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strong-with-the-sarcasm · 3 months

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part 16 - but I know where to start

“Feeling my way through the darkness, guided by a beating heart. I can’t tell where the journey will end, but I know where to start.” -Wake Me Up by Avicii

Regent Masterlist Part 15

Was it a cop-out to summon Jazz back to the Far Frozen? Yes. Did Danny particularly care? Nope!

Jason was comfortable, propped up with a book Ghostwriter who had popped by to personally deliver. How the ghost had known about Jason Phantom wasn’t going to question, but he suspected GW kept an eye on the bookworms that passed through the Realms- or at least those close to the “Royal family”. Phantom wasn’t much for reading, not unless it was space-related, but he enjoyed listening to the Liminal man reading out loud. He had a brash voice, accented with a cadence like those from Crime Alley, but it only underscored the passion he held for reading. Phantom didn’t interrupt him once, not even when the halfa pulled out his ecto-phone and texted Ellie.

(His little sister was in Kansas, spending time with another clone she’d literally run into.)

Almost another full day's cycle passed before Phantom realized Jason had fallen back asleep, a book resting open on his broad chest and soft snores coming from the man.

Yeah, he could see how he and Jazz fit together so well.

There was just something about the Once-Revenant, a part of what made him Jason, that resonated with the Phantom. It’s what made him talk to the man as Red Hood, feel comfortable enough to stay in his company for so long, trust him with his older sister- the person who raised him.

(Spent her birthday money to get him those cheap plastic glow-in-the-dark stars.)

(Taught him how to read.)

(Held him as the nightmares of his death shook him to his core.)

(Did not fear him.)

(Not as Phantom, Danny, or Dan.)

(Loves him.)

(Mourns him.)

(He would never tell her, but he understood how Dan could succumb to grief.)

(Jazz was his.)

(His first friend, his true mother, his rock.)

(She wouldn’t have claimed Regency without that tie.)

Remix & Original chat

Remix: Lol hows weenie Original: jasons x3 ur size pipsqeak Remix: ur point? Original: lol hes ok frosty says he got hurt wth shrpnel new healed core + shrapnel = bad time Remix: sucks 2 b him Original: so tru Whre r u? Remix: omw 2 spain barcelona Original: ooh send pics if u need me call Remix: pics or nay gotcha txt u l8r luv u Original: love u 2

Safely back in the living Realm and tucked away in Jason’s apartment, Jazz and Danny tried to investigate the bomb- unfortunately there was nothing for them to do but wait.

On the upside, the Justice League was about to hit the UN full force with all the subtlety of a tsunami and who had front row seats to the drama?

Yep, the Regent. Jazz wasn’t exactly thrilled that her presence was requested, even though it was on the path to the desired outcome the Nightingale siblings had fought for, but both her soulmate boyfriend and little brother would be by her side as support.

The Birds and the Bats Group Chat

Zombie: I lived bitch Spoiler-Alert: Jason! Fly-Like-A-Dick: Little Wing! Blood_Heir: Todd. Zombie: don’t sound too excited there demon brat. Blood_Heir: Never. Sleep_When_Im_Dead: Where have you been? Zombie: Stayed overnight at my Docs for observation. Fly-Like-A-Dick: For three days? Blood_Heir: Fail to find that humorous Todd. Zombie: wasn’t meant to be a joke brat. I was actually at my Docs. Zombie: Got a shovel talk from my girlfriends little brother too. Spoiler-Alert: Whoa GIRLFRIEND!!!! 😱 Jason! Why is this the first were hearing this??? Fly-Like-A-Dick: Little Wing!!!!!! Quiet_Dancer: 🤗 Zombie: At least Cass and Dickiebird are happy for me Spoiler-Alert: Ecstatic! But details! Now. Zombie: No. Fly-Like-A-Dick: Is she a redhead??? Sleep_When_Im_Dead: Jasmine Nightingale. Zombie: Babs. Oracle_of_Gotham: On it. [member Sleep_When_Im_Dead has been blocked from the group.] Spoiler-Alert: too late!!!!!! Cass with me! Quiet_Dancer: 🫡 Oracle_of_Gotham: DENIED Batdad: Welcome back Jaylad. Zombie: Old man You and I need to have a talk with words Fly-Like-A-Dick: battle stations everyone!!!

Council of Uncaged Birds

Queen_Regent: Ellie, I want you to meet Jason. Officially meet him. WanderingPrincess: eh??? temp said wasnt srs Queen_Regent: Danny No InfiniteStarPrince: Danny YES Frosty said they are soulmates!!!!!! WanderingPrincess: 🤯😱 wha th fuck!!!1 Queen_Regent: language! WanderingPrincess: ENGLISH imma get a shovel gotta undead weenie 2 bury.

Template. [user InfiniteStarPrince has left the chat] WanderingPrincess: coward Queen_Regent: I have many regrets. WanderingPrincess: u luv us 👻

Lady & Knight chat Lady: Jay remember when I told you I wanted you to meet Ellie? Knight: She’s bringing a shovel isn’t she. Lady: I love how brilliant you are. Knight: I aim to please.

Lady & Knight chat Knight: you patrolling tonight? Lady: wasnt planning on it Knight: wanna meet me? Lady: same time same place? Knight: you know it

The abolishment of the Anti-Ecto Acts officially happened at three pm on a dreary Gotham Tuesday. Jazz was cuddled with Jason on his couch, dozing off to his heartbeat as he read Pride and Prejudice for the thousandth time. The comfortable silence they had wrapped themselves in only occasionally broken by Jason turning a page was completely shattered when Jazz’s phone rang with the Ghostbusters theme song.

“Danny?” Jazz answered surprised, “School isn’t out yet, what’s wrong?” She was greeted by Danny’s heaving cries as he replied.

“Batman, he- he did it!” Danny sobbed, “He saved us.”

It clicked then. The Dark Knight had completed the task he was entrusted with by a Spirit of Protection, the Once and Future Star King, and unknowingly kept the promise a ghost made to a young Jasmine Fenton.

One day my son will stop this. All of this. You only need to be strong. Take care of yourself and your brother. I promise.

She had waited years for the promise to be fulfilled, the sworn promise of the dead to a living child. Jasmine was a patient soul, but she had still been a child that night in Gotham.

(The Drs. Fenton believing the stories about a ghostly vigilante patrolling the streets, a never aging child by their side.) (Dragging their children with them. ) (Hungry and cold.) (A dead man who swore his son would end their torment one day.)

(She should’ve known it wouldn’t come fast enough to save Danny.)

How was she to know the ghost was speaking of the Realms inhabitants, not the abused and neglected children of Ghost Hunters? How was she to know that the hope such a promise kindled wasn’t hers to keep? Jason wrapped his arms around her, the book set aside and her phone gently taken from her grasp to be put on speaker so they could both talk to her little brother. Danny had dissolved from heaving sobs to muffled hiccups, seemingly now that he’d shared the news with his sister.

“He really did,” she muttered. “He really did it.”

(The furry fucker actually did it.) (She’d known that he was going to try, but humans are stubborn creatures.)

A/N: Hi! Welcome to an update for the Regent. Just to be fully transparent with each of my readers - The Regent is still on Hiatus.

I have deleted so much of my writing because I don't like the flow/dialogue/pacing. Original ending thrown out and rewritten twice- still don't care for it. Who knew something other than Angst would be so difficult.

(Not me!)

Having said that, this entry is of course beta'd by the wonderful @meditating-cat who has put up with my random messages.

(You are amazing!)

(In all honesty, I wish I could just skip right to the ending because at least I know 100% I can get it just right....eventually.)

Thanks for reading and happy easter!

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dominantslasherking · 1 year

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Danny Johnson/Jed Olsen With Dominant S/o

My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+.

Backstory: Danny is getting possessive once these idiotic copycat killers try to come after his man--(you) (Danny can travel through the entity realm and ours whenever he has free time btw.)

"What's your favorite scary movie?" The voice on the other end was loud and clear, and also used a voice modulator...this was the 3rd time this week. You hung up.

This all was happening because your boyfriend being the goofy ass he was involved you in one of his murder games, and to get you off the 'hook' or whatever Danny made the media believe you are a survivor that got away from the infamous ghostface killer.

And now obviously Danny's little stupid fan boys are trying to 'finish what he started' But no it wasn't Danny who dealt with them, it was you, I mean you dealt with these little copycats with ease.

Danny couldn't protect you even if he insisted on it, he had to still do the games in the entity's realm with the other slashers. But you were fine, you didn't need his help.

The phone continued to ring on end, and every time it would stop it just started to go back to ringing, you can tell the copycat on the other end was extremely annoyed, you didn't doubt he was already in your house.

You heard rustling behind you, a smirk got to your face as you suddenly turned around, and grabbed the copycat's neck your other hand grabbing his wrist where he held the knife up high.

"L-e-t go!" The copycat growled slightly, as you easily held him in place, tightening your grip on his wrist, making him drop his knife. You took a little time to admire his outfit, it was cheap and he probably got it at a nearby costume shop.

you stared at him with your sharp [Eye color] letting out a small laugh at the pathetic nature of the copycat, he didn't come close, not even a little bit to the real thing, I mean if Danny was in the position you knew he would make some type of sexual joke.

Suddenly you heard a strange swirling sound behind you. The feeling of someone hugging you close from behind caused you to drop the copycat.

"Hey~ Babe, I missed you so---" Danny paused, his masked eyes tilting towards the cheap knockoff version of his suit sitting on the floor and turning his way, the copycat took off his mask eagerly and spoke in shock.

"Oh god, oh crap, I'm a big fan, holy shit I-" The copy cat couldn't say a word more, as Danny had registered that this stupid knockoff little bitch was in his boyfriend's house?!

Danny couldn't help but laugh so loud that it would send shivers down anyone's spine. "Are you serious? Are you fucking with me?" Danny paused letting go of his boyfriend as he stopped hugging you..

"My boyfriend, in my boyfriend's house---!! MY--[Your Name] touching you?" Danny dove toward the copycat, brutally stabbing, over and over and over.

You couldn't help but think, that all that blood on the floor would be a bitch to clean up, at least it wasn't on your carpet...

Danny slowly rose up, his entire body twitching slightly from unhinged rage plus psychotic tendencies. Danny could be heard taking in deep breaths before facing you with a seemingly calm demeanor.

"Hey babe? You wanna move to my place?" Danny's demeanor took a whole switch as he was now acting adorable and a bit whiny very needy.

"Please? I promise I'll let you claim me all over in my house~" Danny lightly purred sliding his knife back into his outfit.

#slasher x reader #slasher imagines #slasher x you #slasher x male reader #yandere danny johnson #yandere ghostface #danny johnson x male reader #yandere danny johnson x male reader #danny johnson x you #slashers x you #slashers x male reader #scream x male reader #dead by daylight x male reader #yandere ghostface x reader #yandere ghostface x male reader

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violetsiren90 · 1 month

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New Rules | Teaser

Table of Cotents: Teaser (Prologue); Don't pick up the phone

Pairing: f*ck boi!Jisung x f!Reader

Genre: choose your own adventure; drabble/vignette series; angst and smut; f*ck buddies; college/post grad

Summary: Jisung has had you wrapped around his finger for the last half-decade. You know good and well that it's time to move on…but you can never seem to follow your own rules long enough to shake him.

*Based on the lyrics of "New Rules" by Dua Lipa

Content warnings: 18+ (minors, dni) Explicit smut; toxic relationship; Jisung is a manipulative little shit (There will be specific trigger warning for each update); For prologue: undressing, kissing, necking, dry humping, groping, fondling, Jisung has been drinking; lots of negative emotions and psychological conflict, raw LUST.

Word Count: Each drabble will probably around 1500-3000 words; total number of drabbles undetermined.

Author's Note: This is gonna be my fun little side project while I work on a my heavy chapter fic! Another one of my attempts at trying new things this year - a choose your own adventure centering around toxic romance. 😈💔🥀 Each update will have a poll at the end which will determine where the next drabble goes. The readers will literally be deciding the trajectory of this story! If you would like to participate throughout the series, let me know in the comments and I will add you to the tag list for updates!

As always, if no one has told you today, please know that you're loved, and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

Prologue:

(first poll below)

His hand finds the tack fastener on the front your jeans, and as he slips it deftly through the buttonhole with his finger and his thumb you feel a familiar chill creep into your chest. One little motion and it’s as if he snuffs out an invisible flame inside of you. And yet, you want them there, his fingers on the wick.

Tasting the liquor on his tongue, you pull away to press your lips below his jaw and against the thrum of his pulse point. You can feel from the force and urgency of his nimble hands as they skirt and grasp your form after peeling away your pants that it’s going to be quick and dirty. It always is, every time you cross the blurred boundaries of your friendship into the realm of carnal pleasure.

It never starts that way, though.

It starts with fingers gently lacing through your own, large pleading eyes full of innocence that dip to your lips and kindle darkly with lust…and then a kiss; one you’ve nearly starved for craving. That’s always how it starts.

But then, eventually and inevitably, you feel it - the sudden shift. The moment he drops the pretense with a simple word or touch that falls like an executioner's axe over the feeble hope that you so relentlessly resurrect.

He lets out a soft little whimper, tilting his head back to bare more of the skin of his throat, and just as quickly as the first flame extinguished, another licks through your viens. You scrape your teeth over his smooth, taut flesh and you feel him tremble beneath you. If just for a few moments, drenched in the scent of cheap booze and the pallid lens of moonlight, he’s yours for the taking.

And you want him, but fuck him. You hate him for pretending to care about you every single time when all he cares about is how you can make him feel. You hate yourself for how you let it consume your flesh and seep into your soul - the feeling that you are the only one who can bring him to that place between the planes of reality in which he finds deliverance through your body.

You pin his shoulders back against the headboard roughly, lascivious eyes drinking in his expression as it contorts with the intensity of his gratification at the plush, rhythmic pressure of your mound over the knot in his jeans. Thin cotton and rough denim massaging one another and at the friction growing damp.

A dance that you've memorized.

Another piece of your being chips away, as it does each time you relent to the greed of his hands and mouth, and a shiver slithers down your spine as his beautiful fingers slip up your shirt to grope at your breast.

When was the last time you felt truly whole? When, outside of the minutes of breathless darkness when he fills you?

~To be continued~

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asnowfern · 3 months

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Everything is fine when your hand is next to mine

A soft nessian drabble because that is all my completely exhausted being has the energy for.

WC: 743, Modern AU setting

The dread of realisation rose in Nesta with the increasing strength of the tidal waves. The ferry that transported them to the island was nothing more than a floating speck, helpless against the vast body of tumultuous water.

It was a short ride to the resort island that housed their team retreat: not even a mere hour.

While prone to often bouts of terrible nausea, Nesta’s seasickness had never devolved into the realms of vomiting. So she never found a need to medicate herself, choosing instead to rely on time trusted practice of a light meal and comfortable clothes that gave her chest and abdomen ample breathing room.

Though she had still hoped when she spotted the charcoal threat of cumulonimbus clouds in the faraway distance that it would wait the hour, not striking down its wrath until they had safely docked at shore. But alas, it was not to be - the waves grew just a little taller with each push and pull, the speed at which the ferry climbed and fell with the waves a jumbled inconsistent mess.

Nesta’s stomach lurched at the next descent and she squeezed her eyes shut, her mouth pursed into the slightest of an oval, pushing out a slow steady stream of air. Her meditative habits kicked in on instinct.

I am the rock against which-

Oh, for goodness sake. She couldn’t even complete the sentence without her abdomen clenching at the mere thought.

“Hey, Nes,” the voice dripping in pure swagger greeted as the cheap leather seat grumbled at the sudden weight.

Her brows knitted on its accord, annoyed. Nesta kept her eyes closed in pure refusal to acknowledge the business development executive. Maybe if she stayed quiet long enough, he would go away.

He didn’t.

He said nothing for a while, letting the little squeaks of leather alert her of his continued presence.

“Nes?”

“Now’s not the time, Cassian.” She sighed wearily, her jaw clenched as her belly threatened to push acidic bile up her throat. She took a shallow breath in and released a long shuddering exhale, forcing it under her control.

One, two, in.

One, two, out.

“You ok?”

One, two, in.

“I’m fine.”

One, two, out.

One, two, in.

“You don’t look fine.”

Silver blue eyes flew open as she whirled on him, snapping with the exhale, “Would you just leave me alone?”

It was uncalled for. It was rude but Nesta refused to backpedal even as something within her chastised her for chewing him off for no good reason. She ignored the voice and levelled a withering gaze at slightly widen hazel eyes, pretending not to notice the flash of hurt in them.

He slipped away when the moment broke, brushing her off with a wry smile that masked any other emotions, “I’ll be back later.”

And Nesta was alone again.

She fished her phone out of her bag to take note of the time - another thirty minutes to go, and sighed.

Leaning back into the seats, her knuckles turned white as her fingers gripped onto its handles. She forced it loose in hopes of loosening her tightening stomach. Her eyes stuttered shut and resumed her control of gated entry of air into her lungs.

Warm rough fingertips gently enveloped the back of her palms, rousing her from the fitful sleep she hadn’t realised she had fallen into. Dazed eyes drifted to the paper cup he extended to her, nothing but soft understanding on that ruggedly handsome face. Nesta accepted it wordlessly with a slight downward jerk of her chin, surprised at the heat from its papered surface. It was beyond her how he managed to find any hot drinks on this small transport ferry.

Cassian smiled and settled back into the seat next to her. Nesta lifted the edge of the cup to her lips, cautiously sipping its hot content. Immediately, a warmth spread in her chest and stomach. The gentle bitterness of the oolong tea soothed the churning.

Shifting her grip of the drinking receptacle to one hand, she slipped slender fingers over broad ones and soft palm over the back of the much larger hand.

“Thank you.”

His hand moved under hers, flipping so that their hands are clasped together. With the smallest of a smile gracing her lips, her shoulders relaxed into the seat and she let the comforting heat of his palm and the soothing presence to tie her through for the rest of the ride.

#nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian drabble #acotar #gosh life is sucking the life out of me

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beardedmrbean · 5 months

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Ravioli/raviolo anon here. It occurred to me that I never followed up on my story of how I escaped my roommate's various attempts on my life and I managed to dodge them all like some drunken Mr. Bean. (Is that what I said? I hardly remember, lol. For the record, I don't really drink so much anymore. After I walked home from a birthday celebration a few years back (it wasn't a rager or anything, the bar was just across the road and my birthday is in February so we didn't want to go far) and coldcocked my dome running at top speed into a fence (I was trying to make it into the exit gate before it closed, didn't realize there was a post that came out horizontally across because I don't see very well on account of the fact that I wear colored lenses), I cracked my skull and you can still see where I hit the fence (on my head, I mean, it was a wrought iron fence so I assume I didn't damage it but I never checked), so that's when I realized it was time to slow down).

So it WAS a true story, (I don't really watch television or read much though so if it does resemble a piece of media, I wouldn't know it, lol). Anyway, since I tend to ramble, I will make an effort to keep this in the realm of "less than a novel" but I can't exactly make any promises. I don't know how to add a "read more" or anything fancy like that so in the interest of shortening it I won't be offended if you screenshot only the important parts or even just don't answer it, lol.

There's a little bit of backstory about how I ended up living with the roommate and why he wanted to kill me, long story short he was in the hole about $1600 with me because he bought a motorcycle from me but was "still making payments" on it. He suggested I come room with him in this cheap apartment while we both drove for UPS for peak season. He got fired day two on the job, and so after that he planned to rob me as soon as I finished the season. (In addition to never paying for the bike). I'm a simple guy, though, so I really only had my truck (worthless) and a mattress, and I was just working for the love of the sport so I sent all my checks to my mother and had her send me back a hundred a week. So he can't rob me, so he decides at this point he's mad enough to kill me, and thinks himself pretty clever and that he can do it without getting caught.

About a week into this nonsense, he tells me he's got a job interview in NYC or something, he's gonna be gone tonight, whatever. I'm like, fine, no big deal, hope you get the job, buddy, I'm pretty terrible at this whole UPS thing so I'll be back at midnight or something when I'm done my route. I get home, and I'm about to go to bed, and that's when I decided at about 1AM I sincerely want a grilled cheese sandwich. So I got up, drove across town, and went over to a buddy's house for grilled cheese at 1AM. Come to find out we had a gas leak all night and my roommate is just VERY SHOCKED that we BOTH happened to be out, what are the odds. I'm all "hey, man, God is good, I'll drink to that, get me another beer".

Not long after that, I finish my route at who friggin' knows how late, I'm the last guy in the lot, even the security guards have gone home, and my truck (which cannot be locked, I don't have a key for the door so I leave it unlocked) is, what the heck, locked. I have no way of calling my roommate (same reason why I drove across town to find my buddy instead of just calling and asking: I didn't have a phone at the time), and it's looking like I might just freeze to death out here because it's -3F and it's after midnight in New England, so there's nobody out and about. Well, nobody, except this old Russian guy who sees me standing next to my truck, asks if I need help, and when I tell him I'm locked out, he tells me he's been in prison a few times for carjacking and will get me into my truck in no time. Which he does. So I bring him home with me and we have a beer (he had a few more than me, I had to work in the morning. You know how it is.) (And for the record I have never driven under the influence. I didn't go to college, my CDL is all I have. I don't dick around with that.)

So at this point, my roommate is pretty pissed. I'm either too hammered or too tired to notice. UPS is really kicking my ass. It's finally Christmas time, time to celebrate the end of peak season with a trip to the bar, oorah. He gives me a bottle of Poland Springs and says to drink the whole thing, it's water and we're gonna be drinking hard tonight, gotta hydrate or die-drate, bitch. I knock it back and wouldn't you know it, that son of a bitch didn't give me water, this is straight Everclear. I get to the bar and I'm already sick, I go straight to the toilet and barf all over the place. Somewhere along the line I went up to the bar and started dozing off, at which point they kicked me out, so roommate says "don't worry, I'm gonna take him home". Not sure what the plan from there was, tbqh. I DO know that I realized about halfway out of the city that we weren't headed back to our apartment, and that we were headed towards either Connecticut or NYC, and I told him I wanted to go back home because I did NOT want to go to NYC because if we were going to NYC, that meant we were probably going to watch Eric Andre with his boring cousin in Queens and I was really not in the mood. I'm pretty sure he planned on dumping me somewhere on the highway where I'd freeze to death, and I was slipping back and forth out of consciousness, but I was SO consumed by how badly I did NOT want to go to Queens and watch Eric Andre, I called the cops and told them I was being kidnapped to watch Eric Andre. They were more concerned about the kidnapping part for some reason, (criminal restraint, I think is actually what they called it), caught up to roommate and I halfway out of Clifton Park (we'd apparently been doing 110MPH on the freeway and he was swerving all over the place) and he got arrested.

The next morning the cops told me I should press charges, but that meant staying in the state (because I'd have to be there when it went to trial) and I had other plans. So, I let karma do its work on the roommate (no idea where he is now or what's become of him, but I do know he lost his license and later blew every cent he had on some raffle scam for a Toyota out in California), packed up my stuff, and moseyed on.

I'm marathoning The Twilight Zone with a friend online today (watching the same eps on the same service) this was wilder than any episode I've seen ever.

#anonymous #unhinged story time #this is incredible #waiting for more story to come #if there is any

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writing-by-mimi · 2 years

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Here is some gn!mc x diavolo that I dug out of the reject pile from the gnmc-un-sheeps-hc. Couldn't bring myself to just delete it, so I'll post it and delete it from my folder. Lol.

Adult content, read at your own risk. Not beta read.

• He had seen your file, knew what you truly looked like... between your picture in your file and what he had come to know of you personally...he had been stroking his cock to thoughts of you for weeks.

• It happened fairly spontaneously too. He had been watching porn when your text message came across the top of his phone. The banner held your human photo...he never bothered to change it once you had appeared and been a sheep. The video continued and he had cum...but he had been staring at your smiling face.

• It's been downhill since then.

• Demon on demon porn just doesn't do anything for him now, and he feels ashamed. He went to the demon/human tab for porn, and it helped scratch the itch.

• Only it slowly spun more and more out of control...

• Now, only one human porn star who shared similar facial features and body type with you could arouse him so completely. He knew it was wrong, jerking off to you while someone who vaguely looked like you was getting fucked on screen.

• He also realizes by not stopping sooner, he has essentially stared Pavlov'ing himself into cumming with you being his "bell".

• It didn't help you would come over for tea. He loved speaking with you, he found your tiny sheep form utterly adorable. He would enjoy his time with you, even pick you up sometimes to hold you up high so you could see or reach things, but the guilt would slowly build, creeping into his mind. Fifteen minutes after you would leave, he'd think of how you were so kind and gentle with him. Not out for selfish gains. Your pretty face at the forefront of his mind... no less than ten minutes after those thoughts would he be jerking off to thoughts of you. Sometimes with porn in the background, sometimes with just his thoughts. Both of which gave him intense orgasms. It just confirms his earlier fear, that you were now his pavlonian bell...

• Maybe it was the guilt mixed with just how wrong it was that made it that much better. The thought of fucking you in human form, his exchange student in his office at R.A.D. while Lucifer or Barbatos could enter at any moment and see you impaled on his cock.

• If you even sounded half as good as your look a like porn star...he would be feral. From his talks with you, you had told him your voice did not sound the same in this form.

• He could change your form, he wanted too. It would harm you though. You would need to adjust naturally to the magic that flowed through his realm. If you were rushed in anyway, it could cause major issues that even he himself may not be able to fix. So he was stuck bidding his time until your body course corrected.

• Its been months now. Even just the photo on his phone riles him. A feral need to put you into a mating press and fuck the shit out you until he finally feels what it really is to cum inside of you, not his hand or cheap plastic toys.

• He masturbates, the feral feeling subsiding slowly. It was shameful how absolutely aroused you could make him...and it was just a photo.

• During an event he holds at the castle, he invites you. You arrive early and himself and Barbatos spend a good forty-five minutes just chatting. You genuinely like his best friend, his father figure, and Barbatos seemed to adore you. You had really grown on him during your time here. It leads to Diavolo thinking about having some sort of life with you.

• After the event and all of the guest have left, does it hit him like a ton of bricks... His feelings go much deeper than a need for your body... The thought unsettles him

• Fighting against desire was hard, but it could be ignored, managed... but love would root deeply and consume every available space in his heart. It would tear apart his dreams...

• You had just finished helping Barbatos clean parts of the kitchen, smiling up to the demon as the two of you approached. He hadn't meant to yell. To tell you to get out of his sight and that you were no longer welcome in the castle. His voice booming and carrying, holding so much of an emotion he couldn't understand, coupled with how his heart was telling him to feel.

• "D-Diav-"

• "GET OUT!" He had even growled at you and taken his demonic form.

• Barbatos picked you up slowly, a glare on his face as he held your shaking form and turned to take you from his presence.

• He hadn't slept that night. The morning had been slow, dragging on and on. All he desired now was some sleep so he could think properly about everything.

• Making his way to the council room he stops just outside of the door when he hears voices. He simply didn't wish to interrupt and planned to just read over his paperwork. "Lu...if he kicks me off the council... can you at least tell him I want to stay and learn?" Your voice held so much worry. He hadn't meant to ease drop, but hearing your voice had perked his ears. He steps away from the door and goes around a corner, unsure of what to do. He is exhausted and the guilt of how he had treated you the night before is washing over him in waves. He waits to enter with only a minute or two to spare and starts the meeting. You sit still and quiet the whole time, not even laughing at Mammon and Belphegors squabble. As soon as the meeting ends, you grabbed your things and scurried away, like you were afraid your very presence upset him. He needs sleep. To rest...time to sort his thoughts and find a resolution. The human exchange student being afraid of him would help no one. Lucifer side eyes him, but says nothing.

• Getting home, he had passed out and slept the moment he sat on his couch. His phone alarm rousing him from sleep. Fuck. He hadn't any time to think...

• The next day, he was informed you would be absent by Lucifer, but that you would make it to tomorrow's meeting fully caught up and have all of your school work proper. It had been on the tip of his tounge, to ask if the reason you didn't show up to school was because of him. Lucifer continued about his business, leaving him to wonder alone.

• His brain simmered with different ideas when he finally made it through the day and got home, thoughts shifting rapidly to so many senerios...did he release you from the program? Should he just go about life as if nothing happened? At least then, you made yourself scarce, and he could work on some sort of plan of detachment.

• All of those felt wrong though.

• His chest was in turmoil. He should end your time here. Pick another human student to continue the exchange. He held firm and wrote the paperwork up himself, putting it into his briefcase.

• He did his best not to think of life without you the next day. You had only truly been here for the blink of an eye for time such as theirs. This was a crush, and it was beatable. Something that would get in the way of uniting the realms.

• At least, that's what he kept telling himself. Lost in thought, a figure collided with him, dropping his brief case he reached for the figure to steady them, but they had already dropped to their knees picking up his papers, as his brief case contents were all over the floor. A sweet voice telling him that they were so sorry and that they weren't used to things quite yet. The voice stops abruptly, holding on to one of his papers. The persons body sags for a moment before getting up and running the opposite way.

• Diavolo is left confused. It wouldn't be the first time someone bumped into him and literally ran away as soon as they saw who he was... but then it occurs to him, they had a paper of his.

• Nothing of great value paper work wise was in there. The only option to be going through his papers and seeing what was ran off with. The only thing missing was the paperwork he had made up.

• He hadn't seen the person's face, but they did wear a R.A.D. uniform. He knew the hair color and skin color...so it could be narrowed down. He could even cast a spell to lead him to his paperwork.

• Then the thought hits him...if anyone did see and read the paperwork, it would be an odd thing to run off with. Even if it was a friend of yours, stealing from their prince would garner severe punishments... the only one who would take that paper and run was you.

• But you were a sheep. Small, fluffy and absolutely adorable... he pushes the thought from his mind. He doesn't need to focus on you more than he has. It's problematic.

• However, less than an hour later, his phone is exploding. Everyone from Lucifer to Thirteen asking if the rumor posted on the school's news feed was true. Loading the page himself he read the headline. 'Exchange program in shambles?' The picture a crumpled piece of paper, his paper work. His signature clear as day.

• Mephistopheles had somehow obtained the paper and published it in 4k for the whole realm to see. Comments already in the hundreds, many calling you such terrible and degrading things, cutting you down and wishing for your quick eviction from his realm. For every one positive comment about you or saying the situation or story were fake, there were atleast two negatives... much in line with the survey from the academy.

• Lucifer knew exactly how to phrase his question. He wouldn't be able to be vague or answer in a circle. (Circles weren't lying... just never really saying anything of substance...) He could ignore the text, but that in itself was a telling answer.

• His phone went off again, Lucifers text tone. Wiping his hand down his face, he let out a sigh as he opened it. 'You have less than five minutes to come to the House of Lamentation before Mc departs.'

• Locking his screen, he sat on a nearby chair. It was happening. You were leaving. It was for the better this way, he could become unattached and continue the program. Find another human to fill your spot.

• That's what he keeps repeating as he waits for the time to pass. If he can do this, he can realize his dream.

• Barbatos's shoes enter his line of sight some time later. "Mc has departed. Just as you wished. I suppose you were kind, making them leave after they finally took a more human shape that just a sheep. They will finally be able to return to society in their realm with little difficulty. Although, it seems a waste. Just now being attuned more to our realms magic only to be tossed aside." Barbatos can see it. The confusion in his masters eyes. Who would have thought fate cruel enough to rip you apart just as you had a form more substantial than a lamb... Barbatos knew of your crush, so when he had carried you out the night of the event, he had a guess as to what the young master was trying to work through. He had finally realized his feelings, and the young master was choosing to push away. "Perhaps the next student will be...more attuned to your taste."

• Barbatos left him sitting there for the rest of the night. He hadn't texted anyone back, giving them their silent answer.

• It had been days since you left. He missed how you would visit.

• After weeks, it began to settle, his chest no longer in so much agony.

• Months pass...and it's dreary. You usually would have returned by now, but you won't. This is life without you. Boring. Bland. Lonely.

• He fights with himself, to check your Devilgram... it hasn't been updated since the night of the event. Guilt washes over him. The last post a picture you had taken. Dusk in the Devildom, the royal garden and part of his kingdom. Lights in the distance sparkling. It was beautiful. The comment you left reading, 'No place else I'd rather be.'

• He had thrown his phone across the room.

• "The night Mc left...we're they truly human?" It's a question he has been avoiding for months. He pushed it from his mind, but from time to time it seemed to completely ensnare his thoughts.

• Barbatos answers and his chest feels heavy. You think he sent you away because you did something wrong...and becoming human had somehow just added to his ire. The fact you have fluffy ears and a tail that is a small puff ball pierced his heart. You were attractive, and adorable rolled into one package...a package that now feared him, or worse yet, hated him. But it did not matter if you hated him. It was better you did. Easier.

• Or so he had thought. Knowing you held human shape... he had seen a picture of you with Asmodeus on Devilgram yesterday. The thought of him fucking you so hard your ears bounced and pulling on your tail while he fucked you from behind had plauged him until he jerked off to you again. It had been so long...the orgasm he had been denying himself for so long almost rendered him dumb...

• This was fine though, he could masturbate to you and go about his life, pick another human and move on with life.

• The brothers refused to house the new human. So he put them in Purgatory Hall.

• He hated it. He hated them.

• It had only lasted for six weeks before he wiped the humans memory and sent them back. He couldn't stand it. It should be you here.

• But admitting that meant admitting he needed you...that you might just be more important than his dream.

• He surfs Devilgram again. Asmodeus has posted another picture of you, an early Halloween 'costume'. Scantily dressed as a lamb. Your mesmerizing. He saves the picture in his phone.

• His birthday comes and goes. The brothers had informed him they had other plans. It left him alone at his own party, surrounded by people who were only there to rub elbows and get ahead. His last birthday had been fun. Memorable.

• This was life without you, he reminded himself.

• He pushes the thoughts of you away, only taking his cock in his hand when it becomes unbearable. Your smiling photo in that slutty costume Asmodeus picked for you being the only thing on his mind as his other hand held his phone. It renders him almost dumb again, he even dropped his phone in his cum...

• It's been a year to the day now when you left. It's been miserable. The only good thing has been the sparce orgasms he was to weak to will away. He holds regret close in his heart. He should have stopped you from leaving.

• He makes his way to the kitchens, Barbatos is sure to be there so he can speak with him, but then he hears a voice he doesn't recognize and can hear Barbatos answer back. Peaking inside Barbatos has his phone elevated on a few cooking books as he continues to bake, the voice laughing at what ever he had said before silence claims the room. Barbatos keeps kneading the dough in silence and Diavolo believes he may have gone deaf for a short moment before he hears the voice on the phone. "Has Diavolo told you what I did to make him so angry yet?" The voice is quiet, yet rich in tone. It's you on the phone. "I've told you before, Mc. You did nothing wrong." He watches as the butler stops kneading the dough and frowns at his phone. He can hear you sigh, exasperated. "Yes, 'nothing' is why he wrote up paper work serving me, throwing me out of the Devildom..." "As I've said before, Mc, the paperwork was never properly served to you, you have all rights to return when you wish." "You don't just write something like that up and have no plans to deliver them..." your soft voice continues, a small hiccup in your voice. "I just wish I knew why I wasn't good enough for the program. What I did to make him so mad at me, Barb. You say I didn't do anything, but why else would he send me away?" Barbatos is unsure of how to answer, Diavo can see it on his face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't pester you about it. Even if you knew, you probably couldn't tell me anyway. I'm sorry."

• Diavolo leaves Barbatos to the rest of his call.

• The private conversation he intruded on replays in his mind. You do think him angry...and you believe that he thinks you unworthy of being involved in his dream...

• He finds himself outside of your door. A small apartment complex. Rundown. Shabby, falling apart at the seams... the inside isn't any better, your door was wide open as to find some relief from the summer heat. Stepping in revealed Mammon sitting on a broken down couch playing on his phone. "What the fuck are you doin' here?"

• Mammon let's it slip that your at work and won't be back until 4:30. The second born also scowls and tells him to get lost. "Has Mc been living like this?" "Well, considering you an Lucifer plucked em from the human realm, their credit went to shit. Years without making payments will do that ta ya. They usually just stayed in the manor or with friends for the few months they were up here. An apparently if your credit is shot, you can't get any kind of nice job or live in a nice place unless you have mountains of cash laying around, but if ya had that, ya'd have good credit." The smile on mammons lips is bitter. "It's what Mc can afford with the job that would hire em. They ain't got no car, no cash, and a shitty landlord that likes to touch all over em when one of us ain't here. Real slick job ya did..." He goes back to looking at his phone, pretending Diavolo isn't even there. The apartment is small and looks just as bad structurally inside as it did on the outside. The walls are bare and a small air mattress lays in the corner of the efficiency apartment. Your room at the House of Lamentation had been bigger...the only thing other than some dishes were two laundry baskets of clothes. One neatly folded by the bed, the other in the small, cramped bathroom. He barely even fit in it... This is what he was he sent you back to... a life of terrible credit because he hadn't thought ahead. A run down apartment and long hours doing menial labor...you deserved so much more than this. You could do much more than this...

• He walks the few feet to stand in front of Mammon. "Why doesn't Mc have anything personal here?" Mammon laughs like a mad man. "Yer status is showing." He stands and closes the door. "Ya can't have nice shit when it keeps getting ripped off. Even if Mc knew one of us was staying here 24/7, Mc don't see the point. It'll just get taken away from em in their mind. They won't even let us help with the debt. Mcs got more than me!" Another bitter laugh leaves him as he hangs his head. "Mc is determined to make it on their own, with no help from the 'Devildom or it occupants.'" He leans back in the couch. "Mc even thinks they are managing to lie to us and tells us everything is dandy!! That they are living a good life!!" His voice booms. "I don't blame em, but their terrified they'll do something wrong and we'll throw em away too." He grumbles. "Your an absolute asshole, ya know? I don't give two fucks if ya smite me or whatever the fuck ya wanna do. Just make sure you leave before Mc gets back and stay outta sight when they get home. If they knew we were here as much as we were, they'd get upset. An if ya see the sleaze ball that calls himself a landlord, make sure you cast something that holds him up just enough so the drunk fuck doesnt get ta mc."

• He could feel his stomach drop. "Other than trying to touch them, what else has he done?"

• "Why the fuck do you care? You sent em away. It ain't none of yer business and Mc doesn't want anyone harmed. Even that piece of shit." Mammon is silent for a moment. "That man deserves the dungeons... atleast 100 years of Barbatos serving him punishment..." the words are quite. Diavolo fears the worst. It was his fault. All of this. He could have atleast made sure to pay for your human world things while you were held in his kingdom...you never said anything to him. Why didn't you tell him? Paying for it would have been nothing...

• He sits on the other end of the couch. "Would Mc agree to meet me?" "Why, so ya can serve em the proper papers an make sure they never come back? Besides, if ya do that, Mc will spend money they ain't got on nice clothes way outside their budget to try and make sure no one knows what's up. It'll cost em an arm an a leg, and it could get stolen anyway. It's what happened to the last fancy outfit they had."

• "I was a fool to send them away..." His words are soft as he gets up, your cupboards have nothing but a few cans of vegetables and three packages of cup Ramen. Your fridge is bare and freezer only has ice cubes... "Mc just orders lunch at work. It's only half price while their on the clock. An if ya leave anything for em to eat, it just makes em cry."

• Why would you cry at being given better food?

• "Fuckin shit, your an absolute idiot. Spoiled so much you can't even understand shame. What a piece a work you are."

• Shame. He had put you into a situation where even being able to eat food from people that cared from you brought you such a dirty feeling as shame...

• "Ah! Fuck, out the window, dipshit!" Mammon panicked, pushing the prince through and throwing himself out. The second born put his hand over Diavolos mouth and placed a finger over his mouth signaling to be quiet. Being lead around the complex, mammon casted a quick invisibility spell.

• You passed them without a second glance. Mammon most likely used a ward to tell of your return. Your exhausted, uniform stained. Too tight, most likely so you can obtain more tips. Going through the front door, Mammon moves forward and Diavolo follows. The door on the opposite side of your apartment flies open. A heavy set man in clothes that look as if they've never been washed leans against the door frame. "Ay, Mc."

• This must be the landlord. The sleaze that Mammon referred to. His lecherous grin as he approaches you and blocks your way ignites a fire in the Princes chest.

• "Hi." Your answer is simple as you try to pass around him, only for his arm to shoot out and block your path. His meaty hands try to touch the side of your face as you pull back.

• "Aww. Yer still shy of old Melvin? Ya ain't got no reason to be scared hunny. I can treat ya real good. Even discount your rent, hottie."

• "No thanks." Your voice holds no ire, but a practiced patience. Just from this interaction alone, even a fool can tell it isn't your first time dealing with the man.

• Melvins hand quickly grabs your arm and pulls you to him. Your face twisted in disgust. "I'll raise the rent on ya, ya fucking whore." He whispers it, or at least tries to, but it is more of a yell directly into your ear as his other hand grips your hip. Diavolo knows you'll be bruised from this man, yet you don't show weakness.

• "You won't do that, then I'd have to move away from my handsome landlord." You put on a pretty smile, as the Prince watches you try not to vomit just from the smell of the man holding you close.

• When the drunks lips connect with your neck you shrug him off and try to leave his grip, your lucky, he's much too drunk to balance. You run into your apartment and slam the door.

• "Easy day today." Mammon mumbled fist clenched. Not doin' anything ta save ya was the only option he had, otherwise ya woulda commanded that they never come around...he had to be there ta make sure it never went to far. Not again.

• An easy day? When a drunk man who held your living space in his hands forced himself onto you, and would have gone further if pysically able was a good day?

• "I usually sit outside the window till Mc goes to sleep. Leviathan makes sure they are okay at night." And he leads the prince back around.

• You cry. Scrubbing at yourself until your rage takes over and you throw the rag across the room, cruling up in a ball on your bed. "Has that man done worse to Mc?"

• "Ain't none of yer business what he has or hasn't done to Mc. Ya made sure of that when ya wanted em gone."

• "Mammon, tell me what he's done to them." His voice is deep, anger apparent as Mammon repeats that ya don't want the sleaze hurt. It draws attention to ya and yer absence only to pop back up again is suspicious. Enough people have seen him do it to ya, you would be a prime suspect and have hell rained down on ya. 'It ain't like they got anywhere else ta go now..'

• He's put you in such a position... he watches as you take clothes to the bathroom, about five minutes later your back and dressed in pj's. It's only just now 4:30. "I thought you said Mc would be getting off now, not already home?"

• "Probably a slow day, which means they ain't got shit for tips if it was dead. I don't even know if Mc ate today..." Mammon scowls as he counts his human world money. "Just shaddup and stay still, I ain't great at this anyway..."

• Diavolo watches as mammon tries to float the money into your dirty clothes pocket, until Diavolo almost quadruples what is there with magic and snugly deposits it into a pocket in the back. Sticking out a bit haphazardly, to appear as if it started to fall out when you took your things off. "Fuckin' show off."

• Diavolo and Mammon sit outside below the window, still cloaked from prying eyes. It's quiet in your apartment for hours and he isn't sure what to do. He knows what he wants to do. To sweep you away from all of this and re-enroll you. To make sure you never go hungry and don't ever have to feel so much shame again in your life. Then it hits him. Why did he come, if not to take you back with him? Temptation and demons went hand in hand, but taking you back could ruin everything. It could be years before you forgave him, but what is a couple of years when you have ever lasting life?

• The prince stands and Mammon goes to pull him back down to the ground, however Diavolo is unwilling any longer to just let you wallow. You deserve more than this miserable existence he's forced upon you, he will no longer sit back and let you suffer.

• Teleporting to your bed side is simple. Uncloaking himself was simple. Seeing your tear stained face and realizing you were silently crying alone was anything but simple.

• Maybe Mammon is right...maybe he should leave... but being this close to you, freshly showered, cute little tail exposed by low riding pj's and your ears air drying and becoming a fluffy mess make him stay. Looking over your other features, he can't help the feeling in his chest. The same feeling that came so strong and sudden the night of the event. The same feelings that started all of this. He would be a fool to say that they left...they did not. Love for you had rooted, and no matter how much he may have tried to kill what was growing.. it was already so deep inside of him.

• Taking out his phone, he texted Mammon. 'Meet me later with your brothers at my home.' Gently cupping your face, he had teleported both you and himself directly to a guest bedroom in the castle. You may be angry when you wake. Infuriated. It's okay. You can take your hurt out on him. He is more than strong enough to take it. What he cannot take is one more moment of thinking of you laying alone in tears. Of what your landlord may do next time, or may have already done... Of all of your talent being wasted. Even if you never wish to see him in your life, he will make sure you live a good life. One where you are happy and have money and food and anything you may ever need. You will never feel shame again. He won't allow it, even if it means he is not with you.

• He sits on the bed next to you, looking over your face, even if you wake and leave him with all of this emotion in his heart, he knows now that you are bigger than his dream, and that ever thinking otherwise was foolish.

• About three hours later, your eyes crack open, sleepy and confused. They are the most enchanting eyes he's ever seen in person, your picture does you no justice.. He just hopes you will have mercy and allow him to look into them for the rest of your existence.

So ya, there's that bonus angst that I wrote at like 1 Am and choose to go a softer side for the Mc un sheep's hcs. Lol. I got lots of shit that never sees the light of day like this. XD

#diavolo #diavolo x reader #diavolo x mc #obey me #obey me!

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slothgiirl · 2 years

Text

Parallel Beings

morpheus x reader drabble. soft. reuniting after morpheus is free.

Your marshland had long been drained. Houses had fone up over the century along woth stripmalls and streetlights.

Humans erroniously thought that nature spirits died out like the gods when their worship and adoration ended, but you kept going, kept existing along with your paved over marshland as long as the plants kept taking root. Trees were trimmed routinely by city workers, but they still provided shade to children playing in front of their homes. As long as the water fowl migrated back, you'd go on in some form or another. This patch of land was you. And it's face would change as it had in ages past, ice ages receding. But life was here and so were you.

It wasn't the human developement over the last century that left you living in the attic of a townhouse like a dead tree waiting to fall, but your lover. News of his capture wore at you. You'd chewed your nails down to the quick. Tree sap had leaked where you'd gone too far.

(You missed the color of the soil before the marsh was drained. A brown so dark it was mistaken for black in the dark. Rich with leaves and amphibeans. Your skin was lighter now, tambed by concrete.)

Dream had been captured. And you, rooted as you were to this patch of land so far from him, could do nothing. Guilt ate at you.

The first decade he'd missed the day he had promised you, one day where you had him all to yourself, you'd cried and flooded the entire marsh. The second, you'd worried. You'd walked to the boarder, your feet caked in mud and watched the cars go by. It hadn't been difficult to hitch a ride. But a handful of kilometers later, you'd doubled over in pain. Your hair had dried. When you'd picked out leaves clinging to your locs, yours hair had fallen out.

You belonged to this place. To this land. It was you.

You returned.

You wandered the Dreaming, hoping each night Morpheus would be in his realm once more.

You watched the trees shrivel and die. Slowly, the dreams and nightmares grew wild. A dream left, then another, and soon the Dreaming was deserted save for Lucienne and those who were neither dream nor nightmare.

You held the dream of his palace within you like a human heart, in your core, hoping to keep the place together. You closed your eyes and remembered the towers and every step that you hated having to walk up. Lucienne's precious library with all its contents, books that had yet to be written, books that were forever unfinished. The imaginings of so many minds, you imagined running your fingers over the spines but no matter how often you or Lucienne patched things together, without the Dream Lord the realm fell apart.

The books rotted away from the lichen and mud the grew in the library. (You are marshland.)

And so the decades pass and it does not grow easier to bare.

The helplessness you felt, unable to help the entity you so cared for. The Endless you loved.

(When phones became common place, you tried calling but the English police dismissed you as a prank caller.)

Decades become a century.

You chose the attack over the basement this decade. The windows remained opened throughout storms and heatwaves.

You lay on the grass at night, watching the fireflies. Your tenets all thought you strange but with your cheap rent they didn't care. (So long as you lived here, the foundations and pipes of the house stayed strong.) You close your eyes, sinking into the soil. You close your eyes and forget you have a body. You are earth. You are the diverted stream. You are the breeze runing through the trees. Billions of ants break down the organic detrius. Racoons sort through the bins. A rusty pipe leaks into a basement across town. A pothole fills with mud.

With an inhale, you fit back into a human shaped body.

(You began with the first organisms before there was even a word for marsh, before this place was marsh and here you will be as climate changes your ecosystem.)

It's with an inhuman awareness that you know the Dream Lors is there before you open your eyes.

"Hello." You don't move to get up. It's luxurating to have him with you once more. It's semantics if you throw your arms around him when he has stepped on the earth that you are. The shape of him is imprinted on the grass he sits on.

You turn to him.

Morpheus appears unchanged since you last laid eyes on him. Stark white complextion and an expression that betrayed how much of a chore he found parading around as a human.

You hold a hand out to him.

In some ways he reminded you of skittish spring rabbits slowling venturing from their burrow.

Instead of taking your hand, he lays down besides you.

You feel the cruch in the blades of grass as the weather turns and leaves fall from trees.

It would ruin his coat if he was human.

"You're free," you have to say.

"I am."

You roll onto you side, drinking in the sight of Morpheus. Looking closely, you could see how captivity had worn at him. His cheeks were hollow. There was a dullness to his form: a wilting peace lily.

You run a hand over his shoulder, idlying toying with the lapel of his coat.

"I must beg your forgiveness," your voice is small, weighted down by the uncessing guilt you carried, "I did not give you aid in your hour of need."

Morpheus covers your hand with his. "There is nothing to forgive." His voice is low and deep, in tune with the night hours. "My love."

Your body bends towards his. You meet his gaze. It's akin to the water fowl migrating back in the summer, year after year. Butterflies have done so for countless eras. Having him back, here, with you, fills you with bountless joy.

Knowing Morpheus was free washes away your guilt. That he was free is what matters. His visit is just the cherry on too.

"Lucienne spoke of your actions in The Dreaming." His words hang in the air. You know what he means. Thank yoh for caring for Rhe Dreaming.

You wrap an arm around his chest protectively, craddling him in the earth. (The yoga instructor down the street is a big fan of grounding.)

"I tried," you sigh, "but stopgap measures were the best I could do and even those failed after a century."

You rake your eyes over him, over and over, drinking him in.

It had been Morpheus who proposed a compulsatory day once a decade. He was the most passionate of lovers, but that did not change his endless responsability. He'd grown complacient and careless of you. The time between his visits had grown. The time he would make for you in the Dreaming shrivled up. (Though his love for you has never faltered.) This accord had been his. A compromise to save your relationship.

The Dream Lord wraps an arm around you. His hand traces patterns across your back.

He looks up at the night sky. You don't comment on the tears in his eyes. "The Dreaming has been made anew." You hear the hitch in his breath. "Perhaps for the better."

There was a story there. For another time.

"I'm glad," you tell him softly. "It was difficult to watch your realm fall apart. To see you in such a state," for The Dreaming is as much him as the Marsh is you, "Nothing would take root. And the dreamers. . ."

Morpheus' closes his eyes. Taking a rare moment to rest, to enjoy the freedom denied to him. "And yet you stayed."

"How could I not?" You loved him.

Taking care of The Dreaming was your way of helping him. It was better than nothing. Even if your attempts had failed.

His small mouth curves into a rare smile. "All the same, I must thank you," he says while you rest your body against his.

The air was crisp.

"You don't have to, but I appreciate the sentiment all the same," you rest your head on his shoulder, at peace once more. Breathing in time with the world: you would spend the rest of your days like this if you could. But you understood Morpheus would not neglect his realm any more than you could abandon yours.

This was enough.

"Stay with me," you say quietly, "I owe you eleven days."

"And I plan to hold you to them."

"I expect nothing less of you Morpheus."

The idea of seeing the Dreaming again in its full glory filled you with glee. Even the darkest corners of his realm that reasserted his position as King of Nightmares was beautiful in its own ways.

But for now, you bask in the confort he brings here, lying in the earth with you.

There would be time to talk through the last century. Now was a time for serenity.

#dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x y/n #morpheus x you #morpheus x reader #morpheus imagine #drabbles #really aimless and im unsure about it but its something #did like fleshing out the idea just didnt want to do more w it

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leviathism · 2 years

Note

Howdy do! How would Lucifer from Obey Me react to his s/o surprising him by singing a love song they wrote for him on his birthday?

lucifer x gender neutral reader

You were running out of time.

You had a week until Lucifer’s birthday and you were broke. You only had a few Grimm to your name right now and your heart could not bear to buy Lucifer some cheap trinket in a random rundown Five Grimm and Below Store.

It had to be meaningful, as his gift was to you for your last birthday. You nodded to yourself and thought of anyone who could help you.

In desperate and lonely times, humans usually flocked towards people like them. Similar in any shape or form. So…

Solomon welcomed you with some pasta. You warily took it and stepped inside. Simeon mimicked a dead face, eyes rolling up with his tongue sticking out as he pointed at his own bowl. A clear warning.

“So what do you need help with?” As Solomon lead you to the kitchen, you quickly dumped out half the pasta in the trash. He sat down at the table and you sat down next to him. “Oh, I see you’re hungry! Would you like seconds when you’re done?”

“No thanks.” You smiled at him gratefully, a shiver racking down your spine. “Um, I need help for a present. Is there any impressive magic that could help for a gift?”

“For who? Lucifer?” Simeon asked, swiping your bowl when Solomon glanced at his phone for the date. “His birthday is coming up, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I have a few ideas,” Solomon started, looking down the hallway, probably towards his room where he kept his spellbooks. “There’s a confetti spell, a spell that makes everything cake flavored, and then an infinite wine spell. He likes wine, doesn’t he?”

“Um…” You frowned. “Can I have all the spells?”

“My prodigy!” Solomon laughed, patting you on the back. “I love to see it. I’ll go get the spells’ instructions.”

He left and came back with three rolled up papers in his arms. He laid them on the table and you took and read over each one.

“…I’ll never learn this in a week!” You groaned and buried your face into your hands. A hand rubbed your back consolingly. You peeked over your shoulder.

“Lucifer still has his love for records, right?” Simeon asked, thoughtfully bringing a hand up to his chin. He must’ve picked that up from Solomon. “He loved music in the Celestial Realm. Maybe you can make a song for him. Or even sing it, I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“You think I can do that in a week?” You asked hopefully.

Simeon’s smile faltered. “Probably not. But I’ll help you with the lyrics. I’m sure some demon around here knows how to play a simple ukelele or guitar. It won’t be a world wide hit type of song, but Lucifer will love it if it came from you.”

You smiled at him. Simeon sure knew how to inspire and reassure someone.

So, the two of you found some demon who could play the guitar. You borrowed Mammon’s guitar for a hefty fee of 1K Grimm, effectively draining you of any money you had left. You practiced every day after school and after you ate dinner, you were always at Purgatory Hall, brainstorming with Simeon to write your song.

You finished the lyrics and perfected your guitar song the day before his birthday. Sure, your guitar sounded a little off and your lyrics were no match to Taylor Swift, but Lucifer would love it.

Lucifer was going to hate it.

You stood outside his door, shaking and trembling in your spot. It had been an eventful day for Lucifer’s birthday and it was just before dinner now. Everyone had given their gifts but you, and yet you couldn’t even lift your arm to knock. You squeezed your eyes shut, taking a deep breath.

“…Are you alright?” Lucifer asked and you jumped. He must’ve opened the door when you had been steadying your breathing.

“Um… No. Yes.” You took another deep breath. “I have a birthday present for you.”

Lucifer’s face broke out into a smile. You couldn’t help but smile back. He stepped back and you took the cue to go into his room. You ushered him to sit on his bed as you messed with your guitar.

You stood in front of him, staring at him.

“Um…” He nodded in encouragement. You had this. “Here it goes.”

You ended up singing Happy Birthday to him. Not at all what you had planned. And of course, since you didn’t plan to sing that, you didn’t know Happy Birthday on the guitar.

You had utterly and entirely made a fool of yourself.

But Lucifer had loved it. Or at least he made it look like he did. He stood up and tugged you closer to kiss your forehead, ignoring the awkward press of the guitar between the two of you.

“Thank you.” He smiled sweetly at you. “I see you’re learning the guitar.”

You nodded, dazed and embarrassed.

“Why don’t we go get something to eat?” He led you out by your arm but at the end of the hallway you broke out of his hold.

“I… have to go return the guitar.” You turned and scurried off, leaving Lucifer alone at the end of the hallway.

You escaped into your room, closing the door firmly behind you. You placed the guitar on your table and dove for your bed.

You sighed into your pillow, depressed. How could you ever recover from this? You turned to face your ceiling, wondering if you could sleep your sadness away.

In the middle of your sleep, your door creaked open. Your eyebrows furrowed but you decided to ignore it in favor of more sleep. But a hand settling on your forehead made your eyes flutter open.

“Are you sick?” Lucifer asked you. His hand slid down to cup your cheek. Your lip almost wobbled. Almost.

“No.”

“How come your didn’t eat dinner with us?” He lowered his voice to a whisper, sitting on the edge of your bed. You grabbed his arm, clutching at it desperately.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

He seemed unsatisfied with that and sighed. “Do you want me to sleep with you tonight?” You shrugged un helpfully.

“It’s your birthday.” Your voice cracked. His eyebrows furrowed.

He stood up and went to the dresser to change. You turned away to face the wall as he changed, trying to fall asleep again so you didn’t have to talk anymore.

You heard his footsteps come back and you faked being asleep.

He called your name. You buried your face into the pillow. He called it again. You gave in and turned around to see him holding a crumpled piece of paper.

“Is this what you meant to sing to me?” Lucifer asked, reading over the lyrics slowly. You felt your body grow hot with embarrassment. This had to be the most embarrassing time of your life, forget middle school.

“…Yeah, but I chickened out.”

Lucifer smirked lightly at your phrasing but it softened as he continued to read. “You need not to be embarrassed in front of me.”

You shrugged, unable to explain it. He met your eyes over the paper steadily.

“Would it help if I sang it with you?”

You froze. Lucifer singing? In your dreams. “Are you being serious?”

“Of course I am.” He placed the paper on the side table and got into bed with you. He pulled you into his chest, comfortingly rubbing a hand down your back. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t mind. Just no videos.”

#obey me x reader #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me x gn reader #obey me x you #obey me fluff #obey me x gn!mc #obey me x gn!reader #obey me x y/n #obey me #lucifer fluff #lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x reader

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squids-comics · 8 days

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Leon Nightshade: Monster Hunter

Chapter One: Who You Gonna Call?

When he died, Leon Nighshade was a great number of things; a demon slayer, a hero, a monster. But when he first started his foray into the realm of the supernatural he was a mere two things; a wizard, and a con artist. Leon graduated middle of his class from Oakheart Academy for the Magical Arts, specializing in lumancy, the study of light magic. Learning magic was not cheap. Leon sank far into debt. Desperate for a way to earn money while also giving back to the community, Leon became a monster hunter, vowing to protect the world from the sinister creatures lurking in the shadows.

In the weeks that followed, Leon designed posters for his business, hanging them all around his neighbourhood. The posters had Leon front and center, a scrawny man with pale skin and jet-black hair. He held his hand up, positioned like a finger gun, a beam of light shinning from his pointer figure. He smiled and winked. The poster promised protection from goblins, ghouls, ghosts, and all sorts of other creatures one might find lurking in the dark. A phone number at the bottom gave readers a way to contact him.

While Leon had set out with noble intentions, he quickly lost his way. While monsters were rather destructive to those attacked, they were rare enough to become more of an urban legend than anything else. They were the kind of thing brought up and spectacularized, like shark attacks and unsolved crimes, fact getting mixed into rumor. The average civilian knew no more about monsters than what was shown in the latest horror movie. The average monster "expert" wouldn't be able to tell a Husk from a Revenant, even if they had a conversation with it.

Leon quickly became aware of this fact. He would get many calls about ghouls rummaging through trash, only to arrive to the house and find a raccoon nest. Eventually, he gave up and leaned into the supernatural panic around him, making a quick buck in the process. If a client needed pest control, he'd shoo the creatures away (after the client watched him say a holy prayer of course). If an exorcism was requested, he'd use his light magic to perform a lightshow, wowing any onlookers. After about a year of this, he had paid off nearly a tenth of his student debt. The gig paid well, but he was left unfulfilled. He was little more than a fortune teller at a cheap carnival. He was no monster hunter. His life was merely smoke and mirrors. He swore he would give up his cons one day, once his debt was paid off.

But fate had different plans for poor Leon. He gave up his cons one sunny day sitting in his apartment when he answered a phone call.

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

The sun shone brightly in the sky outside Leon's apartment, casting a bright glare on his curtained windows. He sat at his deck in the dark. It was a shaky, shoddy, splintering wooden desk he had bought second hand. It was adorned with all sorts of trinkets: a jar of holy water (water lit by a light underneath), vampire fangs (an altered pair of dentures), a monster embryo (chicken fetus soaking in a jar of formaldehyde), a wooden talisman (a couple twigs bound by twine), and a ritual dagger (a replica from an anime he liked). An antique rotary phone sat amongst the clutter, tall and proud in the swirling sea of worthless baubles. Leon had spent a good bit of money on the phone, but clients that came to his "office" for a "consultation" appreciated the sense of ambiance and legitimacy it brought to his mysterious character.

Leon sat at the desk on an equally shaky wooden chair. His straight black hair fell in curtains around his head. He wore a tan trench coat over a stainless white dress shirt and a fresh pair of jeans. He had an orange Jack-o'-lantern tie proudly displayed on his chest. Most clients appreciated the tie, as it brought levity to what would otherwise be a grim scenario (in their minds at least). Leon was a showman. All he was was a calculated effort to relax clients, and their wallets. He browsed a website on a small laptop, buying digital ad space for his posters.

The phone rang sharply, causing Leon to jump in his seat. Three months he'd had that thing, and he still wasn't used to the noises it made. He carefully lifted the phone off the desk, moving the receiver to his ear.

"Leon Nighshade: Monster Hunter! Guaranteed to guard against ghosts, ghouls, goblins, and anything else that goes bump in the night! You're speaking to Leon! How can I help you?"

Leon had practiced this introduction a million and one times. He had to get it perfect. It had to be quick, concise, and cheerful enough to put the client at ease. Anyone desperate enough to call a monster hunter was a very nervous individual, something Leon had learned from experience. He paused a minute, waiting for the client to stammer out their request for help. They usually needed a minute to compose themselves before they could speak.

"Um... Ok, hi."

They were much too calm to be asking for Leon's help. They were either a skeptic calling with questions, or a prank caller. Leon hated those kinds of clients. They never paid.

"How can I help you today sir?" Leon spoke brightly into the phone, moving the conversation forward through a smile of gritted teeth.

"My name's Steve," The man on the phone spoke. He didn't sound amused by Leon's demeanor. "I'm part of the management team, up at Tulip Row Cemetery. We could use someone with your, err... Expertise?"

"What seems to be the trouble sir?"

"Our nightguard Greg- We had to hire a nightguard, after we found vandalized graves. Uh anyways, Greg came to us freaked out this morning. Said something about a monster stealing the bodies. As I said, we have had reports of disturbed graves, but it's probably just some punk kids playing some sick prank. He refused to come into work today unless we got a "monster hunter" out with him, and you were the first result on the web."

"$500."

"What?!"

"$500. That's my fee."

"Alright fine. But you better catch those good for nothing teens!!"

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

It was late when Leon arrived at the graveyard. The air was quite thick with the scent of early September summer as the sun slowly drifted below the horizon. The graveyard was quite serene, a quaint little place surrounded by a large stone wall, next to an old looking forest. A metal gate stood at the front of the property with an ornate metal sign proudly displaying the words "Tulip Row Cemetery" over a row of engraved tulips. A man in a blue tracksuit stood under the sign, nervously surveying the area.

Leon approached the man. He stepped slowly, as not to spook him, yet strode with the calm confidence he brought to all his cases. The man looked quite alarmed, and more than a little pale. The poor man had obviously had a brush with some particularly nasty teens. Or, maybe, just maybe, he had seen a real monster.

The prospect of finding a real monster, doing some actual good in his community, excited Leon more than he would ever willingly admit. He was sick of conning people. He wanted to make at least some of his money offering a legitimate service. Every job he hoped to encounter a real monster, even if it was only a small one. Each job he left feeling hollow.

"You must be Greg," Leon smirked approaching the guard. "My name's Leon. I'm a monster hunter."

"H-Hi!" Greg spluttered out, jumping slightly at the sound of Leon's voice. He shook slightly with each word he uttered. "Good to see you, Mr. Leon Sir."

"Relax," Leon spoke softly. He placed a hand on Greg to stabilize him. "You're in good hands now."

Greg stopped shaking immediately and seemed to gain a little colour back in his face. Leon was a con man. He knew how to work a clients emotions, how to rig a show. He knew exactly which strings to pull to reassure a client and set their mind at ease. He felt happy the first few times he did this, like he was making a genuine impact, but the feeling quickly faded over time. It felt flat now, devoid of humanity, like a Shakespeare play performed by puppets. However, in some cases of extreme anxiety, Leon still felt a twinge of joy deep in his chest. Leon smiled softly at Greg.

"Now... How about you show me where this monster is?"

"O-of course Leon! follow me."

Greg led Leon through the gate and into the cemetery. Rows of headstones sat, each made of different materials, molded into different shapes and sizes. Some were large slabs of granite layered in beautiful engraved details, while others had meager markers of rotting wood. All the graves were evened out by one unifying marker, a lone tulip planted in front of the headstone, a sign of respect to the dead. While each tulip was seemingly a different colour from the rest, they were practically uniform in every other way. They were all the same size, the same shape. The tulips had all received the same level of care and maintenance. No matter the conditions the person came from, this lone tulip labelled them all equals. The tulips formed a line down each row of graves. Each row of graves was a row of tulips.

The stone wall surrounding the cemetery completely blocked the horizon. Nothing was visible over it, except the towering trees of the forest on the opposite side of the gate. The trees swayed and flowed, their branches blowing on an invisible breeze, blocked from the graveyard by the walls. The movement of the trees was perfectly normal, but the absence of the tactile feeling of wind made it seem abnormal. The way the trees swelled and fell back with seemingly no cause present almost made it look as if they were breathing.

Greg brought Leon to a small grave. It had a small, stone headstone. No tulip was present at this grave, as there was no dirt for it to grow in. The grave had been unearthed, a gaping hole taking it's place. The hole was rough and uneven, rather than uniform and clean. It had been an improvised job, likely done by hand rather than by shovel. The pit stunk with the stench of funeral home preservatives, a pungent odour reminiscent of despair. It reminded one of the grief and loss they faced, like looking through a scrapbook and finding a picture of a relative who passed. It was a foul smell that burned the nose, as if the decay it prevented was being inflicted onto the nose of whoever breathed it in. Leon carefully peered over the edge of the hole. The bottom was covered in shattered, splintered fragments of wood; the coffin that used to contain the body, not opened, but smashed to pieces. Not even the bottom was in tact, it was fully destroyed. A small creature would have smashed the lid to get at the body. Whatever they were dealing with was either large enough to lift the coffin, or not interested in the body contained within. The second option was quickly ruled out by the arrangement of the body on top of the splintered wood. It was arranged in a way such that it would be difficult to even classify it as a body. Ripped flaps of shredded skin lay strewn over the scene. guts and pieces of organs lay discarded on top. All the pieces looked as if they'd been ran through a cheese grater. Whatever retrieved the body had left all the meat behind. It clearly wasn't looking for food. Not a single bone seemed present in the carnage. Perched on top of this mass of entrails was a single tulip. It sat at the bottom of the pit, a bright orange beacon in the darkness, the colour of the sunset. It was crushed, as if it had been stepped on. It's petals flaked off, into the mess beneath.

Small creatures sat in the pit, feasting on the discarded scraps of the corpse that used to be a body. They were human shaped, though no larger than eleven inches tall. They had pale skin, like a corpse with all the blood drained from it. It was stretched thin over their body, showing faint, frail bones underneath, like those of a bird. They had long thin arms, ending in four clawed fingers which they used to pick the flesh apart. They gorged themselves on it, stuffing their faces full. Each bite filled their mouth and was swallowed in less than a second. They feasted on bite after bite, pausing only to swallow. Two little slits in their face resided over their preoccupied mouths, twitching with anticipation as each new morsel of food was scooped off the ground. They had big, bulbous black eyes, like the kind you'd see on a seal. The eyes reflected what little light was present in the pit, like a cat's eyes in the dark. The eyes were sunken into their head, making them look almost like the eyeholes on a skull.

Leon's eyes lit up at the sight of these creatures. Real monsters! He would actually be able to provide a legitimate service for once!

Greg very much did not like them. The sight of them brought back his intense panic.

"W-w-what are those things?" Greg whispered. He only moved his mouth, scared anything else would draw their attention.

"Ghouls," Leon whispered back, matching Greg's energy.

"G-ghouls?"

"They're small nocturnal scavengers that eat dead flesh. Some say they're the souls of the damned, reincarnated in physical form. It's not out of the ordinary to find them in a place like this. And don't worry, they're not dangerous unless they're in a large pack. Watch this!"

Leon stepped closer to the edge and lifted his hand up, pointing his finger down at one of the ghouls. A light seemed to emanate from his finger, starting from the base and slowly crawling towards the tip. His finger nail began to glow. The light externalized, manifesting itself in a small ball on the tip of his finger. The ball cast a faint ray of light down into the pit, like the beam of a weak flashlight with dying batteries. The light continued growing brighter and brighter as it charged. The ghouls noticed the faint rays shining down on them and quickly looked up, hissing at Leon like cats. The ball exploded forward, flying like an arrow of light, a fast bright laser blast. It hit one of the three ghouls in the head, burning a hole right through it. The ghoul hit the floor of the pit, dead. The other two ran, abandoning their meals, using their claws to burrow into the loose dirt of the walls of the pit.

"See?" Leon spoke, a grin spread on his face. "They're no problem at all! I'll just blast a few more and things should be good to go around here!"

"That's not what I saw yesterday," Greg muttered, still spooked.

"Well what did you see?"

"I- I don't know. It was white... White like they are. But bigger. Much, much bigger. The ground shook when it walked. I thought I was a goner. I ran and hid in the mausoleum over there. But it seemed to have come from the forest. I felt it stomp off that way as the sun came up."

Leon looked towards the forest in the distance. The trees stood tall, towering into the night. Their thick leaves blocked out the sky, hiding the night's star and moonlight. They continued dancing in the invisible breeze as if taunting Leon, daring him to come closer.

Something stirred in the pit of Leon's stomach as he looked out. For the first time in his career as a monster hunter, Leon felt fear. Something spooked Greg, something big. It wasn't troubled teens or ghouls, it couldn't have been. It had to be something bigger, something deadlier. Something waiting for him. Something waiting out there. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking into the den of some great beast. It felt like the kind of thing you could enter but never leave, not as the same person at least. Leon did his best to swallow his fears and turned to face Greg with a shallow, forced grin.

"Alright then, lets go check it out."

The two marched forwards towards the forest, like moths drawn to a flame.

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techqanswerdotin · 1 year

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Realme V23i 5G launched, know the price, features and specifications of this cheap 5G phone

Highlights Realme V23i 5G has been launched in China. This phone has 4 GB RAM + 128 GB storage. Reality V23i 5G phone works on MediaTek Dimensity 700 chipset. Realme V23i 5G Price is close to 16 thousand. Realme V23i Launch: Realme company has launched a new smartphone Realme V23i, expanding its ‘V’ series on the tech platform. It is a mid budget mobile phone equipped with specifications like…

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#Cheap #features #launched #phone #price #Realme #specifications #V23i

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gatitties · 2 years

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Nightmares

─ Dbd x gn!teen!reader

─ Summary: you share your worst fears with Quentin in a nightmare night

─ Warnings: none

5 < 6 > 7

You got up suddenly, throwing off the poor sheets that covered you from the cold of the forest, drops of sweat ran down your forehead, you relaxed your erratic breathing with the passing of the minutes while you looked at nothing trying to relax your tense muscles due to a nightmare. Your worst nightmare. You got rid of the thoughts, not wanting to go back to sleep in case that thing came back to haunt your dreams. No, unfortunately it wasn't Freddy, but you'd rather find a singed baldhead than anything else.

You found yourself sitting by the campfire alone with a few stragglers who had messed up schedules or didn't know when it was day or night, not like there was much of a difference in this place either. Quentin was the one who barely left the campfire, despite having his own cabin to sleep in, the light, the fire and the people ─although they didn't speak─ they transmitted to him the tranquility that sleep could not give him due to the fear of being trapped in another nightmare with Krueger.

He seemed to notice how you bounced your leg against the ground repeatedly with anxiety, almost as if he perceived the bad habits that having a nightmare entailed, it was not so rare to see you there at 'night' because your schedules were anything but regular. Glancing over at the others, he didn't see much movement from Bill, who just smoked in silence perhaps remembering old battles. Zarina seemed in her own world and didn't get much chance to talk to her, and Yun-Jin Lee hadn't made a lot of friends at the moment, so Quentin just decided to approach you because he was bored to death and didn't want to end up falling asleep.

"Bad dream?"

"Do I have such a bad face?"

He shrugged his shoulders, clarifying that he knew how to detect people who simply didn't sleep well, whether due to nightmares or postures, it didn't matter, he was like a detector of bad habits when it came to having a good dream.

You got into some small talk about nonsense, Quentin was one of the younger ones and he sort of understood your impulsive and reckless behavior, the only thing he didn't understand was all those weird memes, despite being from a different time not so far from your time he couldn't understanding how a picture of a muscular dog was funny. He was very appreciative that from time to time you lent him your phone to let him listen to some music, of course it was more entertaining than listening to repeated conversations in the camp or the sound of crows.

At a certain point in the night you started to talk about nightmares, you were a morbid and curious shit, although you unearthed some traumas of the poor boy you were fascinated to hear Freddy's murderous ways.

"And on top of that he made it look like a suicide! At least I know in this realm he can't kill me, umh... not permanently or in dreams, I wish I could rest better, anyway, it's not fair that I'm digging up shitty memories, why don't you tell me about your nightmare? Sometimes it helps to talk about those things, you know?"

"Of course I know, Quentin, paying a monthly psychologist isn't exactly cheap, but it's just... it's so terrifying! It's like that thing haunts me even when I'm awake."

You looked down, intertwining your fingers, your eyes closing for a moment as you felt a hand on your shoulder letting you know that he would be there to support you with any of your dream problems.

"Come on, I've told you a lot of murders of my friends, what could be worse than that?"

"Many things..."

"For example?"

"Being canceled on Twitter."

"Wha- Okay, let's focus on your nightmare, what exactly was going on?"

"Well... let me remember..."

You closed your eyes again, rubbing your temples as if that might bring you back to unconsciousness. You immediately remembered some scenes, a knife stuck in the door of your cabin, a green shape stalking you with big eyes on you, silently judging you as if you had forgotten something.

"My God! I remember now! Th-that thing... it haunted me in my dreams because I skipped my Spanish lesson."

"It's... Is someone chasing you in your dreams for not having attended your Spanish class? Really?"

"It's not that simple-"

Your sentence was cut off due to a 'ping' coming from your phone, you paled at the Green Owl's notification, 'Hi! It's Duo' read no more getting rid of the notification knowing you had skipped a day of your lessons. Quentin squinted at the screen over your shoulder, shook his head in disbelief, grabbing your phone to see what the hell that app was.

"Hey don't use the app, it's the devil! Once you use it you will be cursed."

"It's just a dumb app to learn languages, I don't think it's as bad as facing a murderer who killed all your friends."

"Poor naive... don't say I didn't warn you."

You whispered when you saw how a new lesson of words related to the family began, it was the downfall for Quentin, now he would have two monsters knocking on the door of his dreams, one worse than the other.

Quentin seemed quite entertaining the first few days, but after a few weeks it was quite repetitive, so he stopped asking for your cell phone to focus on other things than his Spanish lessons. Oh poor boy, you met him again another night where you just couldn't sleep and went to the campfire, having hardly anyone decided to sit like a straggler, imitating Jake. Until the boy jumped in front of you with his face full of sweat and pale.

"That damn bird won't stop chasing me while yelling at me 'Spanish or Vanish!' It's worse than I imagined, you have to help me, I was starting to get over Freddy and now this-!"

You put your hands on his shoulders to calm him, you sat him down and stroked his head as it rested on your shoulder, he clung to your arm as if the owl was going to come out from behind any tree to stab him for getting a word wrong.

"It will take a while, but it will go away eventually, for now, bienvenido al grupo, amigo. ¹

"Should I be scared to have understood that?"

"Yeah."

¹ Welcome to the group, friend.

#dbd x reader #dbd #teen reader #platonic reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #killersxreader #survivorsxreader #platonic #reader insert #quentin #quentin smith

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blueelectricroom · 1 year

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Coming up on a quarter of a century ago I had the great joy of interviewing Burt Bacharach for Black & White. This was on the tail end of his 1999 South American tour and a couple of weeks before the Birmingham show.

Still can't believe how generous he was with his time, and it cracks me up that, while I have most of his music in my very DNA, I can't hear any of those iconic tunes without thinking of what Bacharach's kitchen prep sounded like. Here's the chat from November of 1999.

What’s New, Bacharach?

It’s 11:30 a.m. in Los Angeles at Burt Bacharach’s house, and judging from sounds picked up by the speaker phone, he’s rambling around trying to put some kind of breakfast or brunch together. He arrived last night from a tour in Argentina, and in his own words, he’s “kind of whacked.” Nonetheless, his conversational tone is as bright and pleasant as…well, a Bacharach tune, with a kind of stop-start inflection that keeps one guessing if more words are to follow.

“Hold on a second, don’t go anywhere”, he says before going after what sounds like more ice. A full minute later, “Are you there? Okay, good.”

Black & White: Let’s talk about your youth, specifically that time when music first began making a deep impression on you.

Burt Bacharach: 52nd Street. The jazz club scene, without question. In the late ’40s, when I’m a teenager seeing Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, those guys. I was hooked. I got caught up in what they were doing in terms of, first of all, the excitement and stirring quality of the music, but technically speaking those artists were inventing possibilities. Not merely new songs, but new sounds.

B&W: Considering the tremendous transitions in popular music from 1946 to 1966, your music seems to fall somewhere between the American songbook, Tin Pan Alley tradition, and the less mainstream realm of sophisticated time signatures, chord shifts, and other elements of the jazz sound that impressed you so much.

Bacharach: Elements. That’s a good point. Yes, I’m sure my influences, in terms of composition, come from that, but I was also profoundly impressed, in my music studies, with Ravel and Debussy. I was intrigued very early by that music. If you want to say my songs are sophisticated, I have to credit those influences. I see what you mean by tremendous range, that’s one of the best aspects of late popular music, but you really don’t have to cover a span of 20 years. Just start with Harry James and move to Charlie Parker and you have a tremendous shift in music.

B&W: It seems that the odds would be against a songwriter, such as yourself, using complicated elements to make popular music or hit songs.

Bacharach: [laughing] Are my songs complicated?

B&W: I’ll put it in terms of a paradox: keeping time with “This Boy’s In Love,” or “I’ll Never Fall in Love Again” is a challenge. They are tricky songs, you must admit. Yet for those of us growing up in the ’60s and ’70s, your music was ubiquitous, a new song every 3 or 4 months, each with a melody that is now instantly recognized and adored.

Bacharach: Well, I certainly don’t try to make things difficult for the listener. [laughing] Sorry about that. You’ll have to admit, on the other hand, that I’m not writing anything now nearly as—let’s say complex—as “Promises, Promises.” But all along I was just trying to stay with what pleased me, what I thought sounded good. More importantly, I have always written what I was comfortable with, which meant staying with certain musical values; I wasn’t deliberately trying to be “sophisticated.” But you don’t want to write cheap, you know? It’s like being involved with a person really, when you create a song. You want to get up the next day or the next week and feel good about yourself. If a certain phrasing or 7/8 chord sounds good, I think you have to stay with it. You don’t try to anticipate what the public will like. You stay with the values.

B&W: There is another paradox in many of your songs: those infectious, upbeat melodies are accompanied by lyrics that convey poignancy or even melancholy. These songs are mindful of the pitfalls of romance, the tension involved.

Bacharach: Well, I think when you can get something like that going, that contrast, and you can put a meaningful story there, that’s what you’re after. Hal [Hal David, longtime Bacharach collaborator] is great lyric writer. He has a terrific way of taking care of certain notes, matching the right vowel with a high note, you know what I mean? A love song deals with the heart, and so with that passion everything is heightened, “I’m gonna live forever”; “each day I’m falling more in love,” that sort of feeling. We have a lot of songs like that, I think “Anyone Who Had a Heart” gets those ideas across.

B&W: Have you ever been surprised by a particular interpretation?

Bacharach: [laughing] There have been all kind of surprises. One record that I love, really love, that’s kind of different from the way I wrote it, is Aretha Franklin doing “Say a Little Prayer.” Oh, it’s brilliant. And a surprise, certainly.

B&W: What kind of music are you most likely to listen to today?

Bacharach: Brazilian music. We just finished a South American tour; that may be why. But really it’s a kind of music from which I’ve always derived a lot of pleasure. When I worked with Sergio Mendes, and he’s great, Sergio’s wonderful; I enjoyed Brazil so much.

B&W: You are also enjoying a new generation of fans right now. Elvis Costello, Michael Myers, and the electronica and lounge-core crowds seem universally to admire your music.

Bacharach: I think it’s great; you can’t plan that. It’s gratifying. These kids weren’t even born when this music was first recorded. It’s not a revival, they’re hearing it for the first time. I was just so pleased that Michael Myers wanted me to be a part of the Austin Powers movies. Great guy. He’s brilliant and hilarious. Very quick. In those two scenes in those pictures, I was just laughing and smiling through the entire shot. I wasn’t acting; I found it all just too much.

B&W: Has there been a moment at which you thought to yourself, “Wow, I’ve written the soundtrack to a good portion of the 20th century?”

Bacharach: Actually, no, I’ve never said that to myself. I don’t think I will. I’m approached sometimes with compliments like that, people who talk in terms of my contribution to popular music, and it is certainly flattering. I’m very uneasy with that kind of idea, though. I’m extremely happy to do what I do for so long, with so much success, but I just can’t look at it in those terms. Having a show go well, I mean, giving a good performance is much more appealing to me.

B&W: From where you’re standing, do you know the way to San Jose?

Bacharach: Ha! Oh gosh. Well, you know I have found my own way there a couple of times. I worked with the symphony and it’s a really nice town. For specific directions, I think you’d have to ask Hal David.

#burt bacharach

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wonder-in-wings · 11 months

Text

Hemophilia

TIMING: Present LOCATION: Natural History Museum PARTIES: Inge (@nightmaretist) and Parker (@wonder-in-wings) SUMMARY: Inge goes to the bug exhibit for inspiration on fear. When she gets a cut, however, Parker finds inspiration in her mare blood. CONTENT WARNINGS: None (It's glitter powder blood)

Though Inge certainly preferred museums of art (classical, modern, photography, whatever — no discrimination there), there was something to be said for these types of museums too. There was inspiration to be found here, on top of the information, though Inge cared little for the former. She wanted to see the bugs up close, their leathery wings and shiny scales and whatever teeth-like features they brandished. Google Images just wasn’t the same.

Maybe insects were a cheap trick, in the realm of professional-scare-inducers, but some nights required an easy meal. Humans ordered in when they were too lazy to cook and Inge? Well, she just went the basic route with nightmares sometimes. Hordes of flies. Beetles (insects) crawling over beetles (cars) and then over people. Swirling, squirming maggots. It was easy, effective and still allowed some creativity.

So here she was, at the beginning of the evening, parading the halls of the natural history museum. Inge didn’t read the plaques, most of the time, but she was interested in learning more. It was with that motivation that she approached one of the employees, offering a polite smile and reading his name on his name-plate. “Good evening … Parker, I’ve been really enjoying the things you have out here on display,” she said, waving her leaflet as she spoke. She hadn’t really cracked that open, either. She’d been busy taking close-up pictures. God bless the modern mobile phone camera and its zoom function! “I just had a silly little question, if you don’t mind?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Which of these little critters freaks people out most? Some of them are real-scary looking, so you know … Is it the spiders?” _____________ Parker checked his watch again - normally he had a rather high capacity for patience when it came to answering the same four questions about the same three species of insect people were either interested in or disgusted by (or at least that’s what he thought but then again, he was the curator so they had to deal with his quirks) but today he was eager to get home where a new acquisition to add to his collection was waiting for him to arrange fashionably in a display. He got them last night but was pressed for time, knowing he had another day at this place so he begrudgingly set what he wanted to do aside. Maybe he should get back into selling. He had an excess of certain pieces and it wasn’t particularly hard for him to obtain more - the idiots and the more affluent enjoyed his art and often paid a pretty penny for them. If he sold more, then he wouldn’t have to worry about this job. That was a question for future Parker, however, and today he stood diligently, having paused in front of one of the immaculately-displayed cases when he was approached by a woman. Usually questions were asked by children and sometimes by their parents if the child was too flustered or embarrassed to ask but he supposed it wasn’t out of the ordinary considering they were on the turn of the hour and fewer families came by the museum as the day drew to a close. So when she approached and he heard his strangely-millennial name come out of her mouth (he really did need to get an adjusted name tag that said “Mr. Wright”), Parker instinctively turned his head so he could hear her to the best of his ability. Ah, the tried-and-true question of ‘which one’s the scariest’. The man inhaled as he let the question sit for a few moments before he straightened up and glanced down to regard her with his blue-eyed stare. “Spiders are the most common fear, yes ma’am.” He placed his hands behind his back and he looked around slowly. “Arachnophobia is one of the more commonly known phobias, affecting anywhere from three to about 15 percent of the population.” He explained. “Half the time it’s because of the legs, the other half of the time it’s from the trauma of being bitten. “A less common and often-underrated one is the centipede.” Parker continued, nodding to a passing display that held several of the long, wormlike creatures. “There are ants, people are often afraid of the sting of a wasp or a bee. However,” He stopped in front of a large, glass tank that had very alive beetles in it that seemed to be tearing the flesh from a large bone that sat in the center of the tank. “Any insect in motion has the potential to frighten.” He looked sideways at her. “Dermestidae. Skin beetles.” _____________ There had been a time, once, where Inge had been afraid of spiders. She would screech her husband’s name and demand he show up with any kind of insect-proof weapon (magazine, broom, hoover, his broad hand). Hendrik had liked playing the savior, had liked his wife in a position where she needed her help and Inge? She had been so easily frightened then, as a mortal.

Four decades of undead life had passed, though, and she’d been haunted by nightmares and plagued others with them in return. She had steeled herself, had made herself a creature that didn’t feel afraid any more out of sheer determination to not be afraid. Desentization was easy when you could create terrifying visions beyond most people’s imaginations. Insects were nothing but friendly creatures that crawled and creeped. Mosquitos didn’t even bite her any more these days.

She wondered if he was bored of the questions. Inge didn’t think herself a boring person but maybe there was something dull about fearing insects. Why fear something smaller than you, after all? Still, she couldn’t judge too harshly: she had certainly left a few people with arachnophobia in her insect-era. These days she preferred haunting people with birds, but maybe for nostalgia’s sake this trip could inspire her to return to some of her more vintage dreams. “Such a large percentage for such harmless creatures, don’t you think?”

She hummed in thought, staring at the multi-legged critters with great interest. The way they moved was a bit trippy, wasn’t it? Of course, these dead ones left little to the imagination. But then there were these beetles, eating the flesh off a bone. Inge leaned closer. “Dermestidae …” The term felt a little foreign in her mouth, and the name skin beetles was certainly one she appreciated more. “They eat flesh?” Now that was inspirational. She narrowed her eyes a little, taking in the display, the meal shared between a bunch of tiny creatures. Something about it was quite beautiful. “Gorgeous.” She stepped back, opening her pamphlet to try and find the creatures in there. Lost in thought, she forgot to be careful about it and as she flipped through, the palm of her hand slid over the paper. Surprisingly sharp, it cut down, producing a minor wound that did not produce red blood, but rather a glint of powdery glitter. _____________ “They do.” Parker replied first as he leaned in. “Dead flesh.” He normally included that part in his initial explanation but since she was looking for creepy crawlies, he opted to leave it ambiguous for a moment. “They’re used in forensic entomology and taxidermy since they’re so proficient at cleaning bones. We have them here for taxidermy.” He explained as he continued to stare at the horde of beetles, unaware that they were being admired for something that was programmed into them; it was just nature, fascinating in its simplicity. To have such a purpose and be recognized for it, but not with pride, instead simply because it’s what you do. It took him perhaps a little longer than the average person to consider that usually fully grown women didn’t appreciate things like spiders and flesh-eating beetles and Parker straightened up once more, wrenching his gaze off the beetles and looking over to her when he caught something shimmering in her hand. He raised an eyebrow, his face unamused. “What happened, did you spill your lip gloss?” He asked dryly, assuming she opened something and got the material on her palm. Nonetheless, he sighed and reached into his back pocket, pulling out an embroidered handkerchief and offering it to her. “I don’t recommend getting whatever it is on my display, if you please.”

Only dead flesh. A mild disappointment, but Inge wasn’t bound by the limits of the natural world when she was moving things around in people’s dreams. She didn’t comment on it though, too occupied with the newly gained cut on her hand and the liability her lack of blood was. It was so easy to pass as human most of the time, especially with her memory of being a mere mortal so fresh in her mind. But her flesh split as easily and the glittering substance that pushed through her veins spilled just the same. She clutched her hand close, wincing at the pressure.

“No,” she muttered, feeling the bits of energy push against her fingers. Why she didn’t say yes at his question was beyond her, as it could be a good excuse — but this was a strange moment, and his tone grated her. As if she’d be fixing her lipgloss right here and now, as ants devoured the flesh of a bone! She had more depth than that. “Oh, don’t worry. Nothing to spill or stain anything here. You must’ve just caught a glance of my nailpolish.” Her nails were painted a dark blue, with not a glitter in sight. Inge looked at the handkerchief and she shook her head as she kept her hand tightly wrapped close, “No need, really! Very kind of you though.” _____________ She didn’t take his offer. Parker’s brow furrowed as he tilted his head slightly to examine her nails, which were indeed dark blue and non-glittery. He wasn’t COMPLETELY ignorant to body language, however, and her facial expression mixed with how she kept her hand closed, he wondered if, for a moment, she had accidentally shattered something in her hand. “Did you hurt yourself?” He asked, his tone lacking empathy or even curiosity and it gave the impression that Parker asked out of obligation instead of intrigue. “If you got glass in your skin, you obviously know that’s not good. Let me see.” It was less of an offer and more of an instruction as he held his own hand out to take hers in it after he stowed the handkerchief back in its familiar pocket. _____________ She was usually more careful, but who could have anticipated that a stupid museum pamphlet could have done this kind of damage? It wasn’t a large wound, but it was one all the same and if Inge was to spread her fingers this Parker would see not a mess of blood but something else instead. She looked at him, trying to gauge his tone and how strange it would be for her to simply walk off, turn a corner or two and escape onto the plane.

“No, I’m fine.” His tone was insistent, though, and Inge curled her hand tighter, some bits of glitter spilling through. She pulled it to her chest, where it rested with its knuckles facing him. Curious people were so very annoying sometimes. “Why would there be glass in my skin? Continue telling me about the bugs, please.” _____________ It wasn’t relegated to her hand anymore as he noticed some more of the fine glittery substance sparkling in the light of the display as it floated to the ground. His furrow increased and he found himself starting to get irritated with her display of coyness - either she was trying to elicit further curiosity from him about what she was insistent on hiding away from view or downplaying the severity of something that suddenly transpired when he wasn’t looking. “I don’t know why there’d be glass in your skin unless you did something to warrant glass in your skin.” Parker replied curtly, the answer seeming obvious. He even pushed aside her wanting him to tell her more about his beloved specimens; if she wanted curiosity, he would oblige. Without asking again or for permission and in a highly controlled movement, Parker’s hand reached her arm and his fingers wrapped themselves around her thin wrist. As he did so, he heard his mother scolding him in his head, about how he shouldn’t ever lay his hands on a woman but that’s all it was, a voice in his head. She was hiding something from him and getting glitter on his floor and while it wasn’t his intention to hurt her, his drive for answers (and possibly to override her passing off a potentially serious injury) overrode his chivalry. Firmly but not roughly, he both pulled her hand to him and took a step to close the space between them and his blue eyes scanned her fingers, his other hand gently starting to force the balled fist to open up. “What… is this?” He breathed as her hand was unclenched and he saw a thin line in her flesh where it seemed as though she acquired a laceration of some sort but there wasn’t any blood. Instead was more of the fine, glittery powder that positively covered her hand as though it were blood. Parker stared at the stuff, his expression softening as it was clear that it went from irritated to intrigued, almost enamored. “What is this?” He repeated his question as his eyes danced on her hand. _____________ This took her by surprise. Ingeborg had expected that social rules and conventions would simply keep Parker from pushing further. If she didn’t want to show her hand (both literally and figuratively), he’d surely let it be — that was what normal people did, after all. But here he was, skillfully taking her wrist and pulling her close. She protested, “Hey, what the fuck,” and her eyes widened as she tugged without avail. Not that she tugged especially hard, not wanting to kickstart a fight with a man who was quite obviously stronger than her. Inge fought best by manipulation, putting people to sleep and not-fighting.

“Stop that,” she said, voice as firm as her touch, but he was pigheaded and determined. A typical man, she thought, and she struggled with her blue nails against his own presumably dry fingers. He probably didn’t even moisturize. Despite her resistance her fingers were forced open, the cut on her hand apparent as well as the glitter that fell to the floor. Inge let her hand grow slack and watched his facial expression change. He didn’t respond as a slayer might (which had somewhat become a nagging background fear of hers, the other’s insistence ringing paranoid bells) which was good, but it was strange. Off-putting, if she wasn’t the type to be intrigued by strange things too.

As he stared at her hand, she pulled it from his grasp, pushing forward and pressing her index finger against his chest. “That was very rude,” she snapped, glittery powder sticking to his clothing. “And not at all how one is supposed to treat their patrons.” With that out of the way, Inge considered his question and what answer to give. Most people wouldn’t believe him if she told the truth and any lie would be obvious. She went for condescension and blame, “This is the result of the paper choice of your pamphlets. You need softer paper.” _____________ He had gotten a nice, solid look at whatever it was on the woman’s hand before she pulled away, predictably upset though he didn’t exactly come out of the exchange without some latent annoyance of his own as he glanced down and saw some of the shimmery residue on his neat outfit when she pushed him back, looking like an obnoxious child approached him and rubbed a birthday card across his stomach. “It’s not my choice of paper for the pamphlet.” Parker replied simply, now holding up one of his own hands that had some of the stuff on it, his brow furrowed with questions. “You know what else is rude?” Parker’s gaze snapped back to her, or rather, her hand. “Getting whatever this is on me.” He glanced up at the camera that lingered in the corner of the room for a moment before he casually and expertly took a few steps over so that he was obstructing her from its view. “If you aren’t going to bleed normally, nonhuman, I recommend exercising caution when you do things.” He whispered, his head turning slightly as he spoke to anticipate her response in equal measure of tone. “That’s what this is, right?” He took a guess, considering she had an obvious cut on her palm but if it WAS blood, it was certainly nonstandard and she didn’t seem like a magician, otherwise she would’ve been more showy with her performance. _____________ This was disastrous, but certainly not the most disastrous situation Inge had gotten herself into. As life was lived with whimsy and little consideration for consequence, it happened more often than she liked to admit that she got in some kind of trouble. She’d feed off hunters, mess with people’s dreams so much that they’d figure out who she was in the waking world, show up to a funeral with all her family present without looking like she’d aged a day since her divorce three decades ago. Subtlety was an art for cowards, she found. Besides, most of the time humans were stupid enough to believe that they had misread a situation or seen something wrong — their denial of anything supernatural existing was stronger than some of the proof they were faced with. Not in this case, though, which was disconcerting. Intriguing, if not unsettling.

“It wouldn’t be on you if you hadn’t manhandled me like that,” she bristled in return, not bothering too much now with trying to stop the bleeding. The cut wasn’t too deep, and she was much more focused on this very strange individual. She groaned, clearly annoyed, “Gee thanks, old man. Your obvious advice will be taken into account. Most people would just have left me to my devices, so I was perfectly cautious. I didn’t expect this museum’s staff to be so very inconsiderate of normal human boundaries.” Inge narrowed her eyes, considering her options. “I take offense to you not calling my bleeding normal. But sure. Nonhuman. Sure.” What was he, though, to know that there was even such a thing as nonhuman-yet-human-appearing creatures out there? Inge wasn’t an insect, so she was hardly his field of study. _____________ “You didn’t just show me.” Parker replied, his tone taking that familiar hint of irritability to it, almost as though they were bickering about whose job it was to do the dishes and they weren’t complete strangers, one of which was bleeding glitter and the other admittedly broke the rules and placed his hands on a museum-goer. “If you had just shown me, we might not be in this situation.” He cast a brief glance to the floor. “You’re getting glitter everywhere.” He stared at her once more, his gaze narrowing and he had a thought that went through his mind. He ignored her comments about being old, as well as the comment about his nonstandard treatment of her. “Okay so if it’s normal bleeding then what are you.” Parker rubbed two of his fingers together, feeling the powdery texture of the shimmery solid. He wanted to smell it but even he knew better and instead just examined it closely. “You aren’t fae, that’s for sure. “Actually… I don’t need to know. You don’t have to tell me, though I’d like to know.” He looked down at her past his hand. “I’m willing to compensate you for a vial of this.” It was true; he’d never seen it before but it fascinated him, as did most things he didn’t know about involving the supernatural. Was she one-of-a-kind? She mentioned that it wasn’t abnormal so perhaps it was common with whatever species she was. Either way, he was willing to pay her to obtain some. _____________ “You should really be better at respecting someone’s personal boundaries. Especially when you’re at work. It’s very concerning, you know? What if I went to your manager about it?” She wouldn’t, considering she had just had something exposed herself that she’d rather keep somewhat quiet. Inge glanced down at the steady drizzle of glitter on the floor. She made a point of flexing her fingers so the cut widened, making more glitter drop down. It clearly bothered him and he bothered her, so it seemed only fair. “Oops.”

She wondered what this Parker was, with his seemingly shallow knowledge of the supernatural and his incessant, annoying curiosity. She grimaced at his questions, sending it right back at him, “What are you?” Maybe he was a spellcaster. Ingeborg had encountered one before, who’d been after her blood. But there had been no show of magic, nothing to insinuate that he had any supernatural power to wield over her.

But he was a collector. She looked at him with confused intrigue, raising an eyebrow. “You just want me to give you my blood for money? Sketchy. Really fucking sketchy.” She wasn’t sure if mareblood contained DNA, but if it did she wasn’t going to give it to a stranger. Never mind that she was dripping it all over the floor of the museum he worked at and that if he was really desperate, he could try and sweep it up. Inge pressed the palm of her hand against her side, refusing to offer any more of her blood. “Why? What will you do with it? No, really, what are you?” _____________ She certainly wasn’t afraid of him, despite her empty threats about going to his manager and he pursed his lips as her miniature shower of powder sprinkled down from her hand, like the dust from pixies he’d encountered on more than one occasion before. Mischievous. Messy. She did it to bother him. “I’m a collector,” Parker replied simply at first, now trying to distract himself by looking down at the powder on his jacket once more, studying it, trying to get a feel for its consistency and how difficult it would be to remove from it. The hunter knew that that wasn’t what she was asking though. Her skin wasn’t warm but her existence didn’t instinctively turn his blood over in his veins so either she was incredibly skilled at hiding her being a fae or, the much more likely option, she wasn’t a fae as he initially surmised. Parker then wondered, as he picked flecks of powder off him with a measure of futility though the repetitive action gave him a semblance of control, if he should tell the woman what he was aside from a collector. “I’m a Warden.” He ultimately decided that he wasn’t afraid of her, nor were either of them in a position to make a scene. “And I have no interest in doing anything with your blood aside from putting it in an aesthetically-pleasing bottle and setting it on my shelf.” He raised an eyebrow and slowly looked at her again with his blue-eyed stare. “I understand my request is unusual but I hold respect and admiration for beautiful things and this…” Parker stooped slightly, cupping his hand just under hers and catching some of the glimmery powder in his palm. “Is beautiful.” _____________ A collector. She wanted to open her mouth, ask for more details, but it seemed he was coming to a point. As if the truth was something valuable to give away — and it often was, wasn’t it? It was in this shadowy side of the world, anyway, where people who looked like human weren’t that and had to omit parts of their identities. When the shoe fell and he revealed himself to be a warden, Inge fought the urge to take a step back. Wardens weren’t slayers, but they were hunters all the same. And though she hadn’t deep ties to fae community, there was still the principle of it all. “A fucking hunter.” There were too many here.

But he went on to talk, did not produce a knife or an ax or anything else sharp enough to undo her head from her shoulders. No salt, either. He was so calm, so intrigued, and though Ingeborg would not be caught undead trusting a hunter there seemed to be little maliciousness here. He didn’t even touch her to keep her grounded, an escape route still at her disposal if she wanted to take the coward’s way out. The threat wasn’t high yet. No blades were drawn, and as the papercut on her hand continued to drizzle he just cupped his hand. Called it beautiful.

What a strange man. Inge hadn’t many individuals who considered the nature of a mare beautiful. Sanne and her had reveled in it, watching their skin shine under the bright summer sun, staring in each other’s red glowing eyes, meeting each other in the plane before landing. She thought it beautiful, what she was, but so many disagreed — from the cowering mortals to all those other hunters, the ones with knives and axes and whatnot. “Why collect? I understand the appreciation, but it doesn’t befit a hunter.” Now she was interested too, looking down at the stooping hunter. “I agree. It’s beautiful, but your ilk? Your kind? They’d prefer to spill as much of this as possible. Not put it on their personal display.” Her hand retracted. “So, what’s your deal?” _____________ It was Parker’s turn not to display his fear of her, not knowing what she was but having enough confidence in his own skills that he could probably stave her off if she wanted to attack as he placed himself in a vulnerable position before her. He figured that his behavior was passive enough that she would get the impression that he didn’t want to fight, which wasn’t untrue; indeed, no matter where he went and evidently how he asked for the acquisition of materials and collectibles, he gave people the impression that he was a murderer. “I’d prefer not to be painted with the same brush as other hunters.” He explained as he straightened back up when she pulled her hand away. “I collect because I hold appreciation for beauty.” Parker repeated, answering the question as though it were obvious. He looked down at the powder in his hand, moving lightly as though it were liquid but it was solid and still glittering in the light. It seemed almost as though it were the smoke from liquid nitrogen. “I’ve never encountered someone like you before and you aren’t actively hurting anyone so I’ve no need to stop you.” He tilted his head ever-so-slightly, his blue eyes dancing on the glinting in his palm. “Fighting and violence tend to lessen the quality of the body and its properties.” He paused. “And it’s a waste of blood.” He looked at her again. “And most importantly, I don’t make deals.” He made sure to emphasize this as he finished his miniature explanation. Though he wouldn’t say it and it wasn’t any of his business at the moment, he also hoped she didn’t say that often with other people; deals were dangerous, though she probably didn’t know that. _____________ Why should she extend that kind of courtesy to a hunter when they never did to those they hunted? They got out their weapons and committed their violence compulsively, as if they had nothing else to do in their boring, shitty lives. As Inge stared at the hunter and laughed at his stupid demand, she wondered where she should go next. This town was getting ridiculous. Too many God damned hunters, and here was one more who knew her face. “I hope you get how ironic that request is,” she said, head shaking as if she was amused. She wasn’t, though: she was just really bitter.

While some of the things he was saying were intriguing, there was that typical hunter entitlement — she wasn’t hurting anyone so he didn’t have to hurt her. They, and their damned monopoly on violence! Ingeborg rolled her eyes. “How lucky I am, that you’re not stopping me.” But the fact that he didn’t know what she was might be a good sign, as she thought it lowered the risk he posed. She had no intention of letting him in on what she actually was.

Her head turned, taking him in. A strange little man, but intriguing. “What else do you collect?” He was a warden, so were his shelves lined with the blood of fae? Inge could understand an appreciation for beauty with her background in art. What was beautiful to her was ugly to plenty of others, though, but she had a feeling Parker's tastes weren't conventional either. ”Will you show me? If I'm going to offer my blood to you then I want to know what collection I'll be a part of.” _____________ The woman laughed. He didn’t blame her; he couldn’t hear some of the things she said very well but he could recognize the sense of superiority in her tone - so many of them, especially fae, felt as though they were above humans because of their abilities, their natures, their extended lifespans and habits. The woman who stood before him, bleeding glitter from her palm, didn’t seem to be an exception the way she bristled at his inquiries, refusing to answer his question about what she was even though he said she didn’t have to answer. Parker supposed that was a good thing, that way he was already accustomed to the disappointment of beating around the bush. But her derogatory comments, while not explicitly bothering him, did have him asking questions that he would evidently have to find answers for elsewhere. When she had asked about what else Parker collected, the taller man looked behind him briefly at the camera once more before turning to regard her once more. He inhaled through his nose, deeply, calmly, his unwavering gaze on her as once more he weighed the positives and negatives of being forward with her. He had been so far and the most retaliation he got was comments about hunters as a whole, not him specifically. “I can show you, if you’d like.” He replied first. It was a gamble and he wasn’t sure if he was willing to take the risk but he could certainly go halfway and show her some of his more specific specimens if she was curious. He had photos. “Tell me what you are and I’ll tell you what I collect.” Parker decided that he couldn’t risk that information, not there, not at that moment in time. His assortment of beautifully-arranged fae wings was truly precious to him and he had long since gotten used to the looks of disgust his fascination earned him, whether it was bugs or fae wings or any other strange thing he acquired from the supernatural. “...It’s not bodies.” _____________ “I thought you said you didn’t make deals,” Inge pointed out calmly, raising her eyebrows. “This sounds an awful lot like a deal.” It wasn’t one she wanted to make, at least not on his terms and with his demands. If a hunter didn’t know anything about mares it ought to remain that way, didn’t it? She could already count two hunters in town who did know, one of which had left a nasty incision on her upper arm which was obstructed from view by her summer dress. If she was to remain in Wicked’s Rest for a while longer, then she would prefer that this Parker wasn’t in the know about her nature.

Because if he knew, perhaps he would decide that she was actively hurting people. And though Ingeborg didn’t like to think of the things she did to others as hurting, she recognized the way it looked to others. Small-minded mortals would never quite be able to grasp it though, wouldn’t they? It wasn’t worth explaining. It would be a waste of breath, even if she was a creature that didn’t require breath.

Luckily her nature didn’t keep her from lying. “But fine. You’ve piqued my curiosity.” The corners of her lips twitched as he said it wasn’t bodies he collected. Inge didn’t think he’d be able to kill her anyway, so it wasn’t her prime concern. They probably had their respective body count, though, but it wasn’t worth discussing. “I’m a kind of succubus. There aren’t a lot of us, as far as I’m aware. I don’t age.” Best not to deny the immortality bit. Inge was already wondering if she ought to have opted for something else, but she was fanciful and thought there was something fun about this one. “Have you ever met a demon before, Parker?” _____________ “I don’t.” He replied quickly and with the same level of assertion that he had used before. “I’m proposing an exchange.” Parker didn’t expect that this non-fae would be able to recognize the difference, even if the difference was literal wording. The fae played games, assumed people were too stupid to know better and, of course, tended to take things very literally. Fae word games were never one of Parker’s weaknesses, as he also tended to take things very literally. That was neither here nor there though and as the curator kept glancing down at the powder in his hand when, at long last, she answered his question. Parker’s blue eyes flickered to her face, dancing over her features as though trying to see if there was a nonverbal indicator that she was lying - it had gotten easier over the years to tell when a fae was, as their reactions were immediate and often instinctual. She wasn’t a fae, obviously, but his habit of observation was just that. “I have now.” He wondered if succubus blood was worth the effort he was going through right now. He also wondered if she was benefiting from their interaction right now - as far as meeting any potential demons went, Parker certainly could’ve met a worse vice or sin. “You don’t age. How old are you?” _____________

Inge wasn’t very familiar with fae magic, though she had picked up some things here and there. One of her aliases had been lost at the hands of a clever-tongued creature a decade or two back. No matter. She’d changed it to something else before changing it again, never sticking with one name or town for too long. Parker had to be more of an expert, considering the type of creatures he went after and that had to be what he was getting at. To Inge, in this moment, it mattered little. She wasn’t fae and neither was he.

And he was gullible, because he took her at her word. Fair enough, she supposed: succubi were actually discussed among humans, whereas the existence of mares wasn’t as well-known. Unlike vampires and zombies, they didn’t have a large amount of pop culture ruining their reputation either, unless one was to consider that Sandman something of a mare. Inge hadn’t watched the show out of principle. “Honored to be the first one,” she said, the lie so easily told. Life for Inge was constant fabrication, the same way dreams were.

Her head shook. “No, I’ve looked like this for quite some time.” Now the question was how far she should take this lie. Inge knew a thing or two of the history before her time, but hardly in the same way immortals who had lived through it had. “That’s such a delightfully human question. My body is thirty three years old, and my spirit?” She shrugged. “It feels infinite. But some centuries old. I’ve not always existed on this plane, though.” Inge narrowed her eyes a little. “Your collection?” _____________ Parker would’ve crossed his arms had he not been holding some of the glimmering blood in his hands still; her story was outlandish and while he didn’t exactly find the supposed knowledge that demons existed, the way she spoke definitely had this air of mystique about it. Perhaps she was foolishly proud of what she was but as far as he could tell or care, the only remarkable thing about her was her blood. And she said there weren’t many succubi around so that only increased his desire for it. If she was so old, what was a little blood loss to her? Surely she could simply possess another vessel once hers expired, wasn’t that how demons worked? At least, wasn’t that how they worked according to the books he’d read? He had questions but none of them were questions that burned with such intensity that he was willing to maintain conversation for too much longer. “Specifically, fae wings.” He placed one of his hands behind his back; he would’ve done both of them but at this point, he wasn’t sure if she was going to be giving him any more of the fine shimmery powder so he didn’t want to carelessly dump it onto the ground. “Non-lethally, preferably. As I said, fighting and violence lessen the quality of them.” Parker regarded the succubus with a rather mild expression. “I’d show you but if this is all I’m being offered, I’d rather get it into a bottle.” _____________ She took in the information offered as if it was something precious, considering each and every side of it. Inge had never seen a fae in their true form and it was something that intrigued her. And though she had some principles and a hunter getting wings off creatures that most likely favored them went against them, she had become the type of person who let her personal whims take hold over whatever morals still resided. Besides, she was hardly aiding and abetting whatever fucked up hobbies he had if she were to see it.

Inge was always looking for inspiration after all, as her art imitated life and thus life was lived in the name of art. This could prove to be a bountiful excursion. She wondered what instruments he used to sever the wings off the fae he found. “Is it fair to presume that they don’t often give them to you willingly?” There was no judgment in her tone even if she felt it somewhere deep within her being.

She opened her hand, leveled it between them and watched the not-blood for a moment. It didn’t really tend to scab, but it seemed to have grown a little harder. “Alright. Parker-who-makes-no-deals, you have a deal. When you give me the address of where your collection is, as I assume it’s not here, then I’ll fill a nice, small bottle with my blood for you. Consider the bits I spilled a freebie.” She smiled and extended her bloody hand. “And my name is Inge, for the record.” _____________ He hadn’t realized that he was a little stiffer than he originally thought as he waited for her response. “Sometimes they do.” Parker replied formally not untruthfully - while he had the ability to lie, he oftentimes didn’t, finding some unfortunate similarities with fae in that he simply left information out for the purposes of easing through a conversation. Curiously, he didn’t hear dismissal or judgment in her voice, though from her other behaviors displayed so far he’d have thought that she would’ve been a little more reactionary to the information he just shared with her. Observant blue eyes kept themselves on her figure, especially her hand and he didn’t look back at her face until she held it out for him to shake. Naturally, Parker hesitated at first - with her throwing around words like ‘deal’ and give’, his brain quickly ran through the list of prerequisites and stipulations that had been hammered into him from a young age. She wasn’t fae, he had to keep reminding himself of that so words were just words when it came to exchanges between them. She could hold him to words but she had no power to control him, succubus or no. Eventually though, he did turn the hand that had the blood on it sideways, the dust sprinkling onto the ground like the particles in a shaken snowglobe, and took the woman’s hand. “I shall notify you of the address when I organize the space.” Parker gave a small nod. “I still suggest you not make deals though, Ms. Inge.” He left the advice as it was, his brain now buzzing with new prospects - he would need to allocate a spot for her blood, wondering where he should put it, which specimens to ferret away and wondering if perhaps he should have a gallery on the side specifically for this purpose, if only so he didn’t introduce people to his home or the Bunker. “How else may I assist you today?” _____________ There were plenty of things distasteful about the other, Inge thought, but he offered her something not many others could. Something that might shake her a little, grant her a feeling of horror. Not many things did these days, and though the fear of others was intoxicating she sometimes longed to feel it for herself. And thus, it was easy to overlook his status as hunter, his potentially sadistic methods and even his rude behavior in favor of a shake of their hands. Besides, she was no saint either.

“Sounds good with me. I can be found online,” she said, nodding in return. “In my years I’ve learned a few things about fae, though, but thank you all the same.” Those dangerous words were marked with a wink but Inge was quick to shake her head in dismissal after. “No, I think I’ve got everything I came here for. I’ll want to look after this anyway.” She lifted her marred hand slightly. “But I’ll see you later.” And with that, she turned on her heel, making her way through the halls of the museum and feeling some kind of exhilaration burst through the usual veil of numbness.

#wickedswriting #writing: Hemophilia #writing with // Inge #The Collector // writing

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