#sd abuse

[twsupernaturalimagine]

Please [Don’t] Touch Me

Title: Please [Don’t] Touch Me

Author: Jenna

Original Imagine: Imagine being reluctant to other people’s touch and finally giving your first hug to the boys

Warnings: vague mentions of verbal/physical abuse, vague mention of attempted suicide, brief violence, swearing

Word Count: 2,652

Fic:

        "Here it comes, Y/N!“ you hear Sam call from deep within the depths of the thick forest somewhere in southern Kentucky. You, Sam, and Dean had come to the southern state interested in a particular case that you’d later learned involved an old vampire covenant. You’d been able to kill off a couple of the blood-suckers earlier in the evening, but the head honcho had yet to be found…until now. You stiffen at Sam’s call just in time to catch the vampire as it comes flying at you with Sam a few yards behind. You pin him down easily and are quick to take the stake you had in hand and plunge into his chest. The vampire hisses and spits at you, but his movements are weak. Blood pools from the wound in his chest but from his spastic kicks and punches you can tell it’s not deep enough to kill him.

          "Stand back,” orders Dean as he comes up behind you with a large stake in hand. You don’t move from your position and instead focus your strength on holding the flailing vampire down.

          Dean rolls his eyes at your refusal to move and instead takes the second stake and uses it as a hammer to jam your stake in deeper. The vampire leader gives one last sputtering cough, sending flecks of dark red blood on your face which makes you want to heave.

          “Good job, Y/N!” Sam calls as he rushes up to meet you and Dean. You can’t help but blush at his praise. Despite having a knife in one hand and stake with dried blood covering the point in the other, you feel your heart flutter as he smiles at you.

          “Good work boys,” you say.

          “Good work yourself,” replies Dean.

          You follow the two out of the forest you’d chased the coven leader into. At the edges of the woods you see the small cabin where the coven leader and his followers had been bunking. Sam and Dean are quick to work grabbing gasoline from Baby and setting the little cabin ablaze.

          “Just in case,” says Dean when he catches the confused look on your face, “Maybe one of the fuckers is asleep in the walls, who knows? Better to just burn it all to be safe.”

          “Sounds like something a serial arsonist would say,” you tease. He laughs.

          Once the cabin had burned to ashes and the boys had checked that there wasn’t a chance of a flame sprouting out and igniting the forest, the three of you pile into Baby and argue over where to go for post-hunt celebration dinner.

          You and Sam win out with McDonalds much to Dean’s dismay (he’d wanted Chinese), and with Sam at the wheel, you in the passenger seat, and Dean spread out in the back, you drive down the long country roads in search of a motel and a pair of golden arches.

          Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take you long to find a McDonalds. You can’t help but feel somewhat comforted by the familiar glow of the neon in the windows as you enter. No matter what state lines you crossed or what part of the country you were in, there was always a McDonalds somewhere that made you feel at home.

          “Oh Sammy, look!” Dean snorts as he motions towards a large cardboard cutout of Ronald McDonald. You almost cough up a lung when you feel Sam stiffen beside you.

          “He’s coming for you, Sammy.”

          You shoot Dean a look of absolute joy as the two of you watch Sam hustle past the cardboard cutout and into the store.

          “Y/N?” Sam asks an hour later with his hand poised over the two large fries the three of you’d ordered. The three of you are squeezed into a booth. You’re squished beside Dean, facing Sam who looks at you expectantly.

          “Mmm?” you reply around a large chunk of hamburger. Dean snorts.

          “Today’s the fifth,” he continues, the expression on his face suggesting that there’s something important about this information.

          You cock your head, unsure and unwilling to risk a guess, “Okay?”

          Sam sighs and shakes his head with a smile, “You joined up with us on this day one year ago!”

          Dean perks up beside you, “Hey! That’s right!” He outstretches his arms and leans towards you, “Can’t believe it’s been that long, can you Y/N?” Instinctively you lean back, but Dean doesn’t seem to get the message. The closer he gets, the farther you lean until you can feel yourself tumble out of the booth.

          You hit the ground with a thump and a “Shit!” The few other customers turn to look at the commotion and an old man in a wrinkled polo gives you a disgruntled look in response to your language. You fight the urge to flip him off.

          “Oh! Y/N!” You hear Sam move out of the booth and feel his warm, calloused hands grip your small, cold ones.

          “Fuck Y/N, you alright?” Dean asks. You wonder what kind of look the old man’s giving now.

          You let Sam pull you to your feet. You sway a bit and put a hand to your head. Despite the pain, there’s no blood.

          “You hit your head pretty hard there,” Sam remarks.

          “Shit, did I startle you?” Dean asks, his tone worried, “I thought we were past that.”

          You shake your head (which just makes the developing headache even worse but you ignore it) and put up hands in surrender. “No! No, I’m sorry. It’s my fault.” You bite your lip as you watch a look of confusion pass over their faces. Sam opens his mouth to respond, but you beat him to it.

          "I’m sorry I- I just have a thing with touch. I was caught off guard that’s all.”

          “Oh, Y/N, I didn’t know…”

          “How could you?” you ask, “Don’t apologize, Dean. I’ve never mentioned it before. There’s no way you could’ve known.”

          The three of you are quiet for a moment. The customers seem to have gotten past your spectacle and their background chatter is a comforting distraction from the awkward silence that passes between the three of you.

          “I-Is it because your father?” Sam asks, his tone apprehensive.

          “I’d rather not go into this right now,” you reply, your hands clasped together against your chest, eyes focused on your worn out shoes on the checkered tile.

          “Alright.”

          Wordlessly, Sam and Dean gather your garbage and toss the remaining scraps. You follow the two of them back out to Baby and crawl into the backseat. You don’t want to talk, just want to lay your head down.

          “Wait!” Sam says suddenly and he darts from the passenger seat back inside. He returns quickly with a bottled water and two Advil tablets which, upon re-entering Baby, he hands back to you. You gratefully take the pills as Sam settles back into the passenger seat and Dean starts the engine.

          You watch the scenery go by as Baby exits the McDonalds and heads out back onto the country roads.

          “We should find a place for the night,” Dean remarks and you and Sam nod in agreement. It’s gotten dark since you’d entered the McDonalds. Before there’d been a little later afternoon/early evening, but now there was nothing but the glow of the road lights and the moon.

          “Dean?” you ask. It’s been two hours since you departed from the McDonalds and the three of you had yet to find any place to crash for the night. The roads were empty. You couldn’t even find any stops for gas in the last couple of miles. You were beginning to wonder if you’d end up spending the night in the Impala.

          “Hm,” Dean replies, as he glances at you reflection in the rear view mirror.

          “Sam.“

          “Yeah.”

          You take a deep breath, “I’m sorry.”

          “Y/N,” the two chorus, both sounding very tired. “Don’t be.”

          “I just…” you start, “I’m sorry, we were having such a good night and I ruined it bein’ all weird with my sensory stuff.”

          “You didn’t ruin it,” says Dean.

          “I just wish we’d known sooner,” Sam adds, “I just keep thinking of all the situations we’d put you in where you must’ve felt weird…” He trails off and the three of you fall into silence.

          “You’re right you know,” you say after a few exit signs have passed, “It’s because of my dad.”

          A year ago the Winchester boys had come into your life and changed it for the better. You’d been a college dropout, nineteen years old with nowhere to go but home. Your father was wealthy in assets, poor in affection. He was bad to you. Treated you like an object he’d have dressed up for occasions or appearances, but ignored and starved for attention anytime else. Whenever he touched you it was because he wanted something. A hug meant he needed you to pay off his debts, a goodnight kiss on the cheek a promise that’d he’d use you as collateral in the coming weeks.

          Despite his money, his favorite thing to bet was you. Whether it be your body, your mind, or your companionship. He gladly offered it anyone who’d take you. You were an object to him. Something that he owned. His affection meant he wanted something in return.

          College had been a lifeline in a sea of uncertainty and regret. Finally you were free from his clutches and there was nothing he could do or say save hoping you’d flunk out. But scholarships can only take you so far and it was hard to handle the workload. Three months in and you were done. Depression. Anxiety. Fear of failure. Why try?

          Instead of returning to your father with your tail between your legs, you decided to take your own life. There was a bridge near campus that led across the water to a small island owned by some wealthy folks in the area. The bridge was high, the weather cool and the water freezing. You thought it’d be a quick and relatively painless way to die and you almost had too…

          Apparently the “wealthy folks in the area” were making their money off some kind of strange paranormal game complete with spirits and the occult and you never got the whole story from the boys but apparently it was a clusterfuck. Anyway, one of these wealthy folks had been possessed that night and running across the bridge followed closely by a very tried, very worn out Sam who just happened to see you standing on the ledge deliberating your choices.

          It was dark out and thinking you were the person he was after, he tackled you to the ground. You remember fighting him, throwing punches and kicks (a few of which had landed but not done much), but finally stopping when he grabbed your fists and got a good look at you in the moonlight.

          “Huh,” he’d said, “You don’t look like someone whose been possessed by a thousand year old ghost.”

          And you were so stressed and so confused that you’d started laughing until you were crying. And Sam had stayed there holding your wrists while you sobbed into his neck well into the night and long after Dean had handled set the bones of the possessed old folk ablaze.

          You’d refused to leave Sam’s side and begged the boys to take you with them. When questioned why you’d want to go with complete strangers you told them your story (leaving out some details) and the two had relented figuring that taking you on one hunt would scare you off for good…but it’d hadn’t.

          “You guys know I’m thankful for you, right? And for everything you’ve done for me?”

          “Aw, Y/N, you’re making me blush,” says Dean. He doesn’t turn back to look at you when he says it and instead continues focusing forward but you can see the corner of lips lift up in a teasing smile.

          You snort, “Dean.”

          Sam reaches back and takes one of your hand in his and squeezes. You quickly recoil, “I’m sorry I made dinner weird.”

          “Y/N,” say Sam, stern brown eyes catching your attention, “Everything we do is weird.”

          “Hell,” adds Dean, “You’ve only been around for a year. Trust me. It’s gonna get weirder.”

          A small laugh escapes your throat which is scratchy and dry. You feel a small stream of tears roll down your cheek. A warm feeling sits in your belly. You want to jump the seat and wrap your arms around the boys, but you keep this want at bay.

          “Y/N?” asks Sam, his tone worried as he watches tear after tear roll down your face. Noticing Sam’s change in tone, Dean pulls Baby over to the shoulder and turns off the ignition. Baby shutters to a stop and you’re left in the Impala with both the Winchester’s eyes on you.

          “I have a thing with touch,” you start softly. “I-I think it’s because whenever I was shown affection it was because somebody wanted something so…I dunno…affection feels weird…fake?”

          Sam nods, “Like there’s no point. It doesn’t feel real, it feels like somebody is playing you?”

          “Basically.”

          “Sorry Y/N,” says Dean and you’re quick to put your free hand to his cheek.

          “Dean,” you say, “Don’t be. You didn’t know…” You trail off, choosing your next words carefully, “I know I’ve been kind of vague about what my father was like. I told you it was bad, but never really gave specifics…”

          The two nod in confirmation.

          You continue, “But he was never honest with me. Everything felt like a trick and I was scared…” You pull your hand away from Dean and remark, “I feel safest when I’m with you two. But even now…” The steady stream of tears has grown heavier now and you can feel snot building up in your nose. “…I’m still afraid of contact. And that’s unfair to you two because you trust me and I love you two and…”

          Sam turns away from you and steps out of Baby, moving the seat back. Then he’s next to you, his big, bulky shoulders digging into you as he squeezes in the back. He motions to your hands which now sit clasped in your lap.

          “Do you want to be touched?” he asks and you nod without thinking.

          “I’m tired of being afraid,” you say.

          Sam holds out a hand to you and you tentatively place your hand in his. He squeezes and you squeeze back.

          “That’s not so bad,” you say.

          Dean chuckles as he watches you two, “Well now I feel left out.” He exits the front seat and pulls open the backdoor on your other side.

          “Dean,” warns Sam as the elder Winchester gently shoves you toward Sam. “Touch. We’re starting slow.”

          “It’s alright,” you whisper softly, “It’s nice.”

          Dean squeezes in next to you, turning the backseat into a sandwich with you as the center. The boys are warm and comforting. There’s a feeling of rising anxiety in your belly but you force it back down.

          “We love you Y/N,” Sam says softly.

          “Really?”

          “Of course,” replies Dean. “And you know I don’t say that easily.” Sam chuckles at that.

          You nibble your lip and lean closer into Sam. Finally, you bite the bullet and wrap your arms around his neck. He gives a soft “oh!” as you bury you face into his neck, but he doesn’t push you away. You fee his strong, tanned arms wrap around your waist and you’re quick to wiggle away and turn on Dean instead. You repeat your hug, but quickly pull away before they can respond. You worry you’ve hurt their feelings but a swift glance at each of their faces reveals nothing of the sort.

          In fact, when you pull away from Dean, he’s beaming.

          “How do you feel?”

          You return Dean’s grin. “It’s a start,” you say.

[heartless-curr]

i want to talk about the moment that both made me fall in love with atsushi nakajima as a character, and which made me realize that I was probably going to get obsessed with BSD.

specifically, it was this moment.

words can not describe how important this moment was to me, and how vital this is to both atsushi as a character and his relationship with dazai as a whole.

as someone who is currently living with my abusive parents, this was something that resonated with me a lot — oftentimes, media when attempting to portray abuse (specifically parental abuse) and victims of abuse, does 1 out of 2 things:

1. Tries to justify the abuse and protect the parents — having the kids be okay with the treatment they recieved.

2. Has the kids utterly despise their parents with no shred of good feelings.

And whilst, sure, both of these can happen — and I'm sure there are victims who actually feel like this — it's not the most common response.

Speaking from my own experience — I don't know how to feel about my parents. If they died, I wouldn't know what face to make. I hate them more than anyone else, but at the same time, I grew up with them. I hate them, but I also love them. If they died, I don't know how I'd feel about it. And we get to see Atsushi having that exact breakdown — the elation over the person you hate dying, versus the grief and frustration and confusion. Abuse isn't simple, and feelings aren't simply — your abuser dying isn't something that's clean cut, it comes with a million different conflicting confusing emotions.

And the fact that Atsushi is allowed to have these feelings, is allowed to hate the headmaster, is allowed to grieve without forgiveness, is so important. BSD doesn't try to justify his abuse — it's okay to mourn someone that hurt you even if you don't like them. Their death — or their intentions — don't make forgiveness a necessity.

And even moreso, the fact that he gets explicitly told that regardless of the fact that that abuse was what molded him into the person he is today and has helped him survive, and the fact that the headmaster had good intentions, it was bad and unforgivable, is extremely important.

dazai not forcing atsushi to feel a certain way about his abuser, and encouraging him to mourn without forgiveness and to actually feel, is an incredibly important moment — i doubt that i'm only speaking for myself here when i say that when dealing with these subject matters, these are the types of things we'd like to hear.

the fact that dazai is the character telling atsushi this isn't lost on me, either — considering that earlier on this chapter, he sent ryuunosuke to tell atsushi about the headmaster, and they had this interaction:

everything about this is so fascinating and well written — from atsushi having an extremely realistic breakdown over the death of his abuser, to dazai telling him that he has zero obligation for forgiveness — and the implications that he's aware that what he's done to ryuunosuke is wrong regardless of intentions, is fascinating.

to me, atsushi nakajima has always felt human in a way most protagonists don't — his trauma impacts him, he has complex messy feelings that can't be easily resolved. it's his choice what to do with his emotions, and all others can do is give advice, and let him figure out how to deal with them.

atsushi nakajima crying over the man who simultaneously raised him and made his life a living hell is accurate in a way that almost hurts.

(slightly unrelated, but i sure was accurate with this prediction from a month ago, huh!)

[serial-designation-jey]

THEY SAID IT

THEY FUCKIN SAID IT

OH OH MY

>>>>>>>amity

(if h cant tell shes my fav character)

[librathefangirl]

I'm Falling, Falling (This Ground Can't Hold Me)

ao3 (Chapter 1/1; 4.7k+)

“Don’t take that tone with me. You’ll regret it.” He probably would. This was quickly becoming a potential last-words moment; a this-could-kill-you kind of situation. Meliodas should listen and stop making this worse. He should try to appease his father. Better yet, he should just shut up. Shut up and submit. Be the obedient little heir the Demon King so craved him to be. The problem was... Meliodas wasn’t sure he knew how to be that anymore. He had pushed the Demon King to the edge, and he couldn’t even bring himself to care.

Warnings: Child Abuse, Violence, The Demon King, Sad/Unhappy Ending (aka not the ending you want... sorry)

Based on this prompt by @whump-galaxy: "Don't take that tone with me. You'll regret it."

Read on ao3 or under the cut!

“Don’t take that tone with me. You’ll regret it.”

He probably would. This was quickly becoming a potential last-words moment; a this-could-kill-you kind of situation. Meliodas should listen and stop making this worse. He should try to appease his father. Better yet, he should just shut up. Shut up and submit. Be the obedient little heir the Demon King so craved him to be. The problem was... Meliodas wasn’t sure he knew how to be that anymore. He had pushed the Demon King to the edge, and he couldn’t even bring himself to care.

The Demon King wasn’t shaking with rage. He never did. Any outwardly overly display of emotion was shunned by him; it was seen as a sign of weakness. That included even the less disapproved emotions like anger. Emotions were a weakness, and weaknesses needed to be eradicated. So, no, the Demon King didn’t shake with rage. His eyes, however, those dark hateful eyes, they always told the truth. Right now, he was fuming, moments away from exploding. Meliodas should stop while he still had the chance to do so.

There were a lot of things Meliodas should do.

But Meliodas had been pushed to the edge, too, toes dangling over the cliffside. In front of him was the promise of a probable death. Behind him was the same prison he had spent his entire life in; death, destruction, pointless violence, and always, always expected obedience. Meliodas thought about Heaven’s Theater, about Elizabeth. They, too, were at the bottom of that cliff. As was something else. A choice. A different life. Meliodas didn’t know if the fall would kill him or not, but he was already dead inside. He could no longer say the risk wasn’t worth it. Because it was. Up here, he was dying. At least taking the leap meant a chance of not only surviving but of living.

“I don’t care.”

Meliodas couldn’t have bit his tongue hard enough to stop the words even if he had tried – and he wasn’t trying anymore. He had one foot over the cliff, ready to just let go. Consequences be damned. His father still expected him to try, though, if the sharp seething words were any indication.

“What did you say?”

The thing about having the most hostile demon – who would never hesitate to threaten anything or anyone – as your father was that eventually intimidation just didn’t face you anymore. You grew indifferent to it. For better or for worse.

“You heard me.”

Zeldris shifted uncomfortably beside Meliodas. From the corner of his eyes, Meliodas saw him open his mouth. There was a poorly hidden panic in his eyes. Then, just as suddenly, Zeldris slammed his mouth shut again and his gaze fell promptly to the floor. He became as still as a statue once more, as if that small fleeting moment hadn’t just occurred. Meliodas hated seeing him like this. It broke his hearts to see his little brother crumble as fast as an unsupported corpse in their father’s presence. Zeldris wasn’t standing on that cliff with him. Meliodas knew that. Not yet anyway. He still hadn’t been pushed far enough to dare cross their father. Meliodas wished he didn’t have to witness him doing it either – but there was nothing he could do to get Zeldris out of the room now.

So, instead, he just glared at the Demon King and repeated; “I. Don’t. Care.”

For a moment, the words hung silently in the air, the tension building up like in the seconds before a lightning strike. Then the Demon King finally exploded. He was on Meliodas in an instant. His presence as suffocating as the hand that wrapped around his throat.

“You want to try that again.”

The words were a whispered hiss in Meliodas’ face, yet they thundered as loudly as if they had been shouted inside his ears. Tears sprung to his eyes, his air being completely cut off. He clawed helplessly at the hand on his throat, but it was no use. There was nothing he could do. The Demon King was a god and Meliodas merely the son of one.

Right when Meliodas thought he was going to black out from the lack of oxygen, the pressure eased. Just enough for him to gasp in a few gulps of air and choke out a reply.

“I will... not... do it!”

It was the same protest that had started this whole mess; Meliodas refusing the Demon King’s orders. It was words Meliodas should never have uttered in the first place if he had any sense of self-preservation left – but it was too late to take them back now. Not that Meliodas had any intention to do so. He was not going to fold this time. Never again.

The grip on his throat tightened slightly in warning, but Meliodas continued anyway; “I will not... be your tool... anymore. I–... I won’t take your orders–”

Darkness claimed Meliodas before he could even finish the sentence. The excruciating pain that struck a split second before was entirely expected.

...

What was more unexpected was that Meliodas came to again an undetermined time later, and especially that he did so in his own bedroom. That act of disobedience could’ve very well been his last. He had almost expected it to be. It hadn’t come without a price, though. Meliodas’ whole body ached. No, ached was nowhere near a word strong enough to describe the agony currently coursing through his body. It felt like Meliodas had been stepped on by an Albion or ten. Maybe even a hundred. Meliodas didn’t know what his father had actually done to him, but avoiding a repeat would be advisable. Gods, everything hurt...

The groan slipped past Meliodas’ lips before he had the chance to stop it. Instantly another hand was on his, rubbing soothing circles into his skin. The touch was light and tentative, as if afraid to hurt him further. Not that it felt really possible. Meliodas had turned into a being solely composed of bruises, wounds, pain, and more bandages than he’d had in a very long time. Meliodas lolled his head to the side. Zeldris was perched in the corner of his bed. His knees were pressed tight to his chest and his eyes looked just like they had the last time Meliodas saw them. Too wide, too unblinking; looking like Zeldris was keeping himself from breaking down crying just by sheer will and stubbornness.

“Zel...”

Meliodas barely managed to croak that one syllable out. His voice sounded as bad as his body felt. Zeldris didn’t turn to look at him. He kept staring unseeingly out into the room.

“I thought he was going to kill you.”

So had Meliodas. Not that he was about to admit that to his little brother.

“He didn’t.”

Zeldris pulled his hand from Meliodas’ sharply. He was still refusing to meet his gaze even as he wrapped his arms around his legs instead. Meliodas missed the physical contact. The loss of it made his hand feel cold and the distance between them insurmountable. Meliodas wanted to reach out; to hold him, to ease his pain. Because his little brother was clearly hurting, too. Just in a different way. But Meliodas wasn’t sure he could even manage to move his body that much, and no words he could think of would make this situation okay. Zeldris probably wouldn’t accept it anyway. Somewhere along the years, despite needing it now more than ever, they’d stopped reaching out to each other like that. Zeldris’ act of comfort today was rare enough. Meliodas missed it – there were a lot of things he missed. Like being able to hold his brother without it feeling like the end of the world. But caring about your brother was also a sign of weakness in the Demon King’s eyes. Because it was a threat to their loyalty to him. Not that Meliodas had any of that left. Maybe he had never had. Fear and loyalty were, after all, two completely different things.

“He could have killed you,” Zeldris muttered, almost a little sourly.

“I know.”

Finally, Zeldris turned to look at Meliodas. There was anger in his eyes. So, so much anger; at their father, at Meliodas, probably even at Zeldris himself. This ordeal had been difficult for Zeldris. That Meliodas knew for certain. It had been difficult, and it had been terrifying. Because Zeldris was right. The Demon King could have killed him. It would have been so easy, too, done without even flinching – and there wouldn’t have been a single thing that Zeldris could have done to stop it. It was an irrefutable truth. It hung over them like the darkness of night. No matter how many candles you lit, the darkness would still be there. Hidden, ignored, avoided, but always there. It was an unchangeable fact.

“Why would you do something so stupid?!”

Despite his harsh tone and the frustration pushing the words into a near shout, Zeldris’ eyes shone with unshed tears. Once more, Meliodas itched to reach out. Instead, he used every bit of strength he could muster to push himself up. Zeldris’ hand twitched, as if he was about to help him, but in the end, he let Meliodas handle it himself. Truth to be told, Meliodas was grateful for it. Not being able to even sit up on his own would not have given the impression that he was capable of making his own decisions right now. He needed Zeldris to believe he could. Stupid as it might be, Meliodas knew exactly what he was doing.

“Zel.” Meliodas took a moment to watch his little brother, taking in the way Zeldris’ eyes didn’t quite meet his and the white-knuckled grip he had on the bed sheet between them. “I meant what I said, Zeldris.”

Zeldris didn’t respond, but his grip turned even tighter.

“I am done.”

It probably would have come across as more confident if Meliodas hadn’t sounded like he had the wrong end of the ground for breakfast. Just saying those three words sent flames up and down Meliodas’ throat. Zeldris looked away, out into the room again. For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. His gaze flickered around the room blindly as he thought, eyes barely settling on a target before moving on to the next. The tension in his jaw kept building, grinding his teeth close together. When he finally spoke, it was in a whisper. As if speaking the words any louder would cause something to break.

Maybe it would.

“...what does that mean?”

Meliodas was back on that cliff, and they both knew it. Eyes closed. Free-falling. There was no turning back now.

“I’m leaving.”

Zeldris jolted. His gaze was back on Meliodas in an instant. The emotions displayed there were almost more than Meliodas could bear to see. This was the hard part. Not confronting his father. Not facing the Demon King’s wrath. But this; seeing the look of utter betrayal grow on his little brother’s face. It was like a thread being pulled tighter and tighter and tighter – it tugged at his mouth, at his eyes, at his eyebrows; it shone through every fiber of his being – until – a tear fell from Zeldris’ eye – it inevitably, mercilessly snapped. The mask slammed down over Zeldris’ face. With it, every trace of the pain he felt disappeared from sight. Shut your feelings down tight, tight, tight. It was a necessary skill when your father was the Demon King. At some point, Zeldris had surpassed Meliodas at it.

“Zel–!”

Meliodas reached a fumbling hand after him, almost falling over in the process, but Zeldris was already off the bed and three steps through the room. His shoulders were pulled high and his hands curled into fists. He was not avoiding Meliodas’ gaze this time.

“So. That’s it?”

Zeldris’ words were still coming out too quiet for Meliodas' liking. Screaming he could have dealt with; it was a familiar anger. This quiet Zeldris? It felt almost as deadly as their father’s explosion earlier – and that comparison alone could have stricken Meliodas dead. Just the idea that he would ever put his little brother equal to the Demon King in any matter... This was nothing like what had happened in the throne room. That he could handle. This, he could not. He didn’t even know where to begin. Because this wasn’t really anger, this was hurt. He was hurting his little brother and there was no stopping it.

The only option Meliodas had left was to keep going, to keep falling.

“You are just going to abandon everything? Turn your back on us? On me? Brother–!”

Zeldris’ voice broke and Meliodas’ hearts with it. He couldn’t do this. Wrath, violence; enemies, allies, fathers. That he knew how to handle. Not this. Never this. There was no fixing this. The only way to stop Zeldris from hurting was to stay, but if Meliodas stayed, he wouldn’t make it. He wasn’t sure when he had realized it, when exactly he had hit the point of no return – but he had. Something changed after meeting Elizabeth. Before, everything had felt like just a part of his inescapable life. Now, it felt like a part of this life. Growing up, Meliodas had always felt trapped in the life his father had created for him. Elizabeth had given him an option; proof that another life could be possible. The problem with finding a new life, though, was that it cost you your old one – and, despite everything, there were some things Meliodas was terrified to lose. His little brother being the most important one.

“No! Zel, that’s not–”

Meliodas cut himself off as his new attempt at reaching for his brother was accompanied by a rattling sound. Maybe the first one had been too and he just hadn’t noticed it. Now that it had penetrated the pain-induced fog in his brain, it was impossible to ignore. Meliodas forced himself to avert his eyes from Zeldris to locate the source of the sound. It wasn’t hard. It was harder to acknowledge that Meliodas had missed something so obvious and crucial before. There was a chain locked around his leg. Thick, heavy, and probably magically protected. It disappeared somewhere under his bed, its length surely just enough to grant him free movement around the room but keep him away from the door or window. Go figure. Of course, his punishment had only begun. It would be naive to think that the Demon King would overlook disobedience like that so easily. There would be a heavy price to pay – which was why Meliodas had to leave. The chain was a major complication to that, but not one that took any kind of priority right now.

“Zeldris...” Meliodas sighed, fumbling for the right words. “I don’t want that either, but what choice do I have?”

The chain rattled loudly as he shifted in the bed, almost like an embodiment of the hopelessness of the situation.

“What–... What choice do I have? Stay here? Be just another one of his pawns forever? End up like–”

Meliodas’ voice broke. Perhaps that was for the better, he didn’t know how to finish the sentence. End up like who? Their mother? Their father himself? It was hard to tell which fate would be worse. Probably the latter. After all, that was why Meliodas was risking himself like this in the first place. So he wouldn’t have to become what the Demon King wanted him to be: the second coming of his father.

Meliodas swallowed thickly, trying to shake the thought from his head. He couldn’t even imagine how his little brother would look at him then. No, Meliodas had no choice left.

“How is that any better? I’m leaving him, not you...”

“Right!” There was a coldness to Zeldris’ words that sent a shiver down Meliodas’ spine. “So you’re doing the big, brave thing and I’m just the coward for staying?”

“What?! No!”

It felt like his words were getting lost somewhere in the distance between them, which only seemed to grow with each passing second. Had it really gone that wrong? Had Meliodas been so focused on surviving that he had lost his little brother in the process? Zeldris was standing just a few steps away, but it might as well have been miles. He felt unreachable to Meliodas.

“No... No, no, of course not, Zel,” Meliodas begged. The emotions choked up his voice even more, making it barely audible. “It just means that you can still do what I cannot.”

“But you think I should leave.”

YES!

Zeldris was most likely trying to make a point, but all Meliodas could think was that word over and over and over again. Yes, yes, yes. You should. We should. I should have taken you and ran over a century ago. It was a horribly selfish thought for a prince of the realm to have.

“You could.”

“What...?”

Zeldris’ voice turned quieter once more. The real, raw emotions that drove the anger peeking through the cracks in his mask. Actually, a lot shone through those cracks. Zeldris no longer looked like the son of the Demon King confronting a trusted ally about a would-be betrayal. He was simply Meliodas’ little brother. He looked lost, and scared. He looked... too young. Seeing Zeldris’ face in that moment reminded Meliodas of how much so. When you stripped him of all the pretense and experiences he shouldn’t even have, Zeldris was still so, so young.

“Leave. You could leave, too.”

Unlike Zeldris, Meliodas tried to speak loudly. He channeled everything he could into those few words. They still came out barely louder than Zeldris’ shock, but Meliodas hoped his brother could hear the conviction in them. He prayed he was listening to it.

“Come with me, Zel.”

Meliodas wasn’t sure he had ever really put his hand down since this whole thing began – but he reached out to Zeldris once more. Hand outstretched, palm open; he was asking him. Meliodas was not their father. He would not force Zeldris to do something he didn’t want to, no matter how much the idea of Zeldris staying terrified him. If he did, it would already be too late for Meliodas to leave. The Demon King would have ruined him before he could save himself. All he could do was offer his hand and hope that Zeldris came to the same conclusions as he had.

For a moment, it all hung in the air between them: Meliodas’ offer, his betrayal, the desperation they both felt. Then...

“How could you say that?”

Zeldris stepped further away from Meliodas. That was it. Meliodas had failed his little brother. The distance was too great, the divide unsurpassable. Zeldris truly was out of Meliodas’ reach.

“I am leaving . You can, too.”

Zeldris had made it all the way to the door before Meliodas finally found his voice again. Now, he stood there frozen, hand wrapped around the handle. Meliodas didn’t even know if there was any point left to him speaking up again. Zeldris had made it clear he wouldn’t even consider the option. Still, Meliodas had to try. He was scared of what would happen if he let Zeldris just leave.

“How would you even do that?”

The sharpness was back to Zeldris’ words, but he wasn’t moving. He remained where he was, glaring into Meliodas’ bedroom door. It was a fair question. Meliodas was chained to his own room and could barely move. Not to mention the Demon King. If he was lucky, his father would leave him be for a few days, let this punishment fester before the next one. Still, even if he wasn’t put under direct guard, which was unlikely – there were probably at least two posted outside his door right now – it would be hard to sneak away undetected. And it would probably be days until he could handle flying, which meant it would be days until he could use his window to escape.

“Some way.”

“That’s specific,” Zeldris scoffed.

He still had his back to Meliodas.

Meliodas sighed, “I can’t stay, Zel.”

Zeldris glanced over his shoulder, meeting Meliodas’ gaze once last time. The mask was firmly back in place. Though through the harshness in his glare, the tears continued to shine. His hand was white around the handle. When he spoke, there was a faint tremble hiding beneath the clipped tone. His words weren’t loud, nor were they as quiet as before. They just were.

The undeniable truth hung between them.

“Then you have made your choice.”

And now they both had to live with the consequences.

...

With those words Zeldris had left, and Meliodas had slumped back down in the bed, staring up at the ceiling in the deafening silence that followed. The next few days went by much the same. Meliodas didn’t see Zeldris again. He didn’t see his father either, fortunately. The only ones who went in and out of his room were the castle staff. To help care for the injuries he’d sustained while speaking out against his father – and ensure that his voice would hold to agree with the Demon King the next time – and to provide food. The bare minimum of both, of course, he was after all still being punished. As if the literal chain would allow him to forget that. Meliodas, for his part, spent most of his days replaying that last conversation with Zeldris, trying to figure out when everything had gone so terribly wrong. Could he pinpoint the exact moment it happened, or had he already lost his little brother long before then without even realizing it?

Eventually, the day finally arrived. Meliodas’ body still ached terribly, but he could manage to summon his wings and if he was just mindful of his flight, he should be able to make it out of the Demon Realm. That was, of course, if he could just make it out of the castle – or his room, for that matter. Meliodas pulled his knees up to his chest, reaching down to rub at his ankle. This had become a frequent occurrence in the past days. As his mobility had increased, Meliodas had ended up pulling against the chain even more, scuffing and scraping his skin in the process. Today was different, though. There was no cold metal blocking his touch. No rattling sound as he moved. There was no chain.

“...wha–?”

Meliodas looked down. There was no chain. At some point, while Meliodas had slept, someone had opened the shackle around his leg. Opened, not unlocked. It looked like it had been pried open; broken. Someone had opened it without the Demon King’s permission or knowledge. Who would...?

Meliodas didn’t have time to ponder it any longer because the next moment, the bedroom door opened. Instinctively, and with the practiced ease of someone used to putting up a front to the public’s eye, Meliodas had shoved his leg back down on the bed next to the chain and thrown the blanket over both before the door had even fully opened. Mara, one of the castle staff, stepped through. She slid over the floor silently, head bowed. Like many of the staff, Mara represented everything the Demon King wished for in a pawn: enough strength to earn herself a place inside the castle combined with the docility to know her place. She would have never even thought about speaking out against the Demon King in such an atrocious way as Meliodas had done. In the same way, she also represented everything Meliodas was scared of becoming: a puppet with uncuttable strings clued on.

“Good morning, Meliodas.”

She greeted him with a small smile when she saw him sitting up. Mara had always been a refreshing kindness in this dark hellhole. It almost made Meliodas regret the way he thought about her – but the lack of title in her words was further proof of his point. Before this mess, Mara had never greeted him with such blatant disrespect. Not that Meliodas cared much about titles anyway. Mara, however, had always been a stickler for formality for as long as Meliodas had known her. Unless ordered otherwise. This was yet another punishment from his father. Although it was more of a statement than an actual punishment considering Meliodas’ stance on the whole thing. Of course, Meliodas knew his status rose high above nearly anyone else in the castle, and there was nothing wrong with using a title where it was due. It was just the way the Demon King was enforcing it that had always felt excessive and pretentious. More like law than respect. Sometimes it made Meliodas’ skin crawl; the image of his family that his father was burning into everybody around them.

Meliodas had long since learned the difference between fear and loyalty. He knew which one he wanted.

Like every other day, Mara was carrying a plate of food with her. It was the same underwhelming food Meliodas had gotten since he woke up back in his room. By now, he was starting to really crave some proper food, or at least some variety to it. What was unlike every other day, was the lack of any medical supplies, which meant that Meliodas had passed some bare minimum health check. This also meant that if Meliodas was getting out, it had to happen today. Before the next phase of his punishment began. He had no intention of finding out exactly what that was. Staying would also put whoever had freed Meliodas’ leg at risk of discovery and penalty. If Meliodas ran, all blame would fall on him – as it should. This was his decision.

There was just one thing still nagging in his mind, keeping him stuck in this room.

“Where’s Zeldris?”

Mara had been about to excuse herself, having finished her duty here. That was, providing Meliodas his food and bare minimum socialization for the day. She remained still for a moment. Then, as duty-bound as ever, she answered the question posed.

“The prince is away from the castle grounds, out on a mission. I do not know where or for how long.”

It had been a chance so slim it had barely even existed, yet still, Meliodas felt the opportunity to see his little brother, to say goodbye, one last time crumble in his hands.

“I see. When- When did he leave?”

“A few hours ago, he–” Mara hesitated. “It was shortly after his highness came to see you actually.”

...what?

“Zel... came to see me?”

“Yes,” Mara replied as easily as if she had been telling him the weather. As if she hadn’t just turned Meliodas’ whole world upside down. “Perhaps he thought it best to let you get your rest as you are still healing.”

Or perhaps he just didn’t want to talk to him. If Zeldris had wanted to, he would have woken him. That was, if he wanted Meliodas to know he had come to his room at all.

“Perhaps... This– Was this mission Father’s order?”

“No, it was the young prince himself who insisted. I think the Demon King is pleased he is showing such initiative.”

Zeldris was also sending a very clear message; Meliodas was leaving today, but Zeldris wasn’t coming with him.

“I’m sure he is. Look, Mara, I– I should probably eat now.”

“Oh, yes. Of course. I’ll leave you to it.”

She threw one more kind smile his way before turning to leave. Meliodas burned with the knowledge of that one person he now knew had been in his room during the time he’d been asleep. The one person in the castle who also knew about his plan and the trouble the chain was causing.

“But could you–”

Meliodas stopped himself, but so did Mara, giving him her full attention, listening to his one final request.

“Just... tell Zel that I’m– I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye.”

Mara frowned a little but nodded her head nonetheless; “Absolutely. I’ll let him know, your– Meliodas.”

“Thank you.”

And with another nod, she left. The lack of title was quite fitting. Meliodas was acting like no prince, and after today he probably never would be one again. With Mara’s departure from the room, all Meliodas had to do now was open his window and... be gone. Zeldris had made sure of that.

This was their new reality.

Zeldris had watched Meliodas leap off of that cliff, and then turned back inlands himself. Meliodas wasn’t sure they would ever end up on the same ground again. It was a terrifying thought.

[aldebarangel]

it is laughable when people call shin soukoku abusive because atsushi and akutagawa are literally like two teenage boys who fight outside their school campus over personal grudges but eventually get along after putting their differences aside

[hihopelessromantics]

Through the Wall Chapter 2.5

A nanatsu no taizai fanfiction

hehehe I forgot to post this here. I hope whoever was reading this back in March sees this and knows that oops I am totally invested in writing things for this fandom now.

This one gets dark. Trigger warning for child/ infant abuse (ft the Demon King) and suicidal ideation (poor Meliodas, there's no way that specific issue didn't come up sometime before the curse)

Without further ado, here's this au's take on Meliodas meeting his brother for the first time.

~~

150 years ago. 

“So, the Demon King will have a second son?”

“If he’s strong enough, yes.” 

“Don’t come out until I call for you. Or until your sense your father’s return.”

With his breathy whisper fading into the air, Chandler stepped back, and clicked the door shut. His young pupil slumped over the moment he was out of sight, relinquishing a facade of stoic, unwavering strength. The boy wept, grateful for his first moment of true solitude in what felt like his whole life, and the chance to maybe do something about this worthless state of existence. He scrambled further back into the dark crawlspace of the, literally, godforsaken tower in what was comically his least favorite patch of rocky cliffs in the entire Demon Realm, which Chandler promptly told him five minutes ago was Meliodas’s own birthplace. How fitting. 

Retrieving a small knife from his boot and trying to shake the numbness of his mind, Meliodas kept crawling until he felt the floor drop out from under him. He launched themself down there, landing softly on all fours. The stench of flesh blood told him this was the place Chandler indicated - and the more unsettling stench of old blood, which he hadn’t mentioned, sparked a hint of an emotion Meliodas thought was dead. Curiosity. Cursing in his mind, he breathed in more deeply and actually took in his surroundings, but couldn’t find either any hint as to what could have happened here or an actual reason to investigate. Just old stonework and scattered cloth blankets. It’s not like he had any energy left to care. He had just enough to thank that old tutor of his for those cryptic, vague suggestions that meant Chandler probably wouldn’t be surprised if this little adventure ended up killing Meliodas if he did something wrong. Typical Chandler, he thought. But for once it suited him. Meliodas was tired of being a puppet with no chance to grow a connection to anyone or anything besides killing. He doubted his father’s other pawns minded much when he wasn’t around, and frankly couldn’t care less if the Demon Realm’s government couldn’t pull it together without him. If they had to work themselves to exhaustion, well, serves them right for putting it all on the shoulders of one child who wasn’t even allowed to feel. Oh yeah, and for calling him weak when he told them sometimes he wished he could join the ranks of the dead already. Fuck em. Still, he didn’t want his death propaganda-ized to the Celestial Realm and back, so he’d put the thought off. 

This was good. 

He breathed deeply, the scent of nearby blood as familiar to him as his own reflection. Damnnit, he wasn’t sure just how long he’d have to be alone down here, had no reason to believe it would be more than fifteen minutes, even, but he still wasn’t eager to stick a knife into his neck. I hate my life, Meliodas thought, and sank onto his back. I don’t even want to sleep. 

A garbled sound answered him. Meliodas hit his head on the top of the crawlspace with how quickly he sat up. The blankets were making sounds. He berated himself as he crawled toward the sounds: stupid, stupid, please, please you CAN’T . . . honestly. . . if it just one little sound gets your hearts racing like this, you won’t die OR be able to survive. 

He couldn’t have foreseen what he would encounter there in that crawlspace. The gurgling sounds, and the fresh blood, belonged to a baby who was staring up at the ceiling with a reasonable amount of annoyance. The expression on its little face changed drastically as it took in Meliodas’s stunned face. He didn’t know what to say to the poor thing except, “Must have been scary here all alone here, huh? You okay? You scared?” 

It gaggled as a response and smiled an ecstatic, toothless grin. Without any more hesitation, Meliodas tore off his shirt and jacket, using the former to clean off the baby as best he could before holding the little one snugly against him. He didn’t understand how the infant hadn’t died of insanity or whatnot after being down here god knows how long. Well, as long as he was here, at least one of them would be happy - he could ensure that much, considering all the stolen moments he had spent in the capital’s nursery. 

He didn’t know how long he was down there.

“You’re a sweet little one, aren’t you?” He teased, as the baby happily chomped on one of his fingers. Judging by its body temperature and willingness to play and interact with him, it seemed to be in decent health. 

“Ah. We should burn this, huh?” Meliodas looked to his now blood-crusted shirt. “Hey. . . wanna see something cool? Hellblaze.” The prince summoned the faintest hint of the fire inherent to his kind, gently and gradually increasing it as his new friend stared and cooed with the utmost excitement at the dark purple flame. The delight in those sparkling green eyes was divine. Meliodas was sorely tempted to teach the little one how to make his own flame, but it was so clearly and stunningly younger than the children he was used to. He couldn’t remember anything the castle staff or nurses said about that which they called infants, the youngest demons. But he remembered the sting of hellfire well enough to withdraw the idea almost immediately. 

“Ah - no, don’t eat it! Ssh, no, I’m not upset, I’m sorry I raised my voice, I’m sorry. It’s just, magic isn’t the safest thing, okay? You’ll learn when you get your own. It should be… ah… I don’t know, a couple of years? Decades? I only know I’m an exception, being a god’s son and all. So I’m not sure.” 

The baby settled back down into Mel’s arms like it belonged there, grabbing firmly for his hands again. “Let me protect you, okay?” He murmured, pressing their foreheads together. The baby gave a deep, rumbling purr. Reassured, Meliodas mimicked the sound as best he could, having, usually, no reason to make such a sound. 

“I wonder why you appeared in such a place. You have any idea? Nah, of course not. Not like it matters right? Mooooore importantly, do you know what I’m saying?” 

The baby only smiled. 

Playing, occasionally whispering stories to amuse himself with the little one’s reactions. Told him how lonely he was. He forgot it probably couldn’t understand language yet. The part of his mind he was willing to spare toward THINKING with any level of strenuousness occupied itself with the aches and pains and restlessness that made themselves known now that he was truly relaxed.

Eventually, Meliodas gave into the urge and summoned his darkness. It radiated off his body from under his skin, burning away any chill and curling around his limbs in a comforting manner. For some reason, in this moment, it felt more like a living being, like a friend, than ever before, and he felt so earnestly compelled to acknowledge it as such - despite being ordered not to by his father - that he did so. It was a shock to feel some sort of sensory pleasure spike through his body as soon as he had the thought, and he felt his darkness spread through his body on a deep exhale, melting into his cells instead of returning back to the box he’d been accustomed to forcing it into. This didn’t feel unsafe. It felt safer, like a defense mechanism or a bone returning to its proper place. Keeping his magic strangled like that did more than tire him out, he realized. 

He allowed himself a couple of minutes to stretch and adjust before settling back down to check on the little one. It was less content in the pile of blankets than in his arms, so he scooped it up again and tried lacing their fingers together. Still too small. Giddy at a sudden idea, he extended a tendril of darkness forward and curled it around his little friend’s tiny wrist. It shouted in delight, then went about touching and manipulating  Mel’s darkness however it could. Meliodas couldn’t stop smiling at how fascinated the baby was - and how gentle, too. As if the darkness was just another part of Mel’s body and it understood it could hurt him somehow. Not likely, but Mel had gone from being fascinated with what could be going on in the young demon’s mind, to being (oddly) certain of its feelings and intentions. Like it wasn’t difficult anymore. A couple of times it poked Mel’s hand or chest or cheek, even attempting to hold his wrist the way Meliodas always did to check his pulse. 

“I have seven hearts,” the demon prince informed an infant with no knowledge of what a heart was. “I think you have seven too. Oh, don’t be disappointed. You’re plenty special. Hm, see - your eyes are so much more lively and beautiful than mine, even though they’re the same green. ‘No two beings are entirely the same.’ Nurse Grequiene explained it to me once.” 

He went through about 90 or so names before finding one that felt right. He apologized for not knowing any proper infant names as, according to one of his nannies, it was traditional and had been a big deal when the crown prince himself wasn’t given one to begin with.  Meliodas relayed as much of that conversation as he could remember: ‘There wouldn’t have been any of this fuss had you been given the chance to pick one out like all the other kids,’ he’d said, dabbing away at a stain on his bedroom floor. ‘We haven’t respected your father much since, as you know. The castle staff is nonexistent to him. As long as we stay out of the upper floors of the castle we’re never fired, just shuffled around or - well I shou- I won’t burden you with the details now, just know that what you say to us we will keep in confidence. That controlling bastard can only go so far. Remember that. Might have had to go drastic with that nasty rumor to get your sire to let you pick your name like all the other demon kids, but we did it, didn’t we?’

“Naturally, I pestered them for ages about what the rumor was. And it was more wild than I could have hoped for. Turns out! There were demons who dedicated that the goddess queen must have helped to create me after my father refused to let me be community-raised or to pick my own name after I was old enough to understand what that involved. They said I must not be a full demon, because if I was, why would he need to exert so much control over me and discard generations of tradition? Yeah. My father wasn’t pleased with that rumor. He couldn’t find the source, though. By the time he noticed it was just “everywhere,” supposedly, and he opted to pretend the whole situation never happened.” 

The baby listened with interest. The fingers playing with Mel’s golden locks yanked, and he leaned down to accommodate the little one’s stimming. 

“You know what else is interesting?” Inquisitive green eyes stared back at his, and despite its young age the babe looked very much as if eager to share in some conspiracy Mel was about to engage in. Even though it was just words, it could not be more delighted with them, and that was a power Meliodas reveled in. 

“I like you. I like you a lot. Even though I barely know you - I feel like I’m learning, don’t get me wrong. But it’s not like I just trust - or like - people on sight. This is . . . a new thing for me. Oh, and, thank you. I’m a little sleepy right now and can’t recall why, but I feel like I should be thanking you.” 

Let’s go to sleep now, okay? Sweet dreams! 

He didn’t know how many times he’d said that -

Before the thump of a hurried landing reverberated throughout the crawlspace. 

Hm?

Ah. That voice sounded familiar but he didn’t want to hear it. Babe in his arms, he retreated backward, sensing the presence was right about him. Sensing him.

“Hm? No, you’re safe! Come out, come here to me, I -”

“No. Go. Go away.”

“What? No - curses - Young Master!”

Meliodas hissed threateningly and stabbed at the hand reaching out for him with his darkness.

“He’s gone delusional . . . here, here -” 

Suddenly there was air moving freely around him and then he was landing, hard, on the wooden floor of the tower - not occurring to him that there was a trapdoor, he stared dumbfounded up at the familiar face that was rather completely ruining his nice evening.

“Ah - Young Master, put that back.”

“Wha…?”

Pointing at the precious babe in his arms. 

“Put that back, we need to go.”

“No, no, I’m not going anywhere. And there’s no way I’m leaving “that” here!”

Chandler looked at him as if he hadn’t heard or understood. “Young Master, you have to come with me. We must leave shortly.”

“No.”

“You have to. Now,” he repeated, looking downright frightened, but Meliodas only looked down at the precious bundle in his arms and shook his head wildly. The older man’s darkness locked tighter, tighter around Meliodas’s arms, the firm grip reminding Mel of his own hold on the child he’d just met, and he looked up, taking in his tutor’s face for the first time. Pleading. With all of his heart. 

“Please. I like it here.”

“Now is not the time for jokes. Darkness below, you . . .” The older man measured Meliodas’s face once more and, seeming to come to a conclusion, sighed. “Alright.”

His face split apart into a smile. “Thank you, Ch -”

And his vison went black. 

When he woke up, he woke up alone in his bedroom.

Yes, the training was a massive success, he proved quite sturdy. 

He did not move or attempt to get up. He was alone once more, that he knew, and in that moment, that was all he needed to know. 

I promised to protect . . .

I promised. I promised.

You put your hands on me. It wasn’t even training and you hurt me.

He had been out for quite some time, attended to by some very concerned staff at all times. He couldn’t find it in himself to be grateful, though he smiled and thanked them all the same when he finally regained the strength to do so. 

After all,

We have doomed a life to death.

“Meliodas?” 

The voice was tentative. Chandler - no, the old man - had done well in giving him his space, as Meliodas did not know himself if Chandler’s blood would not have stained the floor, should he have come close. 

He missed the fact he was called by name.

“Meliodas, I have some good news I know you’ll love.”

No, I’ll never love anything, ever again. 

And I’ll soon be dead. I refuse to live.

“Come to the throne room. Your father has promised a lovely surprise. Yes, I know it makes you anxious, but you have to go now. And I’m sure you’ll love it.”

He didn’t answer. Just silently dressed himself and walked out, the perfect picture of the poised, proper prince, all the way to the throne room. This would be the first of his father’s surprises to truly surprise him. Which is exactly how his father expected it. Everything would be how his father expected it. 

Again.

“You have a brother,” announced the Demon King. 

That jolted Meliodas right out of his thoughts fast enough that he almost made a facial expression. The Demon King laughed heartily. 

“He has passed the test, as you have, and I am proud to welcome him into the royal family. He has no name and nothing to call his own yet. You shall look after him from this point forward.” 

“I will do as you will. The task - it pleases me.” The response was somehow spoken in a steady tone despite the whirlwind of emotions making him want to sink to his knees and melt into a puddle of blessedly free liquid. “I’ve never had a brother before,” he tacked on, not really knowing how his father knew his brother was a brother and oh yeah, he didn’t care much for being considerate, did he? Oh fucking well. 

“I imagine so!” laughed his father. “Come here, child.”

Meliodas did so, and his father with his great statue plucked up a small bundle of cloths from the ground and placed it with insufficient caution in his sons (not waiting) arms. To his own horror, Meliodas caught the babe swiftly and in but a moment had it secure . . . cradling gently . . . just as he had with his little friend who at this very moment was surely dead and quite heartbroken. Hearts protesting this state of existence, and probably the fact he had forgotten air as a necessity, he sucked in air and practically choked on it.

His father laughed, genuinely amused at his carefully crafted son’s loss of composure. “What is the matter, son? Is he not to your liking? Ah! You haven’t even seen him yet. Yes, yes, let me take - that - off and let you see.” 

He peeled the blankets away and revealed a very annoyed-looking infant with striking green eyes. “The audacity . . .” Those eyes seemed to say. “What the fuck are you trying to do, kill me?” 

Meliodas took another deep breath.

“Fantastic, isn’t it?”

He said nothing, very much preferring to say nothing to that man and not caring if he couldn’t get away with it this time. The babe - his brother, though he should laugh at the thought. How could THAT possibly be? - had reached up to pull a strand of golden hair into his mouth. 

“His name is Zeldoris.” 

Those were the first words he had willingly spoken since regaining consciousness. 

And it was the first time he dared to smile in front of his father. It was an angry kind of smile. Something the Demon King deserved well and good. It spoke every bit of both Meliodas’s and Zeldris’s wrath toward being put in their situation. And it was gone as quickly as it came.

“Very good,” replied his father, who for god knows what reason seemed pleased his firstborn child was furious, and was definitely - as Mel decided later - oblivious to the real cause. “The servants will show you the appropriate room to put him in.”

~~

“Why is Meliodas refusing to speak to you?”

“I do not know, Master, but I imagine he is irritated as of late. His temper is quite something, and he sure knows how to direct his frustration.”

“Well, that is no worry at all. It’s not as if Zeldoris is getting older any faster, ha. Still. I didn’t assign him to you for you to be meek and docile and his personal punching bag. You better keep him in line, you hear? Don’t let me catch you making a fool out of that boy.”

“Yes, I know, Master. And your boy is no fool. I’m quite proud of him, actually.  He takes no insult sitting down. The soldiers shall fear his wrath and crave his - and yours by natural extension - approval.”

“Good. That is how it should be. And, if he does continue to treat you with such disrespect - or refuse to talk to you for any extended period of time -  tell me at once.”

“As you will, Master.”

~~

Meliodas’s resolve to never speak warmly to Chandler held firm. And Chandler did not say a word about it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Special thanks to @7-ratsinatrenchcoat for helping me figure out how I want to approach writing the wacky old man that is canon Chandler and special thanks to @zorria for previewing this for me to make sure it makes sense and is fit for Reader Consumption.

Let me know if you want me to clarify any of the plot for this one!

[booksandbrainsandsoftthings]

I'm deeply over people assuming that they can take their dogs in public just because they have a bare minimum of obedience training and they see fake service dogs in the wild.

Your dog being able to walk on a loose leash some of the time does not equal service dog training. Seeing other people break the law does not suddenly make it OK to break it yourself. Seeing stressed dogs in public doesn't make it OK to stress your dog out in public.

Yes, task trained service dogs often look like they are "doing nothing" except walking or lounging in a heel next to their handler. No, that does not mean they are the same as an average pet. My dog is not vested for clout. My dog is not with me because it's "fun" to take a whole animal with me everywhere. My dog (and other real service dogs) saves my life on the daily. She is trained to assess and react appropriately to stressful, loud, crowded public situations. On good spoon days, we will happily answer legitimate questions about how to go about researching and obtaining a service dog to assist with a disability. But do not get all huffy when we tell you that not every dog is destined to become a working dog, and indoor restaurants in the US are never pet friendly.

[hanayanaa]

Hello yes i am alive i have been working on the most convoluted murder drones human au known to man and im frankly not sure how to share it publicly in its current state because uhggh

Yeah

tldr, orphans, planting a bomb, a murder mystery cold case, and now J's working a shitty wagie job as a mcdonalds manager, V's a suicidal alcoholic who's as fragile as glass, and N's an unemployed male housewife with a goth girlfriend. This will make sense shortly

shorter screenshots to tickle your brain

[overlyimmersed]

Futility

(It's been a long time since Maranwe bothered to keep track of events that play across her perceptions, only able to guess at the details from her dark, underground cell. Though, when the sound of a pulling Fate String wakes her, she has a hard time just ignoring it.)

Her eyes open slowly, though they're not met with much. Just the dark underground cell that had been her world for the past seven centuries. She wouldn't actually be able to see with her eyes unless she used her magic to create a light. The only reason she even knows she's awake is what her other senses tell her. Her special perceptions, her empathic sense, and heart reading. Neither of those work in dreams. That's one reason she's always liked sleeping so much, it's much quieter. Much less overwhelming.

Though her other physical senses aren't telling her much either. No sounds or light or unusual touches. So why is she awake? She takes a moment to search her memory and check her perceptions again. Just in case she did miss something in the haze of sleep.

Read on ao3

...Tension. That's it. What had woken her is the sound of a Fate String pulling tight. That's one special perception that does register in her sleep. The odd, pitchy, straining sound resounding through her mind could wake her if she's in the right part of a sleep cycle. Or if the string is one connected to herself, which is the case here. Unfortunately, it's hard to tell who's on the other end of the string from where she is.

She can see it, one of a multitude of silvery threads stretching out from her chest in all directions. The only one pulled taut, the rest are loose, except a couple dozen which are completely slack. She deliberately doesn't look at those.

She wonders dimly who this thread is, and what's happening to them. -It hasn't been that long since the last time one of her strings changed. Though last time a string had fallen slack, that meant one of her connections had passed from this life. She had never let herself worry about who.- She could probably tell, if she concentrated, she could follow the string and sense the magic or empathic signature on the other end and know who it is. But she's long since given up on tracking events that way. What difference would it make?

Maybe it's Harlequin, going through something again. She's always been vaguely aware of which string is his. Every so often, it strains at some character defining occurrence. In her experience, it's usually something bad or unpleasant. Though it's been a while since she actually kept track, around...6 human generations? She's not exactly sure how long that really is. Though, now that she thinks about it, this isn't Harlequin's string. Rather than giving into the temptation of curiosity, her mind wanders back to the last time she'd kept track of an event.

In the silvery light cast by her magic star, Maranwe watches a rat gnaw at the cooked bird leg sitting on her plate. Despite finding out fairies can't eat meat generations ago, some people who marry into her captives' family still insist on offering it to her along with things she can eat. At least it keeps the little vermin from chewing on her. The thought is bitter, one of the few things she still feels after centuries of isolation and abuse. The last flicker of what should be rage and indignation at her treatment. Once, she might have lashed out at the little creature just to alleviate the burn in her heart. But not now. Now that burn feels more like frost and doesn't spur her to action anymore.

The quiet voice of regret at the notion of how much of her has worn away, is violently interrupted by a shrieking, straining sound, and the image of a string yanked taut bursting to forefront of her mind. On instinct, she follows the thread with her perceptions. Harlequin, one of her best friends since birth, and the king she was born to serve, something awful is happening to him. His feelings rip through her as if they were her own; horror, regret, sorrow, and unbearable pain. What in the name of the Sacred Tree is going on?!

She instantly panics, legs long numbed from her perpetual sitting position drive her heels against the floor of her cell, and knock the plate askew as she twists, sending the rat scrabbling into the dark. The joints of her wings on one side are strained and pulled as she twists the other way, desperately grabbing the eye spike pinning one of her forewings to the cell wall and trying to pull it free. She's done this hundreds of times and never managed to budge any of them, each wing being pinned by it's own spike like a laboratory specimen, but she can't stand to sit in the dark and do nothing! She has to at least try! She's his friend! His bard! He needs her! Needs someone! So she pulls, twisting and straining as she tries each spike in turn. Never getting a single bit of movement out of any of them.

She wanders back to the present and idles in the pitch for a few heartbeats before conjuring a little silver star to dimly illuminate herself and immediate surroundings. She flexes either leg in turn before pulling her knees up to her chest, then flexes the muscles that control her wings. They're always vaguely sore from being held in a somewhat unnatural position. Sure, the joints are the ball and socket kind, so they can move in any direction, but spread out like this isn't how they naturally rest. Or at least it didn't used to be. She often wonders if they'll be stuck like this. If she ever gets out of here.

She she lifts her head to look at her right forewing and flexes the muscles again, watching the transparent, magenta, and vaguely shimmery skin pull around the spike that's piercing it. She could probably tear it, if she tried, but she's never been brave enough. They're her wings, after all. A part of her body. And wings make a fairy! She couldn't just...mutilate them. And that's beside how much it'd hurt... and even if she could bring herself to rip the skin, there's the issue of the cartilage "veins" that run through and around it to make the ridged structure and shape. That's a tougher material, it'd be even worse... She could never. She's just not brave enough.

She lifts her right hand to grasp the chain running between the eye spikes, the metallic clatter of the rusty links breaking the silence as she gives it a half-hearted tug. The feeling of corrosion against her skin is wholly unpleasant, sending a sensation through her teeth like the sound of nails on a chalkboard. She lets go, and her hand comes away stained orange. She wipes it against her tattered, dingy, dust colored shirt before reaching up again, this time grabbing the eye of the spike and giving that an equally hopeless pull. As every time before, it doesn't seem to budge.

[serial-designation-jey]

I love how amity has an IQ of like 8 quintillion and a major badass but at the same time a part of her personallity is being a clumsy dumbass i love her sm//

[librathefangirl]

A Touch of Light

ao3 (1k+ words; One-shot)

A chill she couldn’t shake formed in her gut. Meliodas – the Prince of the Demon Realm, the Leader of the Ten Commandments, the Next Demon King – was frightened by her mere touch. / Elizabeth struggles with what it means to be a goddess befriending a demon. Febuwhump 2023 Day 2: Flinching.

Elizabeth was focused on the flower in front of her when she felt the presence of another. From the corner of her eye, she saw Meliodas softly land a bit away from her. She ignored him for the moment as she let her power travel from flower to flower, not stopping until the flowerbed before her was once more standing tall and colorful with life. Despite the fallen and forgotten state of the rest of Heaven’s Theater, this small spot really brightened up the atmosphere.

“Why do you even bother with that?” Meliodas sighed, sitting down beside her. Elizabeth glanced at him. His eyes were their usual bright green, but there was a tense pull of his brow. His mouth was a thin line as he poked at the red flower at his feet.

It still felt rather new, this whole thing between. This unexpected truce turned hesitant comradeship. Neither of them had been happy at first, finding their sworn enemy at their own secret hiding place. Yet both of them had been too torn down by the war and their parents and everything else to really do anything about it. As it turned out, they had a lot in common. Elizabeth had found over their multiple accidental and not-so-accidental meetups that she didn’t mind the demon as much as she probably should. Meliodas was a lot different here. Nothing like in the rumors and stories, or how she herself had seen on the battlefield. Then again, Elizabeth supposed she was a lot different here too, compared to how she was in the Celestial Realm. It was nice to have someone she could just be herself with. Someone who understood it.

“What do you mean?”

Meliodas raised an eyebrow at her; “We’re sitting in literal ruins, Ellie.”

That was also new. Ellie. She wasn’t sure if it was just a more respectable step away from her infamous nickname, Blood-Stained Ellie. Or something more familiar than her full name. She liked it. Even if she would never admit that to the demon himself. It was a rare occurrence too. Usually, he only let it slip when they forgot themselves in this little sanctuary-away-from-reality of theirs, or when he seemed especially preoccupied with his thoughts.

By now, she felt like she had gotten pretty good at reading his moods. The good days were the easiest to tell. On those Meliodas was all smiles and jokes and she would forget he was supposed to be her enemy. The bad days were harder because they came in so many shades. Some days he would be all tense and cold. If she herself were in the wrong mood, they’d fall back into old habits; sharp jibes and clenched fists, words chosen just because they would hurt. They’d treat each other like enemies again and she would always feel worse when they left. Some days there would be a heaviness to him. An unintelligible sadness to his whole self. A certain desperation for something she wasn’t sure how to give. Some days, he seemed to flicker, and she wouldn’t know which way he’d fall until she’d made the wrong move.

“It doesn’t mean it can be beautiful,” Elizabeth said as she focused back on the flowers. “Just because it has broken from its original mold doesn’t mean there can’t be life left.”

“What the hell is that even supposed to mean?” Meliodas muttered, watching as she wrapped her hand around a particularly small flower. “It seems… pointless.”

Elizabeth just hummed at that. She knew that some days, some things they would never share the same perspective on. Once the flower had grown a bit more, blending in with its strong neighbors, she leaned back. A content smile on her face. As she turned toward Meliodas again, she noticed how a strand of his hair had fallen down, hanging in his face. Elizabeth reached out without thinking.

Meliodas flinched – and for a moment neither of them moved. Elizabeth realized her horrible mistake as Meliodas eyes flashed black. His entire body turned taut with tension. She wasn’t sure he was still breathing.

“I’m so sorry!” Elizabeth blurted out, quickly pulling her hand back. The darkness faded from Meliodas’ eyes, leaving a haunted expression in its place. “I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t,” Meliodas croaked. His voice was rough but firm, leaving no doubt as to why every demon would listen to his command. If he hadn’t staggered wobblily to his feet, Elizabeth might have listened. The sudden ungracefulness to his usually calculated movements were almost as startling as the flinching had been.

“No, I didn’t think-” Elizabeth tried again, but he cut her off once more.

“I have to go.”

What, no!

“Meliodas-” It was no use. He had already flashed his wings and taken off into the sky before Elizabeth had even pulled herself from the ground. The guilt stabbed through her.

The realization of it all settled like a poison deep withing her mind. Heavy and unnerving. Its dark tendrils spreading out and wrapping around her. A chill she couldn’t shake formed in her gut. Meliodas – the Prince of the Demon Realm, the Leader of the Ten Commandments, the Next Demon King – was frightened by her mere touch.

It made sense when she thought about it. Goddesses and their power were one of the few purely lethal things to a demon. Here she was, a goddess notorious in the Demon Realm for her fighting ability, suddenly reaching towards him. No other goddess had reached out with kindness to him.

It took a while before Elizabeth saw Meliodas again. It wasn’t like they saw each regularly before, but she got the feeling he was avoiding her. She hoped that at least he only stayed away when she was there, rather than avoiding the theater all together. She knew what that place meant to the both of them. She would hate to take that away from him.

Then one day. There he was.

She was sitting by the flowerbed again, trying to stop them from wilting. Suddenly there was a rush of wind and a soft thud behind her. Then Meliodas flopped down on the ground beside her. His hands interlocked behind his head as he closed his eyes. He groaned dramatically.

“Man, you’ve ever gotten chewed out by someone with acidic spit? It’s a real mess let me tell you that. Every damn time.”

Elizabeth stared at him. It felt surreal. She’d spent so many days here, wondering what would happen the next time she saw him, how she was supposed to act after what happened. And here he was, as if nothing had happened at all.

Meliodas opened one eye, frowning up at her; “What’s wrong?”

“I-… What?”

Not her most impressive moment, admittedly. She didn’t know what to say. How would she even explain it to him? She didn’t want to do that. Scared of how he’d react if she brought up the incident. Would he leave again?

She let her gaze fall from his eyes. She couldn’t contain the gasp as she saw it.

“Oh my- What happened to your arm?”

“Huh?” Meliodas glanced down, sounding genuinely confused. As if he wasn’t aware of the horrified burn covering up a good third of his left forearm.

“Why haven’t you healed it?”

Meliodas snorted, “Of course that is your first thought.”

He sat up, giving her a noncommittal shrug.

“You have kept up with the latest war news, right?” There was a bitterness to his words, but not directed at her. They both shared that one.

Oh, right, she thought. She knew exactly what he hinted at. The battle had mostly been a win for the Goddess Clan, which meant it had been a loss for the demons.

“That from the battle?” she asked. The burn didn’t look like it came from an Ark, but a part of her needed to know. A heaviness fell in Meliodas’ eyes. He wrapped his other hand around the burn, wincing slightly at the action.

“It didn’t happen in the battle.”

Elizabeth didn’t ask. Instead, she stared at his arm. Her fingers twitched, moving on their own before she realized what she was doing. She quickly curled her hand against her own chest, remembering what happened the last time she reached out to him.

“I-,” she paused, then shook her head, determination filling her mind. “Can I see it?”

“What?” Meliodas spluttered. He stared at her wide-eyed. Elizabeth didn’t let it discourage her. Of course he’d be wary.

“Please?”

Meliodas hesitated. Then, slowly, he let go of his arm and let her take it. She was careful to be gentle and transparent in her actions as she pulled his injured limb closer to her. She reached out with her other hand too and let it hover over the burn.

Meliodas breath stuttered in his throat. Elizabeth stopped. She met his gaze again. Praying he could she her true intent in her eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she promised. Then before either of them could back out, she let her magic flow. Slowly at first and then more and more intense as she focused on the damage, willing it to mend and heal.

After what could only have been a few moments, but felt like an eternity, she was done. She dropped her hand and somewhat reluctantly let go of his arm.

“That feel okay?”

Meliodas didn’t say anything at first. He stared at the unmarked skin for a long moment. Then he let out a soft chuckle.

“You’re amazing.”

[welcometomybraincomics]

An all human, modern version of Starlight Guilt would be so fucking creepy. Like, unbelievable levels of fucked up.

Iiiiiick, taking the humanity out of certain characters reeeeeeeeeally lowers the creep factor

Like just-

Spoilers + fucked up shit under cut

All human cast means the Oblivion are like.... a fucking gang or smth

And- 🤢 The scouts are the Oblivion equivalent of children...... 😨

Which would make- 🤢 Fuck, taking Starlight Guilt beat for beat and translating it directly to humans is fucking horrifying- Fucking Stardust's mother fucking KIDNAPS Oblivion CHILDREN for her own CHILDREN to fight (TO THE DEATH SOMETIMES) and fucking, keeps the Oblivion children in her fucking basement until they die, what the fuck!

and like- fucking- 🤢 The Oblivion aren't treating their children much better!? Fucking- kids are sent out, ON THEIR OWN, to gather information and come back to relay it to the Hive (Jesuz fuck, the Oblivion are a fucking cult, not just a gang 😨) and they produce enough kids that just- just loosing them ISN'T A FUCKING PROBLEM????

Gosh and I haven't even gotten to like, one of the fucking creepiest parts!

Ficking! In SG (Starlight Guilt) original fucking SD lets one of the more powerful Oblivion in bc it's smart enough to trick him into thinking it's his friend! Which means in all human world 🤢 Fucking- ADULT HUMAN MAN being a FUCKING STALKER CREEP and fucking- TALKS TO THIS ITTY-BITTY INNOCENT CHILD THROUGH THE FUCKING DOOR or on the phone FOR FUCKING DAYS when he's sure NO ONE ELSE IS AROUND

OH MY GOD, THIS IS SO UNBELIVABLY CREEPY!

AND HE FUCKING 🤮HE MAKES THIS POOR, ISOLATED KID BELIEVE HE HAS FUCKING FRIENDS, AND HE - oh my god, this is so fucking creepy- THE OBLIVION CONVINCE THIS POOR KID TO LET THEM IN THE FUCKING HOUSE (oh god, SD's mother isolates her children inside the house 🤢Oh my fucking god, she leaves these poor kids (who she's only taught how to fight) alone, unsupervised, for HOURS 😨 OH MY GOD, and some of them are sick, like, unbelievably sick, like-🤢OH MY FUCKING GOD, WHERE IS SHE GETTING THESE CHIDLREN!?!?!?!?!? In canon she makes them out of starlight, but she doesn't fucking have a partner to sex up, how did she fucking get these kids in the Human AU, what the actual fuck?? Is she- is she??? Is she fucking- 🤢Oh my god, in canon she make these children with the express purpose of being weapons 🤢Is she fucking is she going around and making kids with the most powerful people she can find???? and fucking 🤢🤢🤢 doing experiments on them to make them stronger as babies, fucking them up in the process???? Is she fucking kidnapping them???? She makes literally dozens of children in cannon 😨) AND FUCKING 😨😨😨 HE FUCKING INVITES HIS FRIENDS IN AND THEY SLAUGHTER SD'S ENTIRE FAMILY IN FRONT OF HIM!?!?!?!? AND FUCKING- THEY LEAVE HIM ALIVE AS SOME SORT OF FUCKED UP THANKS??????

AND HE JUST 😨😨😨HE JUST SITS THERE IN HORROR WATCHING HIS FAMILY'S FUCKING BODIES COOL???? UNTIL THE POLICE FIND HIM BC THE NEIBHGORS REPORTED SCREAMING AND THE FRONT DOOR'S OPEN????

(He doesn't have a magical world to escape into here, on my god, this is so fucked up; SD goes from so excited to share/ introduce his friends and then- 🤢 it goes downhill so fast 😨)

And- and- fuck! The only way to have normal people in similar positions to the gods in canon SG is if- oh my god, this is so fucked- The only way is if fucking, their mom is 🤢 On top of teaching them how to fight, she's teaching them how to fucking manipulate people into doing their will??? Their mother is like "It's time for DIY Cult, kiddos!" ✨(0ڡ <) 🤢 She has the kids fucking pick people who are at rock bottom, the lowest part of their life, and lift them up, help them grow until they worship the kids like gods. And like, the eldest is 18 at least 😨 early 20s at most. And that would be their only thing they do outside of the house 😨

And the- 🤢 and the fucking fanatic followers (who would be gods in canon) fucking 🤢 when they hear about what happened, they- THEY BLAME THE FUCKING KID!? He's like- He's like 6!😨 They're like "If you hadn't opened the door, they would still be here" and fucking- the only ones who don't blame him are the ones who follow the sickliest of the siblings, who have been preparing for their "god"s death and who their "god" has been preparing to take care of their littlest brother who's not old enough to start gathering followers (Stardust), but they're not exactly berrating the other followers either????

And??? And???? This goes on for Years?????

SD tries to make it up to his siblings' followers, but they still hate him - They're all older than him- and he decides they're right to hate him and he tries to fucking commit suicide???? But it doesn't work, so he's found and gets put in a foster home or smth and things start to get better, but then the Oblivion rear their ugly heads and clock the fanatical followers as connected to SD's family so they come in trying to hunt them down, so the followers come running back to SD who, despite their hatred of him, they still see as some sort of god??? and it hasn't actually been that long since SD tried to change his ways, so it's easy to fall back into old patterns and he just- he tries so hard to fix things, but there's nothing to fix, he's just a kid and he can't protect them, but he does know the Oblivion are after his family, so instead of letting the followers get fucking iced, he willingly offers himself up to the Oblivion and fucking- he lets them EXECUTE HIM????? And the fully grown adults who sought a child for help FUCKING CELEBRATE???? AND ALL THIS SHIT HAPPENS RIGHT AS STARDUST HITS FUCKING PUBERTY??????

Like- this is some fucking gang-cult mix and they're having a gang-cult war

Unbelivably fucked. There is so much wrong with this. So much.

Oh my god, I thought the "Oblivion Take SD in Instead of Trying to Save Him for Last (to eat) AU" (Aka. the Infiltrator AU) was fucked up. This is so much worse! (fuck fuck fuck, but a human verion of that AU would be even more fucked than this 🤢)

[where-skies-end]

(grabs you by the face and screams) EMOTIONAL SUPPORT ANIMALS DO NOT HAVE PUBLIC ACCESS RIGHTS. THE ONLY LEGAL PRIVILEGE OVER PETS THEY HAVE IS THE ABILITY TO LIVE IN NO PET HOUSING AND EVEN THAT IS ON THE CONDITION THAT THEY ARENT DESTRUCTIVE OR AGGRESSIVE.

YOU CANNOT TAKE YOUR DOG INTO PUBLIC NO PET AREAS UNDER UNITED STATES LAW UNLESS YOU HAVE A DISABILITY AND YOUR DOG HAS SPECIFIC TRAINING TO MITIGATE IT, IS HOUSEBROKEN, AND COMPLETELY UNDER YOUR CONTROL AND NONDISRUPTIVE.

[thechaoticbookwyrm]

Vine Beetles, Disappointment, & Doggie Training.

[postmanlinksbootyshorts]

my heart is dropping in my stomach

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

the constant tension between 'trying not to make up a guy i haven't actually seen around yet,' 'i have seen this rhetoric, usually godawful discourse, with a hundred other pieces of media exactly like this and i want to get ahead of the game with this one,' 'it's not great for your brain to try to anticipate and account for every possible bad or invalidating take someone might have,' and 'it is genuinely fascinating to me to dig into and discuss the dynamics of This Kind of Bullshit and i don't want to have to wait on someone to be a dickhead before i can talk about it.'