit annoyed about you taking up all the room by the forges so he can't make new soldats but...

Hate for Miranda wins!

He actually uses this as an excuse in his next report and Mother Miranda comes to 'get rid of the problem herself since Heisenberg cannot'...you almost incinerated her and she checked out. (He's putting that down as one of the best days of his life).

Since he now has nothing better to do he either leans on a nearby balcony or stands on a floating gear and starts trying to get your attention.

Will ask you everything from your name and where you came from to your favourite colour and if you have a specific favourite scale on your body.

You're distrustful and annoyed at first but soon warm up to this obviously lonely man.

You get so comfortable you decide you just might never leave.

The first time you feel comfortable enough to shift back to your human form Heisenberg is like (o_o) hot person! Two for one deal, annoying Mother Miranda plus Eye Candy!!!!

Makes a joke about having you turn into your dragon form again so he can keep making excuses to Mother Miranda. Which gets you curious and you ask about her, and he explains about the cadou, the experiments, and what she did to him.

He will make a bunk for you, so he can get back to work and you can stay near the heat of the forges, (absorbing the energy from the flames speeds up recovery and/or keeps you charged at 100% so you're always ready to burn a b1tch...specifically Miranda).

You both talk about whatever while he works. Lots of late night chats. One time he accidentally doused the forges and you just blew into the chamber and they re-lit immediately. (Mechanical Heart Eyes)

Since you start considering the entire factory to be your hoard, sometimes you claim a random object as your specific favourite piece for the day, maybe one of his tools or a specific piece of scrap. If he needs to use it, you won't let him and a small argument can be had. A solution is soon found though, you can't have a conflict of interest if your favourite item is him.

When you protect him, he's super flattered and hypes you up.

Cue him on the sides cheering you on.

If you two have started dating he will definitely yell "that's my boyfriend!" and gush about you to whoever happens to be standing next to him. (Bonus points if it's any of the other Lords. Especially Miranda, she is dying!)

Definitely makes a sign saying 'Beware of Dragon' to put on the fence.

Sometimes you jump to his defence even when he's in the middle of handling the threat. He gets huffy, saying he can take care of himself. You respond by telling him you won't let anything harm what's yours and once again, Heisenberg.exe is experiencing an error.

Alcina Dimitrescu

She is absolutely dismayed and angry at the giant lizard that barged its way through the doors and took up residency in her hall. It's tracking in mud and snow, burned the curtains, and took a good chunk of the wall, (letting in the cold).

Her daughters can't handle the cold, damn you!

Tries to fight you...fails. Turns out she's not immune to incineration and loses quite a few limbs (they grow back...eventually).

When she sees you shift to your human form, she's doubly-incensed...not only did you barge into her home but your also a D I S G U S T I N G M A N T H I N G !

You shift back whenever she tries to kill you so eventually she just gives up. (According to her she's waiting for the right opportunity NOT giving up.)

Wants to kill you, calls Mother Miranda for help and well, the same thing happens if you had crashed in the factory...she checks out!

Refuses to leave the castle for any reason, she's not leaving you along with her daughters.

Resigns herself to yelling insults at you from the balcony.

You respond in kind and it slowly devolves into a competition to come up with the most creative insults.

Your dragon form radiates heat...like...a lot. (Even counteracting the cold coming through the hole in the wall, which you attempted to fix.) This of course attracts the Dimitrescu daughters to the hall (against their mother's will).

If Alcina sees you lying their in dragon from, her three hive-mind children chattering away happily with you encouraging their curiosity, (Bela is half-asleep by your side, Daniela is complimenting your claws and asking about your bone structure, while Cassandra proudly proclaims her mother's are better than yours), she partly reconsiders her stance on you being a filthy, horrible, disgusting lizard man thing to just a filthy lizard man thing.

Seriously, your filthy, take a bath.

You quite enjoy all the little luxuries that can be found in the castle and decide to stay. Alcina almost shreds her hat in exasperation.

You get more comfortable and she starts to tolerate your presence, although she will take a swipe at you if she thinks she has a chance at killing you in your human form.

Jokes on her you can partially change and still fit through the hallways.

You never told her you've claimed the castle and the Dimitrescu family as your hoard but she does notice you being oddly friendly to her and she is "suspicious!"

You've met a few vampires and have a few suggestions for a more sustainable food source (buying blood donations from villagers instead of killing them). She's skeptical but considers it.

The first time you defend her is actually against Mother Miranda...over the phone. You have sharp hearing...and you don't like what you're hearing.

She's both flattered you would defend her so, and disgusted with herself for accepting a man thing's help.

When she realises she likes having you around, she starts to rationalise to herself that you're not just any man thing, you're her dragon man thing and therefore okay.

Gets more comfortable with leaving you with her daughters. You treat them well and keep them entertained?! That's a free babysitter if ever she's seen one.

When she sees the more extreme lengths you will go to protect the castle and her family, she is impressed and flattered and a little scared, and acts like it was her idea to have you stay.

"Oh, haven't you heard, that's the Dimitrescu Dragon."

Definitely rubs it in Heisenberg's face that she has a dragon and he doesn't.

Donna Beneviento

What are you!?!?!

To protect Donna, Angie is ready to fight you or die trying!

Just kind off avoids you and sends the pollen at you to make you leave.

The only one of the four Lords most likely to actually defeat you.

When you speak though, telling her to "release (your) mind, witch, or (you'll) incinerate everything", she's surprised and scared enough to actually do so.

Asks if you'll be her friend. Angie is cussing you out.

You see how scared and lonely she is and just *adoption mode activated*.

You only need to rest a few days, why not do so on friendly terms with your host. (keep telling yourself that).

It takes a day for you to shift to human form, partially because you don't want to have your measurements taken because Donna wants to make you a giant bonnet, (You reason it's a waste of resources, you'll only be here a short while).

Jokes on you, this is your home now.

You've never hoarded dolls before, but there's a first time for everything.

You will spend most of your time in human form since your dragon form kinda scares her.

Even though she's still scared of it, Donna does find your dragon form interesting and will ask to sketch you (from a distance...no fire please).

Make various over-exaggerated poses and joke about "draw me like one of your french girls" and she will laugh, (even though she doesn't get the joke).

She makes a plush doll of you. It turns inside out to shift between human and dragon.

The first time you protect her, she's scared. The flames take her straight back to her childhood, she's crying and she hides. You shift back to human form very quickly and find her, holding her close and apologising for scaring her over and over.

Will tear a man apart in human form to avoid this (or almost human form).

She slowly works up to being comfortable in your dragon form, the first time she falls asleep against your side is a good day.

You start insisting on accompanying her to meetings and escorting her whenever she has to meet another Lord. They start talking sh1t, they get hit (or burned...you let Donna choose).

Angie cheers you on.

Salvatore Moreau

He is terrified of you when you first show up.

You basically tear your way into the mines for shelter and he is frantically plugging the entrance to his home with the enzyme to hide.

Calls for "mother" to save him and that's how you find him.

You see this small deformed fish man crying in the mine and think, "i'm not gonna ask."

You settle in the slightly larger chamber and just lie down for a rest.

He soon realises your not going to attack him and ventures out to stare at you. He just keeps staring at you for like an uncomfortably long time, peeking around a doorway.

Eventual you snap and ask him to stop staring.

He slowly comes out of hiding and starts asking the basics.

"You can talk?" "Who are you?" "Why are you here?"

Seeing no reason not to, you tiredly answer all his questions.

Hearing about your long journey has him curiously asking about the places you've been to.

He quickly figures out you must have some sort of human form since you end up on the topics of favourite foods or movies and your favourites are all distinctly human. (He's the fastest at figuring this out and the least surprised when you shift).

Terrifying (hideous) creature going through an unnerving transformation into a humanoid form...he can relate. Although he's slightly jealous of how 'normal' you look when you shift to human form.

You two have a movie night where he proudly shows of his collection. It is in the middle of him analysing the context of THAT ONE SCENE that you decide, Yes...This one is mine.

The entire reservoir and mine is your territory and if anything comes anywhere near it they will be ash in 30 seconds.

When you protect him from danger, he's shocked that someone cares enough about him to f-ing incinerate a lycan for even looking at him weirdly.

You act like its natural and eventually he starts to get used to you.

Has self doubt and questions your motives...you tell him he's worth it or that he's your jewel.

C O N F I D E N C E B O O S T

Starts talking back to the other Lords when they insult him. It's easy with you hovering menacingly behind him, veins glowing with barely contained R A G E.

One source of friction however, is the fact that he doesn't like that you keep trying to kill Mother Miranda and he will latch onto you sobbing until you agree to spare her (for now...you'll get her when he's not around).

However, the longer you two know each other, the more self-confidence he gains and the more you talk through what Mother Miranda did to him and why he deserves better, (pointing out her manipulation, analyses whether she's ever 'cared' about him, etc...), the less bothered he gets. (Give it a few years, he'll cheer you on alongside Heisenberg).

Bonus:

The second you see Mother Miranda...it is on sight. (Especially if you know what she did to the Lords).

Cue you shifting to dragon form and preparing to unleash a volley of flame, "I smell the blood of children on you."

You may be comfortable(ish) with the actions of your housemate but you have STANDARDS.

Alright 😊 Hoped you like these headcanons, jaychirps. They were really fun to write and grew quite a bit. 😅

(I feel like Moreau's a bit ooc but I don't know enough about him to dispute that claim....)

Oh and p.s. ... asks are open.

[bubonickitten]

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path. Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 32: Lonely-typical themes & imagery; temporary memory loss, mental confusion, and dissociation/dpdr; misgendering (including use of “it” pronouns; same context as last chapter); references to Mr. Spider (including survivor’s guilt & Jon downplaying his own trauma); internalized victim blaming; references to the children stuck in the Dark’s domain during the apocalypse; suicidal thoughts (and allusions to past suicidal actions, but no details given); a bit of rejection sensitive dysphoria; vague reference to past abuse (Martin’s mother) and comparing oneself to one’s abuser; memory of a past discussion re: Martin slapping Jon during the apocalypse (wherein Martin apologized and Jon predictably tried to minimize it, which Martin shut right down); grief & loss. SPOILERS through Season 5.

___

Chapter 32: The Run-Around

The ghost comes back, because of course it does. Even a command from the Archive has a time limit. With enough practice, Jon might well be able to enhance that ability, learn to administer more complex and sustained compulsions. He has neither the need nor the desire to test those waters.

In the early days of the apocalypse, the Eye needled at the edges of his mind, hounding him to explore that untapped sea of potential. Ignoring that call was once an exercise in spite, requiring no small amount of effort and resolve. Here, now, the Eye is – for once in its rotten, protracted existence – mercifully subdued.

“Jon.”

The apparition crouches down in front of him, sending up a little waft of dust as it settles onto its knees. Reflexively, Jon shrinks back. He clenches his teeth at the wrongness of it all, at this disturbance of a place that should be still and quiet and barren.

“…breaking ground that should be left burned and empty. And I’ve started to dream again–”

“–it wasn’t a dream, though, or a vision. Everything had changed, and I was somewhere new. I don’t know if that’s true – maybe he was just trying to mess with my head or make a point–”

“–I could feel a numbness in myself even as I looked at him. Was I finally becoming like them? My internal world melting away into nothing but a pantomime–?”

“Listen, Jon, I…” Martin gnaws on his bottom lip in silence, agonizing over how to proceed. It’s as if the two of them are perched on a precipice and a single word could mean the difference between coaxing Jon away from the edge and spurring him headlong off of it. “I know you’re scared, and – and confused–”

Confused? Jon thinks, seething.

He’s not sure if even scared is an apt descriptor anymore. There are so many shades of terror, a domain to suit nearly any niche combination of fears – and yet, there is nothing new under the roving Eye. The borders between the Fears have always been blurry, but over time it has become less a gradient and more a muddy smear, as if an overenthusiastic artist scrubbed a careless hand across their pallet. Every endless loop, every specialized domain, every lived experience – the routine has played out long enough to become flat and stale, and Jon has found that one can become habituated to almost anything once it becomes mundane. That process can be tectonically slow, to be sure, but time isn’t as much of a limitation as it once was.

As for confused… well, the Eye forces certainty on him regardless of his feelings on the matter. There are very few things he cannot Know. These days, even the Spiral and the Stranger would have difficulty misleading him.

“I am not a fool,” he snaps. “I know well enough what this dream is likely to mean–”

“–I know when I’m being handled–”

“–I know what it truly is–”

“–I know it’s just phantom–”

“–toying with me–”

“You know, you know, you know,” Martin says. “How? How can you be so sure?”

“I know this place and what you want, but I have no proof to give you. I have nothing that cannot be waved away as a bad dream.”

“Have you asked the Eye?”

Jon’s first impulse is to deny it. He promised not to Know things where Martin is concerned, and he never stopped respecting that boundary, right up until–

Until the end, Jon reminds himself. This isn’t Martin. And this… impostor’s next words prove it.

“You could Know, couldn’t you? You could just… Look?”

“I know he’s gone–”

“–I had plenty of time to mourn him – to reconcile myself to the fact that he was dead–”

“–I should be dead, really – I should be dead – hard to reconcile yourself with avoiding a death that you feel should have been yours–”

“–didn’t know which of us was the lucky one–” Jon’s voice fractures. “Still don’t, really.”

“Can you look at me, please? Just… see me, just for a minute?”

“What do you want?” Jon mumbles, studiously averting his eyes. “To talk to a person who is not a person–? A person – who you should be fleeing?”

It wouldn’t be the first time that a monster asked him to See it, to set it free. But Jon very much doubts this is a monster at all. Just a memory. A convincing one, but a memory all the same.

“I am here, and I give you my words,” he says, shifting to angle his body away. The choreographed disengagement is apparently lost on the specter, which follows the movement, shuffling to keep itself planted directly in front of Jon. “They are all I have, and all you want, and perhaps when I am free of them I will be allowed to sleep.”

“Normally I’d be ecstatic to hear you say you want to sleep, but this isn’t exactly an ideal spot for a nap. Not that the cots in the archives are comfortable either, but it’s definitely better than curling up in…” Martin hesitates, then drags a finger through the powdered debris carpeting the ground and holds it up. “I’m going to regret asking, but what is this stuff, anyway?”

“The remains of –”

“–a ruined world – the nightmare landscape of a twisted world–”

“–the things we left behind – that’s all it is, and we can’t escape the ruins of our own future.”

“Ugh,” Martin says, wrinkling his nose and hastily wiping his hand off on his jumper.

“…the final days of humanity were unpleasant and visceral,” the Archive continues, eager as ever to expound on the nightmare.

“…you could see a storm coming for miles, coming straight at you all across the horizon, looking near as anything like the end of the world – it promised to blot out everything–”

“–pulling us ever closer to a world of fire and loss, a place of burning and agony when we remade the world in the image of–”

“–the sick voyeur that lurks in this place–”

“Okay!” Martin interjects. “I get the picture–”

“–we’d all been touched and warped by proximity – but none of us had any special knowledge – he wanted a grand inferno, a ritual of apocalyptic burning – would create – one who could usher in this new world–”

“–catastrophic change. A change in our world that will wipe out what it means to be us, and leave something else in its place – will warp the world so much it kills us all – strip us of what it means to be human, and leave us something alien and cold–”

The disapproval in Martin’s sigh is piercing enough for Jon’s words to catch in his throat, a surge of self-consciousness bringing heat to his cheeks. Martin takes advantage of the lull to break in with another appeal.

“I need you to listen to me now–”

“…I – I – I knew that I had meddled with something I should have left alone–”

“–had destroyed the place utterly. And yet – remained bound to it, tied to it in some vital way – I have known anguish and destruction – but the memory of that night still makes me shudder. The sadness and the grief we felt at what we knew we had lost – the misery and pain he has brought upon himself–”

“Please, Jon, can you just–”

“–the music calls a name that through the tears of half-grasped memories seems almost and eternally familiar – can you trust your eyes to tell you quite what it might be that dogs your steps – you tire of the chase of course, the fire and all-relentless pace of – reaching for a name, identity, and face that has long since worn through all reserves of hard, enduring vigor in you–”

“That’s enough!”

It’s loud, and sharp, and forceful enough that it stops Jon in his tracks just the same as the first time Martin established an embargo on the Archive’s apocalyptic narration. For a split second, Jon expects to be struck–

Which is ridiculous. Ghosts don’t have substance. Any attempt at physical contact would give away the ruse.

It’s not something Jon should have expected from the real Martin, either. They had talked about that. At excruciating length. Jon remembers it vividly…

Things had been… tense – more so than usual – ever since leaving Callum Brodie’s domain. Expected, but nonetheless disconcerting. On the one hand, Jon longed to break the silence. On the other, he dreaded what that might entail. He wasn’t sure what would be worse: confronting what had just happened, or avoiding it altogether.

The reality of the situation remained the same regardless of whether they chose to acknowledge it. All the world’s children had been condemned to hell, and the only thing Jon could think to do was… abandon them to their fate. A fate that he brought about.

‘I want you to use your power!’ It had landed more like an accusation than a demand. Luckily, Martin did not seem to notice Jon’s wince. ‘I want you to help them – I want you to make things better!’

In retrospect, Jon should have just said ‘I can’t’ and left it at that.

What he said instead, sullen and venomous, was: ‘There is no better anymore.’

It was true, and no amount of wishful thinking, remorse, or self-destruction would have changed that. But he should have known better than to be so bluntly pessimistic. Martin’s response was predictable enough.

‘You keep saying that, and I hate it!’

Jon should have apologized. He should have explained himself better. He should have let himself be vulnerable for once, because the alternative was–

‘I keep saying it because it keeps being true – you know that!’

It wasn’t until the words were out of his mouth that he realized how it sounded: dismissive, callous, indifferent to the terrified screams of children – loud enough to his ears, louder still in his head.

‘What I know is that leaving children here is – it’s inexcusable! It’s monstrous!’

Jon should have agreed then. He should have shown some sympathy. But in the moment – floundering in a flood of fear that he could scarcely distinguish from his own, self-loathing inundating him that he could be dwelling on his own childhood trauma right then, when his nightmare was in the past; when he wasn’t even the one who got taken, just the bystander who watched it happen; when these children’s nightmares were happening in the present, ongoing, with no end in sight; when they wouldn’t be here now if the monster had just taken him–

‘Martin,’ he said, teetering on the edge of begging. ‘Tell me what you want me to do, and I will do it!’

Martin knew as well as Jon did that there was only one thing he could do. The only thing left to him in his monstrous existence.

He gave a statement.

And then, more monstrous still, he walked away, leaving each and every one of those children to suffer their worst nightmares without a morsel of comfort or consolation.

They had been walking ever since, the silence between them palpable and festering. Eventually, Jon couldn’t take it anymore.

‘You’re being awfully quiet,’ he blurted out. It was only after he’d spoken that he registered how hoarse his voice was. How it took what was meant to be neutral and transformed it into something gruff and jarring.

Martin didn’t answer.

Understandable. Jon didn’t much want his own company right then, either. So he resolved to keep his mouth shut. To give Martin the space he clearly needed.

Then he heard something that sounded worryingly like a sniffle. He stopped and turned on his heel to see Martin stood in place several paces behind him, his head lowered and his arms clutching his stomach protectively.

‘Martin?’ Jon rapidly closed the distance between them in a few long strides. ‘What’s wrong? Are you – are you hurt? Are you feeling ill?’

With Martin’s chin dipped to his chest and his hair hanging down to shroud his eyes, Jon couldn’t get a read on him. His instinct was to reach out, but at the first sign of movement, Martin recoiled – minutely, but still indisputably a flinch.

Right, Jon thought. Martin probably didn’t want that from him just then. Again, understandable.

So Jon lowered his arms. They felt oddly heavy, hanging limp and useless at his sides, so he crossed them in front of himself instead, unconsciously mirroring Martin’s slumping, round-shouldered stance.

‘Sorry,’ Jon mumbled inanely. It seemed unnecessary to specify for what. Everything, really. None of which was remotely remedied by yet another apology.

‘No.’ Martin’s head snapped up, finally granting Jon a glimpse of his face. Of his eyes, glistening with tears. ‘You shouldn’t… I should be apologizing to you.’

‘What?’

‘I hurt you.’ Martin’s voice warbled, one hand going up to cover his mouth. His other arm stayed firmly pressed against his middle, his fingers clutching at his side. ‘I… I hit you.’

Jon was momentarily flummoxed, unable to track Martin’s thought process, until he recalled how they left off before.

Thank you for not hitting me this time, Jon had sniped. It was a stupid thing for him to say – sulky, melodramatic, unnecessarily vindictive. A slap in the face, really, considering how Martin was still supporting him in spite of… everything. Everything he’d done; everything he was–

And everything he wasn’t. Everything he couldn’t do.

‘I… I’m so sorry, Jon, I–’ Martin’s breath hiccupped. ‘God, sorry doesn’t even come close to–’

‘It’s… fine,’ Jon said wearily. ‘I’m not angry. I’m not even upset–’

‘You should be!’

‘Well, I’m not.’ Jon scuffed one foot against the ground. ‘It’s not a big deal. Honestly, I shouldn’t have said anything at all. If anything, I owe you an apology.’

‘What?’ Martin yelped.

‘It was… petty of me, to bring it up like that. You didn’t deserve that.’

‘Jon,’ Martin said tremulously, ‘what are you talking about?’

‘I was just… on edge, and lashing out in the heat of the moment.’ A self-deprecating smile flickered and died on Jon’s lips. ‘Old habits, I suppose.’

‘Wh– I’m the one who hit you!’

‘Not that hard.’

Never too hard. Never enough to hurt. Just enough to snap him out of it.

Martin gaped at him, looking – disproportionately, in Jon’s opinion – horrified. ‘Jon!’

‘What? It wasn’t. Not like you threw a punch.’

‘That doesn’t matter! I still hurt you!’ Martin began to pace, back and forth, scraping his hand through his hair. His fingers kept catching on the tangled curls in a way that looked painful. ‘And now you’re excusing it, and – and – and trying to comfort me for what I did–’

‘Martin, it–’ Jon watched as Martin ruthlessly yanked his fingers through another knot. He must have misinterpreted Jon’s sympathetic wince, because it only seemed to make him more distraught. ‘I promise, it really, truly wasn’t as bad as you’re – as I made it out to be.’

‘I’ve also heard you say that about – about getting eaten by worms, or – or – or kidnapped by–’

They were veering dangerously close to a conversational minefield. Instinctually, Jon balked.

‘Can we just–’ Jon cut himself off as soon as he registered his sharp tone. Being tetchy wouldn’t help anything. ‘I mean this in the nicest possible way, but can we please just… drop it and move on?’

‘No, we really can’t,’ Martin said, his eyes wide and beseeching. He finally stopped abusing his scalp, lowering his hand to his side. ‘You… you know you didn’t deserve that, right?’

He took one careful step forward – hesitantly, as if he expected Jon to back away – and then reached out, just as slowly. In the few seconds it took for Jon to recognize the intent – to process the fact that Martin would want to be anywhere near him right then, let alone touch him – Martin started to pull back, presumably interpreting the delay as reluctance. Before he could retract the offer entirely, Jon hurriedly grabbed his hands, grateful – albeit guiltily so – that Martin could still find it in himself to care.

‘Jon, I…’ Martin stared down at their linked hands with a perplexing sense of wonder. ‘I need you to understand that you don’t deserve to be hurt.’

His gaze wandered to Jon’s neck, lingering there – and suddenly, it was too much for Jon.

‘Honestly, Martin, a gentle slap to the face isn’t exactly the same caliber as a knife to the throat.’

‘That’s not the–!’ Martin’s throat bobbed, as if he was swallowing back tears. ‘I don’t want you to ever have to look at something I did and compare it to what’s been done to you. To minimize it, to – to say it doesn’t matter because it’s not as bad as literal torture. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve to be treated gently. You deserve to expect better from someone who loves you. I never want you to have to be afraid of me–’

Jon couldn’t help it – he laughed. The idea that, of the two of them, Martin was the one to fear…

‘Sorry, I’m not making fun, I just…’ Jon took a breath, schooling himself before he continued. ‘You haven’t traumatized me, and frankly, it’s absurd to think otherwise. All of those other things – they were meant to hurt, to scar, and – I know you’d never intentionally hurt me. You’re not like that.’

‘Apparently I am,’ Martin said feebly.

Jon caught a fleeting glimpse of a thought just then – bitter memories of a mother so caught up in the mantra of ‘like father, like son’ that she never stopped to consider that he might take after her–

‘No,’ Jon said firmly. ‘That’s not you. I know you wouldn’t… do something like that, if things were normal. I mean’ – he allowed himself a nervous chuckle – ‘if anything qualifies as extenuating circumstances, it’s the apocalypse–’

‘Stop making excuses for me!’ Martin erupted. ‘Hitting you never should have crossed my mind, let alone actually following through on it – multiple times, and not even as a last resort–!’

‘It’s probably the quickest, most straightforward way to snap me out of it,’ Jon protested – a bit too frantically to pass as matter-of-fact. ‘It’s effective.’

Martin stared at the ground. ‘But you didn’t like it, did you?’

‘It didn’t hurt.’

‘But it didn’t make you feel good, either.’

Before he could think better of it, Jon muttered: ‘Most things don’t, these days.’

It was exactly the sort of insensitive, unwelcome cynicism that caused their earlier row, and Jon steeled himself for the inevitable backlash. But it didn’t come.

‘Yeah,’ Martin said faintly. ‘And that’s exactly why I shouldn’t be adding more bad things to the pile.’

‘It’s the end of the world, Martin. You didn’t sign up for this–’

‘Neither did you–’

‘And it’s understandable,’ Jon carried on, ‘that you might sometimes do, or – or say things that you wouldn’t, if things weren’t so…’ He trailed off. There was no apt descriptor for what the world had become. No word that could fully capture the enormity of the nightmare he had unleashed. ‘I don’t hold it against you.’

‘I’m still sorry. And I’m not asking you to forgive me.’

‘I don’t think there’s anything to forgive–’

‘Funny. You didn’t take it well when I said the same thing, when you kept apologizing for how you used to treat me.’

‘That’s not the same thing. You didn’t do anything to elicit my treatment of you back then. Your only crime was getting assigned to the Archives – against your will, at that, because Elias – Jonah – was scheming. I hadn’t been traipsing through an apocalyptic wasteland; I didn’t have to snap you out of some sort of ��� sadistic voyeur trance. It was just me being a prick, and you being too quick to forgive.’

Martin breathed a surprised laugh. ‘Is that really what you think?’

Jon tilted his head, which only seemed to add to Martin’s amusement.

‘Jon, I’m so good at holding a grudge I could’ve put it on my CV. Would’ve been the only true thing on there, if I had.’

‘W-well,’ Jon stammered, taken aback. ‘You… you’ve always been too quick to forgive me.’

‘If anything, this entire conversation has proven that it’s reciprocal.’

Jon found himself unable to muster a response to that.

‘Look, it’s no secret that neither of us has stellar self-esteem. You’re a terrible judge of what you deserve, and you obviously think the same of me. So if we’re both so bad at being kind to ourselves, maybe we should just… do our best to take care of each other?’ Martin squeezed Jon’s hands. ‘I treated you less kindly than you deserve – don’t argue – and I want to do better. I’m going to do better.’

‘Me too,’ Jon said – and then, upon seeing Martin open his mouth to retort: ‘Don’t argue.’

Martin smiled and rolled his eyes in a ‘point taken’ sort of way.

‘Okay, then let’s… let’s do what we should have done in the first place.’ Martin’s thumbs started to knead the back of Jon’s hands, moving in repetitious little circles. It was a habitual gesture, and Jon had long suspected that the soothing effect was mutual. ‘Sometimes, you get lost in a statement, and I don’t know what to do. It… scares me – and not for the reasons you think. I start to worry that you won’t come back, and I’ll have to survive this all on my own–’

Jon suddenly felt cold all over. ‘Martin–’

‘I know you’d never leave me alone here,’ Martin reassured. ‘Not on purpose. I’m just afraid that one of these times, you’ll get lost – or, you’ll lose yourself and not be able to find your way back to me. I start thinking about what it was like before – mourning you, thinking I’d lost you for good – and I just… I panic. But I can’t keep taking a shortcut that I know hurts you, s-so…’ He worried his lip for a few seconds before meeting Jon’s eyes. ‘How can I help?’

“–okay?” Jon opens his eyes to see the thing that sounds like Martin staring back at him. The thing that looks like Martin, with the same concerned furrow between its brows and the same earnest eyes and even the same hands, one suspended uncertainly in the air between them. “Are you… are you back with me now?”

Right now, Jon doesn’t want to be anywhere – not in a memory, not in the present, not in his own skin. His thoughts are too heavy for him to hold his head up, so he leans forward instead, resting his forehead against his bony knees.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted, I just…” The ghost sighs. “I know it seems like this is all there is. Like nothing will ever change. But it did. You changed it. You found a way to turn the world back. You just… don’t remember right now.”

“…we all – we all knew he was a liar–”

“And,” Martin plows on, “I know it feels right, being here. I know it feels like nothing can touch you here – like if nothing can reach you, nothing can hurt you, and you’ll be safe.”

“There is a place, deep in the heart of fear,” Jon says, letting his eyes drift shut as the statement sweeps him away, “where you trap yourself and claim that it is safety – you sit in your meager comfort and belief of security with nothing to do, nothing to distract your mind from the agonies that lie just beyond your window. And those diversions you do find will offer no relief – but simply numb the mind into mournful nostalgia for a time when the world you inhabited seemed to make sense…”

“Y-yeah.” Jon raises his head to see one corner of Martin’s mouth tick up into a smile – weak and weary, soft and sad, but nonetheless fond and achingly familiar. “Feels like even the fear is gentle here, doesn’t it?”

“…but the place knows this comfort to be a lie,” Jon says acidly, “and laces upon it instead the awful fear of losing what you have – of it being stripped away by the chaos that waits for you beyond the walls.”

“Exactly.” This time, Martin’s sigh is one of relief rather than disappointment, but it knocks Jon off-kilter just the same. He curls in on himself more tightly, shrinking himself as small as possible, and wishes fruitlessly that he could make himself disappear entirely. He settles for hiking his shoulders up to his ears, half-hiding behind his knees, and steadfastly ignoring the way Martin keeps trying to catch his eye. “It’s – it’s a lie. The Lonely lies. You’re the one who told me that, remember?”

What does it matter if it’s a lie? It’s not like there’s anything promising waiting for him outside of this place.

There never was.

It was a mistake to leave the cabin, Jon knows now. The comfort it promised was an illusion, true, but was it any worse than what awaited them outside its walls? It would have destroyed them eventually, but might they have at least had more time together? Would it have been worth it? Months, weeks, days, even an hour – wouldn’t it have been worth it?

“It is afraid of what it has become and where it might be going–”

“–I’ve always been running, always hiding, caught in someone else’s trap, but – but now–”

“–there seemed a safety in stillness, as though inaction could do no harm. It was the first good decision I had made, and there isn’t a day goes by I don’t curse myself for–”

“–surviving encounters which had killed far braver souls–”

“–to make it through all fourteen–”

“–throwing open any door I had not yet seen behind–”

“–trying to convince ourselves we had any hope of outrunning the storm. We did not–”

“Look at me, Jon.”

“…I couldn’t see this man. Obviously I couldn’t. I couldn’t see him or hear him or speak to him. Because… there was nobody there–”

“Can you just – shut the Archive off for a minute? Talk to me, like earlier?”

Jon’s attention seizes on that last word – earlier. The Archive hasn’t relinquished its stranglehold on his voice since the first moment it fully claimed its place – a much longer reign than earlier implies. Once, he might have followed up on that incongruity. As he is now, it’s easy to cast it aside.

“…a slow movement of your jaw, your lips, forming your mouth into words–”

“–a way of taking your thoughts, the very makeup of yourself, and giving them to another. Putting your thoughts in the mind of someone else – corruption between your mind and that of the listener–”

“–it barely even sounded human as it – as it spoke in a strange monotone–”

“–didn’t whisper but every word was quiet, as though it was a real effort to get them out – but was definitely words, the same words over and over–”

Yet another loud sigh interrupts the monologue. Jon resists the urge to look up, to determine whether the specter’s scowl is as convincing an impersonation as the rest of its act.

“–simple – s-simple vibrations that vanish almost as soon as they are created, though if they find a host, then they can lodge there, proliferate, and maybe spread further–”

“Hey…” There’s an indignant, accusatory note to the word, and this time Jon does chance a glimpse, his curiosity getting the better of him. Martin is still sat in the same place – at a barely acceptable distance, almost too close for comfort – but he’s leaning forward now, his chin resting on one fist, the other hand cupping his elbow. “That jumper looks familiar.”

It’s such an abrupt, bizarre non sequitur that Jon’s response – whatever dismissal the Archive had at the ready – fizzles out. There must be some human left in him yet, because he immediately succumbs to the awkward impulse to look down and double-check what he’s wearing the moment his attention is drawn to it.

“In fact… I think I have one just like that, right down to that little snag on the sleeve. Got it caught on the corner of a filing cabinet drawer the first week I was working in the basement–” Jon glances back up to see Martin’s hand go to his chest in a show of faux outrage. “Jon, did you nick it from me when I wasn’t looking?”

Jon readies a denial, but admittedly he does – did – have a habit of stealing clothes. It’s just… he was never good at picking out comfortable clothes for himself. It’s not his fault that Georgie had such excellent taste in product for her podcast merch, or that Martin has – had – a serendipitous affinity for precisely the types of materials that Jon can tolerate touching his skin for long periods of time.

Anyway, Martin always liked when Jon wore his clothes. Moreover, this particular jumper isn’t even one that Jon stole.

“…borrowed,” Jon says primly. “I held onto it–”

“–already had that permission–”

“–I hadn’t thought much of it, but here it was – all those years later.”

“Hmm…” Martin squints. “Seems in pretty good shape, doesn’t it?”

Jon stares down at himself again, mystified and increasingly indignant about this pointless line of questioning.

“For something you’ve been dragging through an apocalyptic hellscape, I would’ve expected to see more wear and tear is all.”

“…the maddened illusion that hides the sick squirming reality of what I am. Of what we all are, when you strip away the pretense–”

“–visions, hallucinations or dreams–”

“Well, let’s see…” The ghost starts counting off on its fingers, just the same as Martin used to do whenever he was gearing up for a spat. “You can’t predict the future, so this isn’t a vision. You told me you weren’t able to sleep after the change, so that rules out dreams. Which leaves hallucinations, and… do you really think the Lonely would let you hallucinate some nice, comfortable clothes to brood in? Why would it bother?”

There’s a smug, victorious grin on its face now – the same one Martin used to get when he made a valid point in one of their trivial, good-humored squabbles, one that he knew would leave Jon speechless or stammering, unable to formulate a rebuttal. It’s endearing – or it was, and it would be if this was Martin, but this isn’t Martin, and Jon has had enough of this charade.

“…it has been freeing, talking to you, but not enough to free me from my fate – it’s just a memory – a daydream – it won’t last forever–”

“–there’s nowhere I can go, a place I can hide that it doesn’t keep looking at me – those unseen eyes that hover everywhere and won’t let me rest–”

“Eyes!” Martin blurts out, jabbing an excited finger in Jon’s direction. “You’ve got two of them!”

Jon stares blankly at the fingertip pointing at his face. Martin’s cheeks instantly redden. He coughs lightly and slowly lowers his hand.

“You, uh… you’ve mentioned before that you sort of – sprouted a bunch more of them? During the apocalypse?” he says uncertainly. “Okay, ‘sprouted’ wasn’t the word you used, I just sort of imagined–” He shakes his head, as if to banish a mental image. “In my defense, you didn’t explain. You make a lot of ominous side comments, and it’s hard to tell when you’re being cryptic on accident and when you’re actually avoiding a sore subject, so–”

Apparently gaslighting isn’t just the Spiral’s specialty. Rapidly losing patience for the asinine twists and turns this conversation keeps taking, Jon brandishes his hands, putting the hateful array of Watchers on full display. Martin’s only response is to raise an eyebrow, which only serves to stoke Jon’s temper.

“And I tell them to look again at – our wretched eyes that bind us to this grotesque world in which we live – at the pain and suffering and misery that it brings with it–”

“–look into their eyes for just a second, and see the emptiness inside–”

“I’m looking.” Martin gives an indicative nod. “Are you?”

With a huff, Jon follows Martin’s line of sight, even though he already knows what he’ll see staring back at him: a horde of bottomless black hole pupils hemmed with toxic, incandescent green, far more numerous than the worm scars ever were–

“…and his eyes were missing,” he murmurs.

Reality collapses on top of him all at once: he cannot see. Or – he can, by a certain, limited definition of the word, but the scope of his vision has shrunken, now constricted to a narrow span directly in front of him. Compared to what he was – what he has been for ages, for far longer than he was human – he’s functionally blind.

That transition does not happen in real time; rather, it has already happened, and he’s only now become cognizant of it, in the blink of an eye (or two, or ten, or dozens–)

How did it happen? When did it happen? How could he not have noticed such a drastic change as it was happening?

“…but – but they stared at me,” Jon says weakly, flipping his hands to check his palms, as if they simply migrated somehow, then again to inspect the backs. “They saw me. Believe or dismiss anything else – but I swear to you–”

“–were there such a short time ago – vanished–”

He wrenches one sleeve up to the crook of his elbow, then the other, scrutinizing his exposed forearms and picking uncomprehendingly at the places where eyes should be. It feels as if the ground has caved beneath him, stealing away his breath along with his words as surely as any freefall.

He wonders if this is how Lee Rentoul felt when he woke up one morning to find yet another piece of him missing, inexplicably vanished overnight.

“…I felt a jolt of fear because I – I knew they went further, went deeper than would show on my skin–”

“They aren’t there anymore, Jon. The world isn’t ending anymore. You stopped it–”

Jon shakes his head fervently.

“It is too late. It has always been too late–”

“–the night outside showed no sign of ending–”

“–and as you lie in agonies and fading dreams of personhood, of knowing who you were and what that might have meant, you hear the bitter whisper of recriminating seekers who–”

Martin’s soothing demeanor slips as he throws his head back with a muttered, “Christ, you’re stubborn.”

“Close your eyes,” Jon says, and he does just that. All two of them, he thinks, and then shakes his head again to banish the reminder. “Ignore the sounds–”

“One minute you’re all, ‘I witnessed all laws and universal constants crumble beneath the weight of incomprehensible powers, who knows if anything is categorically impossible,’” Martin says, putting on the melodramatic, playfully mocking air he would summon whenever he determined that Jon was being too ominous. “And now you want to play the skeptic again.”

“…can you trust your eyes – and stake it all on one last hope, your bruised feet pounding to the edge – your intended line of best retreat – but no, for all the dreams of bounding, leaping off into the great unknown, you see the – sting that comes with such rejection of the truth – that there is no way off the merry-go-round–”

“Just stop and think for a second. What reason could the Lonely possibly have for giving you a single scrap of comfort?”

“–your face is not your face is not your face–”

“Jon,” Martin says sternly.

What little was left of Jon’s tested patience shatters. His head snaps up and a single, irate question trips off of his tongue: “What?!”

“There you are,” Martin says, a wry – affectionate, affecting – curve to his mouth now. “If I knew that annoying you would be enough to snap you out of it, I’d have doubled down on it sooner. Guess I should’ve known. You did tell me as much – me and Georgie.”

Georgie?

Jon hasn’t seen Georgie since… since he barged into her home to drag Melanie back into all of this against her will. And… that’s exactly what he did in the end, didn’t he? Dragged everyone into it. Georgie made it abundantly clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. She was right not to, and he couldn’t even grant her that.

He’s never gained the ability to See either of them, but there was a time when he would turn his mind to them, if only to Know whether or not they were still alive. He stopped checking ages ago. Though he tells himself that it’s to give them whatever small measure of privacy is still attainable in a world turned into the Beholding’s playground, the real reason is not nearly so altruistic.

The plain truth is that he knows he will outlive them. He has no desire to Know when or how they will meet – have met? – their ends. If he does not ask the question, hopefully the Eye will spare him the answer. It’s bound to cram the knowledge into his head at some point, of course, but he would rather ward it off as long as possible.

“…the reconciliation I’d hoped for never really came–”

“You told us that you had given up. That you sort of… wallowed in the Lonely for a bit – your words, not mine – but it wouldn’t have you. Then Helen riled you into storming the Panopticon. Well” – Martin seems to preen, the pink flush on his cheeks deepening in time with his slowly-spreading smile – “the way you told it, she was having a go at me and you took it upon yourself to defend my honor – which, I’m flattered, by the way, I don’t think I ever–”

“What – are – you – talking about?” Jon forces out through gritted teeth.

“Jon,” Martin says – and he edges closer, just a bit, before he remembers himself. It seems he’s making a valiant – if poor – attempt to hide his buzzing eagerness. “Can you repeat what you just said?”

“I…” Jon gulps. The dampened panic prowling the perimeter of his mind is creeping closer and closer, his heartbeat approaching a gallop. Something isn’t right, alarm bells screech in his head, louder and louder every second. Something is off, he can’t pinpoint what it is, and it has the Archive in him gnashing its teeth. “I asked what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you did. You did. Not the Archive, Jon. You.”

What.

“I–” Jon falters, his stomach swooping as if he just missed a step going down the stairs. “What? No. What–?”

“You were using your own voice earlier, too.”

There’s that word again. “Earlier…?”

“Couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes ago. Just before you sent me away?” Martin gives him an expectant look – as though they have a shared understanding of reality between them, as though Jon can possibly contextualize whatever irrational premises Martin is operating on. “I… don’t think you realized the implications at the time.”

“Th-that’s not…” Jon presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, leaning into the pressure. “No, that – that doesn’t make sense. When did – how – why now, when it – it’s been so long–”

Could he have done it all along? Has he just been letting it happen all this time, submitting to the monster and telling himself that he had no choice?

It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?

“It hasn’t, though. Not really, or – not as long as you think, at least. A little over a week, actually – which is a long time to be stuck here,” Martin hastens to add, “I know, I don’t mean to minimize it, or–”

“I don’t understand.”

The tight sensation in Jon’s chest intensifies as he tries to regain solid footing on the shifting quicksand of the moment. Trying to follow Martin’s reasoning is like trying to make sense of a dream. It’s not like the nightmare logic of the Fears, though. More like attempting to navigate barely-lucid dream, aware enough to realize that events aren’t following an expected narrative, but not enough to pinpoint why – or to determine what the expected narrative even should be.

“Peter threw you into the Lonely, remember?” It’s not the condescending sort of placating; not the it-was-only-a-dream dismissal of a longsuffering guardian shooing a child back to bed, brimming with barely-suppressed irritation after so many consecutive nights of disturbed sleep. “He put you here because he thought it was his only chance to make me cooperate. And… I guess it likes to mirror whatever makes you feel the most… well, lonely. Makes sense it would go for the apocalypse. I’ve noticed it’s not keen on subtlety–”

“No, this is – why are you here? How are you here? You can’t be here. I – I lost you, I watched it happen and I – I couldn’t do anything to stop it, and I still can’t – can’t do anything. If I could have followed you, I would have. I’ve tried, but the Eye took that from me, same as everything else, and I don’t know if…” Jon trails off as a feeble breath shudders out of him. “I want to hope that there’s something… after, but I don’t know. I don’t Know.”

Such things are beyond the Eye’s purview. But there are no cosmic forces of hope or love to balance out the Fears. Why would life after death – if such a thing exists at all – be any different? Ideally, there’s at least nothing worse waiting on the other side; realistically, the best he dares to hope for is for nothing at all to be waiting on the other side. Nearly any change – even oblivion – would be a welcome reprieve from the living hell currently raging on earth.

Sometimes, he wonders whether oblivion would actually be the kindest option. It’s always followed by a twinge of guilt – of course he would give anything to see Martin again, of course he would be overjoyed for his cynicism to be proven wrong – but sometimes…

Sometimes he feels threadbare. Like a ragdoll forced into motion, no life of his own left to animate him, no corner of his mind left intact, no personal identity left to salvage. He doesn’t want to think anymore, he doesn’t want to be anything, he doesn’t want to be seen or known or remembered–

He just wants to rest. It’s selfish – and unearned – but that doesn’t stop him wanting it.

“…doesn’t get to die for that – gets to live, trapped and helpless, and entombed forever – I am without him now – fading, weak, no reason to move – powerless to help–”

“–this is reality. I dream, sometimes, perhaps this is the illusion–”

“–I tried to listen, to nod, but his eyes were hollow, and I knew that he wasn’t really there. I could run, of course, but I won’t. Where would I run to? All the world’s a stage, and I can’t escape my monologue–”

“–it doesn’t matter. At that moment, seeing those bound corpses before me, I made the decision to take no action ever again–”

“–over the course of several years, he stopped being able to move under his own power – it had been all he was for so long–”

“–I barely recognized myself – he looked at me with – helpless terror, as though I could do something to fix it – I have not fought since I – saw the true scale of the devastation–”

“But you did,” Martin insists. “You confronted the Eye.”

“I will admit that in my heart I nurtured such dreams of revenge–”

“–was planning to try and rescue those trapped in the wreckage, but maybe she was simply trying to join them–”

“–in the end it is what it is, and I’m just going to have to live with it–”

“–whatever fight was left in me at the beginning is gone – now it’s just a memory – I’ve forgotten the taste of determination–”

“And then you found it again,” Martin counters. “You… you’re so much stronger than you think, Jon.”

“Stronger than anything has any right to be,” Jon scoffs.

“That’s not the kind of strength I’m talking about.” Martin regards him with a wistful expression. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

“And how is that? What is there to see? When you strip away the Eye, what’s left behind?” Jon demands. The bitter, scornful laugh that wrenches itself out of him borders on cruel-sounding. “Go on. Tell me what you actually see.”

“I see you.” Martin pauses, staring pensively at his hands as he gathers his thoughts. They remain tightly folded in his lap, one thumbnail digging repeatedly into the cuticle of the other. “I see… I see someone who has had to shoulder so much – more than anyone should ever be expected to carry – for so long, all alone. The things you’ve seen, everything you’ve been through – you could have let it make you cold, or heartless, but you didn’t. You… you’ve survived so much, lost everything, and still you found it in yourself to keep going–”

“I don’t have a choice!”

He had one chance to die. He chose wrong. Now he has to live with it whether he likes it or not.

“Maybe you didn’t have the option to die, but you had a choice whether to fight back, and you did. And you didn’t choose to be here now.”

“Stop saying that!” Jon twists his fingers in his hair. “None of this makes sense–”

“Why not? Talk me through it.”

“B-because – because that’s not how the world works anymore!” Jon says, his voice ragged with anguish. A few strands of hair snap away from his scalp as he tightens his grip. “The only currency this place has, the only thing with any coherence, or – or – or staying power is fear. Anything that promises comfort is a lie, a – a ruse. There’s no room left for kindness – there’s barely enough room left for the Fears. In the end there won’t be room left for anything at all, and the End can’t come soon enough.”

“I know–”

“No, you don’t know!” He never did. And given what it would have required for Martin to truly understand… Jon would never have wished that upon him. “You didn’t speak the words. You couldn’t See the extent of what I did–”

“What Jonah did–”

“I’m the one who opened the door! And if I had the power to end it all now – all of it, scorch the earth and leave it a barren rock – I would, and it would be a mercy.” There’s a dull pain building in the back of Jon’s throat. Swallowing hard, he releases his grasp on his hair so he can hide his face in his hands instead. “Miracles don’t happen. Not before, and certainly not now. There’s no better anymore. Just… this.”

“What about your voice?”

“What about it?” Jon says peevishly.

“Well, having it back – that’s an improvement, right?”

“For now, maybe. Until it’s gone again. And that’s how the Lonely operates, isn’t it?” Jon’s shoulders slump as all the fight rushes out of him, weary melancholy taking its place. “I never got to say goodbye before. Not in my own words. As me. So the Lonely conjures up a substitute, gives me a chance to pretend for a moment, because stale grief is nothing compared to dashed hopes. It’s one thing to dwell on loss. It’s quite another to find something you thought you’d lost, only to…”

“To lose it again,” Martin says. One hand drifts to his chest, clutching at his jumper just over his heart.

“I already lost you,” Jon corrects. “And even though I know this won’t give me closure, even though I know it’s just a setup, to – to reopen the wound, make me relive that moment, I still go along with it, because I… I miss you. I miss you just the same now as I did when I lost you, and it…” The broken little noise that slips out of him falls far short of a chuckle. “Well, even if time did heal all wounds, time doesn’t really work anymore, so.”

“I… I was lost, yeah. But I didn’t stay that way. You didn’t let me stay that way.” Martin keeps moving, leaning forward and tilting his head, chasing after eye contact in response to Jon’s every effort to avert his gaze. “I was afraid of the same thing, you know. I’d already lost you once. Already grieved for you. Letting you back in… it meant opening myself up to the possibility over going through it all over again. But not letting you back in would have meant abandoning you, and…” He smiles – the sort of half-wry, half-sheepish grin of someone preparing to tell a joke that might not land. “Better to have loved and lost, right?”

Jon’s brain briefly short-circuits before he splutters out, “Are you quoting Tennyson at me right now?”

“I guess it was too much to hope you’d misattribute it to Shakespeare,” Martin grouses. “Look, you’re an ex-theatre kid who hates poetry. Doesn’t leave me much to work with. Anyway, what’s wrong with Tennyson? Too sentimental? Too depressing? Or just too” – his voice takes on a disdainful tenor, but Jon can see the way he’s fighting a grin – “obviously enamored with Keats?”

“Too Victorian,” Jon says, surrendering to the fleeting humor of the moment. Once again, the involuntary noise that forces its way out of him hardly qualifies as a laugh. It nonetheless seems to encourage Martin, who brightens, sitting up straighter.

“You found me,” he says, “and now it’s my turn. We’ve found each other again and again and again, and I see no reason to stop now. Although… maybe after this we can stop losing each other in the first place.”

“We already have,” Jon murmurs, the glimmer of playfulness dissipating the moment he remembers the truth of the matter. “You’ve finally gone somewhere I can’t reach you.”

Martin presses his lips together as if he’s biting back a retort. He takes a measured breath before he speaks.

“That’s enough talking in circles,” he says. “You can Know anything–”

The brusque rejoinder is automatic: “Almost anything.”

“So ask me. Ask me whether I’m telling the truth.” Martin sighs at Jon’s answering silence. “I’m giving you permission, I’m asking you to, so–”

“Why?” Jon narrows his eyes in suspicion. What the Lonely could possibly hope to achieve by prolonging this convoluted ploy? “What’s there to be gained?”

“What’s there to lose?” Martin counters.

Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing–

“Fine,” Jon snarls. “Fine!”

If the Lonely wants to play this game, the least Jon can do is make it hurt.

“Tell me,” he says, static crackling in his throat. “Tell me the truth.”

___

End Notes:

- jon’s just like “do you ever get so annoyed at the ghosts of your past that you momentarily forget you’re an archive”

- Archive-speak citations: 059/030/122; 138/150/152/150/031; 074; 075/007/051/007; 074; 074; 133/160/149; 134/099/139/135; 139/134; 037/139; 165; 084; 162; 162; 162/117/020/167/160/127/099; 085; 020/017/144/012; 017; 014/035/014; 032/011; 096/060; 135/122; 023; 023/168; 091; 168/029/165; 162; 165; 165; 077; 128/020/108/020/136/105; 140/107/083/096; 053; 001/126/057; 047; 047; 004; 047; 004; 001/044;

- Some of the dialogue in the flashback re: what happened in Callum Brodie’s domain (up to ‘tell me what you want me to do and I will do it’) is from 173. The “I can’t imagine making any choice that would mean losing you. It hurts to know that you [can]” line is from 199.

- Thank you so much for reading!

[tiny-prince-alef]

Alef’s Journey Home: Chapter 18

(Author here.  Sorry that this chapter took me so long to post up.  To be honest, I really dislike how this chapter turned out, despite re-writing it at least three times.  C’est la vie, I suppose.  I’m sorry if it’s not that good...  

This chapter contains VERY HEAVY SPOILERS for Eden, so please, do not read this chapter if you have not completed Eden or the game yet!)

Chapter 18: Orbit

How long has Papa been holding me?  I kept asking myself this as he held me against his scarred cheek.  But why does it matter?  I would be so content to just be held by him for all eternity.

But, I knew I couldn’t.  I couldn’t stay here.  And neither could Papa.  He didn’t deserve to live up in Eden all alone.  Despite everything, he still has a kingdom, and he is still the King of Sky.  

“Papa…” I said softly.  He made a soft noise of acknowledgement, and I knew that I had his attention.

“Papa, I have Light to collect from one more Elder…” I started, hoping he would start to understand.  But he didn’t say anything; he only held me closer.

“Once I collect his Light, I can go back to the kingdom.” I heard him sniffle softly, and he held me so close that I could barely move. “I can’t, Alef… I just got you back, my precious one!  How can you expect me to let you go again?!” I heard him cry out, fat teardrops falling from his eye and splashing onto the floor noisily, leaving a small puddle.  He sniffled so much to where I felt guilty for having told him.

“Because you’re going to go with me, Papa… But in order to do that, I need to borrow your Light.” I said as I squirmed enough to free one arm, and I started to gently pat him on the cheek.

“But if I give you my Light, then I’ll… I…” He kept crying, but I continued to pat his cheek.

“I promise that everything will work out, Papa.  I need you to trust me and know that I’ll be with you, just like you’ll be with me.” I whispered to him.  “I know you’ve been lonely.  I know you’ve been so very sad.  But you’ve punished yourself enough, Papa.  It’s time to forgive yourself and start fixing what you broke in the kingdom.” Papa continued to hold me against his cheek, and I felt him trembling a bit.

“We all have our parts to play, Papa.  And… I have to go back because I made a promise to my friends.” I said, still trying to soothe him.

“...Friends, my Little Manta Ray?” He said softly, loosening his hold on me.

“Yes!  My friends Kohel and Kohar!  They both helped me to get back to you!  All the way from the Isle of Dawn!  I want to go on adventures with them!” I exclaimed as he brought me in front of his face to look at me.  He still had tears in his remaining eye, but he also looked at me curiously.

“But… What if you get hurt and vanish again?  I don’t want to lose you again, my precious one…”

Papa sounds so scared and sad. 

“You won’t lose me again, Papa.  I promise.  The Megabird brought me back so that you can stop punishing yourself and start fixing your mistakes.” I said, reaching up as high as I can to gently touch his face with my hands.  His expression is tired and sad, but he seems to be relenting.

“Please trust me, Papa.  I wouldn’t lie to you; I love you too much to lie to you.” I said, still standing on my tip-toes.  Papa sighed, pressing me against his forehead, his eye closing.

“I know you wouldn’t lie, my child.  I trust you.  I… I don’t want to keep you from your friends or your adventures. I owe it to you, to the Elders, and to the Sky Children, to start fixing things.” He said as he relented.  Gently, as if I’m made out of delicate glass, he sets me down onto the floor and he reaches for his helmet, putting it back on. “Are you ready, my Little Manta Ray?” He asks me, sounding scared.

“I’m ready.  And Papa?  I love you.” I said with a small smile.  For a brief moment, I hear him give a quiet sob from underneath his helmet.

“I l-love you too, Alef.  So very much.  I’m so sorry for how I treated you in the past…” He said, clear remorse in his voice.  I knew that he was truly sorry.

“I forgive you, Papa.”

* * *

When I hear him proclaim to me his forgiveness towards me, I have to hold back the urge to burst into tears again.  To know that my son, who I’ve hurt so much, who shows signs of the harm I inflicted upon him in his left eye, forgives me, is so much to take in.

I don’t deserve it, yet he gives it to me anyway… My generous, unselfish, beautiful child…

I move my dark, tattered cloak away from my front, revealing the large ball of my Light upon my chest.  My child, for you, I’ll give you my Light.  

I reach deep into myself, a glowing orb coming to rest on my palm.  I lowered my hand down towards Alef.  He hesitated for a brief before he took the Light into his hands.  He examined it, wonderment in his eyes before he hugged it to himself, tears rolling down his cheeks as he smiled his gentle little smile.  

I feel so cold… I can’t hold onto my form.  I’m fading away, but I’m not scared.  I trust my son when he says that everything will be alright.  As I start to fade away, I can see him glowing a brilliant white, obscuring his features.

I will do this for you, my child.  

The darkness consumes me… Is this what happens to Sky Children who throw themselves to the Darkstone in Eden? I’m in a dark void… I am formless, a blank canvas.  I cannot speak.  I have no features of my own.  Already, I am starting to forget who I am.  

Ahead of me in the distance is a child, sitting there, legs hugged up against their chest as if to give itself comfort.  They have a soft, golden glow that I immediately recognize.

Now I understand.

I walk over to the child, and they look up at me.  This Light… It is Alef’s Light.  The Light that has saved countless children over the many eons that he has been missing from my life.

I lowered my hands, and the child got up, stepping onto my palms.  I trembled as I brought the child up to my face.  They leaned forward, and I felt them give the tiniest of kisses directly onto my nose.  If I was capable of it, I would have shed my tears of love and gratitude.  

I feel warmth and Light fill me up, and I can feel my features starting to return.  

Oh, my Little Manta Ray… Thank you.  Thank you for saving me.

Ahead of me, a brilliant beam of light awaits.

It’s time to go home.

* * *

I flew out of a cloud tunnel, and I saw that other children were flying alongside me, flying ahead as they glowed happily.  Children who had been saved by my Light, given to them by the Sky Children.

I come to a landing on a massive stone staircase, large statues of people who I had never met before lining the staircase.  I recognize this place.  

IT was one of the many halls that were in the castle.  Butterflies, birds, and many other creatures of Light were now taking up residence here; they had made it their home.

Home…

Did I even have a home anymore?  The castle was in ruins; we couldn’t live there anymore.  Nobody could.

“Alef!” I heard familiar voices calling my name, and further up the staircase, I could see two glowing figures, waving their arms and hopping up and down, trying to get my attention.

“Kohel!  Kohar!” I cried out, and I rushed up the stairs to them, and I practically flung myself into their waiting arms.  Tears of joy and relief flowed down my cheeks as the three of us embraced each other in a group hug.  I’m so happy to see them again, even if their features are obscured by the brilliant Light that overflows from them

“You did it, Alef!  You found your father!” Kohel said, and I could hear how overjoyed she was.  I felt Kohar ruffling my hair.

“We knew you could do it, kiddo!  We had faith in you!” He exclaimed.

“But you two helped me!  I will forever be grateful for you both!” I said, wiping my tears away.

“By the way… Nice wings!” Kohel said, and this prompted me to look at my cloak.  Except it isn’t a cloak anymore.  

In its place is a large pair of white, feathery wings.  They feel warm to the touch, and I recognize that warmth.

It was my Papa’s warmth.

Speaking of… He stood behind me, glowing brilliantly, and he too has a massive pair of feathery wings.  

Kohel and Kohar immediately bow before him, and I could see how flustered he became. 

“No no… Please, do not bow to me, Children of Light… I have not earned your respect…” I heard him mumble, putting his hands up defensively.  But they said nothing, and they continued to bow in respect to him.  I could tell that Papa was uncomfortable with this, so I diverted their attention.

“Hey… We should get going!  I want to see where we’re going next!” I exclaimed, and this caused the two of them to straighten up, and they looked at me.

“Lead the way, Alef.  Lead us.  It’s our turn to follow you, Prince.” I was surprised to hear that it was my Papa who addressed me.

He… Wanted me to lead?  But…

“We trust you, Alef.  It’s okay.” Kohel said gently, her warm hand on my shoulder.  I couldn’t see Kohar’s face, but I’m certain that he was smiling with approval.

“Well… Okay.  Let’s go then!” I said, and I spread my wings open.  I felt the twins grab onto my hands, and with a strong flap, we took off, flying among the thousands of birds that chirped and twittered all around us.  Massive jellyfish emerged from the clouds as if they were greeting us, welcoming us to the heavens as we flew.  Two adult Manta Rays lead the way, their pups following them closely.  Thunder crashed all around us, but I’m not afraid.  

We started to pass through more of the castle ruins, all broken and floating the higher up we went.  I caught a glimpse of what used to be the Meeting Hall where Papa and the Elders used to hold meetings, and I felt a touch of sadness creep into me.

But as we ascended up into space, I felt tears roll down my cheeks as we soared past the uppermost part of the castle.

It was the section where I was first gifted to my Papa… And we could never go back to it.  

Maybe though… Maybe it was okay.  I had already found a new home.  My friends were my new home.

* * *

We soared through the cosmos, billions of stars surrounding us.  My Alef guided us, and we followed him.  There were countless birds and Manta Rays, all soaring and flying peacefully through the air.  And that’s when I saw children flying past us, singing their songs of joy, their cloaks spread out like wings.  They have Alef��s glow as they soar, free from their stone prisons.  Some of them held hands, making chains as they flew and sang.  Quite a few flew next to Alef and his friends, singing their praises to them, singing their gratitude.  

That’s when I saw the massive glowing planet, Manta Rays larger than me, swirling all around its warm light.  

I would be lying if I said I didn’t shed any tears.  This brilliantly glowing planet was where I originally came from.  My first home. And quite possibly, Alef’s first home.

The light became absolutely blinding as we soared into the planet, and I felt overwhelming, familiar warmth.

[belit0]

Commission for @GlitterBomba!

Part 2 of this!! I don't feel it's as angsty as it should be, but for some reason, my creativity wanted it that way? It's been a long time since I've last written, and this was definitely a challenge... First part was produced way too long ago, so it was also challenging to connect with what I felt when I wrote it! But here it is, and I hope you like it, GlitterBomba. Thanks for trusting me!

My Ko-fi page~ Buy me a coffee if anyone wants part 3 ❤（っ＾▿＾）

It took you days to awaken from your deep sleep, days which became weeks, and weeks transformed into months. There was no hope for your life among the healers, but the tenacity and insistence of those elders who saved you forced them to continue providing methods and energy, herbs, talismans to keep you breathing.

Impossible to explain how that mortal blow did not steal your last breath, not when the perpetrator was the greatest tyrant in the current world, the monster everyone learned to fear and flee from. In the small place where you are kept hidden, rumor has it the treacherous one repented as soon as his hand affected your body, causing you not to succumb immediately.

It wasn’t until after he vanished, shrouded in lightning and hatred, when one of Ashura’s subordinates came upon the scene of your sad fate. A pool of blood acting as a bed over a pale body, devoid of any warmth and life. Everyone was quick to write you off for dead after such an event, and only when one of the village elders took your pulse did he find your incredible attempt to resist despite all odds.

Keeping you along with the new leader and his people would not be a good idea. Not when you barely escaped with your life from the beast. In case he came back and besieged his younger brother, it would be better if he didn’t find you there. That man proved to have an unquenchable thirst for revenge.

Tempting fate once is more than enough.

That led a group of elderly men, those who defended your slight pulse when everyone thought you were dead, to ask Ashura’s permission before disappearing and taking you to a safe place, making use of some of the village healers to ensure your health. 8 men of different ages vanish with you, swearing on their lives to do everything possible for you to open your eyes again.

Winters turned into warm seasons, and autumn leaves were waning. Two whole years quickly go by before your consciousness returns. The world is different. You understand through your guardians that life passed with you as a ghostly presence, a bedridden legend they fought all this time to preserve.

No one mentions what happened to you, though. No one names him.

To everyone’s surprise, you don’t really ask about the village; you don’t ask about your birthplace and your home. You don’t ask... about him.

Your healers discover you memory was damaged after exhaustive examinations beyond your comprehension. Theories why this happened are various in your little home; some argue the loss of blood hurt your brain, others believe the trauma of that betrayal forced you to block it all out, and there are those who think maybe you ignored the past on purpose.

Still, there is an unspoken rule forbidding the mention of what happened, of the village, of those two brothers. After experiencing hell, what would be the benefit of forcibly bringing you back to that horrible past? In this remote place, you have the chance to start from scratch, and your rescuers believe it is the least you deserve.

Little by little, you gradually learn everything all over again. Your own name, your age, information about those around you. You ask with animosity about everything you don’t understand, and the only thing there is reluctance to answer is when you want to know about who you were before... this.

Healers get the problem off their shoulders, rushing you to ask such questions to the older people. They shoo you out of their humble hut with nervousness and red faces, panic in their eyes.

Seniors sigh as they stare into nothingness, sadness and nostalgia, painting their countenances with something you cannot grasp. Some even drop a couple of tears to the rhythm of a depressing whisper, “oh poor child...”

The scene makes you feel so guilty you end up consoling them, assuring it’ s not a big deal and you don’t need to be told. That your life in this small place with them is all you need to be happy, past or no past.

Regardless, it is the scar monstrously painting your stomach which makes you uneasy. While tracing the edges of that sensitive skin with your fingertips, you feel its reason for existence is on the tip of your tongue. As if reminders of what happened to you are lingering there, buried in your head, but creeping closer to your memory every time you look at your navel.

What happened? What terrible thing could have left such an enormous mark on your skin, but not in your head?

It’s frustrating.

Eventually, curiosity to explore beyond your own narrow world peaks. It’s quite natural, considering four older men and four medicine buffs rarely make for an interesting group of company. Older men drink tea most of the day, when they’re not napping in the sun, of course. The rest read rigorously and debate among themselves about their newly gained knowledge.

Getting permission is a complicated task. They are terribly afraid of your departure, scared of your fate, frightened of what dangers you might encounter.

But how to keep you there forever, when you have seen the vivid movement the closest town has?

Perhaps it was your rescuers’ mistake for allowing you to go exploring within the boundaries they considered safe, yet you inevitably discovered such a place, so close and yet so far away, so full of people and... life. Persons of all ages walking from one side to the other, food you never saw before displayed in various stalls, children playing with each other, unaware of the surrounding universe. Everything looks completely natural, as if folks are used to this kind of lifestyle since long ago, and you wonder if you ever lived in a similar environment.

Just what hides in your past?

After insistence and great pleas against the overprotection imparted on you, they understand it is simply hopeless to make you give up your idea unless they expose all those shocking events, unless they explain from what kind of danger it is necessary for you to hide, from whom it is imperative you escape.

No one knew anymore about that demon after his disappearance the same day, and it is uncertain where he is. Whether he is hiding or far from your current home, it is unknown to anyone, and it would invoke bad luck if your guardians expected you to meet him face to face once you get away from them.

Preparation of weeks and many directions, you finally depart from your unnoticed hideout in the world, leaving behind anxious seniors and worried healers.

It was agreed you could explore for a couple of months, but your eventual return is a binding closure on the deal you reluctantly struck. Each new destination brings with it new discoveries, tastes, experiences. You always find charitable souls willing to help when you are short of food, water or shelter, people who offer to give directions when you get disoriented, people who share stories with you on lonely, nostalgic nights.

With each step you take in the outside world, less you understand what your guardians are afraid of. Everyone is well meaning, and no one seeks to take advantage of your innocence. It is incomprehensible why this was denied to you for so long, and every time you think of your precious little home, an emptiness grows in your heart.

Weeks slowly pass, and having experienced so much in such a short time, you find the need to recount it to those you consider your family. As initially agreed, it may be time to return, to prove the world is not as terrible as they feared.

A few miles from homeland, just as you feel you are walking the grounds of your family again, you stop at a stream to get a drink of water, determined not to slow down until you reach your destination. It is too much of a thrill to witness those 8 insane people bickering and arguing. You absentmindedly smile as you rinse your face.

In your distraction, you cannot hear footsteps approaching at your back. It’s not like you would have detected them if you were paying attention either, for the person stalking you is deliberately careful, calculating.

Turning, your face affects directly into a solid mass of muscle, sending you tumbling down the riverbank again. Any woman would have assumed the worst when connecting glances with a man who invades her personal space unannounced, but from your mouth comes a concerned “Are you okay?”

The man, who is watching you as if a ghost were sitting next to you in the water and you were unaware of it, bleeds. Profusely, indeed. Both of his hands are deeply cut, distinct wounds on his palms dripping thickly to the ground.

There is no answer to your question, and the man’s countenance is difficult to decipher. His eyes glow a red which fades too quickly to analyze, his complexion is completely pale and unhealthy, his hair points in all directions, forming a long brown tangle which you deduce has not been combed for some time. For moments, it is as if there are words trying to pierce his lips, but the stupor of the individual continues.

“Your hands... we really should take care of them, shouldn’t we? Aiya, let this humble one help you heal.”

There is no reaction as you stand up and take him by the arm, guiding him to a large rock away from the water and helping him to sit up. His gaze is still completely fixed on your face, searching for something you’ re oblivious to. His mouth opens and closes rapidly, agitated breaths accompanied by sounds resembling syllables.

“Look at this mess alone... sir, you should be cautious walking along the bed of these waters. They are treacherous, hm?”

Ripping off one of your sleeves, previously dampened when you fell into the water, you use the cloth to clean his wounds. There’s not much you can do here, out in the open and in these conditions, but judging by the man’s appearance, he was probably recently attacked. When you mention your little home a few miles away, the man doesn’t refuse or accept.  

Still, when you head back to the road, you find the fellow following you from behind, head down and staring at the ground. In his hands he tightly clenches the cloth of your sleeve, and blood stains the fabric completely at this point. You talk about the healers in your place, and how they can help him get better, but no matter how much you try, the man never responds. You ponder whether, perhaps, the situation he experienced before he ran into you may have been intense, and you attribute his perturbation to that.

After walking without pause all afternoon, your silent companion always keeping your own pace, your destination appears in front of you. From afar, you can see the elders sitting on the engawa of their cottage, sharing tea and quietly waiting for dusk. All is silent, and your announcement of arrival is the only thing disturbing the atmosphere.

Your arms wave vigorously to catch the attention of those you regard as family, a splendorous smile planted on your face, walking at an increased speed to catch up with them. An extended curtsey bow is given before them, and only after raising your head you dare to give them all a group hug, false formality forgotten as much as your guest.

The man slowly approaches this scene and analyzes the faces of those present as the embrace takes place. Had you not been turning your back on him, you may have noticed the change in his countenance, coldness creeping over his features from one moment to the next. None of the elders noticed his noiseless presence, not even having sensed it to begin with, and it is not until one of them finishes smiling and opens his eyes to come face to face with their worst fear.

Suddenly the hug is interrupted when this old man lets out a shriek, trying to back away and losing his balance. You follow his line of sight while turning, and find that innocent-looking stranger again, disoriented. There are screams all around you. Seniors are horrified and collapse on the floor next to each other, completely surrendered to the gaze of the demon fixed on them.

“Don’t behave like that! It would appear it wasn’t you guys who taught me manners... I’m so sorry, sir, they’re not used to dealing with travelers, let alone wounded ones... if you’d be so kind as to follow me?”

Throwing a withering glance at the group of elders, you direct your guest to the house the healers occupy. True, your little family is not used to encountering men in the state this very one is in, but you never expected such an exaggeration. A bit of unkempt hair and blood, pale skin, and they’re all screaming on the floor?

The reaction of the healers is not much different, and after reprimanding them for behaving so shamefully, you get them to treat the man’s hands. Leaving them alone so as not to disturb the setting, you make your way to the third and final cottage, your own. Since the other houses occupy four people each, it would be problematic to ask them to accommodate your own guest, and you take your time assembling an extra bed, improvising with blankets.

Nighttime is delightfully quiet, and as the door opens without warning, you greet the individual with a smile. Elders have taken the trouble to bring food for both you and him, announcing neither they nor the healers were in the mood to share dinner together.

The man’s hands are bandaged, his palms completely covered, and his thumbs trapped in the wrappings. He looks uncomfortable, and it shows in his inability to do anything on his own. His chopsticks are impossible to hold as he kneels on the floor and tries to eat, and after many urgings from you, he nods silently and almost imperceptibly, allowing you to help him.

“You see... you’re here, eating my food, under my roof, safe and comfortable... and I still don’t know your name...”

Teasing is imminent in your voice, hoping to relax him, if only a little. As he takes another bite and chews, his eyes are fixed on the table, like trying to hide from your presence.

After analyzing the end of your day alongside this presence, you assessed this man must be terribly shy, perhaps someone properly introverted. Still, observing his features, you get a strange familiarity, a feeling making you let your guard down and relax in front of him. A secret knocking at the door of your mind, demanding to burst in front of you but being invisible at the same time.

“... Uchiha...”

Without expecting an answer anymore, after several minutes, his voice surprises you. It sounds like that of someone who rarely uses it, raspy and rusty, as if it had been forgotten long ago, and not even the man himself remembers its ringing.

“Um?”

“Lord Uchiha...”

His name, you realize. Formal, a title.

Lord Uchiha continues in the same position, just like his words had been an illusion. It is impossible to keep giving him food, his attitude surly and refusing, and you wonder if he plans to spend the entire night in the same position if you allow him to.

Demandingly, you get him up and offer him your bed for the night.

He tries to take the spot you set up on the floor, and displays physical strength far beyond what you thought he had. There are firm muscles hiding under his stained white tunic, and they flex slightly every time he tries to change the course you both walk. He is probably holding back, you realize, for the way his forearm tenses. The stubbornness of this individual… as if he were someone unaccustomed to taking orders, leading rather than listening. Either way, he ends up tucked inside your room, buried under sheets and quilts so he doesn’t get cold.

You find your own resting place after closing the door and leaving your guest. There is not much room inside your small home, and yet, the greatest comforts are offered to those who really need them.

That night, a fearsome nightmare assaults your dreams. A pitch-black claw pierces your stomach from both sides, long nails tearing through skin and tissue like cloth. Blood pools at your feet, solidifying and making escape impossible. You feel your lips move in a choked scream, and a single word escapes your throat along with another red waterfall.

“... Indra...”

[gwynrielendgame]

Nyx and Isa part 4

I am feeling very uninspired these days yall. Good news though, I got a job 🥳🥳 woohoo.

"You two can go wander through the gardens now, if you'd like. Violet why don't you go with them? Someone needs to keep them out of trouble."

It was as much a dismissal if Nyx ever heard one. He rolled his eyes, but stood to leave anyways.

"I would actually like to listen in. If I am to be high lady some day, best I hear it all."

Nyx's parents shared a look. Whatever they wanted to discuss with Tamlin and the rest of the family was not information they wanted his daughter to know. Must be something about her.

"Very well. Nyx could you check on your sister, Velaris? I haven't heard from her all week."

Nyx was annoyed that he was being dismissed once again to check on his oldest sister, of all people, even though Isa was allowed to stay. She was much less trustworthy than him. He turned to leave with his younger sister in tow, but a snicker from Isa made him send a quick glare in her direction.

"Yes, run along now. Like the good little prince you are."

The sarcasm might as well have bit his skin. The entire room stopped their small talk to re-assess the situation before them. The last anyone had heard, Nyx and Isa had resolved any conflict from the recent fight they had. Although neither of them had spoken since Isa had revealed what she gave to protect Nyx.

"Stop this, Isa. Petty arguments do not become you."

"Oh look at prince Nyx. Once again taking the moral high ground. Shocker considering who your parents are."

"Did we...miss something?" Lucien interjected, clearly to lighten the mood which had zero effect on the arguing pair. They continued their banter as if Lucien never even spoke.

"You want to talk to me about my parents? What about yours? Your father abused my mother, only to impregnate, who I can only assume by your own standards, is a vile, evil witch."

She sucked in a harsh breathe. She told that to him in confidence and now he was throwing it back in her face. His anger fueled harder than his guilt. Nyx had walked back to the table at this point where he stood, glaring at his friend.

"Once again you stand on some moral high ground. The world is not black and white, Nyx. Your mother would like to convince you otherwise though, no? Must be her savior complex."

Her accent was much heavier with how vehemently she was talking. Feyre decided it was best to intervene.

"Okay, why don't you two separate and cool off. Obviously, emotions are running high."

Once again, the pair ignored anyone else speaking to them.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Isa. I am not the one that sold off my unborn first child, so of course, you do not have many moral qualms." Nyx threw back at her. She rolled her nose up in disgust.

"Would you have rather I let you die?"

"I am glad I am not dead, but what you were willing to give up for me is not something I would be willing to do for you." He crossed his arms. She scoffed.

"Maybe you should have mentioned that before you had sex with me!" She threw a roll from her plate at him. He let it bounce off his head with a roll of his eyes.

"Oof" Violet muttered while glancing anywhere but at the pair sparring off at the dinner table.

"Do not act as if I tricked you into that! I have been crystal clear about us. I am waiting for my mate, which you are not."

"Nyx," his mother tried to interject once again, but Isa stopped her.

"How do you know that? How do you know I am not your mate? The bond is hard to sense before it has snapped into place." Everyone recognized the desperation in her voice. She was pleading with him to love her in the way that she loved him. Unfortunately, it was also clear to everyone that Nyx was rather indifferent towards Isa as a romantic partner.

"Come on Isa! Be realistic. Our parents did not work out for a reason." He tried to reason. He thought they had just been having a bit of fun. Must have meant much more to Isa than she had been admitting to him.

"Perhaps you do share too much with your mother. Your self-righteousness is certainly straight from her handbook." She lashed out. Nyx recognized her feelings were hurt and that was the reason she was saying the nasty things she was. That did not mean it kept him from getting just as angry.

"Well, I am not the only one who takes after my parents. You are exactly like your father." He spit at her.

Nyx was tired of listening to her discuss his parents in such a way. She wanted to play rough? Well then he would play along.

"What is that meant to mean?"

"You are an entitled bitch who does not seem to understand when someone does not love you back. That's what I mean."

She flinched at his harsh words and he automatically wished he could take them back. She retook her seat, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. They both remembered what she accidentally admitted to him and the words he had not said back. He was breathing heavy from his own vehement yelling, but now as he looked around, he felt regret. It felt wrong to air out their grievances among family and friends, especially when he threw so much back in her face.

"Yikes..." Violet unhelpfully broke the awkward silence that had engulfed the room. Nyx noticed at the same time as everyone else that the table was shaking. It started to shake so much that he thought an earthquake was hitting Velaris. It was not until Tamlin spoke up that everyone realized who, instead of what, was making the table shake.

"Calm down, Isa."

She took a slow shakey breath. One lone tear fell down her cheek which she roughly wiped away. Nyx wanted to wrap her in a hug and apologize, but he stuck in his spot as her tattoos began to glow. They often glowed when she was using her witch magic, but never like this. This was bright, almost blinding when her normal glow was a light luminance.

"I am trying." She spoke softly. "I just want it to stop." Her hands went to her head and started clawing at her temples.

Nyx was not sure what she wanted to stop, but one glance around the room told him that this meant trouble. He wanted to help his friend, but no one moved a muscle and his father sent him a look that kept Nyx from speaking. Tamlin's reaction was even worse. He looked scared. Whether that was for his own life or because his daughter was in danger, Nyx would never know.

"Isabelle, stop."

"I can't." The word broke off at the end as she finally opened her eyes. They were glistening with tears and her expression would haunt Nyx until his last days. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Tamlin propelled forward, over the table. He wrapped Violet in an embrace as they fell to the floor.

And then a gust of power broke every piece of glass in the room. Every window, wine glass, and vase shattered. The power from Azriel's siphons reached out at the last minute and protected Nyx and Lucien from the blast of power. Nyx was still thrown into the wall from the sheer force of it. He managed to look over at his parents to see his dad protecting his mom. Tamlin must have known what was going to happen before it did because he reached Violet a second before it happened.

"Knock her out!" Tamlin yelled. "Before her eyes change."

Nyx looked up to see that Isa was still crying, but a swirl of power encircled her. She had sunk to her knees on the floor at this point and she still gripped her head as if it hurt. The power was unlike anything he had ever seen, so he assumed it must be her witch power. He knew he should get up and talk to her, but he did not want to make it worse. He watched as Lucien attempted to physically get to her, but the gust knocked him away. Both his parents tried using their daemati powers. Nyx was afraid of what would happen if that did not work. Tamlin shoved Violet behind a couch before approaching his daughter.

"Isa, you can control it. You have done it before. Focus."

She began shaking her head wildly.

"Get out of my head!" She screeched.

"I can't get in Tamlin. Whatever is happening is too powerful." Nyx wondered who was inside Isa's head if not his parents.

"Use your Night power to knock her out." Tamlin gritted his teeth as he slowly inched his way toward her. It was a physical feat unlike any other because the wind was powerful enough to keep Nyx on the ground.

"I can't. She's disarmed our fae magic."

Nyx tried to conjure his own magic, only to realize his dad was right. He did not think it was possible without the use of faebane. Isa had mentioned being able to temporarily disable fae magic, but she claimed the cost was too high for witches to use it often. He was worried she would end up killing herself before the night was over.

"Isa!" He started. As soon as he spoke, the power surrounding her intensified. "I am sorry. I did not mean it." He took a few tentative steps towards her even after his dad called out a warning. It was difficult due to the wind, but he managed to get close enough that his shouts were heard by her.

"I was lashing out because you hurt my feelings." The power started to ebb as she raised her head from her hands. "You are my friend and I did not mean to hurt you."

She looked at him for a second, her guard dropped, and when she blinked, her eyes opened again, completely black as the finest spun silk in all of the night court.

Fuck is all he could think.

Tamlin used the split second she was distracted by Nyx to make his move. She was in his grasp and being winnowed away before anything else could be said.

"Shit." His mother muttered from her spot on the ground.

"What the hell was that?" Azriel looked to Lucien for answers as he stood from the ground. It appeared everyone had been knocked to the ground from the force of her magic. Lucien wiped away blood from his forehead that kept pouring into his one good eye.

"How many witch, high lord children have you heard of?"

"None." Azriel grimaced. If he had not heard of it before, then it was likely few and far between that held that same heritage.

"Emotion is a highly sought after price by the spirits. Not many witches are willing to trade their emotions for the aid of the spirits. They feed on it which is why the children are so dangerous. They are one tantrum from killing their entire coven. Why do you think their numbers dwindle?"

"She's had how many years to get this under control?" Rhysand quipped back sarcastically only to get a withering look from Lucien.

"No amount of time prepares you for your first heart break. Especially when the cause of that embarrasses you in front of another court by declaring he does not love you back." Lucien gave a pointed look to Nyx with narrowed eyes.

"Not my finest moment." Nyx cringed as he thought back to all he said. Nyx walked back to Violet to help her up from behind the couch.

"The spirits feed on her emotions. She let her guard down, but they cannot take without giving. They gave her too much power to control with her emotions as tumultuous as they were. The more negative the emotion? The more all-consuming and dangerous that power becomes." Lucien explained. Although it hardly made any sense to Nyx.

"How can they feed if she does not call on them? Why do they not feed on our emotions?" Violet asked as she wiped dirt from her dress.

"The tattoos, a price she has paid for a past use of witch magic, acts as a tracking device. Much like you build mind barriers to keep other Daemati out, Isa needs to keep her barriers in place to prevent the spirits from taking freely. The tattoos call to spirits when they glow and the loss of her mind barrier allowed them in without her permission. As for the reason they do not feed on our emotions? Unsure. Isa jokes that regular fae emotions must taste bad." Lucien finally grabbed a napkin to press to the wound above his eye. He muttered an apology to Feyre for ruining it.

"Why did she not kick them out once she realized?" Feyre asked instead of responding to his apology.

"She probably did not realize she was giving her emotions freely to the spirits. They rewarded her with power. Mix in some fae magic, shape shifting abilities, and boom you have an uncontrollable dangerous cocktail in the form of a small female."

"The eyes?" Azriel quietly mentioned with raised brows. His shadows were moving erratically all around him.

"That is not up for discussion along with her mother." Lucien sent Nyx a glare.

"I know it was a low blow." He admitted. He would apology as soon as he was allowed.

"Isa loves her mother very much. You can love a person and despise their actions. Right Feyre?" It was an accusing statement. Everyone could see what Lucien was insinuating. His mother at some point or another loved Tamlin even if she pretended she never had. Feyre only rolled her eyes, but Rhysand sent a glare of his own back to Lucien.

"I should apologize. I do love her." Nyx felt the need to admit to everyone. "Just not in the way that she wants." He threw himself down on the couch. Violet followed his lead and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Not now. The reason witches do not readily offer their emotions is because it leaves them numb. It is a very unpleasant feeling and will be like talking to a wall." Lucien grimaced. Nyx assumed Lucien was thinking of the last time it happened.

"Has this happened before?" Azriel inquired.

"When her mother died. That's it." Lucien shrugged and dropped the napkin.

"I didn't know. I never meant to hurt her." Nyx felt the need to explain himself, but found there were no words to do so.

"If I know Isa, all she wanted to hear was that you care for her in some capacity."

"She knows that." Nyx insisted. He rested his head on top of his sisters. He was suddenly overcome with exhaustion unlike any other.

"Does she? Cause you had me fooled otherwise tonight." Lucien quickly winnowed away after that. A look around the room showed disapproving looks from everyone.

*****

"Thank you for coming." Tamlin shifted awkwardly in his chair. The Night Court inner circle looked on from their respective chairs in what Nyx assumed must be the formal sitting room. His parents, himself, and his sister squished together on one couch. Azriel took an arm chair to the left of Tamlin and the last chair remained unclaimed. Nyx stared at the chair as if he could make her appear simply from his stare.

"How is she?" Rhysand cleared his throat to ask. Tamlin gave a tight smile.

"Fine." He paused, debating whether he should say the next thing. "We lifted the ward on this room. If things should get out of hand today, you may winnow away."

Feyre narrowed her eyes at him.

"I thought you said she had it under control."

Tamlin sighed heavily and slouched in his chair. He rubbed at his temples as if this entire meeting exhausted him.

"You will see that you are in no danger. It is just a precaution."

Azriel went to say something, but stopped and looked towards the door. It was utterly silent. A few minutes later, Isa walked through the door with her head down. She looked...bad. In the kindest way possible because Nyx knew she had been through a lot mentally. It had clearly taken a toll on her physically. She shuffled to the last available seat without making eye contact. When she finally looked up, Nyx's heart lurched. She was pale with dark circles under her eyes. Her cheeks had sunken in from weight loss, leaving her looking like she consisted only of skin and bone. It was jarring considering how solidly built she had been previously. She had always been muscular; now though, he saw no hint of it. Her dress must have been fitted to her recently since it fit her well. It was a light green color similar to her eyes and flowed around her like a wedding dress. She might look beautiful if she did not look so sick. Nyx made eye contact with his sister's wide, shocked eyes. A quiet gasp left his mother's lips. Isa tried a small smile, but Nyx noticed her fingers nervously traced the new tattoos on her other hand.

"I apologize for my little display last week." She started. "I thought I had a better grip on my powers. Obviously not. I have spoken with my coven on the matter and I will be returning home for additional training."

Nyx contemplated whether he should speak or not. Last time they only exchanged spiteful words. He did not want those words to be the last she heard from him. He cleared his throat.

"Does your coven know about the first born debacle?" He felt it was a neutral enough of a statement. Isa replied simply.

"No."

"It is best if that is never discussed aloud." Tamlin interjected.

"How long will you be gone?" Violet asked. They had become friends as well and his sister looked sad at the prospect of her leaving.

"Until I need to claim my position as High Lady." Isa stared at her hands as she spoke. Violet gasped at the information.

"But that could be hundreds of years!"

Nyx frowned. He thought it might take Isa a few months to lose interest in himself and then they could return to just being friends. This seemed extreme, but perhaps they could still visit each other every once in a while. Isa only shrugged. Nyx felt dread at Isa's lack of emotional display. She had been rather devoid of anything else. The effects of the spirits must be taking more of a toll than anyone else assumed.

"That will leave you unprepared for your role as high lady. You do not have many allies or friends," Azriel started what appeared to be an oddly placed reprimand. "You should use all the time you have to form relationships with the other courts and possible emissaries."

"Lucien said he would help me when I first take over."

"That is not enough." Rhysand agreed as him and Tamlin shared a look.

"You will help me, no?" She asked.

"We may not have the time to devote to helping you run your court." Feyre said. Isa's eyes slid past Nyx's and landed on Violet's.

"I could help." His sister offered with a smile that looked so similar to their mother's.

"It would be very much appreciated." Isa tried to give a smile of her own but it only succeeded in showing how miserable this past week has been for her.

"You may want to consider marriage." Azriel felt the need to mention. "You will be at a disadvantage when you return, but a well aligned marriage could work. The prince of the Summer Court is unmarried, but you may find yourself at war with Amren over him. There is a princess of the Summer court that may be interested." His shadows tucked in tight to him.

"I shall consider that. Thank you for the advice, spymaster." No hint of her accent could be heard. Nyx realized she was focusing on disguising the accent in order to focus her attention. Her eyes kept wandering around the room as though she could not keep focus on the current conversation.

Tamlin appeared to nudge Isa subtly. He gave her a stern look before she turned back to look at Feyre.

"I apologize for the things I said about you." She said barely above a whisper. Feyre gave her a soft look which must have urged her to keep going. "Sometimes I feel angry at you because I see a life I could have had. With you as my mom. It is not fair, but it is true." Nyx could see tears in his mother's eyes that she quickly blinked away.

"I understand that sometimes we say things we do not mean. Right, Nyx?" Feyre gave her son a look. She was giving him an opening to say his piece while simultaneously avoiding responding to Isa. He should tell Isa that he did not mean it.

"Isa, I do love you. Just not in the way you are wanting." He tried to make eye contact with her so that she knew he was speaking the truth, but she did not look up from her hands.

"Okay." She gave a simple shrug.

Nyx felt his eyes brows furrowed at that. He was not sure what he expected her reaction to be, but something more than that. It made him feel something he was not ready to admit. And at this point, would never admit.

"Okay?" He asked with raised eyebrows. Isa was still refusing to look up at him, so he look towards his father who kept signaling with his eyes to go and comfort her.

"Yes, I understand I cannot make someone love me." The bland delivery of the words encouraged Nyx to move towards her. He kneeled before her in her chair and grabbed her hands, forcing her to look at him.

"I do love you." He emphasized. He did not want this to get lost in the mess of everything else. Something about that seemed to spark something in her eyes though. The sight of it made Nyx relieved.

"Not in the vay I vant to be loved. Not in the vay I dezerve to be loved." Her accent was extremely heavy and she began to grip his hands back just as strongly as he was holding hers. Tears gathered in her eyes but they did not fall.

"I vill no longer give you more than you dezerve, Nyx." And with that declaration, the last of her fight left her. She softly pulled her hands away and stood up. Her eyes were blank once more.

"I apologize once again for putting your lives at risk. It will not happen again."

And then she was drooping back to her room with slows steps.

"That went...well." Violet offered unhelpfully. "Right?"