#lift the house and the animals and yeet it away

[nattravn-art]

"Eyes blinded by the fog cannot see the truth."

#rusty lake #cube escape #elizabeth eilander #fun fact: the texture used for this one is from an old photo plate from the 1800's #something something lore #alyway she's the best girl #I have a lot of feelings for her and her siblings alright ;; #another fun fact: that pose was a struggle and I accidentally drew her absolutely JACKED #think à la Luisa Encanto #If she had that power she'd be unstoppable #lift the house and the animals and yeet it away #last fun fact: it looked like she was having googly eyes on my sketch #the shitpost was so close let me tell you #David would have put googly eyes on it #David would have put googly eyes on everything

[hualianff]

Hot Ranch-Owning Gays Ride into the Sunset

(tags: being gay on horses)

Thinking about HC who co-owns the ranch with YSH. HC mainly cares for the horses while YSH takes care of the other animals on the ranch: cows, chickens, pigs, etc.

They run a summer program where people can learn to ride horses for a fun group activity. Cue SQX bringing a group that includes HX, XL, MQ, and FX.

See HC walking around shirtless, dressed in those jeans that make his ass look good. He’s ripped and tanned, your honor. Gorgeously hot. 

You bet your ass that when HC first sees XL, he personally helps out the pretty boy from the city. He shows XL how to safely pet the horse; he helps lift XL onto the horse; HC even rides his own horse alongside XL, making casual conversation.

XL positively preens under this very attractive man’s attention. 

“Gege is a natural. Are you sure this is your first time riding?”

XL smiles sheepishly, tugging on the reins after almost losing his balance for the nth time. HC really knew how to butter someone up.

“Riding a horse? Yes, it’s my first time-” 

HC nearly chokes on his spit at XL’s clarification. Does this mean that XL has experience riding other things!?

“-and I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Oh? If HC were walking on his own two feet instead of sitting upon E’ming - who’s behaving quite well today - he would have stumbled like a fool. 

“You’re really nice to talk to,” XL finishes, directing his kind eyes toward HC.

And yeah, HC swore he would never have a thing for city boys. 

But for XL, he’s willing to make an exception.  

In the background, MQ is withering away under the sun’s scorching heat and FX is sweating buckets - he might as well go shirtless. YSH coaxes HX into being less stiff and SQX is having the time of their life vlogging everything.

After that, it’s not a surprise that XL signs up for future lessons. 

Private lessons. 

With HC. 

And the rest is history.

***

After XL’s fifth lesson when he’s super-duper sore because “who knew sitting with your legs straddled and being jostled up and down for so long could make it hard to walk??” , HC carries him back to the check-in building and offers a massage.

XL blushes to the roots of his hair as he shyly accepts. 

(YSH when she sees HC carrying XL into his private house: “simp”)

(Later on, when they finally begin dating, HC indeed gives XL many butt and thigh massages after riding practices.)

***

Over time, XL becomes a decent rider.  The horses love him too, almost as much as they love HC. Which is saying a lot because HC feeds and grooms them. 

Once, XL tries riding E’Ming.

E’ming, the cheeky bastard, starts bucking! Playfully trying to yeet XL off. 

Unfortunately, for HC’s poorly concealed crush, XL manages to stay on by grabbing the reins tight and leaning close against E’Ming’s body, swerving his hips in a way that has HC mesmerized.

(YSH walking by and snapping a picture: “that horny grip is unreal” )

***

XL brags about his boyfriend all the time to his city co-workers and sometimes fengqing but they just scoff because “a rancher as a boyfriend is so fucking lame”

Then HC visits for a week. 

And HC fits into the city scene perfectly while still maintaining his own character. Read: the sexy rancher who wears his shirts half-unbuttoned, boots that click loudly upon the pavement, long hair pulled back into a low, loose bun. 

Two eyes with startling heterochromia; one eye an aqua blue and the other a shade of brown that appears scarlet in the sunlight.

He’s tan and muscled and speaks with a slight accent in the standard dialect. 

XL is prepared for the amount of claiming he has to do. He is a city boy, after all. 

HC is more than happy to indulge in public displays of affection. 

Private displays as well. For the rest of the week, XL has a very sore back and ass. Help him. 

***

XL spends part time in the city, and part time at HC’s ranch. It fluctuates depending on his work schedule. 

Whenever XL comes back, if HC is near, he will sprint towards XL and scoop him up and twirl him around in circles.

“Gege came back!”

XL shrieks with laughter.

“I’ll always come back to my lovely San Lang.”

They hug for a solid twenty seconds.

Hualian are so so in love. HC never even dreamed of finding a lover and look, XL just came into his life and turned his world upside down !

(SQX: “you’re welcome, by the way”

HC: “go away”)

XL is just so curious and kind and compassionate and knows how to enjoy himself. What HC doesn’t fully realize is that he has made XL comfortable and loved enough to freely be himself.

XL gives HC everything HC never thought he deserved.

HC is used to being alone, but after meeting XL, he doesn’t want to be.

And he doesn't have to be.

(*Symphony by Cody Fry plays*)

***

HC and YSH are health nuts and grow most of their food themselves. 

Xl loves helping YSH tend to the gardens!

(Also…

XL cracking an egg with one hand: 😊🍳

HC and YSH: “WHAT HOW!?”)

***

Even though XL grew up in the big city, he LOVES being outdoors. So all the activities HC is used to doing alone. Hiking? Washing things by the river. Fishing. Riding horses in the open fields-

He has XL to accompany him now!

HC showing XL his favorite flower field to lay down in and gaze up at the clouds.

XL star-fishing on his back, eyes closed in bliss, laughing, flowers surrounding him. He paints a picture of perfection. HC knows this is what happiness looks like.

“OH! SAN LANG! Lemme make you a flower crown!”

***

Hualian definitely have car sex.

The aftermath…

XL: “this was definitely the most uncomfortable place to have sex at”

HC: “i dunno, we haven’t tried on a horse yet”

***

News spreads fast that the notorious lone wolf HC got himself cuffed.

Different ranchers from around had to visit and take a look. Some are in disbelief, never thought the rumors would be true. HC was so distant and short with people, who would want that?

Others are jealous. Someone tired the top gay bachelor in the area and it’s a freaking city boy?

Some have the chance of stumbling upon XL before HC when they arrive at Paradise Ranch. XL, with his shirt off, silver chain necklace hanging from his neck, and short jean shorts - easily shoveling hay.

Since when did HC hire a stable boy?

XL greets them with a bright smile and offers to walk them to the front office, assuming they need to check in to be shown around.

“Nah, we’re here for Hua Cheng. We’re buddies of his and wanted to catch up.”

And XL will be like: “I see. Let me fetch San Lang for you.”

And he jogs off, low bun gradually falling out.

(The other ranchers: “WHOMST IS THIS SAN LANG??”)

And HC arrives, dressed as liberally as XL is. 

He has very visible hickeys on his neck, which confirms that yes, this man has been getting laid on the daily.

HC pauses his conversation to tell XL: “I’ll finish with the hay. Why don’t you go in and take a bath? When I’m done here, we’ll get ready for dinner together, okay?”

XL tries to protest at first but HC shuts him up with a kiss, and a hand stroking his waist, a gesture saying “be a good boy and do as I say.”

XL finally nods, and waves his boyfriend and company off.

HC crosses his arms and smirks knowingly at his visitors.

***

w/ @no-one-says-hi 

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #hualian #xie lian #hua cheng #modern au #cerdrabbles #fluff #gay horse boys

[lucifers-favorite-pen]

How The Obey Me Brothers Would Do in a “The Forest” AU

Fandom: Obey me

Pairings: None

Warnings: Swearing, idiocy, mild gore

The Forest was just released for the new Oculus headset, and Levi could NOT pass up this opportunity. However, it’s just his luck he got his hands on a cursed copy of the game, and ended up sucking the House of Lamentation into the game! Here’s how our favorite boys faired in the universe of “The Forest”

Lucifer:

Is pissed.

Bitches about it heavily

Is irritated that he has to find and wrangle a digital son now as well as his siblings. 

Would definitely help everyone else build a little shelter before nightfall, but would be grumbling about how much work he has to do at home and how far behind this would put him. 

Doesn’t let MC lift a finger and is 100% a mother hen the whole time. 

Seems inconvenienced by the whole cannibal thing, until he realizes magic doesn’t exist here and he has to use his melee fighting skills to kill them. Skills that are a little rusty...

Teams up with Beel to be the camp dads and take care of everyone

Super paranoid about the stability of the walls and the house at the beginning

Dies from eating a poisonous berry. He didn’t know he could be affected by poison in this game.

Over all, does his best to keep everyone alive, and feels really bad when someone dies. 

No longer feels bad when he learns that the worst thing that happens is you lose all your stuff and you respawn. 

A solid 7/10 job. Probably dies a few times due to someone else being an idiot, but is a pretty good survivalist when push comes to shove. 

Mammon:

Is also pissed

He was in the middle of counting the grimm from his latest modeling gig when he was sucked into the game.

Bitches and moans with/at Lucifer, but tries to build and maintain a shelter.

Who’s Timmy?

I don’t think crows exist in the game, but seagulls do and they all land on his fingers and he makes friends with them.

Is very upset when one of his brothers kills a bird for food or to simply carry around its head as a trophy. 

Sees cannibals and tries to trade with them with the grimm he has in his pockets.

Dies on sight.

Now when he sees or hears cannibals he screams and cowers behind MC 

When they go away or the screaming stops, he stands up straight and dusts off his jacket “Psh, I wasn’t afraid! I was trying to comfort you from behind! YOU were the one afraid”

After a while in the game, he gets his shit together and honestly kinda kills it. 

This is the avatar of greed, you know he is going to gather and horde so many valuable resources and then guard them with his life. 

“Mammon I’m hurt please stop hissing at me and let me have the medicine bottle”

*hiss* “You can have ONE pill and ONE pill only”

Over all, the definition of “They had us in the first half ngl”

8/10 for managing the group’s food and resource stores so well and only dying a fuck ton of times. 

Levi

...oops?

Feels quite guilty, but is also secretly pumped to immerse himself in the game.

Was extremely skilled at this game IRL and tries to explain how it works to everyone else, but they’re all so pissed and no one’s listening.

“That’s fine, who would want to listen to a yucky otaku like me anyway!” 

Magic doesn’t exist here, but that doesn’t stop Levi from yeeting himself into the ocean and turning into a giant sea monster while his brothers complete the game. 

They don’t want his help? They don’t want to know that the cannibals can’t swim and that they’ll be safer if they build a boat and live in a boathouse on the water? Fine. Then Perish <3

That goes for Timmy too, fuck that kid. 

Doesn’t want MC to suffer tho, so he’ll kill a few sharks and throw them up over the wall with his tail. (I’m assuming that if the game is released for Oculus Rift that they will get their shit together and also make sharks edible)

Is having a grand time taking over the ocean. 

Will sometimes go to shore to visit MC. Everyone is confused as to where he has been and how he is thriving. He just smiles and jumps back in the water.

10/10 strats. Never once dies. Tells everyone what they were doing wrong and how they could have had it easier when they beat the game and are back IRL out of spite.

Satan

Angy

Is throwing things in their spots while building the shelter, but is still helping

Spawns in with the book he was reading in his hand.

That book is eventually stolen from his grasp in the night and used as kindling for the fire.

Lucifer explains that if he didn’t steal his book they all would have died. 

Satan does not give a fuck

“Use the kid’s stupid fucking drawings you dipshit!”

“I can’t they’re story items!”

Goes on a rampage and kills so many deer, effectively feeding the group for a week.  

Sees the cannibals for the first time and thinks “same” 

Pretty good fighter and pretty resourceful when it comes to making armor and weapons. 

Outfits MC with the all of his prototypes and tells them to go run at a tree

“How do you feel, MC?”

“Like I ran at a tree with a deer skin on my chest”

“Interesting”

Very upset at the whole no magic thing, but will work with it.

Over all, 7/10 job. Dies a couple times from cannibals and the other monsters, but makes it to the end.

Asmo

Oh dear. 

Oh dear this sweet summer child. 

“Why are we looking for this child when he’s so ugly?”

Is distraught and so very upset this is happening to him. Cries variations of “woe is me” for the first five hours of game play

Does not help build a shelter

Does not help gather food and resources

Does not help period. Only whines. 

Sees cannibals sprinting and jumping towards the shelter and pushes Lucifer in front of him

“Take him! I’m too pretty to die!”

“HEY!”

What follows after the first three days is a slow decent into madness. 

Ends up butt ass naked for the majority of the game because the clothes he spawned in with were ripped to shreds and “No animal skin clothing in this world is good enough to adorn my perfect body”

Starts speaking to the animals and becomes friends with all of them like a Disney Princess. 

The animals come to his aid when he lets out a specific shriek that calls them to his side.

Spends his time weaving flower crowns for MC, his brothers, and his animal friends. 

Everyone knows he’s snapped when Beel brings back the dead body of a cannibal and Asmo dips his dirty little finger into an open wound and wipes the blood on his lips. 

“I just love this shade! Don’t you?” 

5/10 job. Dies multiple times from trying to befriend hostile animals, but also has an army of woodland creatures at his disposal by the end of the game.

Beel

Bro you know this mans is about to make this game his bitch

Spawns in with a cheeseburger.

Eats the cheeseburger.

“I have a son?”

“I HAVE A SON :D”

“Where is my son?”

Honestly the thought of Beel in this game is so sexy like I’m simping so hard rn 

Grab your water skins and buckle up bc it’s about to get thirsty up in here y’all

A shirt? Beel doesn’t know what those are anymore

He crafts one of those shoulder harnesses out of hide and bone and sticks a bone shiv thing on the forearm 

Don’t mess with this demon when his dinner and his family is on the line.

Is not afraid of anything except the death of his loved ones.

Cannibals? Nah, dinner.

Other monsters? Nah, dinner. 

Full shirtless lumberjack mode with Lucifer, and later Mammon, when cutting down trees in the forest. MC is drooling. 

Definitely makes a game out of how many trees they can all chop down before giving up.

Plays knuckle bones with Belphie and MC using real knuckle bones. 

Doesn’t want to share his food with the others but will if they didn’t get anything to eat that day. 

Chef Beel. That’s it that’s the post. 

10/10 job. Only dies once throwing his body over Belphie’s sleeping one to save him. 

Get’s annoyed when he finds out Belphie was fake sleeping

Very sexy. Would watch. 

Belphie

Nah dude no thanks 

Alexa play “Wake Me Up When September Ends”

Alexa play “Billie Jean”

“And the kid is not my son”

Get’s so fucking pissed when he finds out he can’t sleep without everyone else deciding to sleep too so he just lays down with his eyes closed and hopes for the best.

Doesn’t help with anything unless someone asks him to

Even then he’ll roll his eyes like brat and slowly do it

An actual sloth

No like he clings to MC and Beel like a sleepy sloth 100% of the time

He can’t find any cows and is sad so he settles for the local deer instead. 

Fake sleeps through most of the whole thing, paying monster and cannibals alike absolutely no mind. Beel will take care of it.

Freaks the fuck out when Beel dies on top of him and goes into a rage and kills everything in sight. 

Very sweet reunion when he realizes that they just respawn.

No longer pays death any mind and continues fake sleeping. 

0/10. Virtually useless. 

Masterpost

#obey me shitpost #obey me memes #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #obey me swd #obey me! #the forest #obey me au #obey me shall we date #obey me fanfiction #obey me

[yourdaddychan]

Request 5

warnings : pussy slapping, sex ( duh ), humiliation, degradation, non-protected sex ( don’t do that kids )

a/n : yeet we be giving credits ton @kpopswitchbot

____________________________________

“Dare.” You smirked, raising an eyebrow as a challenge. You were at your friend's party, playing truth or dare. Seungmin had his head on your shoulder, examining you carefully.

“Oh honey, you should not have picked that.” Your friend clucks at you, grinning widely. “How about…” She taps her chin, pretending to think. “Kiss the person to your right.”

“Guess that’s me, Y/N.” Chan says with confidence. Seungmin raises an eyebrow.

“You really going to do that?” Seungmin’s glare sends shivers down your spine, making you want to do it even more.

“It’s a dare, Minnie! It means nothing!” Your words have a different effect on each boy, making Chan pout and Seungmin give a warning glare. You shrug and move towards Chan, leaning towards him slowly for effect.

Chan meets you halfway, gently pressing his lips to yours. Smirking into the kiss, you easily slip your tongue into his mouth. You give a soft moan, making Chan jump back in shock.

“That’s enough of that.” He shyly says, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at Seungmin. The complete opposite of what you expected, Seungmin gives a calm smile, and puts his hand on your thigh, squeezing it.

You raise an eyebrow. Really? You lean on Chan, hoping to get an effect. Nothing.

“Channie? Can you get me some water?” You innocently ask, pouting your lips. Confused, Chan nods and gets up. Once again, Seungmin lightly squeezes your thigh. This was unlike him.

For the rest of the party, Seungmin stays away from you, happily chatting with his friends. The more distance he put between you and him, the more the pressure you needed between your thighs grew.

The party finally finishes. The car ride back is as dull as the party, with you sighing every two minutes so Seungmin would give you the attention you need. Enough is enough.

Eyeing Seungmin, you snake a hand to his thigh and squeeze. He raises an eyebrow and tilts his head to meet with your eyes. He rolls his eyes and swats your hand away, maintaining his silence. You pout at him and look out the window in hurt.

You finish the car ride by angrily getting up from the car and slamming the door shut. Paying no attention to Seungmin’s animalistic growl, you stomp your way to your room.

Even after that, the house has complete silence, like Seungmin didn’t even come inside. You slowly step outside your room, looking around. “Seungmo?”

You see a dark shape stride behind you and grab your arm.

"Shh.” Seungmin growls in your ear. “You wanted attention, and now you have it.” He nips your earlobe, working his way down. “What were you doing with Chan today, hm? Were you trying to get me mad?”

You nod your head. You could feel wetness dampening the fabric of your panties. You were practically dripping. “I’m sorry, Seungm-”

In a flash, Seungmin flips you around and pins you against the wall. “Sorry doesn’t cut it.”

You whimper and squeeze your thighs together, hoping Seungmin doesn’t notice. He does, and he pushes your thighs apart. His gaze softens as he looks in your eyes. He pats your hair, maintaining that smile.

You offer a soft smile. His gaze darkens, and he yanks your hair. “You don’t get to be mad at me. You were the one with your fucking tongue down someone else’s throat. You even moaned, like the little whore you are. So fucking pathetic.” He slaps the top of your head, with his intense eyes staring into yours. “You know what I’m going to do you?”

You shake your head, pressing into the wall. He smirks and leans in, tickling your ear with his warm breath. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, the only thing that will come out of your mouth is my name. Is that understood?” Seungmin removes his thigh from your wetness, making you sigh in defeat.

He smirks again and walks away. Motioning with one hand, Seungmin winks. You follow, shivering. He drapes himself in an office chair, carrying himself as if that chair was a throne. “Sit on the bed, darling.”

You plop down, looking at him eagerly for your next instruction. “Crawl to me, my little whore. Show me how much you need me.” You widen your eyes.

“What?” You blush from the embarrassment. He raises his eyebrow.

“I said what I said.”

You whimper and drop from the bed. You slowly crawl towards him, trying not to cry from embarrassment. He chuckles.

“You just do whatever I tell you, hm? No resistance. Now strip.” Seungmin orders.

You nod and drop your skirt to the floor. You try to ignore Seungmin eyefucking you, but it just makes your neediness grow. Seungmin looks at your wetness in shock.

“Such a needy little cumslut. You’ll take whoever you can get, won’t you? All you want is cock. Is this for me? Or for Chan?” He finishes, kicking your ass.

You let out a soft groan, jolting forward. “For you, sir! All for you!” He nods.

“That’s right. You belong to me.”

You push your ass back, wanting more, but he stands up. “On the bed, now.” You pout and walk to the bed. “How about you get off on the pillow, hm?”

You whine and look at him. “Minnie..”

His gaze darkens and he slaps your cheek. “That’s not my name, whore.”

You drop your eyes and whisper, “Master…”

Seungmin smiles. “Good girl. All mine, to use whenever I want. Now get off on the fucking pillow.”

You nod and grab the nearest pillow. Positioning it under your wetness, you let out a moan as it connects with your needy core. You only need a few seconds to be sweating, almost about to cum. “Master…” you whine, needing to say his name. You push it into you once more, before it gets cruelly taken away by Seungmin. You make grabby hands at the pillow, pouting like a child.

“Oh, my filthy whore. You think you can get off just like that, hm? No, no.” He tsks. “You'll have to beg for that to happen. On all fours, like the animal that you are.” Seungmin gets up again, and drops himself on the chair. Motioning with his finger, he remarks, “How cute.”

You slowly get down on your hands and knees again, looking up at Seungmin with big eyes. He rolls his eyes and crooks his finger.

“Today, doll.” You crawl over to Seungmin, again, and sit up on your knees. Seungmin loved having this much power. Maybe it was sickening, but you didn’t think so. He was perfect for you.

“Please, master. I need you…” Seungmin's coy smile grows as he listens to you whine and beg. Having enough, he lifts you up and tosses you on the bed.

He smacks each ass cheek, loving how they jiggle with every slap. “You wanted me to touch you, and now I am. Be grateful.” You sniffle and nod vigorously, wanting -no- needing to please him.

You feel his firm hand slapping closer and closer to your heat, working its way there. You shake your head, but say nothing. He finally gives a powerful slap to your pussy, making you jerk forward and moan.

He notices your reaction, and takes note of it. As he pushes his fingers in your dripping core, you give another pornographic moan, pushing back to ride his fingers.

He removes them, giving you another slap. “We aren't done yet.”

#stray kids #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut #kpop smut #skzsmutnet #skz smut #inkidz

[thehouseoflamentation]

how do you think the demons would react to mc demonstrating hystical strength? i love the concept that the demons vaguely know how humans work, but dont understand just how weird they are (also this blog is so amazing! thank you so much for running it) - 🌌

I really like this ask and I think all their reactions would be pretty hilarious!! Here u go  ^^

Lucifer

You and Lucifer had decided to visit a library near the dorm. What was supposed to be a peaceful afternoon soon took a turn for the worst as one of the heavy bookshelves toppled over in your direction. Lucifer had been in the other side of the library but quickly came running in your direction once he heard a loud crash go off. 

He was at a loss for words. You managed to grab and hold the bookshelf before it landed on you. Lucifer had always believed that humans were weak compared to demons but from what he just witnessed his assumptions couldn’t be more wrong. 

“Hmm… Perhaps you humans aren’t as weak as you appear to be.”

Mammon 

From the beginning Mammon was well aware of the fact that you were a human, a creature incapable of holding their own against a demon. He meant it more in a teasing way but after today he would never bring it up again. 

After poking fun at you one too many times that day, you finally snapped. You picked Mammon off the ground and heaved him over you shoulder. In one decisive motion you YEETED him across the room and onto a couch. It was enough to cushion his landing and shut him up for the time being. That couch had to be AT LEAST ten feet away. Needless to say, “weak” was no longer a word Mammon used to describe you as anymore. 

Leviathan 

You and Levi had gone out to try a new anime themed escape game. It was the first time something like this had been organized in the Devildom so you were both excited to try it out. You managed to solve the first few puzzles and break out of a couple rooms but now you were stuck in a room right at the exit. You went over the clues with Levi again and the doors should have opened but for some reason they didn’t. A few hours had passed and you knew something was seriously wrong. 

And right on cue a voice over the intercom of the building announced that there was a malfunction with the escape room’s last doors and they didn’t know how long it would take to get you out of there. At this point the stress of the situation had built up within you. Even with Levi comforting you, all you wanted was to go home. Without a thought you reached for the doors of exit and pried them open. You apologized to the organizers profusely afterwards meanwhile Levi was left in awe. You, a human, did THAT. 

He later made a mental note not to let you hold any of his figures for a while after that. 

Satan

You had just left a cafe with Satan when you both found a kitten along the sidewalk. It looked lost and didn’t have a collar so you decide to take it with you. Pets were not allowed at the dorms but you both knew you could at least take it to a shelter nearby. 

The kitten must have been startled by something because it suddenly jumped out of your arms. It barreled down the street and hid underneath a car. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem but that car was backing up and would have crushed the kitten if you had not come to its rescue. 

Satan, like Lucifer, believed that humans were weak and naturally came after you to protect you. What he was not expecting though was for you grab the bumper and deadlift the car. The kitten was safe now but Satan would never come to see you as a frail or vulnerable human ever again. 

Asmodeus

Asmodeus knew humans were naturally weaker than demons but that aspect just made you even cuter and more precious to him. He wouldn’t belittle you for it but he had this image in his mind that you were frail, mortal, something that needed to be protected like a beautiful flower. 

Which explains the look of utter surprise on his face when you arrived back at the dorms. The two of you had gone shopping earlier that day and stuffed bag after bag of designer clothes, shoes, and accessories into the car. When you came back Asmodeus planned on taking several trips to carry all his new clothes back to his room. He did not anticipate that you would sling all of the bags around your arms and march into the house like a wounded soldier covered in Gucci, Prada, and Louis Vuitton. 

The scene would have been pretty hilarious if it weren’t for the sheer weight of the items you were carrying around. Asmodeus was definitely stunned at this new discovery. Turns out, his precious little flower was far more capable than what he first imagined.

Beelzebub

You and Beelzebub are in the kitchen cooking dinner together. You’re chopping up some vegetables while Beel was watching the stove. You go to get some more onions from the grocery bag on the counter and that’s when you see it. A cockroach just inches from where you’re standing. You let out a shriek and rush to grab anything you could get your hands on to throw at the pest. 

Beel stares at you wide eyed, unable to comprehend what we was seeing. In your fear, you managed to pick up the refrigerator. Not wanting you hurt yourself or let all that food go to waste Beel gets rid of the cockroach and calms you down. He managed to make you let go of the fridge but will never forget what you did that night. 

“Just what do you humans eat that lets you do THAT?”

Belphegor

You had spent the afternoon with Belphie, curled up under the covers. It wasn’t until a few hours later that you noticed that you had rolled over in your sleep and dropped your phone underneath the bed. You tried to reach for it but no matter how hard you tried it was out of your reach. You couldn’t crawl under the bed so your body decided to move on its own and go with the only other option it had. Lift the bed. 

Belphegor let out a yawn and slowly opened his eyes. You were nowhere in sight so he assumed you had left for your dorm room. For a moment, he could feel the bed shift around a bit. Was it an earthquake? And wait a second why does everything in the room look lower for some reason? He peeked his head over the side of his bed and saw you, hold the bedframe up in one had while reaching for your phone with the other. 

Belphie rested his head back on his pillow. Yup this must be a dream. It's all just a dream. I’ll wake up in a few minutes. 

#obey me! #shall we date #shall we date? #obey me! lucifer #obey me! mammon #obey me! leviathan #obey me! satan #obey me! asmodeus #obey me! beelzebub #obey me! belphegor #ask #obey me! headcanon #headcanon

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Holy Obedience | Feeding Habits Update #4

Hey People of Earth! Today we’ll be chatting chapter five of Feeding Habits, aka Holy Obedience. TW: animal cruelty, blood, suicide, toxic relationships.

This chapter is the last in Lonan’s POV and a direct continuation of chapter four. I was getting a little burned out as this was toward the end of my 10k word week a few weeks ago, but overall, it definitely achieves what I was hoping for!

Scene A:

Eliza and Lonan chat about secrets which gets intense when Eliza prompts Lonan to burn Harrison’s guardian angel necklace & a few polaroids that were taken as a small easter egg from one of the mini stories!

Lonan grabs everything out in time with minimal damage

Scene B:

Lonan finally burns down his father’s darkroom.

Scene C:

Lonan emerges from the woods and approaches the cabin. Eliza sits on the veranda tending to a dead rabbit she claims she “found”. What happened in the previous memory in ch. 4 of Lonan and his father utilizing the ikijime technique to kill the fish mirrors with the rabbit, despite it actually being dead.

Lonan and Eliza take a drive and talk about the very different lessons they each learned from Lonan’s father

Eliza hits the accelerator and drives the car into the lake. Her fate is left unspecified, whereas he gets out relatively unscathed.

Excerpts:

Here’s this very tender romantical description because I indulge myself obvi:

The last time he saw Harrison, he knew they would not see each other for a very long time after. Sun haloed him. Pinged of his eyes so they shone like gemstones. The earring he’d gifted him from his mother’s collection twirled, mindless, like the surface of a mirror ball. He didn’t forget that image—his lover a painting of the sun, an offering he was lucky to have, if only temporary. As he gurgles at the face of the fire, he doesn’t forget that feeling—the warmth not against his face, but in the pith of his throat, jittering like the wings of a hummingbird. As he shifts forward, closer to the fire, a hand secures around his shirt collar. At first, he’s convinced what he’s seeing will be the last he ever sees—the magnificence of heat. But it’s when he feels its heaviness with a clank against the stone as the clasp comes undone that he understands.

When he turns around, Eliza holds Harrison’s guardian angel in her palm. The chain noosed carelessly around the angel’s throat.

This kind of epic sequence of Lonan yeeting away the darkroom ft a subtle Houses With Teeth reference??:

Lonan will burn down the darkroom one-handed. He hustles through the rain and forest brush with the gas can, the flashlight pricked between his teeth. The woodland seems so irrelevant at night; moonlight pares through clumps of deciduous trees; rain blisters from the opaque clouds; a ground animal, perhaps a raccoon, or squirrel, scampers up a redwood and into its hollow. It’s lost its energy, replaced with irrelevant, forgettable details. But still he moves with conviction, weaving between tree trunks like he’s the one who put them there.

His second reunion with the darkroom is not something of the fantastic. He’s done his time staring at it like it’s got teeth, strong incisors that will nick him if he looks at it the wrong way. When he arrives at its pathway, rain prowling down his cheeks, his left hand wrapped hastily in the eucalyptus towel, he has not come for reconciliation.

Gasoline could substitute the Pacific, he thinks as he unscrews the bottle’s cap and lugs liquid onto nearing brush, smothering the wildflowers needling through the shed’s concrete platform. It moves the same, sounds the same, does the same thing—spreads. He leaves no square foot untouched with fuel. He douses the doorway, its shattered windows, even the individual holes in its hardwood floor. He dresses the darkroom in gasoline and doesn’t blink when he pulls his lighter from his pocket and sets it on fire.

Here’s when Lonan approaches the cabin and first sees the dead rabbit:

Lonan arrives back at the cabin a half hour later, smelling like soot and wet earth. He expects to see Eliza inside, turning over the last bits of scorched wood with the fire iron. Drinking a bottle of red wine turned to vinegar by herself, the cork neatly pushed in the centre of the hearth. But when he approaches the cabin, tracking up rain and dirt, Eliza is not inside.

She sits on the veranda, stooped over the glass worktable, her hands fumbling against the head of a rabbit. There is no question the animal is dead. It’s small, just bigger than the length of her palm, its grey fur gone cobalt with rain. Its head lolls against the frost of the glass. There is no bringing it back to life.

“Where did you find that?” Lonan asks. He wrings his hair of rainwater knowing it will get soaked again before another minute passes.

“It washed up.” She strokes its ear, examines its fur with her thumb and middle finger, as if tending to cashmere.

Lonan impales the rabbit in the same way he impaled the previous chapter’s fish and this is what happens after that. We also get a hint at why the chapter is called Holy Obedience:

“Do you do everything in the name of your father?”

“Obedience is an act of love.”

“Burning down his darkroom is not what he would’ve wanted.” Eliza pulls her arms close to her chest, gnaws on a bloody hangnail.

“That’s what I wanted.”

“Then you have two conflicting agendas.”

“Isn’t killing the rabbit what you wanted? Aren’t you vegetarian, Eliza? Aren’t those two conflicting agendas?”

Eliza taps the hilt of the knife, fully upright in the rabbit’s skull. Her lips purse. Her posture straightens. She wipes her mouth with the clean plane of her forearm. When she deescalates the veranda’s steps and walks past him, he doesn’t follow her at first. He watches her back, the way her hair flutters before sinking with the rain. How blood drips off her fingertips and onto the dirt driveway, pinkish, like the colour a child might want their wall.

And the fateful drive begins, ft. a scene I repurposed from the old ch.2:

Loam gives under the car’s wheels, sputters up onto the windows as she backs the car onto a dirt path. He does not ask where she’s going. Even as they drive deeper into the thicket of trees, branches combing the windshield, paths he’s never been, he does not ask.

“What other things did your father teach you?” she asks after some time dozing through the woods.

Eliza’s hung a lucky rabbit’s foot from the rear-view mirror, tannish fur that whitens when Lonan reaches and turns it over.

“This isn’t vegetarian,” he says, scales the foot with his fingernail, bloodying it just as the rabbit on the veranda. Its ball chain clatters with every brush of his finger, the sharp jut of its cap, neatly carved into the head of a rabbit, prickling against his finger. Rain clatters against the window, each drop’s shadow inking his jeans, arms. “Genesis. How to kill a fish. The easiest places to be caught when you run.”

Me leaving the city haha:

They parse through trees, bushes, and Lonan knows each species even without looking, and the longer she doesn’t answer, the more insistent he becomes at stating them aloud. “Red alder. Pacific dogwood. Cascara. Ponderosa pine,” he says.

Here are the final two paragraphs. Fun fact, I stole “holy vengeance” from myself which appears in one of the later chapters in Rewired.

The next time Eliza presses the accelerator, it’s with a holy vengeance. As if something guides her, her heel gorging into the pedal. They move so quickly, Lonan doesn’t know when the forest ends and where the beach starts—it all melds, a mosaic of vague landscapes. He doesn’t know when he reaches for the rabbit’s foot hanging from the mirror and holds it to his chest, like he knows what she’ll do. Even before she says, “I always wanted to be buried by cattails,” even before the car’s wheels whir over sand, driftwood, strings of kelp, even before they dive head-first into the lake, he knows.

Crashing into water sounds like rising to heaven. He doesn’t know why this is the first connection he makes, or why all he visualizes as the car sinks is the wisp of white clouds, the balmy lift of air that hikes him through the sky. Even though the water is dark, all he sees is light, crisp and glittering from above. As he ascends, he turns to look for Eliza, and there she is, slumped over the wheel, a stroke of blood dripping into her mouth. He is weightless when he stabs the cap of the rabbit’s foot into the corner of the window so it splinters. Weightless when he inhales and pushes through the broken glass like it’s Peter’s gate and he’s a step away from salvation. Weightless when he paddles through the water like a sunfish, his body ready for this, good at this, as he holds his breath. Weightless when the car sinks, and his head breaches the water like an orca, weightless when he opens his mouth to the storm and exclaims his hallelujah, his new beginning, his ultimate baptism.

That’s it for this update! I will be back sooner rather than later as I recently completed chapter six, but that’s a wrap on Lonan’s POV y’all!

--Rachel

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #writingupdates #fostered #mothwork #feedinghabits

[haro-whumps]

Group Whumpees 6: Breaking Point

CW: transphobia, implied/referenced noncon, panic attack, shitty family relations, manipulation (sort of? Just in case), slavery, aftermath of abuse, multiple whumpees, defiant whumpee (but not for long! >:D)

Tag list: @bleeding-demon-teeth @theycomeinthrees @redwingedwhump @whimperwoods @inpainandsuffering @whole-and-apart-and-between @whump-whump-whump-it-up @whumpingupastorm @newandfiguringitout @lonesome--hunter @looptheloup @deluxewhump @whumping-every-day @yeet-me-out-a-window @what-a-whumpy-world @burtlederp @constellationwhump @swordkallya @finder-of-rings @fairybean101 

Special thanks to @icannotweave for inspiring some of the events in this chapter and chatting w me about it :3

Masterlist

The moment his phone was turned back on, it rang, and the ensuing conversation with his father pissed him off. His voice was loud, his free hand a fist, his face turned down in a snarl.

Master Galo was nearing his breaking point, Evan knew it. He might not have understood the nice guy act, but this? He knew this. He supposed he should be grateful it hadn’t come out at Lilah, that morning, that the bandages on his thick arm hadn’t been the final push needed to get him to snap, but he was going to snap soon. Evan didn’t know why he hadn’t yet, what about his weird mindgame was so important to him, why he wanted the five of them to believe he was so nice and shit, but it would be soon.

Greyson had provoked Master Galo, that first meeting. As far as Evan knew, he was the only person in their family to confront Greyson about it, wondering why Greyson was suddenly the provocative one. Greyson hadn’t said much in answer, just cleaned his glasses and asked Evan not to do anything foolish, himself, which was infuriating in its own right. 

Honestly, almost everything that had happened since Mistress’s death had pissed Evan off. Their Master refused to give them clear rules, but starved them for not following them anyway. He didn’t want Attended, and he didn’t beat them when they fucked up, he hadn’t reminded a damn one of them of their place despite the fact that he obviously could. Did he think the sight of him was enough to make them cower? Did he expect them to take one look at his broad ass chest and heavy fucking arms and fall over themselves to please him?

It made Evan’s teeth grind that, if that were the case, Master would be right. He didn’t need to do shit; they were terrified of him anyway. Was that the game? To be friendly and sugar-sweet and smiley and happy go fucking lucky while his physique and their own hunger kept them weak-kneed and trembling before him? Or did he just like the anticipation of it all? Knowing he could bring the hammer down on them at any moment and laughing at them with every twitch and jump because they all knew it was coming, but only he knew when?

Fuck this guy! Fuck him and his stupid face and his broad hands and how he was able to bring them to their knees without even lifting a finger! Evan’s arms were shaking with his anger, with the unspent tension of multiple days.

He couldn’t take this.

He knew he’d promised Nyla, but he couldn’t take this. He couldn’t take the arrogance of it all and he couldn’t take the waiting and the waiting and the fucking waiting! He’d eaten a few hours ago, so if Master resumed starving him he could take it. Master was strong, but Evan was too. He could take it. And he would, because if it wasn’t Evan that Master Galo finally erupted at, it would be somebody else.

“I’m not having this conversation anymore!” Master Galo shouted, pacing the sunroom, each heavy footstep resounding loudly. “Dad, I don’t care! Okay? I don’t care! I’ve been busting my ass over here and all you’ve done is call me to complain, repeatedly. I’m done. I’m blocking your number. Don’t call me, don’t call the house, do not speak to me until tomorrow.”

Master Galo hung up, jamming his thumb against the flat screen of his phone with unnecessary force, and prowled over to the artisanal table he’d set the wine bottle on (Evan had been the one to bring the table into the house, and Mistress had rapped his knuckles harshly when he’d set the heavy wood down carelessly, too loud). The wine bottle had been mostly full that morning, and was now half empty. Master Galo drank straight from the bottle, and clearly did not know he was being observed.

He was pissed. He was injured. (Lilah had injured him, a fact Master Galo wasn’t likely to forget). If Evan was going to hit that breaking point, now was the time to do it.

Instinctive, animal fear pooled behind his ribs and below his gut, laced through the anger already wiring his teeth against each other and making his clenched fists shake. He knew what he was doing was stupid, but he was done waiting and wondering when Master Galo would hurt one of them.

He didn’t knock (punishable) and didn’t address Master Galo when he was seen (punishable).

“Evan,” Master Galo said with a sigh, setting the bottle back down, and Evan did not go to him to kiss his hand (punishable) and he did not kneel with his forehead to the floor (Sasha and Evan had that as a special rule for them, since neither of them “knew how to behave.” He didn’t know if that was punishable or not, for Master Galo, but still, he did not do it).

“Good, actually, I was gonna go look for you. Help me bring in the flower arrangements Lilah made,” Master ordered, not as much effort going into his nice guy routine, turned away from Evan and doing something on his phone (likely blocking his father’s number, like he’d promised). 

Well, they had all agreed that there was one good way to make Master angry, that first morning.

“Yes, Mistress,” Evan said very deliberately, hurling the word at Master Galo’s back, and he heard Master’s phone case crack.

Master looked at him, eyes wide and angry, and Evan felt a rush of fear, of “now you’ve done it” rise in him like bile. But he maintained eye contact, wanting Master to know it was deliberate, that he’d said it intentionally. Summoning his anger, he jerked his chin forward. Do something about it.

Master made a strangled noise and rubbed over his face with a hand, shifted his weight onto one leg and tapped the toes of his shoe against the floor with the other, and ducked his head down while pushing his fingers through his hair. He propped the hand with his phone against his hip and waved his finger at Evan, then lifted his head. “Actually, you know what? Why don’t you go grab Nyla and have her come here?”

Nothing could’ve more effectively dropped the floor out from under Evan’s feet. The anger and tense fear, the readiness, the thought that he could handle whatever was about to come at him was instantly replaced with guilty horror.

“No!” Evan screamed, dropping to the floor, grinding his forehead against it. “No, Master, Master, please! No, sir, Master, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Master Galo made a noise, some sort of annoyed groan, and asked, “Can we not do this?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry sir I’m sorry Master I’m so sorry, I won’t ever do it again I swear, please, please don’t--”

“Yeah, I’m just. I’m just gonna--” Master Galo said, walking past Evan, and he lurched, grabbed Master with both hands, one around his belt and the other in the hem of his shirt.

“No! Please, punish me, punish me!” Evan begged, crying, knowing he was, his voice gone high and panicked. Inciting Master Galo was supposed to mean Evan got hurt, that he got to control the way Master Galo boiled over, not this, never this, not Nyla, “Please Master punish me!”

Master Galo pried at Evan’s fingers, and he knew refusing to let go instantly would just make it worse but he couldn’t! “I”m not going to--”

“Please!”

“Listen--”

“I’m sorry!”

“STAY.” Master successfully shoved Evan’s hands away from him, the order harsh and loud. “Stay here, don’t go anywhere,” Master ordered after, grip harsh but not quite bruising around Evan’s wrists.

Evan sobbed as he left, heavy footsteps audible. He stayed. He couldn’t afford to make this worse than it already was, not when Master was punishing someone else. Mistress Bethany had played many, many mindgames with them, but when she was pissed, she lost control. Evan could always count on that, and no one had ever been punished for his provocations.

But Master Galo was slower. He’d warned them of that day one. He was more methodical, clearly, and although he’d refused to beat them until now, clearly he knew how to hit where it hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Evan moaned into the vacant room, arms wrapped around his belly and forehead once again on the floor. He was shaking, sobbing, all anger gone and replaced only with fear, with shame, with an unbearable guilt.

“Evan?!” Nyla asked, alarmed, as she rushed into the sunroom. She ran in front of him and spun gracefully, sinking to her knees as she did in a flair of skirts, and he looked up at her worried face.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, because he was. He’d never been this sorry in his life. 

“Master told me to come calm you down,” Nyla informed him in a scared rush, one hand to his shoulder and the other cupping his unworthy cheek. “Evan, what did you do?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated shakily, “I provoked him, I’m sorry--”

“You provoked him!?” Nyla hissed, fingers digging into his shoulder and he choked.

“I’m sorry!”

“Why would you provoke him!?” Nyla scolded, her composure ruined, “He’s been in a bad mood all day this is the worst time to make him angry!”

“I h--” Evan hiccuped on a sob, raising a hand to clench at his vest, fingers digging into his chest. “I couldn’t take the waiting, anymore, I wanted to have it over with.”

“Idiot!” she hissed. “Idiot!” she repeated, louder. But oh, that wasn’t the worst of it.

“He was going to punish you, instead,” Evan confessed, body shuddering and involuntarily casting forwards. “He was--I begged him not to but he didn’t--”

“Where are the others?” Nyla asked, voice hollow, and Evan felt another icy hand of fear grip his heart. If not him, Nyla. If not Nyla, someone else.

Evan struggled to his feet, wiping at his face that wouldn’t stop crying, and was stupidly grateful for the arm Nyla wrapped around his waist to brace him.

Sasha was in the kitchen, thank god, and was alarmed and surprised to see them, thank god.

“I fucked up,” Evan explained, Sasha’s wide eyes darting between them. “I pissed him off, he’s--smart.”

“He’s punishing someone else in Evan’s stead,” Nyla said quietly, and Evan leaned heavily on the counter as Sasha instinctively took a step back, her hands raised over her chest. “Where are Grey and--”

The other kitchen door opened, and Greyson walked in. Which just left one unaccounted for.

“Lilah,” Evan cried, despair seizing him as he collapsed. He sobbed into his hands, distantly aware that Greyson asked a question, and Nyla answered it. Sasha knelt in front of him, but he didn’t deserve her comfort.

Mistress Bethany had never done made him like this. Oh, he’d cried for her. He’d begged. But not like this, only ever out of pain or fear or exhaustion, never this. He could take the cane or boiling water or her nasty over-long fingernails, he could take the exhaustion and the hunger, he could take the words that somehow managed to cut like knives despite how often he told himself he didn’t care what the bitch said. But he couldn’t handle knowing that Lilah, little Lilah, was on the other side of an eruption that he had caused.

Nyla’s skirts entered his field of vision, the hem of her apron stained from an old spill. She stood close with her feet spread, the way she only got when she was angry (he deserved it), and he lifted his heavy head, breath hitching as he cried.

“You promised,” Nyla stated, the words damning.

“I’m sorry,” he squeaked. He’d keep the promise, now. He’d never piss off their Master again, not after learning that he would punish the others for Evan’s mistakes. He’d listen to Nyla, he’d take her advice and obey her as the leader of their family. 

“You promised,” Nyla repeated, and the betrayal in her voice hurt worse than anything Mistress Bethany had ever, ever done. Nyla was not a violent person, but Evan almost wished she was. If she hit him for this, it would be no less than he deserved. 

She loomed over him, like this, lips pressed thin and fists balled at either hip, but she whirled, braced her hand on a countertop and ordered, “Evan, stay here with Sasha and calm down. Grey, avoid all of Master Galo’s usual haunts until dinner. No one talks to him unless he talks to them first.”

Evan let his head drop back down, biting back tears, his body jerking with each hiccup, and squirreled himself away in front of the pantry. Ideally, there, he wouldn’t be able to get in Sasha’s way, since she was doing her job and apparently the only thing he was good at was fucking things up for the rest of them. Why hadn’t he just behaved himself!? Why was seeing Master Galo break such a priority for him? Stupid fuckup, why wasn’t he the one bleeding and aching right now?

If he had the chance to do it over he’d take it in a heartbeat. He wished he could, he’d give anything, he’d do anything, if it meant his family didn’t get hurt. Hurt because of him.

He was supposed to be trying to calm down, but he couldn’t stop crying. It wasn’t until after Greyson had set the table and taken Master’s plate out to him that Evan finally wound down, accepting the glass of water Sasha gave him. 

After Master ate, Sasha plated meals for Nyla and Greyson, then, more hesitantly, herself, and then she stared at Evan.

“Don’t,” he croaked, voice hoarse and raw, “I couldn’t keep it down, if I did.”

“H-he said…” Sasha murmured, gripping her left hand tightly in her right. “O-only if he r-revoked, I, I have to, m-make sure you all eat.”

Was that a subtle punishment, too? If they didn’t eat while nauseous, didn’t keep it down, that was a broken rule?

“But. But,” Sasha continued, voice whining higher, “if he r-revoked perm-mission and didn’t t-tell me, I--”

“Breathe, Sasha,” Greyson said, his hand on her shoulder, the one without the lock of hair she left loose to self-comfort with. “If he didn’t tell you, then be obedient. Even if he gets upset, Nyla and I can beg for you, that you were only following his directions. It’s a hard test for the first day with a new rule, but we’re here for you.”

Sasha took a deep breath and nodded, then looked to Evan again.

“I can’t,” he whispered miserably, “I’m nauseous; it’ll come back up.”

“Bread and water,” Nyla interjected, stabbing her fork into her own dinner. “It counts as eating, Sasha will have followed the rules. It’s light, it won’t come back up.”

Even though she was mad at him, she was still fixing his problems.

“Thank you,” he whispered, heart twisting with fondness even through everything else. He stood and washed his hands, promising Sasha he’d get it himself. She plated Lilah’s dinner, Evan cut off a hunk from the morning’s loaf, and he nibbled at it miserably.

“D-Do… you w-want to come w-with?”

See Lilah. Comfort her, maybe, from the very thing he’d caused. He turned his head away, ashamed.

He ate the bread, slowly, his stomach churning unhappily, when she left.

“She’s okay!” Sasha shouted--well, what counted as Sasha shouting--as she ran through the door on her return. “L-Lilah, she’s n-not hurt. She’s b-b-been Quiet a-all evening! N-nothing’s happened to her s-since lunch! She was c-confused, when I s-said we’d b-been sca-ared.”

Nyla gripped Sasha at the elbows, everyone’s attention on her. “Sh-she’s okay!”

Evan ran.

“Evan?” Lilah startled when he entered, and she was. She was okay. The relief stole his breath from him. “Evan, what’s happening?” Lilah asked as he crossed to her, barely remembering to toe off his shoes before climbing into bed, flinging himself at her and wrapping her in a bear hug. “Why did Sasha think I was hurt?”

“We all did,” he croaked, pressing his nose to her hair. She was alright. Master hadn’t hurt her.

She shook her head against his chest. “I told you earlier, remember? He wasn’t mad I hurt him.”

“No, no I--” Evan had to stop and swallow. It was shameful, to confess to it again. To recount how he’d acted, and how the others had almost gotten hurt because of it. Lilah smacked his head at the end of it, though nowhere near hard enough to hurt.

“Idiot,” she scolded. “Stop doing stupid things because you’re angry.”

“I won’t,” Evan promised with a wet chuckle, so relieved she was okay. “Never again.”

But if Lilah wasn’t hurt, that meant Master hadn’t punished anyone. It meant Evan had kickstarted some new stage to the mindgame; there was something left undone. Sure, maybe it fit into what Evan understood of Master Galo’s ploys that he was simply reminding Evan that he knew how to break him, so easily and so very thoroughly. Maybe this was just another show of power. Maybe Master Galo had realized Evan was trying to claim control, and had denied him even that.

Or maybe, Evan thought, as he lied wide-awake after his family had all fallen into an unsteady sleep, Master Galo was simply biding his time for when it would hurt the worst. The punishment was coming. It had to be.

Evan had one last chance to make sure the person punished was him.

He crept up the stairs, quiet despite the fact that he knew his family couldn’t hear him, here. He went to Mistress Bethany’s old room--largely untouched, just yet--and walked across the perfectly spotless carpet. One of his jobs, as housecleaner, was to come to this room every morning and scrub out the blood from whatever had happened the night before. If even a speck was left, he’d spend the following morning scrubbing without gloves to protect him from the harsh chemicals. 

He was very good at cleaning. He wasn’t good at much else, but he could clean. And, he reminded himself as he opened the tool closet and lifted the heaviest wooden cane, he bruised very nicely. Mistress Bethany had beat him with this, him more than any of the others, trying to break him, trying to put out the final shreds of defiance in him, the rebellion he clung to, his anger. He tried to feel for that anger now, and felt nothing.

In less than a week, Master Galo had done what Mistress Bethany had failed to do over the course of a decade.

He gripped the cane below the handle and took a deep breath. Move gracefully. Don’t cry before it starts. Don’t emote with ugly expressions. Evan was no good at pretending to smile, but he could look submissive. He slid one hand down the cane, gripping it lower as he started to walk. The smooth wood raised goosebumps across his skin and bile in his throat, but now wasn’t the time to back down.

He wasn’t angry, this time, he wasn’t impatient or stupid. He’d do as he was meant to.

Don’t stutter. Don’t recoil. Flinching was okay but not too far, or it would look like a recoil. His footsteps, though quiet, seemed to boom inside his ears. As did his pulse, and his breathing. Thank Master Galo properly. Don’t panic, this time around.

That would be the hard one. The looming threat of what would happen if he failed--if he didn’t beg hard enough or right enough that Master Galo would punish him--had him on the brink of terror already, and they hadn’t even started yet. He bit down on that fear, with no anger left to shield him from it, and forcefully reminded himself, Don’t panic.

Knock on the doorframe. He did. Greet Master when acknowledged. “Master Galo.” Kneel. He did.

“Evan, why are you here?”

“I apologize, Master. I reacted poorly, earlier.” Evan lifted the cane in both hands, presenting it to the man that loomed over him like a nightmare. “I intentionally called you the wrong name, I shouted, I touched you without permission, and I was ugly in doing so. For these offenses, Master, please,” he hoped Master Galo hadn’t heard his voice crack on the ‘please,’ “punish me.”

The fear was building, compounding in on itself, too fast, but Evan kept his body rigid, immobile. He’d fucked up, so many times, he wouldn’t fuck up this one, he couldn’t. Even when he heard his Master take slow, thoughtful steps toward him: he kept his head down, his arms up. Even as each step sent him closer to a panic. Even as his breath threatened to break loose of his control, to speed up, ugly and audible.

Even as his Master’s shadow blocked out the moonlight.

Even as Master Galo took the heavy cane from his hands.

--

Galo needed to be very, very careful. He’d been hasty, earlier, impatient and irritated with this man misgendering him when he was already at the end of his rope thanks to his father. A couple laps around the property line and the familiar burn of lifting heavy objects and moving the floral arrangements inside had helped him cool off--a lot. But the damage was very clearly already done. Evan sounded wrecked.

The cane was solid wood, probably oak or some shit--heavy. If he hit Evan with this, he could kill him. Galo set it down and leaned it up against the chair in the room, overfull with his belongings. Having Evan sit there wasn’t really an option, not unless he wanted to dump the stuff out and he needed to be delicate, here.

Alright, what did Galo know? Evan thought Galo was still pissed at him (not entirely unreasonably). Evan wanted to be punished with a heavy fucking cane, due to #1. Something had spooked this guy--badly. Galo couldn’t carry on not knowing what that thing was, or else they’d wind up right back here again: with a slave kneeling just inside his doorway, ready for him to do terrible things to them. 

“Evan, I’m gonna ask you some questions and you’re going to answer them honestly, okay?” Galo said, slowly walking back to his bed and sitting on the end of the mattress, patting next to him. “Will you come over here?”

“Yes Master,” Evan answered instantly, moving to get up but then hesitating. Okay, Galo’s bad, he did just say he’d be asking questions, not necessarily making suggestions via questioning. 

“Come here,” Galo ordered gently, and Evan moved faster than Galo had ever seen him move. He didn’t sit on the mattress like Galo had hoped, but knelt at Galo’s side. “Sit on the bed, please,” Galo tried, and Evan moved again, still quick. 

“Thank you.” Galo pat him, once, on the back. Evan did not have a history of responding well to touch, for all that Galo had seen him, so he didn’t plan on doing too much of it while they talked. “Now what’s all this about” was probably a redundant question, since Evan had literally listed off his offences when he came into Galo’s room. 

Galo, predictably enough, spent too long thinking, because before he could even begin to formulate an intelligent question Evan whispered, “Anything.”

“Hm?”

“Anything, Master,” Evan stated, barely any louder, if at all, “I’ll do anything.” Slowly, deliberately, Evan moved his hand directly towards Galo’s crotch, and Galo was grateful for the speed because he didn’t have to snatch Evan by the wrist, just stop him.

“No, Evan, I’m not fucking you,” Galo said firmly, aware of his mistake too late. He must be tired, if he thought inviting Evan up onto the bed with him was a good idea. “Didn’t meant to imply--”

“Please,” Evan choked out, small.

“Evan?” Galo became aware that Evan was trembling in his grip.

“Please don’t hurt them,” Evan begged, sounding at the end of whatever rope he had, and Galo’s brow furrowed.

“Them?” he asked, “You mean, the others?”

“Please,” Evan repeated, “It was my mistake, I did it. Please, Master Galo, punish me.”

Galo bent to get a better look at Evan’s face, and he saw tears brimming there, inside a thousand yard stare.

“Hey, buddy,” Galo said, waving his hand in front of Evan’s face without even as much as a blink, “I’m losing you there.”

“They didn’t--” Evan choked.

“They didn’t do anything wrong,” Galo finished for him, gently.

“So please, please punish me,” Evan begged, the first tear spilling over, and Galo couldn’t think. He was tired, he was spent, it was late, he wanted to be asleep and not having this conversation but Evan was freaking out, and that was Galo’s responsibility to fix. “I’ll take anything, I’ll be quiet or loud or however you prefer, I deserve it Master, I’ll do anything you tell me to just please, please--!”

“Evan, stop talking,” Galo said, careful not to tell him to be quiet or shush or anything that might imply he wasn’t allowed to cry right now. Evan’s mouth shut, and Galo let go of his wrist in order to sling an arm around Evan’s shoulders, hugging him. He needed time. He needed to think, but thinking was so hard when he was so tired. He let Evan cry against his shoulder, the poor guy’s hands in fists at his sides, and Galo didn’t know how to fix it.

It looked like the only thing that would calm Evan down, at this point, would be to actually punish him. But Galo wasn’t going to hurt him, so, something else? But what would count as a punishment--enough that Evan would accept it as such--but not hurt him? Galo couldn’t think.

Oh! So he’d buy himself some time.

“Evan, tomorrow morning, meet me in the den.” Galo felt bad for even saying it, feeling Evan flinch under his arm, but it was supposed to be a punishment. “I’m tired right now,” not a lie, “so I’ll deal with you then.”

“Thank you Master,” Evan said, and Galo moved his hand to give Evan a little push on the back, mostly to help the man. “Thank you Master, thank you.”

“Go to sleep, Evan.” Galo watched him stagger to his feet, and stumble once on his way to the door.

“Yes, Master, thank you.”

Galo sighed and flopped back on his bed. He was making mistakes and his body felt like lead. He knew he had to climb up and crawl under the covers, but they were so far away.

The longer he lied there the harder it would be. Fuck.

But he did feel better in the morning. Clearer, sharper, better equipped to puzzle out what the fuck was going on with Evan.

At least he could hazard a guess at what had spooked the guy so bad: he thought Galo was going to punish the others for his actions.

...Now that he thought about it, Evan had lost his shit the first time when Galo said he was gonna have Nyla help him with the flowers instead. How had Galo phrased it exactly? He couldn’t remember, it was such a small detail, a harmless sentence said when he was pissed and frustrated. Except it hadn’t been harmless, clearly. Evan had taken it to mean Galo would hurt Nyla, and, he guessed, the other three, also. 

“God,” Galo muttered to himself, pulling his notebook out and writing Don’t insinuate you’ll hurt other people when one person “messes up” on the list of suggestions he had for his own behavior. 

Flipping back a page, he wrote, Evan will beg to be beaten if you spook him enough. Not as surly as I thought???

Galo ran his fingers through his hair and started getting ready for the day, his old suit tight around the chest and biceps. As he dressed and groomed himself, he tried to think of a good punishment that wouldn’t actually hurt Evan. He was combing his hair when the lightbulb went off, the idea striking him.

He headed on down to the den, where Evan was already waiting, on his knees with his wrists crossed behind his back.

“Morning Evan,” he greeted, approaching him and extending his palm, which Evan kissed.

“Master Galo,” Evan returned, quiet but thankfully not sounding as panicky as the night before. Galo tilted his head up by the chin so he could see his eyes. The usual fire he sometimes thought he saw was beyond absent; Evan looked like a broken man.

“Repeat after me, Evan,” Galo said, hoping that being punished would serve as some small comfort, that he wasn’t entirely off-base. “I will not misgender Master Galo. I will not provoke him and I will show him respect.”

Evan didn’t hesitate to say it back to him, and Galo removed his hand from under Evan’s chin.

"Good, Evan. Now say that out loud 999 more times. You may leave the den after you do; don't lose count."

And so Galo spun on his heel, and left.

He wouldn’t do anything to confirm that Evan had, in fact, said it 1,000 times. He had shit to do and it didn’t matter to him, personally, if Evan did lose count. But if nothing else, even just kneeling there that long would be a punishment in and of itself. And it addressed the issue.

“Morning Sasha,” Galo greeted, offering his hand again and getting started on his morning shake. “Has Evan eaten yet this morning?”

She shook her head. “Cool. After he’s done with his recitations, he can eat, but don’t interrupt him please.”

Sasha nodded and he smiled at her. “Atta girl. I’m gonna go load up the van and head to the church. This everything?” Galo gestured at the foodstuffs, packaged neatly the night before. When she nodded, he gave her a pat to the shoulder. “Thanks, Sasha. I’ll see you all tonight, probably after dinner so don’t wait up.”

When everything was loaded and Galo behind the wheel, he buckled himself in but then took a moment before he actually turned the van on to sigh and rub his hands down his face.

“Alright, Galo,” he said to himself, staring at the car ceiling. “You can do this. It’s gonna suck, but then it’s gonna be over.”

He breathed in, breathed out, and went to go set up for the funeral.

Next

#gw #whump #transphobia tw #defiant whumpee #but not for long >:D #multiple whumpees #implied abuse #referenced noncon #panick attack #slavery #slave whump #aftermath of torture #writing #mine #evan #galo #lilah #nyla #sasha #greyson

[maandags]

Eidolon (Angel!Keith x Demon!reader) {part iv}

i have no excuse for the wait except that im an idiot who took this school year too lightly yeet

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Summary: Keith is an angel, and he’s completed mission after mission for the Upper Hand, the organisation controlling all of the Above. He’s only failed a mission once: when he was assigned to kill you, a surprisingly charismatic demon. He roamed Earth–Middle Ground–for years before he was caught by the Upper Hand again, and things quickly go south.

Genre: angst. because whats new

Word count: 8.7K

Notes: CW: graphic violence/blood, emotional manipulation - masterlist - {previous} -- {next }

-- -- --

if heaven's grief brings hell's rain

then i’d trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday

~ Just One Yesterday, Fall Out Boy

-- -- --

You wake up from a deep, dreamless sleep, disoriented and shivering despite the multiple layers you have on and thick comforter stacked upon you. It takes a moment before the events of the previous night rush back into your mind and cloud your thoughts, and you throw an arm over your face, inhaling deeply.

A huge weight has fallen off your shoulders. Last night, you didn't realise as much, your tired 3 A.M. mind already struggling to focus with the fact that Keith--who had been deathly sick only hours before--was up and about and sitting at your kitchen table and eating chinese takeout. But now that you had the quiet of the early morning to yourself you could feel the knots in your shoulders loosen and the lead seep out of your limbs.

You slowly shift your legs out of bed, still slightly dazed. Sunlight peeks out through the cracks in the shutters covering your window, and you cast a look at the alarm clock sitting on your nightstand. It's barely 7 A.M. And it's also a Saturday. While that doesn't matter much in terms of noise–a city is a city, after all, and this one certainly is never quiet–your neighbours' kids aren't allowed out of bed before nine on Saturdays, which gives you at least two small hours of peace and quiet.

You stagger to the bathroom and let the hot shower water beat down your stiff muscles, trying to draw out the permanent chill that seems to have settled deep into your bones. It works a little bit, but when you get out of the steamy little cell and wrap a towel around your torso you can feel it trickle back into the pit of your stomach, like an icy worm that's decided to make your body its home. It's more of a discomfort than a true pain, though, so you decide to ignore it.

Your hair is still damp when you pull an extra thick sweater over your head, stick your feet in warm socks and tiptoe your way over to the living room.

Keith is still asleep. You don't blame him–he's still recovering, even though he already looks so much better than the previous night. The colour is back in his cheeks. The dark circles and the hollowness under his eyes have started to fade away. He's still thin, and he doesn't smell too good, but you decide against waking him just yet.

In the kitchen, you put on the kettle and pull open the fridge in search of something to eat. The unfinished boxes of chinese sit in front, half-open from when you hastily stowed them away. You pull one out, sniff it, then shrug as you grab for a spoon.

The kitchen windowsill is probably not the spot a lot of people would pick to lounge on, an early Saturday morning. But you've always liked to watch the sun rise over the tall buildings, and the soft orange glow you're treated with today is worth waking up so early for. You rest your face on the knee you've pulled up beside you as you shovel another spoonful of rice into your mouth.

The orange slowly fades out into yellow, then into blue. It's soothing to watch, and you find yourself slow your breathing and close your eyes as the city wakes up beneath you. Noises of starting cars and motorbikes drift up to your window, and chattering fills the street. People exit their homes, throwing delightful glances up at the sunny sky; unexpected after the heavy rain of the previous night.

You finish your takeout, do some chores around the house. Change your bedsheets. Prepare a change of clothes for when Keith finally wakes up. Open the windows to let in some fresh air. Prepare a cup of tea and claim back your spot on the windowsill. It's a peaceful morning, and the air doesn't feel quite as heavy as usual.

And then there's a rustling in the room beside you, and a crash as–you assume–Keith tumbles off your sofa and hits the ground. A faint groan floats past the kitchen doorway and you try to hide your grin. A couple of seconds later a very dishevelled-looking Keith stumbles into the kitchen.

"Morning," you tell him, rolling your shoulders once so they won't go stiff against the windowsill. He nods at you, dark eyes bleary. "Feel better?"

He sniffs. "I don't feel like I just got struck by lightning and dragged behind a racecar over an especially rocky road. So I guess that's improvement."

You blow on the hot tea in your hands. "I'm glad. Would have hated to have gone through all that trouble for nothing. You're quite the guest, you know."

Keith winces at the words, despite your light tone. For some reason, his frown and pained expression tug at your stomach. "But I don't mind it," you add hurriedly. "I mean–it was my own choice to take you in. I very well could not have done that. But–but I did." Shut up, shut up, shut up, you shouted internally.

The corners of Keith's mouth lift ever so slightly. "Lucky for me."

"Lucky for you," you agree with a grin.

It's silent for a while, and in the sunlight, you can clearly see how thin Keith really is. His shirt hangs from his frame in a shapeless lump of cloth, his trousers sagging and almost slipping from his bony hips. While he does look better–the life has returned to his eyes–he still doesn't look good, and the sight of him makes your guts twist. You point to the fridge. "There's leftovers from yesterday. Grab whatever you want–but be careful not to eat too much. I don't want you puking all over my kitchen."

But Keith has already found the other chinese box, and you show him which drawers contain cutlery and in which cupboard are stashed the glasses. He scarfs down the rice in ten minutes flat, and you shake your head in silent judgement. "I'm going to find a way to make you pay back everything you'll cost me, food-wise. You're in debt, starting today."

He gives you a shy grin, but his attention is quickly taken up once more by the food in front of him. You quietly sip your tea, staring out of the window, occasionally glancing at the angel sitting at your kitchen table.

That's when it truly hits you how much of an idiot you're being.

Last night, it had been late. Five days of nothing on your mind but the thought of trying to keep him alive, and finally finding a way to do so, had left you shaky and dazed. Seeing him up and about after getting used to the sound of his ragged, unsteady breathing floating through your apartment had been a shock.

But now the full weight of what you'd done–and what you hadn't done–crashes into you, and you realise you have absolutely no idea how to feel. The air charges with tension, and the angel leans back in his seat. He looks about as uncomfortable as you feel. Your mind whirls with thoughts, all seeming to want something different–the part of you that's curious where this whole situation would lead and is whispering to you to let him stay; the part of you that's still a loyal soldier to the Below and is screaming at you to turn him in; the part of you that wants nothing to do with any of this and is growling to throw him back out on the street. You shake your head, downing the last of your tea and hopping off the counter.

"Take a shower when you're done with that," you mutter. "I have to get back to work soon. My co-workers are gonna ask questions and I need to be prepared."

Keith nods. Your phone is already in your hands and you fire off a quick text to the shelter's manager to inform him you'd be in this afternoon. You don't know Anthony that well–he mostly keeps to the side and handles potential adopters. You prefer to stay with the animals. Almost immediately you receive a reply: he says he's delighted that you've decided to return so soon after taking your unexpected leave. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the barely-veiled passive-aggressiveness.

"Oh, yeah." You turn and point at Keith with your phone. "You can stay for as long as you need to, like, get your bearings and feel somewhat okay again, but then I'm kicking you out. I don't know if you have any idea of how much of a risk I'm taking here, but–"

"I get it," he cuts you off, and you can tell he means it. He needs to work on concealing his emotions, you think off-handedly. He's an open book. It's distracting. "Thank you. Seriously."

The tension builds until it's almost tangible. You shake your head, trying to shake the dizziness away. "It's–yeah. My pleasure, or whatever. I'm locking the door behind me." He gives a brief incline of his head to show he understands. "All right then. Later, I guess. Make–make sure you've showered. You kind of smell," you say apologetically. "No offence."

"None taken," he laughs. "You're right, anyway."

You make a gesture that's in between a nod and a headshake, then make a blind grab for your coat and your scarf before pulling the door closed behind you and locking it.

The shelter's lights are on, and its illuminated windows stand out starkly in the dim grimness of the gloomy street. It doesn't rain, for once, but grey clouds hang overhead and block the sun, the little light that makes it past them flimsy and thin. You pull the door closed behind you. The little bell above the doorway rings once, softly, and barking immediately pipes up from the next room over. You smile.

"Hey, loves," you mutter to each animal as you pass their cages, stopping here and there and sticking your fingers through the bars to give a furry face a pat, or to scratch a scaly butt, or to stroke a feathered head. "I missed you guys."

"They missed you too, I think," comes a quiet voice from behind you. You crouch and open a cage, plucking out a small cat and scritching it behind the ears. "They've been rather unruly in the days you weren't here. Restless, you know."

"Hi, Tony."

"Y/N." He inclines his head. "Did you have a nice leave?" It's a question purely out of politeness, you know, because he's your employer and he's supposed to be polite. As far as employers go, Tony really isn't the worst of them. But you can't shake the feeling that he's fishing for something.

"I did. I've been busy," you say cautiously, not taking your eyes off of the kitten you're cradling. "Sorry for it being so unexpected."

"Oh, not at all," Tony replies smoothly, sailing over to where you sit and leaning on the wall behind you, "We've managed. It was your week off, anyway, and just because you've insisted on working in your free time before doesn't mean that you always will." But it doesn't take amazing detective skills to hear the suspicious edge to his voice.

"That's right," you say, maybe a little too sharply. You can almost smell Tony's raised eyebrow behind you. "Sorry. I've just–I've been a little on edge, lately. I'll–" You scramble up, depositing the kitten back in its cage and dusting fur off your t-shirt. "I'll be in the back." You have the weird urge to salute, but you manage to suppress it. He's already suspicious, you remind yourself. Don't make it worse by acting weird.

It is a shame you can't spend more time with the animals, but you're not the only one who decided to come in today–it's actually quite crowded for a Saturday–so you get storage room duty and instead spend your afternoon putting away boxes of food and medicine and cleaning products. Emmie, one of your co-workers, sticks her head around the corner of your door at the end of the day.

"Hey. We're gonna go get milkshakes, wanna come?"

Your back screams when you push off the chair, eager for an excuse to cut your day short. "You're a godsend." The expression is actually used exclusively as an insult in the Below, but you find you like the Middle Ground version better. "Let me just grab my shoes, I'll be right there."

Hopping on one foot as you finish tying your laces, you join Emmie, Nirina, Adam and Zach as they stride out the door, Emmie and Zach's arms linked. In the back of your mind you recognise that's strange: Emmie and Zach can't stand each other. A smile curls the corners of your lips. You did miss quite a lot this past week, didn't you?

"We're going to this new place a few blocks down," Emmie shouts over her shoulder. You try to chat with Nirina for a bit, but she's more silent than usual, barely saying a word, and eventually she retreats to walk next to Adam behind you. When you don't focus on it, a black, vaguely animal-shaped shadow seems to sit on her shoulder, but when you look directly at it nothing's there.

Something isn't right here.

The feeling creeps into your very bones, making the hairs on your neck stand on edge and your shoulder blades tingle. The sense that you're being watched, and more–as you realise that with Nirina and Adam behind you and Emmie and Zach in front of you, it almost feels like you're being escorted. Guarded.

"Hey, Em," you call. Your hand creeps towards your pocket, but with a start you remember you left your knife at home. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "What's the place we're going called?"

Emmie turns around and flashes you a fanged grin. Your blood turns to ice. "So Above, So Below." And then she pounces--and pushes you straight through the pavement. You don't even have time to scream.

You lose all sense of direction. Up is down and left is right as you fall, fall, fall through a black hole, Emmie's nails still digging into your shoulders, though you're sure if you actually opened your eyes you'd see they're claws. You try to tug yourself loose, but her grip immediately tightens. You hiss when you feel her talons draw blood.

"No getting away, Y/N dear," she giggles into your ear.

Well, at least you know what she–and the others too, by the sound of it–is. Only Bountyhunters can get to the Below or the Above without using one of the doors or passages, instead creating their own temporary ones. You've travelled by Bounty Tunnel before. It's not a memory you cherish. The only thing you can do is close your eyes and hope it'll be over soon.

When you finally make contact, all the air is knocked out of you and for a moment you see nothing but black spots dancing in front of your eyes. Then you suck in a scorching breath and blink, and the familiar stark white ceiling of the Offices comes into view. You groan, and when you try to sit up, your hands catch in ashy grey feathers: your wings have popped. You flush, already feeling Haggar's disapproving scowl digging into your back. How unprofessional, she'd mumble.

Haggar has always hated your guts–even back when you were still loyal to the Below.

Emmie–except she looks nothing like Emmie anymore–tosses her long dark ponytail over her shoulder and sighs. "That was almost too easy. We were told you'd be a challenge."

"I haven't been feeling well," you reply, voice icy as you stand up and shake out your wings. You don't miss the way Emmie's expression sours and suppress a smirk. Bounties don't have wings, and they'll never stop being salty about it. "Also, four against one? That seems a little unfair, even for Management." You pause. "I'm assuming you got hired by Management."

"Of course we got hired by Management, demon," Zach snarls. He runs his fingers through his hair and glares at you, his fangs growing by the second and soon touching his chin. And then his face begins to change, his jaw softening (though not by much), his eyes growing more cat-like, his lips plumping. You frown, because you know this face. You know her.

Zethrid grins, fangs shining in the white LED light. "Long time no see, Y/N." You give a sarcastic wave.

"Yes, Y/N," comes an icy voice from behind you. Your shoulders tense, and your feathers puff involuntarily. "Long time no see indeed."

Haggar glides out of her office doors, and you feel all the stony calm and resistance leave you in one fell swoop. Her yellow eyes bore into yours, and it takes every ounce of willpower inside you not to look away. She nods her head, once. "My office, Y/N. Now."

"You're so dead," mutters Zethrid as you pass her.

"When I get out of here, you're the first person whose throat I'll slit," you hiss in return.

Haggar slumps in her seat and plucks her looking glass from its stand, making it levitate over her hand and glaring like she has a personal vendetta against it. "If it were up to me, I would already have you burning and hanging from the Grand Hall ceiling," she says, vanishing the mirror in a cloud of smoke. You try to ignore the pang of fear stabbing into your chest. You're gonna be fine, you tell yourself. You're going to be okay. But you find it hard to believe the words.

"But–" the mirror reappears in her other hand– "a certain Prince insisted on keeping you alive." She whirls the looking glass around and it floats in front of your face. Prince Lotor of the Below looks at you with a scrutinising gaze, as if gauging how much you'd be worth on the night market.

"Y/N," he says in a clear voice. You nod, then quickly incline your head in a slight bow. Watch your tongue, Y/N. Watch. Your. Tongue. "No need for that." Lotor snaps his fingers, and you look up again, eyes fixed on the rim of the looking glass, determined not to meet Lotor's. You're afraid of what you might see.

It's silent for a moment, and you keep your mouth shut for as long as you can, but you eventually break. "Forgive me, Lord, but–"

"Shut up." It takes all of your willpower not to cock your head and narrow your eyes in indignation. Lotor leans forward, elbows perched on his desk and fingertips pressed together. His cold gaze is calculating and cruel, and your entire body reels with disgust and hatred. "I didn't keep you alive because I care about what happens to you. Because I don't," he clarifies with a raised eyebrow, and this time you can't keep the grimly sarcastic smile at bay. "I kept you alive because I need you to do a job."

"With all due respect, sir, I don't think I'm the right person for any job." You try to keep your voice light and your fists unclenched, but it's a harder task than you want to admit.

"Told him so," Haggar mutters from behind the mirror. You can tell she thoroughly disagrees with being used as a TV-stand. "There are so much more competent candidates for this assignment who actually want to prove themselves and their loyalty to us." You have the feeling she's talking directly to Lotor now. "But no, you just had to get the one rogue who'll do everything in their power to get out from this–"

"Enough," Lotor says coolly, and Haggar clamps her jaw shut, though her eyes flash with murder. You don't know who she wants to kill more at the moment: you or Lotor. "Y/N will do the job, and they'll do it without complaining."

"You sound awfully sure." You've since given up on trying to be respectful. Lotor might be the Prince of the Below, but you had wriggled yourself out of more difficult situations than these before. You're already carefully plotting an escape.

Because the mistake most people make when they see you is that they underestimate you. They think they have you pinned down, and then they loosen their hold and up till now, that has always worked out in your favour–you know how to manipulate people and you know how to get out of the Below. You know every single of the dozens and dozens of passageways leading out onto Middle Ground, and from there on you know how to hide. You've done it before, and managed to keep off their radar for quite a while.

In fact, the only reason they caught you now was because you had been too preoccupied with a certain angel to keep your thoughts straight. A mistake, and one you won't be making again.

"I am sure," Lotor's clear voice cuts through your thoughts and pulls you back to the present. "There's a contract on the desk. Sign it, and we'll give you the details."

You can't stop the startled laugh that bursts past your lips. "A Blank Contract? You expect me to sign a Blank Contract?"

Lotor merely cocks his head and smiles that lazy smile of his.

And then the little looking glass shatters and you yelp, taking a step backwards in surprise, feeling your muscles tense. "I do," his voice says from behind you, and you whirl around just in time to see Lotor sail into Haggar's office.

Haggar gives a sharp sigh and brushes shattered glass off her uniform. "Do you always have to do that? Those mirrors are expensive, you know. I'm gonna have you pay for them if you insist on making a dramatic entrance every time."

Lotor ignores her, his gaze fixed on you. He waves his hand, and a piece of paper appears between his fingers. It's mostly blank, save for one thickly outlined black square with an inscription you can't read from where you stand, but you know what they say: Candidate's signature. "I'm not signing." But your voice has a tremor to it, and you suddenly feel a lot smaller as Lotor strides towards you. It was a lot easier to disrespect the Prince of the Below through a looking glass.

His eyes flash with irritation. "You will." Somehow, those two words hold more threat to them than all the insults the Bounties threw at you earlier.

But you set your jaw and clench your fists. "I'd rather die. I'm. Not. Signing." You had vowed to not ever help the Below in any way, shape or form again. It wasn't worth it.

"Told you so," Haggar sing-songs from behind her desk, a maniacal glint to her eye. "Just take one of the actually competent ones. Let me string them up."

Lotor gives a sharp sigh. "Touch them and I'll be stringing you up." Haggar pouts and crosses her arms. He turns to you, and the coolness in his eyes sends shivers up your spine. The realisation hits you like a freight train. He's done something. He knows something. He would never be this sure of himself if he didn't have an absolutely airtight plan.

Then Lotor waves his hand again, and another mirror you hadn't noticed before–a looking glass spanning from the floor to the ceiling, partially hidden by a black curtain–lights up, and the image you see has all the colour drain from your face and your heart skip a beat.

Allura is tied to a chair and breathing hard, her nurse's scrubs hanging crookedly, torn and dirty. A nasty cut spans from her cheekbone to her eyebrow, and blood runs down the side of her face. Tears mix with the grime and blood smearing her cheeks. Behind her stand Emmie and Zethrid the Bountyhunters, crazed smiles painted upon both their faces.

As soon as she sees you, Allura lets out a strangled cry that is muffled by the gag strung over her mouth. Her eyes widen, and you rush forward, stopping just short of the mirror's surface, afraid to break it. Your shaking fingertips hover just shy of the surface before you pull them back to your chest. Tears threaten to spill past your eyes, so you push them down and try to take a breath.

"Is this real?" You know how hallucinations work. You know how powerful illusions can be, and you know exactly how useful of a tool they can be in manipluation. It's a tool you've used yourself.

"Maybe. Maybe not," says Lotor's soft voice. His breath washes over the side of your face, and you can feel sick rise in your throat. All compusure is lost. It's all or nothing now. Thoughts muddle and get mixed up in your mind until all you can focus on is Allura, terrified and hurt, sitting in front of you yet separated by a thin sheet of glass and who knows how many miles.

A crazy thought of Maybe I can free her pops up, but you beat it down immediately again. You don't know where she is. You don't know if this is even real. Lotor would immediately order her killed if you attempted anything remotely similar to a breakout. Then kill Lotor, a ragged voice in your mind screams.

"Come, come, no rash decisions now," Lotor says as if he just read your thoughts. His hands ghost over your shoulders, sliding down until they reach your elbows. He gently forces them to your sides, and you don't even have the strength in you to resist. A fresh stream of tears runs down Allura's cheeks, and she weakly thrashes against her bonds, and in the end, that's what yanks you out of your stupor.

Your chin snaps up. "So you'll let her go if I sign the contract?"

Lotor rolls his eyes. "Look whose wits have returned to them." He lets go of your elbows and takes a step toward the mirror, hands clasped behind his back and his hungry gaze raking across Allura's form. She looks up at him with a mix of hatred and fear in her eyes. She's given up struggling against the ropes, but her jaw is set, and her eyes are steely; terrified, but determined. Her gaze flicks back to you and she gives the tiniest shake of her head.

Lotor reels back and laughs, the sound booming within the office walls. He shakes his head, still chuckling, his long silvery hair swishing behind him as he stalks back to the desk and swoops up the contract. "Feisty. I like that. Doesn't have the slightest clue of what's going on but still tells you to not do the thing you obviously don't want to do." He flashes you a fanged grin that makes your blood run cold. "I just might pay her a visit later myself."

"That's Middle Ground, my Prince," you manage through gritted teeth. "I'll find and kill you before you even have a chance to knock on her door."

"That's some confidence you've got right there, Y/N. Keep it for the job."

"I haven't signed your contract yet."

Lotor cocks his head and his grin widens. "Yet being the keyword here."

You turn back to the mirror, scanning Allura for any sign that she might not be real, looking for something that might hint that her image is off. Something. Anything. But your manic brain is running in circles, looking for loopholes that might not even be there, and you know you're not making sense, because the chance that she's just an illusion is there, but on the off-chance that she isn't, that she actually is in danger–

You would never forgive yourself if she were to get hurt and you could have put a stop to it.

"It's possible," you breathe, your hands curling to fists. "It's possible that none of this is real."

Lotor nods as if your words are perfectly reasonable. "True." There's a beat of silence, and his feverish eyes bore into yours. "But are you willing to take that risk?"

Anyone else–any proper demon–would have laughed in his face and torn the contract to shreds, watching gleefully as Allura got tortured in front of their eyes. But you had left behind your demon ways a good while ago, and you had always been a rotten pupil anyway. So you bite your tongue and snatch the contract and pen from Lotor's waiting fingers, scribbling your signature down hard enough that you pierce the paper.

"See, I knew you'd come around in the end!" He claps his hands in delight and throws a triumphant glance Haggar's way. "I told you so."

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbles, waving a hand as if to dismiss his words. She gives you a slightly disapppointed stare. "I was rooting for you, kiddo. Show some spine next time."

You fight the tears threatening to spill and slap the now-signed contract back onto the desk. "All right. Details, Lotor. What's the assignment?"

His eyes flash. Business; there's something he knows. "We received word that one of the Above's most prized angels has just gone rogue." He starts pacing, and your eyes keep finding Allura's behind him–but she looks at you with pity and something that's almost disappointment, and you have to look away before you break down completely. "It came out of nowhere, too: stellar record, followed orders without a second thought. A great soldier." You don't miss the punch behind the words.

"And you want me to do, what, kill him?" That wouldn't be too hard. At least, you think. Your mind is still a bit muddy, but something ugly and twisted inside you is still desperate for Management's approval. Still eager to prove yourself. I can be a good soldier too.

"Oh no, no," Lotor says with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I just want you to find him and bring him in. It shouldn't be that hard to do–after all, who better to track a rogue than another rogue themselves?"

There's still something else. Something he isn't telling you. Sure, you're good at what you do–at what you used to do–but was it worth going through all the trouble just to get you to sign the stupid contract? As much as you loathed to do it, you silently had to agree with Haggar on this one. There were so many young demons scrambling for their chance to prove themselves and their worth–why not let them take this assignment?

"That–that's it?"

Lotor cocks a brow. "I mean, unless you wanted more work, I guess that's it.'

You give a cautious nod. "Okay. So what do we know about this guy?"

"Not much. My sources weren't able to provide very recent information–"

"Get better sources."

"–But what they do know is that this particular angel has been off the map for years. Quite like you," he adds as he raises his other eyebrow. You roll your eyes. "He's impossible to find, quite hard to track, and a very skilled fighter. Rumour has it he's scouring your city's streets at the moment."

You resist a frown. If this guy has been prowling your streets and you haven't noticed, something is definitely amiss. Might just be that you've been preoccupied with Keith and everything that happened around him, but if this has been going on for as long as Lotor is implying it has... this just might prove an actual challenge.

The old feeling of excitement and anticipation starts to run through your very bones again, and you hate the way it makes you feel–energised. As if you can handle anything thrown your way. Ready. It's a feeling you haven't known in years, and one you haven't missed, though now that it courses through your veins again there's no point in denying that you're enjoying it. The thrill of the chase.

But then Lotor speaks the name of the angel you're supposed to bring in, and everything falls into place, only to shatter into a million pieces a split second after.

You see his lips move. Hear the words spoken, though they take a moment to get processed, and when they do they leave behind an emptiness that has you stare at him, too dumbfounded and untrusting of yourself to speak.

It can't be. This must be the universe's idea of a cruel joke. The very guy you'd risked everything for–the very angel that had caused your distractedness and is the reason you were here in the first place–is the same rogue angel about whom you had just signed a contract.

The crushing weight of it settles on your shoulders. All five days of you struggling to keep him breathing, for nothing. The weird excursion to Coran's shop, for nothing. The goddamn chinese takeout you'd bought for him, for fucking nothing.

But somehow you manage to keep your face straight, and Lotor hadn't been watching you as he said it, instead gazing intently at something over your head, so you can only hope he hasn't noticed the lurch in your expression at the mention of Keith Kogane.

"All right." You're almost shocked at how steady your voice is. "Okay. I've agreed. You got what you want. Now, free Allura." Even though your voice is pretty steady, you curl your hands into fists to hide their shaking.

Lotor doesn't move for a moment, and you seriously begin to think he's having a seizure until he snaps his fingers and Emmie lunges forward.

In her hand is a knife, and she plunges it into Allura's chest without a second of hesitation.

You rush toward the mirror, a strangled "No!" ripped from your throat. Your fingers claw at the smooth glass surface and you watch her slump, blood gushing from the wound and staining her scrubs a dark crimson. Your knees buckle, and your eyes stay glued to her form as she convulses, coughs up blood twice, then goes limp. Her head falls back...

And snaps back up, and you lurch back with a startled cry. Allura's eyes have gone red and are shining with mania. Her skin turns the colour of wet ash, and her hair falls out of its updo and cascades down her shoulders, tendrils black and writhing as if they have a mind of their own...

Demon.

Shapeshifter.

Your breathing comes in short and shallow rasps as the full realisation of things settles in. Allura was never in danger. You were right all along. If only you had put your foot down. If only you hadn't let your feelings cloud your mind.

It doesn't matter now. You signed a contract–and there's no going back from that.

Lotor fingers through the file that bears your signature in black ink. Slowly, the words explaining just what you signed start to appear on the sheets, snaking their way along the curves of the paper as if written in by an invisible hand. A steel fist clenches around your heart, and you struggle to stand up, your muscles turned to jelly. The surface of the mirror has gone black again.

A shaking hand comes up to cover your mouth, and your teeth clench down on your lower lip so hard that they draw blood. Lotor flicks his wrist, and the contract disappears. The fingers of your free hand twitch as if they wanted to grab at the file. You level your gaze with Lotor's, and evidently your years of training finally paid off in the end, because in his eyes you can see how passive your expression is. You'd be a good poker player, your fleeting mind thinks randomly. The only thing giving away your current emotions is the hand mindlessly tugging at your bottom lip, and the fact that your breathing is still rather fast.

"Now," Lotor drawls in his honey-coated voice–sugary sweet, sticky, suffocating–and snakes an arm around your shoulders, "that wasn't so hard, was it?"

And you know you should keep your mouth shut, because he is the Prince of the Below, and Haggar has already expressed her desire to string you up and set you on fire in the Grand Hall for every new recruit to see–but on the other hand, you just signed a contract, and that makes you technically untouchable until Lotor has reason to believe you won't be able to complete the task set out for you.

The very foundation of a plan starts coming together in your mind. You jut up your chin and break free from his grasp. "So do I get assignment-issue gear? A blade? A gun, maybe? If this angel is as good as you make him out to be, perhaps I should need some more useful weapons than your average kitchen knife."

Lotor scrutinises you for a moment, then waves his hand. A set of gleaming double blades appear on Haggar's desk, along with their sheaths and long black gloves. Haggar huffs with an indignant mutter of Sure, use my desk as your summoning surface. Don't mind at all. You ignore her and lift an eyebrow. "That's all you're going to give me?"

"If you're as good as you say, this is all you will need," Lotor replies in that smooth tone of his. His eyes glint; he's gotten what he wanted. He's already won.

But that's fine. Lotor may have won this battle, and you need to make him feel like he has, but in the end you'll do everything in your power to win the war. And Lotor just handed you the weapons that just might be able to get you there.

"Fine," you mutter, snatching up the knives, pointedly refusing to strap them to your back like is procedure, instead securing the harnesses to your thighs as a small act of defiance. Irritation flashes in his eyes. "I'll report to you how often?"

"No reports," Lotor says with a wave of his hand. "We don't want to make any potential spies of the Above suspicious. Just make sure you find him, and when you do..." He tosses you a little disk about the size of a large coin, and you startle at how heavy it is. It's pleasantly warm to the touch, and you have a creeping suspicion as to what it is that is only confirmed with Lotor's next words. "Portal pass. Use it wisely."

You turn the pass over and over in your hands, the familiar weight of the knives at your thighs comforting and seeming to pull you down to the ground at the same time. "Is that–will that be all?" Risky words, risky questions–you're going out on a limb and assume Lotor won't have you hanged for running your mouth: he did just pretend to torture your best friend to coerce a signature out of you, so you suppose he has to give you some slack.

He sails to a halt in front of you, face so close his nose almost touches yours, and you have to stop yourself from recoiling. His expression is cold, his gaze calculating–and the smile that creeps up his lips sends shivers up our spine. "Yes. I think that will be all." He raises a brow and throws a glance Haggar's way, which you find comical as he didn't seem to give a solid fuck about her opinions when he used her office as his personal torture chamber.

Haggar shrugs. "I still think we should string them up and burn them to a crisp."

"Yes, Haggar, I know. Why did I even bother." He gives you a lazy flick of his hand, but you've already turned and your hand is resting on the doorknob, when something occurs to you and you cast a look at him over your shoulder.

"My Prince?" The title feels like hot oil searing down your throat, but you expect the words you're about to say require this small bit of courtesy. He raises a brow and nods. "I'm going to kill the Bounties that brought me here." Your voice sounds oddly bored.

Lotor chuckles. "They're no demons. They don't have a place in the Below." It's like his gaze issues a challenge, and a fresh wave of loathing for this Prince washes over your being. "Go right ahead."

You flash a cold smile and slam the door shut.

– – –

You wipe your blades with some wet wipes and discard them in the trashcan beside you when they get too filthy with blood (the store clerk barely looked up when you came in and purchased a single packet of wet wipes and a duffel bag–apparently the average cashier sees weirder stuff than a maniac with bloodied hunting knives the size of their forearms slamming a pack of wet wipes on the counter on a daily basis). Emmie, Adam, Zethrid and Nirina's bodies have long since turned to dust, and you have to work to keep your breathing steady and to stop your eyes from glowing red as the phone wedged between your ear and your shoulder rings.

Allura picks up on the fourth ring. "'Sup?"

It was just a check. Just to make sure. But if Allura truly did just get tortured, you have a feeling she wouldn't pick up a phone call with a simple 'Sup?

"Hey. How was your day?" Your speech comes out slightly slurred, and Allura laughs on the other side of the line.

"Fine. Work, you know. Routine." You can almost hear the grin on her face as she says, "And you? Weren't you supposed to be at work too, today?"

Work. Work feels like such a long time ago--when it was in reality only a couple of hours back. You nod slowly, though it's more to convince yourself than anything else. "Yeah. I was. Some co-workers and I went to get smoothies afterwards. To welcome me back," you joke.

"Did they pay?"

"Yeah."

"Good for you. Free milkshake. I'm jealous."

You laugh, but it feels hollow in your chest. "Hey--I need to run now, but I'll call you later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Sweet of you to check in, Y/N."

You eye the gleaming blade, running a finger along its razor-sharp edge. "No problem."

After you hang up, you sit back against the wall digging into your back, forcing down the pumping feeling in your limbs.

It's something you've missed, and you can't deny it. The absolute exhilaration you feel when your blades make contact, the thrumming of adrenaline in your veins as you dodge to avoid the blows that four individual enemies are throwing at you. The fear in Zethrid's eyes when she realises she is the only one left standing, and the life seeping from her eyes as you slit her throat.

It doesn't make you feel good, exactly–especially now that the thrill of the moment has worn off and you just feel tired and there's an ache that has burrowed itself deep into your bones–but there's no replicating the rush of power that courses through your very being when you're the one in control.

When the blades of death are yours to wield.

The knives are now securely stored in your new black duffel, and you try and figure out how you're going to pull off bringing two huge knives home without rousing suspicion from Keith. You internally debate whether you shouldn't just find a safe space to stash the duffel until you need it. There are quite a few nooks and crannies you know no one in their right mind would look, but then again, this was a big city. There were plenty of creepier people prawling these streets than the occasional demon.

And then you pass a gym, and an idea sparks in your head.

After casually shoplifting a bunch of sportswear from the nearest Nike store, you return to the gym with the knives in your bag hidden by the copious amounts of t-shirts and trainers stacked on top of them. You get a locker and stuff the bag inside before making your way outside again, smiling at the desk guy as you leisurely stroll out of the gym. The guy narrows his eyes at you–your clothes are still slightly torn and dirty, and you're pretty sure you have a bruise forming on the right side of your cheek, but you don't pay him any mind. He works at a gym. He's seen stranger than you.

But the closer you get to your apartment, the heavier the portal pass starts to feel in your pocket, and the more insecure your steps become. The sun hangs low over the city skyline, but hasn't completely started to set yet, and soft golden light washes over the streets, making them look... wrong. Bleak. Colour in a place where colour shouldn't be. You had just killed in these streets, and nobody noticed.

The thought makes you feel kind of sorry for the Bounties. They would be missed by no one.

You're still lost in thought when you almost hit a door and you snap back to reality. Your feet had carried you all the way up to your apartment. You blinked hard, rubbed a hand over your face and fumbled for your keys.

"Hey. It's me. Did you burn the house down while I was gone?"

Keith looks up from where he sits on an armchair–your armchair, but you understand he wouldn't want to spend another minute on the couch he spent five days on, hallucinating out of his mind–and grins, and your heart does a leap. And then he frowns, and you freeze, and your immediate thought is Oh fuck, he's found me out, he knows everything, he's going to call the other angels and he's going to kill me–

But the words he speaks are soft with concern. "What happened to your face?" And it takes all of your willpower not to break down right then and there.

He puts down the book he was reading and walks over to you, eyebrows knotted with worry, and reaches out to touch your forehead. Only then does he seem to realise how close to you he's standing, and he quickly pulls his fingers back to his chest. They're red with blood. "Let's get that disinfected, yeah?"

Before you can answer, he's already started towards your kitchen. You blink, still stunned, before following him like you're in a daze. He looks over his shoulder and points to a kitchen chair. You plop down, and it's when the weight is taken off your legs that the exhaustion comes crashing into you at breakneck speed, and it takes all your strength not to plunk your head down on the kitchen table and just pass out.

"Where do you keep your first aid kit?"

You vaguely point to a cabinet below the sink, and moments later Keith plops the kit down beside you on the table and plucks out a wad of cotton and disinfecting spray. You don't even feel it sting when he gently dabs at the cut on your forehead and cheekbone. His eyes are firmly trained on the cotton, his dark brows furrowed–there's a little crease between them that your foggy self finds most endearing–and he's chewing absent-mindedly on his bottom lip.

With a shock, you realise this is the closest you've been to him. Ever. This is the first time you can properly study his face, and you can always blame your muddy mind later if he brings up how blatantly you were staring at him, so you let yourself drink in every feature of his face. You find yourself drawn to his eyes most; they're a stunning deep violet, the colour of the sky at twilight, when the sun has just set and the last rays of light streak the heavens with purple. Most of all, they're soft with concern and simultaneously fierce with a kind of fire you haven't seen on him before.

"Aren't you going to ask what happened?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Keith's eyes briefly flicker to yours, and he gives an awkward shrug before going back to gently rubbing at your wounds. "It's none of my business. You haven't asked me about what I was doing on Middle Ground in the first place, and I won't stick my nose into what doesn't concern me." But the words sound like he's reciting them; like a lesson he learned at school. You can see in his eyes that he is in fact curious, but also that he isn't going to press further. How very angelic of him.

You purse your lips, fingering the portal pass in your jacket pocket.

Your mind is a jumble of thoughts, like someone took all your emotions and threw them in a blender. Every moment you spend with Keith in your kitchen–how is it you always end up in the kitchen?–you grow more sure that you can't turn him in. But the contract pulls at your insides, and you know that if you keep ignoring its contents it will keep gnawing at you until you can't take it anymore and snap.

The contract is the contract. Binding and eternal.

"Keith."

His hand freezes, and you carefully guide it to the table, gently forcing him to put down the cotton. "Thank you, really. But I'm okay. I promise."

He nods. Slowly. "Okay."

And oh, how you want to wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips against his, but that would make things a thousand times more complicated than they already are–

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop. It's the exhaustion talking, you firmly tell yourself, before you yank your fingers back and stand. You're a bit wobbly, but you manage. Keith wisely doesn't attempt to help you, but you can feel his eyes boring into your back as you make your way to your bedroom.

You change. You brush your teeth. You splash some water in your face to clear your head. Everything happens in a haze, your mind too tired to think about anything at all.

But then your eye falls on a piece of paper resting on your pillow. You frown and pick it up, and your eyes widen when you recognise your own scraggly handwriting littering the little parchment card. A hand flies up to your mouth to muffle your startled scream, and you drop the card as if it just burned your fingertips, though your eyes stay glued to its surface.

The words I want Keith to be okay stare back up at you, and with every passing second your breathing gets quicker and more ragged. Your fingers tingle, and as you draw a tentative breath you sink down onto the mattress. Your fingers tingle, but they tingle with warmth, and the feeling is not unpleasant.

Where Keith's own skin brushed yours, the chill that had seeped into your very core and had burrowed there for days, leaving you in a constant state of stiff cold, dissipated. The feeling is so weirdly foreign after having only felt cold for days that you dumbly stare out into nothingness, trying to shake the heat out of your hand. It doesn't work. It feels good, and you want more of it.

For a moment, the contract leaves your mind, replaced by Keith's eyes, the way he'd looked up at you, all softness and worry; the gentleness of his fingers as they cleaned the shallow cuts on your face. You close your eyes and lean back, the little parchment card on the floor seeming to beg for your attention. You never knew paper could be this loud.

For just a moment, you allow yourself to think of Keith and not just see an angel–but something more.

#keith x reader #keith kogane x reader #keith voltron #keith voltron x reader #keith vld #keith vld x reader #vld keith #vld keith x reader #voltron keith #voltron keith x reader #voltron keith kogane #vld keith kogane #voltron keith kogane x reader #vld keith kogane x reader #keith kogane #keith fic #keith fanfic #keith voltron fic #keith voltron fanfic

[lefaystrent]

Welcome to the Neighborhood part 2

Fandom: Thomas Sanders, Sanders Sides

Pairings: Prinxiety?

Summary: Virgil’s really bad at peopling, or so his new neighbors find out.

Chapter Navigation: part one part three

Notes: I didn’t plan to continue this, but a lot of people liked it? So here’s some more of this absurd little comedy.

AO3 Link

           Early one morning before the sun had yet to rise, Virgil was lounging on the roof munching on some Cheetos.

           “How did you even get up there?”

           Virgil most definitely did not yelp. He let out a manly grunt of surprise at the figure on the ground who managed to sneak up on him. It was one of the new neighbors, Roman. He wore shorts, sneakers, and a tank top, looking like he was about to go for a morning jog.

           He also stood there grinning, and Virgil didn’t think he imagined the movie star twinkle that came with it.

           Virgil slowly pointed a finger at him. “Don’t.”

           “Don’t what?”

           “Sneak up on me. People die that way.”

           Roman threw back his head and laughed. It annoyed Virgil so he tossed a Cheetos at his stupid perfect face. Roman batted the projectile away easily.

           “Do you always sit around eating chips?” Roman asked benignly.

           Virgil shrugged, frowning down into his nearly empty bag. When did that happen? “Nah, when I’m in the backyard I eat Oreos.”

           “Of course,” Roman nodded sagely. “Where else would one eat Oreos?”

           “Exactly. You so get me.”

           Roman watched him for a moment as he upended the bag to pour the rest of the chips into his mouth. “So why the roof?”

           Virgil swallowed his mouthful. “I thought my gargoyle aesthetic was pretty self-explanatory, but I guess not.”

           “Gargoyle?”

           “I’m a gothic gay disaster. Is there any other reason someone like me would be chilling on a roof other than to emulate a gargoyle?”

           “When it comes to you, I’m finding that there are infinite possibilities to the reasons why you do things and none of them I would have ever guessed.”

           Virgil narrowed his eyes. He probably would have appeared more threatening without the cheesy crumbs littering his mouth, but whatever. It was all about the eyes yo. “I can’t tell if that was an insult or a compliment.”

           With a flourish, Roman straightened and gestured to himself. “Coming from a writer such as myself? Yes, it was most definitely a compliment.”

           “Hm,” Virgil hummed noncommittally. He balled up the chip bag, relishing in the sound of the plastic crumbling. He threw a leg over the roof’s edge to hang in the air casually.

           The chill in the air nipped at his cheeks. Had he not been dressed in his usual hoodie, it’d probably be cold. He wondered if Roman was cold, standing down there in shorts and no sleeves. He didn’t look cold, expression one of interest as he was content to stand there.

           Virgil wanted to ask him about his work, what kind of things he wrote, because truthfully Virgil would have took one look at him and never thought ‘writer’. Instead, he blurted, “Weren’t you going to go, like, do jock stuff?”

           “I was, but then I found a cute little kitten stuck up on a roof,” Roman said with a smile so sweet that his eyes smiled too. “Oh, I’m sorry, I meant cute little gargoyle.”

           “Damn right I am,” Virgil said confidently, not feeling confident in the slightest, but Roman didn’t have to know that. As it was, Virgil called on the powers of God and anime to will away any inkling of a blush that might dare to tinge his corpse pale cheeks. He didn’t exactly prepare to be flirted with this morning by his hot neighbor.

           Oh God.

           Wait.

           . . . was his hot neighbor actually flirting with him?

           Okay, okay Virgil. Don’t be a dweeb. It’s not like you’re so socially repressed that you barely leave the house and work from home and nobody has flirted with you since high school except that that love letter wasn’t actually supposed to go in your locker in the first place and you didn’t realize until after you asked them out, talk about childhood trauma, yeesh—

           “Virgil?” Roman asked.

           He snapped violently out of his memories, responding too loudly, “Yeah! I’m here!” And really? ‘I’m here?’ Virgil briefly contemplated whether or not Roman would be alarmed if he tried to choke himself on the balled up Cheetos bag.

           “I was just going to ask if you made a habit of sitting on the roof every morning,” Roman inquired. “It’d be nice to see a friendly face before I head out on my morning runs.”

           “Uh, yeah, I watch the sunrise every morning so—” He slapped a hand over his mouth. Oh fuck, he didn’t mean to say that.

           Roman’s eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. “You watch the sunrise?” he asked, and yeah, it was time for Virgil to yeet himself from the roof.

           “Uh, I mean,” he floundered for some response that didn’t make him look like the flowery sap he truly was. “I sit up on the roof every morning to glare at the sun.”

           “To . . . glare at the sun?”

           “Yeah, just in case he gets any bright ideas,” he punned without thinking and he deadass would have actually jumped from the roof after that if Roman hadn’t chuckled good-naturedly and rolled with it.

           “Can’t have that, now can we? All of us mere mortals are indebted to you and your bravery.”

           “Well, uh, yeah,” Virgil said and finger-gunned at him.

           God help him, he couldn’t stop.

           The sky had lightened by this point. The first sun rays pierced through the cool fog haunting the suburban streets. Roman glanced towards the backyard where the orange haze originated. In that moment, with the soft breeze lifting his wavy brown locks, Virgil wondered why on earth Roman had settled for being a scriptwriter and not an actor.

           “You know . . .” Roman began, lips tugging up and eyes warming in the sun’s glow. “I like to ‘glare’ at the sunrise too, on occasion. It’s magnificent, isn’t it?”

           Virgil wasn’t sure why, but he felt the urge to hug his knees to his chest. “Um, yeah . . . It’s nice.”

           Roman didn’t seem to mind his weird quirks. He didn’t belittle or laugh at him, nor did he run away. It was a lot more than what Virgil expected when he heard they were getting new neighbors.

            “It’s a nice sight to see before you sleep,” Virgil admitted. “I usually go to bed afterwards.”

            “Then surely you have the sweetest of dreams,” Roman smiled at him.

            Virgil snorted and threw the crumbled up Cheetos bag at him. “Just because you’re a writer doesn’t give you an excuse to talk like a dork.”

            “On the contrary, it gives me all the more reason!” he declared. “And honestly, darling, you must stop with the throwing of chip bags at people. Aren’t gargoyles supposed to be symbols of protection?”

            “I’m protecting my sanity.”

            Roman laughed in a carefree way that made Virgil want to smile too. However, the front door to Roman’s house opened and his roommate shuffled out. The bespectacled man looked ready to head out for work but paused upon seeing them.

            “Oh, good, Virgil,” Logan called out.

            Virgil stiffened. Never in his life had he wanted to be an actual gargoyle more than he did now, because currently he was unable to ward off the evil coming right for him.

            “Virgil, I’ve been meaning to have a word with you,” Logan said, stopping beside Roman.

            “I’m sorry, my people need me, I must go,” Virgil said, moving to crawl to the other side of the roof.

            “Wait, please, I’m afraid we got off on the wrong start—”

            “What gave you that idea?”

            “You threw a chip bag at my face.”

            Roman placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “It’s a sign of affection really.”

            Logan shook his head. “I only wanted to extend an invitation to you and your roommate to join us for dinner sometime, in the hopes that we can get better acquainted.”

            “Or so you can lure us into your evil lair.”

            “Virgil, I am not a vampire.”

            “That’s just what a vampire would say!” Virgil hissed.

            “Virgil, please.”

             Virgil thrust out a finger to point at him accusingly. “If you’re not a vampire, I demand proof.”

              “I . . .” Logan looked down at himself and then up at the sun shining directly on them. He glanced at Roman beseechingly.

              “You heard the man,” Roman said with a teasing grin. “Prove it.”

              The light of hope dulled in Logan’s eyes. “I know where you sleep at night, Prince.”

              Roman’s eyes went comically wide. “Good Heavens, he’s out for blood! Is that a glimpse of fang I spy? Virgil, dearest, run now before it’s too late!”

              “Roman!” Logan surged forward but was a second too late. Roman had already fled, cackling down the sidewalk as he ran with Logan hot on his tail.

              Virgil watched them go, contemplating whether or not he should take a bath before he hit the hay. From beside him, his walkie-talkie crackled.

              “Virgil, honey, did you eat the last of my Cheetos?”

              Virgil eyed the device and considered the benefits of living on the roof from now on.

              “I know you’re on the roof. I can smell your guilt from here. I won’t hesitate bitch.”

Tag list:  @spectralheartt @a-pastel-pan @notalwaysthevillian @rose-gold-roman @ijustrealizedhowdumbmynamewas @katie-the-noble-fangirl @yourroyalydramaticanxiousness @aroundofapplesauce @merlybird500 @beach-fan @jemthebookworm @whats-going-on-kiddos @roman-red-aesthetic @joyful-milkshake-observation @lizziepopanime @ab-artist (let me know if you want to be added or removed from this story’s tag list)

#sanders sides #virgil #virgil sanders #roman #roman sanders #logan #logan sanders #remy #remy sanders #prinxiety #humor #comedy #fluff #writing #fanfiction #welcome to the neighborhood

[dacremintgomery]

a hair-ible idea | billy hargrove

good morning babes and happy valentine’s day! may the love you have for yourself and your partner and anyone and everyone important in your life bring you the happiness and joy you deserve. if you’re/'ve been a dick to someone recently... it really takes no effort to be nice. 

the inspiration behind this was the ace family prank when austin accidentally cut catherine’s hair, here is the video, and a post with billy and steve and the lil valentine candies, here is @pizzacast ‘s post!

i think i made this imagine pretty neutral so anyone can read it from their point of view. it’s pretty long too hehehe. 

i’ve written dacre imagines (lmao only 2) before but this is my first billy imagine, yeet.  please tell me how it is, i’m up for feedback which is always appreciated :)

happy reading! love u

"Are you actually fucking serious?" you harshly say to Billy as he's waving around a handful of hair and a pair of scissors in front of you. You both were studying for a surprise exam for your Biology class and decided that the park was the best place to do so since it's quiet and you're fully surrounded by fresh air (unless billy was occasionally smoking his cigarette) but it was the best you could do. What a way to spend Valentine’s Day.

"Come on, babe. Let's have some fun!" His wicked smile is plastered on his face with his arms spread out like the wings of an angel, which, as much as his smile made you smile, it wasn't going to do so this time. You had been stuck on revising the gaseous exchange transport systems between organisms and environments of plants and animals. No matter how long you've spent on this topic, it just wasn't getting through that thick skull of yours. "We've been sitting here for hours and we haven't gotten up since we got here." you stand up out of frustrating, the heat of your anger reaching to the top of your ears against the cool breeze of Hawkins.

"I can't believe you've done this, do you realise what you've done? You've just cut my hair! Billy." You look up at him with your head tilted to the side. "Are you serious." Your voice was pleading and straightforward. Your boyfriend cutting a chunk of your hair was as close to the last straw you've had for a while since studying your ass off for these exams that could determine the path you wanted to take after high school. 

Your nose tingles at its bridge, the weird way of telling you that tears are about to start to fall. Your hand reaches up to the bottom of your nose to block almost half your face as an attempt to stop your tears from falling. Your arm falls to your side as you give up and look up to the sky. You close your eyes as you just let the tears fall. You tie up the remaining of your hair, not caring for loosely-strayed pieces of hair and pack up your things through blurry-teared eyes. your heart beats hard against your chest out of anger and embarrassment amongst the young children and their parents. 

"I can't believe you. At this time? Just don't follow me." You shake your head and storm off after packing the last of your things. You left in a huff with an exasperated Billy with fake locks in his hands. 

"Baby!" he calls out to you with a tone of tiredness mixed with defeat. Usually, he did follow after you when you left at the end of an argument but his feet couldn't move as if they were glued to the ground. His legs had the urge to move towards your direction but his feet were pinned down.

He throws the single part of hair extension into the bush and the scissors onto the table in anger. He runs his fingers through the blonde locks of his, before sitting on the seat the faced away from the direction you started walking. He then pulls out the cigarette pack from the breast pocket of his favourite denim jacket, lights one and takes the several puffs before finished several of the tobacco sticks. 

---

After you walked off, you went to buy some comfort food from Bobbie's Place, a new diner you were supposed to go to with Billy after the exam period but since he's pushed you too far this time with cutting your hair, you needed something warm and greasy. After purchasing your deluxe cheeseburger with fries and a milkshake, you carry on home. 

---

It's been a few hours of writing your notes and revising the key terminology, explanations and diagrams for three topics - Patterns in Nature, Evolution of Australian Biota and Communications. you sigh, throwing the last of your notes on top of the open biology textbooks laid out on your bed and lay back onto the cushions on your bed. You close your eyes out of fatigue, only wanting to catch at max a half hour sleep. 

Soft taps slowly awake your slumber, your ears twitch at each one. A couple more taps, from what you've found out was from your window, your eyes open and drift towards the window at the front of your room, waiting for the next tap. It comes a couple seconds after the last one, a white pebble, you questioned yourself. Another pebble came around by the time you made it to your window. What greeted you at the bottom of the pavement was Billy in his signature red buttoned shirt, most of it unbuttoned of course. It really wouldn't be a Billy outfit without them. You shake your head as he continues to throw lil white, pink and blue pebbles. White pebbles were okay, you think to yourself, but pink and blue? And yellow?! You open the window but right after you had opened it fully, a little piece hit you straight in the eye. "Damn it, Billy! are you trying my make me blind too?"

"I'm sorry. About the prank, I pulled on you this morning. It was actually a part of a wig I found in the costume store yesterday. And for your eye." He calls out, his fingers are intertwined with each other, a sign that you've picked up on that he was nervous in front of you. You look into the flower bed just outside your window and noticed that the little pebbles you thought weren't actual pebbles. You picked up the pink heart, "cutie". you shake your head but smile at Billy's attempt to be romantic. Your lips purse together in thought, finding more candies in your flower bed like "kiss me", "luv ya", "my baby", and "you're sweet". 

You look down at him, his eyes pleading softly, his fingers still entwined. "I'm sorry too. It's ... Wait, I'll come down. come through to the back." You close and lock your window before sliding into your pair of fluffy slippers and make your way downstairs to the back door. You open it to a standing Billy. "I can't believe it was a joke!" you slap his shoulder. You roll your eyes before motioning your hand inwards to your house.

You and Billy are sitting at the bench, facing each other with your legs in between each other. you whisper to each other because your parents and siblings are fast asleep upstairs. 

"As I was saying..." you start, looking down at your own entwined fingers, "I'm sorry about today too. It's just ... This stupid surprise exam is just ..." you look up at him, his eyes on you. "I haven't been doing well in this class and it's been too hard for me. I definitely take the blame for me not being totally cooperative. You were just trying to ease the tension," you end in a whisper. "But the hair... come on. You would go ballistic if I were to do that to you. So don't try that again," you smile through tears.

Billy pulls you in for the biggest hug you could ask for during this time. Your face nuzzles in between the crook of his neck and his blonde locks, soft and dark. The smell of his leather jacket mixed with his men's cologne. Your arms snake around his neck and pull him as close as possible as he softly whispers his apology to you before placing a peck on the shell of your ear. As much as this felt cliche, you could feel his heart beat against yours, the warmth of his body provided the security blanket, a sign that was saying he was there for you.

"Look. we are going to get through this exam. If you could write 4 essays in the time span of an hour an a half without forgetting your major points, none of them, then I know you are going to get through this surprise exam." You pull away from him, Billy now being arm-length away. His thumb brushes away the stray tears that fall down to your cheek. He playfully taps your nose before placing a peck on your forehead. "Let's do this."

You both lift up from your seats, his arm around your shoulders as yours was placed around his waist and your hand in the back of his denim jeans. "Oh. These lil candies." you pause, to stand in front of him with your hand out with the little hearts, "You're cute, but your prank was hair-ible" you wink. 

#billy hargrove #imagine #fanfic #fic #one-shot #one shot #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove one shot #billy hargrove fic #stranger things #valentine's day #billy hargrove x reader #dacremintgomery writes #q