#hated seeing Dream shrink back like that...

[star-sim]

your lips, my lips, apocalypse ☆ heeseung lee

☆ non-idol! heeseung x fem! reader ☆ summary: sex, love, and romance tasted like poison on your tongue, a secret that you held close to yourself for years. unfortunately, when heeseung kisses you, he, too, could taste that poison. ☆ genre: hurt/comfort, angst, veeery suggestive but no smut, implied college! au, unclear relationship status but can be viewed as friends to lovers ☆ warning(s)? implied s*xual abuse, hypersexuality as a coping mechanism, if youre not comfy with these topics don't read! ☆ word count: 2.0k ☆ atp im just writing my entire playlist... based off of apocalypse by cigarettes after sex <3

Heeseung should have known the moment that your first instinct was to lower your head in shame and unbutton your shirt, revealing your lacy undergarments and bare skin, because you thought your then-boyfriend was angry at you.

He should have seen the signs when you had no problem shoving your tongue down every team captain's throat for everyone to see, but danced around the topic of sex, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as you clutched onto his sleeve.

He should have noticed the way you changed, how you slowly showed more and more skin, yet said less and less, shrinking into yourself whenever a pair of eyes glazed over you, almost like you were afraid.

But most of all, Heeseung should have known the moment that you attacked him with your lips, hungrily kissing him like a starved hyena.

He hated himself for realizing so late into the night. 

There the two of you were, sprawled across your bed. You had your back flat against the soft, white sheets, your bare skin so pretty under the warm light. Heeseung, shirtless in his own right, hovered over you, admiring you.

Both of you were breathless, lips swollen and eyes blown out as you ached for each other, spending the last hour teasing each other.

What started as a calm night with his dear friend became an impromptu makeout session, that then became the two of you half naked in your bedroom.

The first sign should have been how you faltered at Heeseung's mindless mention of his love-life, the way your expression pinched briefly. You let out a few sad words, yet your tone was so happy that Heeseung didn't notice the way your brows furrowed, sinking your teeth into your lips pensively. 

The second sign should have been the cloudy glaze over your eyes the moment Heeseung's hand accidentally brushed up against your thigh, and more importantly, the way your eyes were glued to his hand as he pulled it away, a small "sorry"falling from his lips.

The third sign was the way that you paused for a moment, giving him a confused look after you crawled on top of him, your lips attached to his neck. Heeseung's hand ghosted over your hips and waist, asking breathlessly, "Can I touch you here?" 

This should have been the nail in the coffin, the way you looked so quizzical just because he asked permission to touch you.

But now as Heeseung pinned you under him, his large, doe eyes gazing down at yours, he felt his heart pound. You looked so beautiful. The sight of you under him was something that he could only dream of, but now that you were right in front of him, Heeseung felt dizzy.

All these years, he'd been waiting for his moment— to be so close and intimate with you, you who he never really escaped from.

Heeseung could feel the warmth of your skin against his, the feeling being so delicious that he wanted to bask in it forever.

As his long fingers slithered down to the hem of your panties, dipping into them, Heeseung watched your face. 

Your head was thrown back, gazing up at him like he was a god. Your pretty lips were wet and parted, sucking in sharp breaths and letting out small sighs as Heeseung worked on you.

But what made Heeseung falter was the look in your eye.

He'd always known you to be bright-eyed; it was within your eyes that he could see the universe unfold before him, without a single speck of dust obstructing it.

But this time, your eyes told something different.

Earlier, they were filled with excitement and desire. But now, they were dull; storm clouds shrouded the sky that was your eyes, shedding a murky and foggy cast that was so dark that it bled onto the rest of your face.

Heeseung was no stranger to your past.

It was no secret that you had many sexual partners, almost to the point of being rumored to be a 'whore' or 'slut.'

Heeseung didn't know for sure, but he was perceptive enough to understand the link between the older boy that you dated for years in high school who was known for preying on younger girls, and your transition into being more sexually-charged. He had a feeling that your sudden change into being more sexual had something to do with the predatory nature of your relationship back then.

All this time, you'd told him that you were okay, that you'd moved on and did things because you wanted to do it, that you were no longer haunted by the memory of your sexually abusive ex-boyfriend from when you were seventeen years old.

But Heeseung could read you better than he knew.

From your eyes, he could tell that you were desperate.

Not desperate for sexual gratification or pleasure.

Not desperate to be touched.

Not desperate to be satiated by some sort of sexual hunger.

No, you were desperate to be healed, desperate to be held.

Of course. You were turning to sex to fix your problems. You were finding value in relationships and yourself through sex. 

You didn't want to have sex with him.

Slowly, Heeseung removed his hands from you, pulling up your panties and getting up to find your shirt. Without a word, he slipped your shirt back onto you, his hand fixing your disheveled hair.

Sensing that something was wrong, you gently grabbed his face, pressing your lips against his. For a second, Heeseung forgot everything, only relishing in the way that your lips felt. His body was begging him to relieve him of his desire. Atlas wanted you. Oh, he wanted you so bad. He wanted you selfishly.

But Heeseung wasn’t going to have sex with someone that didn’t want it.

“No,” he mumbled against your lips as he tried to pull away. “[Name]-”

You only pulled him closer by the shoulders, squeezing them. Your lips were now crashing against his aggressively and with a passion that felt artificial. “[N-Name],” he tried to pull away. “No.”

“I just—” you said in-between kisses, “I just really want you.”

Heeseung could have easily pushed you away, given your strength difference. But he refused to hurt you. With a firm jerk, he was able to get himself free of your grip.

"I can't do this with you," was all he said.

You looked like you were about to cry. Heeseung felt a pang in his chest, but all he did was shake his head. Heeseung silently got off of you, finding his pants on the floor and slipping back into them. He went to your bathroom to get a warm wet cloth to clean your wet thighs up, his hands gently grasping your skin as if you'd fall apart if he was too rough.

Just as Heeseung was about to throw the towel into your hamper, you grasped onto his bicep, digging your nails into it. You looked up at him with tearful eyes, your brows knit together as you began to sniffle.

"I-I'm sorry," you whimpered. "Did I do something wrong? A-Are you mad at me?"

Heeseung immediately tossed the wet cloth aside somewhere on your bedroom floor.

"What are you talking about?" He wrapped his arms around you, pulling your head to your chest, feeling your tears stain his bare chest. When Heeseung pecked your forehead, you wailed even harder, your arms coming up to pull him closer to you, holding him like he'd save you. "Why would I be mad at you?

"W-Why don't you want to h-have sex with me then?" you shakily choked out. "Am I— Am I not good enough?"

"No," Heeseung's eyebrows crashed together, his eyes narrowing. His words were serious, but his voice was soft, as soft as a feather for your delicate ears. "I could tell that you didn't want it, Baby. I would never get mad at you for that. I hope you know that."

The sound of your sobs must have been the worst thing that Heeseung had ever heard in his life. He didn't like it one bit. Those hot tears were tiny droplets of all the pain and abuse that you've suffered from. 

"I'm s-sorry," you whimpered. "I-I'm s-sorry."

What did they do to you? What have they done to you that you apologized so much?

Heeseung clenched his fists. His chest burned with a different type of anger, an anger that was so great that it was overwhelming, eating Heeseung alive and chewing him into dust. He'd kill them, he'd kill the son of the bitch that hurt you so much like this with his bare hands.

"Fuck," Heeseung cursed under his breath. In a single movement, Heeseung hoisted the both of you up, so that you were on top of him, your head rested on his chest. As tears spilled from your eyes, clinging to Heeseung, he petted your head. 

Heeseung was warm, warm in a way that you couldn’t describe. You wanted to fall into him, let your eyelids flutter down peacefully, and relish in what was his essence. 

You felt apologies prickle the tip of your tongue. After all, other than letting others use your body, saying sorry was the only other thing you knew how to do. You felt weak, helpless, like a wet dog at the mercy of its owner, yet you felt more sorry for Heeseung, who was now stuck with you. 

“S-Sorry—“

“Shhh,” Heeseung whispered into your ear. “Don’t apologize, Baby.”

“But—“

Heeseung hushed you. 

When your breath didn’t slow, in fact speeding up to the point that you were huffing in quick breaths and pushing out even shallower ones from your chest, Heeseung grabbed your hands. 

It felt like the entire world was crashing down into your shoulders, hitting you all at once. Everything hurt, your body was trembling yet you couldn’t feel anything. You should be okay, right? After every one-night stand or sexual partner that inevitably used you like a doll, you were always left alone and cold. You experienced this exactly, and you’ve dealt with it every time alone. You can do it again, right? If you’ve been alone all this time, you can deal with it this time alone, too—

“Hey.” 

Heeseung’s voice forced you out of your head.

“Hey,” he repeated, rubbing circles on your back. “Breathe.”

You swallowed down the sob that threatened to spill out. “I’m o-okay.”

“You aren’t,” he said simply. “I know you aren’t.”

You shook your head, pulling away from him. You wanted to shrink back into his warmth, to be sucked back into the paradise that was the comfort that was Heeseung, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. You were scared.

Why would he want to be around you? Why would he even want to have a burden of a person like you to hold? You were a mess, a wreck that had too many problems to count. You were unlovable, broken, fragmented and with missing parts because of all the men that have robbed you of your identity, your autonomy, your ability to love, and—

To your surprise, Heeseung simply pulled you back in. His hands gently slinked to your wrists, pulling you back into him. Your mind told you to run away and hide, but instinctively, you melted into him.

“Let me take care of you,” Heeseung said. His voice was calm, light on your ears in a way that made your heart ache. He took your hand again, squeezing it. “I don’t care what you say, I’m not leaving you.”

“Please d-don’t,” you whispered back, so softly that your voice was barely audible. “Don’t leave.”

“I won’t,” was all Heeseung said. “You can count on it. I won’t.”

[vamph00n]

idea, but idk if you take ideas

reader gets turned on by hoon’s vampire like features, and convinces him to rp as one while they’re fucking

mdni

tags: femreader, vampire kink, mentions of the twilight movies, hoon is jealous obv.

*not proofread will do later

wc: 1,2k

smut tags under the cut

i added my own lil spin on it annonie~ mainly cause i’ve been rewatching twilight rndjsoskdndknsla

smut tags: biting kink, implications of sex, dirty talk, chest groping, etc

he doesn’t know how many times you watched those stupid twilight movies. all he knew is that you fawned over some guy in those films with the most victorian name ever. he wasn’t your type and sunghoon was sure of it, why would he be your type when he; your boyfriend, was right there? nah, he didn’t like that you thought of any other men than him. even if he was fictional.

you had all the books too, along with whatever smutty literature he saw on that well dusted shelf in your house. you lived in those dirty fantasies when he was right there. the way you’d kick your feet and giggle while watching those movies. it really pissed him off, it was all imaginary, pretend. it was stupid for him to be so jealous, but god there was one thing he hated the most about your little hyper fixation…

well, the thing is sunghoon doesn’t want to come off as a pissy bitch. he’ll happily go along with whatever endeavors you put him through. it’s just when you make him watch the same few movies with you again, he felt his ego shrink every passing second spent staring at robert pattinson play a vampire. especially when your comments consisted of comparisons between him and edward whats-his-face’s character.

“look at him hoon, he’s like all sparkly in the sun, n’ he has like this mad gaze.” Your eyes pan over to your boyfriend, watching him stare at the tv blankly, in a boredom induced daze.

he’s tuning out what you’re saying, because well, it makes him feel somewhat inadequate. it’s so rare for him to feel this way. he’s so self assured, maybe even a little egotistical sometimes. how can he not be? you yourself loaded up his little brain with compliments and ideas. saying how he’s the man of your fucking dreams, or the way your body contorted in different ways, becoming helpless when he did so little as touching you. hell yeah, you made him feel so damn special.

with his brows furrowed at the screen, he sees your odd stare from the corner of his eye. why do anything to reassure you of what you were thinking in that moment? he knows you, he can practically read your mind. before diverting your attention back to the screen a scoff leaves your mouth. call him petty or whatever you want, he just wants to get through watching this god forsaken movie for the millionth time without his brain frying.

sunghoon is so ridged. his arms are crossed, and he’s like, all stiff. whatever, you can deal with it. although it’s frustrating that he’s so oblivious.

you find yourself scooting closer, leaning and commenting on the movie. with each sentence you say, you can feel his dreary attitude loom over. it’s given, you’ve forced him to death watch your silly little movies to the point where he himself can recite each word.

“he’s like, —i don’t know. like can you imagine? getting puncture wounds, and hickeys at the same—“

that’s where sunghoon draws the line.

“can you shut up?”

dang. he was livid. you have right to your own thoughts but to think like that? when he’s right there? when he can well rip off your panties and fuck you the way this guy can’t because it’s all speculative? all you had to do was let him, just ask and he’ll deliver. you know it.

but then again, you boyfriend is as dense as concrete and dumb as bricks sometimes. guess you’d have to give him a nudge, a hint too probably.

“i mean, can you imagine what’s it like to be a vampire?”

you’ve practically told him what you wanted, and he still has that red cloudy look of jealousy with somewhat of a frown on his face and his overgrown bangs shading his eyes. if he wasn’t upset, you’d tell him how cute he looks right now. how dumb he is, is also what you’d tell him. then again you weren’t exactly being straightforward.

with your question slipping in one ear and out the other, he just tunes you out. yeah it’s pathetic he feels so strongly about something so meaningless, could he help it though? he was insane about you.

your eyes darken as you grab the remote, and thank goodness you turned it off. sunghoon finds you sliding on of your legs over his thighs as you take a seat. you gaze into his eyes, he looks annoyed. he’s suppressing the urge to just fuck the stupid crush you had on that twilight vampire out of you. it makes you laugh at how blind he is. nevermind, you probably had to spell it out for him.

“you can do that. you can bite me here, and here-“

you drag your two fingers indicating where he could, and his breath hitches. it’s like all his senses are tingly, and piercing. his ears are ringing, with the rush of adrenaline and the newfound excitement he had. just hearing you describe what you wanted him to do.

you saw his jaw hang slack, as you merely told him what you wanted. tracing your fingers down your abdomen and to your thighs, you tap on the fleshy inner part.

“you can bite here too.”

his hands grab your hips, he gets it now. he slides a hand up your shirt holding your chest. your mind drives him crazy. his touch sends shivers down your spine.

“here too?” he asks asks, so politely.

it makes you heat up, and become more wet than your imagination allowed. when you thought of him like the cold blooded undead he resembled so much, it made you infatuated with the idea of it. the idea of him. how could he not see it? when you drew comparisons that surely pointed towards his own features that you loved so much.

his pretty skin glows in the dim light of your living room unlike of that portrayed in the movie. he’s real, and right here.

“didn’t you ever think, perhaps..” you say it so sweetly as you feel his hand roam around your body.

before you can finish your sentence, your breath is cut short. your back is now against the cushions of the couch, and his arms trap you beneath him. sunghoon wonders how he got so lucky, to have someone like you to show him all the ways he can make you wet. your so sick and twisted, not for your little fantasy you wanted him to indulge in, but the fact you didn’t just tell him straight up. he ought to punish you.

he’ll let it slide though. partially because he feels his cock twitch restrained by his pants, and because he’s so willing to do what you ask of him. he knows this is the just the beginning, and honestly he’ll have fun woh it. so with his lips ghosting your neck, and his hot breath up against your ear he asks you a question.

“tell me what else you want me to do as your vampire. sweetheart”

copyright @vamph00n 2024

[misseviehyde]

BYE BITCH

By Erica

Edited by Evie Hyde

This is the story of a bitch called Britney and how not only her life, but the lives of several people would change forever one fateful day.

See her now as she stands at her mirror. See her and know her darkest thoughts…

******

The locket looked like any other. There was nothing remarkable about it, but it held power as old as your family bloodline, a power you would soon make use of. 

You stood looking in the mirror, an image of feminine perfection staring back at you. You were a hot busty blonde slut and perfect in every way. Long luscious legs, soft bronzed skin, silky hair and bitchy nails. Your tits were bigger and better than other women, your cleavage magnetic and your tight pussy the wet dream of every man.

Your superior genes had bred a perfect alpha bitch with an inflated narcissistic personality. You loved every inch of your body, and you were always supremely confident, but now your hands were shaking.

After all - who would willingly give up this body and this power?

What you were about to do was born of terrible desperation.  Nobody was going to threaten your position of power, so soon these wonderful feminine features would be gone, albeit temporarily. This was your last look at yourself before you did what must be done.

You were hesitant, apprehensive even with your sexy hands shaking as you opened the locket. As it popped open, you could feel a mystical force pull on your very being. It was a sensation unlike any you had ever felt before. And now the pain began. You groaned as your big tits began deflating, your best feature shrinking away to nothing. It felt terrible and you had done this to yourself. You only hoped you were doing the right thing.

Next your long blonde hair began turning brunette and receding back into your scalp till you were left with short boring hair. It itched and you missed the feeling of superiority your blonde locks gave you. 

You hissed as your bones began cracking and breaking and as you grew slightly taller, your flawless skin began to develop acne. You felt a tear run down your face. You hated how this felt. 

Next your vision blurred as your perfect blue eyes changed colour and you lost your perfect visual acumen. From now on you would need corrective lenses in this new nerdy form.

The slutty piercing in your navel dropped out as did your hooped earrings and as you gained weight you were now not only nerdy but chubby too. God you hated this body, it repulsed you but the worst part was still to come.

You felt a pulling sensation in your clit and once more you lost a piercing you liked. Your slutty clit piercing fell out leaving your pussy bare, but soon that slit began to close as a tiny cock and pathetic balls grew in its place. The kind of cock and balls you would have once bullied and mocked.

Sticking out your tongue you removed your piercing there, watching as the hole closed instantly as your white perfect teeth turned dull and crooked.

Kicking off your slutty white heels and wiggling out of your tiny denim shorts and designer top; you carefully placed your clothing and piercings into a ruck-sac. Now naked you could see just how pathetic your new body was.

You were now very much a boy and not the kind you were attracted to - a stud who you would love to rail - but a pathetic loser, a nerdy useless piece of worthless male flesh. God, you wished you were a hot blonde bitch again.

The pain ended as the last of your beauty and sexiness was sucked away. It left you feeling weak and unconfident. Even the way you stood was now unsure and ungainly. You felt so awkward in this new fat body. Your usual domineering hand gestures and bitchy looks replaced by a anxious frown - you had become everything you hated.

The locket in your hands slammed shut, safely locking your essence inside where it would remain until you needed it. You looked down, the innocent locket now contained everything that was you. Every drop of pure feminine bitchiness was inside. You could almost feel it fighting to get out, but for now you were a nerd and this body would serve your purposes well.

As hot and as perfectly bitchy you were before - that body was useless in this particular endeavour. How those useless nerds in the science club had managed to resist your feminine wiles was beyond your understanding, but for some reasons those sub-human sacks of pathetic male flesh had resisted you. But they would never best you now, not now you were one of them. Well - for now at least.

Elixir! that's what they called their miracle formula, a pink serum that would transform those nerds into Alpha bitches. Imagining them turning into girls like you made your stomach heave. It was laughable and there was no way you were going to let them win the day and join you at the top of the pyramid. There was only one immutable fact - bitches are born not created. They could never join you, it was against the laws of nature and bitchiness. That was why you had to stop them.

The plan was simple. Having failed to seduce one of their number (the fool) you would now become one of them. Infiltrating their little group of losers would be childs-play. All that remained was to find the formula and destroy it, ensuring they kept their place as pathetic  nerds and your position as an Alpha was unassailable, allowing you to continue dominating the school as a total bitch.

Your feminine clothes safely stored in the ruck-sac, you began to dress as a boy for the first time. Ugly white Y front, underpants, dorky grey trousers and a white shirt with a tie. You hated how this stuff looked. Fortunately you'd guessed you might need glasses - and bought a pair from a local shop. The prescription wasn't perfect - but good enough that you could see a little better.

You safely stashed the locket in your trouser pocket. It would look out of place around your neck, besides knowing the way nerds are treated at your school, one of the jocks might snatch it from your neck and play keep away with it. The risk of that was far too great.

It was time to go to school…

********

It felt so weird walking the halls of school without people looking at you with desire. Instead they barely even gave you a second glance and those that did, looked at you like you were something they stepped in; a look you usually reserved for the plebs yourself. Now… here… you were one of them.

This body felt so alien to you and not having your big tits made you body feel so off balance.  How do these nerds manage with such a tiny baby carrot dick hanging between their legs instead of a constantly needy slit? Not feeling the usual urge to get fucked was a bit strange, but now as a boy you felt nothing.

A short walk down the hall and you found yourself outside the science room. Normally you woudn’t be seen dead in there, although you did smile as you remembered that time you fucked Professor Green on one of the science benches. Mmmmh, taking his big cock was the best ‘A’ you ever had to work for.

Entering the science room you could see the group of nerds busy beavering away on their Elixir. You couldn't help but smirk as the genius of your evil plan to ensure they never knew the pleasures of being a woman took fruit in your mind. Imagine these losers not even wanting to fuck you in your true form,? They would never do better than you. You even doubted their Elixir would make them as fuckable as you, but it was a risk you weren't willing to accept. 

The nerds didn't even look up from their papers and test tubes, perhaps because now you looked as bland and pathetic as them. Part of you was still annoyed at these losers for not wanting to fuck you - it would have saved you the trouble of having to become one of them and maybe even been fun. 

There were four nerds all huddled together muttering something about stabilising the oestrogen markers. You may have had the body of a nerd but you didn't have their mind and you understood nothing of their research. It didn't matter - you weren't here to help, only hinder.

You decided to be subtle and indulge in a bit of small talk to help lower their guard. It was difficult trying to strike up a conversation and making you sound like one of them, but deviousness was second nature to you, even slumming it in this body.

If these losers had any idea of your true intentions they probably would have left, but they only looked at you and nodded a polite greeting before carrying on with what they were doing. This was going to be a piece of piss. 

You could see them rapidly scrawling notes in a large notepad - it must be the Elixir formula. Now all you needed to do was destroy that book and all the samples in the test tubes. It was time to act like a bit of a klutz.

"Excuse me can I just get one of those?" You pointed across the workbench to an empty test tube; your nerdy masculine voice sounded so weird and you instantly hated how servile you sounded. Thankfully it wouldn't be long before your work here was done you could open the locket and get your beloved body back.

"Sure" replied one of the nerds as he reached over the bench with a test tube in his hand.

"Thanks,” you replied, and as you reached out to take the tube from him you purposely jerked your elbow to knock and spill a flask of chemicals. It toppled and smashed and the nerds leapt back as chemicals poured over the notes on the table, hopefully dashing their hopes at womanhood.

"Oh I'm so sorry,” you gasped, intending it to sound patronising and full of venomous intent - but it came out as sincere and apologetic instead.  God this body was pathetic, you couldn't even sound triumphant in your actual moment of glory.

"Don't worry, we still have the samples,”  panted one of their number as he quickly grabbed the notepad to salvage what he could of the dripping mess.

Another nerd jumped up to help start cleaning the mess. As the other dropped the note book into a plastic bag, you coud see the spillage had  made the notes barely legible - perfect!

It was then you made your second move. You couldn't allow these ‘samples' to cause an issue. Pretending to help clean up the mess, you deliberately knocked over more cylinders and test tubes - the ones most likely containing the brewing Elixir. The other nerds watched in horror as glass smashed and chemicals splashed onto the floor. 

You wanted to laugh triumphantly, you had done it. Now all you needed to do was get the fuck yout of here and return to your true form.

"Oh i'm so sorry how clumsy of me," you whined as the nerds shouted in horror and panic set in as they tried to salvage what was left o fthe experiment. Turning you began to run away hoping to use the confusion as cover for your escape.

Unfortunately as you fled, your pathetic new clumsy body betrayed you and you slipped on a some of the chemicals on the floor. As you stumbled and crashed against another table, you failed to notice the precious locket fall from your pocket and clatter onto the floor.

Recovering your balance, you staggered out of the room - the gleaming locket now in the middle of the room where anyone could find it.

"Hey, where is that guy going?” one of the nerds shouted after you as he noted your exit. “That's the guy who trashed our experiment. Something isn't right here and he just dropped something.”

Spotting the locket, the nerd picked it up and examined the beautiful gold. Weird…. he thought holding the small gold locket in his hand.

"You guys try to fix this mess. I'm going to go after that new guy and find out what is going on. This locket loves valuable and he better tell us what he is up to or he isn't getting this back.”

Little did the nerd know JUST how valuable it was. He now held the greatest treasure of all, all of your very feminine essence. He was in possession of distilled pure, feminine, bitchiness.

Leaving the science room the nerd tried to follow you but there was no trace of where you went. He slowly walked the hall, his prize clutched in his hand, little knowing the power he now possessed or unsure of how important it would play in his future life and yours...

*****

It had been easy to slip into the girls restroom and luckily there was no one else inside. The ruck-sac containing your girl clothes was safely stored in a roof panel above a stall and now all you had to turn was turn back and put them on and no one would ever know what you had done.

You couldn't wait to wear expenaive silk panties again and feel powerful and sexy in your ‘fuck me’ heels. You couldn't wait to become Britney. You had already laid your slutty girls clothes, piercings and makeup kit on the bench ready to begin when you realised the problem.

The locket had gone.

"No this can't be happening! Where the fuck is it? I cant have lost it, I can't. Noooo Ii don't want to be a boy. I can't become a loser like this” you hyperventilated, the panic setting in.

Then remembering who you were, you slowed your breathing and forced yourself to calm down.

You had to find that locket but you had to be calm. You must have dropped it when you fell over. You just needed to go back to the lab and get it.

Everything was going to be okay. Leaving your clothes and makeup out, you turned and began walking back to the science lab.

Nothing was going to stop you becoming Britney again.

***

The nerd from the science lab didn't know what instinct had made him duck into a doorway when he heard the girls washroom open. Now he watched from the shadows as the strange boy from earlier marched back the way they had come.

What had he been doing in the girls washroom?

Deciding to investigate, he entered and frowned at the clothing and girls stuff he found inside.  Feeling slightly nervous about being in the girls washroom he stroked the metal casing of the locket he had found and shivered as a strange thrill ran through his entire body.

Then he seemed to hear a voice.

Open me you fool. Release me and receive my majesty. Become a bitch, become me, become Britney. I need a body, I need to dominate, fuck and control. Let me into you… let me BECOME you.

The nerd frowned, turning his attention to the locket in his hand. He saw there was a catch that would open it and a sudden desire to do so flowed into him.

Yes. That's it. I need to exist. Let me flow into you and make you better. Let me pump you full of my sluttiness.Open me you loser, release me at once! Let me inside you!

Weird! That sounded just like Britney's voice coming from the locket? 

Mmmmh big tits, tight pussy, firm ass. Cum, big cocks, fashion, makeup, bullying. You want me inside you. Let me make you into Britney. I must be free.

The nerds thumb found the catch and for some reason his dick got hard as he pushed the catch. The voice in his head was whispering such dirty things, it was so hot.

With a satisfying click the locket popped open in his hands and a brilliant light filled the room. 

Pink energy escaped the locket coiling round his body flowed up to his mouth and nostrils. Like a big thick  black cock in a snowbunnies mouth, it slid into his throat and pumped down… making him gulp and moan in pleasure as the evil pink power flowed eagerly into his weak body. 

*glug glug glug* mmmmmhhhhppphhhh.

The last of the energy flowed into the nerd and the locket fell to the floor as his body twitched and pink light blazed from his eyes.  All of Britney's bitchiness had now flowed into his body and now it was changing him.

"Oh fuck yesssss this feels amazing, I dont know what's happening but I fucking love it! Mmmmh oh God yess, I can feel it mmmmh changing me. Ahhhh fuck, what is this delicious power?”

The nerd moaned his voice rising several octaves and transforming into a bitchy slutty whine as his tore at his clothing and groaned as his bones popped and cracked.

His skin rippled and it became soft and smooth. Blonde streaks began to shine through his hair and his ass pushed out with a satisfying clap as he smacked it and moaned.

"Yess, my ass feels so fucking good. I mmmmh love my fucking bitchy ass. I want a big thick cock in my butt right NOW. Ohhh fuck what am I saying?” he moaned, ripping off his shirt in time to see his tiny chest begin swell as Britneys big perfect tits began to form.

Fondling a growing breast with one hand the nerd saw his nails lengthen into perfect manicured French tips, whilst the other hand was vigorously jerking his tiny nerd dicklet to the sensations of his growing bitchification. It felt so fucking good.

His once flat chest was now swollen with growing tit flesh. Bigger and bigger his boobs swelled up, the nipples hard as his massive white milkers got bigger and bigger on his slender chest. A-Cup expanded to C-Cup, then with a final push of his chest and a groan of pleasure Britney's Double-D's flopped out and he giggled madly in his new slutty voice.

“Ohhhh yes, hello girls. Mmmmh you feel so fucking good. Can't wait to get a thick cock between you… so fucking hawt!”

The nerd's short hair lengthened and his eyelashes thickened. Bitchy blonde hair now hung down his back down to his slutty ass and he swirled it away from his beautiful face with an easy feminine gesture.

He knew who he was becoming now and it felt sooooo good. As empty piercings appeared in his tongue, ears, navel and crotch - he knew exactly whose body this was.

"Mmmmhh fuck yes. I'm becoming her. I'm becoming that bitch Britney. Mmmmh ohhhhh yessss! That's it. Give me Britneys big tits and fuck yess her pussy too.”

With a grunt he jerked his waist and screamed in pleasure as his hips pushed out and his internal organs rearranged themselves nicely. His useless dick began to retract and a tight pink hairless slit started to open between his silky smooth thighs.

Britney's delicious pussy was going to  be all HIS. He squealed in Britneys hot voice as he felt his nerdy cock shrink between his masturbating manicured fingers and form  into her clit. Already dripping wet and permanently horny, Brtneys tight slutty pussy opened in its place his fingers sliding inside his newfound womanhood. 

“Mmmh take it all. Make me hot, blonde and bitchy. Make me into Britney. Hahah who needs the Elixir? Those other fools have no idea how good this feels. I’m a fucking bitch and  I LOVE it.”

Something was happening. Some of Britney's personality and a few of her memories were sinking into his head. They replaced the memories he already had and left a hunger for more. A hunger to absorb everything that was Britney.

The nerd knew he was no longer who he had been. His old identity no longer mattered. He WAS Britney now.

Scooping up the locket, vague memories about it's powers floating in HER mind, the new bitch ripped off her former clothing to stand naked in front of the mirror.

Flicking back long blonde hair, Britney licked her perfect lips and gazed into her own cold blue eyes 

"Oh fuck what a rush that was incredible. Mmmmh fuck me, I need a cock in me and quick. Transforming turned me on so fucking much.” 

Looking down at the clothes and makeup, Britney cursed that she didn't know how to wear them or do her makeup.

She wanted more. She wanted to be a true Alpha bitch, but the locket had only given her the bitchiness and urges of the real Britney.

Then she heard the door behind her open and she turned with a wicked smile on her beautiful face.

****

Finding the locket was gone and the nerds were missing one of their own made you shudder in fear. They were still trying to clean up and you eaves-dropped unnoticed in the corridor.

The little bastard must have found the locket and gone after you. Slinking away you realised he could be anywhere by now. You needed to get back to the girls washroom, recover your other stuff - then you'd have to search for him.

He might have the locket, but he didn't know what it was or what it could do. You were sure you could retrieve it before anything bad happened.

But when you re-entered the girls bathroom, it was to find the worst had already happened and you were already too late.

“Hello loser,” purred the naked Goddess by the mirror. She was evidently admiring her perfect body and was unashamedly naked - except for the locket around her neck. “Boys aren't allowed inside the girls washroom.”

“No! That body is mine. Put my essence back in the locket so I can return to normal,” you gasped. “I'm Britney and you better…

“Shut up loser. I'M Britney now and if you think I'm giving you back this power you must be insane. This is even better than what we had planned with the Elixir. There's only one more thing I need from you loser.”

Advancing towards you, Britney darted forward and you yelled in pain as she gripped your head in her hands. You felt manicured nails scratching your skin as she tightened her grip. The locket around her neck began to glow.

You felt yourself being drained again, but this time not of your bitchiness or your hot body. To your horror it was your memories.

“Ohhhh fuck yes, give me your memories loser. I am going to fucking replace you! Mmmmh soon I will know all about how to be you. Make me INTO you, give it all to me you fucking simp.”

You felt it all being sucked out of your head. The names of your bitchy friends, your skills at doing makeup, the secret blackmail material you had on nearly everyone at school.

Social media passwords and personal knowledge flowed out of your head into hers. Now she knew how to impersonate you perfectly. Every mannerism, every subtle intonation of how you talked and walked. She was taking it all.

Next came your extensive sexual memories. The memories of the boys and girls you'd fucked. Hot memories of big black cock, blowjobs, tit-wanks and anal fucking. Memories of bouncing on your best friends Dad's dick and screaming in pleasure later as he unloaded on your pretty face at her sleepover. You knew how to make them all yours. Men were your toys and girls your victims to bully.

But not anymore.

“Fuccccck yessss. Mmmh all these perverted dirty memories are mmmh changing me more. Fucking transform me baby!”

Britney moaned her eyes rolling back in her head. Her posture changed, she now stood exactly as you would have done. Her lips twisted into a familiar slutty pout and her voice became even more bratty and petulant.

“Like OMG - I have it all now bitch. All your like totally delicious memories are MINE.”

Pushing you back to the floor with a cruel giggle, every memory drained from your head, she swayed over to the counter. You were so sick and weak after the drain you could only lie there and watch as she began to get dressed.

“Mmmmh I love the feeling of these designer silk panties,” she giggled wiggling into them and snapping them tight. Pulling on her black top she pulled her denim shorts up and sighed happily at the tight fit.

Tying up her hair in a bitchy blonde ponytail she began to do her makeup. Soon she had glossy pink lips, contoured features and long black lashes. She looked so fucking hot.

Sliding her piercings back to where they belonged, she stuck her pierced tongue out at you. “I like can't wait to suck off a boy with this in my mouth.”

Spraying herself with perfume she picked up your handbag and phone and causally unlocked it. “Think I'll like update my status to ‘feeling like super bitchy today.’”

“Nooo please. Don't do this,” you groaned as she slid her perfect feet into the strappy white heels and with a clop turned to face you.

“Do what loser? I am Britney the Queen Bitch and I do whatever the fuck I like. Now I think I'll go pay one of my fuck-buddies a visit. I am SO horny for cock. I have all these delicious memories but it's time to experience it for myself.”

Laughing she strode past you and looked down with a remorseless smile.

“Thanks for the body loser. I feel so good now and this power is all mine. I'm gonna love being you.”

Opening the door she glanced back one final time.

“Bye bitch…”

She was Britney the spoiled slut now and you were nothing.

END OF PART 1

Thanks to my bestie Erica for writing this and letting me edit it. Hope you all enjoy.

[imababblekat]

Safety

**WARNINGS**: mentions of violence and bodily harm

~~~~~~~~

@samsooney, “Hello 🩷🩷 I love the idea of reader getting into an accident with the foot and having to move into the lair with Donatello, he's too scared for their life so having them move in is a big step in their relationship but also to keep them safe.”

~xXx~

The sounds of struggle and desperate, pain struck pleas rang out like a chorus in Donatello’s mind. Your name was formed from his lips but no sound came from his desperate attempt to shout for you. In the distance he lay witness to the Foot unrelentingly beat down upon your already broken body, and as hard as he tried to dash towards you, it only seemed like he could move backwards. It felt like there was a vice around Donnie’s heart as he listened to your shrill cries and screams, watching and unable to look away from the blood that came splattering from your fresh wounds. In one last ditch effort, the purple clad turtle leapt from the ground, hoping that removing his feet the blackened earth would somehow get him unstuck from his trapped point. His arms were out stretched and everything seemed to slow down as he watched in utter terror as three sharp claws came ripping through your chest. Just as he felt his heart plummet within himself, Donnie felt some strange force yank him back through the air, his petrified eyes watching your limp form, his enemies, and your small apartment shrink into darkness. ~ Donnie jolted from his desk, sweat clinging to his forehead and askew glasses wet from tears. Frantically standing straight, he grabbed hold of his metal staff and looked about with a rapidly beating heart. The clicks, beeps, and whirs of the lab brought Donnie back to his senses, and with a shaky sigh he leaned back into his chair with some sense of calm. It was just a dream. A terrible one, but still a dream nonetheless. He removed his fogged glasses, staring at nothing with a racing mind. Donnie hated how real the dream felt. He was beyond thankful it hadn’t gotten to that point, but thinking back to the night that spurred you both to take the next step in your relationship, still sent a shiver up his spine. Had he not walked you home that night, who knows if things would have played out like his subconsciousness dreaded. A soft knock had Donnie nearly jump from his scaled skin once more, but relief washed over him at seeing you in the door way, alive and intact. “Donnie, I thought you said you’d be in bed.”, you worriedly mentioned, but accepting his open arms regardless as his much taller form came forward to embrace you. Donnie held you tightly, taking delight in the calmness your lovely smelling shampoo brought him. “Sorry. I just have a few more things to tweak and then I’ll be done.”, he exhaustingly apologized. A small, frustrated sigh left your equally tired lips, pulling back to look up into those hazel eyes you’d forever have memorized. “Don, you said that same sentence hours ago. Go to bed. Please.” As heavenly as the comfort of his soft bed sounded right now, Donnie couldn’t allow himself to. He had to finish this project. A new device to help keep you safe. If he didn’t, than he felt as though he’d be ensuring his nightmares to become reality, despite his logical sense telling him how truly impossible that was. He wasn’t much for fate, but why tempt it when things like this came to you. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time he hasn’t slept. Before you, he’d go days and even a whole week once running on nothing but caffeine and pop tarts. The lean terrapin shook his head, tails of his mask lightly flailing as he’d gently released you to return to his desk. Already, he missed your warmth. “N-no. I can’t. I really have to finish this.” A small pit started to form at the bottom of your stomach as you watched him stumble back towards his work area. You knew what he was working on, and knew that if you didn’t do something, this would be the eighth failed project he’s put all his energy and willpower into to “keep you safe” as he’d put it. At this rate though, the brainiac ninja would work himself into the grave, and you figured it was high time to step in and save him for once. Donnie stiffly reached for his abandoned glasses, when out of nowhere small hands snatched them from their perch upon some random notebooks. The ninja turtles head whipped around to watch you shove them into your shirt, a defiant look on your face as he audibly groaned. “(Y,n) please, give them back.”, he lightly demanded, trying to not let his mind wonder to his homemade prescriptions current imprisonment. You shook your head, holding up a single digit. “On one occasion. I’ll give them back, but only if you come to bed!” Donatello eyed you, weighing this proposal. You had that determined glint to your lovely (e,c) eyes, and he knew there really wasn’t much of a choice. You could be hard headed just like his red banded brother, sometimes even more so. Knowing this, Donnie decided to agree, but once you’d eventually fall asleep, he’d grab his glasses and sneak off back to the lab. Would you be mad when you wake up? Most likely, but he was doing this for you. So said turtle gave a defeated exhale of agreement and felt his heart skip a beat at the adorable, triumphant smile that you held. It didn’t take long to reach your newly established room, it being rather close to his and the lab, and just as quickly as you’d both arrived, you were both situated under the warmth of an extra large comforter. You both lay there in silence, the brown noise of the enclosed portion of the lair filling in. That and paired with the soft glow of your glowing star stickers decorated across the walls, you’d hoped it would help ease your beloveds mind. Yet, when you peaked an eye open to catch the ninja turtle eyeing his glasses you placed on the nearby nightstand when you arrived, you sorrowfully frowned. “Hey. . .” Donnie’s gaze flickered to you as you propped yourself up on an elbow to gaze down at his tinted face. “If you really can’t sleep, than at least tell me what’s going on in here.” You reached out to gently tap his forehead, before softly caressing his pebbled cheek. The feeling of your thumb rubbing soothingly just beneath his eye, and the warmth of your palm against his cheek made Donnie’s heart lightly swell, but did little to quell his troubled mind. Was it that obvious? He’d thought he had been so good at concealing the lasting fear these past events had caused him. Normally if he’d burry himself in his work, his brothers would pay him no mind, even if they knew something was up they’d leave him be to get through it. He should have figured you’d be different though. You were always there for him, always seeking him out and making him feel like something more than a shadow in the corner, tinkering away at something so few would ever understand. He wanted to be there for you as well, just as you were now, and so Donnie turned to press his lips gently into the center of your palm. “I. . .I honestly don’t even know where to start. I feel so scattered brain. Normally when my mind gets jumbled like this, I can put my focus into one of my projects and that usually fixes things. Yet, I can’t even seem to focus on any of that this time. All I can think about is, well, that night.” A frown deepened upon your face as you continued to look down towards him, reassuringly caressing his cheek when he turned to gaze back up at you with a shaky breath. “I thought I’d lose you. I’m. . .terrified I will. What if. . .what if I can’t keep you safe? What if it turns out that you get tired of this life? You deserve so much more than this. Moving in with a partner into a new apartment or even a house. Not down into the sewers to hide from people who want to hurt you because of me.” You let Donnie’s words sink in, letting out your own shaky breath and blinking to prevent the formation of on coming tears. “Oh, Donatello. . .” You murmured his name before connecting your lips to his own, staying just long enough to let him know how you truly felt before pulling back ever so slightly. “You will never lose me, because I feel and know that I am always safe with you. Despite whether or not you’ve made me some high-tech gadget. And I don’t need some new fancy apartment or house to be happy. You are my home, and I’ll gladly move wherever as long as you’re there too.” Donnie couldn’t help the smile that warmed its way onto his heated face, and he slowly reached up to hold your own in his much larger hands just as you did to him. Your words found solace deep within not just his heart, but his soul. He’d still always be concerned for your safety, but now it felt like some sort of heavy chain had been lifted from his once jumbled mind. If you truly felt this way, truly believed in him, in the safety and security he provided, than he would too. Donatello met you halfway as you leaned down for another kiss, this one longer and filled with deepened love. Pulling apart, the couple had adjusted, so that you lay comfortably tucked in between his arms and closer to his chest that held the heart which swooned heavily of you. Feeling your warmth against him, hearing your soft breaths, and the remedying sensation your loving embrace gave back was all he needed to ground himself back to reality. To you. With that sense of peace, Donnie felt that he could now actually get some restful sleep.

~xXx~

[brabblesblog]

Goodnight Moon

No longer one-off fic about what happens whenever you tell Astarion to feed on you tonight.

Or, he said he wouldn’t wake me up, but what if I want to be up?

Read on AO3.

Part 2.

Masterlist.

You’re always awake at night. Too awake. Before, it was because you enjoyed reading books on the bed, taking yourself on adventures that you know you will never have. Reading as the hours slip by, the candle shrinking as the night slowly consumes it.

These days, there’s no books, or candles, or bed. The still unfamiliar sight of open sky above your head is beautiful, if a bit disconcerting. You sigh as you stare at it, trying to find some of the constellations you read in your books. Rubbing your eyes, you sigh and try to stay awake as the boredom slowly slips into drowsiness. You can’t sleep - won’t sleep.

You wait.

An hour passes. Maybe even two. You’ve almost drifted away when you finally hear soft, almost silent footfalls. You open your eyes to see dark crimson ones widening in surprise.

“I’m certain I didn’t make enough noise to wake you up,” he says, in his best stage whisper. He sits next to you and smirks down at you. “Waiting for me? I did tell you I wouldn’t disturb your slumber tonight.”

You rub your eyes, watching him quietly. Why did you even stay awake? You’ve known him for not long, but there was no doubt he had captured your attention the moment you laid eyes on him. He was beautiful, that was objectively true, but what drew you to him was how mysterious he was. Incredibly loquacious, and yet no matter how much he spoke little was revealed about him. He was undoubtedly dangerous, not just because of what he is - how he spoke to your other friends said as much. That deceptive, almost condescending way he spoke to them was what informed you of the danger even before he revealed himself to be a vampire. To you, however, he seemed to be kinder, although you weren’t sure how authentic those flowery words were. You did wish they were true though, just like how you wished him coming over right now was because he actually liked your company and not just your blood.

“Just not sleepy, I guess,” you lie. You and he both know it. He nods, accepting it for now.

“Should I go, then? Wait for dreams to take you before I-“

You grab him by the wrist as he turns to leave. It’s one of the rare moments where you take the initiative and touch him. He doesn’t pull back, just stiffens and turns to face you with an inquisitive look on his face.

“Look. I- I sleep late normally. I liked to read books back in the city,” you stammer out. “Just don’t bother waiting for me to sleep whenever we do this. I’m okay being here for it.”

His expression opens up in confusion for a split second, then he recovers, a smug smile replacing it. “Who would I be to refuse you that, darling,” he murmurs. “Settle down then. I shall make it quick.”

You lie flat down, staring up into the stars again. Truth be told, you hated it when he first bit you. The icy cold, the numbness spreading through your body, the weakness the next day. But you wanted to see him, to feel him so close by, and for at least a few moments see him with his guard down. To be the one to provide him with what he needed. It was odd, you thought, as he slowly hovered over you and began leaning in, how much you craved to be with someone you’ve only began to know. As the tips of his teeth found your neck, you clench your fists together, preparing for the pain.

His eyes flicker down at the movement, seeing it. Bracing. It is then that he realizes that this might not be exactly what you wanted. He’s quite certain you’re attracted to him - the looks you give him and the way you blush when he talks to you are all but screaming it to everyone who can see. But why let him bite you? Why stay awake for it?

The day after he first bit you, he had propositioned you as a way to thank you and to solidify his position in camp. You had agreed, and it had mostly gone quite as he had expected, but you were very oddly perceptive. When you looked at him, it seemed like you saw through what he was doing. You had told him he needn’t do it if it was because he felt like he owed you, and in the morning after you had noticed that he wasn’t completely there. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of all this yet, but he figured there might be a way to appease you for now. His hand moves to your clenched knuckle, soothing it. He fought back the urge to bite and replaced the fangs with lips, placing a soft kiss on your neck.

“Is this what you wanted, my sweet? You could have just said so,” he whispered.

“No,” you say, although your entire body screamed yes. “I really just don’t mind being awake for it. Can you just get on with it?” You want it, so, so much, but something about that first night did not feel right. You’re almost sure it was transactional, the way he offered to bed you after you fed him; the way he turned cold after the deed was done. He probably thinks of you merely as someone who could give him what he wanted. That was painful, but fine. You were willing to accept whatever small dregs of affection he was doling out.

He stiffens almost imperceptibly at your words, mind working away at this new information. Nothing in exchange for this feeding? Odd. He knew you were attracted to him, hells, your pulse thrumming against his lips told him all he needed to know - but refusing sex was totally foreign. He blinked twice, regained his composure and then said, “Well- well then by all means. I shall, as promised, be quick. You won’t feel it.”

As fast as he could, he bites down and takes his first gulp of blood. His eyes blow out, the red becoming bright. The warm blood rushing through his mouth is almost overwhelmingly wonderful, until the hand still on yours feels your hand ball into a tight fist. Pain. He closes his eyes as he feeds from your essence and tries to ignore the knot in his chest from that realization, telling himself that you allowed him to do this, wanted him to feed so he could be strong and fight. And probably because you were under his spell. The thought doesn’t give much comfort to him.

You raise your hand and quietly pick out a few pieces of dirt from his curls, trying to distract yourself from the cold seeping through your body. You can feel his body getting warmer as he takes your blood, no longer radiating an icy coolness where he and you are in contact. This wasn’t what you would ideally wish for, but it was enough. You sigh softly as your hands work at cleaning his hair, wishing things were different. How ironic it is to finally be in your own adventure, but have it turn out to be like this. In the books, romance was always uncomplicated. The prince was always a prince who loved the princess truly.

The soft, sad sigh broke through his bloodlust. He had noticed you picking at his hair, and though he wondered, the taste of your blood was more than enough to keep him from thinking about it too much. That sound though, intensified that knot in his chest and he finally pulled away, licking off the last of the blood. Reluctantly he sat up, looking at your face with an expression that couldn’t be easily read.

“As much as that was fun,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, “I best be off. Catch myself some critters and fill myself up that way. Don’t be jealous, darling, they won’t taste anywhere as good as-,” he purred, but his sentence died in his throat as you flapped a tired hand at him.

“Go, Astarion. Be safe. Good night,” you mumbled tiredly, giving his hand one quick squeeze before turning away from him and curling up, trying to regain warmth.

Without anyone watching him, his mask slipped, revealing guilt and a big wave of fondness for you, which also caught him by surprise. Stamping it down, he took one last look at your form, silently wishing you a good night’s rest, then turned to leave for the forest. His hands carefully felt at his curls where you touched them, realizing the matted blood and dirt there was gone.

He hunted all night and fed as much as he could, but his hand would always inadvertently find its way back to those curls whenever his thoughts lapsed back to your tent.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Malevolent Spirits

Summary: Sylvia has two problems. One is a ghost in her house. The other is her husband. (Tw: domestic abuse, violence)

Morgan is not a malevolent spirit.

Her visitors treat her like one. They crawl through her rotting house with cameras clasped in sweaty hands, hissing about evil and violence. They bring out objects of prayer to ward her off. Some of them try to trick her into speaking. Into acting. They spend hours recording the whispering of the wind through the cracks in the attic or the creaking of her home sinking into a century old foundation.

Morgan watches them from the slanted chandelier in the foyer and never says a word.

Truthfully, she doesn’t hate them. They’re alive and addicted to the strange cocktail of hormones the body produces when afraid. She can’t hate what is created by nature. 

Perhaps that’s why she isn’t a malevolent spirit. She knows addiction and to be alive is to be an addict. Food, water, passion, lust, greed, love, fear. A complex array of cocktails all pumped directly into your receptive brain. The bad ghosts are jealous of it. Greedy for it. And Morgan simply…isn’t.

She has her routines. She stays well out of the way of the people who come to explore her abandoned and withering house. When those who need the shelter of her walls find themselves there late at night, she makes sure that the wind doesn’t blow the doors open, that they choose the rooms with the best windows, that the pests that have started to nest in the roofline don’t wander down.

On days she has no one, she stares out the window of the master bedroom - what used to be her bedroom - into the garden. Her neighbor’s houses shrink and expand, fall apart, get torn down, and then reemerge like new, brightly colored with gleaming windows, but her garden stays the same. The weeds bloom into late spring, pops of white false morning glory all along her wrought iron fence, and wither into long, thin stalks in the winter. The squirrels she once chastised for eating her tomatoes lay down to rest and their descendents descend on the new vegetable patches in the neighborhood.

Then, one day, a man in a white van pulls up. He cracks open the back door and pulls out a long orange banner. This he strings along her fence with precision, pinning it so that it lays flat. He examines his work, nods, pulls out his phone to snap a picture, and then he’s on his way.

When Morgan goes to investigate, she finds the words UNDER DEVELOPMENT emblazoned on the banner.

Thoughtfully, she returns to her window.

—————-.

“Under development” happens a lot faster than it did in her day. There used to be inspectors and specialists, a man for every facet of the job. Depending on the weather, the whole production could be waylaid if a single apprentice didn’t show up.

That doesn’t seem to be the case anymore.

Her floors are upheaved. The oak cabinetry that she’d once been so keen on oiling is torn down. The walls are stripped and the beautiful, winding staircase is wrapped in heavy layers of plastic. They unhook and dismantle her chandelier with a surprising amount of care. Over the years she’s counted the number of crystals that have fallen or been stolen. She assumed it’d be thrown in the large garbage bin parked in her garden with the rest of her belongings that had escaped the ravages of time.

Morgan watches with interest as her former home turns into a skeleton. She didn’t have the good fortune to see it built and she wanders the bones of it late into the evenin, imagining. This beam stood before she was the lady of this house, this foundation was stamped before she was born—

And then it’s covered. Startlingly white walls rise up all around her, so quickly she dreams it happened overnight. The foyer is paved with tile - a choice she would have had quite a few things to say about in life - which is transitioned into hardwood throughout the rest of the downstairs. Carpet is installed in the master bedroom, luxuriously deep, and the bathrooms are gutted and replaced.

“Wouldn’t I like to live here,” the plumber says. He’s installing a gleaming faucet in the kitchen, versatile so that the spout can become a handheld knozzle. He nods to the dove-tailed edging on the kitchen island. “Had to cost a fortune.”

The electrician, perched on a ladder and half in the ceiling, says, “Had to cost a soul.”

Men. Always thinking of price. Still, their words set off a round of questions Morgan would have liked remained unearthed. Would she have liked to live here, once upon a dream? Would she have opened the double oak doors to her home with a different sense of pride knowing what comforts lay beyond? Would things have gone differently with a new roof and new floors that didn’t require so many hands to maintain?

Addiction. Morgan turns her mind away from such thoughts and goes to her window. The garden is bare soil now, rolls of sod stacked against a new wooden fence, but the sight still relaxes her. The earth is still the earth. Not everything can change.

The new residents of the house move in the next day.

————-.

Violence.

Morgan knows it. It’s why she laughed when those ghost hunters scuttled through her home, asking their questions to cameras and walls that would never speak. They didn’t know what violence was. The horror and the humiliation of it. If they did, they wouldn’t crow their questions with such suppressed glee. They wouldn’t investigate every dark corner of this house looking for it. They wouldn’t come here at all.

It’s been 85 years since the house last saw real violence. Morgan had been hoping to make it a century, as if the full weight of one hundred years could finally squash out what still echoed through her memories. But the new residents destroy that hope.

Morgan settles on the (new) chandelier. There are crystals from the chandelier her husband bought for her interspersed amongst carefully crafted dupes. The old ones are polished until they shine, the light playing through them in a way that Morgan only now remembers she loved. The new ones seem hollow in comparison. They glint rather than glimmer.

The new lady of the house is pacing the foyer again. Brunette hair cut short at a round and soft jawline, an attempt to introduce angles to a face that simply doesn’t have any. In Morgan’s day, women would have loved to have a face like that - like an angel - and would have taken care to frame their round cheeks with tight curls.  Everything this woman does seems designed to hide.  The curtain of straightened hair hanging on either side of her face slides to cover her expression and her clothing - well-tailored - is too loudly patterned for her simple features.

“Sylvia.”

Sylvia turns, the anxiety on her face melting into an easy smile. Morgan isn’t fooled even if the man coming down the stairs is. She can see the naked fear hidden expertly in the woman’s eyes.

“Robert,” Sylvia says. Her smile falters as she sees the man isn’t dressed like her — he’s in khaki shorts, a polo, a laptop bag strung over his shoulders. She straightens her cocktail dress with fluttering hands. “Is there— we were going to my parent’s…”

“Work,” Robert says. He has the same tone of self-importance Morgan used to hear around the snooker table. He’s already looking at the tiny phone all people carry around these days. “Make my excuses for me, Sylvia.”

There’s a flash of panic. “I-It’s Saturday and m-my mother is expecting us—“

“Sylvia.”

A flirtation with violence in the two syllables of her name.

Oh, he doesn’t touch her. No, he’s not quite brave enough yet. Morgan’s eyelids fall until she’s watching Robert through her eyelashes. His shoulders are pulled back, his chin up, one hand fisted at his side and the other wrapped tightly around the strap of his bag.

Can Sylvia see the violence in her new husband’s posturing? She must because she steps back, a tiny tap of her heels, before she forces herself to stop. She says, “Robert. This is important to me. This is—“

“Oh if it’s important to you,” Robert interrupts. He brushes past Sylvia, a mean twist in his shoulder that would have hurt if Sylvia had allowed him to touch her. He smirks when she skitters out of his way. “Make my excuses.”

Sylvia’s shoulders curve inwards. Strange to see a woman so young bending like that, spine a wilting flower and hands a tangled knot in front of her chest. She doesn’t watch Robert slam out of the house. She’s staring at the toes of her shoes. 

“I flinched,” Sylvia says. There’s shock in her voice. She looks dazedly towards the door as if it can give her answers. “I took a step back.”

“You should leave,” Morgan says. Maybe this is the regret that keeps her here. When she was Sylvia, she stayed. “Before he hits you.”

Sylvia stares at the door. Morgan isn’t surprised. Hardly anyone can see her, much less hear her. Her powers ebb and wane with the seasons and now, at the height of spring, she feels more like a breeze than the tempest she gets to on All Hallows’ Eve.

“You can see it,” Morgan says. She drifts down from the chandelier, eyeing Sylvia. Is the woman going to cry? Or will she suppress it long enough to go see her parents without raising the alarms. “Something changed. He doesn’t act like he used to. It’s nothing you did and you can sense it. No, this isn’t something you can fix. This isn’t something you can apologize way. Not something you can make excuses for. This was what was lurking underneath all along.”

Sylvia straightens. Her hair slides back to hide the nape of her neck. Like a marionette, she turns. Looks Morgan dead in the eye. Says, “Shut up. He loves me.” And then stalks up the stairs, leaving Morgan shocked in the foyer

—————-.

Sylvia knows the house is haunted the moment Robert parks the Bentley in front of it. She feels her smile freeze on her face as she catches sight of a woman in the second story window. A thin and severe woman with tumbling brown hair and a collared shirt buttoned up to her neck. Intelligent, black eyes linger on the car for a long moment before she fades away.

“Everything is perfect,” Robert tells her. He reaches over the console to squeeze her knee once before clambering out of the car. “Checked it all myself.”

He’s being sweet, like he used to be. That’s why Sylvia smiles and follows him up the beautiful path of paving stones through the bare garden to the giant oak doors. She takes his arm when he gallantly offers it to her and laughs through the chill that pervades her bones as they step over the threshold. 

He won’t believe me, Sylvia thinks. The thought shames her. She hasn’t given Robert a chance to believe her. Sylvia grew up in ancient places, swamps and moors and creaking cabins set afloat on them. Robert, on the other hand, has always grown up in places like this new house. Opulent, shining, ornate. He’s made this placein the image of his childhood. Fresh and rich. New skin over old bones.

I’ll tell him, she decides as Robert leads her up the sweeping staircase. He’s talking about the crown molding, how it’s real wood, not plaster, and doesn’t seem to notice how her eyes dart from the chandelier to the dark recesses of the “unfinished” hall on the other side of the one that leads to their bedroom.  She sees the dark hem of long skirts just as it disappears into shadow. We need honesty. Transparency. It needs to start with me.

After four months of marriage, she knows that Robert is…unlearned in that way. He needs her to take the lead, as much as he might protest against it. That’s why things have been feeling fraught lately. She’s not trying hard enough.

This house will help her change all of that.

——————-.

Only it doesn’t. The house is big. It takes a concentrated effort to find Robert within the sprawl even on days when he’s home.She finds herself longing for the cramped confines of her college dorm. She thinks of the sound of him typing, sitting on the edge of her bed, cramming for midterms, and sighs.

They’re not close anymore. 

Truthfully, they haven’t been close in a long time. Before the wedding, even. Oh, he said all the right words and she did all the right things, but neither of their hearts were in it. After graduating, they both faced the big question. What’s next? 

Whatever it is, I want to find out together, Sylvia said.

Might as well be marriage then, Robert said and then sighed as if it were an imposition.

Sylvia props her chin on her hand. She, in a fit of nostalgia, is wearing her college pajamas at the kitchen table. She’d thought to surprise Robert with breakfast - eggs and pancakes - but it wasn’t until she finished plating the meal that she realized he hadn’t come home last night.

The location of his phone, displayed on the screen of hers, puts him twenty minutes away at Arthur’s house. There are no texts, no calls, no carrier pigeons waiting at the window.

She is debating whether or not she’s going to be mad about this. No, not mad. Robert doesn’t handle mad from her very well. Is she even going to acknowledge it?

It’s not who she is to weigh her words and emotions like this. She used to be so passionate, but she’s learned to suppress that. She hides her desires until it’s safe. She needed the skill to handle Robert’s upper-class family, but she never imagined she’d have to use it in her own home with Robert.

It’s been six months since they were married, two since they moved in, and Sylvia sees the ghost more often than she sees her husband. Then the days she does see her husband have started to make the days she doesn’t feel like a relief.

Your fault, her mind whispers. She always catches him at a bad time. I thought you were going to try harder?

Movement draws her gaze to the window. Outside, in the garden, the ghost crosses from the exterior wall of the house to the fence. She stares out down the road with her hands clasped behind her. Her comportment tells Sylvia that she was from a distinguished family, sometime in the early 1900s. Did she live here? Did she get as lost as Sylvia in this giant house? Did she die here?

Sylvia shifts her gaze just before the ghost turns. She still hasn’t told Robert yet. She just needs things to be right before she does. They’re in a rough patch. That’s all. All they need is for Sylvia to try a little harder.

—————-.

  Sylvia stares down at the tips of her shoes. The sound of the door slamming is still ringing in the foyer. She felt the impact of Robert’s exit as vibrations through her soles. She stepped back. She stepped back.

“I flinched,” she says. The words make it real. Sylvia won a ‘gator wrestling competition when she was 13 years old. She traveled halfway across the country without any of her family to make her dreams come true. She once stood in front of an ex-boyfriend’s car while he revved the engine, threatening to run her over, and she dared him to do it. She stares at the door as if concussed. “I took a step back.”

The unease that’s been building these past few weeks suffocates her. There is something darker than she expected in Robert. That little voice in her head is chanting your fault, your fault, your fault. It doesn’t account for the sick fear that’s twisting in her gut.

It’s getting worse. There’s an instinct rising in her that says things are becoming dangerous. Sylvia refuses to believe it. She won’t believe it. Her instincts are wrong. She’s just not getting things right with Robert. That’s all.

“You can see it.”

Sylvia freezes. The voice comes from above. The ghost lays across the chandelier sometimes, treating it like a hammock. Sylvia hadn’t noticed her up there, a silent spectator. She’d only had eyes for Robert.

“Something changed,” the ghost says. Her words are a mournful whisper. She sounds like she’s coming closer. “He doesn’t act like he used to. It’s nothing you did and you can sense it.”

I’m wrong, Sylvia answers silently. Her heart is beating against her ribs. Getting involved with ghosts never leads to good endings. I just need to try harder—

The ghost says, “No, this isn’t something you can fix. This isn’t something you can apologize away. Not something you can make excuses for. This was what was lurking underneath all along.”

There’s a dreadful certainty in her words. Sylvia feels her tongue glue to the roof of her mouth. What’s been underneath all along? Robert hasn’t always been like this. He hasn’t. That would mean she married a man who demanded her time and never gave her his, who came home late every night while she swept from room to empty room looking for him , who loomed when he was upset with her questions, who looked at her like she was—

“Shut up,” Sylvia is saying. She doesn’t remember turning to look at the ghost, but she is. She’s glaring into the taller woman’s eyes, her hands fisted at her sides. “He loves me.”

The ghost’s lips part, a soundless question hovering there. You can see me? 

Sylvia flees.

—————.

Only there is nowhere to flee. The house that seemed so large suddenly isn’t big enough. Sylvia sees the ghost around every corner. She is the mirror when Sylvia goes to restock the guest towels. She is sitting at the kitchen table when Sylvia gets back from her run. She is hovering in the garden every time Sylvia looks out the window.

“Don’t talk to me,” Sylvia mutters under her breath. She says it like her grandmother taught her. Like a spell. “Don’t look at me.”

It half works. The ghost never speaks to Sylvia, but she watches. She is always watching.

The weight of her eyes makes Sylvia more conscious of everything else that’s going wrong. Robert laughs at the dinner Sylvia makes them for their six month anniversary, asks her if she really found meatloaf romantic? The ghost is a dark shadow in the corner, a silent witness. 

Sylvia trips down the stairs on her way to greet the guests. Robert snickers and says that she’s always been a klutz, he doesn't know how she’d survive without him. He doesn’t help her up and her face burns when it’s Robert’s boss who asks the question. The ghost raises an eyebrow from her seat on the chandelier.

Robert raises his hand when Sylvia asks which friend’s house he was at this time, changes the motion, scratches the back of his neck. Sylvia pretends that he was only scratching an itch until she catches sight of the ghost hovering outside the bedroom window, her dark eyes unflinching.

“He won’t cross that line,” Sylvia says. She can see the palm of Robert’s hand in her mind’s eye. Her lips thin and she says, “He won’t.”

The ghost, sitting primly on the window seat, doesn’t say a word.

The loneliness stretches. Sylvia busies herself with her freelance work, but she doesn’t have the connections for large jobs quite yet. So the time she doesn’t work, she decorates, she reads, and she researches.

Then, one stormy night, it happens.

———.

“I don’t want to hear you say I told you so,” Sylvia says.

The ghost stands behind her, only her silhouette visible in the window between flashes of lightning.

Sylvia watches the rain slide down the panes. She cleaned these windows herself last week and here they are getting dirty again. She can’t stop shivering. 

Robert’s voice still echoes in the room. Ugly and dark like she’s never heard it before. So what if Sylvia wants him home? He has a life! He has a job! She does nothing and the things she does do are done wrong.

No, Sylvia said. I can’t be the only one trying. You—

Crack!

Her cheek stings. 

“He won’t want a divorce,” she says to her reflection. Something is empty in her soul. Her perspective is slipping. It was only a slap. It’s not as if he hit her. “Neither do I. We can— we can take some space. He’s overworked. I can sleep in the guest room for now—“

“Butterfly milkweed,” the ghost says. It’s the first words she’s spoken since that day in the foyer. Her voice is low and a little hoarse. “There aren’t enough plants in the garden to attract wildlife. Milkweed will help that. Of course they’re rare in New England, especially these days. Hardly anyone has a garden with soil deep enough for their taproot.”

Sylvia’s mouth is dry. “You’re telling me to take up gardening?”

“Maybe on the east side of the house,” the ghost says, vaguely gesturing. “Away from the road. The butterflies won’t like the number of cars that come flying through here.”

Sylvia’s temper flares. This woman just saw— she was witness to— And now she wants Sylvia to start planting flowers? “Maybe you should have taken up gardening rather than with another man, Morgan Wright.”

Lightning flashes and the ghost - Morgan - is illuminated. Her lips are pressed into a thin, disapproving line, but that’s the extent of her displeasure. She smoothes her brown curls and drifts back. “Good night, Sylvia.”

Morgan fades away before Sylvia can decide whether she wants to apologize or demand Morgan disappear forever.

————-.

Robert comes home the next day with flowers. 

“I don’t know what came over me,” he says. He stands in the doorway of the kitchen and shifts his weight from foot to foot. The flowers are red and yellow and orange. “I never wanted to do that.”

But you did it, Sylvia thinks. She doesn’t know what she’s upset at anymore. The ghost, Robert, or herself. “Last night was…tense.”

Robert’s shoulders sag and he half-laughs. “Yes. Exactly.” He holds out the flowers. “Do you want to put these in water, or…?”

She has to go collect them from him. It feels odd to be this close to him after last night, but she hides the discomfort with a small smile. He didn’t say I’m sorry and she didn’t say I forgive you. “I’ll find a vase.”

Robert is sweet to her while she works, complimenting her arrangement as she builds it and taking note of the spider plants she set in the corners of the kitchen a month ago.

“It looks healthy,” he says. He pokes at one of the babies coming off a stem. “It’s producing.”

It’s invasive, she wants to say. All it does is produce. “Yes, I’ve discovered my green thumb recently.” A reckless thought creeps up on her. “I was thinking of starting to work in the garden. Since I’m between jobs.”

Robert nods. “I support that. It’d be good for you. Some fresh air.”

She nearly snips off the head of a flower. He makes it sound like she’s the sick one. Like it’s her fault that he— She breathes in through her nose. She’s being overly sensitive. “Yes. Fresh air.”

————.

Sylvia still doesn’t see Morgan by the time the gardening things arrive.

 She doesn’t know whether she’s angry or happy about it. On the one hand, it’s easy to pretend without her spectral audience. Robert comes home from work on time and they eat dinner together, sometimes at the table and sometimes on the couch. They joke about things that happened in college and Robert tentatively brings up plans to make up the missed luncheon with Sylvia’s parents. It’s good. It’s easy. It’s exactly what Sylvia hoped for before the slap happened.

On the other…

Morgan is the only one Sylvia can talk to about this. When she tries to tell her mother about what Robert did, her mouth dries up. The words stick in her throat. A heady mix of shame and fear choke her into silence. What would Mom do if she knew what happened? Would she kill Robert? Would she yell at Sylvia for letting it happen? Would she confirm that it’s Sylvia’s fault?

But Morgan was there. Morgan saw and already knows. Morgan knows about the darkness that sometimes moves behind Robert’s eyes - she was the one who told Sylvia it was there. She won’t call Sylvia a liar if she says that, sometimes, she thinks that Robert is only pretending until she lets her guard down again. 

Sylvia puts on her new sun hat and her new gardening gloves and heads out to the east side of the house.

The dirt on this side of the garden is hard-packed and inhospitable. There’s a stack of fertilizer and soil piled neatly in the shadow of the house alongside a gardening set, a shovel, and a small cart filled with seeds and saplings. Robert always buys too much when he’s feeling sweet.

“Not too late to hire the landscapers again,” Robert says.

Sylvia does her best not to flinch. She hides what she can’t suppress with a smile, turning to find Robert grinning at her from the edge of the lawn. “Not much of a green thumb if I hire others to do it for me, am I?”

“That’s right,” he says, rolling his eyes. He’s playing, but there’s a bite to his next words. “I forgot that having money means you can’t have any talent.”

There— there it is. Robert’s blue eyes look black as he stares at her, daring her to agree with him. She used to talk to him about the privileges he experienced growing up wealthy in a two parent household. She never realized how he took it to heart. Internalized it. Dwelled on it.

“I didn’t mean that,” she says. “I just - I want to do this myself.”

Robert hums. He’s trying to keep it light, but Sylvia knows him. He hummed like that when one of his fraternity brothers crashed Robert’s car. The boy apologized, Robert hummed, and the next day the boy was moving out of the dorms. “Don’t stay out in the heat too long, dear. You know how delicate you are.”

“Okay.” Sylvia watches him walk towards the driveway. It’s Saturday. Is he going golfing? To Arthur’s house? To somewhere she doesn't know? She resists the urge to track him and turns her attention to the dirt.

She’s got a lot of work ahead of her.

—————-.

Sylvia dreams while she digs. The garden will be beautiful once the milkweed is planted. She’s found pictures of the plant online. She had Robert order three different varieties. They’re supposed to bloom in orange, in pink, in white.

What will she be doing when the first bloom finally happens? Her trowel thuds into the earth. Will she be out here, digging a hole for another plant? There are small rocks in the way. She fishes them out, tosses them over her shoulder. Will she be at the range with Robert, finally allowed to see him in his natural habitat amongst his friends? Things have been…tense. Tense but better. Robert smiles all the time and jumps into action anytime she needs something. They have plans to go to the movies tomorrow.

Or maybe he’ll be screaming at her again, his wedding band flashing as he raises his hand, lightning crashing outside—

Maybe by the time the milkweed blooms, this unease will only be a bad dream, the product of an overactive imagination. She’ll remember how she loves Robert again and feel loved in return. They’ll celebrate their first year anniversary. They can go out so Robert doesn’t make fun of her meatloaf again.

Thud.

How deep is she supposed to dig? Sweat drips from underneath her sunhat. Robert called her delicate because that’s what he needs her to be. She’s not and Louisiana summers are hotter than this. The hole in front of her is expanding quickly despite the rocks and twigs catching the tip of her trowel. 

What were they thinking when they married? Barely two years into their twenties, bachelor degrees, money from his parents and nothing from hers. She can’t help but feel that their relationship has always been unequal. She’s never been able to give him all the things he’s given her. He says that isn’t true, that her love is all he needs.

Or maybe he loves feeling like you owe him. He never wanted a partner. He wanted someone that would say yes because they didn’t have another option—

Clink.

A rock. She throws it out of the way blindly. No. She’s being awful again, putting words into his mouth he didn’t say. She just needs to give him another chance, that’s all. She needs to continue giving him another chance. He only hit her once - slapped her. Not even a hit. Just a slap and she’s wrestled alligators before—

Clink.

The impact of the trowel against the object in her way stings her wrist. Sylvia throws the trowel away from her with a frustrated cry. How is she supposed to plant these flowers with so many rocks in the way? If she doesn’t plant the flowers then they’ll never bloom and she won’t have a way to measure the time it takes to trust Robert again—

She claws a piece of metal out of the hard-packed ground. It’s caked in dirt, but there’s a line gouged through the earth to reveal a shining bronze. What is it? She chips at the dirt with her nails until chunks of it fall into her lap.  It’s a half sphere, one side smooth and round and the backside flat except for a small metal loop. It’s a button. A metal button.

She’s seen this button before.

Sylvia falls backwards. There are more buttons in the hole. Glittering bronze buttons that jump out at her like accusations. Some of the “rocks” Sylvia found earlier are buttons too, and they lay scattered around her. There’s fabric attached to some of them - a dark brown fabric that has been eaten away in spots and stained by dirt and worse in others.

Morgan Wright left her husband for another man—

Oh god. Oh god. She didn’t leave. She never left.

A cold hand settles on Sylvia’s shoulder.

Morgan is more solid than Sylvia has ever seen her. Her tumbling, brown curls are artfully arranged but, for the first time, Sylvia can see underneath them. There’s a pit in the side of Morgan’s head as if someone punched a hole straight under her ear.

“He will bury you,” Morgan murmurs. Her eyes are on the buttons scattered around Sylvia. “That is who he is.”

And Sylvia can feel the spectral chill of Morgan settle into her bones like certainty. She’s right. Robert - sweet Robert - is capable of this. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday. Someday.

Sylvia speaks through numb lips. “What do I do?”

“You let me help you,” Morgan says. She smiles down at Sylvia and the sun falls just behind her head like a halo. “That is what I’m here to do.”

Sylvia bows her head and weeps.

 -----

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Next week’s post is already up and deals with my thoughts on Mary Sues and why I love them.

[ttoddii]

in the water

pairing(s) – bada lee x f!reader

genre – angst to fluff

warnings – unrequited love, howl (i mentioned him once i promise), messy story, bad grammar, lowercase intended.

wc – 1.5k

a/n – i need to reset my mood after i wrote so many smut fic and hcs, so this is an attempt to get all my emotions back in check before i start writing for weaving fate. i know this is not the best and all the descriptions and plot are so so messy, and i sincerely apologize for that. i hope you enjoy.

taglist (OPEN) – @missminho; @taniio; @vvsbada; @krissysays (comment under my posts to be add/remove)

the salty air wrap your body in its embrace as you walk on the beach, one of your hand holding your shoes as you let your feet feel the sandy texture, your body weight make the sand shrink a bit as you look down at your footprints.

you could hear the sound of waves crashing down on the ocean surface as you slowly walk into the water, giggling a bit when you could feel the cold sensation touching your feet, and then your calf as the ocean hit you softly with its small waves.

it's a nice feeling, you admit, the breezy wind, the salty taste in the air.

like always, the ocean make you smile.

it's a content feeling, and you enjoy it until you look down to your feet, noticing that you seems to get further and further away from the water, the sand move through your toes as you feel like you're being push away by the ocean.

the thought make you furrow your brows a bit as you stand there, under the soft orange-ish light of the sun going down, basking in it as you stare at how you would slowly move away from what you love.

the ocean.

—

you love bada, it is no secret, you didn't even bother to hide it, and you're sure to let the world know about your feelings too. you love to show your affection to her, buying her gifts, flirt with her, showering her with compliments, telling her how much you appreciate her.

your feelings are as clear as the sun,

at least, to you, and to most of the people you know.

it's a bit silly, yes, you are very vocal about your feelings, and you had told bada multiple times about it, saying that you love her, so so much.

that's why it hurt, it hurt when you see her with someone else.

your feelings to her, the sun, seems to always hide behind a cloud under bada's point of view. she never understand your feelings, or at least she pretend to not understand.

she never get why you would always be extra clingy with her, why you would always pay extra attention to her, putting her feelings and needs at the top of your priority list.

to you, bada is your ocean – true to her name – the thing you love most, and to bada, you're nothing but the sand, the sand in which she would meet, but she wouldn't bother to stay, or even worse, she would push you away with her waves.

you distant yourself from her, watching her from afar as you see how she would run up to her boyfriend, howl, the very man who she had told you she hated. a bright smile on her face as she would hug him after they didn't meet for a long time.

you distant yourself from all the conversations she would have with you, telling you about how great her boyfriend is, how he would do all the exact same things you had did before to her.

buying her gifts, complimenting her, making sure she's alright.

and you would smile listening to her.

a bitter smile.

a smile that would leave a churn up on your throat as you feel your tongue getting numb, your eyes hazy as you feel your own pitiness towards yourself.

"you have no idea, he's my dream, everything i would have ever ask for", bada say excitingly to you, expecting you to match her energy.

.....and you answer.

"that's great bada, i'm glad, i hope he treat you well"

it's a bad lie, and you're a bad liar.

not to bada, but to yourself.

you can't lie to your own feelings, not when you cried yourself to sleep that night, your body curled into a ball as you hugged yourself. your cheeks were stained with tears as you didn't bother to wipe it away, your hands holded your pillow as you would sob into it. all you want, is to not feel a thing, you want to numb all the pain in your heart.

you want to be oblivious, you don't want to know why bada didn't choose you, don't even want to know why her arms were wrapped around his neck, why her lips are placed on his as they kiss each other.

you don't want to know why you hurt so much, why your heart would feel like it's suffocating on its own, why your cheeks would feel so wet, why your hands were clenching on itself, why your own teeth were biting down on your lower lips so harshly.

you don't want to know that you love her.

and god, you really wish you never even met her.

so you move away, distancing yourself from every possible news you could hear about them. only talk to bada every once in a while, to have an update about her life as her "bestfriend".

it might be the lamest excuse, using the benefit of being her friend to stay in her life, and really, you had tried so hard to forget about your feelings towards bada, even tried to distract yourself with many other relationships.

yet you would always go back to her, right by her side, even if it hurt.

howl might be the man of bada's dream, but she clearly wasn't his, as you were notified with their official break up through her own words.

her voice cracking, and her nose sniffling as she would cry into the crook of your neck, hugging you tightly as you pat softly at the back of bada's body.

"i love him, i truly do", bada would sob, her body shaking with how hurted she feel.

"bada, he cheated", you said softly, your hand stroking bada's back as you try to calm her down "bada i love you, please don't cry, he's not worth it."

once again, you turn back to your own root, the old road that you had tried to steer away, like a cycle.

—

"hey why are you standing there", a voice pull you back to reality as you turn your head around, searching for the source of it.

a bright smile quickly appear on your face as you see bada walking over to you, her hair a bit messy as the wind blow through it, her eyes squint as she doesn't want the sand to get into her eyes.

"i'm playing with the water, want to join?", you answer, in which bada nod, her form walking closer to you before she would stand directly next to your side, her hand finds yours as she hold it tightly.

it's a nice feeling, holding bada'a hand, letting the wind embrace the both of you as you breath in the salty air.

"bada, look down", you said, your gaze move down to stare at how the waves are pushing you again, moving you away from the ocean, and you smile softly "do you see how the ocean is pushing us away? do you think that it knows how i love it so much?"

your eyes are fixated on the ground, at the white bubbles forming in the water as the waves crash down. you don't want to face bada, not after what you had asked.

maybe it is just your own delusion, your last attempt to get an answer from her, maybe she wouldn't understand your question, or maybe she does, but not as deep as you would think.

and your smile suddenly taste sour in your mouth.

the silent air surround the two of you, for a while, all you could hear is the sound of waves crashing down onto the surface of the ocean. and you give up on waiting for an answer from bada. your smile turn bitter as you see how both you and bada are now out of the water,

the ocean had pushed you away completely.

so you turn around to face bada, smiling at her to hide all your messy thoughts as you see how she is staring at you. her mouth open softly like she want to say something, her hand that is holding yours tighten a bit, and she sigh lightly, grabbing your hand as she walk towards the water again, pulling you along with her to your surprise.

"the ocean surely knows you love it with how much you had cared for it, always visit it every week", bada said, her voice soft, but she said it in a serious tone, and in your ears, almost like she's begging. her eyes stare attentively into yours as her hand hold you tight, squeezing it softly as she would stop a bit at her own words, her eyes would stare into yours, her brows furrow like she is trying to gather her own thoughts before she says again.

"and sometimes... all you have to do when the ocean is pushing you away... is to step back into the water like we just did."

your mouth pressed into a thin line as you listen to bada's words. it is a confirmation, a confirmation that she knows, a confirmation that everything you had done, is not in vain.

and to you, someone who loves the ocean, someone who loves to feel the waves hitting your feet.

to stand in the water, is a blessing to you.

[jennaissantes]

NCT DREAM

- when you cup their face in your hands

MARK ## i feel like if you just like.. yknow just walk up to him suddenly bc u feel all fluffy and just cup his face and go “see markie? im holding my entire world in my hands” :], hed just go :o and then smile so wide and its so so cute honestly :( pls give his nose a kith [muah!] and walk away [yes do that] and he’ll just sit there for a while thinking about how much he loves you NOOOOOO :((

RENJUN ## honestly bro, hed probably look at you like 😐 what do u want. [as IF his heart wasnt going boom boom right then and there] and then youd go :I i just wanted to hold your littol baby face in my hands. and then youd add a small kiss right above his lips [for good measure] and smile at him. you see the way he tries to stop himself from smiling but his red painted cheeks give it all away awwwwwww

JENO ## GFEUBDHWSJK jeno would straight up look at you like ‘:] hi baby’. and youd go ‘:] hi baby’ too and the whole things just so cute and both of u are just there so in love with each other and then u lean in and give him a ver smol kiss on da lips and then watch how homeboy just… shrinks. boy shrinks and covers his face [y/n what have u done to him]. and then he comes back up and kisses u so sweetly :(

HAECHAN ## this cutie. [not very cute of him to do what he did tho it was actually very hot of him] when u waddle up to him and cup his face in your hands, bro literally kisses u. basically pulls an uno reverse card on you and makes YOU the flustered one. bc thats his job 🤨 how dare you🤨 try and steal 🤨 his job of 🤨 making u 🤨 blush 🤨 but jokes aside after the kiss he boops ur nose with his and the whole thing is so adorable and i hate myself for writing this bc i will never experience it fuck.

JAEMIN ## awwww this man baby [ i say this like he isnt literally more than half a decade older to me (im sorry jae that js makes u sound old 💀)] the moments he sees you run up to him, his face lights up bc !!! his baby is running up to him with the cutest smile ever!!! and then u just go boop his nose and cup his face in your hands and his heart literally stops for a second because you’re literally his whole world and youre just making his heart feel all warmmm and fuzzy and he wants nothing more than to just stay with you for ever and ever and everrrr <3

CHENLE ## :( hes so adorable it hurts :( the way his whole face becomes so smiley and bright just makes you feel so so so special and he DOES tell you that too!! “hihi youre my special person y/n, i love you.” and boop a littol kith on your nose [uno reverse number 2 basically.] and now youre just :o because heyyyyyy it was your turn to make him flustered [not in this life tho rip] but you DO catch him by surprise by pecking his forehead, nose and lips as a return gift bc ur cute like that

JISUNG ## no i swear i love this boy so much. hes just gonna melt into your hands and you have to stop yourself from fighting him because hes just THAT adorable [aw shit jisung brainrot here we go] you look at him with literal heart eyes and he starts shying away from your gaze ToT noooooo hes so adorable please give the sweet boy and kiss and tell him you love him so much and that he means the whole world to you :[

warnings: too much fluff me thinks, profanity at two places if im not wrong, nth other than that but do lmk if i missed anything!!

©iwonzzi 2022

[tadpolesonalgae]

Demon!Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - part 8[***]

A/N: The dream part is supposed to be shocking as it’s a nightmare—there are elements of bestiality and rape featured so if you would like to skip over that, go from ‘It’s been three days. Night has descended.’ to the next ‘————’

Get ready for a major lore dump (I’m sorry)

Warnings: Gore description, monsterfucking, dubcon/noncon themes

-Part 7- -Part 9-

Your head whips to the side, looking at him properly for the first time since he’s brought you here.

But the Priestess pays him no mind, and instead steps closer—toward you. “You were seeking refuge. Come inside. You’ll be safe with us.” She seems warm. Reassuring, even. Like she really will offer you the help you so desperately seek. “Elain.” He tries again, and her melted cocoa eyes flicker with something that’s gone too fast for you to decipher. She turns her attention to the beast at your side, “Azriel.”

She doesn’t lower her head an inch before his towering mass, nor does she cower, nor show so much as a lick of fear as she holds her ground against a creature that could splatter her on the temple walls with a slash of his claws.

You’re startled further when he calms his harsh tone. “She needs to take the Ritual,” he—explains. Her attention returns to you once again, and you’re at once set at ease by the gentleness to her features—the innate serenity to her. “Do you know what the Ritual entails?”

“No, she doesn’t,” he answers for you. The priestess’ eyes harden as she turns her attention to the male, “I don’t believe I was talking to you, Azriel.”

A soft snarl ripples through the air, and you tense, half-turning to him. If he makes a massacre of these people—

Elain’s eyes flick to you, noting your reaction, before returning to Azriel’s with a cold glint. “She has come to my temple, and you will not deny her of its sanctuary. I will take her in for as long as she needs, and you will not step foot past our threshold.” Her eyes seem to glow with an inner light, the circlet on her brow almost shimmering with an iridescent shine. Like—magic.

Azriel doesn’t so much as blink at the Priestess’ sharp tone. “And what if I do? Will that Harvestman of yours come and sweep you away again? Or is it Dayling? I can hardly remember.” The Priestess takes a step forward, knuckles turning bone-white as she clutches her thyrsus. “If you dare step foot in our temple with malicious intent, it is me who you will deal with—and you will not be the one to walk away after.” Her eyes have turned milky, hand wrapping around your wrist as she guides you to stand by her side.

Azriel’s pupils shrink with fury, nostrils flaring as a muscle feathers in his jaw, eyes darting to where she’s holding you. “I once thought your armour to be penetrable, too. All it got me was a fractured heart, and estranged sisters. You will not do the same to her,” she says, icily. He looks about to speak, but she beats him to it, “Ritual or no, she will return when she chooses. Or did I misunderstand your brother’s ethos in the brief time I met with him?”

“It will cost her life,” he snarls, lip curling back from his elongated canines. You retreat a small step, and hate the way the Priestess’ hand tightens on your skin comfortingly—as if she can lend you her strength. “She will do with her life as she sees fit. It is not yours to control or tamper with, as much as you wish it were opposite. It is hers to forfeit, if she chooses.” That word again, choose.

Their gazes lock, and you can almost feel the chill in the wind, the frost glazing their eyes as they stare each other down. Azriel’s teeth are slowly pushing further from beneath his upper lip, claws sliding from his fingertips. Elain’s skin glows like moonlight, hand tightening on her Thyrsus and a strange pulsing fills the air as she regards him with those milky white eyes. She looks as though she should be blind, but instead you feel them hurtling toward that countdown to destruction, can feel time slipping out from under your feet. They’re going to clash, they’re going to collide, and there will be blood. Blood and guts and blood and flesh and blood, blood, blood—

“What’s going on here?”

A man appears at the Priestess’ other side, hand settling subtly at her lower back—a light touch to show he’s there should she want him. His hair glows like flame, the rich embers catching the sunlight and burning like molten steel—fresh from the forge. Her ethereal light flickers, then dims, reining herself back in as the tension gently slips away on an errant breeze.

“Lucien.” Azriel drawls the name with enough bite you can assume they’re not on amicable terms. “Azriel,” the man regards him with equal stiffness, “to what do we owe this…meeting?” The Priestess’ shoulders lose their tension. Well, some of it. “This woman is seeking refuge in our temple,” she supples smoothly, succinctly. You don’t miss the emphasis on the word woman, or how she’s declared the temple as belonging to the two of them, equally.

From a distant part of your mind you recall a time Azriel had mentioned that humans were the only kind that strayed from the male, female labels. For her to be emphasising woman, and to another person no less, as if he would understand—they have to to know what he is. And—Harvestman? As is the disciples of the God of the Harvest, Beron? He certainly looks the part.

“Is there reason to turn her away?” He asks the question to the Priestess, but you get the distinct impression it’s aimed at the male before you. Azriel senses it too, stiffening, darkness writhing across his shadowed form. “No,” the Priestess answers, “there is not.”

Azriel snarls softly at the woman, canines flashing in the sunlight, and the man’s fingers press a little harder to the woman’s spine, as if in restraint. “She has three days,” he snarls, “any longer, and the Ritual will not succeed.” He catches on that last part, as if shifting what he had intended to say.

The Priestess turns to the man—Lucien?—almost in silent question. Something passes between them as he shakes his head softly. She returns her attention to the male, “how long have you kept her for?” Shame flushes your skin at that word, kept. He has indeed been keeping, and it’s taken you this long to realise the problem. It’s taken her mere minutes. Humiliation burns in the pit of your stomach.

But it’s Azriel who purses his lips, as if reluctant to answer. Lucien takes a step forward, though it’s unthreatening, “how long, Azriel?”

He shows no other signs of his distaste apart from his pursed lips, but you can tell, through whatever thread he stitched through your heart, you can tell he’s ashamed. “Barely two months.”

They both stiffen, and you know he’s making an effort not to yield eye contact. Is he…? You know he’s feeling conflicted, but concerning what. You wish you’d tried harder, to figure out what was happening to you, instead of being so…passive. Allowing him to move you as he wished.

“She should have another eight,” Lucien murmurs, and you feel his eyes sliding over you warily. “Why is she fading after only two?”

Mortification settles like a dead-weight in your gut. Azriel’s embarrassed over you.

“That can’t be right,” the Priestess mutters, staring at the male, refusing to take her eyes off him for even a second. “Even I had eight before I had to make my choice.” Silence stretches between them and you can practically hear their thoughts spinning as they ponder your apparent complication.

“What did you do?” It’s the Priestess, and her eyes are burning like pure magma. “Elain,” the man murmurs softly, soothingly. She pays him no heed, staring at the muscle feathering in the male’s jaw, “what did you do to her, Azriel?” Her voice has dropped to a low snarl, each word dragging from the back of her throat.

His lips tip into a rueful smile—no, resentful. Bitter. “Why do you assume I played some hand in my— In her becoming as she is?”

“Don’t play games with me,” she hisses, teeth flashing. “It’s her life on the line.”

He’s in her face quicker than she can blink—still, she holds her ground. “You think I don’t know that, Elain? You think it doesn’t bother me? You think I don’t care that she was born so disgustingly weak?” Beside her, Lucien emits a low growl in warning, something crackling in the air and—and you want to be anywhere but here. Even back in his room, in his bed, even the wastelands.

His grin widens, showing off his too-white, too-sharp teeth. Too many. Shredding. “Either way,” he snarls, low and viciously, “I thought it was her life, Elain. I thought you said it was hers to do with as she pleases.” The Priestess goes rigid with rage at his taunt, “you think I believe you? There must be a reason for her rapid decline.” She insists, but it only makes the guilt sink deeper to your toes, and you’re worried your skin will slide from your bones with the weight of it.

“Elain,” the man tries again, having calmed himself. “Elain,” he repeats, palm pressing fully to her lower back. Until she flicks her gaze to the man’s. “Nesta made it nearly two years without it,” Lucien says softly. “Maybe she is just…” Weak.

You feel the exact moment she begins to accept it—in the way her grip loosens on your wrist, as if disappointed; deflated. But then it tightens again, as if refusing to yield a single ounce of herself to the male. The Priestess straightens, staring Azriel down as she holds her ground, defending you as much as she is her temple. “Then she will spend her last three days here. In the sun, and warmth, surrounded by people who will look after her, and give her what she needs.”

“She will return, and take the damned Ritual,” he snarls, so vicious and gutturally that his shadows darken, and moonlight again glows from within the Priestess’ skin, as if in response. Fury twists his features, feral and wild, animalistic and beastly in their structure. But along that hidden thread between you, you could swear its something akin to desperation crawling beneath his skin.

Something that feels an awful lot like terror.

“It is her decision,” Elain reminds, coldly. “Now that she has entered my temple, you can no longer remove her as you see fit.” She raises her chin, “I will not let you.” It seems to be some line in the sand, some silent declaration that only the two of them understand.

And for some reason, jealousy sparks.

You can feel Azriel’s eyes burning into you, but you keep your gaze away, refusing to acknowledge the ember you’ve already stomped out. Smothered in the dirt.

“Lucien,” Elain murmurs softly. It’s another one of those unspoken commands, ones that are beyond your ears. He moves on silent feet, leaving her side to stand at yours instead. It’s only to him she yields you, allowing the man to bring you further within the temple.

Azriel moves then, as if to reach for you, but the Priestess hit her staff on the floor once. A single strike, and he stops. Seals his features. Once again impenetrable.

It silences any doubts you had in your mind, and you allow the man to lead you deeper into the safety of the temple.

————

She comes to check on you before nightfall.

Some acolytes had been sent to look after you, make sure you were cared for. They had appeared to be twins—both gifted with the same dark, rich skin tone. Both as quiet on foot as they were conversationally. Yet it didn’t seem to be awkward, nor unkind. Just, silence. Beautiful and simple.

“Are you…” You hesitate as you peer at the woman before you, smiling gently over a covered table, two small, chipped mugs of tea set before each of you. “You knew what he was,” you say instead.

She nods, taking a sip of her pleasantly hot drink before returning it to the table, “I did.” Her eyes are no longer cold—no longer that icy brown.

You swallow, raising your own mug to your lips, and blowing softly. You take a sip—it’s good—then another, before setting it down gently. “Who was that—man?” You stumble, suddenly unsure of yourself. “Lucien?” She asks. If she notices your hesitance, she doesn’t show it. “He’s my husband.” You nod, taking in the information. It explains the way they looked at one another; those silent conversations they seem capable of having. “And mate.”

Your brow furrows, “mate?”

She stills for a moment, then resumes the slight movements which are unavoidable with life. “Lucien and I…” she begins, slowly, carefully. Figuring how to phrase her words. Instead, she looks at you squarely, “how familiar are you with the holy books of these lands?” You nod certainly, “very.” If there’s one thing you’re confident in your knowledge of, it’s your religion.

She nods, but it isn’t approving as you would have guessed coming from a Priestess. It seems almost sad. “The Mother rules over everything, from the seven gods of the worlds, to the mortal kings she governs, to a babe fresh from the womb.” You nod, familiar with the story. “Every few hundred years, a god will succumb to the Mother’s gentle hands, and yield their title to a new deity. The seven gods are: Tamlin, god of fertility and nature, who presides over the seed of the earth; the seed of the womb.

“Kallias, god of the weather and the moon, he decides where there will be draught, or bountiful rain.

“Tarquin, god of the sea, who guides our ships to port safely in foreign nations.

“Beron, god of the harvest, who presides over the agriculture of our lands.

"Thesan, god of healing and nurture, who tends to the sick and blesses the deathly with passage to the Underworld.

“Helion, god of the day and written knowledge, who favours the scholars, blessing them with the fruits from his tree of wisdom.

“And Rhysand, god of the Underworld, presides over the dead and decides who is worthy of the Fields, Heaven, the Great Purge, Hell, or the Pit.”

You blink—the great purge?

“Now,” she says, and you sit a little straighter in your chair, “are you familiar with the gods’ lineage?” You shake your head honestly, having never gained access to those books—generally kept for the more intellectual minds of scholars or philosophers. Anyone who had escaped the cave of their mind and made it to the sunlit grasslands, where the true form is revealed to the open-mind, and material form becomes meaningless. “I’ll spare you the history—bloody as it is. Lots of fathers eating children, stabbings and general chaos contained within that line.” She sighs, as if she has personal experience with the gods’ games.

“Lucien is, well…he’s one of Beron’s sons.”

You physically recoil in your seat, nearly dropping your mug. Your mouth is open, but you don’t have it in you to cover it—rude as it is. Azriel had called Lucien a Harvestman, not because he was a disciple, but because he’s the son of a god. You might not have believed her, but two months ago, Azriel was a bad dream—a nightmare, but fiction. A scary story to keep children from misbehaving.

There had been a time were his ilk were regarded as being as true as their godly counter parts, but through the ages they were forgotten, religion softening to what it is now. Rumours tell of when they roamed the lands, taking part in the Great Hunt, preying on humans as they ran wild through the worlds.

“He’s…the son of a god…” you say, slowly, tongue feeling leaden in your mouth. No wonder he’d seemed different. So, Other. A bit like… “What about you?” You ask quietly. “You seemed to…glow. And, before—you said you had ten months before you took the Ritual.” Are you really just a Priestess?

Her smile is small, but still warm. Non-threatening. What you would give to receive just one of those from Azriel. You bury the thought ruthlessly; mercilessly. Drown it in thick mud that clogs its throat.

“Azriel and I have met before. A few decades past, by now.”

Decades? She looks to be around her mid-twenties.

“To make a long story short, my sister fell in love with one of his brothers. She underwent the Ritual to be with him, but in turn left me and my older sister behind—Nesta. There were some…complications, that lead to her being taken to the Underworld, and held out for two years before she had no choice but to make her decision: whether or not she would follow in Feyre’s footsteps and yield her— herself.” Her voice catches, and you get the feeling she changed the story, tweaked it ever so slightly.

“In the meantime of my sister’s struggle, I began to develop an attachment to Azriel. Immature obsession on my part, and foolish desperation on his.” She sounds bitter, even if this took place over twenty years ago. “I— We thought we were perfect together, drawn together by the Mother. But then Lucien came along, and the bond just snapped. At first I rejected it, fought it with everything I had. I’d already suffered one broken heart with a human lover, and finally I felt alive again. Like I had someone to live for. And I was scared how badly it would hurt to fall from the heights he’d taken me to.” She sighs, fingers grazing the chipped rim of her mug.

She shakes her head, then continues. “I ended up leaving Azriel for Lucien—my mate. It was a massive leap of faith, and one I’ve never once regretted.” She smiling faintly now, something secretive in her gaze as she thinks of the man—male. “He made me want to live for myself. Want to do things for myself. And that’s how the temple came about.”

You had no idea. She’d taken life by the throat and made something of it. Something great, and renowned.

Elain takes in a deep breath, then blows it out, sitting back in her chair. “Now I reside up here, on this plane, while my sisters remain below, with their lovers—mates.” Sorrow flickers in her gaze as she stares at the cold mug of tea.

A beat of silence passes, then she’s pulling herself together. “There isn’t enough time for me to tell everything to you, so what do you know about the Ritual?”

You swallow, then tell her of your own story. How he’d saved you in the forrest, shown you the blessed lands, taken you soaring to heights you’d never imagined. Her eyes flicker with recognition at that last part, and you wonder whether Elain had seen those same fields, from the same angles.

You wonder if he’d ever taken her from those angles as he had with you, then quickly strangle your mind into submission.

“So you know nothing of the Ceremony.” It’s not a question, but you nod anyway. She swallows once…twice. Exhales heavily. Leans forward, bracing her forearms on the table. “The Ritual is a crossing of sorts,” she begins, solemnly. “Humans cannot survive in the Underworld for more than a year—ten months.” You try to push past the sinking feeling in the pit of your gut. …so disgustingly weak.

“Should you decide to undergo the Ceremony, you will become like him.”

Fear should rise, but instead, all you can taste is— “Is that like you? I mean, you said that you took the Ritual. Are you like him?” She has no wings, so you have to wonder truly how similar you’ll become. And how it will truly affect you considering you’re fading after not even a fifth of the expected time. You’re surprised he even wants you to take it, if he finds your weakness so repulsive.

Her lips purse, and you suddenly feel like you’ve overstepped. Greedy, selfish. Greedy and wretched. Wretched; hateful. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive—”

“It’s fine.” She smiles tightly, and somehow you feel like it’s not. “I was Made, like my sisters. Reforged during the Ceremony. Purged until I became raw and molten. Then I was reMade into what I am now. I heal faster, I’m stronger, have a keener sense of smell, acute eyesight, and magic.”

She has—magic.

Could you have that, too?

And maybe its foolish. Foolish, reckless mortality, but you push a little further. “What happens? In the Ritual I mean? What happens?” Because what if you can become strong? What if you can leave behind your human weaknesses?

Elain’s strong—she’d made something of herself. She’s decided to wield her power for good, to create a haven for people like you. And—she can protect herself. She was able to face Azriel and come away unscathed. She didn’t even cower.

How wonderful it would be to never fear again.

————

It’s been three days. Night has descended.

A cold thrill slides down your spine. Something ancient, and filled with malice. Something malignant and evil. Something incessant and nagging. It burrows deep into your mind, worming its way into your subconscious, painting its sickness into the purest parts of your soul. Slowly dismantling your being, corrupting you from the inside out, until you’re the same rotten-hearted wretch as him. Teeth scrape over your neck, and you know he’s trapped you in your dreams again.

Sweat coats your skin, glittering beneath the sallow moonlight. No longer that shimmering silver, but fermenting to the colour of curdled milk, as if the heifer that it came from was rotten to the core, riddled with disease and infection.

You’re in the woods again.

No ties bind your wrists, but something snaps in the distance. You don’t dare move. Not when you can feel its eyes on you. Predatory, and no doubt hidden from the waning moonlight. Leaves rustle to your left, as if disturbed by a wind.

The air doesn’t shift, though. Not even a breeze.

Something cold, and squirming hatches in the pit of your belly, and you’re reminded of the first time he spilled his seed inside of you. What would it do to a human woman—to have his spawn take root in your womb? Would life manifest, feeding off your flesh and blood until it rips itself out with its teeth? You’d never considered it. How strange it had felt to have his come inside. Thicker than you would have expected, as if the eggs were…larger.

Another twig snaps, and a salty bead of sweat slides down your spine.

You know what creature is prowling the woods—the same one that had its entrails flung from its belly, gurgling and choking on rotten smelling blood.

It knows you, too. Knows the taste of your fear, the rhythm of your heart.

It knows you won’t be saved, this time. Because you walked away from him. You chose to leave, and now you’ll reap your own consequences. Shovel mouthfuls of dirt from your grave, then settle in that cold, muddy pit, as the earth slowly fills in around you.

It appears then.

One paw in front of the other as it slowly reveals itself to you. Rows of sharp, jagged teeth, glistening with spittle as its half-rotten tongue lolls out. The jaw goes back abnormally far, reaching below its eyes—as if it’s grinning at you. It’s eyes are mere slits, but they bulge from their sockets, the result of endless time spent in true darkness. Deepest pitch. As if blinded.

It regards you silently, allowing you to consider what it will do. An animal shouldn’t be able to understand the terror of the unimaginable, yet somehow, it knows. Knows to wait a while, letting your mind do the fantasising.

Then it begins its death march.

It’s skin is bone grey from a life without sunlight, and looks vaguely filmy. Thin flesh stretching over sinewy muscle, sharp bones jutting out to reveal its hunger. At least you know it won’t play with you for too long. It’s far too hungry for games tonight.

It springs forward, snarling with carnal starvation, paws pinning your shoulders as you’re knocked back into the damp, worm-infested undergrowth. You don’t have the breath to scream, not as it roars at you, spit flecking your cheeks as hot, damp breath curls over your face.

The creature snarls again, raising its paw, claws glittering in the moonlight as they slash down your chest, freshly tilling the skin of your front. Blood rises to the cool night air, beading then spilling over the puckered edges, saturating your white robe—that damned white robe.

A strangled whimper escapes your throat, nipples peaking in the frigid air, and the creature snarls again, looking over its prize. How it will feast.

Its wet snout—cold and slimy—nuzzles your throat, those sharp teeth grazing your neck, leaving thin lacerations in their wake. Over Azriel’s scar mark. The stamp of his canines. You wonder if it’ll disappear now, beneath the imprint of the beast’s fangs. You don’t know which would be preferable.

You’re a sacrifice, you realise.

A helpless gift, tangled in ribbon to placate the creatures of the forrest.

But when its teeth sink deep into your shoulder, and it shoves itself demandingly between your thighs, you realise it’s not only going to take your life, but something far darker, too.

That same, soul-splitting pain wracks your body. Agony lashing down your spine as you feel something stiff, and slimy at your entrance.

This time, you do scream. A cry of bloody murder that rips from your throat, tearing at your vocal cords, grating on your ears as you feel your world begin to be shredded apart.

Where is he?

Something dark and silky brushes your hand, but you don’t recoil. You know that feeling—the cold glint in those hazel eyes that are always watching you. Long before you ever knew him.

Please, you beg silently, tears blurring your vision. Please…, you pray.

His shadows flick at your skin, and you feel the beast retract its teeth, only to bite down in a different position—deeper. Tears roll down your cheek as agony so exquisite burns your mind, purges your thought. The shadows flicker again, brushing against your skin and you reach for them longingly. Because in this dream-scape, they are safety.

Something slices your fingers.

You hiss, flinching back, but his shadows don’t let you, binding your wrist. They tug, quietly urging, urging you to move while the creature fumbles between your thighs, getting drunk on your blood’s taste. Something narrow and solid slides into your grip, just as the darkness parts—the clouds receding with it. Steel gleams in the moonlight, and you recoil.

A dagger lies just within your reach. The hilt is made of a dark stone—obsidian?—and crusted with runes too ancient to be remembered. You know who it’s come from.

The blade itself is long, and sharp. Its edge is neatly serrated—perfect for sawing. It’s longer than your forearm. Long enough to pierce the creature’s throat, should you try. That’s all it would take. The slightest will on your part, and the blade would slice through its filmy skin. Enough to sever an artery, or at least deal it an incapacitating wound.

He’s asking you to kill for yourself, and you’re stumbling right into his lap again. Dragged closer and closer to that irredeemable edge. Elain had claimed he wouldn’t be able to reach you here, yet his powers seem to have wormed their way into your bones, crawled and infested your skin with his malignancy.

You feel the hard, slimy head of its member press into the soft dip between your thighs, and it’s all the encouragement you need.

Like a knife through warmed butter, the blade slides through its skin, hot liquid bubbling from its throat as it chokes and gurgles. And screeches. Screeches a sound of carnivorous fury that chills the marrow of your bones.

Blood splatters across your face, blinding you as you close your eyes against the scalding liquid that quickly cools in the night air. Its teeth have retracted, but it spasms, shoulders and hips jerking violently, before it slumps. You shove it to your side, the blade gliding out with a wet rasp as it gleams in the moonlight, singing the first notes to a symphony of bloodshed and skull-splitting torture you don’t wish to become acquainted with.

You sit up, staring at the—lamb.

Spotted through with patches of luscious dark wool that are stark against the pure white of its coat. A bloody gash lies in its throat, blood pumping hard until it oozes to a trickle. The earth turns muddy beneath the softly bleating creature, sounds small, and pleading—whimpering.

The dagger is a dead-weight in your hand as it rustles to the floor, disturbing the wet leaves.

Your fingers are trembling, eyes bulging from your skull with such terror they might pop. You can feel the strain behind your eyelids.

Paws scuff in the undergrowth, and you’re met with icy hazel. He takes you in: the blood, the lamb, the wet dagger and your darkened skin. His grin is uncomfortably wide. No mouth should stretch that far. Or have that many teeth.

The dagger is in your hand again, but the lamb is already dead. There’s no point in cutting it again to speed its departure—it’s left.

But the dagger isn’t there to make things easy; it’s there to aid. And right now, your stomach is growling with carnal starvation.

You won’t play with it long; you’re too hungry for games.

————

Cold breath flows into your lungs as you lurch upright from the damp sheets.

One look at the creature hunched at the foot of your bed has you reaching for the chamber pot beneath you, filling it with the contents of your stomach—meat.

Your retching ceases, and you shakily ease yourself onto your back, laying into the thin pillow. Sweat glistens on your body, the robe sticking to your skin in uncomfortable patches. Feeling a lot like blood.

Your hand wipes across your mouth, barely able to summon the strength to do so.

The creature’s eyes remain trained on you, the wet wheeze of your lungs as they haul air through cracked and filmy lips. You’re wasting away again. Except this time it’s no plague that’s ravaging your body—no. His sickness is too deep inside of you, ingrained in your very being. Rotting you to the core.

“What do you want, Azriel?” The question is horse, hardly a whisper, but he hears you just fine.

One taloned hand lowers to the bottom of your mattress, then the other settles further up—by your thigh. The first further: up to your waist. And you don’t have the energy to push away, or struggle. Barely the breath to scream.

He’s on top of you, chaining you to the mattress as if it’s a torture bed.

You need me. The words tumble freely into your mind, stretching across that strange thread that he’s sewed to your soul. You need me to live.

You weakly shake your head, but it’s little more than a tilt of your chin. “No…”

His hand settles on the pillow, and that strange pulse of energy washes through you. The bone-deep chill subsides, as if warmed by his power. As if in answer. What has he done?

If you don’t undergo the Ritual, you will die, he says, in that strange, wordless way of his. You give him a look that you hope him to understand as, I will be happy to cross over, and be rid of you. By the way he stiffens, you think he does.

But then something strange happens: he slides his hand beneath your head, fingers tangling in your hair—tenderly. You will not make it to the hills of those fields, neither the footsteps to the heavens. Blood heats, then chills. Then boils, then freezes. Neither will you make the drop to hell, nor to the pit beneath it. You will rest in between worlds. Unable to breathe. Unable to eat. Unable to feel.

Hazel turns soft, as if—were you to place it on your tongue—it would melt. You’ll be rid of anything that makes you human. No more than a husk, left to wonder the planes as your being carries you. You stare at him, too weak to be disbelieving. You need me to keep you from that. Return to the Underworld with me. Take the Ritual. Become like me.

The thump of your heart grows weaker by the second, despite the increasingly frequent pulses of magic that thrum through your skin. Take the Ritual, and then you can return here. Remain as long as you like. Until the citadel falls to dust, and the rivers become lakes; become oceans. Remain forever, but take the Ritual, so you can see it all, and live.

If you didn’t know better, you would say he sounds pleading. But you can hardly string one thought to the next, so you don’t. Instead, you latch onto that final flicker he’s shielding from the weight of the world, and nod.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

That was it.

(a new post? it's been months, bro!)

What -- Daryl had a dream featuring You. It's thrown him a little, ngl.

When -- the first day Daryl is bedridden following his two falling trips down the ridge in the episode Chupacabra. In the Slowpoke Series, it's a few hours after Redemption Arcs, which takes place the morning after Thank you, angel...

Who's in this one? -- Daryl, You, Carl, Lori

Perspective -- POV 3rd person Daryl

Relationships -- slow burn, currently platonic-but-confused Daryl x equally oblivious Reader

Pronouns - she/her

TWs -- some language, and reference to Daryl's childhood neglect, and ghastly screenshots with poor editing XD

Masterlist -- Official one here and Chronological one here

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

Her knock was recognizable and he got a rush in his stomach when he knew she was there. Three or four knocks, a pause, then one or two more knocks with some kind of greeting. This time, is was: “Daryl, you up for visitors?”

Was he ‘up for visitors?’

Ain’t like he’s some old dude in a nursing home, why would—oh shit, did this mean they found Sophia? Was Sophia the visitor?? “What is it?”

“It’s Carl’s first field trip out of bed other than for the toilet.”

“Y/N,” came Carl’s groan through the shut door.

“Carl,” she teased back back in the same tone of voice. “Mr. Dixon’s in the same boat, nerd, no leavin’ bed excepting for the facilities.”

Speaking for himself, the kid finally said, “I wanted to go see you first, Mr. Dixon.”

“Just—come in already,” Daryl grunted. He'd already tugged his bedsheets as high as they'd go, he was ready as he could get.

The knob turned, and as the two of them slowly walked in. He made himself relax when the nerves hit him at seeing Y/N.

It's stupid. His dumb ass started getting nervous around her this morning. Nervous around Y/N, of all the people here!

Daryl noticed Lori hovering by the doorway while Y/N and Carl walked in. She explained, “We don’t want to crowd you like yesterday. And we won’t stay too long, Y/N, Maggie and I will be going out for another sweep of our grid.”

The boy had more color than he did the other day when Daryl went to see him, which was good.

"The head wrap stuff they gave you looks cool," the kid told him. "I'm glad you didn't get hurt worse than you were. I heard you got hurt pretty bad." Slowly, Carl made his way to Daryl’s bedside and seemed beat doing it. “I would go out to help search today if I could. I was the only one of us who—well, other than you—who hasn’t gone out looking today. Beth’s older sister and Jimmy and his mom went, too.”

“Well, Mags came with us,” Y/N filled in. “Jimmy looked around the property and its perimeter only, but that’s because he got in trouble yesterday for joinin’ without permission. His mama searched with him to keep the peace.”

As the news hovered, rolled over him, then sunk in, it felt to Daryl as if were making him sink deeper into the mattress where he lay bandaged, bruised, and not much use to anyone.

He’d nearly died trying to find that little girl yesterday, found her doll. And after just about everyone went out searching today, and all them people came back with zip.

Daryl hated feeling helpless, and now he felt helpless, annoyed and angry.

Really, they all went out searching, and somehow all came back with nothing?

Carl kept chatting to him, but to his credit, Daryl didn’t snarl at him to shut up.

“I would’ve wanted to go to target practice, too. Did you know Mr. Douglas knows how to use guns? He told me he was an instructor, he’d started learning way a long time ago after something bad happened to this guy named Ronny King.”

“Rodney,” his ma corrected softly.

“I want to learn how to use a gun. How old were you when you learned, Mr. Dixon?”

Lori and Y/N reacted to the question in their own ways.

Y/N peeked at Lori and it looked like she was shrinking into her neck like a turtle as she walked to the window to get the stool for Carl to sit on.

Lori saw, shook her head and took it from Y/N’s hands, citing, “Let me, honey.” She placed it behind her son, then told him sternly, “You were just shot. Now’s not the time to discuss you using a gun.”

“But Mo—”

“We can talk about that with Dad later, okay, bud?”

“Y/N started learning to shoot when she was 8.”

That made Daryl blink, and it distracted him from his annoyance. His square, chick friend learned about using guns when she was 8?

Y/N gave her nephew a warning stare. “I learned because my own mama in our own circumstances made a decision for me that she determined would help keep me safe, the same way your mama’s makin’ one for you.”

He jut out his chin a little. “I would be safer with one. And I thought Shane taught you?”

“S-Sometimes babysitting me meant us goin’ to the range,” she allowed, eyeing Lori for help.

“Carl,” his ma told him, and with a look firm enough to make a nun cower. “That’s enough interrogating your aunt. We will talk about this with Dad when you’re able to leave bed for more than a few yards.”

“Okay,” the kid apologized, head lowering. “Sorry Mom, sorry Y/N.”

There were about three seconds of silence, tops, when the boy next asked Daryl, “Do you still think Sophia’s alive?”

Y/N froze, Lori tilted her head and looked Daryl in the eye warily.

As for Carl himself, he at least seemed hopeful. “If you could stay okay for nine days when you were a kid, Sophia can stay okay for five.”

Y/N’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. He'd told her the other day about it, then decided Carl should know to keep his spirits up.

Lori, who knew nothing about this, looked alarmed. “You went missing for nine days as a child, Daryl?” she repeated.

Daryl nodded, getting dizzy when he did. Wasn’t no big secret, just some dumb mistake he made when he was little. He'd figured that Carl staying hopeful and expecting people to find Sophia would keep the rest of the people here searching.

Y/N already knew about Daryl’s little nine-day accident, and Andrea; might as well let Lori in on it if it meant more people wouldn’t give up on Sophia.

“Yeah, nine days. Was perfectly fine, and that was with me bein’ nowhere near as sharp as Sophia, and without miles of farmhouses and shit around.” Daryl figured exaggerating might help Carl feel happy, so he added, “I was dumber than a post, and even I got away with only an itchy ass from using poison oak as toilet paper.”

It did make the kid smile, but then Carl whispered as if he was nervous, “Quarter.”

Y/N wasn’t nervous at all. “Two of ’em.”

Oh, right. Daryl had forgotten about the no-cuss-around-kids rule.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” is how Lori responded quietly to Daryl, then to his relief, she changed the subject back to asking Y/N how target practice went.

“Lore, did you know Teddy was good with guns?” Y/N shared. “I’d had zero idea.”

“He and Shane talked about being instructors on one of the first nights at the quarry.”

“Man, I missed that whole conversation.”

Lori smiled and began to fix the extra blanket that was crumpled on the side of Daryl’s bed.

Daryl almost missed what was being said because he was distracted by how casually nice that was. Damned thoughtful.

It was that moment when he noticed how he’d grown pretty okay with shooting the shit with these people. Wouldn’t seek it out, probably, but he wasn’t crawling out of his skin, neither. He really liked that the kid wanted to see him, too. It helped him feel like he wasn’t as big an asshole as he felt.

“You, Amy and Glenn were busy playing ‘I never’, if I’m remembering it.” Lori spread blanket out at the foot of the bed and folded it in an accordion-type way. “Either that night or the—no, sorry, it was the night everyone started talking about Bigfoot, the kids were sitting around you three. That was one of the first nights, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, right! We used up all the Tapatío, and this guy mentioned his chupacabra.” Y/N stuck the tip of her tongue out and lightly bit it, grinning big.

“Luis and me got so freaked out that night!” Carl joined in, suddenly as energetic as a little bunny-rabbit. “His older cousin told him all about Okefenokee Swamp, and, and the gators and the Pig Man and the Thing!”

“Your Aunt Evie and I camped with Grammy and Grandad at Okefenokee lots of times when I was a girl,” Lori told them both with a smile in her eyes. “Never saw the Pig Man or the Swamp Thing.”

“But they saw her,” Y/N mouthed to Carl. “Thank God we lived more upstate.”

That, Daryl could agree with, he even made a hum.

He was from way up north, close to the Tennessee border. But with this group that he’d stuck with for who-knows-why, to get to Fort Benning they’d driven far enough southwest that they was basically in Alabama.

“Yeah, you’re from further north, too, right?” Y/N sighed. “I’m so darn homesick, man. We’re just about on the fall line now, aren’t we? Driving to the city was one thing, close enough to home, but the roundabout, southwest mess we made trying to get to stupid Fort Benning was—w-we’re basically in Alabama!”

…His thoughts exactly.

“We’re further from Lake Lanier down here, though,” Carl said. Sounded like he was both trying to cheer her up and rib her. Inside joke most likely, Daryl guessed.

Y/N shivered at the name but couldn’t stop herself from breaking into a smirk, which made Carl crack up. After making a face at him, she looked at Daryl. “Dude, you’d have had a good time at practice.” Her smile grew and she leaned toward him. “As soon as it was time to try hittin’ the targets, Jimmy tried to shoot his pistol sideways.”

“What, all gangster?” he grunted back, glad that he wasn’t alone with her again. He liked didn’t mind being alone with her, but he obviously got smacked in the head a little too hard yesterday, seeing as he felt all nervous around her now. Really nervous. Like, so goddamned nervous, man, it’s good the boy and Lori are here, otherwise he’d be barely able to look her in the eyes.

Give it a day or two, he’d be fine.

“Teddy thinks Jimmy will have to undo Hollywood and video game gun stuff the next couple lessons.” She scrunched her nose, and wondered out loud, “Don’t know why that’s what they show in movies so often, that’s irresponsible firearm use. Oh! But the angled aim I guess is needed when one’s using a riot shield, right?”

His mouth lifted into a grin. Y/N could be such a square.

With that, she yawned and leaned on the side of the bed, causing it to dip down slightly. Daryl’s heart did a funny jolting type thing when she did, he inhaled too quickly as a result, which hurt his stiched side and bruised or broken ribs, so he then winced as a result of that.

“How long do we have ’til we head out again, Lore? I’m hittin’ my limit. Looks like Carl’s crashing, too, you doing okay, baby?”

The conversation that followed didn’t reach his head, Daryl was too distracted. The, um, the movement of the bed dipping as Y/N relaxed and reached back to massage her shoulder caused the memories from last night and the dream that followed to whoosh back to Daryl even harder.

His heartbeat did that funny thing again. And the helpless feeling he’d had, with its anger and annoyance, whittled away bit by bit.

A weird sensation replaced it.

He wasn’t sure that it was, but it felt like it was pressing him even further into the mattress.

So, the dream he had last night: Y/N was…laying down with him.

Nothing was going on, her arm was simply wrapped around him and he could feel her heartbeat against his chest. He remembers pressing his mouth to her head for a second, then she reached her hand to brush it across his temple or whatever, and they just laid there. That was it.

Really, that was it, the whole dream, nothing else went on. And he relieved but also...disappointed when he first woke up, saw the bed empty beside him, and figured out it was just a dream, ain’t that bullshit? Then he listened to Y/N's breathing where she lay on the air mattress and couldn't fall back asleep for what felt like a while.

He was all screwed up, wasn't he?

Granted, two days ago, her shirt had been soaked after they’d got caught in the storm and the outline of everything was clear as damn day. Like, sure, he’d turned his eyes away, but he’d still seen it and liked it! Then, yesterday during their argument when they’d suddenly been standing all close, he’d randomly imagined gripping her waist and crashing his mouth against hers before cupping her face so he could see if her cheeks were as soft as they looked, like what the in the balls was his deal? He ain’t mature enough to be friends with a chick or something? It’s never been a problem before, he used to barely even notice or care when he thought someone looked nice.

Her calling him all them pet names yesterday was enough, but, like, what was last night?

She literally massaged him. Who does that?

The massage had felt as if there were an angel, don’t get him wrong, he’d been in so much pain. But being touched so gently but so…close, and right on his bare skin, it made him feel something similar to scared.

It wasn’t ‘scary’ in that sense, that’s not it, it felt…weird. Again, he didn’t know how to phrase it.

Worse still was that he thinks he accidentally called Y/N “angel.”

Out loud.

He still ain’t sure, his sleep was too disjointed to tell if he was awake or not, but — she’d started massaging his feet, he knew that much! His feet had hurt so bad that he’d almost cried again when she’d started to rub them because it was just such relief.

Fast forwarding to this morning, when he’d made his managed to power his way all by himself out of bed (oh, it hurt like a bitch) and out of his room to find the pisser, of course the first thing he saw when he opened the door was Y/N, all sleepy-eyed, messy-haired, and wrapped in a blanket like he was.

And, of course, the first thing she did was help him walk by putting her good arm around his back. He could feel her warmth and heartbeat beside his chest again, and when he turned his head, his mouth collided with her head. Kinda hurt. And she smelled good.

But all that sent the dream he’d had, the one where she was laying next to him, crashing back all at once.

Plus the fear that she’d see him in his boxers again and/or notice how his morning wood (ain’t his fault, he’d only just woken up and he had to take a whiz real bad!) was the only thing pinging through his mind as she walked him to the toilet.

Then when her brother dropped off some of his stuff from his tent, he had a sneaking suspicion it was Y/N who’d been the one to gather it up. Mainly because she’d been the one who promised him someone would bring him some things, but also because nail clippers and a toothbrush were on top of the pile.

He then got the dumb idea in his head to be embarrassed at how his tent wasn’t real clean.

The past four days were batshit crazy; getting all nervous around a chick — probably the only person he truly feels okay with around here — is the stupidest damn thing. Still, he never had a person he felt so damn comfortable with other than Uncle Jesse, his little cousin, Merle, and his old lady neighbor from when he was a kid.

So much happened with Y/N the past few days. It was like they’d been stripped and beaten together, but got back home in one piece. He even hallucinated her talking to him when he’d fallen down the ridge. And that’s not even bringing up how he’d been chill with her seeing his scars yesterday, which was only after he okayed Dr. Farmer literally teaching her how do literal goddamn stitches on him!

Almost like yesterday, Daryl could imagine the way Merle would bust his balls. “I can’t tell if you’re actin’ like a little boy clinging to the kid who was nice to ’em on the jungle gym, or a clueless virgin nervous around the girl who’ll look him in the eyes long enough.”

Lucky for him, Carl wondered out loud: “Maybe Jimmy wanted to practice shooting sideways,” so Daryl was able to shut his mind up.

Next, Carl, who definitely looked ready to hit the sack, started miming holding a gun and aiming it to the side (as opposed to shooting it forward, just cocked to the side like Jimmy had, according to Y/N).

“No, ya nerd, like this,” Y/N snorted, and held out her good arm as if she were aiming a gun forward, then twisted her wrist sideways.

“Oh, the cool way to shoot!”

“Nooo.”

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

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-> Masterlist link here <-

and our teeny tiny taglist :D

@spenciepoo338 @its-freaking-bats​​​​ @whistlesalot​​​​ @buffy-the-assbutt-slayer​​​​  @dreamingaboutthewonderland @kwazii-kat​ @darylsmavis​​​​​  @outlanderhornet22​​​​​ @battinsonrobs @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @multiifandomhoe @writingmybeloved @boomergirl123 @iheartathena0 @moonliight-luv @suniloli @supernaturalgirl02 @cnake-garden @daryldixmedown @sophehe @crashlyrose @virgo-sunflower920 @jennythe @theficbaker @vampireautism @rosetta196 @wifeof-barnes

(inbox is open if you would like on or off the taglist, slowpokes. Please don’t feel bad or nervous if you don’t want to be tagged anymore, just let me know in the inbox! We’re all friends here and your comfort level matters)  

[hotxcheeto]

Can you do a ellie where reader is Joel's daughter and ellie wasn't there when joel died but reader was and ellie has to watch reader become like joel before he meet ellie

━ 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader, Reader is Joel's daughter

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Cursing, angst, crying, alludes to death, crying, no fluff except maybe a tiny bit if you squint, alludes to depression, mentions of a ton of negative emotions, sad

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - Two fics in two days?!?!?!?! Hope you enjoy!! I love how I can write smut then the most depressing thing known to man. thank you for requesting, ily!!!!!!!

Ellie had seen the familiar dark in your eyes. Because your eyes weren't your own, they were his. They'd always been his.

The rest of you may have resembled your mother, but those irises were your father's. And she loved them. Ellie did. Sometimes, as you laid beside her, she would just stare into your eyes while you watched whatever movie she throw on.

All your emotion welled up into two beautiful things.

Some couldn't see it, same with your father's. But Ellie could. Ellie could read you both like a book and she'd call it her special talent.

She liked Joel, he was good to her, more of a father than she'd ever know. Someone that was proud of her, someone that cared about her.

But Ellie loved you. Loved every inch and every piece. Every limb and every scar. Even the ones you hated, or the ones you'd show.

She loved them, because she loved you.

And you always loved her the same.

So as you began to open up, to let her read you, to let yourself learn to love her. Your eyes became your own, with your very own twinkle and sparkle that Ellie could admire for hours and hours and never look away.

That would well up with happy cries, and sob to sad movies.

Shrink in the bright sunlight, and grow large with fear in the darkness.

They were yours, and they were beautiful.

But as she sat in thought, watching you stare out the window with wet hair and shaking as you remembered the incidents just a few days prior, she wondered if you'd ever be the same.

Because the darkness was back, swirling around your pupils and flooding the whites of your eyes with tears that would never fall. Tears you wouldn't let touch your cheeks.

She knew those eyes weren't yours anymore, they were his once again. They always had been, hidden behind your happiness and devotion to becoming who you dreamed of.

"Y/n?"

You turned your head, jumpy she noticed, meeting her gaze with an expression that she couldn't study. Something unintelligible, something scared.

"What?"

"Come here."

You hesitated, for a mere moment, you hesitated to come to her. But you did, sliding off the chair you propped against the window beside Ellie's bed.

Silently taking the few steps towards the couch where she sat back, wondering what was going through your head.

You made a noise, as if you were going to speak, but not a word passed. Taking a seat beside her. She felt you lean back against the cushioned couch, bringing your knees up.

"She looked at me y'know, like she didn't want to do it." You started softly. The sounds of your sharp, shaky breaths making her glance over. "Like she regretted being there, but she still-" You stopped, choking a sob back while looking up at her ceiling.

"I want to kill her." Ellie knew it was coming. She knew the anger was hiding behind your eyes, behind the sadness. "I want her dead, I want her to feel his fear, I want-" You began to cry.

You never cried, not with such heartbreak. Sure you'd tear up during a scene on the TV or over a song, but you would laugh as Ellie made fun of you. You would smile when Ellie spoiled the happy ending to calm you down, you would giggle when she'd kiss you like the characters on screen.

"I want her gone, and I want them to pay. They watched, he spit on my dad, he didn't deserve- he-"

It wasn't long before her arms wrapped around your body, taking you into her chest. Letting you cry until there were no tears left. Until you were quiet, and exhausted.

Until she had to carry you to bed, with tear marks down your face and muscles gone sore. But that wasn't the end. No, you had a habit of holding a grudge, you still you remind Ellie of when she dropped your favorite knife in the mall. Or when your dad promised on a movie and fell asleep mid-afternoon.

You never forgot, but you did forgive. Maybe not this time, but you had in the past, you had back then. You did. Did.

But now, right now, in this moment, your eyes showed something different. Unforgiving and cruel, silent and sad but nothing could go up against the emptiness that was sat inside.

They reminded her of your father's eyes.

When he'd look at her, there was something that had died, a light that was burned out and snuffed years before you and her had come along and you knew. You knew of Sarah though Ellie did not, but somehow you both could see the darkness. With and without a knowing.

And it's familiarity had returned, staring into the bonfire in front of you. Even the bright orange flames couldn't recreate the light that you had lost. You were gone, and all that was left was a vicious shell.

"Y/n?"

You didn't glance up at her this time, barely making a sound in acknowledgement before forcing yourself to speak.

"What?"

It was harsh, and it sounded just like Joel, the same voice that made her confidence falter and her body tense at first. The same one that introduced you both.

"You should eat." You looked down and shrugged at the grass. "I'm fine. Just been a long day." "That's why you-" "Ellie."

She stopped, frustrated and exhausted, rubbing her face before taking in a sharp breath.

"Will you listen-" "Ellie, I'm fine. I'm not your responsibility. I can take care of myself."

Somehow, you guys hadn't broken it off, but you wouldn't touch her or look her in the eyes for long. Your nightmares were so violent sometimes you'd just lay beside her, but you couldn't feel her, you couldn't your you'd panic. You'd think of them, stepped over you.

"You don't have to." Your jaw clenched, throwing down the stick in your hand and watching it wither away in the heat of the fire. "I said I'm fine."

But it was the look in your eyes that scared her the most.

"I'm sorry." She whispered.

"I know." You replied, just as soft, but not as nice.

Behind your eyes, was anger, pure anger. Not at her, not at Abby or her friends you promised to kill. You were mad at the world, and mad at yourself.

Just as he was. Just as he had been for so long.

[beatrixstonehill2]

"Come on, stop joking, guys!" Bianca laughed.

"I'm serious. Have you ever thought about it?" one of her male friends asked.

"Not really. I'm actually super happy you guys talked me into transitioning. Stop being lame! How about you guys take turns fucking me like the good old days!"

One of her guy friends shrugged. "I dunno, Bianca. It might be time for you to detrans and become a guy again."

Bianca spanked her estrogen-fattened ass. "And give this up? Ugh, what's gotten into you guys? We used to have so much fun!"

"Well yeah, you were the best piece of ass around!" another of her friends said, all four of them agreeing. "But like, back then it was super hot. You transitioned for the group, became such a sexy girl, grew those fat titties, that big ass, and we went to town on you like crazy. Honestly if not for you we'd all be lasting thirty seconds, striking out with every girl we meet."

Another of Bianca's guy friends added, "Every girl we date is crazy impressed at our stamina, and it's all thanks to practicing with that fat ass of yours, Bianca."

"So, what's the problem?" Bianca impatiently asked. "Come on, you guys! Pass me around! Fuck my brains out!"

"Wellll, I mean all of us are either engaged or married now. And you went and got that breast reduction. Those udders of yours were huge. Not they're small and kinda mid."

"But......! Ummm, I had to get a reduction! Mine were big and fat and fun to play with, I know, buuuut they were making me insanely dysphoric! I hated having boobs that big."

"See!?" one guy said. "You're dysphoric about having big tits? You're totally still a guy, Bianca."

Bianca blushed. "Am not! They just.... um, got in the way!"

"And we see you're still pumping your cock, that thing's got to be over a foot long."

"Well, yeah. After taking so much estrogen I wanted to make sure it didn't shrink like it does with most trans girls! So I've kept it nice and big, plus you guys had fun playing with it, jerking me off as you fuck me."

"We were experimenting," a different friend said. "I mean, it suits you being a girl with a huge cock like some Hentai chic. But don't you think it's time you give up the act and go back to being a dude?"

Bianca turned around, arms folded, her cock erect, bulging from her bikini. "So, this is it? After all these years being the group's personal fuck toy, you don't need me anymore?"

"Not really. Well, not to fuck. We have sexy pregnant wives and fiancés with big tits to get our rocks off with. You can't just stay a girl like this forever."

Bianca rolled her eyes. "OK, fiiiine. It does kind of suck being a girl. Well, it was fun while it lasted..... I guess you guys moved on. Bummer. So, what should I do?"

"First," another friend stepped in, swimming over to Bianca. "You go on testosterone, stop taking estrogen, and we get you to the gym. You're clearly bulking up already without us, dude."

"So you noticed?" Bianca giggled. "I miiiight've been trying to gain muscle for about a year now. Check out my arms!" She flexed them for her friend to feel.

"Nice! Don't worry, we made you become our little slutty girlfriend, we'll pay to have the rest of those tits removed, get you loaded up on steroids, and in no time you'll be dating, and get a ring on some cute, curvy pregnant chic's finger."

"That sounds nice..... Then what? Married life?"

"No, dummy. We swap our wives, go out swinging, film our girls fucking other dudes and upload it to their socials for their families to see. Turn these girls into good pregnant breeding cows obsessed with fucking. Just like you were."

Bianca's huge, erect cock twitched, falling loose, hanging between her meaty thighs. "Sounds like every guy's dream come true..... but no seriously, you assholes made me your fuckslut, and my cock is hard as hell, can you please fuck me one more time? Don't act like this fat ass of mine isn't tempting....."

"OK. One last time, Bianca. We'll fuck your brains out and milk that monster Futa cock you're packing. But after that we're turning to back into a boy whether you like it or not."

Bianca bit her lip, blushing. "Deal!"

[animeyanderelover]

Derieri, Diane and Melascula finding a human darling and being protective and possessive over her

Ooh, some ladies from Seven Deadly Sins.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, stalking, clinginess, delusional thoughts, overprotective behavior, isolation, abduction

My little human

Diane

🐍She just can't handle her humans's adorableness without blushing and hiding her face behind her twin tails. Needless to say, she often finds herself a bit embarrassed and sometimes also insecure when she's around you. So Merlin has a giantess pleading her day and night to give her something so that she can shrink to human size and properly interact with you. In her taller form she never gathers the courage to interact with you out of fear that you might be scared of her. In her shrunken form though, Diane gathers this lacking courage she doesn't possess in her giantess form and seeks you out without any problems. She's a very energetic young lady with a certain charm to her, she is very optimistic. If you look down or are in any bad mood, she'll do her best to cheer you up somehow. She hates seeing you sad and she actually gets quite mad if you remain depressed and starts throwing here and there a little tantrum.

🐍Diane is really clingy and always wants to follow you around in her shrunken form. She despises loneliness a lot already but with her darling it is even worse. She barely wants to seperate herself from you, if she spends anymore time with you she'd probably become your second shadow. Trying to tell her carefully that you'd like some time alone never ends well. Diane is despite her physical toughness emotionally quite delicate, especially around you, so even having you mention that you'd like to be left alone for a bit hurts her. There are tears in her eyes as she looks at you with a sincere look of heartbreak in her eyes and you rarely manage to resist. The big lady is quite delusional when it comes to you. She loves romanticising every little gesture and word you said to her which leads her to often misunderstanding certain actions you take. Maybe her origins also play a part in this cluelessness. She probably wouldn't even be above genuinely thinking that you two are soulmates of some sort to feed even further into her romanticised dreams.

🐍Yet as the Envy of Sin, Diane is prone to jealousy. Gender isn't even an issue as everyone could be targeted. If you pay attention to someone else or do something she thought you'd only done for her, envy infiltrates her heart. She isn't violent but her emotions definitely get the better off her and she isn't shy of throwing a scene, even if she isn't even aware of it herself. Often she is running away with tears in her eyes but despite her sour mood it is relatively easy to bring her back to her usual self by complimenting her or doing something special for her. Unintentionally, she also tends to look down on you for being a human. You are her treasure and her love, someone she wants to protect fiercely. Unfortunately this can lead her to believing that it is safest for you if she would just stay with you all of the time because there are few things that can compete with her ridiculous strength. Her own confidence in her own abilities additionally trap her into thinking that she could just solve all of your problems, often without fully thinking it through.

Derieri

🔶​Derieri is going to be in denial of her own feelings for quite a while. She doesn't have the best opinion about your kind so her own beliefs up until now are challenged by her growing feelings. She'd rather rip her seven hearts out and nail them on the wall then ever admitting that as her own pride prevents her from doing so. She interprets her feelings as weakness yet she can't prevent what has already been set in motion. She is such a Tsundere to be honest but her tough and rough exterior doesn't stop her from stalking you quite a while without ever being noticed. She is grumpy and even if she is quite taciturn, Moonspeed can see that something is bothering her. Not that she'll tell him, at least for now. Instead she lashes a bit out on him, hissing at him to leave her alone. She's so grumpy and her inner conflict worsens her furious temper as you essentially become a trigger for her to fall into rage.

🔶​Definitely on the protective side and you being but a mere human makes this even worse. She is openly viewing you as a weak and helpless creature that needs protection and even if she is a demon and probably would elicit fear out of you if you would ever catch sight of her, she takes over the part of protecting you. Honestly, she feels like demolishing the landscape whenever she sees you being in danger but she does now that she shouldn't just storm blindly out of her hiding spot. It's too early for her to expose herself to you just yet. Derieri is far more merciless than Diane as she will murder anyone that endangers or harms you without any second thought. Despite her feelings she hasn't grown soft after all. She feels no real regret either about her actions either because what she kills now will never get a chance to hurt you again. You should know though that she is silently cursing you for your own weakness too at times because she can't even fathom how you get yourself in such peril sometimes.

🔶​She gradually comes to terms with her feelings for you and that gives her the necessary emotional stability to show herself to you. That automatically means that she will abduct you as soon as she has revealed herself to you even despite your pleads and tears. I'd say that Derieri is on a lucid spectrum though, in regards of her emotions at least. At the same time she sees the whole situation in a rather nonchalant light. She's come to terms with her emotions so nothing is really stopping her anymore. Surprisingly the demon is somewhat considerate around you though because of you being a human and because she can at least understand that most people would freak out if they were in the same position as you. That won't stop her from having a small and frustrated outburst when you push her buttons for too long though. Her words are sharp and rude without much consideration and she might destroy something in her close vicinity out of frustration, reminding you promptly of her strength.

Melascula

🌫️​Honestly, good luck with Melascula. This demoness will have an almost hysterical reaction upon initially recognising her feelings as something more. She always looked down on humans her entire life and she could never imagine ever falling in love with someone. It feels like a betrayal against the Demon King and since she has always been loyal, her head feels like splitting apart. Chances are that she summons a few weaker demons and tells them to kill you as she herself doesn't want to bother but she always ends up having a change of heart in the last moment. She either summons them back or kills them if they don't listen to her or even go as far as attacking you. Prepare yourself to get abducted quickly without even knowing what is going on as darkness one day just wraps itself around you. You wake up only to see Melascula's face and as much as she tries to appear reserved, calm and in control, you can almost see the hidden disgust behind her dark eyes.

🌫️​Living with her is literal hell as she switches constantly back and forth between actively ignoring you and not paying attention to your needs or mocking you and gloating about herself in front of such a weak human as yourself with an almost sadistic grin on her face. Melascula is bullying you, mistreating you or neglecting you most of the time and you don't know even why. Perhaps it's just because she just is like this but you couldn't be more wrong about it. In fact her feelings for you have gotten worse so by ridiculing you and treating you as terrible as she does, she tries to convince herself of your uselessness and weakness. At the same time she experiences intense jealousy and outrage whenever you beg for her to release you because you miss your family and friends. She just can't understand why you'd cling to them. What is so special about them anyways?! She's part of the Ten Commandments! Why aren't you seeing her as something special?! Why aren't you feeling honored that she even keeps you alive?!

🌫️​Her tactic changes after a while. She seems to be nicer and acts sickenly sweet and it creeps you out. You'd even prefer her just treating you like before instead of actually attempting to be kind. At least her definition of kindness which still includes you being forced into everything just so she can do what she wants to do with you. Suddenly she is extremely touchy and that can range from light pats to a tight grip when you annoy or disobey her. She despises disobedience from your side because she as a demoness is obviously above you so you should do as she says. She has punishments in store for you and whilst they would never include any physical harm because she doesn't want to ruin or damage your beauty, she's always punishing you mentally. Differently from Diane or even Derieri she never lets you leave the place she prepared for you so your mentality will be shot after some time just being around Melascula. Because despite her cute appearance, this woman unleashes utter destruction onto anything that might endanger you or even threaten to prevent her from owning your heart.

[sc0tters]

Dreams are Realities | Kent Johnson

summary: Kent is back in town for the allstar break but as his best friend you don’t seem to happy about it.

request: yes/no

warnings: mentions of alcohol, underage drinking.

word count: 1.44k

authors note: I actually had to Google who Kent was before this (don’t hate me, I’m just new to hockey). Hope this did both your request and him justice though!

The world seemed to enjoy screwing with your mind.

It let you convince yourself that Kent being back in Michigan was going to be easy.

Like the feelings that you had developed for him would just simply disappear.

Like he would disappear.

You had been hit with the kiss of death the first day of freshman year when you were paired up with Kent for orientation. It started what quickly became a growing friendship and before you knew it he was your best friend.

So maybe you were being dramatic with the whole death kiss comment but you had your reasons.

And the top one on that list was the fact that when your friendship bloomed it came with the crush that you now had on him.

The issue with that was that you were so stuck in the friend zone that you thought that the challenge of surviving thanksgiving in skinny jeans was easier to complete.

You spent two years at UMich forced to watch him go through girls like they were socks -a new one everyday- and it slowly ate at you.

The day that you intended to tell him exactly how you felt, he actually came to your dorm before you got that chance. But instead he was there to tell you that he was leaving. Kent had signed that professional contract in the NHL and he was leaving you.

It was news that you could have handled if you had more than a day to process it, to actually spend some time with him before you had to watch him leave you like you were the dried oats at the bottom of a bowl of porridge.

You knew that once he left not only would you not see him again but you also wouldn’t get the chance to tell him about how you felt.

So with the few minutes he could spare in your room before he had to head to the airport, Kent spent those moments consoling you as you cried on his shoulder.

Not your finest of moments if you were honest but you were dealing with the heartbreak you feel when you aren’t even dating the person yet but the possibility of you two being together shrinks from nothing to even less than.

It was a level of defeat that you hadn’t felt before. This made losing by an OT goal feel like a walk in the park.

All you remember feeling was the weight of your body just getting heavier. You cried yourself to sleep that night and for the next few after that too.

Seeking comfort in everything from cheap booze that you could obtain with your fake ID to drowning yourself in comfort food. Your favourite thing to do though was take a drive late night and go scream in some empty parking lot.

Whether it was a blessing or a curse, Kent didn’t stop talking to you. He made sure to update you on everything and anything that he could do so with. So you met the entire team through the many FaceTime calls that you two had during the roadtrips that the team took.

Your feelings for him were more stubborn than the cold front that came over every winter from Canada onto the Michigan side of the border.

But that’s why you were currently glaring at him. Kent had this random blonde girl on his arm that he had found at the party causing him to leave you.

Despite the many attempts that different guys made as they tried to make a move on you, each one fell on deaf ears as you wanted nothing to do with any of them.

The boy you wanted was so busy listening to girl that you could probably pour your cold beer down his back and he still wouldn’t turn around to you.

As the blonde threw her head back letting out a laugh, she locked eyes with you. Yours went wide as the realisation that you had been caught hit you like a punch to the face.

By the time that you could try to make yourself look busy she had already caught the attention of Kent as she pointed in your direction, probably to tell him about what you had done.

Silently panicking you got up and making a beeline to the back door of the house. Unfortunately for you he was as still taller than you, and those long legs that created those long strides was still your enemy. And not only did he catch up to you but he was now pushing you towards one of the bedrooms that were located on the ground floor.

You tried to fight his grip around your one arm but it was absolutely no use as he was also stronger than you too.

So you just followed his direction accepting this defeat.

Kent was beyond pissed off. You had been short with him from the very second you saw him. He was having to guide the conversation he had with you, something he never had to do. But when he got multiple responses of five or less words the boy gave up, that’s why he had been talking to that blonde. At least she acted like she wanted to see him.

Sure Kent understood why you might not have been happy about the fact that he hadn’t told you that he was coming to visit but he really thought that you would have enjoyed the surprise.

Jacob had told him how you have been really quiet this year, so when Kent had a break during the All Star week he made sure that he spent it making sure that you were okay.

That was the thing about you, all of the girls that came in and out of Kent’s life didn’t matter, not when you were around.

They couldn’t make his heart race the way that you did. Not when he had only seen you in a bikini once and since then that image that was engraved into his mind and it was the only thing the could actually get him horny now.

So as he shut the door behind you he sent to a harsh glare “want to tell me what that was about?” He asked as he cocked his head.

You walked over to the bed were you sat on the side of it, you didn’t know what it was but for some odd reason you two seemed to find a sense of comfort in bed talks.

Running your fingers through your hair you let out a sigh “just go back to her,” you mumbled to him as you fiddled with the rips on your jeans.

The hockey player felt his heart break at the sight of you “not until you tell me what’s wrong,” he shook his head as he joined you on the bed “do you even want to see me?” Kent asked being genuine, he knew your answer was yes but he needed to hear it come from your lips.

You didn’t meet him with even a nod, your eyes stayed stuck on your jeans as you remained silent. It caused Kent to let out a sigh as he walked to the door of the room taking the lack of sound that came from your lips as a sign that you wanted him gone.

Hearing the sound of the door click sent a shock through your spine “I love you!” You blurted out before you slapped your hand over your mouth.

Kent shut the door again as he spun around to just stare at you in shock. He wasn’t doing it to be bad but he was doing it because he was so surprised “kiss me,” the boy responded as he was quick to come back over to you “w-what?” You asked seeing him lean forward as he placed his hands on either side of you “kiss me quickly,” the hockey player almost begged as he angled his face just millimetres away from yours.

Not wanting to protest you just listened to him. As your face went to his cheek you couldn’t help but groan at the taste of his beer that was clear on his tongue.

It was a moment that you swore made you melt. You knew he was going to be a good kisser but you didn’t think that he was going to be a great kisser. Deciding that a conversation was appropriate right about now you pulled away from Kent “what was that about?” You asked wondering why he had told you to do that.

“Had to make sure that I wasn’t dreaming.”

[rbtlvr]

@intotheelliwoods made me feel things so i am returning the favor (goes with this comic, make sure you read that first)

read on ao3

warnings: super brief unreality, mention of family death

-

Sprout can’t sleep.

Again.

To be fair, that’s not exactly anything new – especially with the whole… apocalypse thing he hates thinking about. Having to be on guard all the time, ready for anything, just in case, kind of made it difficult to get a good night’s rest.

And even though he’s safe now (is he? Is he really? It doesn’t feel real. Maybe he is asleep and this is – a dream, a nightmare, he doesn’t know), old habits die hard. So. Can’t sleep.

He’s not sure why he does it, really. Maybe to see if there’s been any changes, considering he’s now technically in an entirely new timeline (or bifurcated time branch, as Donnie would say. Would’ve said). Maybe to see if he can even still access it. Maybe to find somewhere he can be alone, not have to see the faces of everyone he’s lost, not have to see his own face after what was, at that point, the worst day of his life. Whatever the reason, he sits up in bed, abandoning his failed attempts to at least get some rest. He crosses his legs. Closes his eyes.

Breathes in.

Then out.

He feels the shift, opens his eyes. Looks around, and –

The first thing he notices is that the white wall that represented the big guy’s place in the mindscape is gone.

The second thing he notices is that it’s been replaced with red.

His heart, only just having calmed down from the day he’s had, jolts into a panicked rhythm again in an instant. A thousand thoughts rush through his mind at once, too quickly for him to pin them down – why is that here why is the white gone does this mean little me is here too it has to it has to be him he’s going through what i did i can’t do this i can’t watch that i can’t go through it again i have to he must be so scared i have to help him –

Before he can process what he’s doing, his fist – the real one – is crashing into the wall, a crack forming beneath the impact. It hurts, but it’s – it’s progress, he realizes. If it’ll get him through to the mini-him, keep the kid safe from the nightmares that plagued Sprout before he made it here – he’ll keep on hitting this wall til his knuckles are bruised and bleeding if that’s what it takes.

And then, in the span of about two seconds, the crack shrinks and disappears. No fanfare, nothing left behind, not even a scratch on the wall. It’s as if Sprout never made a mark to begin with.

And.

That’s –

Something rises in his throat, something that’s been there waiting to claw its way out ever since his little brother – his last family member – ever since Mikey shattered into pieces. It’s raw and agonizing and full of a thousand different emotions he’s been forcing himself to compartmentalize and push down all day. He’s had to, so he can help the younger versions of his family (it hurts so much seeing them again, they’re right here but he’ll never get them back and all he can see when he looks at them is a reminder of what he’s lost), the younger version of him (that’s him that’s him he’s so small so scared sprout has to protect him has to save him but what if he gets it wrong? what if he can’t be the person he himself needed all those years ago? what if he can’t be –), so he can be there for them like the big guy was for him (he’s gone he’s really gone and yes he’s been gone but now the white is gone too, he can’t come back anyway sprout knows that he knows but even if he could there’s nowhere for him to come back to anymore). 

He can’t hold it back any longer. The feeling of utter helplessness is just the match that lit the fuse, and now the bomb is going off whether he likes it or not.

Sprout screams.

The sound tears itself from his mouth and he packs into it all the hurtragefearguiltlossgrief that it can hold, rearing back and slamming his fist into the wall again. Like something different will happen this time. Like something different will ever happen. He has to save the kid – he has to – but he can’t, he can’t save anyone – nothing he does is (has been, will be) enough and he screams again at the unfairness of it all.

Once more, the crack vanishes without a trace, and Sprout – 

Sprout has never felt more helpless, more alone than he does right now.

He can’t do anything. The mini-him is right there on the other side of this wall, terrified, traumatized, and Sprout wants nothing more than to hug him tight and promise it’ll be okay because he knows it will – never mind that it wasn’t okay for Sprout. That’s why he’s here – to make sure things go differently this time.

(… Can he even do that much?)

The fight drains out of him, and he’s left with an ocean of heartache and helplessness. There’s no life preserver here, no one who needs to lean on him, no one he needs to keep it together for, nothing to justify pushing everything down anymore. On the other hand – there’s no one to keep up appearances for, no one who will judge him for breaking down or ask questions he can’t bring himself to answer.

The decision is made for him in the end, the tears overflowing and pouring down his face despite his attempts to hold them back, and Sprout finally stops trying because what is the point?

And there, utterly alone, small and scared just like that child he desperately wants to protect, Sprout allows himself to grieve.

[mousy-nona]

All of God's Angels p. 3/5

I think you will like His newest creation, Gabriel mused. I’ve foreseen a challenge for you. An equal. A partner, tall and beautiful and terrible, and crowned in red. // Or Lucifer tries to save a life, and ends up making a deal instead.

All parts up on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53800450/chapters/136173307

Contrary to popular belief, Lucifer hadn’t always hated humans. Truth be told, he still didn’t. He was disappointed in their bloody, chaotic, meaningless choices, but he didn’t think they were all bad. 

Humans fought. They felt. They changed. They dreamed. Angels, on the other hand, were like static figurines, perfect from inception, nothing but boring old tools meant to forge the Father’s holy vision. 

Was it little wonder why he was so drawn to Alastor? On the outside, the demon was everything he despised about humanity. He was cruel and sadistic to the extreme, selfish and cutthroat. Hell had been made to contain sinners like him. He was exactly why Lucifer regretted setting Eve free — the embodiment of greed and pride and pain for the sake of pain.

But he was also everything Lucifer loved about humans. The ingenuity. The ambition. He could sing like the goddamn stars and whip out a sonnet or two after. He was genteel and sophisticated, with a quick wit and a silver tongue sharp enough to cut the Devil. And he was already starting to change – not a lot, not at his core, but the gentle atmosphere of the hotel and Charlie’s endless optimism were softening his hard edges. 

A monster and a gentleman. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, for the price of one. Had there ever been a more fascinating man? 

He could not die. He could not die. Not now, not when Lucifer had just found him. 

But oh, Death was close. Lucifer could feel his scythe trembling nearby, ready to swing. This injury…even in the dim light of the fireflies, he could see it ran to the very heart of Alastor. Literally. His chest gaped open where Adam’s blast had run him through, exposing him down to his very bones and his twitching cardiac muscles. An inch to the left, and he would have never walked away from the battle. An open heart, flayed open for all the world to see! 

Good Lord, the strength it must have taken to walk around as if nothing was wrong. Lucifer shuddered, blanching at the mere thought. If their positions had been reversed, would he be able to do such a thing?

(No. He wouldn’t.)

“This isn’t a freak show, my good fellow,” his radio static came from the darkness, somehow, impossibly, still measured and even. “If you’ve got an opinion, now’s the time to share it.”

“Y-y-you–” Lucifer shook his head, annoyed at the stutter. How was he the one showing weakness when Alastor was laid up in bed with his chest carved in half? “It hasssn’t healed at all!”

He stopped abruptly at the hiss and felt his tongue. It was forked. What the Hell? Slowly, he reached up and felt his head…where twin horns protruded from under his hat. 

He’d transformed? When? 

With an effort, he managed to shrink himself back to his normal shape, puzzled at his complete lack of control. That kind of behavior was unlike him. 

“I assumed that’s what you were here for,” came the exasperated reply. “Considering angelic power is your area of expertise, not mine.” 

“I’ll need to come closer–” 

“No need. You can see perfectly fine from where you are.” 

“I can’t help you if I can’t see!” Lucifer snapped.

“Then leave.”

Static and green symbols flashed across the room. The muggy warmth of the bayou turned ice cold as a surge of shadow swept the door open. It banged mournfully on its hinges, letting out a ghostly wail of protest. 

Lucifer straightened, feeling his own fire flicker in response. “Do you really want to die so badly? Why are you being so goddamn stubborn?”

“Why. Are. You?” 

Twin radio dials lit up the far corner with a hellish red beam. Lucifer could see Alastor’s face in full for the first time – and it scared him. 

He wasn’t scared for Alastor. He was scared for himself.

Alastor was grinning. It was the smile of the void, the smile of the shadow and the dark and the monster beneath your bed a second before they struck. It was the smile of a Dealmaker, right before they revealed their hand. Somehow, impossibly, it was Alastor that held all the cards – even though it was Alastor who was knocking on Death’s door. 

How? How the Hell was he doing it? 

And maybe something was deeply wrong with Lucifer, but he found himself leaning forward, a shock of affection washing over his long-dead heart. This was what it meant to be human. This is why he gave Eve the apple. 

All that potential. Finally realized.

Then Alastor said it. Those famous last words. “Let’s make a deal, shall we?” 

Lucifer gulped, his heart beating double time. He was sure Alastor could hear it. “A deal? For my soul?” He was torn between laughing incredulously at Alastor’s sheer gall and fighting the urge to finish the job Adam had started. Did he even have a soul to give?

(Why was he even considering it?)

“Why no! Why must everyone jump to such severe conclusions?” The fucker sounded downright jolly. “Just a gentleman’s agreement, that’s all. A promise for a promise. No souls involved!” 

“And why should I agree to that? I’m trying to help you.” 

“Yes, that’s true. But you seem rather…insistent on this healing business. And while I must admit I’m in a hurry to, ah, be whole again – I’m in no hurry to do it your way!”

Lucifer gaped. “You must be joking. You’re bleeding out in front of me!” 

“A small miscalculation. I’ve gotten out of worse scrapes before, I assure you.” 

Was he bluffing? Was he serious? Try as he might, Lucifer couldn’t get a read on him. Alastor was like this – always half-there, a shadow that flitted away every time he tried to get close, defying reason, defying explanation. 

Would he really risk death – just to one up him? 

Lucifer didn’t know. And Jesus flipping Christ , why did that excite him so much?

There was no reason for him to play the Radio Demon’s games. He could leave. He could leave right now and he opened his mouth to tell that smug, no-good asshole exactly that –

But what came out of his mouth was, “What kind of a deal?” 

The air turned hot and sticky. Shadows swirled around him, barely-there faces licking their chops in anticipation. Alastor’s voice seemed to grow and deepen, his presence so thick it was a wonder Lucifer didn’t choke on it. “Like I said before, just a promise. You get to heal me, and I – well, I haven’t quite decided what I’d like to receive in return.” His smile was neon green and eager. “Perhaps you’ll take a carte blanche?”

The bastard wanted a blank check to cash in on a rainy day. That was dangerous. Lucifer would basically be handing him the keys to the castle. He couldn’t agree to this. 

“There must be something you want,” he tried to reason with the beast. “Power? Wealth? Your enemies destroyed, in a matter of seconds?” 

But Alastor, that black-hearted creature of the deep, shook his head. “My bargain, my terms, your Majesty . What do you say? Do we have a deal?”

He should leave. He needed to leave . But he could still hear Alastor’s lifeblood drip drip dripping away on the floorboards – see every beat of the man’s heart pulse against the muggy bayou air – sense Alastor’s power ebbing at the edges, being spun away into nothingness that even his jovial facade couldn’t hide…

Alastor had upped the stakes with his life. And Lucifer wasn’t quite willing to take that wager. 

“On one condition. I choose the method of healing. You aren’t allowed to fight me on it.” 

Alastor pondered those terms for a minute, then held out his hand. 

“We have a deal.”