#cilla <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[beatle-posting]

Decided to share my 22 hour long 60s pop playlist! It's got all the familiar hits as well as lots of semi-obscure stuff. I update it all the time. Please check it out, and feel free to suggest songs to add!

[hide-your-bugs-away]

London Haul!!! 🇬🇧🐾✨️

[eillanu]

Sizoatumi san: Cilla age 15 God my!

Cilla age 15 God my! Episode 8

[spanishyumejoshi]

My pretty girlfriend

[piastrinorris]

oh my god your header 😍😍😍

i wanted to prioritise ask game asks before i got to this one but ehheheheh yeeeeeah <3

[19burstraat]

ketterdam dashboard simulator

goedmedbridge420

who up boeking they canal

10,345 notes

drydens follow

I can't believe some of you log on here and thirstpost about barrel vagrants. it makes me so sick. these men are the very pits of society and have never honoured ghezen a day in their lives. there are so many other young men who make their living in a reverent way. have some dignity.

#ghezen #inghezenssight #ghezenhonouring #churchofghezen #handofghezen

2 notes

kooperomno1fan

lionsroar12 follow

omg HOW is kaz brekker winning this he's SO problematic he's not even good for the economy he killed members of his own gang and kidnapped councilman van eck's son

dregsundrained

cranky coz your gang fell apart aren't you

17,860 notes

oskervoexchange follow

guys is this a mandela effect or what bc I SWEAR this painting used to be in the university district art museum, I literally saw it this week??? but I went today and it was GONE?????? there wasn't even a plaque?? guys pls I'm so confused why is everyone acting like this is normal for ketterdam? do priceless antiques just VANISH? am I being gaslit?

450 notes

stadhall-clerking

guys I'm so sorry I've been MIA :( I found out that my landlord was using my rent on the staves rather than fixing my black mould problem so I pushed him out the window and told the stadwatch he must have fallen and died because he wasn't honouring ghezen and got away with it. anyway I think maybe the black mould explains the dirtyhands/sturmhond fic I was writing sorry :( but I WILL finish my fairy queen of istamere meta post once I've moved into my new lodging

670 notes

dregsconfessions follow

SUBMISSION: sometimes I lie awake thinking about the time I fell down an entire flight of stairs at the slat when kaz was at the bottom, and he just stared at me (still lying on the floor), and then asked if I'd changed the beer kegs at the silver six yet. GIRL NO?!?!?!

#submission #dregs #dirtyhands #admin comment: laughed so loud my upstairs neighbour threatened to shoot me

546 notes

dregsconfessions follow

ADMIN NOTE: if the razorgulls don't fucking stop sending anon hate to this blog we'll tell dirtyhands n he'll send you your own IP address back

#see what happens you hack job seagulls

500 notes

kerchtourismboard

it's us, the real kerch tourism board, here to tell you what we're putting in the new summer season pamphlet. we got 1) three pages all about kaz brekker that end up being more of an advertisement than a deterrent 2) list of slipperiest spots in the barrel where you will fall over and get a concussion when ur drunk 3) top 10 ways to get your wallet stolen by a child in broad daylight 4) paintings of the komedie brute 5) advert for sten's stockpot 6) map of public toilets

570 notes

kerchtourismboardreal follow

we are not affiliated with any degenerate impersonator accounts who claim to be us. we are the only real kerch tourism account.

23 notes

kerchtourismboard-real follow

grafcanal smells like piss and you should bite everyone you see wearing the mister crimson costume

450 notes

stensstockpot follow

it's all 'fuck sten's stockpot' and 'I got food poisoning from the special at sten's stockpot' until you realise you don't have the money for cilla's fry, and then you come CRAWLING back to the loving arms of sten's stockpot and our special. you fucking traitors. you'll be back! you'll all be back

canaljumpings follow

what's in the special sten's stockpot

stensstockpot follow

it's a surprise ;)

bertskerch follow

nah I thought this was the real stens lmao

stensstockpot follow

bert smit you still have 45 kruge to pay on your tab and if you don't cough up we'll send our debtors to break your legs

230 notes

exchangingbabey follow

my grisha girlfriend who still wears a kefta and says things like 'nikolai lantsov is a bastard': ugh they're still debating whether or not the council of tides should be able to control kerch shipping, I hate inter-country politics

me: I think I hauve the queen's lady

4500 notes

(insp) (insp)

[cressidagrey]

The Ties that Bind - Chapter 3

Summary: 

Shadowsingers were made, not born. Made out of trauma and loneliness and desperation.

So when Cilla and Azriel meet and their shadows entwine, they both meet the only other person that could understand these particular childhood scars.

The last thing Azriel had ever expected from his mate, however, was for her to have a surprising connection to his brother.

Warnings: 

Mentions of Child Abuse and Neglect, Mention of imprisonment, Mention of Hybern's attack on Velaris and death resulting from that

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

She was trembling. Even with blankets wrapped around her. Even while burrowed as close to him as she could get.

Azriel traced her features, with his fingertips—every single, perfect inch of her. 

These strong arched eyebrows, her nose, just so upturned at the tip… her full lips, near heart-shaped in the centre.… beautiful pointed ears, the long, black curly hair that had been held back in a braid that was falling apart…he took it apart in the end, Cilla pressing against his hand like a cat. 

She was beautiful. 

Beautiful and utterly exhausted.

And then he was ripped from his thoughts by the smell of burning chicken and he cursed. 

“Cauldron Boil Me,” he spat out as he needed to pull himself from his mate to make sure that he didn’t accidentally burn down the whole house. 

Cilla flinched and he hated that he had been the cause of that, that he needed to pull himself from her, throw on a pair of lounging trousers the shadows happily handed him, and look after his pot of soup with the shadows already pulling it from the burner. 

“What…?” Cilla asked him, her voice quiet and he sighed, running one hand through his hair.

“Soup. I was making you soup,” Azriel explained with a sigh. “You need to eat.”

More water in the pot, chicken out of it…he would need to take that apart, pull the flesh from the bones, something he went straight to just a moment later. 

“I am not hungry,” Cilla said softly at that moment. 

For just a moment he closed his eyes. Of course, she wasn’t. She was so thin that she was used to starving herself. Hunger pans probably didn’t even register to her anymore. 

They just were. 

“I know. But you still need to eat,” he said evenly. Keeping that anger out of her voice. Not anger at her but for her. She needed to eat. 

He probably had not helped with keeping up her strength. Not when… the possibility had not even registered in his mind…that she was a virgin. That she had no fucking idea what she had even started when she had held out that cracker for him to take.

He had just taken it. So over the moon that he had found his mate that nothing else had mattered. 

Now…now he wondered what her reason for giving him that cracker even was. Was it fear? Some kind of feeling that she needed to keep him content and happy because if he got angry she would be at the receiving end of it?

It curdled in his stomach. 

He heard Cilla’s quiet footsteps and then she was behind him, burying her head between his shoulder blades, his wings trembling at that intimate touch. 

She was searching out his presence, body pressing against his. Somehow she derived some form of comfort from it. Maybe he hadn't fucked up completely. 

“But I want you,” she mumbled into his skin. It was definitely unhelpful, mating frenzy fighting with instincts and his own fucking mind, because he didn’t know if this was even a good idea at all. 

He should have waited. He should have...He shouldn't have just taken her like he had...He should have taken his time...given her time...but he hadn't. 

He was already regretting it. 

Not regretting her. Never regretting her. She was a cauldron-given gift to him. But maybe it would have been better to take it slower, to...give her the opportunity to back out, to...

“After you have eaten, Sweetheart,” Azriel finally settled on gently. Maybe. Maybe after he had gotten some food inside her, after they had talked. “You are supposed to rest.”

“I am fine,” she disagreed with him quietly, but stepped back, instead settling next to him, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

“You were nearly frozen solid when I fished you out of that lake,” he pointed out reasonably, as he looked over her. 

Cilla had found a blanket to wrap up in. Thank the cauldron for small mercies, because Azriel was not quite sure if he would be able to withstand her naked and bare to his gaze. 

Though if he just stared at her skinny and knobby shoulder poking out from her blanket cocoon…it was more likely. When was the last time she had eaten at all?

Go find her some clothing, he demanded from his shadows. 

From where? they responded nearly immediately. 

How about you have her shadows tell you where she lives? Azriel suggested. Some more intelligence, more information.... He could use that.

He poured half a package of noodles into that pot after adding the chicken back in, put the lid back on…and then turned to Cilla, who was watching him, a soft expression on her face. 

Azriel failed horribly with keeping his hands off her when he lifted her up on the counter, only so that he could kiss her gently, without her straining her neck. 

She kissed him back enthusiastically, hands burying themselves in his hair. Azriel did leave it at that. He crowded close to her so that she could feel his body warmth and cling tightly to him, but that was it. Nothing more. 

Food then Talk and then...then he could worry about it. 

Until then, he kissed her, gently, chastly, making her laugh as he pressed kisses against her cheeks and her forehead and every inch of hers that he could reach.  

Until enough time had passed for him to step back, spoon some of that soup into a bowl, and hand it to her. 

Some long-buried instinct in him was soothed by this. Soothed by having provided for his mate. “Eat, Sweetheart,” Azriel told her gently. 

Cilla ate. If one could call it that…and didn’t call it shovelling food into her mouth as quickly as possible. 

He should have recognised the signs before. He should have fucking stopped to think for just a moment. 

Stopped and thought about what it meant that she was a Shadowsinger like he was. But he hadn’t. 

Now it was starkly at the forefront of his mind. 

Azriel caught her hand. “Don’t burn yourself,” he said quietly. “I am not going to take your food from you. There is more if you want more later. Take your time.”

Her skin turned red and she looked everywhere but him. 

“I am sorry.” The way she said that hesitant and broken, made something inside him shatter. 

“Eat. Slowly,” he insisted quietly. 

Master. 

What’s with her apartment? he asked immediately, not liking the tone of their voice at all. He spooned soup in another bowl for himself, forcing himself to eat. 

It’s near Lady Death’s old apartment. The bad part of town, the shadows answer quietly. 

And?

She owns one other dress and one can of tomatoes, Master. 

He worked hard to keep his face devoid of emotions as he watched Cilla finish her soup out of the corner of his eye, holding out his hand for her to hand it over so that he could refill it. 

This was even worse than he had thought it would be, wasn’t it?

She went to demolish that bowl as well. 

Furniture? 

A bedroll. 

Anything else? He demanded. There must be something else. Anything. 

A note from her landlord that her rent is due tomorrow and that she owes him 6 gold coins or she can earn it on her knees, the shadows hissed in response. 

Right. 

Show her shadows how to play the lottery, he told them calmly, fury bubbling away underneath the surface. And bring that one dress and her can of tomatoes here. 

He saw how a shadow suddenly started dancing around Cilla, her eyebrows narrowing. 

“Your shadows play the lottery?” she asked him, sounding adorably confused and he bit back his amusement. 

“They do,” he answered with a sigh. “It’s their hobby of sorts. I am surprised that yours haven’t yet figured out how to get money on their own.”

She grimaced. 

“Do I want to know?” he asked her drily and Cilla shrugged. 

“They used to pickpocket sometimes,” she admitted quietly. “I made them stop.”

He imagined that the only reason the shadows had gone that far was to make sure that Cilla didn’t outright starve. 

Just one moment later, his shadows brought her that dress and that can of tomatoes, putting both on her lap, fluttering around, like they were waiting for her to either pet him or thank them for a job well done. 

She didn't flinch away from them, instead, staring on the dress. A drab blue colour, threadbare in some places, mended in others.  

“That’s my dress. You had your shadows get it?” She questioned him, eyebrows furrowing again and he nodded. 

“I did,” azriel agreed. “So you had something to wear if you wanted to.” She seemed to take that at face value. 

“And the can of tomatoes?” she asked him curiously. 

“They said that’s all you owned,” he said carefully. Cilla just shrugged. 

Like that was normal. Like she had never thought twice about the fact that she had two dresses, a pair of shoes and a can of tomatoes to her name. 

“My bag is still lying around outside,” she said, like that somehow made it all better.

It made Azriel want to kill somebody. 

“Tell me about your job,” he said instead because he needed to know what exactly she did for a living that resulted in this. 

“My job?” She asked him surprised. “I work in a tannery. I don’t really get along with some of the potions we use, that’s where these come from,” she explained holding up her hand, that red scratchy skin.

“How much money does that make?” He asked as he gently took her hand in his, looking at the scarpes in more detail. 

Her skin was red and inflamed, dry and cracked. It must hurt, but she seemed content to just ignore that. 

“8 gold coins a month,” Cilla answered. 

Which meant she had 2 gold coins each month, that didn't go to her rent, to feed herself, to clothe herself, to buy herself anything she needed.

It wasn’t fucking enough. He had no clue how she even survived on that. 

Especially when even the minimum wage in Velaris would supposedly make sure that she would make at least 15 a month if she worked a full-time job. 

“How much time off?” He asked, wondering how bad it could get.

“A half-day each month.” 

It wasn’t even a conscious thought when he told his shadows to get him the names of both her landlord and her employer. 

His anger must have shown on his face because suddenly her scent soured with fear. 

“I am sorry,” she apologised but he shook his head. 

“I am not angry with you, sweetheart,” Azriel assured her immediately. “I am fucking furious with both your landlord and your employer though.” 

“I need that job,” Cilla told him, biting her lip, desperation bleeding into her voice.

“The minimal wage you are legally allowed to be paid in Velaris is 15 gold coins a month. You worked for half of that," he told her, forcing his voice to be even. 

“I need that job!” Cilla repeated sharply. “I can’t read, I cannot write. I have no trade. What else was I supposed to do?” she demanded.

That desperation in her voice was not helping with his fury. She had done what needed to be done. Cilla should have never even fucking been in that situation. 

“Then I’ll teach you,” Azriel said, his voice forcedly calm. He could teach her to read and to write. “And we figure out whatever you want to be.” 

Anything was better than this.

Cilla stared at the floor, not looking at him. 

He reached out to cup her cheek gently. 

“Look at me,” he said softly. And she did. Dark brown eyes were filled with tears and he pressed a kiss against her forehead.

“You are my mate,” Azriel said quietly.

“That means that I will always take care of you. You could tell me you never want to see me again and I would still make sure that you have a safe place to stay. That you have enough food not to starve,” he told her fiercely. 

She stared at him like she didn’t quite see him, like she couldn’t believe the words that left his mouth. 

“You’ll find another job. Preferably something where you don’t spend your days doing back-breaking labour for not enough money to even feed yourself properly.” Literally, anything was better than that. 

“You will never need to worry about food again,” he promised her. “You can do whatever you want with your life.“

Even if that didn’t include him. He wanted her happy. Nothing else. 

“That apartment… There is no universe in existence in which that is a place for my mate,” he continued. “You’ll stay right here. At least for a little while…For the next few weeks or so. And then we can find you another apartment if you want to. Preferably something that’s not a downtrodden hovel.”  

He watched her swallow, watched one tear trickle down her cheek that he wiped away carefully. 

“I don’t need much,” Cilla told him softly. 

“A warm, safe and dry place is not much. That is the bare minimum,” he gave back immediately. That was the least everybody should have. 

And it had taken him years to realise that even he deserved it, but he was not going to have his mate stay somewhere like that if he had any choice in that matter. 

Still, as she leaned into his hands, she looked so impossibly young for just a moment, that his heart constricted. 

“How old are you, Cilla?” he asked her gently and she shrugged. 

“I don’t know,” she answered, her voice nearly listless. “20 maybe? 21? Could be a few years older though?” 

“You…don’t know.” He repeated unbelieving. Gods, she was still half a girl. A girl with clearly nobody that took care of her, and a lack of knowledge about her own age. Even Azriel knew his damn birthday! 

“Why don’t you know?” he asked her, forcing himself to be calm. 

“I…I didn’t really have a normal childhood,” Cilla admitted quietly, pulling back from him slightly.  “I…I was…My mother was high fae. My father must have been the one with the wings,” she said with a shrug. “I killed her. When I was born. My wings sliced her open from the inside out.”

She said that so matter-of-factly. Like she knew that this had been her fault and her fault alone. 

He swallowed. Hating how familiar these words sounded. That’s what had been their worry with Feyre and Nyx. Just that Cilla didn’t have a Nesta that had saved her mother. And instead gave herself clearly the fault for her mother’s death. 

Her wings trembled, caving in around her like she couldn’t bear to lift them up when she talked about it. 

“My grandmother raised me afterwards,” Cilla continued, her voice cracking. 

She didn’t need to say more. He understood. 

“She gave you the fault for her daughter's death,” he ended her sentence. She just shrugged. Again. 

“It was my fault,” Cilla agreed. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Azriel cut her off, sharply.

“Yes, it was my fault. If she hadn’t had me, she would still be alive.  I murdered her,” Cilla disagreed fiercely. “My fault. I should have never been born,” she spat out these words, and he just knew that these weren’t her words. It were the words that she had heard so often until she had started to believe them. 

“I am so sorry, Sweetheart,” he apologised.

“I lived in the attic. I wasn’t allowed out,” Cilla continued.  “The shadows kept me company.” 

She didn’t talk about the scars on her wings. Didn’t say how her grandmother had treated her…but Azriel could fill in the gaps. 

“How did you get out?” he asked her. 

“When Hybern attacked the city…the house got reduced to rubble. My grandmother died. The shadows dug me out,” Cilla said softly. So 2 years. She had been out of that attic for 2 years. And imprisoned for 18. No wonder she behaved…strangely sometimes. She never really had…any socialisation, any family, any friends...for so long.  

It was a miracle she wasn’t completely feral. He had been when he had finally gotten out of that cell…he had been…barely…a person. And it had only been 11 years for him.   

“Fuck, Sweetheart,” he cursed.  

“When did yours come to you?” She asked him, biting her lip, changing the topic and he figured that he owed her the truth just as she had given him. 

“I was 8,“ Azriel answered quietly.  “My father was a lord in an Illyrian war camp. My mother was his long-suffering mistress. I wasn’t supposed to exist. His wife agreed. They took me from my mother when I was a baby…You got locked into an attic. I got locked in a cell underneath his keep. Only taken out the bare minimum,“ he recounted. 

These days…it no longer hurt him. Not really. It was just…something that he had accepted had happened to him long, long ago. Not the most traumatising thing he had gone through either. He still didn't like the feeling of being caged, of darkness...but he could stand it if need be. 

“When I was 8…my half brothers decided to see what would happen if oil and fire mixed,” he continued, lifting his other hand and holding it out for Cilla’s perusal. “These were the results.”

She reached out to touch, her small hand wrapping around his and intertwined their fingers. 

“I am sorry,“ Cilla whispered but Azriel shook his head. 

“It was a very, very long time ago, Cilla. Over 500 years,“ he told her. Centuries. He should be well over it by now. 

But he wasn’t. He probably never would. Not completely. 

“You didn’t deserve that,” she insisted and a small smile lifted up his lips at that.  

“Neither did you.”

“I killed her,” Cilla disagreed.

“I killed people too. And I wasn’t a babe when I did it,” Azriel said drily. “I did it on purpose, Cilla. Hundreds of times. Sometimes in a war as a warrior, sometimes for this court, for our High Lord…I have killed, Sweetheart.” 

She stared at him wide-eyed, and he half expected her to flinch away in disgust.

Finally, she just shook her head. “That’s not the same,“ she whispered.

He just pressed a kiss against her forehead in response.

Only then did he feel the heat from her forehead that made him pull back. Her eyes were glassy and he pressed his hand against her forehead. 

“You’re running a fever, Sweetheart,” he realised with a sigh. Her bath in an ice-cold mountain lake had probably resulted in this. 

“I am fine,” Cilla mumbled, leaning against his hands. He just sighed.

“Let’s go to bed. You need to rest.” 

She just hummed, glomping onto him and he lifted her up easily, putting her back underneath all the blankets, and sliding in right next to her.

“Just sleep,” he told her softly, though she didn’t seem to even need that. 

At least that Mating Frenzy had abated, replaced with worry for her, because if she got sicker than a simple fever, there wasn’t much she could put against it. No fat she could pull energy from, no weight she could stand lose in the process. 

Right now, all Azriel could do, was to watch over her. 

He watched as her wings relaxed and her face slackened…as she curled up next to him.

He breathed in her scent, his nose tucked against her neck. 

If he took the proper time to parse her scent, he could pick himself up. Cedars and that fresh, watery scent of mist…and underneath that, her. 

Warm and still fresh, like a hearth on a dark winter day…underneath it all vanilla and over it, snow-chilled wind and crackling embers.

Wait, what?

He took another deep breath of his mate, her scent so similar to another that he had smelled day in and day out, again and again over 5 centuries.

No.

No, this couldn’t be.

He stared at his mate, deep asleep…took in these strong eyebrows, her cheekbones…the shape of her face… 

She must have inherited her mother's eyes, though the shape…

Her mother’s nose and lips definitely…but her hair…

Her hair and the shape of her face and the shape of her eyes…and these wings…

There were near invisible differences of these wings from Illyrian to Illyrian…differences in their shapes and the colours…Rhys had always had the darkest. 

Azriel’s own had a near-purple tint of the sun shining through them…but Cassian‘s… Cassian's wings had always been a near-black dark brown…reddish in the light of the sun.

And a near-perfect replica was stretched out from his mate's back right now.

How many Illyrians were there in Velaris 20 years ago….

He only knew two. One of them was Azriel himself.

And the other…

Fuck. 

[urperfectcinnamonroll07]

helloooo I was looking at your masterlist and saw that you don't have any stories for the twisted series. if it's okay with you, may I request a alex volkov x fem!yn reader oneshot or headcanon where reader is KIND OF innocent, all sunshine and rainbows crap and alex is just, as usual, grumpy shadow :3

Bottle of Sunshine

requested?: yes pairing(s): alex volkov x gn!reader genre: fluff, slight angst warning(s): alex being a grumpy man (not with reader), not proof read, i think thats all! summary: 𝘯/𝘢 word count: 491 a/n: king of sin requests are now open! please remember to request, i always love requests guys! little side rant, i could have died from joy when i saw this request, honestly love alex so much (dont tell rhys). anyways lovelies, dont forget to eat and drink something, i love you so so very much, mwah! -Cilla

it was a well-known fact that alex volkov was the most grumpy man on the planet. at work, he would always be grumpy and straight forward with the people which he worked with.

but he was never like that with you.

you were his sweetheart, his angel, his one and only love. his sunshine. he loved you the way a woman would love a cat, a man would love a dog. the way a child loves chocolate flavoured ice cream, or how a cat loved catnip. well, he didn’t love you like that at all. he loved you a thousand times more.

of course, there were sometimes times when he would be grumpy with you. but that was mostly when you had insisted he give you cuddles when he was trying to work.

“why do you even like them anyways? it’s just wrapping your arms around another person and holding them” he said monotonously as you had insisted for the millionth time he ditch work and come cuddle with you. you were wearing one of his shirts that he would wear for times when he would relax (shock, horror, gasp).

“because it’s being close to another person. feeling warm and fuzzy on the inside when a person holds you because you feel safe with them. laying your soul bare to them while they hold you despite your flaws” you insisted, okay, maybe you were being a little overdramatic.

“so you admit that i make you feel safe?” he asked, you could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“how could you not? you scare, like, the whole world with that frown of yours” you tease.

he turns to look at you with a frown on his lips. you stifle a laugh and walk up to him, wrapping the large blanket around yourself. it was winter and it was fucking freezing. you cupped his cheek, you knew he would deny it, but you swore he leaned into your touch even an inch.

you smiled up at him.

“please, alex, i’m cold, and you’re overworking yourself” you frown when you reach the last part of your sentence.

if took a few seconds of silence and gazing into each other’s eyes before he sighed. you smiled as he accepted his defeat.

“c’mon then. since you want your cuddles so bad” he said, keeping his monotonous tone, but you knew that deep down he was excited as you were, even though he would never admit it.

you took his hand and lead him to the bedroom, letting him get changed into more comfortable clothes before climbing into bed together.

it was safe to say that later that night, you fell asleep in your boyfriends arms while he gazed down at you lovingly, admiring your peaceful expression as you slept soundlessly, your soul bared to him as he protected you even though nobody would get even a mile close to you while you were like this.

[iloveamberfreeman]

GOTHIC NAMES FOR YOUR DR

᧔o᧓ ――――――――――――――――――――――――――――᧔o᧓

1. Elva

2. Celeste

3. Ravenna

4. Lilith

5. Morrigan

6. Valencia

7. Isolde

8. Nyx

9. Cilla

10. Elvira

[according2thelore]

It's still wincest wednesday in my neck of the woods, so here's what's been chewing up my brain all day (full house of wincest, ahoy!):

They have to be.... selective with how and when they play this game. They have to be planning to leave -- not on a hunt; for good -- within the day. Dad prefers if their bags are already packed and in the car; Dean argues that an empty room screams of entrapment, that they need his pile of dirty clothes and Sam's broken-spined paperback splayed out on the bedside table to sell it. (Sam could give a shit if they're packed or not; this is his absolute favorite, the one thing he's asked for his past two birthdays.)

Sometimes Sam gets to play the bait, but usually he lets Dean do it. He's had more practice, and besides... Sam doesn't mind one bit if he has the spend the first part hidden in a closet or bathroom, so long as there's a door to crack open. (Sam likes to watch.)

Sam loves to get that cryptic omw+1 text from Dean, his cue to scamper into his hidey-hole, make himself unseen. Dean's had his way this time -- half the room is still littered with teenage-boy detritus, meant to look like Dean's been crashing here unsupervised for who knows how long.

Dean's loud when he comes in, always makes a show of banging into doorframes and tables and luggage racks, all so Sam can push his fingertips into Dean's bruises later. Whoever's day Dean has chosen to ruin is always behind-beside-all-over him, and always different -- classmates, sometimes, but more often marks he's picked up in the park, the truck stop bathroom, the side of the road. Men, mostly, but sometimes women. Girls and boys -- one time both at once, Chandler West and Alicia Wichman who sat on either side of him in Algebra.

Sam watches raptor-like, knows all of Dean's moves and where each one will lead, a chess master of this particular board. If this, then that. If they kiss Dean's throat, he'll unbutton his shirt. If they touch his chin, he'll tuck his head all fake-bashful so he can look at wherever Sam's squirreled away through the fringe of his eyelashes.

Dean likes to still be partially dressed, but Sam and Dad both like him bare, so rarely do they compromise. Dean's running the show here in the room, but Dad says his exhibitionist tendencies are likely to land him in trouble someday if he's not careful -- he likes to be looked at, can practically get off just from being petted and told how strong and good and pretty he is.

Dean's stripped down to his socks and shirt, his bare dick leaving wet-black streaks on the inside of his grey tee. Sam wants to ruck it up under his chin, to make Dean hold the wad of fabric between his teeth so Sam can see everything, but Dean's still playing shy, tugging the hem down to cover himself. The man of the hour -- gas station clerk, Sam realizes; the one who's sold them cigarettes and candy bars after school more days than not for the past month -- reaches underneath to get himself a good solid handful of Dean, moans load and unselfconscious right against Dean's neck.

He's muttering something about "could tell from the first time you came in" and "standing outside, smoking like you couldn't stand not to have something in that mouth for more'n a minute, fuck" and Sam's over it, he's done; he reaches for his phone and fires off a text to Dad: playtime's over

It's what Dad had said, the first and only time he'd actually caught Dean (and Sam) by surprise; nine and thirteen, Sam's junk stuffed in Dean's mouth and Dean with three of Sam's Astroglide-slick fingers already inside. (He'd been practicing, he told Sam, in the shower. Sometimes after school, if Sam had managed to convince Dad to let him do this extracurricular or that for a while.) When they'd wrenched apart and Dean had thrown the scratchy polyester coverlet over Sam's lap and they'd both stared up at Dad with matching rabbiting pulses pounding, and Dad had just looked... smug. Not mad, not horrified or upset; he'd crouched at the foot of the bed and yanked the covers off them, watching goosebumps pop up of every naked inch of skin. "Playtime's over, boys," he'd said, with that big grin of his that tilts up at one side, and that was a lie; playtime was just beginning.

Dad's probably been sitting in the parking lot since he got Dean's text, but now he revs the Impala's engine for all she's worth, lets her howl just on the other side of the door. Dean freezes, eyes going Bambi-wide as he says, "Oh, god. Oh my god, I think that's my dad."

"Your dad?" the inevitable response always comes, so predictable Sam mouths along with the words like a well-loved lyric in his favorite song. "I thought you said he was outta town."

"He was," Dean insists.

Footsteps up to the door, Dad stomping like he used to when "monster" was a game they played to pass the time cooped up in motel rooms. Fee-fi-fo-fum, I better not find you fucking my son.

"Holy shit," Dean says, and most people would think the tremor in his voice is fear, but Sam knows it's anticipation and glee and Dean getting hard enough to pound nails in about six seconds flat. "Oh, fuck, you gotta go, shit, shit; put your fucking pants on, fuck!"

Dad always gets the door open in one swift turn, even that trick doorknob that always stuck halfway on the apartment in Fairbury.

[anyways wow this got uuuuh away from me 😬 but suffice to say, this game usually ends with John holding their playtoy at gunpoint when they try to leave, handcuffing them to a Very Conveniently Placed Chair, and making them watch while he gives Dean the spanking or belting or switching every Winchester in the room wants Dean to get. The family that plays together, etc etc 😹]

😘😘😘 cilla

happy wincest wednesday, beloved cilla!!!!!

GAHODSIHG SDGJKLDS GLDSJKGH EIOHWNE SG FUCKKKKKKKKK

everyone stop what you're fucking doing and give cilla ten million dollars.

every time you write i pass out and stand up and pass out again. your talent is UNPARALLELED!!!!

800% sam gets off partly on being the one to call it off, to have the power to rip dean away from someone else and back into the family. dean's on loan, but he's already owned. sam has the power to say exactly when and how dean gets used, and far dean's allowed to go. your hands are only on dean because he's allowing it.

all of them getting off on dean being humiliated and owned and GAHH

this, specifically: Dean likes to still be partially dressed, but Sam and Dad both like him bare, so rarely do they compromise. Dean's running the show here in the room, but Dad says his exhibitionist tendencies are likely to land him in trouble someday if he's not careful -- he likes to be looked at, can practically get off just from being petted and told how strong and good and pretty he is.

Dean's stripped down to his socks and shirt, his bare dick leaving wet-black streaks on the inside of his grey tee. Sam wants to ruck it up under his chin, to make Dean hold the wad of fabric between his teeth so Sam can see everything, but Dean's still playing shy, tugging the hem down to cover himself.

FUCK!!!!! YES!!!!!!

the WEECEST?!?! yup yup yup.

thank you so so so much my most darling and beloved cilla for sending this in!!!! i don't even have anything to add. correct. 100% fantastic.

-lizzy

(ps sorry for waiting to answer this! we wanted to give you all of the wincest wednesday fanfare you deserve!!!!!!)

[cruelangcls]

the way the other looked at them was, if jax was being honest, a huge turn-on. there was something about her eyes, the powerful gaze. the blonde was a true submissive through and through and while the act of being bought might have been something dark and sinister, he'd be lying if he didn't think it was also mildly hot. "yes, mommy," he said softly, hands in front of him, trying to cover up his arousal. "i am your little doll," jax repeated; it was hesitant, not yet practiced of a mantra. "y-you own me, right. what...what are you doing to do to me then?" just because the idea of all of this was hot, it didn't necessarily mean that their new owner was going to treat it like a fantasy and jax needed to remember that.

femme finds herself circling, looking over every inch of exposed skin, eying pray up like a starved wolf, something she’d been after for a while, eyes locked on, every movement had been noted, she’s intoxicated already, fingers gliding over. “look at you,” she hums, more to herself than the other, “so pretty.” for a moment she’s silent, moves herself away to stand directly in front of the other, as he speaks. “you’re very welcome, couldn’t just let anyone else get their hands on you, could i?” she wouldn’t even if she had no other choice, always wanted to have her grasp set into the blonde. “i do like you referring to me as mommy, kinda endearing don’t you think?” finally, she sits herself down, edge of her bed, eyes never once leaving the other. “you’re like my little doll, aren’t you? i own you now.”

[pintrestgrl]

what would happen if when cilly was still a little baby, precious felt a little insecure about her mama body (even tho she's always perf), like how would Barry comfort her

i actually think ab this concept often but whenever cilla was like 6 months precious started noticing the stretch marks on her boobs n her hips n literally got so irritated. she didnt let barry touch her for weeks so he was just kinda like wtf ?? n then she wouldnt even tell him why she was upset either bc she didnt want him to notice them nd realize they exist.

but like girl that man literally sees u naked 7 days a week im sure he noticed already. n then finally after like 3 weeks of precious doing that barry finally got pissed n told her she wasnt leaving the house until she told him.

n then she told him n he literally laughed in her face n was like wtf r u stupid u literally grew a whole child inside of u. but she literally would not listen n just was like whatever so it ended in a lot of sex n kisses (quietly so the baby didnt wake up)

[eillanu]

Zyuden sentai Kyoryuger cast meme

3 Choromatsu/Kyoryu Red

2 Karamatsu/Kyoryu Black

5 Jyushimatsu/Kyoryu Blue

12 Qminmatsu/Kyoryu Green

7 Sizoatumi/Kyoryu Pink/Pinky

6

1 Osomatsu/Kyoryu Gold

X

14 and 13 Hayomatsu and Ruiz/Kyoru Cyan

15 and 16 Gianmatsu and Tiahmi/Kyoru Gray

17 Eimymatsu and Cilla age 15/Kyoru Violet

∞ ???matsu and Aeny Age 15/Kyoru Silver

[geminibsworld]

fingertips- t.b

chap: 3

warnings: infidelity, smut, cussing, drinking, & smoking

*

it had been a month since i’ve seen tom. mike hasn’t seen him much of him either, but i’m less stressed about tom now. i feel happier, i spend more time with mike. he’s even started working, so i come and visit him at work when i can. it’s been nice without tom.

i think about what almost happened, what could’ve happened often. it bothers me that i let my guard down, let him get close and touch me like that. we kissed, just once but that was enough. enough for me. i can’t have that happen again, i won’t allow it.

i feel like i’m contradicting myself because i think about tom all the time. too often, i think of how when i kiss my own boyfriend i think of kissing tom. how soft, passionate, tasteful his kiss was. how his lips molded into mine perfectly. how warm his hands were, how they fit around my hips wonderfully.

“cilla?” mike says, she snaps her head towards him. he gives her a soft smile, gently tugging on her hoodie.

“i’ve been talking to you,” he says, she nods brushing her hair behind her ears. she sits and turns towards him, crossing her legs.

“i’m sorry, i’ve had a lot on my mind,” she smiles softly at mike. he grins, and laughs.

“well, as i was saying,” he begins, before his phone rings. he looks at priscilla quickly before swiping on his phone and answering the call.

priscilla spaces out again, staring out the window. it was rainy, cold, and cloudy outside. it bothered her, and it really met with her mood she felt. she reached over and grabs her vape, inhaling, before letting the vapor blow out of her mouth. she had missed tom, but was happy she didn’t have him around anymore. he stilled pissed her off, just by existing. she was mad at herself for doing things with him, and letting herself get close to him.

“babe, tom and his girlfriend are coming over,” mike spoke, she frowned quickly before hitting her vape again. she tossed it to the side of her, before giving mike a nod.

“sure- who’s his girlfriend?” she asks, her heart thumping in her ears. mike grins, before laughing.

“she’s cool, her name is abby. she’s a cheerleader,” priscilla rolls her eyes, while mike laughs.

“you’ll like her, don’t worry,” he says, laying a comforting hand on her thigh. she looked down to his hand, feeling bothered because not only did she miss tom, but he was bringing a girl over. to her house. she felt disgusted, instantly annoyed at the fact.

“she’s going to be just as annoying as he is,” she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest. mike laughs, rather loudly.

“no, she’s cool. just be nice, they’re almost here,” he chuckles, removing his hand from her thigh and wrapping an arm around her pulling her close. she could already feel herself getting more annoyed by the second. she glared at the window, seeing tom’s tall broad frame and a tall girl follow behind him.

she groaned internally, already wanting to change her mind. the shameless intro played on the screen of the flat screen next to the door. she decided to focus on that, instead of keeping her her harsh glare at the door.

the door opened slowly, tom stepped in first. she kept him in her peripheral vision, seeing his jean jacket come into view, his wavy brown hair lay on his forehead, as she finally meets his gaze. he steps in fully, pulling the girl in with him. she was his type definitely, tall, blonde, athletic, popular. he was with girls like this too often. she honestly couldn’t believe he was into priscilla at all. she was the opposite, short, brunette, not athletic in the slightest, and the least bit of popular.

“tom! i’ve missed you!” mike says, she could hear the grin in his voice. she rolled her eyes, staring at the tv screen. ignoring tom, and abby.

“mikey!” tom shouts back, grinning. she could hear abby giggle, priscilla has never wanted to kick people out of her home more than ever before.

“pri,” her heart skipped a beat hearing tom’s voice, and his nickname for her.

she looked at him, feeling herself soften yet so angry at this situation. she leans into mikes hold more, leaning her head on his shoulder pulling her knees into her chest.

“this is abby,” he grinned, gesturing towards the tall girl. priscilla felt herself inwardly cringe, and put on a smile for the girl anyways.

“it is so nice to meet you,” abby says, grinning flashing her perfectly white teeth.

“same to you, im priscilla,” she says, offering the girl a smile before she dropped her smile grabbing her vape and inhaling quickly before exhaling and tossing the vape to the side.

abby gives a happy grin, before wrapping her arm around around tom’s arm. pricilla’s eyes dart to the action, feeling herself tense up. priscilla pulls herself away from mike and stands up from the couch.

“anyone want a water?” she asks, standing up her feet on the cold hard wood floor. tom gestures for abby to sit down on the couch, abby grins plopping down on the couch next to tom.

“i’ll help, and i’ll get some snacks,” tom says, taking off his jean jacket. priscilla mutters curse words to herself immediately leaving towards the kitchen. she hear tom behind her as she opens the fridge, tom goes for the pantry. grabbing two bags of chips, and a few granola bars.

priscilla rolls her eyes grabbing four waters, as she closes the fridge door. tom leans against the counter, eating a granola bar. she scoffs to herself, opening a water bottle and taking a swig.

“so…” tom begins, she closes her water bottle aggressively, and places it on the counter.

“what?” she grumbles, staring at tom. tom gives her a smirk.

“what do you think about abby?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“i don’t know her, i just know she’s your type,” she shrugs, tom chuckles.

“yeah, she is isn’t she?” he smirks at her, she lets out a sigh.

“you’re foul,” she replies, rolling her eyes. grabbing the waters and leaving the kitchen tom following after her. she places the waters down on the table, and eyes abby. she was sitting priscilla’s spot, it bothered her a lot more. sitting next to her boyfriend, and probably fucking tom. what a sad life priscilla lived.

tom hated the fact, that priscilla had barely spoke to him. he knows he had been avoiding her, because there so close. so fucking to close. then mike had to walk in and ruin everything. he was more pissed at mike than he was at anything, like of course her fucking boyfriend walked in.

later in the evening, abby and mike both fell asleep during the movie. priscilla in between tom, and mike, abby on the other side of tom. priscilla let out a yawn, and tom glanced at her.

“are you tired?” he whispers, she shoots a glare his direction. he rolls his eyes, fighting back a smile.

“either that or i’m dying from lack of oxygen,” she scoffs quietly, he lets out a quiet chuckle.

priscilla rolls her eyes before standing up from the couch. stretching her arms above her head, she could feel tom’s eyes on her. she sighed, grabbing her vape and taking a hit before exhaling the fruity vapor.

she turns off the tv, and grabs a blanket from the closet. she grabs a large fuzzy blanket, tosses it to tom. it lands in his lap softly.

“thanks, pri,” his voice was soft. her heart ached, she felt so angry and hurt. mad at herself, and tom.

“please don’t call me that,” she mumbles, he frowns. as he was about to reply, she shakes mikes arm gently.

mike lets out a long exhale as his eyes flutter open. she gives him a soft smile, which he returns.

“come to bed,” she whispers, she grabs his hand. he nods tiredly, standing up. she gives tom one last look, before pulling her sleepy boyfriend up the stairs into her room.

she opens her dark bedroom, and mike crawls into bed without a word. he snuggles into her pillow, pulling the blanket up to his chin. she lets out a sigh, thinking of what almost happened in here. it bothered her, too much. the guilt, the anger, the yearning, it was all too much.

she slips off her hoodie and shorts, before pulling on a big t shirt. she went to grab her vape from her hoodie pocket when it wasn’t in there. she lets out a quiet groan, she hated that got back into this habit of smoking again but recently it’s calmed her nerves.

she sighs, and exits her bedroom slowly. her feet pad on the carpet floors, she grabs the cool wooden railing as she walks down the stairs. the moon eliminates the dark steps descending into the hallway of the living room. as her fingertips followed the railing slowly as her feet touched the carpet. she hesitated stopping at the last step, not hearing any sound, she stepped off the last step.

with the moonlight being the only light, she sighed to herself. taking small steps she approaches the living room, she stepped in slowly. seeing abby and tom sleeping on the couch. tom sleeping far away with no blanket, and abby with the blanket. priscilla sighs, and spots her vape laying right next to tom. as priscilla steps, and reaches out tom’s eyes open. priscilla freezes, tom blinks slowly before yawning.

priscilla grabs her vape quickly, before giving tom a quick emotionless smile. tom sits up slowly, his brown hair lay on his forehead flat and messy. his brows furrow, before he glances at abby then back to priscilla.

priscilla makes a quick glance at him, cursing herself instantly for even acknowledging his existence.

“wait,” she heard a small mumble behind her as she began up the stairs. she knew that british accent. she couldn’t stand it.

she whipped her head around and let out a small gasp at the approximately. her eyes meeting his blue green irises. even in the moonlight that’s all she could see. she clears her throat and turns her body away from him.

“what do you want tom?” she mutters quietly, he lets out a sigh. she takes a shy look at him, noticing how tired he looks. his lips looked so puffy, and yet so… kissable. priscilla hated herself for thinking this.

“i want..” he almost groans, almost sounds like he’s choking on his words. “i want you, pri,”

priscilla froze only for a second as her heart thumps in her ears. she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, she slowly turned around and faced him.

she could feel his fingertips brush her messy dark waves behind her ears. her heart raced, she felt so happy, so euphoric. her heart thumped loudly in her ears this time as she opens her eyes. tom stood there, his hands still holding her jaw.

“i want you, so bad.” he says his voice hushed, she could feel herself leaning in. her eyes fluttered closed, and as their lips met, the world seemed to fade away. the kiss was intense and full of longing, like a dance of two souls finally finding each other. their breath mingled, and every touch sent shivers down their spines. It was as if time stood still, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. the passion was palpable, a silent declaration of everything they felt but couldn't put into words. their lips curved around each other in such a manner that they almost fit perfectly.

all you could hear was their lips and gasp, pricislla pulls away to breathe as tom takes that opportunity. with a swift motion, tom gently but firmly pressed priscilla against the wall. Their eyes locked for a brief, electrifying moment before their lips met in a fervent kiss. The cool surface of the wall contrasted with the heat of their embrace, heightening the intensity. Every touch was urgent, every kiss a testament to their overwhelming desire. The world around them blurred, leaving only the two of them, lost in the passion of the moment.

tom’s hands gripped priscilla’s waist, so hard. he was afraid he’d bruise her. oh to see priscilla with tom’s bruises on, tom wants to make her his. her moans and gasps, tom was in heaven.

priscilla’s hands tangled themselves in tom’s hair, his soft wavy hair. she loved his hair, of right now he has this longer hair look and it looks so boyish and good on him.

tom pulled away from priscilla, the two breathing heavily. she could feel how swollen her lips were, she stared at his pink lips. she wanted more, she wanted to feel his lips on his skin.

“so are you going to fuck me or what, blyth?” priscilla says, her pink lips in a playful smirk as she bites her bottom lip.

his face grows into the boyish smirk she’s been obsessed with for years.

“and i thought you’d never ask, pri,” he says, his voice yet with a cocky smirk.

priscilla takes his hand, and takes him up the stairs. she opens her bedroom door, and he grins walking inside her room.

“memories,” he laughs quietly, she chuckles shutting the door behind her. tom looks around her room, as he’s not looking she takes off her big shirt.

🪐

THIS HAS BEEN A LONG AWAITED UPDATE AND I AM SO SO SORRY BUT I WILL UPDATE SOON. SMUT WILL BE IN THE NEXT CHAPTER! 🥰 ANYWAYS I MISS YOU ALL AND HOPE YOU ALL ARE DOING SO GOOD I LOVE YOU!



[angelofthenight]

What Doesn’t Kill Me Pt.3

(Yandere!Alex DeLarge x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: Yandere, Dark themes, Ladstat, Swearing/Language, Unhealthy/Abusive relationship, Physical abuse/Violence, Sadism, Blood, Paranoia, Objectification, A v brief suicidal thought, Jealousy/Possessiveness, Controlling behavior, Intimidation/Coercive control/Power imbalance, Emotional/Mental trauma, Spying, Gangs, Murder, A parallel if you can catch it, Alex is his own warning, You are responsible for your own content consumption

Word Count: 3.6k

Table of Contents

~

You and Alex sat shoulder to shoulder on your couch as you ate dinner on the short coffee table, a movie called ‘Lolita’ playing on your television. Alex’s thigh that was pressed flat against yours did nothing to ease the nervousness that stirred like a whirlpool in your stomach. Though your head was gradually succeeding in telling you that you had nothing to worry about. Unless he had cameras in your apartment, Alex had no way of knowing of your-

“What did that malchick want?”

He asked the question so casually that you almost didn’t register the words over the tone. “What?” You didn’t mean to play dumb but you just didn’t want to answer too quickly, plus you wanted to be sure who exactly he was referring to.

“The one that was at your door.” He responded simply as he continued to eat and watch the movie with his elbows resting on his knees. Despite the fear that gripped around you over the fact he knew you had a visitor, you tried to brush the conversation away as quickly as possible. “He was just trying to sell me something.” You grumbled with the shake of your head, trying to appear as if you didn’t care about the interaction at all.

Alex swallowed his bite of food. “And why would he go to you?” He asked, as if he was looking for a reason to get worked up. “Alex, he went to everybody’s door.” You rationalized the lie, your grip on your fork weakening yet tightening. Said boy chuckled cheekily as he leaned back into the cushions of your couch like you just told him a good joke. You felt his stare on the back of your head like a hot laser, the pressure and tension of the situation humidifying around you to create sweat.

“That’s quite funny you say that. Because I precisely recall sitting downstairs myself and when he strolled in, he went straight to the front desk and he asked the lobbyman what floor your door number was on.”

Your wide gaze was strongly glued to your half-eaten plate while your features began to shake terribly. Your heart was eaten by a pulsation and you felt as if the room was closing in on you; a nasty mixture of terror and panic suffocating you. You wanted to throw up, you wanted some air, you wanted to cry, you wanted to scream till your uvula burned just to let it all out. Why did God seem to despise you so much for this to happen? Did the universe just not want you to get out of this prison of endless pain and fright, thus slamming the door closed right in your face when you were so close to slipping through the opening to escape it?

Alex’s evil grin tried its best not to turn bitter and tight. The thought of another man at your door, and the thought of another man inside your living room, made him livid on the inside. His mind fogged with the brimming of a dazed insanity as he fought the urge to destroy your living room like a savage gorilla just because of that visualization. His possessiveness was sensitive, similar to a child throwing a tantrum if someone merely touched their teddy bear.

He spoke with a mocking yet tempered tone. “So are you trying to tell me he was selling pol? Is that it? He was just trying to spat with you-” “He has a girlfriend, Alex.” You interrupted while glancing at him over your shoulder, trying to shut down any jealousy before he got too heated in the head. Blood had spilled out the corner of your mouth too many times because of that possessive jealousy of his.

But that did not give comfort to Alex’s angry greed at all. “You think that’d stop a man’s primal instinct when they clap glazzes on you and your horrorshow groodies?”

Your brows slightly furrowed down at your plate as your quivering lips pursed together, tears that you tried your best to resist finally began to sting your corneas. Alex never wasted a chance to install it in your brain that every man had no other interest than to fuck you when they looked at you. It wasn’t just degrading or objectifying, it was dehumanizing.

It sounded like he was waiting for you to say something yet you didn’t know what he wanted you to say. You never felt like you could win against Alex. Even if your IQ was higher than his, you still felt like he was smarter than you in every way. Or maybe it was just that domineering and overbearing attitude he had towards everyone around him. You’ve seen up close how successfully he intimidates both his parents and his friends, no one daring to stand up to him. But no one knew his force quite like you. No one was as intimidated by him as you. Not just because you were the weakest link or of his commanding and bold aura, but because of the techniques he used to cow you into submission.

You just wanted to lower yourself to the floor, curl up tightly into a ball, tuck your head into your knees, and rot away. That’s all you wanted to do; fantasizing that the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

“Allow me to ask you again, my darling. What did that prestoopnick want?” He put emphasis on each word like they were laced in venom.

It was too late, your first lie failed and that was your one and only shot. No matter your fake answer now, he wouldn’t believe it because he had already caught you lying. And if you had to lie about what Patrick wanted, Alex knew for sure it was something he wouldn’t like at all.

Alex rolled his icy blue eyes and huffed out a sigh, slapping his hands on his knees to push himself up to a stand. “Well then! If you won’t tell me then I’ll go ask that gent myself!”

Your eyes sprung wide open, a breath sharply inhaling up through your nose to burn your lungs. He was only able to take three steps before you had thrown yourself onto your knees to his feet and clutched onto the fabric of his pants. “Alex, no, PLEASE!” You wailed hoarsely as if he was leaving you alone with a poltergeist. You couldn’t let that poor boy be subjected to such pitiless inhumanity just because he associated with you out of the kindness of his heart. The thought of it was equally as painful as anything Alex could throw at you.

You whimpered out pleas as you pawed at his legs with tight embracing arms, burying your face in the back of his knees and undoubtedly dampening the fabric with tears. You knew you looked pathetic, most definitely stroking his superiority complex, but Alex murdered your dignity long ago. You were more than willing to beg.

He took a turn to look down at you. Surprisingly softly, his hand leaned down to allow his fingers to trace your jawline. His unreadable gaze stared back into your leaking eyes that held a begging look. He smiled, and for a moment you had a hopeful belief that he would grant mercy and maybe instead take it out on you. But that naive, childish hope was shattered like an ornament the second you noticed that malicious glint in his orbs.

And before you could feel your fear warn you about what was to come, Alex had snatched your throat, receiving your sharp wheeze as he engulfed it in his big hand. He compressed tightly to force you up and off your knees, slowly as to enjoy the sweet sounds of your choking gasps. He slammed you against the wall by your throat and held you there, his strong grip never once faltering. Your hands swung upwards, switching back and forth between trying to pry his grasp off to allow a desperate breath for air and clutching onto his sleeve and forearm for support and something to hold onto through the dizzying pain.

Numb fear filled your bloodshot eyes to the brim and his reaction was a toothy smile. He leaned his sinister expression close to the side of your face that was paling close to a bluish tint. “Such a bad girl for lying to me.” He husked in your ear which would’ve sent shivers spiraling down your bones if you weren’t so distracted by the lack of oxygen to your brain and the spots that began to form in your vision. You heard his voice ring in your ears yet you didn’t understand what he said, but you just knew it was something dark and chilling.

He suddenly removed his face from your cheek to look directly into your dilating pupils to show a kittenish smirk and bright eyes, but his squeeze remained unforgivably tight on your windpipe. He said in a mockingly innocent and forgiving tone, “But all relationships go through a bit of a rough patch, don’t they? We’ll push through this just like we always do. Any bastard that tries to skvat you from me just doesn’t viddy what we’ve got, my love.”

Your overwhelming wheezing, deep gasps became more turbulently desperate as a red substance began to rim your eyeballs. That was when Alex decided it was time to release you, gently letting go of your neck. A powerful gasp of air shot down your esophagus before his hold on you weakened enough to allow you to fall. However, when you fell, you fell right into his kick to your stomach. You landed on your side on the floor with a pair of pained whimpers and grunts, blood smearing around your gums and teeth.

Alex didn’t stay a second longer after the kick to torment you as he instantly continued on his way. “Love hurts, sweetheart!” He called out over his shoulder once he grabbed his cane that he left leaning on the wall beside your door and rested it on his shoulder blade. He escorted himself out like he was just going to run an errand.

You were left to tremble on your floor with one arm hugging your assaulted stomach and your free hand softly touching your burning throat. You moaned from the awful pain for a while, dealing with the difficulty and pain with breathing and swallowing. Your head was aching and you felt sick. When you finally managed to get a steady breath you used it to retch out the blood in your mouth while still laying on your side, creating a crimson splatter mark on the floor. The foul tasting blood still dripped down from the corner of your lips.

As your tired eyes grew lachrymose, a wet sniffle was heard from your petrified form. More followed. And more. And more. And more until one inhale with your frowning mouth triggered an agonized sob to escape from your burning throat. Hot tears finally streamed down your face, so hot you felt like they were leaving burn streak marks.

Gut-wrenching sobs filled the dead silent room and your face flushed pink from the intensity of your breakdown. Your tears poured out of your eyes like there were faucets linked to them as you weakly pushed yourself up. Anguished sobs and snivels still continued with full energy. You got yourself to stand, though with a hunch from the pounding pain in your gut, and walked yourself towards your bedroom with a shake to each step while leaning against the wall for support.

You finally reached the side of your bed, yet when you put one hand on it your knees buckled. You crumbled to the floor and into the corner that was in between your nightstand and bed. More sobs escaped you as you cradled into that corner like a child scared of the monsters in the closet. Eventually your cheeks became so wet from tears someone wouldn’t be able to tell what were new trails.

Your quaking hands reached up to grip onto the roots of your hair as your lips quivered over the faint hyperventilation. You released a manic, miserable yell as you began to slam your head against the floorboards. You couldn’t live like this anymore, you couldn’t bear another day of being Alex’s little doll to play with as he pleased. How could he claim to love you and adore you more than Beethoven when he did such awful things to you?

You contemplated if the fall from the height your window was at in the building was high enough to kill you. Yet you were more scared of more pain. You contemplated plotting out Alex’s murder. But you knew you didn’t have it in you to do it. Even if someone put a gun in your hands, saying you could either put the bullet through your head or his, you’d probably drop the gun. Alex had shaped you into a coward. Your old self would’ve been disgusted and furious at you for becoming this.

You didn’t sleep at all. All night long you lived in the haunting fear that he was going to come back to punish you for the attempt to break free from him; every minute was spent thinking it was going to be any second now. Any second now. Any second now…

Your red puffy eyes shot open from the clanking sound of your mail slot that squeaked throughout your flat, your daily newspaper sliding through. The daylight that peeked through your shades caused you to squint back, your hand moving up to touch your head from the way it ached due to your lengthy mental breakdown that had lasted for the majority of the night. It also probably ached from the position you woke up in, not even realizing that you fell asleep while anticipating Alex’s chilling return.

But he never came back. Which was… strange… for Alex.

You fearfully and fidgetly did your best to go about your day, at least your day inside. You were far too beyond frightened to leave the building, having a deep rooted fear of coming home to Alex hiding somewhere. And the thought of going out in public nearly made you sick because of the anxious agitation that clung around you like heavy chains.

But Alex never came back.

It would’ve been amazingly nice to have a full day off from Alex… if you had a notice. The whole day you kept the front door in your peripheral vision just because of the overwhelming fear that he would come back at literally any second. So after you contained his cold dinner to put in the fridge and you tucked yourself into your sheets, you had realized you wasted the entire rare day of Alex’s absence by being maddeningly paranoid.

Even in the morning you were very off-putted by the fact Alex still hadn’t come back, not even in the night which were his most active hours. You stirred your coffee in your kitchen as you stared off into space, debating if you should call off work today… again. You knew they just had to have been thinking about firing you due to how many times you called off, Alex of course being the reason. You believed the only reason why you were still employed was because your motherly and sisterly coworkers vouched for you endless times and also rationalized your excuses.

You jumped at the sound of your mail slot, the sound of your morning newspaper hitting the floor following. You swallowed and placed your hot mug down to walk to your front door. Crouching down, you picked up the thick roll and opened it up as you walked back to your kitchen. The first three pages were nothing interesting, just articles of oil and advertisements for wall painters and city politics.

The fourth page, however, caught your attention so intensely it halted your leg movements. Because there, right before your eyes, printed in black ink were the words about the arrest of a young man named Alexander Delarge. Your widened eyes stared at the printed name for some time, your mouth hung agape and your heartbeat nearly silenced.

This couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t… It was too good to be true. Your psychosis was playing a cruel, hallucinated joke on you to mock you and your childish hope.

But you finally dragged your disbelieved pupils across the sentences to see the key statements, only those sticking out to you as the words blended together in a blur. It was as if the two statements stood out in a yellow highlight, “------murder charge—----sentenced to 14 years in State Jail.”

Something dripped on the thin paper you held in your tight hands. Another drop followed. The liquefied form of absolute pure joy slipped out the corners of your eyes as a genuine smile stretched across your face. A breathy laugh escaped your throat. As you cried tears of joy and your smile embiggened, heavy laughter bellowed out of you. You reread the words over and over again while you elatedly laughed like a madman.

You were so happy about Alex’s arrest that your attention didn’t focus on the sickening guilt you owned for the murder of Patrick. But… he did say he really wanted to help you, and coincidentally his death was the greatest help of all. It practically served as a sacrifice for your freedom. Maybe two wrongs did make a right.

Though his death was still caused by your interaction from his selfless concern for your safety. But that was something that could eat you alive tomorrow. Today was yours. So what did you want to do first?

You put on a very specific record. The record Alex claimed was yours and his song, which made you grow to despise the song with every fiber of your being, the lyrics feeling so mocking to you and your predicament that you wanted nothing more than to shove your palms over your ears when it played. Yet now… you found it to be a beautiful melody.

So as Cilla Black’s “You’re My World” played from your record player, you danced as if you were head over heels in love. You spun and leapt around your flat, flailing your arms around and mouthing the words dramatically. You danced to your fridge and swung it open like you were in a stage play, snatching the contained and untouched dinner for Alex last night and gracefully chucked it into the garbage.

“You're my world, you are my night and day~”

You grabbed the two cartons of milk and poured the two white liquids down your kitchen sink drain, still mouthing the song words overjoyously.

“You're my world, you're every prayer I pray~”

Light on your feet, you danced back into your living room in the direction of the framed photo of you and Alex that he put up himself on your wall. It was a picture from Alex’s birthday when he went to your restaurant for the free Birthday Special lunch during your shift. Your manager thought it was adorable thus took a picture of the two of you as you sat with him in the booth. Alex was facing the camera with a big smile and was leaning backwards so that you could rest your chin on his shoulder. He had a hand on the side of your face and was pushing it closer to him so that his and yours cheeks were squishing together. You were forcing a smile yet your eyes remained miserable.

Since it was just such a cute photo, your manager framed it on the Birthday wall at the restaurant and gave you a copy. Alex already had so many pictures of the two of you in his bedroom and didn’t really have any room left for another so he mounted it on your living room wall. You always hated looking at that photo, ironically the pose and position in the photo made it look like Alex was resting your decapitated head on his shoulder.

But now you were dancing towards the frame, pointing at it with a foxy expression like you were trying to seduce a real person. You reached the photograph and dragged your hands sensually down the wall on both sides of the frame as you still dramatically mouthed the sung words of Cilla Black.

“If our love~ ceases to be~”

You caressed the side of his face with the back of your hand before you tapped on his nose with your finger. Then you had grabbed the frame off its nails and spun on your feet once while you wore an overdramatic lovestruck expression. You ballroom danced with it around your living room.

“Then it’s the end of my world~”

You halted your dancing to mimic the singing belt as you put on mocking bedroom eyes towards the Alex in the photo. You leaned forward to kiss his face comically.

“End of my world~”

Your expression then switched to a badly acted and overdramatic face of sorrowful sadness during your lip sync of the song turning sad, the back of your hand on your forehead as you swung your head back like a damsel in distress.

“End of my world~”

Your head snapped back down, a small smile beginning to grow. Then you had chucked the picture frame to the floor with all your strength, glass shards sliding from the impact.

“For~ me~”

[rose-of-oz]

𝗡𝗘𝗪 𝗗𝗘𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗦 𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗜𝗡𝗔𝗟 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦

So, after some consideration, I have decided to create another new Descendants fic! This one, called Fly to Your Heart, will feature OCs who are the children of the Pixie Hollow gang from the Tinkerbell movies, who are originally meant to go to school in Pixie Hollow because it’s far away from the mainland, but wind up coming to Auradon Prep shortly before Ben’s proclamation on an outreach program set up by King Beast because he wants to improve relations with the fairies, along with one daughter of Anna and Kristoff, because I really loved those movies as a kid and I feel like they’re kind of underrated. Anyways, meet the new babies, hope you all love them as much as I do!!

(Tagging the Descendants gang: @auxiliarydetective, @ginger-grimm,

@dancingsunflowers-ocs, @ginevrastilinski-ocs, @welcometotheocverse,

and @manyfandomocs. <3)

Tiffany Bell, she/her, daughter of Tinkerbell and Terence, Uma ship, Josefine Frida Pettersen FC. A dust talent fairy, taking after her father, but definitely takes after Tink in personality - stubborn and fierce and curious, and would do anything for the people she cares about. Super excited to be able to visit Auradon with her friend group and her cousin and in full support of the VKs coming from the Isle, and is one of the first people to try and befriend the Sea Three when they also arrive. A big fat lesbian who winds up with a sort of insta-crush on Uma, and although it does take them a bit to get together they’re super cute when they do.

Priscilla “Cilla” Frost, she/her, daughter of Periwinkle, Gil ship, Sabrina Carpenter FC. A snowflake talent fairy who’s always been quieter and more withdrawn than her mom, aunt, and cousin, but is willing to go to Auradon with Tiffany because she being with her cousin makes her braver. Pretty shy and awkward and prefers to spend her time perfecting her powers and learning how to make the best snowflakes, but eventually becomes part of Tiffany’s friend group with the other Pixie Hollow kids and some of the other Auradon and villain kids. Becomes Gil’s tutor when the Sea Three first come to Auradon, and eventually falls in love with him through that.

Virgil Swift, he/him, son of Vidia, OC ship, Mark McKenna FC. A fast-flying talent like his mom, and very good at it, but not nearly as arrogant about it as her. However, he still has her intensity and absolute determination to be the best at what he does; he’s just more content to work hard and earn it. Can be a bit singleminded and too intense for some people, but also always ready to apply that to caring for and protecting his friends. First became part of the Pixie Squad through being friends with Freddie as toddlers, and though he doesn’t care much about whether he goes to Auradon or stays in Pixie Hollow he’s content to follow his friends wherever - and is especially glad about his decision when he winds up falling in love with a princess.

Rainbow “Rain” Desrosiers, she/they, daughter of Rosetta, Jane ship, Abigail Cowen FC. A fruit talent fairy with severe social anxiety who prefers to spend most of her time tucked away in a corner of their mother’s garden, tinkering with different ways to grow fruit. Not so much shy as standoffish and a bit off-putting due to her anxiety, and has a bit of a quick temper, but still has a good heart and is intensely loyal to the people they care about. Tends to be a bit awkward when interacting with the whole friend group, and only really agrees to go to Auradon because her brother is going too, but winds up becoming really good friends with Lonnie, Doug, and Jordan, and eventually becomes cool opposites attract partners with a certain fellow awkward fairy.

Ryan Desrosiers, he/him, son of Rosetta, poly Ben/Mal ship, Froy Gutierrez FC. A harvest talent who loves spending time in the fields during harvest season, but is also much more outspoken and a social butterfly than his sibling, taking more after their mom. The main hangout organizer and resident hype man of the Pixie Squad, and absolutely excited for the chance to go to Auradon and meet a bunch of new people, only to promptly get a crush on Mal when the VKs arrive. Kind of sad when she and Ben get together after the coronation, but very happy when he discovers that they both like him and want him to join their relationship. Also forms Auradon Prep’s first agricultural club, and along with Rain manages to teach all the preppy students who join a lot about harvesting and gardening.

Iris Lux, she/her, daughter of Iridessa, Doug ship, Sofia Bryant FC. A star-counting talent who, of course, is very interested in and knowledgeable about astronomy, and as a result is largely nocturnal so she can better practice her duties. The first one to start the Pixie Squad by making friends with Ryan when they were little kids, and though she enjoys living in Pixie Hollow with her mom is happy to follow her friends to Auradon. Never really gets over being sleepy during the day and energetic at night, and ends up having a lot of late-night conversations with Doug, since she gets up to count the stars and he has insomnia, and they fall in love over the course of that. A totally sweet and loyal girl who’s dedicated to her duties and works really hard to improve her talent and be a great friend, but also has a great sense of humour and isn’t afraid to be silly.

Sally Pond, she/her, daughter of Silvermist, OC ship, Lana Condor FC. Turns out to be a baking talent and not any kind of water talent like her mama, and though Silvermist loves her daughter dearly she doesn’t always know how to interact with someone so different from her. Sally is your classic bakercore girl, soft and sweet and with a love for sweets and pretty things, and above all she loves her friends and wants to make them, her mama, and her aunts proud, even if that can sometimes make her a bit of a pushover. Doesn’t love leaving her mama to go to Auradon, but is happy to if that’s what her friends want, and eventually becomes a student teacher in Auradon Prep’s home ec class because she’s the best baker in school, and also eventually falls in love with one of her best friends.

Freddie Animus, they/them, child of Fawn, OC ship (Sally’s partner), Brigette Lundy-Paine FC. An animal talent like their mom and adores conversing and playing with all the animals in Pixie Hollow, but also wants to make new animal friends beyond the ones they already have, so they jump at the chance to go to Auradon with their friends. Has been in love with Sally since they were young teenagers, but doesn’t find the strength to confess until after Maleficent’s attack at the coronation, after which they do become a really cute couple. Sarcastic and quick-witted, has a tendency to maybe not take some things as seriously as they should, but does know to take anything that concerns the people they care about. Develops a bond with Dude and becomes gossip buddies with him before he even gets spelled to be able to talk, and is honestly not super happy that they’re not the only one who can talk to him anymore.

Zane Flyer, he/him, son of Zarina and Captain Hook, Jay ship, Milo Manheim FC. A dust talent fairy who grew up in Pixie Hollow being taught the secrets of Pixie Dust Alchemy by his mom, never being told who his dad was and never really questioning it, given that not a lot of fairies who are born in the regular way rather than from a baby’s laugh have more than one parent sticking around anyway. Very loud and energetic and can be kind of annoying, so he’s not really part of the Pixie Squad but gets invited to attend Auradon Prep anyway. His mother finally tells him the truth, that Captain Hook is his father and he has half-siblings living on the Isle of the Lost, right before he departs for Auradon, and as such he decides to befriend the VKs when they arrive because he wants to try and get answers about his father and siblings, coming to fall in love with Jay and finally kissing him at Cotillon. Also eventually becomes a part of the Pixie Squad, as well as joining the tourney team and becoming unlikely friends with Chad. Incredibly talented in Pixie Dust Alchemy, and not-so-secretly loves showing his skills off.

Astrid Bjorgman, she/her, daughter of Anna and Kristoff, OC ship (Virgil’s girlfriend), Stefanie Scott FC. Crown princess of Arendelle, but secretly planning to abdicate and leave the throne to her cousin, Elsa’s son Edvin, because she’s Ben’s best friend from the time they were in diapers and would rather be the Head of Auradon’s Royal Council. Also inherited her aunt’s powers of ice and snow where her cousin didn’t, and spends a lot of time worrying about them and trying to make sure she can control them because she doesn’t want to cause a horrible storm the way her aunt accidentally did. Very quiet and serious and studious, insanely dedicated to her future job, but also has a lot of anxiety and can often push people away when she gets too in her head. Ben’s most steadfast friend, though, and and incredibly supportive of his proclamation and even ends up becoming good friends with Carlos and Evie, as well as the Pixie Squad when she winds up falling in love with Virgil.

Hope you all enjoy these new babies!! I plan to make proper intro posts for them soon enough, but until then, feel free to send in any asks you want about them!! <3