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littlelesbinonny · 4 months

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The Devil's Den

Chapter 38: In Which The Daylight Is Fading

You can read this also on Ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46831621/chapters/117962293

::!TW!:: *brief depictions of blood/gore*

There was still a hint of the sunset radiating in through the stained glass of the church and Alcina winced at the tinge of pain in her bones that came with it. At least it would be gone soon, but truly she had something much more pressing to deal with than that of the setting sun. Still, the haunting color of the darkening amber to red was ominous.

A coldness set in as she had followed the priest with haste; hope beyond hope, she was sickeningly praying to any God that may exist that she wasn't about to walk into what she thought she was.

But she did.

A mutant had been here.

At her very doorstep. It had made itself known.

But how many? One? A handful? A hundred?

A boiling rage and fear began to pour down her spine; a thousand and one thoughts slamming to the front of her mind while she look upon this mangled human.

This boy the priest had so hysterically been crying over was splayed out on the ground in a large, spattered pool of blood and entrails. His flesh was torn apart from his face to his belly. His skull was visible through the damage as was his ribcage. If she hadn't known better she would have guessed a tiger had escaped a local zoo. She shuddered internally as flashbacks of her own altercation raced through.

He lay near the deacon common hall doorway near the exit she so often took to escape into the human world, an easy location for this attack to happen; the predator would take no notice until the deed was done and scatter off in the blink of an eye.

Father Sullivan was there, as were two other priests, a deacon, and now Alcina, three of her men, and the priest who'd come to fetch her.

The humans were pale as death; sickened to their stomachs as they were not used to the sight nor the smell of a freshly carved up body. The rank, metallic smell of blood affected the vampires in a very different way than it did the clergymen, but this was more than a somber, disturbing manner.

The men stared at Alcina and her men with blank faces. Pure shock. Sprouting anger, perhaps, and utter disbelief this was taking place. Alcina and her men were no better; blank stares, void of visible reaction.

"Send for Donna," she whispered over her shoulder to the vampire on her left, "immediately."

He left in a blink.

"W-what h-have you to say for yourself?" Father Sullivan finally uttered, his tone drenched in a whisper that bore the depths of pure hatred masking the fear, keeping any semblance of power he was desperately grasping for.

"That the enemy that slaughtered this boy is also ours, Father. Be careful with your quick judgements; don't you teach at great lengths about that?"

"H-he had just turned 17!"

The priest holding the most upset about the situation chimed in again, breaking the stare-down between Alcina and Father Sullivan.

"What are we going to tell his mother?"

He droned, kneeling next to the body, his mannerisms in a fit just as much as his rambling.

"H-how?! How can this be?"

His eyes darted back to Alcina, his lips twisting into rage as he clenched his fists; "you don't have enemies! Vampires have no enemies - you lie! You lie through your sharp teeth of death!" he rose haphazardly, his sight never leaving the vampires before him, "y-you devils - evil - pure evil! The church's alliance with you has never made sense to me! I knew - I knew! Something was going to happen - none of you can be trusted - how can the House of God make deals with the Devil Incarnates!?"

"Father Archer!" Father Sullivan shouted, "enough!"

"No, no! I won't be silent! I won't - I have to say my piece! God would not have us -"

Father Archer was silenced as Alcina, quicker than their sight, grabbed him by the neck, hoisted him into the air and slammed him into the neighboring stone threshold.

She bore her teeth, scowling detested, silencing him with not only her dangerous visage but her strong grip around his throat.

"The mutant beast who did this, the one you so vehemently brand to belong to us, is not of our sect!" she spat, "I'll have you keep your bullshit behind your lips or I'll take your tongue with gladness! You know nothing of what you speak and I'll prefer your silence to your barrage of misinformed prejudice! And if it comes down to tit for tat, Father Archer - I - and my vampires, my lycans, have kept your pitiful little church and all your people safe for centuries which you should be ever so fucking grateful! You all live so freely above us with no returned services but the use of your church to the entrance of your world. Do you really think to be so much better than us you could evoke smite to the underworld with your pitiful excuse of self-righteousness?!"

"Please!" Father Sullivan interrupted, fitful and bothered, "please, can we stop this?!"

Alcina held her gaze at the kicking, struggling, crumpled-face priest in her grasp as she silently heeded Father Sullivan's request. She was about to lower him when she felt a presence that froze her solid. A presence she never, ever, in a million years that could be her existence, wanted to feel lingering near the doorway to her right.

No.

You took Monday off from work because, well, you were far too preoccupied with magick than sitting at a fucking desk for eight hours.

Your crow family had not left your balcony all day as you sat in your room alternating from your bean bag chair to your bed, reading and practicing, mindfully staring out your balcony doors, and pondering the entire earthquake that had reshaped your entire life. Whenever you grabbed yourself a snack, which was becoming more and more frequent as you worked up such an appetite while you practiced your magick, you shared with your crows each time. They cooed and purred and made all sorts of sweet noises each time you came out. If it weren't cold outside you'd leave your door open and see if they'd wander in. But, they seemed content to be where they were and you couldn't help but smile every time you looked up to find them there.

The vampire memoire, as you were beginning to call it, was full of so much information. The further you got into it, it started to give way to information on vague locations of vampire covens all over Europe, Africa, Asia, and now North America. Not to your surprise, it mentioned the covens in New York, right under your feet. Nothing was terribly revealing, as the author of course was much too smart for that, but it mentioned the the Basilica of Saint Patrick's Olde Cathedral not far from you. That piqued your interest greatly and you decided to pay it a visit later today.

This book also went into decent detail about how the truce and coexistence between vampires and the church began. There had been a stalemate take place in Romania; a vicious, bloody battle was waged in a village between a large coven of vampires and a church back in the 1600's. Eventually only one priest and one vampire were left. They both lay nearly at death with each other in the demolished courtyard after the bloodshed, and agreed that their kind could benefit each other if they could come to an agreement, otherwise they'd wipe the other off the face of the earth, and in the end was it worth it? The priest allowed the vampire to feed from him which revived the vampire, the vampire took the dying priest and bled him, turning him into one of them to solidify the truce. Then the two of them approached the neighboring churches to explain what they had done and to plead their case. It had been a compelling argument and the church, and vampires, agreed to cohabitate. The vampires promised to never attack and kill anymore clergy, and to protect the churches from any enemy, lycans mainly, that might attack, and the church offered dark safe havens for the vampires to dwell in during the day, and allowed entrances from covens underground passage into the human world peacefully.

Crazy shit what goes on in the world and no one knows the wiser.

You assumed that Saint Patrick's Cathedral must be one of the many entrances to the human world for the underworld. Who knew how many times Alcina used that very church to come see you, the thought made you smile.

When you bundled up and left your apartment to go find something to eat late afternoon, your crows loyally followed you overhead. Sometimes they'd swoop down to hop along a high stone fence you trekked along, cooing and cawing and otherwise making you grin from ear to ear gaining you off-hand looks from the other passerby's. You didn't care. You were a magickal creature, of some sort, with your own little army of crows and they were boring, plain old humans - they could suck it.

The evening was becoming beautiful. The breeze had stopped, which made the otherwise biting cold now very bearable, though you almost perfected the warming bubble you'd used on the plant and you weren't so bothered by the cold so much anymore. And now you were off on your last adventure for the day after a wonderful warm dinner.

'Careful.'

You heard as you walked through the dispersing and meandering crowds on the sidewalk.

'Careful.'

It came again several strides later.

You couldn't help but look around you, seeing if someone was speaking to you directly or if you were simply hearing a passing conversation. But nothing.

Ebony and the rest were hopping along the fence as they had been and you brushed it off, taking another turn down a block to the cathedral.

'Careful!'

The warning came in louder this time, almost inside of your head and you looked up to find all six of your crows were huddled much closer together and now taking to the sky above you. Setting your sights back on your path you began to wonder if this was not the same voice you'd heard when you named them all, that resounding, yet soft, 'yes' reply was eerily similar to you.

Not yet a handful of buildings away from the stone wall to Saint Patrick's, you were suddenly being bombarded by your crows. They were dashing in front of you, blocking your path, cawing at you, almost colliding with you as you ducked.

"What the hell! Quit!" you halted and merged yourself to the fence beside you, watching their strange behavior with apprehension.

Then once more; Careful - Careful! Careful! C-careful! Careful, careful! Careful! C-careful!

And then they were gone.

What the literal fuck? You thought as you watched them scatter to the sky and fly down the street, taking a very sharp turn towards the basilica and disappearing.

Suddenly you were very still and silent, feeling the wave of sharp uncertainty takes it purchase in your heart for a long moment.

Were your crows... warning you?

So you had heard Ebony speak that day, just as you had heard them now, plain as day.

While you were in excited disbelief to think they could possibly telepathically communicate with you, you were still pretty shaken by their upset. What on earth had made them act in such a way?

Against your better judgement, you continued on and found yourself at the entrance to the large, beautifully ornate Saint Patrick's Old Cathedral.

It looked welcoming, a thing you never really experienced from a church. And perhaps that was because you associated it with your Lady of the Night, her kind, her easy ability to come see you from such a close distance because of this building, right here.

As you walked slowly along the well kept black iron fence to search for a possible opening for you to enter and explore, you noticed the large forest green door that you assumed lead into a courtyard of sorts, was open. Everything was locked up tight, so it shouldn't have been, should it? And from there you could heard what sounded like shouting.

Without much real control of your own, your feet took you through the threshold, almost ignoring the beautiful large trees and dead grass of the courtyard, and found you were being drawn to a warm amber light spilling out from another open door where the voices had gotten sharper and louder, and then silent all together.

You were not prepared for the sight that met you.

And you were unsure what you saw or comprehended first.

The pool of blood. The absolutely mangled body in it. A clergyman standing there, still as a statue. Or Alcina, holding up another clergyman by his throat against a doorway, her white turtleneck covered in blood.

Like a magnetic pull, her eyes were drawn to yours and your sights locked.

It was palpably disconcerting.

No.

No, this couldn't be.

Her lips seemed to move as if uttering your name breathlessly, the look on her face twisting between emotions you couldn't decern. And you just stared.

Surely she had not done this, surely this was not what it looked like. It didn't make sense. This didn't make sense. You were caught in a time loop where the same phrases continued to replay causing a spinning hectic argument within your heart and mind.

No. No.

The bickering became so loud you began to stagger away. You couldn't think, you could only move, and moving you were. Quickly.

She couldn't have done that. She wouldn't have done that. Alcina isn't a mindless brutal killer. This isn't right - this isn't right!

Had blood-rage taken her over like it had the other night in my apartment? Had she snapped unwillingly and someone unfortunately got in the way? Had she lost control?

No! No!

You couldn't stop the barrage of thoughts and you began to run.

You weren't sold on what you were hearing, but it sounded like Alcina was calling after you, and though it was getting closer it sounded so far away.

You knew her. You knew her. There's no way she had done that. She was a protector; a woman you loved so deeply; a woman who had never hurt you even though she had more than enough capability. She hadn't done it.

So why couldn't you stop running?

The cacophony in your head nearly had you screaming for silence as you slammed your door behind you, slumping into it letting the cool of the steel chill your overheated face. You don't even remember getting to your apartment. You don't remember flying up the hundred stairs since you couldn't wait for the elevator.

Once more you heard your name and you spun but kept your back flat against the door.

In the darkness of your hallway was a familiar silhouette that would normally make your heart sputter with glee, but this time it was fear and complete uncertainty and you hated that almost more than the thought of Alcina being part of whatever the fuck you walked in on.

Alcina was apprehensive as hell, panicked at the whole of this situation, dreading this moment with fervor.

"Please," she said softly and as calmly as she could, "please, just listen to me before -"

"Did you have something to do with that?" you blurted, anxious and uneasy, letting the demon of blame take hold.

Alcina halted in her approach giving you the space you were silently demanding, twisting a painful dagger in her chest.

"Were you involved with whoever was slaughtered in there?" you asked sharply.

"You weren't meant to see that -"

"No fucking shit?! You think?! Did you? Did you?"

You were so overwhelmed.

Alcina was overwhelmed. Maintaining it much better than you were.

She had to take pause and a long breath in and out as she tried so hard to figure out how to navigate this conversation. You had every right to be upset and confused and blame her for what you saw. Which you never should have. The fates were playing cruel tricks on her in a time she absolutely did not need them. You were never supposed to see that! Why were you there to begin with?! Of course you were going to have a thousand questions, questions she couldn't answer. She couldn't tell you what you rightfully needed to know, not yet, not now, it was all too much.

"Of course I didn't!" Alcina finally barked, not so much at you but at how annoyed she was at this fucking situation.

You could see how she was trying to hide her despondence. It gave you a little hope of your own that you were, in fact, overreacting. But then, were you really?

"I know you are hell bent to keep what happens underground a secret from me, which ok, fine, but it seems like it's no longer under the ground and I think you owe me a goddamn explanation."

"Draga mea, I -"

"No, no, don't you draga mea me right now - I am - upset, I'm scared, I'm - wanting that scene expunged from my motherfucking brain!" you blurted as you walked into your living room.

Turning halfway there, you looked to her. She was still so eerily beautiful even though she was covered in blood and it made you angry. You wanted to just fall in her arms and forget everything but that was not happening.

After another bloated pause, realizing she wasn't going to offer up anything, you flopped your arms at your sides, "I want to know what is going on."

Alcina's visage turned hard, her breaths apparent as she took her time to keep calm, "I cannot tell you that."

"Is this another one of those won't's disguised as a can't?"

"For fuck sake draga mea!" she replied as her hands flew into the air, her eyes showing a most unusual form of defeat, "You must understand it's not out a spite for your asking! There are simply things I just cannot and will not tell you right now! Telling you will implicate you in a danger I refuse to push you any closer to!"

"So I am in danger?" you shot back.

"You certainly could be."

"But that's not something you thought might be good for me to know?"

Alcina took a visibly steadying breath, lowering her hands at her side as her fists clenched slightly, "you're already too close to this than I ever wanted you to be, draga, I am trying to protect you."

You huffed, trying yourself to calm your unrest, "did it ever occur to you that maybe what I need is for you to be truthful and open and honest with me? To, I don't know, not leave me in the dark and instead fill me in on some threat that might be lurking around the corner when you're not here? What am I supposed to do if you're not here and I walk into this blindly?"

Oh you were infuriating. You weren't allowed to counter such a valid argument when she clearly wasn't prepared and not in a place to tackle this right now. She had so much on her plate as it was and this was going to send her overboard.

"Draga please, I just need you to trust me!" she pleaded as she reached the end of her rope.

"It's not so much about trusting you Alcina! I'm absolutely petrified of not knowing what to expect now. Why can't you just tell me what the fuck I might be facing so I can defend myself?"

Alcina's face dropped and she stepped towards you, reaching for your shoulders and gently taking them in her grasp, "don't be absurd," she nearly whispered, her eyes dark and stern, "you absolutely could not defend yourself against it..." the look on her face growing more severe, "do you remember what I looked like when I came back to you many months ago? Do you remember the scars, the gashes, the wounds that should have healed through me with ease? Do you?" she asked harshly, "I nearly died, draga mea... I was almost killed. You are no match for this foe, that I know for certain. This is why I need you to trust me. Please, please leave this be!"

You swallowed involuntarily, feeling the unease getting worse as she spoke. Of course you remember. Your blood was what healed them.

"And do you remember what healed you?" you questioned right back, your palms now resting on her forearms, "I healed you. Which is something I want to talk to you about very soon... I'm... changing. Drastically. I still don't know how or what, and neither does Malka, but -"

"Who the fuck is Malka?" Alcina asked briskly, releasing her grip on your shoulders as her jealousy shot through her veins, a lesser of her finer attributes.

Oh boy.

"Uh, she, she's an older lady I've known for years. She's been helping me - she's a Jewish Mystic - "

"What?"

The spikey energy prickling off Alcina made you throw your hands up and you stepped back, rubbing your face as you paced a few times through your groans, "she is not what we're talking about right now! We're talking about me!" you relented, facing her once again, "please! Alcina... please, I need you, I need you and your guidance and support now more than ever. I'm so scared about so many things that I currently, at this very point in time, am so beside myself I do not know what to do... please... I will trust you, if you'll please just give me a little in return. Please."

Alcina felt her heart sputter, and not in a good way. That look in your eyes, that pleading uncertainty made her wince.

She approached you again and took your jaws in her cool, soft grasp, "I... tomorrow I will come back to you and we will talk," Alcina spoke softly, "I promise. I will listen to you. And I will tell you more."

You nearly melted into her touch as she caressed a loose piece of hair from your face, that familiar visage of the caring, nurturing, loving woman you need so much returning giving you some semblance of peace.

"For now I must return to what I left. Please, I want you to stay put, stay here, don't leave at night if you can help it, not until I return to you, alright?"

Your nod was a little hesitant, "o-ok... I won't."

"I love you draga mea, more than I think you understand. Please keep yourself safe."

"I love you too... you stay safe too, ok?"

She nodded and leaned to kiss you, pressing her lips reverently to yours, breathing you in, savoring the last it of silence she would have for a great while she was sure. Alcina still held your face as she pulled away, burning the image of you into her memory, the fear still lingering in the pit of her stomach making her uneasy.

"I must go."

Her parting left you cold and unsure. Something still didn't feel right. Not at all.

You grabbed your phone and dialed.

"... Malka?"

"Ketzeleh! ...what is wrong?"

"I uh, I need to see you, I need your help."

#alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu/female reader #alcina dimitrescu/original female character #alcina dimitrescu/reader #lesbian #f/f #fanfic #wlw #fic #donna beneviento #blood #gore #tw blood #tw gore

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the-great-annihilator · 11 months

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VIOLENCE /// FIRST

THE GREAT ANNIHILATOR

V1 dropped the twisted scrapped metal to the ground, landing with a wet thud onto the soft clay. Blood leaked from the machines now burst piping. Its fingers twitched as the last few drops of blood seeped out of it, a single cyclopean eye going dark.

The machine stared down, holding the now limp arm, and examining it. Despite its bulky design, clearly a rough prototype, there was no mistaking it – from the blue plating and the way it had sent V1’s shotgun pallets hurtling back to where they came – this was a Feedbacker arm.

V1 had just terminated its own prototype.

A successor destroyed in the golden sands of Greed.

A progenitor left as scrap on the banks of the Phlegethon.

Well, whatever was left of the banks.

After the extinction of humanity, much like the River Styx of Wrath, the Phlegethon had expanded. Though rather than a tidal wave of sinners, Violence saw a torrential downpour of innocent blood that had been spilled needlessly which turned the river of boiling blood into a vast and putrid marsh. At least that’s what the scrawled notes found by V1 documented.

That information was irrelevant to the machine.

What was relevant was that Violence was a warzone.

Violence was full of blood, the fuel all machines ran on, and unsurprisingly this resulted in a free-for-all amongst its kin. The machine’s audio processing unit was enveloped by the sounds of war as machines tore each other apart, the sounds of twisting metal and mechanical screeches as they fought for supremacy.

Its kin would soon understand who the superior machine was truly. V1 would tear through Violence as the others squabbled amongst themselves to drain the Phlegethon dry, bathing in putrid blood while it would descend into Fraud and then Treachery.

Yes, its programming demanded that fuel took priority above everything else but V1 there was sweeter ichor to be had than what steeped in the Phlegethon.

Suddenly, the bloody marsh began to bubble. It took aim as several figures rose from the surface, Husks of muscle and bone. Signals travelled through copper traces in V1’s circuitry and it lowered its revolver as the group shambled towards it. The machine lowered its revolver as long dormant files were accessed within its ROM, reading comments within untouched .c files which its software was built upon.

V1 recognised these Husks.

“Look!” one said, “our fifth horseman, come to free us from our torment!”

The Husks clamoured towards their creation, hollow sockets and glazed over eyes staring into an amber optic, reaching towards V1 with outstretched hands as it stood stationary.

“It remembers us,” another rasped, “we forgive you for what you did – in fact, we are proud- “

In a single swift motion, the machine grasped the hand of one of the Husks, crushing the bones to a fine powder in its iron grip. It raised its revolver to the forehead of the Husk, their mouth agape as it pulled the trigger.

The others stood no chance.

#ultrakill #v1 ultrakill #guns tw #blood tw #inspired by muzzleroars' violence peice #and antlerpunk's violence concept art

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white-poppie · 1 year

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Serenade my Senses

Synopsis: How I think different characters smell like Fandoms: Hunter x Hunter, Death Note, HAIKYU!!, Jujutsu Kaisen, Tokyo Revengers

A/n: The amount of research I had to do for this fic...

⁺ 𓋼𓍊 Earthy. 🌿

They smell earthy. Just like their warm and inviting demeanour; their fragrance is sensual, rich, elegant, timeless and grounded. Bathed in pine. Like the aroma of aftershave and shaving foams, soft and creamy. It gives a mature and domestic vibe like sweet moments spent with your family. Their signature has a faint essence of myrrh and sandalwood swirling around, the first image that comes to your mind is that of wood smoke, cedar sap, and burning leaves.

🌱 Light, DAICHI, Akaashi, Kita, USHIJIMA, DRAKEN, Inupi, Nanami, Illumi

. ⁺ Condimental ｡ ⚔️

They smell exotic. Intoxicated and thrilling. It reminds you of an heir of an exotic country, away from the world. They remind you of satisfaction through messed-up goals and no care in the world. Just chasing the high of life. Their signature is aromatic in the sense of sprinkle of saffron, nutmeg and the finest of spices to exist. Leather, hookah and Tobacco; reek of adventure and authority. It's challenging and makes you scrunch your nose in intimidation and delight.

🦂 BAJI, Izana, Tendou, TERUSHIMA, Kyotani, Hisoka,

⁎ .࿓ Bouge ۫💳

They smell rich, of crisp dollars and metallic collectables. They smell of power, comfort and luxury. Like a bronze statue and old whiskey; daring and audacious. Their signature is a warm blend of Jasmine and imported whiskey, lingering with notes of brown sugar and patchouli. It's seductive and intoxicating in the sense that makes your mouth salivate.

⚜️ KOKONOI, Kisaki, Senju, TAKEOMI LEV, Rindou, CHROLLO, Megumi

‧₊˚ Saccharine. ☁️ ⋆

They smell incredibly sweet. Like freshly washed sheets on a summer afternoon, the scent envelops you into sleep, embracing you in its hold. The kind of scent that makes you want to bury your face in their clothes. It's tamed like freshly baked cookies and new books. Their signature scent holds the essence of vanilla, cherry blossom, amber and caramel. Like an intimate moment shared through fleeting time.

🍡 L, Near, KURAPIKA, Kite, Kenma, Osamu, SUGAWARA, Shinichiro, MITSUYA, Yuji, YUUTA, TOGE

꙳ Floral ₊﹒🥀

They smell of flowers. Like going cycling in a park, picking up pretty flowers and tucking it behind your ears. Like dusting your clothes when they are dirt-laden, only for you to get a whiff or a tangy and sharp scent only to realize it's not all soft-- it holds the value of walking through a musty wine cellar over a rose garden.

Their signature plays around with bright hits of lemon and raspberry tempering the flowery magnolia and violet notes.

🪷 CHIFUYU, KAZUTORA, Wakasa, BOKUTO, Nishinoya, Pakunoda, Leorio, GETOU, Junpei

˚ ⁎ ◜ Musk ▚ 🥃

They smell incredibly strong and masculine. Similar to Bouge, but much harsher. While bouge reeks of stability, Musk reeks of insanity, cigarettes, lipstick stains and bite marks. It is frenzy-like continental, but much wilder, brazen and savage. It reminds you of prestigious auctions yet at the same time of underground fighting rinks.

They stink of cigar blunts, faux leather, concentrated whiskey and gasoline with main notes of mint and cumin. It's the scent that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head in delight.

🏍 KUROO, SUNA, ATSUMU, Ukai, HANMA, TAIJU, RAN, SANZU TOJI, GOJO

♠︎ 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜

Tags: @rintaroubby @nanaseishiro, @akumicchi, @oikawatoorupdf @dislownini @denkis111, @jazzylove,@thegrayladyislookingforyou, @katsukichu, @lordmypantsaresocool, @futuristicallykawaiiturtle, @kristaline2dmensimp, @repostingmyfavs, @innerpurple

Also Check out: L'appel du vide Synopsis: Your husband, Hanma Shuji is dead! You team up with Tachibana Naoto, Chifuyu Matsuno, Ryuguji Ken and Mitsuya Takashi, you go on a journey full of betrayals and twists. Can you find out what really happened to your husband?

🥀 BYI/DNI ♡⌇ Request Rules 𓏸 🗝️ ₊﹒ 《 Join my Taglist •

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megamindsupremacy · 1 year

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Misc PJO fic recs (Part 1)

Trading tomorrow by darkmagyk and losingletters

Percy Jackson arrives at Camp Half-Blood bruised and bleeding, with the knowledge that he's the son of a god and his mother is dead. His little display with the Minotaur has caught the attention of the camp. But he’s not sure it is good attention, yet.

Only the Hermes Cabin's not-quite Co-counselor Theseus, ‘call me Theo,’ doesn't treat him like a fascinating zoo exhibit. Which would be a relief, except he looks exactly like Percy: same green eyes, same trouble making smile, same black hair. The only differences are the fact that Theo is six years older, covered in battle scars, and the black tattoo on his arm. A trident and the letters SPQR.

Theo is eighteen, powerful, and unclaimed. And his resemblance to Percy could set a dangerous precedent.

Why don’t we rewrite the stars (changing the world to be ours) by thewritingmaniac

Percy is six when he learns he can travel in time, and nine when he tries to change the past. He certainly doesn’t expect a blond girl about his age to stop him, telling him bossily that she’s a Time Guardian (and he definitely doesn’t expect to see her again). Percabeth, AU

thatjacksonkid by TheGermanGrim_Reaper

Following an episode of Buzzfeed Unsolved, several twitter users do their best to uncover the truth about Percy Jackson. They get surprisingly far.

The Jackson files by ideasofmarch

Makin’ pancakes @makinbaconpancakes Does anyone know who the fuck Percy Jackson is???

Oranges are spicy @ronaldmcd Whomst?

Makin’ pancakes @makinbaconpancakes Check rachel dares insta story

Oranges are spicy @ronaldmcd k

Oranges are spicy @ronaldmcd Okay somebody find out who this kid is right damn now.

Rachel Elizabeth Dare posts a video of Percy on her instagram story. it all just spirals from there.

Three and a half stars by inkncoffee

Food is terrible, decor tasteless, weekend shifts seem to correspond with the onset of natural disasters??? Serving staff is pretty great, though, overall 3.5/5 would probably go again

p.s. is tipping sand dollars standard now or is the creepy, semi-regular customer just crazy?

In the amber of a moment by rynna_aurelia

Nico di Angelo wakes up in Westover Hall again.

And again.

A rose by any other name by izzymrdb

It wasn't Poseidon who met Sally on that beach on Montauk, but rather a far older, much more ancient version of him.

Percy is born far older and younger than he should be.

Five times percy leaned on his friends, and one time he stood alone by kitty_pryde_bi_pride

Percy meets his friends on the battlefield and they all know he’s unbeatable, even alone. And he is alone, even with the sea and the earth and the blessing of the Styx and the blood in their veins- he can tell they think he’s gone as mad as Luke.

We have each other now by professorrjlupin

“You’re in Asphodel.” She doesn’t know how to respond. It wasn’t a question. He takes his hands out of his pocket. His nails are coated in black, and a thick band of metal is on one of his fingers. He’s twisting it like a bottlecap. Hazel looks away. “I can get you out of here,” he says. He’s still twisting, brown eyes unfocused and glazing.

Hazel’s lungs are filled with water. “What?”

“The Doors of Death are open. You can leave.” Hazel doesn’t know what the doors are, but he’s looking at her now and she knows he isn’t lying. She knows she can follow him, she knows it by the cold feeling down her spine. She can do it.

“Okay.”

He nods. “Let’s go.”

Nico brings Hazel to Camp Jupiter from Asphodel.

FLIP by IcyDeath

Instead of Percy, Nico gets taken by Hera for her 'exchange program' between the Romans and Greeks. A certain son of Apollo isn't happy about that.

Falling for you by 1967hogwartsgoddess

Annabeth was slipping and Percy dived to save her; something went wrong. On the surface, Annabeth leads the Seven, desperate to rescue him and unite the camps. Alone in Tartarus, Percy finds himself making harsher choices, discovering darker methods, unlocking deeper powers, tortured and fighting for his life. He swears he's still a good kid. Post MOA

Final chapter is an AU following on from chapter 66.

#mads posts #fic recs #pjo fic recs #pjo fic rec list #riordanverse fic recs #riordanverse fic rec list

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buffalojournal · 9 months

Text

Two Poems by Morgan L. Ventura

A Brief Synesthetic History

When I look around it could be said we are living in dark times, the walls & skies & sea & clouds & spaces within me, obsidian smoke, pitch tar, pooled oil. It tastes of ash & petrol & mould & the edge of a boiled knife & I hear the whooshing whooping of distant stars – black holes – ebony arias bending, twisting vibrations. What’s true is I want brighter times, amber & magenta times, spirals of smiling roses & giddy peonies, & detonations of laughing citrine. Times that carry the blush of wisteria, caramel popcorn, earnest eucalyptus. I was born in green times – aventurine smiles & verdant yards blooming viridian jewels, emerald & jade hanging from low branches, wistful and content. The 80s rainforest transmutes blue. Periwinkle times, the 90s breathed cornflower winds and bluebell gales, husked sapphire on metal plates, glimmering robin eggs on cedar porch chirping an unearthly jingle piercing aquamarine eyes of my father who knew only sadness. The sky only spoke rain, it was falling sea, shredded wave, lacerated labradorite, cascades of troubled cerulean. Shocked like glaciers arguing, raging because all’s spilled into red. A time of crimson, furls of fuchsia in the tide of blood after flames across New York, after strikes in Chicago, after death in the family. The 2000s were carnelian, lay the bead beneath my tongue, the rubies on my eyes, enshrine me in magma, encrust me in this livid tomb. Vitrine of vermillion, what is a body but stained glass, medieval sun never modern. The next era’s violet, arched, mutilated candy blossoming from irises in the back. In the evening light it all shivers purple, bruised lilacs yammer & portend a luminous love. Amethyst troves in the attic squirm & emit warmth, simmering with snapdragon & grapes, pisco vineyard from a decade ago, time punctured by lazy lost lagoons. Take me now into what seems like blank times, off-shades of pale peeling into crystal pears & glass shards as we wait, & the iridescent soul in the body of the future, the cloud high above spitting quartz & splitting mirrors, declares these are rainbow times, & I have to tell you, I love all the colours, I want all the colours. World, let me bathe in your prisms & drink your light. This marbled soil, this striated sky. I’d be no one & nowhere without.

Internal Monologue of an Anthropologist in Paris

My mother said if I fail on my new adventure I can live in her closet.

My French roommate has shit in my bed after having a midlife crisis at 29.

On television I look like an idiot. Even smart, floral blazers from the 10th Arrondissement make me look like a cartoon character because I’m very small.

They want to hire me as a curatorial fellow at the Musée du Quai Branly but then I have to stay here and oh, how I know the Parisians suffer.

Every Thursday there is a voracious vacuuming in the flat above me at 6am and I am suddenly murderous. I strike the ceiling with my broom and the ceiling strikes back.

ii.

My life is an Antonioni film. At the Sorbonne, I’m asked to describe my unwritten doctoral thesis in front of four medieval historians and a self-proclaimed spiritualist who spends most of his time at Père Lachaise by the grave of some important figure whose name I can’t remember. I whirl around in my seat and quip, “It is about nothing with precision.”

iii.

The community in Oaxaca wants me to ask the Mexican government to return the collection it stole but I’m merely an anthropologist, when did we ever hold power?

Margaret Mead was barely 5’0” and carried a walking stick taller than herself, which she’d use to intimidate men. That’s power.

I’m invited by the History Channel to appear on Ancient Aliens after my undergraduate advisor, a certain Mayanist, declines and thinks it would be hilarious to give them my personal email. “We will pay you $300,” they tell me. I think seriously about it.

Pseudoscience is absurd but my life is absurd. My next-door neighbour smokes cigarettes naked while his parrot shits on the patio. A colleague informs me they irrationally hate my surname.

“Would you like a career in anthropology?” my PhD advisor asks me after I tell him about the invite. This, coming from a man whose faculty headshot features him sacrificing a chicken.

Anthropologists don’t deserve careers, I think. But I sure enjoy all the grant and fellowship money, society’s conviction that we are worth something because “we are scientists.”

I don’t want a career, I conclude.

iv.

Over lunch in the EHESS cafeteria, my friend says everyone here complains too much and that the Parisians are insane and create their own chaos.

My brother texts me because my mother is in jail. She should stay there.

I go for coffee with an artist in Le Marais. The owner comes out to scream at all of us who dare to use their laptops and take up too much time – or space.

Claude Lévi-Strauss helped found UNESCO. Franz Boas died in his arms. Claude’s a structuralist and I despise structure. Will I die in the arms of anyone?

When Bronislaw Malinowski died, we all found out that he was a pervert. His field notebooks were festooned with scribbles of his interlocutor’s boobs.

“Anthropologists are very interesting, no?” asks the barista I’ve befriended at perhaps the most hipster café I could find.

I don’t know, are we?

Am I?

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catierambles · 1 year

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(working title) Lunar Frenzy

Pairing: Clark Kent x Samantha (Werewolf!OFC)

rough snippet under the cut

The apartment was dark when Clark forced the lock on the front door but he could hear the sounds of metal on metal coming from the back, a rapid, racing heart in his ears that sounded…off.

“Sam?” He asked, walking with slow steps to the back of the apartment. He had expected to come across her being attacked by some assailant, the sounds he had heard from his own apartment had sounded as such, but there was nothing. “Samantha?” He pushed open the door to the spare bedroom that wasn’t furnished, his eyes immediately going to the hunched figure in shadow against the opposite wall. “Sam?” Her head came up unnaturally and golden eyes glowed at him through the dark. He backed up on instinct as she suddenly charged at him, but the collar around her throat stopped her short and she hit the bare wood floor hard, the chain around the radiator keeping her back. She pulled at it, clawed hands swiping at him as her lips pulled back from razor-sharp teeth in a snarl. There was nothing human in her golden eyes, nothing of the quiet, gentle woman he knew. A ripple went over her skin and she dropped to her knees, claws digging furrows in the wood and he could see older marks on the floor and the walls in the range of the chain. Bones and joints popped sickeningly, her muscles writhing like snakes under her skin and he watched in mute horror as she transformed into a massive, almost primordial, russet wolf, the transformation itself looking excruciatingly painful.

The wolf stared at him with the same golden eyes, but the savage violence was gone, replaced by wariness and suspicion. He took a step toward it and it stepped back, its lip curling up slightly in a low growl. Stay back. Keep away.

“Easy.” He said, his voice low, “Easy now. I’m not going to hurt you.” He kept advancing on it until it had to press itself against the wall and he reached out, sinking to his knees, the startled yip she let out as he touched her tugging at his heart. The fur was soft but coarse as he ran his hand over it, burying his fingers in it. She didn’t try to bite him or harm him in any way, just stared at him as if she was expecting him to strike her. “I don’t even know if you can understand me like this, but I’m not going to hurt you, okay?” He continued running his hand over her fur, smoothing down her flank as his other hand reached out, running over her muzzle lightly. Her nose was warm but dry as it pressed into his palm, sniffing at him as he caught the small lick she gave him, her tongue barely coming out. She stood, pushing away from the wall, and pressing her head into his chest, her chest shuddering in a massive sigh. He laid his hands on her sides, running them down her body as he pressed his cheek to the top of her head. He went to undo the collar around her throat, but she pulled away from him sharply with another yip. “Okay, okay, I won’t remove it, but it has to be too tight, let me loosen it some.” She hesitated for a moment but came back to him, staying very still as he loosened the collar, her breathing becoming easier.

Clark turned, falling back against the radiator and she laid down, her head in his lap. Settling his hand on her, she sighed again and so did he, his hand running over the smooth fur of her head.

She fell asleep at one point, her head still in his lap, and low whines and yips left her, her paws twitching and he knew whatever she was dreaming about, it wasn’t good. The sun rose, golden light streaming into the room through the window and his stomach twisted as he heard her turn back, keeping his eyes forward and not looking down at her as she did.

“What--?” She asked, “Clark?” He looked down at her then, seeing her look up at him, her eyes were tired but back to their warm amber color.

“Hey, Sam.” He said with a sigh, “Welcome back.”

#henry cavill #clark kent

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fuck-yeah-twisted-metal · 9 months

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New blog; get me in touch with the fandom on here.

#twisted metal #twisted metal 2 #twisted metal black #twisted metal head-on #sweet tooth #miranda watts #amber rose #john doe #quiet #twisted metal spoilers

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stargureisu · 9 months

Note

Hi I don't know if you've seen the Twisted Metal show yet, but it's implied Amanda Watts(Twister) and Amber Rose(Flower Power) are lesbians and twisted gives of major transfem vibes

Bless the girlfriends omg 💙💚 they deserve everything that is good in the world 😭😭😭

#twisted metal spoilers #twistedmetal

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aliwrights · 2 years

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Snippet #1; “𝙉𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙏𝙞𝙢𝙚”

“We all fight for something Hero, it’s not just you.. you know?” (Villain) stared back up at (Hero) “You really think you ‘heroes’ are the only ones?” Villain taunted, chuckling with a grin that showed his bruised lip and bloodied teeth.

Hero looked down at the Villain on the floor, her eyes flicking towards him and the metal rod she held tightly between her fingers.

She wrapped them around the metal tighter, twitching in the slightest. The cold metal, burning the flesh of her palms, turning it into a flushed red. A stark contrast to the visible white growing on her knuckles. Her jaw clenched. ‘I-I- Fight? What does he even fight for? ‘Wrong. It's so utterly wrong, twisted... She stumbled back as a stir of emotions welled up inside her head at the thought itself. Confusion, Anger, swirling around her, like a lion chasing its prey. It made her feel sick to the bone.

But Just one more thought, one more twitch, one more word from his tongue,

And each and every fiber of self-control left hanging by the thread would have snapped.

Both the hero and villain held their gaze, cold and unmoving. Their chests heaving up and down as they tried to catch up with their racing heartbeat.

No one even dared to respond, not a single word said or heard.

A deafening silence came then.

‘Splat’

Crystal liquid droplets came out of a rusted water pipe, falling incessantly onto the cemented pavement. Pattering, bouncing back and forth through the empty dim-lit halls.

The only foreign sound you could faintly hear in the distance aside from the two

And a quiet reminder of the chilling silence engulfing them with only their hard labored breaths left hanging in the air.

Until a voice broke it.

“No.”

A pause.

“ I do know,” Hero uttered, the voice coming out of her throat, stern. Her eyes wavering for a moment, her teeth gritting as she looked back down at the Villain.

‘It won’t be that easy, I won’t make it’.

She held her chin up, with her expression tempting to break but wouldn’t.

She wouldn’t let it.

“I do know,” She repeated, her voice quavered, whispering into the air.

It was still yet again until a snort suddenly came and rose to erupted fits of laughter from the Villain’s chest, echoing through the whole deserted building..Ringing in the Hero’s ears.

It sounded unfamiliar, unnerving.

But most of all, it sounded like mockery.

“Oh (Hero) You know? Do you? Really?,” a devilish smirk appeared on his face. His deceitfully innocent eyes staring back intently at her- those warm golden ambers glistening more than usual in the light. One may be fooled, but all told a different story, full of vile intent. It was taunting. It was mocking her, daring her to mess up and leave her with nothing.

But the Hero refused to fall back again into Villain's eccentric “mind-games”, with his taunts, with his tricks.

Hero’s nostrils flared once more, her eyelids lowered, eyebrows pinched together and the pupils in her eyes ever constricting around the rims.

Her chest heaved heavier and heavier as a burning incense of rage pounded from within.

‘Not anymore, Villain.. never again’

Glancing back at the metal in her hands, she allowed it to slip from her grasp, crashing onto the ground.

‘Clang’

She finally lunged at him, tugging with both hands, a fistfull of his collar and shoved the man into one of the cemented pillars behind him. Lifting Villain in the process.

All self-control gone from within her, every fiber snapping out of its place. All left was a desire, of blood and violence conceited into one motion.

Full force reckoned the man as his back hit the cold wall. Oxygen slowly escaped his lungs when he felt a jolt of numbing pain crawling from his spine all the way to his skull.

“ This clearly- this clearly wouldn’t be a great idea don’t ya think… (Hero’s Real Name)?” A chuckle left the Villain and slowly, his heart began to race, the adrenaline, the rush, the dread slowly starting to seep into him as the grip on his collar grew even tighter than before. And whether it was terror or even the chokehold on him, it was suffocating.

Red bloomed around his eyes, his gasps uneven and trembling, his eyes nearly bulging out as he tried to breathe in for air but now the grip on his collar was shoved all the way to his neck. And in an attempt to pull him out of this slow death, he grabbed the Hero’s hands and kept pushing it away from where it was.

“Oh Trust me Villain, I’m aware..”

May the fool be damned, may the savior be not.

She was no fool.

And By god, would the Villain be spared from the clutches of death or by her hand.

She would choose the latter,

And this time, the Hero wouldn’t hold back…

“Not this time.” ~~~~~~ A/N: This is my first writing post here on Tumblr since I'm new to writing so please do bare with this one! I also was inspired to write this while listening to Beautiful Crime by Tamer. Thanks for reading! -Ali

#hero x villain #villain x hero #writing snippet #heroxvillain

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moonliiteallniite · 2 years

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Alkemia Sample Set Review - Curious Oddities

I originally posted this on reddit awhile back but I’m reposting it here because I’m trying to find mutuals and other blogs to follow on here surrounding the indie perfume community :^) So without further ado, here’s my first impression reviews of Alkemia’s Curious Oddities Sample Set.

Memoriam: "Heirloom roses, memories wrapped in woodsmoke, a scattering of ashes" I wanted to like this so much, but honestly right now it's just this awful, acrid smell like something burning that reminds me of barbeque. I catch whiffs of rose and as it dries down it isn't as intense, but even then, I don't think it's something I'll wear. I might let it rest longer and give it a second chance someday. 3/10

Deus ex Machina: "fire hardened steel, rusted iron, warm motor oil, wet cement, burnt copper wires, and grey amber" Okay, I had no idea what to expect going into this one but I am pleasantly suprised! I'm definitely getting metallic and concrete, and what I'm assuming is the grey amber is tying all together very nicely. This one brings to mind an image of a steampunk laboratory for me. Overall it seems very wearable, and I'll definitely at least use up the sample. 8/10

St. Louis Cemetery: "Spanish Moss, crumbling stone, old cement, red clay brick, and graveyard dirt" In the bottle, this is QUITE chemical smelling, guessing that's the concrete. On the skin the moss takes over and gives it a very green scent with that chemical bite lingering in the background. As it dries it begins to have a much more manageable scent with the dirt starting to come through. Closing my eyes and smelling it I can imagine walking through a cemetery after a rain storm, it captures the smell of wet moss and stone and dirt quite well. It's almost uncanny. Not sure how often I'll wear this but it's so damn unique and well blended that it's a solid 7.5/10 in my book.

Industrial sabotage: "burnt wires, twisted melted steel, shattered machinery, and gunpowder" Another one that I'm not entirely sure what to expect at first. And once again, WOW oh my god. Smelling it in the bottle it's such a surprisingly addicting metallic scent. As it dries down it doesn't change all too much but the gunpowder becomes more prominent as well. I don't know how to describe it in a way that does it justice. Imagine being in a chemistry lab, or outside at a gas station, or in a factory, and there's those scents wafting around that are unmistakably manmade and industrial in nature but also a bit intoxicating in a way that makes you want to keep inhaling. Dare I say... 10/10? I might have to full size this one.

Center of the universe: "Welded metal, gunpowder, burnt almond cookies, ozone, raspberries, rum" Such an odd combination of notes! But somehow works pretty well? I don't know if I really like it but it's definitely fine to smell. I almost feel like I get a whiff of a different note every time I smell this, alternating between those metal and gunpowder notes and those sweet foodie ones. Interestingly it sort of makes me think of being in a bakery or kitchen that's been freshly cleaned with chemicals, surrounded by all the metal utensils and food ingredients. A solid 5/10, I like it but not enough to FS and wouldn't be my go to sample choice either. Also it seems to start smelling like fruit scented cleaning products as it sits longer on my skin.

Supernatural: "Iso-E, ambrox, cruelty free tonkin musk, and intricate spirals of aroma molecules" So I have no experience with any of these notes so I cannot speak to if it smells like one would expect, but I can say that whatever it is, it's realllllly nice. I can't place it at all, and from what I've read about iso-e I guess it's pretty individual skin dependent anyways. I can't decide if this smells like something I've smelled in chemistry class before or at a spice shop or in the woods. There's definitely something sweet about it but not in a food way like with center of the universe. I think it reminds me of pine trees or maybe vanilla. Argh I just wish I could place the smell! I'll go with a 8/10 because it doesn't absolutely knock my socks off but it is incredibly intriguing and I'll probably use up the sample.

#alkemia #alkemiaperfume #perfume samples #curious oddities #indie perfume #indieperfume #indie makeup #indiemakeup #perfume review #alkemia review

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casspurrjoybell-28 · 5 months

Text

Alpha's Temptation - Chapter 31 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

"Ash?" he questions. "What are you doing here?"

His tone isn't like how it is usually.

It's more demanding.

It reminds me of how he used to speak to me.

"Uh I-I came to see my friend, Wren," I say, which is basically the truth minus the part of 'seeing' him.

And I don't know if we can be still be considered friends, either.

He stares at me for a moment.

He doesn't look good.

His hair is shaggy, more so than usual.

He's got days-old stubble and his eyes are slightly red, making him look dreadfully tired.

"You should go," he finally says.

I'm kind of taken aback.

"What?"

Daemon coldly walks past me, acting like I'm no longer there.

He's...ignoring me.

Why is he ignoring me?

"Daemon?"

I follow after him, trying to keep up with his quick pace.

No response.

We reach his door and he kicks it open so hard it slams into the inside wall.

The noise hurts my ears, making me flinch back.

The entire ground is shaking from the impact.

This isn't normal.

This is scaring me.

But I can't just leave him like this.

Daemon goes in then looks behind himself, groaning when he sees I've followed him inside.

The smell of alcohol greets my nose immediately and I crinkle my nose.

"Ash...you need to go home."

He sounds strange, not like himself.

Then I realize. He's drunk.

"Keep your shoes on," he grumbles, walking ahead of me.

I look at the floor to see the shattered glass of a beer bottle.

"W-What's going on?" I ask.

A bad tingling sensation is creeping up my neck.

I don't like this.

The dark room. The broken glass.

The nauseating smell of liquor.

It reminds me all too much of where I used to live.

"Nothing."

"D-Daemon you can talk to me," I try, wanting to make this better in any way I can.

"Why have you been so distant? You haven't texted or called... and you don't seem okay..."

He stays silent.

He holds something in his hand, twisting it between his forefinger and thumb.

It looks like a little red piece of metal.

Upon closer observation, I see it's a flower-shaped charm.

"I-Is this about Rose?" I ask without thinking.

He whips around so fast I nearly flinch again.

'Oh No.'

He looks mad. Really mad.

I should not have said that.

"Why the hell is her name coming out of your mouth?" he asks harshly.

"I-I... well... I know that she's your mom and..."

"Stop. Just stop," he rubs a hand over his face in frustration.

No. This isn't how I wanted this to go.

"W-Why?" I try again. "T-Tell me what's bothering you. I-I can help..."

"How about you stop prying into my fucking business..." he suddenly snaps, yelling at me. "You're so God-damn annoying."

I jolt in fear at the anger in his voice, my eyes going wide.

I can't move from the shock, from how fueled with venom the words were, striking to hurt.

And they do.

They make quick damage, piercing me like a knife.

I crumble inside, my heart feeling like it's been stomped on.

My lip starts to quiver, tears flooding my eyes like a faucet.

"I'm s-sorry," I choke out, my throat tight.

"I was just w-worried about you."

A deep pain in my chest overtakes me, so intense I feel faint.

I look to Daemon who looks more wolf than man, his eyes glowing amber.

But then his eyes snap back to normal, as if just realizing what he said in his rage-fueled haze.

"Shit. Ash. I didn't mean it. I didn't... I was just..."

"N-no it's okay. You're right," I say, my voice barely audible as it wavers.

I'm holding in my tears with all my might, digging my nails into my palms so hard they pierce my skin.

How could I be so stupid? Why am I so stupid?

"Sorry for coming h-here..." my sentence ends abruptly as I break out into a sob, no longer able to keep it in.

It shakes my entire frame and I immediately go to hide my face, knowing that me crying is probably getting old to him by now.

Daemon's face fills with regret, a pained look in his eyes.

"I didn't mean it, baby. You know I didn't-.."

But it's like there's a roaring in my ears, blocking everything out.

I turn away from him, dashing to the door.

I sprint out as fast as I can, my chest heaving with cries as I run down the stairs.

In my haste I trip, scraping the back of my leg on the rough metal of them.

But I get up again. I have to get away.

Him shouting at me replays in my mind.

He thinks I'm annoying.

He hates me. I made him hate me.

That thought is so painful.

It makes me hate myself.

I don't stop until I've reached the sidewalk.

I catch the first bus I see, crying silently in the back of it as I shut off my cell-phone, which is being flooded with messages from Daemon.

When I get home I head straight to my room, barely getting through the door before I fall to my knees on the ground.

My chest throbs and I start to cry again, the pain so overwhelming as I grip the floor, trying to stop the wrenching sobs but I can't.

It hurts so much I have to clutch my chest, wondering what's happening to me.

I'm being so fucking dramatic.

I know that.

But why does it hurt so much?

I feel like I want to die it's so painful.

I should've known sooner or later this would happen.

That all I'd become to him is a burden.

A good for nothing Omega like me should've known.

Do you ever feel like you're so sad you're numb?

You can't move.

Can't do anything.

After crying myself to sleep last night, I lay in bed, blankly staring at the wall.

I still have that horrible pain in my chest, it throbs with it as my mind forces me to relive Daemon snapping at me.

It emphasizes every word he said, telling me how much he must hate me.

I know he said he didn't mean it but how could he have said it and not meant it?

What did I expect when I did the worst thing possible, bring up his dead mom when he's drunk.

I don't know why I did that.

I was desperate for connection.

I wanted to be someone he could confide in.

Kind of... like how you'd rely on a mate.

I wanted to be that for him.

But Lylah's talk about us possibly being mates just got to my head and I went too far.

I'm the worst. I know that.

When I think about how happy we were, how good our relationship felt, I feel like shit.

I spoiled it.

Why does it feel like everything's going wrong?

And that I seem to be the cause of it all.

What is it about me that drives people away?

I recall the memory of a few weeks after my mom died.

I was locked in the cellar as usual because my stepfather didn't want me bothering him and his friends while they drank.

Last time they'd been over, I'd burst out crying when one of them twisted my arm in the process of forcing me to sit on his lap.

Needless to say, I wasn't allowed to be out while they were over for a few weeks after that.

Of course, that was before they came up with the idea to use me as their human ashtray.

I was fun for them.

As I got older and my body developed, instead of being annoyed by my crying, they started to like it.

They found pleasure in hurting me just to see my reaction, whether it was crying or shielding myself in fright.

They thought of it as a game and I was the prey.

My stepfather never let them go too far.

The worst damage to me was reserved for him.

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