#only thing she's guilty of is not keeping up with the research in this particular subfield of her field

[viksalos]

in about 5 sessions with my therapist we went from "you can't possibly be autistic because you're not like the nonverbal high support needs teenage boys i worked with in the early 2000s," to me digging up my childhood psychological records from the early 2000s and convincing her, to her presenting my case to her supervisor and her supervisor being like "yeah you had an undiagnosed autistic client on your hands and she needs to be transferred to someone qualified to handle that" lmao

[radioactive-reactions]

How would the companions react to discovering not only Vault 111 but also the frozen Sole Survivor

Whether they saw it as a potential treasure trove, a nostalgic relic, or just a safe, quiet refuge, Vault 111 always seemed to attract the odd scavenger or adventurer. After slipping past the door, however, this particular intruder would end up stumbling upon something far stranger than they could expect...

Cait hadn't really taken the time to scope out the Vault before diving into it headfirst- having a pack of feral dogs nipping at your heels will do that to you. Coming face to face with the frozen Sole Survivor down there is freaky enough to give her a heart attack, but as the perfect audience for her rambling stories and a nonjudgmental drinking buddy they soon become the centerpiece of her impromptu hideout. As for actually getting them out? Fuck if she knows how.

Codsworth knows full well what the Vault up the hill contains, of course. How could he not? Much of the aging robot's time is spent tending to his owners' pods: tightening every bolt, polishing the glass, keeping the steel casing free of even a single speck of rust. The only thing that keeps him going is the thought that on some level, under that thin layer of frost, they might know he's there for them.

Curie's unbridled excitement at making contact with another Vault is quickly tempered once she actually sets eyes on the denizens of said Vault. With nothing but time and centuries' worth of medical expertise to work with, she immediately sets to the task of bringing Vault 111 back to life- not just the Sole Survivor, but everyone consigned to a cold and inglorious fate in those cryopods. This is a mission worth spending another two hundred years on.

Danse has been assigned to scour the Vault as part of a routine sweep for useful technology- a task entirely beneath a Paladin, but what he finds there more than makes up for it. Immediately, a whole field research team is dispatched to the vault and the cryopods are airlifted out one by one. The Sole Survivor's first memory of the new world is waking up to the harsh white light of a Brotherhood lab, bombarded with questions and shoved blearily through a battery of tests. Not a great first impression.

Deacon still thinks the Vault would make an ideal fallback hideout, even with the rows of corpsicles. The eerie blue glow and residents in cryosleep are pitched to Desdemona as enhancing the ambience, but the suggestion is soundly denied for the Vault's visibility. Even so, Deacon maintains a post outside, just in case one of those poor bastards stumbles out one day.

When Hancock inexplicably wakes up in the Vault after partying a little too hard, he immediately assumes he's still hallucinating- that, or he's been picked up by Zetans. It takes him hours of trying to pry the Sole Survivor's pod open in a hungover haze to finally give up, writing the place off as another of the Old World's many sins and decent subject matter for his next speech.

MacCready almost feels at home in the vast underground chambers of the Vault. Almost. No matter how convenient the Vault is as a last-ditch hideout, its residents creep him out too much to stay there for any real length of time. He tries his hardest to avoid their frozen stares, endlessly grateful that it's them in there and not him.

Valentine relates to the frozen Sole Survivor a little more than he'd like to admit. Two abandoned relics, used to serve a greater purpose and then thrown out like so much junk when they were done. He knows more than anyone what a harsh awakening they're going to have- if they do wake up. Every so often, he'll wander back to check on them, sharing a yarn about his latest case and watching for any progress. On the day that pod does unseal, he'll be there to lend a helping hand... but until then, all he can do is maintain a file. It's one hell of a cold case.

Piper feels a little guilty that her first thought is how good of a story this will make. 'Pod people slumber among us', maybe? She doesn't want to risk the Sole Survivor's life by touching anything, but maybe if she spreads the word someone out there will be able to help them. That's how she justifies it to herself, anyway- now if only there was some concrete link to the Institute she could work in...

Preston has been surveying the area around Sanctuary for potential threats to the burgeoning settlement... and he still isn't entirely sure that this doesn't count as one. It takes a moment to line up the resident registry with the names on Sanctuary's rusted-out mailboxes, but once he does, he has the Vault sealed up again out of respect for those who came before. If he and his scant resources can't help them, he can at least let them rest in peace.

Strong hammers away at the pod to no avail before stomping off in a huff to seek his next victim somewhere else. Canned food clearly isn't his thing.

X6-88 is here for a routine checkup - nothing more, nothing less. Although the Director had been cagey about what exactly he wanted to be kept safe down here, there was nothing X6 wouldn't be prepared for... so he thought, at least. The sight of a person, frozen and contained, gives him a rare moment of pause and elicits an uncomfortable, involuntary comparison to the dormant synths rolling off the assembly line. Nevertheless, he makes sure the cryopod is still functional and returns home, all the while trying to forget their strange resemblance to the Director.

[lovelylichabee]

Good morning I have some headcanons for yall about the archives crew (mostly Martin bc I love him) in no particular order. Be warned there are some spoilers for throughout the series.

- Martin has ADHD so things like audio processing and object permanence are a challenge, and Jon being unaware of this is one of the reasons he thinks Martin is incompetent in the beginning. Because what else do you think of someone who takes twice as long to type out transcripts than his peers, or who can't focus on the follow up research assigned to him sometimes, yet other times focuses so much on it he forgets to take his lunch? Plus the man "loses" files on his desk (because to Martin he just sees a stack of uniform files and getting used to Gertrude's weird looking date-based labels as an organization system compared to the Dewey Decimal System they had in the library is damn difficult!) Upon learning he has ADHD though Jon finds that with some accommodations, Martin is actually decent at doing what he needs to for his job and feels a bit guilty for being such an ass.

- Tim was the first friend Jon made upon being hired into research which to Jon is weird because he's always had a hard time making friends (partially because he's autistic and partially because he hasn't had the routine environment to try to make friends since college). Tim is also a pretty opposite personality to him, so to Jon it felt sort of like when you meet a dog and the dog likes you *way* before you like the dog, but then he grows on you so you kinda sigh and go "Yeah yeah, we're friends"

- Sasha and Tim's hookup never grew to anything more because Sasha didn't know how to tell Tim she was aromantic without possibly hurting his feelings (meanwhile if she had just told him, he would've been fine with it and happy to be in whatever kind of relationship with her, qpp or otherwise). She never gets to tell him, so that's another reason why Tim never caught the differences between Sasha and Not!Sasha when Not!Sasha suddenly had a boyfriend (besides you know the reason that Stranger Rules that says only one person usually notices the difference).

- Jon doesn't like coffee black coffee but drinks it anyways mostly because he has always been told "if you add sugar and/or creamer to your coffee then you don't like coffee you like sugar and creamer" so to keep appearances and insisting he does like coffee, he never adds anything unless he's sure no one will see. Really, he likes black coffee with a bit of sugar because the sweetness gives the flavors something to travel on so he can appreciate them more because otherwise they're overpowered by bitterness. He doesn't like tea because drinking it feels like he's just rubbed tea leaves all over the inside of his mouth and it leaves behind a dry feeling that he hates.

- Martin's pure lonely domain wouldve been a rainy, foggy moorsland kind of environment where its very pretty but you feel like you're walking over the same hills and you feel like you see houses in the distance but you never get any closer to the chimney smoke you see peeking above the fog. You're also always damp and the air feels heavy, and you don't have an umbrella. But for just those moments when youre standing on tops of the hills, looking out to the rest of the environment though, you wonder why you'd ever want to leave somewhere so pretty, even if it is rather lonely, and far too quiet. It's a reminiscent kind of quiet, where you reflect on why you're walking alone here in the first place and not inside one of those houses in the distance with the chimney smoke... and then you keep walking because maybe if you make it there, they'll be kind and let you inside, and you can shake off all of this chilly dampness by their fireplace and company.

- Danny is Tim's best kept secret after he dies. Tim stops talking about his family after that, gets really quiet when the topic is brought up in conversation, but he's still careful not to look upset even if his shoulders tense a bit when he smiles and says something along the lines of "Nah, I don't have much family anymore" when he's asked. Their parents passed away some time after Danny was gone (by natural causes), and Tim never forgave himself for not being able to get back at whatever killed him before they passed, so he doesn't feel it's right to be allowed to talk about them until he does, like some kind of mission he has to finish before he can let himself grieve properly.

- Peter and Elias either are or were married, but with the way they act its very hard to tell if they are actually divorced or just on the brink of it because of how they interact with one another, leading to the rumor that they keep divorcing and getting remarried frequently spreading around the office. Elias knows it frustrates Peter to have attention on them like that so he doesn't stop the rumors, and sometimes actively encourages them when they're in another one of their "divorced" periods. Peter doesn't actually ever fully leave though because he considers the relationship more transactional and useful, than anything nearing "love". They have their soft moments together though, brief little moments of understanding, very privately, and never discussed again after they happen. Elias misses him after he dies, even if Peter was trying to get him killed.

- Tim could've gone Desolation if the idea of serving an entity didn't disgust him. Choosing to serve an entity is a choice that you have to make, and Tim could see in Jon what doing that does to a person, and what people serving the Stranger did to his brother (even if he didnt know exactly what it was). Even if Jon didn't really start accepting being The Archivist until after his coma, Tim was alive before then and knew that it had changed him. Plus experiencing some of the other entities (being attacked by "worms", being in the tunnels, being in Michael's hallways, dealing with Jon's paranoia and stalking, being in the unknowing and seeing what happened to Danny), he has seen what kinds of effects these entities have on people. The Desolation likely did call out to him in that moment of the explosion, and he spat in its face because he'd literally rather die than ever give himself to something like that.

- Personally, I like big but short Martin who is a bit stronger than he looks because of hefting around file boxes in the archives. I imagine "the stacks" being a bunch of shelves sort of like a library but instead of books, there are boxes that fit in, with the files inside of them, but they're left a bit open and uncovered because air flow and climate controlled environment. I don't know if that's how it works bit that's how I imagine it. And then there's a lot of file boxes sort of stacked on top of one another on the ground and stacks of files also on the ground because that archive is an unrealistic mess and sort of ridiculous. But yeah. Big but short Martin who has some hidden muscle.

- Honestly if I imagine them all standing next to each other, Tim is the tallest, Sasha is only an inch or 2 inches shorter, Jon is a bit shorter than Sasha, like up to her shoulder, and Martin is the shortest and needs help getting things off the top shelves from the other three because he wobbles too much on the step ladder and it makes him nervous (another reason Jon likely finds him a bit irritating in the beginning).

- Jon's hair starts off short and very proper but grows out a bit in season 2 because he's too busy being paranoid to take care of himself. He gets a haircut when staying with Georgie in S3, and then his hair grows out a bit again while he's kidnapped, and he doesn't cut it again before The Unknowning. It grows to his shoulders during his coma. He doesn't take that good of care of it leaves it long until the Buried, where he has to cut it all off. He doesn't cut it again and he takes à bit better care of it after being rejected by Martin. It grows abnormally quickly leading to it being past his shoulders and with some natural curl by the time he and Martin do actually run away to the safe house. He wears it up most of the time during S5.

- Martin's hair is loosely curly and a ginger orange or strawberry blonde but fades to white as he gets pulled further into the Lonely by Peter Lukas. When hes working in the office under Peter and Jon asks him to run away together, its very washed out but not fully white, and when Jon rescues him from Peter's Lonely, it is pure white, and slowly fades back to its natural color once they are together and they get to the safe house, though a patch of it remains pure white up in the front of his hair, as if he had Poliosis. In his s5 domain when he's talking to himself, Lonely!Martin continues to have fully white hair.

- I have more but this is already pretty long so I'll stop here and if people care about this I'll answer asks or do another one.

[duskspring]

Chapter 1

Summary: When the opportunity arises for Terzo to avenge himself after years of waiting, of course he takes it. Amy is the absolute perfect person to accomplish this with, but he might have a harder time staying on track than expected.

Content (18+): Terzo being a scheming petty bitch, handjob, slightly sub!Terzo

Word count: ~4k words

[Read it on AO3]

There were many things Terzo felt The Clergy never gave him credit for. Yes, he could get a bit overindulgent, if there even was such a thing, he slacked off on his duties from time to time and he was absolutely guilty of not blindly following all of their wishes and orders. But he fully believed he had just as many, if not more, strong characteristics. He was very observant when it came to certain things. He, for example, always kept a close eye on Cardinal Copia’s interactions with Siblings of Sin. He’d been doing that for years.

Something The Clergy definitely did ascribe to him, however, was his pettiness. It was the feeling that rushed to the forefront of his mind when he first noticed the shift in the cardinal’s behavior. Though it was subtle, his mood seemed improved. He strutted the halls more calm and collected than Terzo had seen him in years, as opposed to always being stressed out over some paperwork or whatever else he filled his days with. And wouldn’t you know it, the change correlated perfectly with him getting a new assistant. But it wasn’t just that he was glad to have his workload relieved with the help. No, Papa had witnessed it himself; the little smiles, laughs and redder shade on his cheeks when he spoke to said assistant. Copia was into her, just as Terzo had hoped for. 

Not wanting to waste this chance, he did his research and formulated a plan. The assistant’s name was Amelia, though she went by Amy. She’d been part of the church for many years, having performed most of her studies abroad, only to recently move into the abbey. Terzo had initially considered simply moving her to a position as his own assistant, but decided it would be much easier to torture Copia if he was forced to still be around her all the time. From there, he knew exactly what he would have to do if he truly wanted it all to work out. The set up was simple; visit Copia’s office more and more often during work hours, always making sure to establish eye contact with the lady and ultimately taking whatever chance he got to chat her up and make her feel seen by him. Though on occasion he got to do so outside of the office as well.

One particular afternoon, he saw her walking towards him in the hall carrying a particularly high stack of three cardboard boxes, presumably filled with old documents and files. He didn’t even realize it was her at first, until she tried looking around the pile to see where she was headed.

As she approached, seemingly unaware of his presence, he made no effort to move out of her way, freely allowing her to bump into him. Though she tried to keep her balance, the top two boxes toppled over and onto the floor, manilla folders spreading all over the black and white patterned floor as the woman stumbled down after them.

“Ah, fuck-“ She groaned, trying to recover from the impact of the packet still in her hands knocking into her stomach when she’d hit the ground. Terzo definitely hadn’t intended for her to get hurt, but she spoke again before his mind could settle on feeling guilty, “Papa! Shit, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” She straightened her posture, looking up into his eyes.

“Didn’t feel a thing. But the burden of guilt falls on me. I should have been more present.” He said as kindly as he possibly could before crouching to help her pick everything up again.

Her eyes followed his every move, already caught off guard by his willingness to help her, now anticipating any more surprises. She snapped back to reality a second later, “I appreciate your help, but it’s really not necessary. I know you probably have better shit to do.” She said, starting to collect the rest of the documents herself.

“Nonsense. What kind of a man would I be if I didn’t help a lady in need?”

She scoffed, though not actually upset, “I’m hardly a damsel in distress.” She said as she carelessly shoved handfuls of paper back into the boxes for her to sort out later.

Terzo appreciated how bold she seemed to be around him, not bothering to filter herself more than she, presumably, did usually. Most people wouldn’t dare considering his status, but although she tried being more polite, there were certain comments or words she couldn’t stop from escaping her mind.

“What the fuck do you even need these for?” He mused, reading a random paragraph of information about a man who’s name barely rang a bell, both wanting to ignite conversation and to quell his curiosity.

“I’m afraid that’s confidential.” She smirked at him, knowing damn well what his response would be.

His brow furrowed in genuine offence, “There is no such thing as confidentiality for me. I’m Papa!”

“Oh, you are? Sorry, the suit and the paint didn’t give it away.” Only now did her grin and tone become obvious to Terzo. She had been as sarcastic as the last few times they briefly exchanged words, he just wasn’t used to it yet.

“You think you’re so funny.” He grumbled, though a smile now graced his face as well. He threw more and more documents into the box next to him, acting as if it was his way to get his frustrations out.

“Maybe just a little.” Amy chuckled at his antics, continuing the clean up as well.

When they were done on the ground he stood back up and offered her a hand, which she took and thanked him for, “I assume these are for Cardinal Copia?” He pointed to the boxes as he walked over to them

“They are. But I can handle-“ She tried stopping him when she noticed him moving to pick them up, but he cut her off before she really could.

“Enough of that,” His voice sounded slightly strained as he put his energy into lifting two of the three boxes up from the floor. They weren’t too heavy, luckily, but still weighted more than he had counted on, “Let me play the gentleman. Just this once.” He winked and smiled at her, trying his hardest to up the flirtation.

She instantly gave up starting an argument, since it would only keep her away from work even longer. She only acknowledged his effort with a silent nod and the two went on their way.

“Pardon me for not asking sooner. How has settling in gone?” He asked, referencing an earlier brief chat they’d had, both to make conversation and out of genuine interest.

“It’s been really great!” She smiled at him brightly, “I have friends now, so that helps. It’s already much better than that stuffy old shack in Germany.”

Terzo laughed in recognition, “Satanas, I remember visiting there once as a teenager. I remember thinking I’d rather go to hell than stay in that devil forsaken dump ever again. I take it that it hasn't improved much.”

“Nein,” A grin slowly spread on Amy’s face, “But when you were a teenager, huh? When was that? The 30s?”

Even though he took her poking fun at him in good faith, he couldn’t help the surprised falter in his steps, “You’ve ought to get a spanking for speaking out of line. Remember who you’re taking that tone with, suora.” It was his turn to smirk, his eyes slightly narrowing with the lustful threat, even if he hadn’t fully meant it.

“You’re right,” Amy’s steps slowed down, turning her body to face him a little more, “My sincerest apologies, your dark excellency. Forgive my foolish disrespect and graciously spare me a second chance. Oh please, Papa, I so beg,” Her tone was sarcastic through and through. She stared directly into his eyes, an overly exaggerated pleading look on her face. Terzo could only chuckle at the woman’s antics, “Am I forgiven?” She asked after he didn’t say anything. She still had a playful smile on her face as she readjusted the box in her hold.

“How could you not be after such a display?” He finally answered as he brought his arms as close to his body as possible. It was the closest he could get to putting a hand on his heart while his hands were occupied.

“Enough of this already. I’m running late.” Amy's smile didn’t falter as she started walking a little quicker, as if she herself hadn’t decided to slow for the sake of a joke.

Terzo made sure to stay by her side, “In all seriousness, I’m very glad to hear that you are settling in well. Remember that if you need anything, anything at all, I’m here for you. I’m sure it gets quite drab being around the cardinal so long each day.” He just couldn’t resist the quick jab. Copia wasn’t a bad person, but Terzo found it much too easy to ridicule him sometimes.

“Don’t talk about him like that, he’s lovely,” She defended her boss, though she stayed in good spirits, “And thank you, Papa.” She added genuinely.

“Call me Terzo.” He said, right as they reached their destination. Just as Amy was about to knock to announce their presence, he simply opened the door with his elbow and walked in without warning.

“Papa.” Copia sounded shocked to see him, and seemed somehow even more shocked when his assistant walked in right after him. Terzo revelled in seeing him mentally search for answers and jump to conclusions.

“You should go easier on the lady, cardinal. She could’ve fallen down a flight of stairs with these.” He unceremoniously plopped the boxes down on top of Copia’s writings on his desk.

“Did something happen?” Copia looked at his assistant around the new blockade, concern clear in his eyes and tone.

“I bumped into Terzo.” She admitted slightly sheepishly as she set the final parcel down next to his desk and made her way back to her own.

“Terz-“ Copia softly repeated, looking at Amy like she had lost her mind, “I think you mean to say Papa.” He corrected her with shock.

The woman’s steps came to a halt. She shot a look over at the man in question, confused as she wondered if she was supposed to still use his title in front of others.

Terzo merely chuckled to break the silence, “That’s quite alright.” The statement made one of Copia’s eyebrows raise slightly, "Either way you’re lucky it was me you bumped into and not my old man,” He added to change the topic, before stepping up to her. He put a hand on her waist like it was the most casual thing in the world for them and brought his mouth close to her ear, “If it all gets too much, do not be afraid to complain to me.” With a final quick flash of a smile her way he stepped back, leaving the office without further acknowledging Copia’s existence.

Later that week, the benches before the pulpit were filled to their maximum capacity as Terzo stood in front, delivering his weekly sermon.

He always did his best to make it a show. Having grown up with his father and Primo droning on and on, explaining interesting topics in the most mind numbing and repetitive ways possible, he wanted to do it a little differently. He did his best to get everyone engaged. He would crack jokes, make music and directly involve his flock’s experiences.

On that particular day, his eyes were drawn to Amy time and time again. She looked up at him with her full focus, eyes glued to his being as she laughed and smiled along. He made and maintained eye contact where he could, wanting her to know that his attention was on her as well. She was seated close to Copia, who would also undoubtedly notice how often his head turned and stayed in her direction.

After the sermon ended he was quickly forced into an overly long one-sided conversation with Sister Imperator that may have almost killed him out of boredom. He wanted to make his next move already, unable to keep focus on any of her words because of it. When he took a quick glance out into the room, he saw that most people had left already, going back to their usual duties. Luckily for him, however, Amy was still there. Still there and giggling at whatever the cardinal had just said.

“Are you even listening to me?” Imperator snapped her fingers in front of Terzo’s face to draw his attention back to her and it took all his willpower to not shove her away in his frustration.

“I will handle it.” He sneered, honestly having no clue what she had been talking about, “Let me do my job.” He walked off, willing himself to remain composed in a room with still relatively many people, especially Amy, there, “Cardinal,” He slapped the man on the back of the shoulder just a little too harshly under the guise of a greeting, “Don’t you have work to do? Already done with all those “confidential” files?” He air-quoted the word with his hands, just trying to get Copia to leave.

“Not entirely, no. I was just- I’ll go. Amy, if you-“

“Actually, I must borrow your assistant for a moment.”

Copia tensed up just the slightest bit. Terzo wouldn’t have noticed, had he not been on the lookout for reactions exactly like that one, “For what, exactly?”

“I have some more things for you in my office, may as well have her deliver them to you.”

“Even more paperwork?” She questioned, half playful and half baffled that there could possibly be even more paperwork to be done.

“This one’s sharp, isn’t she?” Terzo joked, “Now back to work with you.”

“Of course. Sister, I will see you again soon. Right?” The question was more so aimed at Terzo than her. Copia definitely knew something was off and Papa revelled in the knowledge of what it was.

“At this pace your assistant will need an assistant. You could let her take it slow for a little bit, cardinal.” He finally stated, before putting his hand between Amy’s shoulder blades and leading her out, “This was only your fourth sermon since you joined us, am I correct?”

“It was, yeah. You really shined up there.” She complimented.

“Is that genuine admiration I hear or are you being sarcastic again?” He asked lightheartedly.

”Hey, I can be nice! I meant it.”

“If you think I did well here, you should see me at an actual show. I’ll reserve a good seat for you next time. I’ll blow your fucking mind.”

She slightly cocked her head, eyes narrowing, though not far enough for him to notice as he greeted some siblings who were walking past them. Amy wasn’t blind. She was fully aware of how he had been flirting with her. It took less than a day at the abbey to hear all the stories of his escapades with siblings, “What flattery, Terzo. You’re too kind.” She said semi-sarcastically.

“Not at all,” He began saying as he opened his door, letting her walk in ahead of him, “There’s just something about you.” He mused, letting the door fall shut behind them both.

She had reached the middle of the room when the comment made her turn back to face him, her look skeptical, “How so?”

He sighed. Perhaps it was his own impatience or need to indulge but it felt like the time was right. It was now or never, “I have a confession to make,” He lowered his voice, “Forgive me, suora, I have lied to you. I have nothing for the cardinal here.”

“And yet you’ve asked me to be here.“ Amy stated plainly as he stepped closer to her.

“I longed to be alone with you again, if only for a moment.” Perhaps the idea of him being so into her after their few brief interactions would sound completely unbelievable. Luckily for him, he was Papa. She would likely be too starstruck at the idea of him wanting her to even question it. That’s how it usually went, after all.

“Is that so?” She nearly laughed, though he read it as nervousness.

Terzo breathed out a laugh himself as he put his hand on her cheek, doing whatever he could to get her swept up in the moment, “You’re so special, tesoro. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you,” He leaned in even closer to her, his mouth now right next to her ear, “I want you.”

“You don’t know me.” Oh, fuck. She was questioning it.

Terzo hesitantly moved back a bit, mind racing at how to salvage the interaction, “Oh… Oh, I see,” He took another few steps away from her, until he leaned against the back of his desk. He kept a close eye on her facial expressions, “There is something between you and the cardinal, isn’t there?”

“Not at all.” Amy sputtered out, genuinely shocked. Yes, she had noticed all the same small signs Terzo had, if not more, but she didn’t want to outright assume Copia’s feelings went deeper than a superficial level. Were there really people who thought there was something between them?

“You don’t have to lie to me. It’s clear I crossed a line. You are with the cardinal, I respect that.”

“No, you don’t.”

Terzo was unsure how to respond to that. She was absolutely right, in this case at least, but he didn’t want to make himself sound bad by admitting to it.

That same small smirk as before crept its way back onto Amy's lips. She certainly hadn’t expected any of this when she’d gotten out of bed that morning. Her feelings on him were definitely mixed, he seemed genuinely kind at times while also being way too cocky for his own good. Perhaps there was something she could do about that, “Did you mean it?” She slowly closed the gap between them as she spoke, until she stood in between his legs. She moved her eyes up to meet his, her hands coming up onto his chest, “Do you really want me?” Her voice was quiet, nearly a whisper, yet her tone was self assured.

Terzo let out a surprised breath. He studied her face for a moment, unsure what he was even looking for, “I meant every word.” It was technically not a complete lie. Regardless of his motivations, he couldn’t deny his own sexual attraction to the woman.

“Good. I love games, Terzo,” She emphasised his name, reminding herself of the fact that he allowed her to say it. That she could act as boldly as she was. She slowly moved one hand up his chest until it rested carefully at the base of his throat, “But I prefer playing by my own rules.”

He was admittedly caught off guard by her taking on such a dominating attitude. Perhaps that’s what attracted Copia to her in the first place. But two could play that game, “You’re not the only one with ‘rules’, tesoro,” He straightened his back, gently removing her hand from his throat, “And you’re forgetting which one of us holds the actual power.”

“Out there maybe. But in here…” Amy chucked. It was different from her usual laugh, but Satanas, what a sexy sound, “In here you are the person who both lied to get me to come with you and then practically begged for my attention. I’m just fulfilling your request. You wanted attention…” Suddenly her free hand was on his crotch, stroking him agonisingly slowly through the fabric of his pants. Terzo’s breath hitched, “Here you have it.”

Papa’s mind raced trying to think of a response. It wasn’t that he had never taken on a submissive role before, but he’d only done so with people who intimately knew him. He didn’t want to be this vulnerable with someone he mostly courted out of pettiness. And yet he could think of no rebuttal. Worse yet, it was impossible for him to stifle the groan that slipped past his lips as she continued the rhythmic movement of her hand against him.

“Do you like the attention, Papa?”

He desperately didn’t want to give in. He didn’t want to let her win the game. But, fuck the way she squeezed his cock made him ache for more. He wordlessly nodded, hoping it would be enough. Instead, her hand stopped moving and let go of him, though it still carefully rested over the area. Terzo whimpered slightly at the loss, closing his eyes and instinctively bucking his hips forward in search of friction.

“Uh-uh, Terzo,” His eyes snapped open again at the mention of his name, “Be a good boy and use your words.”

Something about the prospect of being praised short circuited his mind. He’d undoubtably question his decisions later, but for now his pride be damned, “Yes. Yes, I like your attention.” He said through gritted teeth. 

Her face wore a serene smile, satisfied with how easily he was going along with her. She surprised herself with her actions, impulsively deciding all of her moves and simply hoping it would keep working. She moved her hands up to open his pants, stopping as soon as he let out a whine.

She was about to ask if he was still okay with what was happening, when he beat her to it, “Please.” His voice was pitchy, his hips moving forward again in an attempt to grind into her hands.

With that permission, Amy opened and fished the dick out of his pants in the blink of an eye. While his eyes were screwed shut, hers had their full focus on where her hand stroked him. She’d never really thought of dicks as ‘pretty’ before, but his was undeniably a sight to behold. It appeared long enough to get deep but not so much that it was intimidating. Her hand couldn’t fully wrap around him and her mind soon flooded with ideas of what he would feel like inside of her. Her movements became more enthusiastic than before, determined to break him as much as she was starting to.

Terzo’s breath came out with a sigh, “Si, suora.” His knuckles were turning white underneath his gloves with how tightly he clutched the side of his desk. Sweat started to bead on his temples, smudging his face paint there. Deep black locks of hair fell in front of his face as he tilted his head down to look at her. He looked like a mess. Just how she liked it.

They stood there, so close, staring into each other's eyes, “There’s one thing I need you to do, okay?” She tried her hardest to stay composed, “Can you do that for me?” Her hand squeezed him a little tighter, strokes getting faster.

“Yes! Yes, I’ll do it.” Terzo’s breathing was still incredibly shaky, especially with the added effort he put into humping her hand.

“Good. All you have to do… is be patient. I have a job to do and so do you.” Without another word she removed her grip from him again and made her way to the door in what felt like half a second. Just before she opened it, she looked back at the very taken aback leader of the church, “Until next time.”

The soft thump of the door falling closed snapped Terzo out of his shock. Lucifer’s wrath, he was furious. He wanted to run after her, yell at her, drag her back inside and teach her a lesson. But he couldn’t get himself to move. He had allowed himself to be outplayed so easily, he felt like a complete idiot. And yet, he was excited at the same time. Things may not have gone as expected, but perhaps this meant messing with the cardinal would be even more fun than he had first anticipated.

[Next chapter / My masterlist]

[theliteraryluggage]

Common Fanfic Mistakes pt. I: Idioms

Since there was a decent response I decided to make good on my promise to write up some of the most common mistakes I've been seeing in fanfic recently, focusing in particular on homophones (words that sound the same but have a different spelling and meaning) and idioms and idiomatic phrases (phrases that are often used and recognised in combination).

Now, this isn't meant to attack anyone; these mistakes can happen very easily and for me they don't really take away from my enjoyment of a story, even if they do make me pause sometimes. But as someone who has picked up many phrases just by reading, both books and fanfic, I know how quickly it happens that you first read it somewhere used wrongly and you absorb it into your vocabulary without even knowing it's not right.

So! For those interested, I want to list up a few of the most common things I've seen, along with explanations and example sentences. This got pretty long so I'm dividing it up into two posts: this first focusing on idioms and the second on homophones.

You can now find the second part here! Even planning on a third... i'll keep you posted!

Disclaimer: I am not a native English speaker myself, so I'm not claiming to be 100% accurate here, but I did do some research and I have a MA in English/International Literature, so I do know a little bit what I'm talking about.

Idioms

There's certain idiomatic phrases that are very popular in fanfic, I seem them over and over again--but I also see them used incorrectly a lot. Let's get right into it with what might be the most common.

To make a beeline for something

Unlocking the door, he made a beeline for the bed and dropped face-down into it.

This one confused me when I first encountered it in fanfic. I hadn't heard it before, but having seen the kind of bumbling, roundabout way bees fly from flower to flower, I thought that's what it meant: to make a slow, meandering path. Only it didn't fit into the context, bc it turns out, it means the opposite: To take the quickest, most direct way possible. It does actually relate to the bee, the insect, though: it's meant to reference the way a bee takes the quickest route back to its hive. So it is actually a beeline, not a b-line, as I have often seen it spelled. Who knew!

wreaking havoc

He didn't know how the raccoon got in, but it was now wreaking havoc in his kitchen.

a phrase that means to cause mayhem or bring about distruction, I often see it spelled wreck havoc, which doesn't seem farfetched, given the meaning. But to wreak means to bring about or cause, and that's what you do with chaos and destruction: you bring it about, you don't destroy the destruction. Havoc, by the way, used to refer to plundering and pillaging. Also interesting: The past tense of wreak it wreaked--not wrought.

at someone's beck and call

I cannot be at your beck and call 24/7! I have a life of my own, you know?

I often see this as beckon call, another understandable mistake, since the word beckon does exist, means the same as simply beck, namely to wave someone towards you or give a hand signal, and is more commonly used today. If someone is at your beck and call, though, they will cater to your every whim when you beck them AND when you call them.

one and the same

She realised that Lucky and The Hallowed were just titles for one and the same person.

two things so identical it's not enough to say the are one, or to say the are the same. they are one AND the same. That's how identical they are. One in the same, as I sometimes see it spelled, makes me more think of two peas in a pod.

case in point

You need sleep. Case in point: You just watered the plants with cat food.

If you try to give an example for an argument you're making, you bring up a case in your point, as in a case in support of your point, rather than a case and point.

getting off scot-free

We all knew they were guilty, but they got off scot-free.

TBH, neither the correct phrase nor the version that I often see in fics, getting off scotch free, made much sense to me before I looked up the origin. It has nothing to do with the people of Scotland or their finest whiskey--apparently the scot was a tax that people living in a town or village had to pay. If you lived outside the bounds and were able to avoid the tax, well--you were scot-free.

a shoo-in

With her charisma and eloquence, she was a shoo-in for chairwoman.

not a shoe-in, as you might think. This phrase, refering specifically to someone sure to win a competition or election, does not relate to having a foot in the door. It's a term originating from horse racing, referencing the action of driving the horse in a certain direction with gestures and noises. Shoo! Originally it was used to refer to rigged races, but it has lost most of that negative connotation today.

getting down to brass tacks

We don't have any more time to waste, let's get down to brass tacks!

this phrase, meaning getting down to business or cutting to the chase, doesn't have anything to do with taxes, thankfully. That's all we can say for sure, unfortunately. There are several theories on what the brass tacks are referencing (e.g. a tool to measure lengths of cloth in a shop or the practice of spelling a deceased person's initials in brass tacks on their coffin) but apparently nothing's confirmed.

bald-faced lie

"We're doing this for your own good." He told the bald-faced lie without so much as a wince.

rather than being bold-faced, as in, perhaps, cocky or strong, bald-faced used to refer to an open, unconcealed face, and now means the same in reference to a lie. It's an open, obvious, impudent lie told with a straight face.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading, I hope you learned something!

Second Part: Homophones!

[thornfield13713]

Ten Maris headcanons, go

Her favourite song on the radio is 'I'm Tickled Pink' by Jack Shaindlin. She hums it a lot when she's deeply absorbed in whatever she's doing, and sometimes sings it under her breath.

Due to having lived her whole life in a Vault suit, she's most comfortable in jumpsuit-like clothing - mechanic's coveralls end up as her clothing of choice, and after a while she gets into the habit of decorating them with appliques, embroidery and so on, getting more elaborate the more she learns.

She learned how to sew from Old Lady Palmer as a child in the Vault, because being able to make things was, Old Lady Palmer always said, a very good thing in a Vault where you could never buy anyone a present, but you could make or scavenge things. Jonas, Amata and James - to say nothing of Old Lady Palmer herself - were all the beneficiaries of Maris's early experiments in sewing. And, later on, already knowing how to sew was a great benefit to her medical training.

She has a real soft spot for Arthur Maxson, whom she first met as a child of ten, and whom she used to drop in on every time she passed through the Citadel, bringing him little treats and souvenirs and generally treating him like a cross between the little brother she never had and a favourite nephew. It was this fondness that ended up blinding her to the sort of man he was becoming until it was too late, resulting in her being forced to flee the Capital Wasteland in the face of charges of betraying the Brotherhood.

She is bad at saying no to people, and actually rather admires how ready Charon is to do it. He has literally had his free will stripped away from him, but still does all he can to keep his ability to resist and disobey, while she has her free will, but has so much trouble telling someone 'no' directly without dancing around the point.

She is deeply, deeply paranoid about disease. Having grown up in a Vault, her immune system is pretty much shot, and so she takes every precaution she can to minimise her exposure as far as she can while still practicing as a doctor. Even this has not been enough on a few occasions, and when she's ill it tends to be the sort of illness that leaves her bed-bound and delirious for days rather than the sort she can work through.

She is deeply afraid of failing or disappointing people. Disappointing people in particular. And so she will do nearly anything to avoid doing so, particularly if the person in question is someone she cares for and whose opinion she values.

Colin Moriarty was the first person she ever killed when it wasn't her or them, and if she hadn't had experience killing raiders during the research for the Wasteland Survival Guide, she probably wouldn't have been able to pull the trigger on him. It was a panicked, instinctual thing, and she felt guilty about it for a long time...right up until she returned to Megaton, and found the saloon repainted with Gob's name, Gob and Nova free and happy and swearing before Sheriff Simms that Maris had only shot Moriarty because he attempted to assault her, but unfortunately everyone reacted so quickly that she was forced to flee before she could give her side of the story. All three of them know it for a damned lie, and probably Simms does too, but Moriarty was not a man anyone would question such a story about.

It took a while to get used to non-processed food. Maris has a lot of tactile sensitivities, and she's grown up in a Vault, where the rations are very, very processed indeed. Her first time eating something that wasn't it took real effort to make herself swallow it - she couldn't get used to the texture or the taste, and it was a battle between her instincts and her manners the whole time. She probably wouldn't have finished it if she weren't desperately hungry, and if Jenny Stahl hadn't been standing there, having just sold Maris a brahmin steak that she was now expected to eat, and which wasn't very much like Salisbury steak after all, and Maris would literally rather die than give offence in that situation.

She has a real weakness for pre-war fantasy. Grognak was her favourite comic in the Vault for a reason, and she can't really get invested in most things set in the world that really does - or did - exist. She already knows how all of those stories ended. But stories about other worlds are new, and those can end in all sorts of different ways that this one didn't.

[dragonmarquise]

Bro i love reading your brc headcanons, do you have more about the futurism and eclipse crew members that date each other? I think i saw it mentioned in one of your posts and the idea lives in my head rent free

Ahhh thank you!! ;u; And I have a few for them! Maybe not as extensive as my other BRC ships but still.

Before I get into headcanons, just want give a shoutout again to this awesome art by @monkiinart which inspired me to ship these two in the first place! ;u;

So then, the two particular characters here, at least for my headcanons, are Nyx (FUTURISM spring palette, joins BRC in the post game) and Aquila (Eclipse summer palette, the one with dark brown hair).

First, the set up for them dating:

Nyx decided to just be blunt and asked Aquila for her number. Aquila of course thinks it’s just a trap, with the two of them being on rival crews and all. She challenges Nyx to a series of score challenges, five in a row, but is genuinely impressed when Nyx manages to nail all of them!

A quick script-thing of part of their exchange after Nyx finishes the challenges:

Nyx: So, am I getting those digits or what? Aquila: Still hoping for that, huh? You’re either very brave or very stupid. Nyx: Why not both?

That actually gets a laugh out of Aquila, and she figures, fine, why the hell not. They start texting/calling each other, and eventually go on dates, and then the rest is history!

And now other random bits:

Not quite related to them as a couple I think? But Aquila is femme and Nyx is butch, just saying. :u

At first, Nyx was pretty flustered around Aquila on their dates, partially in a “Holy crap I’m actually dating her now, what the hell do I do” kind of way. Which contrasts a lot with her usual calm and confident personality! Even after a while of dating, Nyx is still sometimes flustered around her girlfriend. Aquila herself doesn’t mind, she thinks it’s cute and will say as much. Which makes Nyx even more flustered most of the time, lol

Aquila does yoga and has gotten Nyx into it too. Nyx has also been getting Aquila more into video games, she’s found she enjoys turn-based RPGs the most.

Nyx tends to be snarky with others, even to friends and people she respects like DJ Cyber. Aquila is the only person to whom Nyx drops the snark. Likewise, Aquila is usually fairly dismissive of others outside of Eclipse, especially any rival writers, but with Nyx she’s genuinely respectful and kind. Not to mention they’re both very loving towards each other!

Favorite guilty pleasure for both of them is watching cheesy rom coms and romantic dramas together!

Aquila’s day job is as the director of a science museum in New Amsterdam. She loves it and often brings up science topics while she’s on dates with Nyx, like new research projects and discoveries across a whole bunch of science fields. She’s really happy with how Nyx is interested in this stuff too and can keep up with her.

Though, sometimes Nyx has to look up a ton of stuff afterward to get a better understanding of certain things they talk about. Usually with topics that she isn’t already familiar with. But hey, she gets through it for her girlfriend!!

Aquila has been meaning to try out cooking new recipes and stuff, but she would often put it off. Now that she’s dating Nyx, she has encouragement for cooking more, plus a taste tester for new recipes!

I mentioned in the FUTURISM post that Nyx sometimes gets into little prank wars with Cueball. She does “pranks” on Aquila too, but instead of like, scary or annoying pranks, it’s more like hiding positive and lovey-dovey notes for Aquila to find~

I think that’s about all I have… for now! If I end up brainstorming more stuff, I’ll either add them here or make a new separate post. :D

[greetingfromthedead]

C55: United Again

For more information on the series (tags, CW, etc) click the banner!

Series Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Chapter: 55/84

Words: 1.8k

No particular warnings for this chapter.

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Vash had avoided letting you out of his sight; he even looked for excuses like going to the biodome and taking care of the toma to keep you from getting dragged into the rabbit hole of research and experiments with Luida.

"I don't mind." You laugh as he finally confesses why he has been glued to you all evening. "I like her, and it's all so interesting. She's like a window to a different life of mine, while I was nowhere near as good of a person as she is... It's still nice. I trust her completely, so she doesn't trigger any bad memories. It's strange, but then again, most things about me are so..."

You pet the neck of Vash's tomas, who is making cooing sounds by your ear.

"That's not what I meant... but now I feel guilty for dragging you away..." Vash looks at his feet, and he looks a bit pathetic, making you giggle.

"What did you mean then?" your smile clear in your voice.

"Just that I wanted you to myself," he mumbles, still looking at his feet. "I might have gotten a bit jealous... You had so much fun with her, and I only got in the way, so I wanted to have some time with you for myself..."

Your expression softens further, and it melts your heart. You feel a little bad because it's true that Vash was left out of your activities today. You step closer, leaving the tomas to nip at your shirt, and go up to him. You stand toe to toe and use your fingers to lift up his chin. He avoids your eyes at first but then locks his baby blues with your gaze.

"I'm sorry you felt left out." Your hand moves to stroke over his face. "While I was happy spending time with Luida, nothing in this world compares to you. My nature doesn't matter; my past doesn't matter; I would trade in all my yesterdays for a future with you."

"You always say the sweetest things." His thumb runs down your lips onto your chin. "I'm just so happy to see you better. You scared me so much for a while, I thought I was going to lose you."

"I'd always come back to you, silly!" You smile wide at him.

"I'm afraid." He sighs silently, and his eyes go down again.

"Of what?" Your fingers reach into his hair and pull his forehead against yours.

"Of the future," he presses his eyes shut tight. "We don't know what the future brings and... what I have to do... I want to keep you safe. I want to keep everyone safe. No, I need to keep everyone safe. But I don't know what it will cost. What if it costs everything? What if it costs the future with you..."

"You said you could never leave me. So don't think about that. Make a promise; swear it. Swear that you'll always find your way back to me."

Vash pauses for a moment, one of his hands still touching your chin, the other resting on your hip. He takes a deep breath, his eyes still closed.

"I swear to you, my Stardust, my lovely Iris, that I will always find a way to come back to you. I will be with you. For an eternity."

"Look at me," you say softly as you release his hair. When Vash opens his eyes, he is met with yours, and he lifts his forehead. You take both of his hands, intertwining your fingers, and then press them against your heart without losing eye contact. "I promise you that I will be safe; nothing bad that happens to me is your fault, and I will always, always come back to you. No matter what, I will be with you. For an eternity."

He looks at you tenderly as you declare your promise and then presses his lips onto yours, his grip on your hand tightening.

"See? There's nothing to be afraid of now," you say as he pulls away. "I don't make promises that I don't intend to keep, and you're Vash the Stampede; you always keep your promises. So we're in the clear. Whatever it may cost, it can't cost our future."

"Maybe Mary was right after all; I should have gotten you that ring then and there," he smiles.

"Hold your horses, cowboy!" You let out a laugh, squeezing his hands. "At the very least, don't propose by the toma pen; yours will get awfully jealous!"

As night fell and you and Vash are the only ones left roaming the spaceship, you go back to the biodome. In the dark, it looks a lot different than it did just a few hours ago. He holds your hand and guides you along the paths, your eyes moving between the gorgeous flowers, which you could swear are lightly glowing, and the sky above, with hundreds of thousands of distant lights shining in through the glass roof, but they are nearly outshined by the large moons, emanating their different colored hues. There are no artificial lights under the dome, and you don't need any. You see everything clearly: the flowing stream, the little cornflowers and forget-me-nots, periwinkles and lupines, and so many more species of flowers whose names you don't know. You look over the lush grass and the tall trees. The greenery surrounding you feels like home, even if it is so different from the ancient forests you grew up in. The little stream here is too tame to compare to the river by your house. Finally, you can connect your feelings to memories—the same ones that have been locked away for so long. Despite everything, the man holding your hand is more important; his grip, the warmth he brings into your heart, the now outweigh all the rest. You meant it when you said you would trade your past in for a future with him.

You see Vash's free hand moving to the inside of his jacket, and he grabs something from his pocket. You hadn't noticed him carrying anything, so it fills you with curiosity. You try to peek around him, even over his shoulder, but you don't catch a glimpse of anything new.

"What have you got there?" You ask as you go closer; no longer behind him, you still don't see into his hand.

"Just be patient," he says, smiling at you. He left his glasses in his room with the shoulder guard.

"Mh!" you let out a displeased sound and try the same trick he has pulled on you a number of times: puppy dog eyes.

"You are very cute, but if anything, I won't tell you what I have here just to see more of this," he chuckles.

"You're impossible!"

He just continues his laugh and guides you to a little flat spot by a tree. He lets go of your hand and takes a few more steps before squatting down by the trunk of the tree. You are left waiting with curiosity as he places something on the ground and fiddles with it. Suddenly you hear the familiar click, and before even the music starts to play, you recognize it as Vash's little radio. He turns the knob until he is satisfied with the station's choice of music and straightens up. Vash takes off his large red coat and leaves it on the grass.

You see the moonlight dancing in his eyes as he turns towards you. His hand reached towards you, palm up as an invitation. He closes the gap between you with a few long steps and bows to you.

"M'lady! Would you graciously allow me this dance?" His gaze is cheeky as he looks up to see your reaction.

"It would be my honor, oh handsome knight!" You smile brightly and place your hand into his.

Vash's grip tightens, and he pulls you closer, placing his hand on your waist and yours lands near his shoulder. This time, he doesn't drag you into a wide and swooping waltz where you can't hope to keep up with his enormous and exaggerated strides, leggy as he is. Instead, he sways gently, mostly staying in place, only turning a tiny bit with each step. He moves your hand—that's in his—to his lips and gives your knuckles a kiss. He keeps in time with the music, his eyes lovingly on yours.

"I've been meaning to ask... Why do you enjoy dancing so much?" You inquire with a smile.

"It was Rem who taught me how to. She loved all those things: books, music, art, dancing. They meant a lot to her, so they do to me too." His eyes are so soft before they get a mischievous glint. "Also, most girls in the saloons like to dance; it has always been a good way to get a smooch!"

He laughs at your disapproving expression and places a kiss on your cheek. His nose traces to your ear.

"But you're the only girl for me, my love!" He takes a deep breath in, still by your ear. "I have a feeling that the whole universe conspired just to cross our paths. I adore you."

He straightens up again, still swaying the both of you in time to the tunes. His hand on your waist pulls you closer, the fingers gripping you tighter.

"The feelings you wake in me, the longing and love you bring forth, I have never felt like this ever before; never have I loved like this, so deeply, so passionately." He smiles tenderly. "I will try for the rest of my days to make you happy, so if I stumble and fall and make a fool of myself... please forgive me."

"You have nothing to worry about," you laugh lightly. "You are the kindest, most selfless soul I've met, and I too am a stranger to love like this. We will both try our best; we will learn, and we most likely will fail at some point, but we will try again and do better."

He lets go of your waist, takes a step back, and twirls you around before catching you in his embrace again, his hand tighter and more around you. As you look up, you see his gaze isn't on you; instead, it is upturned, and you too look into the night sky.

"Do you see her, Rem? Isn't she wonderful?" You see his teeth bare in a wide smile. "You would have liked her, I'm sure. If only you could have met her..."

You notice a stray tear roll down from the corner of his eye, but there is no sadness in his voice—not really. It's acceptance and just a wishful thought.

"At least I have met her," you say quietly. "You carry so much of her in you; it feels like I know her. I am grateful to her. I know she would be so proud of you."

For more information and chapters, check out the MASTERLIST.

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[americanphancakes]

I wanna talk about my mind for a little bit

I was gonna save this until after I posted the last Wingless Angel chapter but I can’t post it yet. Pretty sure my mind wants me to get this out of my system first.

So hi everyone, how are you? How have you been? Honestly if you’re still following at all I’m delighted.

I don’t want this to come across as some excuse for all the unfinished fanfic I left behind 3+ years ago, which is why I wanted to publish WA first, so I hope you don’t take it that way. But I ended up stumbling upon an aspect of my mental health that I’m still trying to address and since I never really saw anyone post or talk about my particular issue before very recently, I wanted to share it in case it resonates with anyone.

(Clearly stuff has changed, this is where I'd normally put a "read more" but.... I guess that's not a thing anymore?? Hopefully this isn't a huge annoying wall of text on everyone's dash, oof.)

I’ve posted before about my ADHD. I’ve been getting treatment for it for 10 years now, and for all that time, medication & other coping mechanisms have been helpful to a point, but only to a point. There was still something left that was keeping me from functioning, and I couldn’t tell what it was. All I knew was that I had no will of my own, and I’d spent the last 10 years trying to create situations where the people in charge were asking (or implying that i should do) things I considered good to do. “People in charge” meant anyone besides myself. If someone was not me, they automatically had authority, simply by virtue of being someone external to me.

I did a lot of research trying to find something that matched up with my experiences & feelings, even partially, and I looked into things like PDA autism and even just the people-pleasing habits common with other ADHD folks.

At some point, with therapy, I did learn how to say “no” to other people’s demands of me. I learned to set boundaries. But I was still profoundly uncomfortable with dictating what I was going to do, especially if anyone else was ever going to be aware of it.

When I was a little kid, i was told “no” constantly, and that’s not hyperbole. I’ve cited the story many times of falling in love with the violin when I was 9 but immediately being told “No, you’re going to play the flute.” So I played the flute, but without any passion for it I couldn’t figure it out and I quit, and my mom never stopped making me feel guilty about it. But that wasn’t the only example of that kind of thing. I wanted to play soccer; mom said play basketball, so I played basketball. I wanted to play piano; mom bought me a guitar and my sister got the electronic keyboard. (We eventually switched, but I never felt like I could fully commit to playing the thing). I wanted to learn Spanish or Japanese in high school; mom told me to learn French, so I took four fucking years of French.

My feelings and wishes were effectively not a factor in what I was allowed to do, what goals I was allowed to pursue, unless I was staying in my room and out of everyone’s way (and even then I had to make sure I jumped up to do what was asked of me if I got called from another room). Eventually I learned, as a survival mechanism, to just obey. It wasn’t worth fighting anymore because I was systematically robbed of my individuality at every turn. Something happened when I was 13 that I will never talk about publicly and she played "good parent who has her kid's back" for about 5 minutes before siding with the bad guy. I brought it up years later and she was mad I'd never gotten over it. And all that is on top of being raised to be a "good little capitalist drone" who needs to be perfect and efficient at all times. I was never supported. I was never given grace. So I never gave grace to myself, because if your own parents don't give you grace & time to learn and be flawed, then clearly you don't deserve any, right?

I finally cut my mother out of my life not long after the pandemic began, a few months after having gone no-contact from my father (mostly due to his casual racism & transphobia, which cost me at least one very close friendship when I was a kid, and was unkind to my child in a way I could not abide). My immediate family - spouse and kid - are the only family I have left now. And it sounds tragic on paper, because it is, but until I finally got away from my mother's voice in real life I couldn't filter through the recordings of her voice in my mind so I could finally throw them away. And that knot is still being untied. Honestly this is 10 years into a very long mental health journey, when you think about it, but I wish I'd cut my mom out of my life a very very long time ago. I wasn't angry about lost time when I got my ADHD diagnosis. I was angry about it when I realized that yes, this had been abuse, and I hadn't been courageous enough to get away from it sooner.

Because that dehumanization resulted in me having no will power of my own, and that extended as far as simply not wanting anything anymore. I like things, sure, but anything I WANTED for myself was out of the question, especially if it involved other people in any way, but honestly even solo pursuits became impossible for me to will myself to do. For right now, when I have something I want to do, I'm telling my friends & husband to order me to do it. Because I won't do it otherwise. And it's a potentially dangerous workaround, but it's all I have for now. I and my therapist are hoping that once my brain registers that what other people are telling me to do is aligned with what I want to do, maybe it won't depend on other people's commands anymore and I'll just take control of my own life for once. But that may not work. I'll have to wait and see.

So what does this have to do with my abandoned fics? Well, it had started to become more difficult to write because the adhd "shinyness" was wearing off anyway, but I'd been doing a good job of pushing past it because people liked what I was writing. I could see my skill getting better, and engagement was going up, and that was really motivating. But then... I stopped writing fic all of a sudden because someone made a post about finding it shitty when writers wrote about COVID in their fics, and.... that was sort of a last straw that broke me, because I do exactly that in the last WA chapter. So I just turned tail and ran away. I tried to push through and write & publish the chapter anyway, because it was the LAST chapter and I knew people were waiting on it, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Even having OSBB obligations didn't get me writing again, and given that obligation, the shame I felt about not having finished those stories weighed on me so badly that I couldn't even interact with you guys on Instagram, despite you having been so kind to me in the past. Let's face it, that goes WAY beyond adhd rejection sensitivity, that's a trauma response. I saw one bit of honestly well-reasoned critique of work that wasn't even mine, and I just ran. Immediately I felt like I was no longer allowed to take up space here. I felt unwelcome here in this corner of the internet world, just as I have always felt like I wasn't allowed to take up space in the physical world for almost my ENTIRE life. And the shame I already feel about myself normally was compounded by what I felt was a cowardly thing to do, which prevented me from returning. Now that I've accepted that, yes, I am an abuse victim whose life has been MASSIVELY and MAJORLY affected by that childhood trauma, I'm finally able to address it properly. Over the last few weeks I've been changing the direction of my therapy and my self-talk (reparenting yourself is HARD) and I'm feeling some improvement, but progress isn't linear so my burst of motivation the other night fizzled out, and I'm genuinely sorry for that.

So... yeah, I'm trying to come back and get those fics finished. I'm grateful for any of you willing to be patient with me. Consciously I KNOW I deserve any support willingly given to me by any of you, but I FEEL like I don't. So yeah. Thanks. <3

[parttimepuff]

No gremlin he knows her knows her, like knows her name and knows kind of who she is! He knows!

Having just come in through the front door, at a more manageable height, Gremlin hesitated before nodding. "I was… kinda getting that impression. Deeds, is it cool if I ask you how much you knew about Beep before you got here?" He requested, the king a thrown off at being the one questioned now. "Mm, might as well at this point." Dedede shrugged. "I didn’t say anything about me or you guys-" Beep insisted, her father patting her with a wing. "I know you didn't, sweetheart." Reverie reassured her.

"Those grey folk told me a few things. So did a friend of mine." The penguin explained. "Who?" Kirby asked. If they were a friend of his, they were almost certainly a friend of the hero's as well. "Yeah, who? I get the anons blabbing, but I don't like the idea of somebody else knowing." Gremlin prompted. The mention made it click for the Matter. "Blue." Beep stated to which Dedede nodded in affirmation. "Yeah. He vouched for you. Brought me a whole book's worth a Matter research to convince me, actually." He detailed.

"Blue..? Gooey?" Kirby thought aloud. "Nah, the old man. Metaknight." Dedede clarified. The four adults all reacted with varying degrees of disbelief, shock, or even fear. That the knight, of anyone, had both known about Beep and had gone to bat for her was a lot to take in. But, for her part, having only known him as Blue, the Matter began to realize for the first time since seeing him that the old veteran was trying to help her, not get rid of her. "He was talking to you that day…" She muttered. "We talked for hours, heh." The king chuckled.

Something else bugged her still. "Wait, who the hell is Gooey, why do people keep talking about Gooey??" Beep questioned, Dedede looking at her with some surprise. "Ah… yer telling me you lot never mentioned Gooey to her?" He addressed her family. "Who?" Reverie asked, looking at his brother. "I, didn't?" Gremlin hesitantly questioned no one in particular. "…ah. I guess I, assumed you'd told her, Grem?" Luna thought, getting a frown from him. "Hey, you knew, too-" He began to argue before the king raised a hand to cut him off.

"He's a Matter with two eyes. Blue, long tongue. The only Matter anyone knew 'bout til now who was friendly." Dedede explained. "He's one of my best friends!" Kirby chimed in. "Two, eyes?" Beep repeated, before catching the last bit of what he'd said, eye widening. "…friends…" She murmured. Seeing her uncle's discomfort, she added, "To be fair, they only started telling me things recently, so-". The king looked at the three with some judgement, but also understanding and they couldn't help but feel guilty for it. "But they’re telling me stuff now!!" Beep added in their defense. Carrying on, he faced Beep. "Yeah, forget why he has two." Dedede replied. "He said it was supposed to make him a good spy. But he ended up a good friend instead." Kirby piped up, not able to pass up complimenting his friend. "Ah'll have to introduce ya." The penguin thought. "I wanna meet Gooey…" The Matter expressed, looking back to him. "A spy for what?" She asked. Helpfully, the hero answered. "A spy for Z-" Then Gremlin held a hand over his mouth. "Don't, say that name, ok?" He pleaded.

The puff's eyes widened as the Dream Demon lowered his hand. It didn't always occur to him how terrifying a figure the fallen villain was. "O-oh, sorry…" Kirby mumbled, staring at the ground. "…for that, yeah. Til he broke away cause he liked it here." Dedede continued. "Ah think he'd like ta meet you, too. Nova knows he hasn't got any other Matters to talk to." "…oh." Beep voiced. "I thought Dark Matters aren’t allowed to stay, you’re here for Rev." She expressed.

Dedede shifted uncomfortably. He figured he'd have to touch on this, but it wasn't easy. "…ah… have a bad history with 'em, truthfully. Ain't exactly a secret. Gooey was the exception, Kirb made a good case for him." He started. "Of course!! You couldn't kick him out after he helped so much!!" Kirby exclaimed. "Was still, real damn scared of them. Still kinda am… Til ah found out about you, ah wouldn't've wanted any other Matters here." The king told her.

Silence fell as Beep blinked, not entirely sure she'd understood that right. "You, aren’t gonna tell me to leave even if Rev stays?" She asked. All this time, it was her father's acceptance she'd been hoping for. She'd not dared to consider her own. The king's eyes widened. "Did you think..? …Beep, if ah'm gonna be 100% honest, ah was hoping to find you today and… just, let you know that you have a place here." He gently replied.

After a moment, she began shaking. "…Beep? Are you ok..?" Reverie questioned, placing a wing at her side for comfort. "I can stay…?" Beep asked, voice barely above a whisper. The penguin didn't need to think about his answer. "Yes, ah sincerely hope you do, too." Dedede said. She stared straight ahead at nothing. "…kid?" He tried, to no response. He sounded so far away now. To say she was reeling was an understatement.

[sol1loqu1st]

putting under a cut so people don't have to read my Mental Health Journal lmao. uh i'm ok but i am reminiscing on some pretty dark thought patterns so don't click if you're not in the space to hear that

my therapist and i have decided that it's not currently helpful to assign a particular diagnosis to my symptoms because it's more important to actually treat them than spend time figuring out what to call them but as someone who experiences Pretty Intense symptoms of, like, non-religious moral scrupulosity i spent a very very long time (and tbh still do, but i'm learning to combat these feelings now that i know they're like. not normal) believing that i was genuinely a horrible person who makes everyone's lives worse because of thoughts that i had and things i would say that didn't get an immediate positive reaction and idk i just want to like. put something out there to combat those types of thought patterns lol. this is mostly for me

as a young kid i would get intrusive thoughts about blurting out swear words and it would keep me up at night because i thought even thinking those words was A Horrible Moral Failure. obviously i have no problem cussing now and i don't think it's bad to cuss, but but as a teen i developed a similar fear of blurting out/calling people slurs even though i would never want to do that, and i obviously still think that that is Not A Good Thing To Do. but it hit me really hard and i believed i was a terrible person, because slurs would pop into my head at random and i would worry that i was going to shout them at people even though i've never wanted to do that. even just admitting aloud "sometimes my brain pops slurs in my head and i'm worried i'll say them aloud" is kind of terrifying and i'm long past the worst of it.

i have vivid memories of crying for hours because two of my friends had different favorite characters and i felt like i had to have the same favorite as them or i was somehow snubbing them. i felt guilty for years and years and years because as a literal first grader i stepped in my neighbor's rock garden and she screamed at me for it.

i am terrified of saying or doing anything that could be seen as annoying, selfish, or anything less than accommodating. my brain's "ideal perfect self" for me is someone who doesn't have their own opinions, who goes along with whatever everyone else says, and who anticipates other people's needs before they have them. if i don't measure up, and i absolutely don't, then i feel like an absolute failure of a human being who deserves to die. even then at some of my lowest points i remember researching the most eco-friendly ways to die because i literally couldn't stomach the idea of releasing carbon into the atmosphere as my body decomposes. i spent a while feeling desperately suicidal but couldn't go through with it because i felt like i didn't deserve to escape atoning for my sins through death. my sins, btw, are "sometimes annoying or upsetting other people."

even now that i'm more aware of these thought patterns not being entirely logical or true, my brain still provides a ton of reasons why combating them would actually be bad. "if you stop feeling guilty for x, that means you selfishly believe x is ok" etc. it's a fucking nightmare. i've been in the types of therapy they prescribe for this kind of stuff, and it involves doing or experiencing the things you're worried about until you're desensitized to it. i'm not going to act out my thoughts of hurting others just to get myself to stop worrying about it. i'm not going to get rid of my reasonable morals just so i can stop feeling bad about things i didn't do. it feels impossible when the only treatments are "just do the thing until it feels ok" and your symptoms are "thoughts about hurting people."

idk man i'm not going anywhere with this i'm sort of just realizing how genuinely bad my mental health has been and how difficult it is to treat

[downwiththeficness]

The Guarantor-Chapter 30

Summary: Frankie went to work every day knowing that there would be an end. A deadline. Reconnecting with her adoptive father, Godric, throws that deadline into question. Teaming up with Godric’s child, Eric, obliterates it entirely. With an uncertain future ahead, Frankie has to learn if she can trust the people around her, let alone herself. Eric Northman/Bisexual!Fem!OC

Word Count: ~4,000

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content

A/N: This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence, and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. Anyone under the age of 18 should not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.

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Frankie sat across the table from Carissa, listening to her talk about her upcoming trip. She hadn’t sat down with the other woman in a long time, which left her feeling guilty as Carissa talked about her new job, one of the perks of which was an expense account that let her fly regularly enough to get a first class upgrade.

Carissa had changed since Frankie saw her last. She was still platinum blonde and tattooed, still had piercings glinting in the overhead lights. But, her makeup was softer, smokier. She was wearing nail polish that wasn’t chipped. There were diamond drop earrings hanging from the gauges in her ears. In other words, life seemed to be treating Carissa well.

“It sounds amazing,” Frankie gushed, “Where can I apply?”

Carissa’s expression was a little bit smug, “I don’t think they have any open positions right now, but I’ll let you know when one opens up.”

Holding her mug close to her chest, Frankie leaned back and said, “So, what do you do, anyways?”

“I consult, mostly,” Carissa answered, tossing her hair. “That’s why I have to fly out to the different,” she stumbled a little bit over the word, “offices.”

“Oh, yeah? Consult about what?”

It was an honest question. Carissa had always been a hard worker. Dedicated. But, Frankie had never seen a particular expertise at the laundromat. She did what she was trained to do, but rarely took the initiative to suggest new projects—not that there was anything creative about cleaning clothes. Giving a mental shake, Frankie reminded herself that they weren’t exactly best friends in Jersey and that there might be things about Carissa she didn’t know.

“Um,” Carissa started, tilting her head to the side in thought, “Its a lot of things. I do some life coaching here and there. And, um, research.”

“Research?”

Nodding, Carissa continued, “Yeah. Like, on the occult and stuff.”

What kind of company needed consults on the occult?

Frowning, Frankie cocked her head to the side, “Really?”

Giving a little shrug, Carissa offered a kind of self-conscious smile, “Yeah. Its been a hobby of mine since I was in high school.”

“So, you decided to turn it into a side gig?”

“Gotta make money, somehow, am I right?” Carissa shot back with a grin, “I got debts to pay, just like anyone else.”

Frankie lifted her glass in a salute, “I hear you.”

Carissa giggled as she clinked her mug with Frankie’s, “So, talking about money, are you still at that clothing store?”

“I’m still there,” Frankie answered, a bit of disgust in her voice, “My boss keeps hinting at taking a management position, but I don’t know…”

It wasn’t that Frankie didn’t think that she could do the work, she just didn’t have any idea how the next couple of months were going to go. The push and pull of her life didn’t seem like it was going to settle, and Frankie didn’t think she had the capacity to dedicate herself to anything more than clocking in, doing her job, and going the fuck home.

“Not your dream job, huh?”

“What do you mean? Working retail is my life’s passion,” Frankie deadpanned.

Carissa laughed, “I got you. Its a job, right?”

“Yeah,” Frankie replied, “Its a job.”

“You still living with Eric?”

She wasn’t exactly surprised at the question, but the direct tone made Frankie sit back a little, “Yeah. I mean, I thought housing down here was cheaper, but my pay is barely covering gas and food, insurance, and all the other shit I gotta pay for, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” Carissa said, “That’s why I got my side hustle.” Then, “Are you guys still, like, friends or whatever?”

Frankie took a fortifying sip of her coffee, “Um, I think we’ve kind of moved past that.”

Intrigued, Carissa leaned forward, “Really?”

“I mean,” Frankie edged, “We’re...he’s my…person.”

She was willing to acknowledge that they were more than friends, but somewhat less confident in saying that they were in any kind of committed relationship.

Carissa waited for Frankie to say more, and when she didn’t, she said, “That’s really nice, Frankie. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.”

“I just hope you’re being careful.”

Frankie flinched, “What?”

“Being careful,” Carissa repeated, gesturing towards Frankie, “I mean—sweetie, he’s a vampire. They’re kind of dangerous, don���t you think?”

Mouth open, Frankie had to take several moments to process that statement, “Yeah, they can be. Absolutely.”

She thought about Masha, about the Queen. Neither of them would think twice about using their power, their strength, to make someone do whatever they wanted. There was no fear of that with Eric. From the very beginning, they had been up front with one another about what they wanted, about their motives. That level of honesty gave Frankie a certain amount of comfort.

Carissa seemed to want to say something, opened her mouth to do so and then closed it. The look she was giving Frankie was as much concerned as it was guarded.

“I just think you should be careful.”

Frankie smiled, hoping to reassure the other woman, “I’m being careful.”

They moved on to other topics, but Carissa would periodically stop and look at Frankie with concern. She didn’t want to pry into Carissa’s experiences with vampires, knowing that they probably weren’t good. And, she appreciated that Carissa wanted Frankie to be careful. She didn’t think there was anything she could say that would alleviate that concern. Carissa would just have to see on her own that Eric didn’t mean Frankie any harm, and that would take time.

As they were leaving, Carissa gave Frankie a hug, “I’ll be out of state for a couple weeks, but we should get together when I come back.”

“Definitely,” Frankie replied, “Text me.”

Carissa walked away, her apartment not far from the coffee shop, and Frankie dug into her jacket for her keys. She pulled them free and headed to the lot where she’d parked only to find someone waiting for her.

Young. Maybe twenty three or twenty four. Blonde. Dressed in jeans, blazer, and heels. She perked up when she spotted Frankie, smiling a friendly smile.

“Francesca Meek?”

“...Yes?” Frankie said as she slowed.

The woman offered her an envelope, which Frankie hesitantly took.

“At the risk of sounding like a cliche, you’ve been served,” she smiled and walked off.

Confused, Frankie turned the envelope over in her hands. It was made of thick vellum, and sealed with wax. Frowning, Frankie broke the seal and opened the letter. She read it once. Twice. Three times. Then, jaw clenched, she stuffed it into her purse and hauled ass back to the house.

When she got there, Frankie set her stuff down, pulled off her jacket, and sat on the couch. She dropped her head into her hands and sighed deeply. Frankie remained like that for a while, until she had gotten over the initial shock. Then, she stood and ran her hands down her jeans to smooth the wrinkles.

With another deep breath, Frankie took herself upstairs and laid down. Sleep came easily, and when she woke, the sun was starting to set. Rubbing her eyes, Frankie sat up and stared at nothing until her brain caught up to the fact that her body was awake.

Feeling gross, she showered all the day’s grit from her skin. Standing in front of her dresser, Frankie debated throwing on a t shirt and leggings. She even went to grab a pair from the pile. And then she thought better of it.

Going to her closet, she took from the hanger a sundress in a pale pink. It had come into stock at the store just in time for the Spring season. When Frankie took it out of the packing, she immediately saw herself wearing it. Trying it on in the dressing room had only confirmed what she knew the second she’d held it up for the first time. Frankie used her employee discount for the first time to buy this dress.

Slipping it on, Frankie turned in the mirror. She rarely wore anything like this, but the soft linen hugged her body in a way that was so flattering. Running her hands through her damp hair, she piled it on top of her head to get it out of the way.

She felt pretty, and Frankie didn’t care that she wasn’t going anywhere that night. She didn’t care that she’d gotten more bad news. If Frankie was going to worry about yet another insane turn in her life, she was going to feel pretty while she worried.

Traipsing down the stairs, Frankie went directly to the kitchen and opened a bottle of wine. She poured herself a healthy glass and slid onto one of the bar stools to enjoy it. About halfway through the glass, there came a sound of a door opening in the laundry room. A moment later, Eric emerged with his jacket thrown over his arm.

He took one look at the glass in her hand and frowned, “Since when do you drink wine?”

Frankie made a sound in the back of her throat, holding up a finger to indicate that he should wait. She pushed from the stool and padded over to her purse. Envelope in hand, Frankie walked up to him, holding it aloft.

With a fair amount of skepticism, Eric took the envelope and read the contents. Frankie watched him with half a smile as she picked up her glass and took a long pull. Brows lifting, he tossed the letter onto the island.

“We knew that was coming.”

“We did.”

“So, you’re not surprised.”

“I am not.”

“And yet…” he glanced down at her glass.

Frankie reached for the bottle and refilled it, “If any occasion calls for drinking wine, its being summoned before the Vampire Council to testify against my ex-girlfriend.”

“And employer,” he added.

“That, too.”

He touched her cheek, a light brush of his fingers, “Are you upset?”

She sighed, “Not really. Pretty sure my boss is going to be pissed that I’ll need time off to fly all the way to New Jersey so that I can handle it.”

Eric huffed a laugh, “You’re lucky they aren’t making you travel to Europe.” He rolled his eyes, “Weeks in a stuffy castle while the Council debates everything down to the color of the ink for the signatures on the decision.”

Frankie lifted a brow, “As opposed to what? Weeks in a hotel room while they debate who gets to announce it?”

He gave a nod of acknowledgment, “Point.” Then, “I doubt you’ll actually stand before the Council. Their first step is to use mediators to see if the issue can be resolved without having to stand on all the ceremony of an actual Council session.”

She shrugged, “Either way.”

Eric eyed her carefully, “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah,” she replied, “Its just more shit from Masha, you know?”

An arm snaked around her waist, “This is the end of it. She won’t have any cards left to play when we’re done with the Council.”

Frankie sighed, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, “We’ve said that before, and she just keeps coming back with more.”

He looked at her pointedly, “That’s the beauty of the Council, Frankie. When they make a decision, it is final. If Masha tries to get around it, she’ll face the sun.”

Doubtful, Frankie muttered, “Masha doesn’t believe in death, especially not now.”

“One day,” Eric said, “I’m going to show her that death is very, very real.” When Frankie didn’t react, he blurted, “You’re not making the face.”

“The what?”

“The face,” he repeated, “Whenever I talk about killing Masha, you make this face.” He imitated her, his mouth pulling down into a pout, “You’re not making the face.”

Eyes dropping, Frankie drew in a breath, “I guess I don’t feel as strongly about it as I did before.”

“You’ve resigned yourself?”

She shook her head, “More like I’ve come to terms with the fact that Masha is digging her own grave.”

He looked impressed, “I think I’d call that growth.”

“I think I’d call that exhaustion,” Frankie shot back with a laugh.

“I’ll take it,” Eric replied, kissing her temple, “Can you be ready to fly out in a few days?”

“Yeah, I’ll call my boss tomorrow morning.”

“Good. We’ll aim for a flight on Thursday, then.”

Frankie pulled back, “We? You’re coming with me?”

He looked at her in confusion, “You think I’d let you face the Council alone? You think Godric would let you go alone?”

“I,” she started lowly, “hadn’t considered that.”

Eric made a sound of frustration, his hands framing her hips firmly, “What did you think presenting you to the Queen was all about?” Not waiting for her to answer, he continued, “Did you think that was for show? A performance?”

Frankie stared at him, agog. The intensity of his words left her speechless.

Eyes fierce, he cupped her face, “I’m on your team, Frankie.”

She kissed him. It wasn’t much more than a hard press of her mouth against his, but Frankie could feel him smiling into it. She leaned into him, fingers curling into the material of his shirt. One of his hands dropped to the curve of her ass, the other sliding around to rest on the back of her neck.

Deepening the kiss, Frankie wrapped her arms around his shoulders as she ran her tongue along his lower lip. Shifting side to side, Eric guided them backwards. Frankie went with him, walking on the tips of her toes so that she could keep kissing him. As they passed through the doorway into the laundry room, he began to pull up the hem of her dress.

Grasping his hands, Frankie pulled each deliberately from her body. Loosing them, she pushed firmly into his stomach until he relaxed against the wall. For his cooperation, Frankie kissed him, licking into his mouth and catching his lower lip between her teeth. Running her hands down his chest, Frankie followed that path downwards to trace the outline of his growing erection.

He groaned softly, and she could see the points of his fangs peeking out from behind his lips. Flattening her hand over the fly of his pants, Frankie went to work on opening them. The button fly took longer than both of them would have liked. She could feel the muscles in his core tightening as he resisted the urge to help.

When she finally thumbed the last button open, Frankie grabbed the waistband and yanked it down just far enough so that she could get at what she wanted. He hissed as she wrapped her hand around him, giving a slow, firm stroke. Frankie glanced at him to find that he was biting down on his lip, two tiny rivulets of red dropping down his chin.

Feeling unnaturally bold, Frankie pulled him down to her so that she could lick away the blood. His hips pushed forward, the movement eased with the pre come that was beading steadily from the tip of his cock.

He kissed her greedily, pushing his fingers beneath the strap of her dress. Open mouthed kisses ran the length of her neck and as far down her chest as he could reach. Frankie arched into him, feeling heat chase the cool path of his lips.

She broke the kiss, tugging up his shirt and lowering slowly to her knees. On the way down, she rubbed her cheek against the flat of his stomach, nuzzling the sensitive skin beneath his belly button. Under her lips and hands, he trembled. When Frankie ran her tongue up the length of his cock, Eric’s head dropped heavily to the wall as his mouth opened in a loud, almost relieved, moan.

Hand working his length, Frankie sucked on tip, tongue rolling over sensitive skin. Tilting her head to the side she rubbed her lips along a thick vein, letting him feel her breath. Looking up at him from beneath her lashes, she licked a scalding line from his balls up and over her own hand until she reached the head.

“Frankie,” he grated, his fingers sinking into the strands of her hair.

They spasmed when she gave him a particularly hard suck, his hips thrusting forward too fast for her to pull back. With an almost embarrassing sound, Frankie drew up a bit and caught her breath, blinking away the welling tears.

His apology was not much louder than a whisper. Frankie reached up and placed her hand over his in her hair, reassuring him silently before she got back to it. Holding him steady, she took him down to the back of her throat, forcing all the muscles in her neck and jaw to relax and breathing deliberately through her nose. With small, slow bobs of her head, she tried to mimic the way he stirred himself inside her.

Which was, apparently, the right move.

Eric’s body bowed, the hand in her hair clenching with the effort it took to remain still for her. He couldn’t seem to help the little rolls of his hips, the way he wanted to remain seated as deeply as possible in her mouth. Knowing that her jaw wasn’t going to be able to handle much more, Frankie circled the base of him with two fingers and her thumb, hollowing her cheeks as she sucked hard on the upstroke.

Her hand followed her mouth with a twist, leading the way as she dove back down. Soon enough, Frankie caught her rhythm. Every flex of muscle, every hitch in his breath gave her all the direction she needed until he was so close to coming that she could taste it.

“Close,” he warned, voice ragged.

Frankie grasped his hip to ground herself, listening to the way his moans grew breathy and strained. He hardened between her lips, coming with a shout that echoed off the walls of the room. What Frankie couldn’t swallow down dripped over her chin and hands, leaving her a mess.

Eric didn’t seem to give a single fuck as he yanked her to standing and spun to crowd her against the wall. His kiss was messy, tongue rolling against hers so that he could taste himself. Rucking up the fabric of her skirt, he pushed his hand into her underwear and ran two fingers through her soaked folds. With a rotation of his wrist, he gathered the slick that coated plush flesh and sank those fingers inside.

He went to work, grinding the heel of his palm against her clit. Frankie whimpered, scrambling for purchase against his shoulders as he scissored his fingers to stretch her wide enough so that he could slip a third inside.

She was full and wet and—so suddenly that she didn’t have any time to prepare—coming hard.

If she hadn’t been sandwiched between Eric and the wall, her knees would have given out and Frankie would have melted into a puddle on the floor. Her thighs shuddered with the effort to hold herself upright. Her head felt too heavy.

The waistband of her underwear fell away, the material tangled around her ankles. Eric’s hand lifted her leg up and out of them, wrapping it around his waist. He held her chin up so that he could get a good look at her. She rolled her eyes at the way he smirked down at her, too self-satisfied by half.

In a smooth, practiced movement, he thrust into her, seating himself as deeply in her pussy as he had been in her mouth. Frankie bit her lip, brows furrowing as she adjusted to his length. Eric paused, kissing that little furrow until it smoothed.

“Alright?”

Frankie blinked rapidly, forcing herself to nod, “Uh huh.”

He moved closer, gathering her in his arms to support more of her weight, “Hold on.”

She tried. Frankie really, really tried. But there was no way she had the strength to keep hold of him when he was fucking her nearly through the wall. She cried out, the muscles in the leg that was supporting her burning with the exertion. Eric growled lowly, yanking it up and around his waist so that she could lock her ankles behind him.

All the air punched out of her as he hitched her higher, grinding. He kissed her briefly, resting his cheek against hers as he rolled his hips up against into her. Frankie ran her hand up his neck and into his hair, mussing the carefully gelled strands.

The need to come seared through her, white hot. She tightened her arms and legs around him with a pathetic whine, undeterred when he chuckled and pulled back to look down at her. Their gazes held, and behind the arrogant smile, Frankie could clearly see something dark in his eyes. Eric had never looked at her with such possession, and the way it made heat run rampant over her body was unexpected.

She touched his mouth, pressed her thumb into the razor sharp edge of his fang. Eager, Eric sucked the pad into his mouth, eyes closing in pleasure. The pace of his hips picked up, little growls rumbling in his chest.

Loosing her thumb with an obscenely wet sound, he buried his face into her neck. Knowing what he wanted, and more than willing to give it to him, Frankie turned her head to the side in offering. Without preamble, he bit down.

Frankie screamed.

She was more than used to the way his bite felt by now. She knew about the initial heat of pain, the strange pull of suction as he drank. She knew about how that pain could bloom into mind-melting arousal if he were so inclined.

With this bite, Eric was so inclined.

Her body clenched tight around him, suspended on the edge of a knife, until she tipped over in an orgasm that nearly blinded her. He felt her, released the bite to groan against her skin. She tipped her head back, letting him hold her full weight.

Still hard, Eric pulled out and set her on unsteady feet. Confused, Frankie watched him pull up his pants so that they rested, open, around his hips. Then, he grabbed the front of her dress and hauled her over to the hidden wall. She was too off balance to ask what was going on, could only wait as he tapped out the key code for the door.

Her world turned on its axis as he picked her up and jumped, landing at the bottom soundlessly. Another blur of movement, and he was throwing her down onto his bed. Frankie landed on the mattress, righted herself, and immediately went to work on the zipper of the dress.

By the time she got it and her bra off, he was naked and pressing his body atop hers. Spreading her legs, Frankie rested her hand on the center of his chest. Eric flinched, eyes closing as he drew in a shaking breath. Lining himself up, Eric’s heart kicked to life as he thrust forward, an animal sound bursting from between lips that were peeled back from his teeth.

Bracing his weight on his forearm, his movements went fluid. Frankie hand her hands down his spine, her nails digging in. He fucked her hard, eyes squeezed shut, unabashed sounds of need falling from his lips. She could feel him riding the line, desperately trying to hold onto himself and completely unable to do so.

With one last thrust, Eric held himself inside her as he came. His body shook, his hand dropping to her hip to hold her to him. Frankie pushed his hair back from his face, lifting a little to kiss his cheek as he came down.

With more care than she anticipated, Eric eased out of her and laid against her side. He wrapped an arm loosely around her waist, chest rising and falling rapidly. Frankie tangled her legs with his, enjoying the foreign warmth emanating from his skin.

“That was good,” she said unnecessarily.

He hummed in appreciation.

“Was it the dress?” she asked with a grin, “I think it was the dress.”

Eric laughed, “Sure, it was the dress.”

Frankie joined him in laughter, “Knew it.”

[svankmajerbaby]

my very long winded thoughts on episode two of chucky season 2

summary: better than the first episode but still leaves me cold when comparing it to season 1. funnier moments interesting developments and new characters dont fully compensate for the weird pacing and things being mostly setup.

the biggest issue for me so far is definitely that the first season was such a solid 8, and this one is kind of like a weak 6

i thought we would have more of the new characters, at least to establish them better and have a feel of their personalities. but sister ruth (freddie lounds!!!!!!!) made me miss ms fairchild big time, and the detective looking for nica and his interactions with tiffany made me somehow miss gladys from season 1 (the funny "high as a kite" lady, the woman who chucky gave the razor apple to on halloween night and who later was the realtor who sold tiffany the old ray house). i think even the tied-up guy back at the hotel had more of an attitude than these new faces. i dunno if thats a casting thing or a writing thing tbh. the previous episode had ended with an interesting note regarding that boy trevor, but he was absolutely nothing in his only scene here. lexy keeps saying hes evil hes awful but we dont get anything specific (”life a living hell” this and that, i need details), so it feels even more like just talking and no real outcome

nadine is a sweetheart though. i really like her and how she is so drastically different to the other three main kids, even though putting a kid in a catholic boarding school for kleptomania (what a letdown of a backstory tbh) when theres others who were sent there for blowing up a kid with a homemade bomb feels.... a bit weird. but whatever, what do i know. i just hope she gets something to do besides hang around the main three, bc otherwise the feeling that she will only be around to be killed by chucky for some quick emotional impact is not going to go away.

i!! actually loved!!!! that one scene in class with the teacher talking about hieronymus bosch, along with that projection it gave me big hannibal in florence vibes and i loved seeing jake talking about art, even if it was just a quick thing. im really curious about the religious aspect of the season, beyond the aesthetics, which so far seem to be the only way it really impacts the story. i think it was a missed opportunity to not make any of the three kids catholic/religious, especially either jake or devon (not even super religious, just a mention of being baptized or having been raised in a christian household), since that would intersect very well with issues of guilt which feels like its going to be a running theme for jake in particular. having him feel guilty for everything that happened so far (which makes perfect sense and his two little breakdowns were very well done i think) and not really have anything to do with the religious environment feels like such a waste.... especially with how interesting it could be to acknowledge fully how devon sawa is once again portraying a sort of paternal authority figure, continuing with his authority role as logan and lucas. maybe its just too subtle for my thick skull, maybe its something they will build towards as the season goes on, who knows

i really really really hope devon gets more to do in the rest of the season. jake has his guilt, lexy has her drug addiction, and devon... he feels so lightweight compared to the other two. i love him so much, hes a sweetheart (and i think he would accomplish what i think?? nadines role is meant to fulfill) but having him just be the emotional rock for jake in this season is not enough, nor is it to keep the previous seasons tug of war with jake regarding their relationship and whether theyre good for one another. i was all episode hoping hed come up with some interesting info on the school and with charles lee rays childhood in it or something..... devon is a smart one, he made the important research and came up with the trap in season 1, and i wish the series remembered that, like it remembered that jake is an artist at heart

really dumb thought but im kinda glad that in the scene with nica and chucky talking inside her head we didnt get like a gollum/smeagol, david-hasselhoff-as-jekyll-and-hyde-the-musical thing (not that fiona dourif wouldnt be able to pull it off); i liked that it showed them as two separate entities even in her own body. probably not the intention but i always like to see nica in some way in control of herself and it makes absolute sense that in that discussion with him she would conceptualize him as a being apart from her. i do think we will eventually get a pretty hammy “shifting” scene and it will be probably a little bit cringe even if its fiona’s wonderful acting

i liked seeing nica trying to manipulate tiffany to leave her alone with her chiding her for wasting money, it was believable but also just clumsy enough of an effort to show shes really getting desperate and that tiffany is still smart enough to realize when shes trying to get her to do something. tiffany as a whole has been feeling just a little too.... dumb? in some way? especially with how little care she put into even properly lying to that detective. like i know its meant to be funny.... but i dont want the comedy to come from tiffany being clueless or dumb. shes ditzy and a bit naive but never dumb

and also i really didnt like the opening credits with the portraits. what the heck was that. i know its a detail and im petty but that was so lazy why didnt we get like crucifixes or sth else, even if it didn’t fit super well it made more sense than those silly production images of the doll and of fiona floating around...........

most of all i feel like stuff IS happening in each episode (here theres the interesting thing with the doll doing recon and taking those pictures?? for some reason???? and now chucky and nica working together to break free and get revenge) but its nowhere as tightly structured and well built up to as in the first season. im thinking of how every scene added a little more to the characters and the environment and the dynamics and how it juggled a whole bunch of plotlines masterfully, while here i think we might have. three. if we count devon and jake, and lexy and nadine as separates. and theres still this feeling of waiting for something else to happen, of building up to something, instead of a constant succession of impactful events. i hoped first episode was all setup even if it wasnt super well conveyed, and this episode too felt most of all like catching up and setting up possible threads. it got better after the halfway point but it still feels like a slow climb. thinking it will eventually get better isnt much of a comfort to me when i can easily remember how much better season one was

[descendinginto-madness]

left behind.

word count: 702

content warnings: mentions of the character overworking themself

summary: N/A

author's notes: ermmm 😋 two more hsr ocs except they're from another fandom and i only hsr-ified them recently so they don't have much hsr lore just yet but!! they're very dear to me regardless :3

Juuzou feels a little odd walking through this particular section of Herta Space Station without Atsushi's company but, at the same time, at the moment he couldn't care less; it's really his least important problem right now.

Besides, it's not like he's explicitly not allowed in there, nor completely alone - there's a researcher accompanying him, even though he'd much rather be alone - and he's staying away from restricted zones, too. No one should give a shit - Juuzou certainly doesn't - and if they do, it's not his problem, because he has much more important things on his mind. Such as the fact that, apparently, none of the researchers Atsushi is usually working with bothered to check on him, even after it turned out he hasn’t been responding to any texts or calls for almost three hours. Juuzou can understand many things, really; the space station employs too many researchers for all of them to be able to know everyone else, most of them are usually busy, too, but surely someone’s closest coworkers would have at least some vague idea about what’s happening to that person, no?

The woman following him surely must’ve realized that too - or maybe he just scared her too much; either way, she’s quiet, with an almost guilty look on her face. She’s somewhat struggling to keep up with him, but right now, he struggles to care. 

It's only when they finally arrive at the door to the archive, and he stops for a moment, waiting for the researcher to let him in, that his anger seems to dissipate - at least a little. It's now replaced by his growing worry; it's not completely unlike Atsushi to not answer him for a long while, either. He tends to work a lot - perhaps a bit too much - and during that time, he usually doesn't answer his phone, that's understandable. But for him to just… Disappear, like that? 

He steps deeper inside; the researcher follows after him but stops near the door, seemingly a little hesitant to follow him, and Juuzou can't say he's particularly upset about it. It's not like he needs her help to find Atsushi, either - though at first the room seems empty, he spots a familiar silhouette soon enough. 

“Atsushi?”

Their friend is lying on his desk, with his eyes closed; Juuzou’s heart nearly skips a beat when they see it, but as they come closer, they're relieved to realize that he's just sleeping. Still, he… Doesn't look good; even asleep he seems tired, his face has a sickly look to it, and Juuzou can see dark circles under his eyes. When they reach out their hand to touch his forehead and check his temperature, though, Atsushi opens his eyes. He seems confused, for just a moment - before he recognizes Juuzou, and immediately pulls himself up.

“Juuzou?” he says. He sounds almost nervous, and their gaze softens. “I… Sorry, I promise I didn’t forget you were visiting today, I just fell asleep and—”

“Atsushi.” They interrupt him, but their voice is gentle; if anyone else heard them right now, they would be surprised, because that's not how they sound when talking to others usually; they're not rude to everyone around them, obviously, but their voice also isn't soft like that. “It’s alright.”

For a moment, Atsushi looks like he wants to disagree, but ultimately, he only lets out a quiet sigh. 

“Okay,” he says and smiles softly. He yawns, covering his mouth with his hand, and adjusts his glasses. “Please give me a moment, I need to finish something here, then we can go.

Juuzou gives him a small nod, and leans against the desk, waiting for Atsushi to finish up his work; they're listening to what he's talking about, but they have trouble focusing right now. Their thoughts keep circling back to how tired their friend looks, and they can't help but wonder how much exactly Atsushi has been sleeping recently, and how much has he been allowing himself to relax. It wouldn't be the first time he neglected that, really; Juuzou supposes, though, that before they confront him about it they might wait for a bit longer; at least until the two of them are somewhere alone. 

divider by @/cafekitsune

[jackrrabbit]

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

[journey-to-the-attic]

im really curious (and in the mood for angst) soooooooo

how would the brothers (minus belphie) cope/react if ik never came back/revived?

ohhh boy here we go

no matter what, i think belphie would be deeply guilty, but in a sort-of more selfish kind of way - he regrets killing ik, yes, but mostly he regrets how much his brothers despise him for it, particularly beel

lucifer and beel would be just about the only ones even remotely on belphie’s side, but that doesn’t really count, considering both are clearly still furious at him - the only difference between them and the other four in the beginning is that they empathise (though maybe that’s not the right word) with belphie. for beel, it’s more a case of belphie being his twin brother; for lucifer, it’s more a case of him understanding somewhat what belphie must have been feeling, especially in relation to human involvement in lilith's death

as for how they cope: lucifer just refuses to acknowledge what happens, locking ik's room and refusing to let anyone enter it; levi holes himself up in his room, hyper-focusing on his own activities; satan keeps leaving the house to let out his pent-up rage by just wrecking the landscape; asmo falls to going out as much as he can to distract himself, but can never quite get into flirting with the demons he meets; beel seesaws between avoiding belphie entirely and attempting to reconcile with what he did and starts spending most of his time either binge-eating or working out furiously

diavolo spares belphie from corporal punishment thanks to some intervention from lucifer, and also because he’s pretty sure that being shunned so much by his brothers is punishment enough - and he, along with barbatos and the other three exchange students, don’t exactly treat him kindly afterwards either. the exchange students in particular refuse to be in the same room as belphie for long, occasionally getting openly hostile

diavolo would probably end the exchange year early as a result of this, so soon enough the angels return to the celestial realm, while solomon disappears off to who-knows-where... ostensibly to return to his solitary magical research, but there are rumours that he’s gone to seek out the reapers...

there's a lot of fighting about what should be done with ik's body - most of the brothers are insisting on burying her down in the underground tomb, whereas diavolo thinks they should return her to her father so that he can decide what to do. satan in particular thinks diavolo is being dumb as shit, because (as far as he's concerned,) her father couldn't be assed raising her properly, so he doesn't deserve custody of the body in the slightest.

in the end the brothers get their way, and though there's some talk of some kind of funeral, they can't bring themselves to actually do it. levi's still locked in his room, asmo just bursts into tears and runs off when it's brought up, satan bridles and storms out - in the end, it's just lucifer, beel and mammon who go to quietly lay ik to rest

it’s pretty much hell on earth for belphie for a good while - he gets lashed out at so many times he's lost count, and witnessing first-hand the effect of what he's done on his brothers reminds him of the fall all over again. the worst part is that he can't truly repent, because he just doesn't understand - the human was only here for such a short amount of time, and sure, she was nice, but how was she this significant? why are their reactions to her death so extreme?

beel's just about the only one willing to tell belphie about what ik did while she was still alive, and slowly he begins to understand - and, eventually, he starts trying to make amends. it doesn't really go well at first - asmo catches him leaving a flower on ik's casket, and his immediate response is to start throwing things at him - but slowly, the others sort-of reconcile with him... and, slowly, belphie begins regaining the family he lost the moment he killed that child

it's never quite the same, though. mammon takes twice as long as the others to even look belphie in the eye, and though they don't stop him, he can tell they're all looking down at him whenever he visits ik's casket - they don't think he deserves to.

funny how quickly things change, belphie thinks. they were all a family of angels, and then suddenly there was a war. they were family of demons, and suddenly he was being locked away from the rest. and then so many things changed so quickly because of one human - even if he'd never killed ik, belphie isn't sure he'd have entirely recognised the family he came out of the attic to... but he did, and then it was his family that didn't recognise him.