#* ｡ ･ self para.

[aureamoretti]

"Maybe she was nobody’s daughter, but she had a mother in the moon."

She is smaller than him, she uses that to her advantage. Smaller and faster, she weaves around him, slipping from his grip to land blows. The moment she stops moving, it's over, if he gets a hand on her it's all over. But he does, slips a hand around her throat and lifts her before the crowd and her eyes drift towards the moon illuminating the arena. She remembers the sound of her mother’s voice calling for her from a ways down the path. They’re taking a walk through the woods, she has wandered off again, that is what she does. Never that far, she wanders back down the path towards her mother, but a noise gives her pause. It’s a singular howl and it makes the hair at the back of her neck stand up. Just the one howl and then there’s another and another until it’s a symphony of sound.  She can't give that up. Bones break back into place, snap from wolf to woman and from Valamir's grasp she slips only to once again draw out claws and fangs. It is something far from calculated, sloppy and feral as her jaws snap over skin, tearing into it. This had started as a way to prove herself to no one else but herself. Now she wasn't ready to bow out, the idea of such a thing had gone out the window the moment Nash had stepped away. Face covered in viscera, her eyes go to the crowd, to her watching family, to the wolves of Rome, but most importantly the moon. Shining high, full and even more beautiful than usual. Lycaon and Fenrir step beside her, the crowd is loud, they are declaring her the winner, but she swears she almost can't hear them over the sound of her heart beating in her chest. There's Eoin and Virgil and Tripp, Paloma not too far behind them pushing to get closer to the front of the crowd. Smiling so wide her face hurts, Aurea mouths a "hi" at them as if they were coming to see her slay at Hell's Bells Open Mic Night. She can feel them, all of them. Their strength, their excitement, the adrenaline, the pack is one united heartbeat and it all blurs together, hers and theirs and she kind of hopes the tears in her eyes wash away some of the blood. She throws her head back and she howls. She howls because she is now the conductor of the symphony of sound she'd always heard as a child.

#edit. #self para. #//im still in tears #//thank u for this opportunity

[02pencil]

self - para 01: logged night terror #14, 3:30 A.M.

you’re choking. on something that tastes akin to hatred. it sprawls to the base of your mouth. cracks the lining of your jaw. limps through the dips of your ribcage. and rots. 

because she’s there. and then she isn’t. and it all happens so infuriatingly fast, it leaves you dizzy. aching. searching for the warmth of a palm against the very center of decaying flesh. a carcass.

and you believe, “this is how it ends. this is how it always ends.”   

so you reach out again. she’s not there. you turn on your side. you heave against the pavement. into your hands.

a shrapnel wail. a plea. a palm against dirt.

there is no god. no one can hear you.

“umma?” it brims off the cheek of your tongue. almost like a sermon. one that rots the inside of crystallized veins, along with your mouth. your teeth. 

decaying, fragmented nothingness. a ghost. wandering and slaughtered to pieces.

a crooked laugh. then more. and more. and more. empty palms. the corroded sting of a touch. 

you will not survive this. 

you gape down. into the abyss. into the whites of an apparition. you thrash. and yell. at nothing. at yourself. at the distorted brick walls closing in around you. 

a tear in your infrastructure.  

you drag yourself against the pavement, your back splayed against the wall like an insect that doesn’t belong. your hands are covered in self - loathing. you can hear your mother’s hum.

you should have paid close attention. i cannot help you if you cannot help yourself.

so you sit there, half - slacked, in all your devastating glory. until a hollowed void washes over you. until your pleas come to an end. until your mother disintegrates. 

you’re not entirely sure where she starts or where you end. but she understands. your fate. your fate. 

this is how it ends.  

and then you awaken. under what you believe is the trunk of a camphor tree. under the whims of a feathered bird that knows entirely too much. your skin swathed in sweat, mirroring the dew against the grass — completely and unapologetically enveloped in darkness.

so you turn on your side,

and heave.

#body horror tw #blood tw #just to be safe <3 #self para.

[lydsdonovan]

helpless ; self para

"Mrs. Donovan? This is Coach Thompson -- I'm calling to see why Landon didn't come to practice today."

Lydia's brows narrowed as she balanced the phone between her shoulder and cheek, maneuvering a large basket of laundry into her bedroom. Landon's passion for sports turned out to be a godsend for the single mother; three days a week, after school, he immersed himself in sports, affording Lydia the time to tackle the household chores and anything else that needed to be done.

"Not at practice today?" she repeated, a dismissive scoff falling from her lips. "What are you talking about? He packed his shoes this morning before we left. Of course he's there."

"Nope. Front office tells me he left early, but I wasn't informed that he would be missing practice, too. Usually we need a note for this sort of thing, Mrs. Donovan, otherwise he could be kicked off the team and --"

"It's Ms. Donovan—and what do you mean he left early?" Lydia set the basket down, gripping her phone in her hand now. Confusion swept over her; Landon would never skip practice. He wouldn't go anywhere without asking her for permission, and certainly not leave school with someone else without her consent. While her son might've been transitioning into his teenage years, wrought with the occasional moodiness, he had always been responsible and never neglected his commitments.

A long pause lingered on the other end of the line, and Lydia could feel her heartbeat start to quicken. "Says here Chief Donovan sent a male officer to pick him up. He called ahead from his desk at the station, picked him up in a squad car."

She pinched the bridge of her nose, thumb and forefinger meeting in frustration as she shook her head. "Why would he—my father would never pick Landon up early without asking me first, and there's no way I'd let him send a stranger in his place, officer or not." The silence on the other end of the phone grew deafening this time, leaving Lydia holding her breath until—

"Mrs. Donovan...you might want to call your father --"

"Yeah, no shit." Lydia ended the call abruptly, swiftly leaving her bedroom and descending the stairs into the kitchen. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe Harold thought he told me, maybe he's trying to teach me a lesson because of the bakery.

Her hands trembled as she dialed her father's number, but for once, it wasn't due to fear of what she might hear on the other end. They hadn't spoken in weeks, not since he had erupted in anger at her decision to sell the bakery. Yet, in this moment, none of that seemed to matter. It couldn't.

A heavy sigh filtered through the line as Harold answered. "Lydia?" He grumbled, his discontent palpable even over the phone.

"Did you have Landon picked up?" She asked. No 'hi' or 'hello' -- there wasn't any time for that.

"Wha --"

"Dad," the redhead's voice wavered as she pressed on, urgency lacing her tone. "Did you… have someone from the station… pick Landon up?" she repeated slowly, her pacing around the kitchen growing frantic.

He must have recognized the alarm in her voice. "Of course I didn't. Why?"

"I'll call you back." Her eyes squeezed shut, her grip tightening around the device before she hung up, immediately swiping through her phone for the tracking app she used to monitor Landon's whereabouts. "Come on…" she whispered as a map loaded on the screen. Bracing herself, she prayed that she would find him at a friend's house, at the park, anywhere but where her mind was racing. Hoping she could find him goofing off, ready to ground him for being utterly irresponsible—

Location not found.

Lydia let out a ragged breath, exiting the app and immediately dialing Landon's phone number, only to be met with voicemail each time. She dialed again, and again, and again, clinging to a desperate hope that perhaps his phone had simply died—though what twelve-year-old lets that happen? Her heart sank, a painful lump forming in her throat as she grabbed her keys and all but ran out of the house.

Once in the car, Lydia hastily pulled out of the driveway and sped towards the police station, dialing every number she could think of on the way—school, coaches, parents of friends, siblings—anyone who might have come into contact with her son, no matter how unlikely. Yet, each call yielded the same disheartening response; they had no idea where he was.

"This can't be fucking happening, this can't—" The words caught in Lydia's throat as tears cascaded down her cheeks, blurring her vision. Her fingers, trembling with fear, clung to the steering wheel as if it were her lifeline, the leather beneath her touch growing slick with sweat. The weight of the unthinkable settled upon her, suffocating her with its reality. Her twelve-year-old son was missing. Gone. The thought reverberated through her mind like a relentless echo, each repetition amplifying her terror, immediately causing her to pull off to the side of the road. Every parent fears moments like this, but Lydia could never have fathomed that she'd be living it. With every fiber of her being screaming in anguish, she mustered the strength to reach for her phone once more, her hands shaking as she dialed her father's number, the device feeling heavier in her trembling grasp with each passing moment.

"Lydia? Lydia -- what the hell is going on?"

"No one knows where Landon is," she cried, a hand pressed against her chest, her heart pounding in sync with her panic. "Dad, I—I think someone took him."

#self para. #tw child kidnapping #( tl;dr landon been 'NAPPED )

[subkaikelly]

Overwhelmed || 6/3/23

If Kai had to truly ask himself if anything he'd just read was a shock, he would have to say no, but that didn't mean he'd ever delved that deep on his own. It wasn't to say he hadn't been taking claim talk seriously, because of course he had. It was just that they'd fallen into a nice rhythm, pattern, one that he could see himself happy with and happy to add onto, such as moving into the Schuester household, getting to do more things for Harrison in the time he otherwise spent in school. All of that had made him perfectly happy and eager to belong to the dominant on it's own. To have that then expanded, options he hadn't considered as much, being both of little means and a submissive, began to overwhelm him.

Again, it didn't surprise him that Harrison would be a good enough human being to let him have those things. Hell, without even thinking about it, he had already just assumed he'd let him visit with his mother here and there, and that was before the wave of possibility that Harrison had brought up of bringing his mother into a better life in general had completely knocked him off his feet. Everything Harrison had said was wonderous, more than he could have hoped if he had hoped for more at all, so why did he feel like it'd had the wind knocked out of him? Why did he feel so vulnerable? And above all, why was this new kind of vulnerability something he felt ashamed and embarrassed about that he wanted to hide?

Just as perplexing was his wish that he'd been in the same room as Harrison when he had said all that. Kai wouldn't have had any better words to say, in fact he might have managed less knowing he could react, emote, something, rather than force himself to write something just to excuse his absence of words. After tucking his bar apron away in his locker, he made a quiet but determined bee-line for Harrison's office and let himself in, taking in a deep breath he hadn't known he had been needing, even as he felt himself very purposefully collect himself after reading the text in semi-public.

While he didn't have an exact timeline of when Harrison would be finished and ready to go, he at least knew that not having to close up the kitchen tonight meant it would be more timely than not. He took a moment to sit in a spare chair, a few tears rolling over the overflowing brim of his eyelids and down his cheeks as just let the feelings hit him, sit with him, until such a time as he felt a tear splash down on his forearm. That made him aware enough to dab at his cheeks with his hands and wrists until they felt dry.

When he heard the handle turn, he quickly got up, hesitating before taking a couple long strides to close the distance when the door shut, to throw his arms around the other man and hug him tightly. Perhaps it was uncouth and he should have said something before doing it, but it had felt somehow necessary to his very survival, holding onto him, as much as the deep breath he sucked into his lungs after he'd buried his face into the Dominant's neck.

#self para. #? #can be lol #kaison. #sirharrisonschuester #p: harrison #p: overwhelmed

[natemichaelson]

After.

mentions of @seraphimichael, @seeingvivianne @xzagreusx and like all of their dead pals. They put out the cigarette with the heel of their boot and think about how it's something Michael would have hated. It's not an all the time thing, or at least it wasn't at some point. A time when that he almost swore he couldn't quite remember anymore. Much like those that worshipped God, Nate had compiled their life into two parts. With Michael and Without Michael, that's easier to think about than thinking about that day. Because they don't think about it at all, they can't possibly. There had been so much loss, he had little memorials for everyone, a little grove that he paced back and forth, piles of rocks marking graves that were empty, not even dug but there symbolically. He touches them gently, fingers just brushing stone as he spoke to them, told him about his day, about how things were without them. How the world is darker without their light in it, that everything is heavier. Sometimes they just sit there amongst all the rocks and they think about Vinny or Wolfgang or that guy who'd they'd kissed for the first time and wonder if they should be mourning a lover. If it's alright that they aren't at thirty-fucking-five. It's not like he doesn't miss them, all of the what ifs, romantic or otherwise. No pile is bigger than the pile of rocks that represent Micheal though. The man who had tried to prepare them for this for months prior to hell breaking loose. He had told him that he'd wind up an orphan and he'd done everything he could to try and soften the blow. There was no softening what he'd done. In a panic, it was them that had called their father there that time. And the thing inside Assan had killed him and they still felt.... Everything. All of the time. Zagreus was here with him, another nephilim, a friend and yet he's pretty sure every single time they see each other, they're just thinking of what they've lost. They're what is left of that loud table in the corner at Grazie's every Sunday. They think about what Michael had always said about the differentiation between nephilim and those at Camp Halfblood, that they were nothing like them. That none of them had the capacity to understand them. But even then, those that had understood him and Zagreus, their Atlas, Akara, Kayce, they were gone and now what? Vivianne is there, too. There but different. Every so often they catch each other's eyes. Nate can't look at hers for too long, afraid to see sympathy. They’re in the living room on the floor and he’s just a kid and he’s never focused so hard before, there’s this thrumming under his skin that seems to gather at his upturned palm. Michael offers quiet and focused encouragement and they’re both waiting for something. Something that he’s supposed to be able to do. Something that he’s never quite been able to do before. There’d been too much doubt before, perhaps they hadn’t wanted it hard enough, but on a quiet night in July, they summon a blade and they’re so stunned that they nearly drop it. Michael seems just as shocked and for just a moment, a split second, when eyes go from blade in the hands of a child to that of each other, Nathaniel swears he sees real pride in Michael’s eyes for the first time. And now, curled on ground in the shadow of a pile of stones, he wondered how right his father had been. The seraphim that had trained them to kill, the mentor they'd practically killed themselves.

“You’re going to get hurt.” They get told as they’re already bandaging themselves up in the kitchen one evening, mentor hovering tense on the other side of the island.

“And I’ll learn from it.”

That's what they'd said that day all those years ago, With Michael. But he can't help but think he'd been sealing his fate. When did he start learning? When did it stop hurting?

#self para. #the end. #edit. #michael.

[heyymikki]

did i grow up according to plan?

LOCATION: Mikayla Beaumont's home MENTIONED: @elliottortegax @nikodimopoulos @hernando-valdez

It had been weeks since the news of Hernando's connection to Los Santos had gone public and the man in question had gone dark. There wasn't a day that had passed since then where she hadn't worried about him, but she had work and class to think about and couldn't completely abandon her responsibilities. In between those, though, she found herself spending more time with Niko, finding solace in his comforting presence and reassurances that Nando would be alright. Penny had spent more time at the B&B and if Mikayla hadn't known better, she would've thought her mother was avoiding her.

Saturday came and Mikayla finally pulled herself away from Niko's apartment, heading home just before lunchtime so she could get a few things done before work later that night. She hadn't expected her mother to be in the kitchen with a serious look on her face, and dread settled into the young woman's stomach.

"What is it?" she asked. "Have you heard from tio?"

Penelope shook her head, lips turning down in a frown. "Not yet, but I need to talk to you about something."

Mikayla took in her mother's face for a few silent moments, trying to judge what emotions she should expect, but it was a mask with no discernible feeling on display. She pulled out one of the stools at the kitchen island and took a seat, steeling herself.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room, the weight of everything left unsaid over decades bearing down on Penny's shoulders. This was a conversation she knew she'd have to have some day, but she had always feared her daughter's response to it. There had been opportunities over the years, times when Mikayla would ask questions about who her father was or how Penny had met him, but she'd always revealed the bare minimum in an effort to spare herself from reliving the trauma of finding out she'd been pregnant -- of being torn away from everything and nearly everyone she knew and loved -- but doing that wasn't fair to Mikayla or Elliott, something he'd so graciously reminded her of when she'd given him the news.

"Before we start," she said, voice barely above a whisper, "I need to ask for your forgiveness."

"Forgiveness?" Mikayla repeated, brows knitted in confusion. "Why would you need that?"

"Because I've been keeping something from you." Penny pulled her gaze away from the counter and looked at her daughter. "It's about your father."

Mikayla sat up straighter in her seat, curiosity piqued. A part of her had wondered if the woman had never revealed her paternity to her because the nature of her conception wasn't born out of a loving relationship, but she respected her mother too much to go behind her back to investigate on her own. She nodded once, a silent plea for Penny to continue.

Her mother took in a deep breath and let it out slowly before continuing. "Elliott and I were best friends as kids. We did everything together, with your uncle Devon and our friend Nellie. Basically inseparable. But something changed when we got to high school... and we began to see each other without our parents knowing. Mine didn't approve of him or his family, so I had to keep the relationship a secret, which was easy enough until... until I found out I was pregnant with you." She shook her head some. "I was so scared, I didn't know what to do. Before I had a chance to tell anyone, they found the test in the trash. They were furious, especially when they found out who the father was, and before I knew it, we were moving across the country. I had no way to reach out to him once we were there. They monitored all of my phone time, and I couldn't send him a letter or anything. At one point, it became easier to forget instead of break my heart over and over again with the hope we'd be reunited someday."

The longer she spoke, the more tension fused into Mikayla's bones. "You've... known who he was this whole time?"

Penny nodded slowly, the fear of Mikayla's reaction growing alongside her daughter's emotions.

"Did he know about me?"

Penny nodded again, but added on quickly, "I left him a note before we left to tell him I was pregnant, but it was the only information I could give to him. If he ever discovered who you are outside of that, I don't know."

Mikayla took in a few deep breaths, trying to keep herself calm. "Why are you telling me now?"

"Because he's here. In Tonopah," she said. "And he wants to meet you."

In that moment, Mikayla's world flipped upside down. Not only had Penny kept his identity a secret from her throughout her entire life, but she had also failed to mention that he was somewhere in the town Mikayla had called home for the past three years. Had she seen him around town? Had they occupied the same space and had no idea that they were extensions of each other?

"How long has he been here?" Mikayla's voice was quiet, and Penny had to strain to hear her question, the one she'd been the most afraid of answering.

"He... he never left." She swallowed around a lump in her throat. "He's always lived here."

She was quiet. "Did you know that when I said I was coming here?"

"No, conejita," she responded quickly, walking around the island to wrap her daughter in a reassuring embrace, but Mikayla pulled away before she could, standing from her seat. "I swear I had no idea he never left. He ran a chain of hotels around the country, so I assumed h--"

"So you must've looked into him at some point if you know that. Did you ever try to reach out?" she asked, her voice rising with every new question.

Penny, trying not to show the hurt on her face, shook her head once more.

"He could have helped us, mami. When you got sick. H-he could have-- do you have any idea what I've done for yo--" Mikayla stopped herself, hand covering her mouth as the rush of hot tears that had been rising to the surface finally bubbled over and raced down her cheeks. She turned away from Penny, inhaling a shaking breath and forcing herself to be steady.

Penny had never put the responsibility of her care onto Mikayla's shoulders and never would have asked her to go to the extremes that she had done in order for her to receive the best care possible. She should have seen the signs, though: the long hours of 'studying' at a friend's house and coming home in the wee hours of the morning, the night terrors that kept her awake at night for fear she'd never be able to escape the next one, the sheer amount of money a barely legal teenager was bringing home at the end of every week. It would break her mother's heart to learn the truth about where all the money had come from, and Mikayla knew in her mind it wasn't fair to hold the choices she had made against her, but she mourned the life she could've had if Penny had just picked up the phone to call him and ask for help. She was the mother; she was supposed to be the one protecting Mikayla, not the other way around.

"M'ija," Penelope pleaded, placing her hand onto Mikayla's shoulder. Mikayla shrugged it off.

"Don't," she choked out, sniffling. "You should have told me sooner." She turned towards Penny, a harsh glare hidden amongst the pain in her eyes. "I gave up my childhood and put my life on hold for over a decade because you let your pride get in the way of asking for help. I don't know if I can forgive you for that."

Mikayla had never seen this look on her mother's face before, but it was unmistakable: heartbreak.

Any other time, for any other grievance she may have carried, she would have wrapped her mother up in her arms and apologized in that moment, but there was no way for her to moved past that feeling of betrayal that came with the knowledge she never would have had to go through everything she had if her father had just been allowed to be a part of her life.

"I don't want to be near you right now, so I'm going to stay with a friend for a few days." She walked past her mother towards the stairs. Thankfully, she didn't follow.

#it took me longer to write this than I wanted but here we are #self para. #threads. #idk if I had a tag for these so shrug emoji #t: penny

[robertsameliax]

location: the robert's residence then some wooded area who: amelia roberts with mention of hank roberts, jordan roberts, and liam granger ( @grangerliam ) trigger warnings: violence (slap), reckless driving

Amelia had specifically avoided coming over to the house when her father was home. For the first few weeks she was back and had to stay there until her apartment was ready, she avoided him at all costs. He was too drunk anyway to know if she was there but she wasn’t in the mood for any arguments that were bound to happen when they were together. She had noted he wasn’t home when she slipped through the doors of her childhood home to drop off something for Jordan.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Words slurred already and Amelia all but rolled her eyes at the man before her. God she hated him - hated the sight, the smell, the aura that he put off like his shit didn’t stink. It was revolting and she was glad that for the past ten years she didn’t have to deal with any of it. When she didn’t bother paying him any attention, a beer bottle came flying past her head hitting the wall and shattering in front of her.

“Did you hear what I said, Bitch? That fancy school you went to couldn’t give you better ears?”

Amelia, full of rage now, turned to face her father. “Why are you such an asshole? I’m dropping stuff off for Jordan and I’m gone.”

She went to move past him when he gripped her arm pulling her back toward him. Even though it had been years since this happened, he was a lot stronger than she remembered. “Watch who the fuck you’re talking to.”

“Fuck you.”

She managed to get herself out of the grip that he had on her and forcing her way to the door before he stopped her. “Who do you think you are. Just because you went to Harvard doesn’t meant the you’re not South Side trash. See where you ended back up? In the slums with your trashy Liam.”

The moment Liam’s name came out of his mouth, she saw red. “Don’t you fucking dare talk about Liam.”

“Like he gives a damn. He’s been fucking girls all over this town not worrying about you. He doesn’t want a pathetic slut like you.”

The slap she gave him across his face came out of nowhere and if Amelia knew anything, she knew not to stick around. She quickly headed back to her car. As she pulled out of the drive way, she could see him stumbling into the front yard yelling but she was already gone and parked on the nearby street to collect herself.

It was when she was in the confide of her own space that she let out the sob that she had been holding in. The tears flowed freely and her heart ached - no that wasn’t the best word for it. It felt like she had been stabbed in the heart a million and one times and then someone put it in a blender and pulsed it until there was nothing left. Her chest was tightening and she couldn’t catch her breath - she was suffocating and at any given moment, it was as if her lungs were going to explode out of her chest. Her hands gripped the steering wheel as she rested her head on the slightly cool surface as she willed herself to breathe through it.

What felt like hours later, but was only a few minutes, she sucked in a big gulp of air and let it out through her mouth as if that was going to help. Surprisingly, it helped for a brief moment before the tears started again and her breaths were getting shallower by the minute. She had to get away from the her childhood home - away from this town - away from everyone.

As she reversed out of the parking spot and found herself on the darkened road, her foot weighed on the gas pedal. She knew these roads like the back of her hand and could drive them blindfolded; she knew every twist, every turn, every place that the cops hung out. It was something that she had learned over the course of the years that she was sure hadn’t changed and it was a skill that she needed especially this night. The windows were down and the music was blaring to drown out any thoughts that were trying to run across her mind. 

“Like he gives a damn. He’s been fucking girls all over this town not worrying about you. He doesn’t want a pathetic slut like you.”

The speed of her car increased from the normal speed of 40 to close to 100 in a matter of five minutes and in this moment, she didn’t feel anything. It was as if she was free from everything and the ache in her chest didn’t hurt so bad and her stomach was no longer in knots. It was something that she cherished in this brief moment until she saw the road change in front of her and it was as if she had never driven this road prior - even though she had a million times. The curve was approaching quickly and Amelia had to slam on the breaks to avoid going directly in the trees and her car jerked hard - her back coming off the seat and the seat belt tightened against her body. 

She flung back as the car came to a stop and as she looked around, she knew exactly where she was. Taking a deep breath, she pulled over to the side of the road and climbed out. She walked through the muddy water and heard the leaves crunch under her white cheer shoes and for a minute, there was a peace calmed over her and then the thoughts came in like a wrecking ball and she was back to the sad girl that she was only minutes prior. Except the sadness was now mixed with anger and as she delved further into the woods, she found the field that she had been to so many times.

The anger of how stupid she felt for what had happened hit her like a ton of bricks and before she could even think twice about it, she let out a loud scream, cursing the stars. Thankfully, she was alone so it didn’t matter if anybody could hear her. It was the release that she needed in that moment and with all the emotions that had left her body, she felt instantly drained. But before she could let herself rest, she dialed the one person she needed to hear. When his voice rang through, a soft smile tugged at her lips.

“Liam,” was all she could say as her body slumped against the cold, wet grass as she hung up the phone. She found herself staring up at the stars until she wasn’t anymore.

#self para. #violence tw #reckless driving tw #idk what this is but have at it.

[cicran]

mentions of @demonkaito & @yurcna When a young witch and her familiar had crept into the hotel one night and tried to get past the front desk, Ciaran had been kind enough not to send both of them packing. Mortals are tiresome at this point, he can’t stand being around them most of the time, but the witch points out she didn’t mean any harm as she stands between himself and her familiar. She had wanted to prove she was brave enough to face the spirits and he has half a mind to let her. But she is just a child with something to prove and he looks between her and her familiar and he grabs one of the books he keeps behind the front desk. He scribbles his phone number in it, he hands it to her familiar with his immaculate bone structure and steady gaze. He tells them to go bother someone else, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he does so. Kaito is something else.

It’s not like he hasn’t had partners here and there, but being a reaper and keeping up with the hotel is a very demanding job and while he’d once had the white picket fence situation, it does not seem feasible. Until it slowly becomes a possibility again, the hotel slowly becomes full of life again in the sense that he’s not so miserable anymore with the demon around. He’d taken up being security for the hotel and that should have been that, Ciaran is a professional. But he’s also a romantic and an Irishman and banter is something he does well and so they get to talking, Yurena starts collecting other haunted books, the three of them get on well. But banter becomes flirting and flirting becomes whispering in dark corners of the hotel together and then one day Ciaran is laying in bed beside the demon and wondering where the time went. Because it feels like he belongs there at his side, like he had always been there. “I think I love you, you know.” Such a casual thing to tell someone as they lay there in bed, he’d practically face plantedd it, clothes still on and half laying on the green haired demon. Said demon doesn’t put the book down that’s in his hand, but he does make a thoughtful noise and he knows those steady eyes are on him, can feel them burning into the back of his neck. He doesn’t speak again, just closes his eyes after toeing off his shoes and he’s about to move, about to crawl further into bed when he feels fingers carding through his hair, hears a page turn. It has been years, decades even, since he’d felt so comfortable with another person, met someone who had reminded him he existed outside of two very demanding jobs. With Kaito he is not just a reaper, he is not just The Host, he’s been dead for centuries but he’s a person underneath all that. They stay like that, nearly lulled to sleep in the low light of the room and as sleep nearly has him, he swears he hears Kaito tell him that he knows. He had always been there. Until one day he wasn’t. It’s not as if the details matter, but at the end of the day something is wrong with Yurena and Kaito is gone. There’s nothing he can do for the witch and her familiar who have slowly but surely wormed their way into an unbeating heart that had been dormant for so long. He trashes the hotel lobby, he pulls at his hair, there is nothing he can do. The spirits watch, they mourn, too. He goes back to Ireland. He goes back to walking among what is left of the cemetery his family used to tend to all those years ago, stones in the ground at this point. His wife and child are buried there, he debates putting a stone down for Kaito, if not there, somewhere. But he doesn’t on account of his bed becomes a grave for the two of them no matter where he stays. He watches Yurena, he holds onto hope. He waits. And he waits. And some days he thinks he is going to become a statue at that front desk or wherever he is stuck loitering, knees drawn to his chest as he plays with the necklace bestowed upon him by his lover. Three little gold charms dangling at the hollow of his throat to match the three gold charms dangling from the demon’s right ear. He counts the days, he goes through the motions, he makes up Kaito’s side of the bed every morning. It’s the same side he cries into night after night as he tries to think of how to dull the sharp pain in his chest. The only thing that seems to do it is holding onto hope that they’re going to be together again. They’re going to be together again even if he has to find a way to beg his way into the Inferno himself. He’d never even got to say goodbye. But he holds onto the chance to say hello again. 

#self para. #edit. #clownmas.

[balvares]

wave goodbye.

self para, location unknown. triggers: stabbing, torture, knives, blood, violence, death. mentioned: @dilara-kr, @applekiraz, @analusilvas, @feykaplan, @dominicdavis, @davinadias.

       I’ll be careful. I promise. Those were the last words Bianca said to Dilara before going out that same night. She was being careful. For the first time in a long time, she wanted to keep her promise. Nightrest wasn’t as safe as she had thought it’d once been. Even for the girl who thrived in spending her life living in the moment, not thinking about past or future, she didn’t have it in her to leave her friends worried about her—or scared because she continued to spend most of her nights so .. recklessly. 

Bi had been drinking, it would’ve been a lie to say she wasn’t, but she knew what she was doing. Despite every promise she once made, she had always been a social drinker. The kind of girl who drank because she was surrounded by people. Wanting to be able to mix in with all the fun as opposed to focusing on remaining completely sober—or close to it. Tonight hadn’t been any different. The brunette said goodbye to everyone she’d spent her night with, a smile on her face as she dangled the screen of her phone in front of them. “I’ve got an Uber coming,” she slurred before sloppy steps brought her outdoors. Soft laughs slipping out of her as she stood by the curb, slightly dizzy vision taking in the surroundings as she did the only thing she could do. Wait. 

A part of her wonders if she should’ve waited inside, or continued inside. Maybe if she had, Bianca wouldn’t have been standing under the dark sky, vulunerable. Easy prey. Even as she stood there, nothing felt out of the ordinary. Not until the sound of footsteps rang in her ear. They sounded close, fast, and as she attempted to turn around—see who it was—there was an impact against her head. A hard one. Hard enough that stars began to cloud her already messy vision. And before there was even a chance to react, to scream, call for help, she felt it again. Then everything went black. 

later .

She could feel the hard surface against her body, the coldness prickling at the skin that was exposed. She was on the floor. Bianca’s lids rapidly began to open—seeing nothing but blackness. Her eyes covered. The tight feeling against the opening of her mouth. Her mouth tied up, too. Wanting to reach up and take whatever it was off her face, it was then the woman realized that her hands were also tied behind her. She couldn’t see, speak, or move the way she wanted. That was the start of her panic—memories of the footsteps, being hit. Bianca desperately tried to fight against whatever was holding her wrists locked together, ignoring the way the friction burned her skin, as she tried (and failed) to stand or even sit. Anything was better than the way she was currently.  Where am I? Is anybody there? Questions she tried to ask, but coming out as nothing more than a muffled sound. 

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. 

Fingers gripped into her hair, the sharp pain being enough to have Bianca yelp as they roughly lifted her up—eyes closed tightly beneath the blindfold. She listened, waiting for someone to say something. Anything. Let her know what was going on, what she was doing here but nothing came. The only sound she could hear was her own ragged breath. It felt like ages, their fingers still knotted in her hair while nothing happened. It was the silence that scared her. From more than what she’s ever experienced. 

Then she felt the blade pierce through her stomach. Fast, rough. The feeling of it having the woman cry out in pain, already feeling the tears pricking from her eyelids. Then another one. And another. On her stomach again. On her side. In and out. Rough edges of, what she could only assume, was a knife ripping its way in and out of her skin. Tears being shed but soaked up through the cloth that covered eyes.  Shedding with every impact of their hands, or their feet, the knife. Constant blows. Again. And again. And again.

Stop. Stop. Please. Words that repeatedly came out of her mouth with every plunge, desperately wishing that they’d stop. To stop hurting her. She didn’t deserve this. Those same stars floating across her already masked vision—wishing she knew who was doing it. Who hated her this much? Hated her enough to want to see her hurt like this. In so much pain. 

Even as she thought about it, there was a single person who managed to come to mind. Bianca believed that in all of her years of living, she’s never done anything worth of this. She’s always been a good person. Talked to everyone, kept herself away from drama that didn’t involve her. What did she do that could be so wrong? To bring out this kind of … hate in a person. Because they had to hate her. There was no denying it. 

Even in the midst of it all, Bianca still couldn’t hear anything. Only the sound of her own masked screams, the sound of her breathing echoing within her ears. The agony of the inflicted wounds being the only thing she could seem to focus on. If they were saying anything, she couldn’t hear it. For a moment, it felt as if time stopped. 

The hands that once were entangled in her hair now shoved her down. Bianca’s body hitting the ground and her head knocking against the surface of the floor—a ringing sound immediately echoing in her ears from the impact.  That’s when she heard it.

There was a laugh. A woman’s laugh. Something that was easy to distinguish even as the sound drifted further away from her—words coming out of her, but nothing Bianca could pick up.  She heard her. Whoever she was. That was a woman’s voice and there was no denying it, but who was she talking to? Despite all the pain she felt, the brunette tried her hardest to listen. To see if she could hear whoever was being addressed. Did she know that voice?

She didn’t have time to think about it. Not before the sound of another scream flooded her ears. It wasn’t ear piercing, but it was a sound that mimicked one of her own. The same kind of scream she continued to release with every blow of the blade. Someone else was here. Bianca’s cries could only grow harder as she remained on the ground—weakly fighting against her retraints.  Unable to stop herself from aching for whoever else it was going through the same thing she was; listening to those heart wrenching sounds while she couldn’t do a thing to help. That being enough to make her cries grow harder. Bianca, even in the midst of her own pain, couldn’t keep herself from crying out to whoever it was. She didn’t need to know who they were or why they must’ve been there. Whoever it was, they didn’t deserve this. Neither of them did. 

Time moved by slowly. The sound in the distance became more faint with every passing minute, or hour, she didn’t know, but it was enough for one thing to ring clear for Bianca. These were her final moments. They’re final moments. She knew that. In the midst of everything happening, her mind couldn’t help but to shift toward the people she cared most about—Analu, Fey, Dominic, Davina, Dilara, Apple. 

Apple. Her best friend. Sister. Soulmate.  Their last conversation replayed in her head during her final moments. Being aunties, having children. Living the rest of their lives together. Things they’ve spoken about hundreds of times and it wasn’t until this moment did it finally hit Bianca that it wouldn’t happen. She’d never grow old enough to see Apple become the cool aunt she so desperately wanted to be. Never get to have kids of her own looking up at her best friends with the same admiration and love that Bianca held for her. She’d never see Apple have kids. Something she knew her best friend wanted so badly. Even with the way she brushed it off, playing it off as nothing more than a simple thought, Bianca knew better. She could see the sadness hidden behind those eyes and now, those words played in her head again: You’re time will come. It was lighthearted at the time, but during this moment, she meant it. Every single word. One of her last moments praying that she’d stop being plagued by whatever was in her thoughts and do it. Have the family she wanted. The kids. Grow old, be happy. It’s what she deserved. 

It was as if the killers knew what she was thinking about. Feeling those hands pulling her up again,  the blade making its way to her neck and for the first time since it started, Bianca wanted it all to stop. Not in the same way she once had, but she wanted them—whoever they were—to put an end to it all. To the pain. Her suffering.  She couldn’t do it anymore. She could feel the blood pooling at her feet, skin raging as it constantly reminded her of what they put her through. She couldn’t do it anymore. 

The rigged ends dug deeply into her neck, gliding its way across her neck and even if Bianca wanted to scream, the pooling blood from behind her mouth made it impossible. She could feel it, her blood, pouring out—drenching her clothes. There was no longer a fight in Bianca. Within seconds, she could feel her body growing weak. Limp. Then she was gone. 

#self para. #stabbing tw #kidnapping tw #blood tw #violence tw #death tw

[elifalvey]

4:26 AM. June 30th, 2023. Providence Peak Memorial Hospital.

Elijah wakes up uncomfortable and sweating.

The first thing that he feels — outside of frustration, since this is at least the third time tonight that he's woken up this way — is a throbbing ache in the back of his neck, and he reaches his left palm over his right shoulder to rub the area in hopes of alleviating some pressure.

Stupid fucking hospital chairs.

He groans quietly as he adjusts, moves his head to search for his phone that he left on the small table within arms reach. A giant, bold 4:26AM stares back at him as he finds it and unlocks the screen, along with a recent photograph of Aslihan and Alex in the sunroom back home, taken probably no more than three weeks before they came here that he set as his wallpaper immediately upon taking it.

He stares at the combination groggily for a long second, like all of his thoughts are still buffering and getting used to his new state of consciousness, and he takes a deep breath.

One that immediately feels as though it gets sucked back into his body as a wave of adrenaline washes over him, and he practically jumps up out of the seat before he can fully register what exactly he's doing. He takes a half-step towards Aslihan's bedside, sees her sleeping there, and stops in his tracks.

Thank God.

Relief. He gives breathing another go, and although it's considerably more successful than his attempt before, it's still shaky and full of leftover uncertainty.

Why wouldn't she be there? He thinks. Don't be a fucking idiot.

He doesn't make any effort to move closer to her bed, nor does he make any to stumble backwards to the makeshift bed of his own — he just stands there, in limbo, feeling uncomfortable and sweaty and a little bit ridiculous now. His eyes, momentarily focused on the rise and fall of her chest, drift to the monitors slightly above her head. He squints as if he can read the numbers, as if he knows what any of them really mean in relation to the health of his girlfriend or his baby.

They're alright, he tries to convince himself. Nothing is wrong.

"Just go sit down," he mumbles softly, like it's a thought that slips past the filter in his head. Despite his own reassurances, though, he can't bring himself to listen — he can't move, can't stop staring, can't convince himself that Aslihan won't disappear from thin air the second he turns around.

A different machine from the hallway faintly beeps in the distance, effectively startling him as he jerks a little in place.

"Fuck off."

Obviously, it doesn't listen. It beeps once more.

Stupid fucking hospital.

Breathing still isn't doing all that much for him, and ironically, he wonders if a cigarette will help — not that it has in the past two weeks that they've been here, when this exact scenario of on-and-off-panic-and-sleeping has become something of a routine for him under the moonlight, but he figures it's worth a shot (he says that frequently).

Finally, he moves in a middle direction. Not towards Aslihan's bed, or towards the chair, but towards the table to grab the pack of American Spirits he left there beside his phone. He gets as far as the doorway before he stops mid-movement again. He can feel a similar sort of adrenaline from before building up in the pit of his stomach, like anticipation, like when something bad's not quite happened yet but you're expecting a tornado to touch ground at any moment. He tries to ignore it, but for the second time, he finds that he can't move.

A drop of sweat falls from his forehead, cascading down his temple, and he wipes it away with an annoyed huff and turns around.

You can leave, he thinks. You've left before, you can leave again.

The rational part of his brain is clearly working overtime to compensate for the lack of cooperation from his body, but it's proven to not be enough to overpower him as a whole; a sinister, unwanted part of him chimes in.

What if she's gone when you come back? What if you leave, and she's not there?

He swallows air, feels another bead of sweat, and decides.

No, I can't leave.

Dark hues settle on Aslihan, and she hasn't moved an inch, hasn't even rustled underneath the thin blankets covering her, but he imagines his worst fears all too vividly. He imagines leaving, even if only for a minute, and returning to an empty hospital room. No, no. He imagines leaving, even if only for a minute, and returning to a room filled with nurses and doctors and beeping machines and so much yelling he doesn't know how to digest it all. He imagines her being here, physically, yet being gone at the same time.

The longer he stares, the more her silhouette morphs in his mind.

Her petite frame turns shorter, more muscular, and long, dark locks get traded for messier, looser curls. Brown eyes somehow become darker, almost black, and her skin looks rougher too — Elijah's looking frantically, still frozen, trying to make some sense of this.

The faint beeping that came from outside the hall gets louder, and more frequent, like the frantic sound of medical equipment that popped into his mind without warning before. It gets louder. And louder. And louder. The silhouette only becomes more detailed — the vague outline of a man becomes more personalized; he can see a crooked smile, and a splotchy birthmark, and a thin, pale scar just above a bushy eyebrow.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Harrison.

Elijah realizes that he's seeing Harrison in the place of Aslihan, sprawled across the drab hospital bed, attached to wires and machines and Jesus fucking Christ, why the hell is he sweating so goddamn much? Everything is so horribly clammy, and he reaches down to grab a giant fistful of his shirt. It scrunches between his fingers but he gains little relief from the motion, and the next time the sinister devil chimes in his mind it sounds a bit too much like him.

Don't leave.

There's a damp sensation — not just on his temple, but all over his face — and he's unsure if it's sweat, or tears, or an overwhelming mixture of both. His chest feels much, much heavier than it did just a few seconds ago and once again, before he even registers what the hell he's doing, he all but leaps in the direction of the chair across the room. He settles as far away from the doorway as possible, distress looming over him, as his knee bounces in agitation. He sits there for awhile, just tapping his foot on the tile, rubbing his palms against his legs, forgetting every single breathing exercise that he's ever been taught in his life, with his eyes trained to the bed only a few feet away.

I'm not leaving, I'm not leaving, I'm not fucking leaving —

"Is everything alright, Mr. Falvey?"

His attention snaps up to land on the door and he sees the young, sweet nurse standing at the threshold. He can't remember her name — Melanie? Tiffany? Kelly? — but he recognizes her face, having seen her more times than he can count with how much he's been awake at night. She has a smile etched into her face, innocent and unsuspecting of the chaos rattling against the cage within him. Her words are genuine, he can tell, and he almost feels guilty upon the realization that he can't exactly answer right away.

Glancing from her, back to the bed again, he notices that the silhouette looks more normal. More like Aslihan. More like she's actually in front of him, and not some sort of transformed manifestation of the fears he's been holding onto for years. It looks like she's sleeping. There. She hasn't gone away.

"Early morning, isn't it?" she speaks as the silence ticks on.

His attention snaps once more, but instead of silence, he nods.

"Y-Yeah, mhm," he interrupts himself with a cough, momentarily forgetful of his sleeping girlfriend. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. All good. T-Thank — yeah, thank you. Uh —" he squints to try and see the badge attached to her scrubs, but his eyes feel puffy and his vision is slightly blurry and he gives up way too easily. He nods again, like a final thought, and forces a smile to stretch on his lips. It must look horrendous given the state of him, but he can't bring himself to care. If she's suspicious of his answer, he can't see that very well either.

"Alright. If you need anything, just let us know."

With that, she turns on her heel and exits into the hallway, hopefully to check on some other patient's room somewhere, and Elijah . . . sighs.

He's not too confident that he can stand without an unreliable wobble to his legs at this point, so he just sinks further into the chair he previously placed himself in. He feels better — not good, or calm, or normal by any means, but better in that he's not actively hallucinating the figure of his dead best friend anymore. So there's that.

From the window behind him, he can hear birds chirping, the tiny creatures settled into the branches that nearly brush up against the glass. Soft sunlight slowly trickles in through the curtains. He has no idea how much time has passed since he woke up in the first place, but there's no shot that he's going back to sleep any time soon. He knows that much.

"Stupid fucking hospitals," he grumbles, arms crossed over his chest. The back of his head thwacks against the wood of the chair as he throws the weight of it back, unable to even muster a whine of pain as the ache returns in the back of his neck.

As it turns out, therapy might not be the biggest waste of his time after all.

#SELF PARA. #hospital tw #pregnancy tw #panic attack tw #anxiety tw #intrusive thoughts tw #death tw #trauma tw #hallucination tw #i apologize for the laundry list of content warnings idk what happened #my eyes glazed over and suddenly there's nearly 1.7k words on my screen?? #ANYWAY #with so much peace n love <3 have this

[marcellabelanades]

September, 2023 mentions of @ciroocasio, @amicocasio, @ericxaquino, @hazalseren @yurcna, Nettelia, Zeke, and the Asphodel Girlies. Tw: girl this is sad, death, the c word The coming days after the funeral are spent getting affairs in order. She had said that she would go to Nettelia, that she would get her name scourged out of the book but at a great loss. One that would be worth it, one that meant she could be absolved before she started her new life. That didn't make it any less hard.

If anything, she'd made it extremely hard on herself at that fey party where she'd broken a rule and crossed a line she told herself that she'd never cross. Ciro was important to her, that was obvious and Marcella knew she was no good for him all those years ago when they'd been teenagers. And somehow she'd still managed to fall for him in adulthood anyways. In some ways she knew the moment that the Amaranthus fell and she picked up her phone, that it might come to this. But that'd been before her plan, the one he had thrown a wrench into.

Which was why when Marcella had gone back to the cemetery twice and Nettelia hadn't been there, she knew that had to say something before disappearing. It was bad enough she wasn't taking calls or texts from anyone who wasn't Zeke, that she was casting spells to make it really appear as if she weren't home.

She takes a day to craft herself a daylight ring, she'd spelled a few of them, but this one was special, this one would be something made for her by her. There's no real plan to it aside from the stone, she just steps into her studio and starts crafting, weaving metal and magic and when she's done she realizes it's ornate enough to be an engagement ring. And in a way, she supposes it is. What is an engagement other than a promise? This one would be to her future self.

From there, the days seem to all sort of blur together but she wakes up with intention. Magic is done in solitude, things are gathered from the Asphodel house, Eric is spoken to. They will be okay, they have a pack now, they have found somewhere where they belong and she can rest easy about that. As for the rest of the Asphodel members, she hopes they find peace in some way, the ragtag bunch of misfits who didn't seem to know any better.

Lucretia. She thinks she's already healing, she takes a day to go to Wendy's with her, pays for her burger. They talk about nothing, the state of Rome, how good bacon is. It's nice, it's normal, it's something they both deserve and Marcella believes in some form of higher power, thinks that maybe Nettelia can help the once chimera, too.

August is harder. One of the first few people she has thought has ever really understood her and the first to really cast off everyone else. Solitude and magic and what seems like madness seems to plague him and so she doesn't think she's going to get an outing with him. He's too smart for that anyways, would know what she was doing. He still might, she slips a piece of parchment paper under his door, neatly folded. Inside it, on a long chain, is a metal raven's claw she'd crafted herself along with a very simple letter. It reads 'she really was a cunt', followed by 'we're still friends', and that is that. She'd be friends with the man behind whatever madness held him, the one being choosing to be strangled by his ambition. When he returned to her, she'd be there.

Yurena she spends time with at the bookstore, casting constellations on her ceiling and trying not to cry about it because it is going to be hard not to return to her. Because what they had could be a beautiful friendship that she'd never known with another woman. The kind where they braided each other's hair and slept over at each other's houses. Maybe one day they could have that. Bastien she leaves a nice bottle of wine for, a neat pair of sunglasses and she hopes he and Levent get things figured out, get together, get out of all of this.

And then one day Marcella wakes up, spends time at her vanity and dons an outfit fit for autumn with a moleskin and she looks livelier than she had in weeks despite the sickness that plagued her, plagued the city. She goes to The Last Bean, she looks to Hazal, to the last member of the Amaranthus coven that had been in the city when everything fell.

She issues a silent apology to her in the form of a tip of a few hundred euros crammed in the jar by the register before she gets her latte. It is not nearly enough to replace what has been taken.

It's raining, it's a gentle background noise as pen hits the page as she cozies up to a spot by the window.

Ciro, There’s much I should have told you and I have chosen not to because I was afraid you might see me differently. I’ve never cared too much what people thought of me, but for some reason when you came back to Rome, I think I wanted you to like me. I wanted to prove that I had grown up and I think we both have. At some point here I think I became too big. I joined the Asphodel almost a year ago to further my necromancy and my own ambitions. I lent them my magic to cause chaos and destruction within the city. There is fair more on my hands than just dirt. It was never my intention to hurt anyone who had not first hurt me but that doesn’t make it right. I am severing my ties to the book at the cost of my magic in hopes it will never hurt anyone ever again. I am sorry for that night under all those floating lights. I am sorry I ran from you. I am sorry I am going to continue to run from you. But you are good and kind and you are not this fuck up that you think you are and there is nowhere to go from here but up for you. Help Hazal, do what I could never do and make the Amaranthus stronger than it ever was, if anyone can do it, it’s you. Tell Amico that he was right and I’m not privy to your grief or your pain, especially now that I’ve had a hand in it. I hope one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me. - Cella

There’s a few tearstains on the paper but she slides it into an envelope anyways, wishes Hazal a good rest of her day, and then she’s gone. She’s gone and with a careful invisibility spell she is leaving the letter, her book of shadows, and a key to her house on Ciro’s doorstep. It takes everything in her not to knock, but even as tears fall, she doesn’t. She turns and under the cover of her spell and the light rain that fell over Rome, she ventures back to the hotel she’d been staying at and she texts Zeke.

Now all there’s left is the calm before the storm, when magic would leave her and then fangs would grow.

#self para. #edit. #ciro. #hazal. #amico.

[counthakan]

“Nothing I’ve ever done has ever been good enough, you’re wrong: I have everything to prove.”

There was a hole in his chest where his heart should have been. It felt cold. Just like it had before. The only problem this time was the fact that, when he looked down, that dead organ was still in his chest. Yet the hole still remained. And it would not go away. Why did it not go away?

His hand grabbed at his chest. What he was looking for, he was not sure, but he did not let go until he was sure his heart was still there. Maybe it had all been some dream. Hakan had never had such a vivid imagination. That was more of Ezekiel's thing, was it not? Speaking of the little monster, he looked around the battlefield to see where his dear progeny could have gone. It would have been no surprise he was trying to save someone or be useful. That was just who Ezekiel was.

His gaze lifted from his chest again to where he spotted Ezekiel. Before he could even notice his own movements, he was making his way over towards the other vampire. Maybe he was hovering. Maybe he should have just trusted that Ezekiel was going to be okay. Maybe he should have just...been there.

"At least you showed up."

There was that hole in his chest again. It felt hollow. Empty. Before he could even get over to Ezekiel, his progeny had faded away. He blinked a few times. A hand gripped his chest again. A second passed. Maybe two. Hell, maybe it had been a few minutes or any hour, but the pain sat there in his chest. It would not go away. Why did it not go away?

"Ezekiel?"

The pain in his chest was evident enough, but he did not want to believe it. He did not want to believe that his dear progeny had done something that could...No. He would not believe that Ezekiel was gone. That was not what the younger vampire was fated for. No, he was supposed to live. That was what was supposed to happen. If anyone was supposed to die, it was supposed to be Hakan. Not Ezekiel. The elder vampire had lived his life. Nearly four thousand years of it. Ezekiel had barely scratched the surface. He could not be gone. He could not...

"Ezekiel?"

There was no response again. There was just that emptiness in his chest.

"Ezekiel?"

He had fallen to his knees, the hand that had been on his chest reaching towards the ground where it felt like there was just nothing but dust.

"Ezekiel?"

No, he was supposed to live. He was supposed to...

"Ezekiel, you are very funny."

But the hole in his chest told him that this was no joke.

"Ezekiel, I will put in the diamond fangs. You can come back now."

Why was his cheek wet? His hands lifted from the floor to his face and wiped at the wetness on his face. That was not supposed to happen. Why was that happening? None of this was supposed to be happening. None of it.

Hakan had flown away from the field in a murder of crows. Back to his castle. Back to his home. It was...empty. Just like his chest. Just like his dead heart that did not beat within it.

As he stood in the empty hall, his head tilted upwards towards the high ceilings. The quiet would have been unsettling, but it seemed to be fitting for how he felt right now. There was nothing within him.

He looked away towards the statues and art that littered the floors and walls of the castle. The few things that had not been touched in the short amount of time he had known his progeny. He looked away from them and in the direction of the wing of the castle that Ezekiel had made his own. Then he made his way there, his feet dragging him before his mind could decide against it.

The proper reaction would have been to accept the loss and move on. Grief was not something he had ever had to process. It was not something that was in his nature. There was static in his head though as he stepped foot in the wing that Ezekiel had inhabited. Static that had caused him to break whatever was in his line of sight.

A table. A chair. Glass housing various items that he was sure the younger vampire would have loved to stay intact. But there was nothing but static.

Not until he fell to his knees and a guttural scream fell from his lips and into the dead air around him. Then another one. And another one. It felt like he was screaming until his voice was raw and then he would scream again. Another guttural scream that held every emotion he had kept bottled within himself for so many years.

It should have been him.

"Come back. Come back. Come back."

He had not breathed in a long time, but a breath left his mouth as he did nothing but cry.

It should have been him.

The statue seemed fitting for Ezekiel. Hakan had the thought that his dear progeny would have liked it. He was not sure how long he had stood there, but he had left eventually. He had left to where the young vampire had been before death had taken him the first time.

That Amaranthus graveyard was not his home, but it had been Ezekiel's. A hand pressed to the top of the headstone as he stood in front of it.

"At least I showed up, right?"

He looked at the writing on the headstone again, his hand lifting away. Resting atop the stone were a pair of diamond fangs that Hakan smiled at for a moment before he flew away.

Ezekiel Christopher Urquhart August 11th 1995 - September 30th 2022 Beloved Son, Brother, and Witch I am not there, I did not die

#misc. #self para. #m. ezekiel urquhart #all. ezekiel urquhart #i hate it here

[02pencil]

self - para 02: director osterholz.

nauseating. suffocating. you're suffocating. his demeanor. the pitch of his tone. the curvatures of blurred, in - between - the - line features.

you take a step back. back, back, back. you beg to feel the sting of a pillared wall against the base of your spine. but you don't. so instead, you opt for a languid display of revulsion, the corners of your mouth whetted - like and bared into a curl. you can't hide it. you won't hide it.

“settling in alright?”

polluted laughter.

“yes, director.” a bold - faced, shit - eating lie. lie again.

“how were the bagels?”

dizzying. taunting you in a way that reaches the very midpoint of a temporal lobe.

hands always bound to the pockets of your slacks. teeth - like rivets finding solace in the flesh of your palm.

you believe you're on the verge of tasting something akin to resentment.

again. again. it what makes a home on the spine of your tongue.

but he just bares a crooked smile in return.

you nod. he departs.

you turn around.

bile.

you make your way to a bathroom stall.

#self para. #director she doesn’t mean it

[giovanniiricci]

chi cerca, trova;

LOCATION: Office in his villa outside Florence, Italy MENTIONED: @sawyerdecker @shepdecker @colemonroe TRIGGERS: Human trafficking, cancer, murder, poisoning, general dickish behavior

Giovanni Ricci rarely lost his temper.

That was one of the more chilling things about the man; it was nearly impossible to know when one had crossed him because he would simply smile in their face while the mental gears started turning on the machine that would manufacture their downfall. So, when he hung up after his phone call with ADA Parker on New Years Day, his maid was shocked by the crashing of glass behind his office door.

Shooting down the hall, she opened the door, taking in the scene in front of her. Giovanni stood across the room, chest heaving with the force of his rage. His phone lay amongst the wreck of the wall-length mirror on the other side with its screen shattered, and it took a few moments of hesitation before the woman spoke. "Signor Ricci, va tutto bene…?"

"Tutto bene," he replied with a sigh, adjusting his tie as he regained his composure and offering a tight lipped smile. "Mi dispiace."

Her gaze flickered between him and the mess of glass upon the floor, clear disbelief written across her face, causing Giovanni's jaw to tighten in irritation.

“Potete andare, signorina.”

Another moment of hesitation passed over the woman’s face before she bowed her head and closed the door behind her.

"One job," Giovanni uttered harshly beneath his breath, sinking down into his office chair and facing the Florentine skyline in the distance. Giovanni had taken his wife to their villa in Tuscany to ring in the new year together, celebrating yet another successful year in business only for the next to start off on the wrong foot. "He had one job, and he couldn’t even manage to do that."

Dante Parker had been a thorn in the CEO's side for the past two years, which was why he’d sent the man to Tonopah Valley to begin with despite his objections. At first, he'd seen a lot of himself within the promising young lawyer, eager to please if it meant he’d gain footing within his own career, but that was the problem with two individuals who resembled one another: eventually, egos would clash, and there could only be one.

Many faces had come and gone from the board of The Enterprise over the years, and all have done so by Giovanni's design. It was his universe, a creation of his own, molded by his hand with the help of Jacque Riley, but it was his all the same. People were only there because he allowed it. Jeffrey Decker had also gotten too big for his britches, his human trafficking ring interfering with Giovanni's vision and threatening the existence of everything he had built. That was why he had to go, too.

Jeffrey's diagnosis of stage 4 lung cancer worked in Giovanni's favor. It was easy enough: hiring a home chef and a nurse came across as a show of good faith, to help ease the family’s burden in the midst of their hardships. In reality, it gave him the chance to put someone into the man’s home to monitor him and to enact his own plan of getting rid of the board member for good. He'd learned over the years that everyone had a price, and it wasn’t long before he'd found two individuals who were willing to take on the risk. It was amazing how similarly the symptoms of lung cancer and arsenic poisoning overlapped. His days were numbered when Jeffrey's bastard son took him out instead. Giovanni didn't mind, though; one less thing to tie back to him, and one more secret he could tuck away inside of his ledger.

The Decker children had promise, but Jeffrey had never managed to ingratiate himself to them enough for them to follow in his footsteps. One of them even became a detective, for God’s sake! Talk about the apple falling far from the tree. The lawyer, though… Defense attorneys were always a little easier to bend in the direction of corruption, so there was still a chance he might be able to work with her, but the detective was getting too close to the truth.

Dante was supposed to get rid of him, but all he’d managed to do was to put him into a coma. Sending someone to infiltrate the hospital and kill the acting Chief of Police now would be too obvious and make it clear someone had put a hit on him, so Giovanni would have to pivot. He hated when his carefully laid plans went to shit due to no fault of his own.

Then a thought came to him. He could use this.

After all, he'd been wanting to get rid of Dante for a while now, and attempted murder of a police officer… Now that was the ticket.

One man's incompetence was another man's treasure.

Picking up the stationary phone from its cradle on his desk, he dialed a number and brought it to his ear, facing the city sprawled out before him once more as it rang.

"Happy New Year, Mr. Ricci! How is your trip?" His secretary's voice filtered through the grated speaker. She was far too perky considering the hour.

"Find me a realtor in Tonopah Valley," he replied, ignoring her question altogether.

"Right away, sir. Would this be for commercial real estate?"

"Residential. I’ll be temporarily relocating."

"Yes, sir, I'll get right on that. Anything else I can do for you?"

"That'll be all." Without a goodbye, he set the phone back onto its base to end the call.

If he wanted something done right, he was going to have to do it himself.

#translations in order: #mr. ricci is everything okay...? #everything's fine #i'm sorry #you're dismissed miss. #self para.

[caetargaryen]

tw: child death

“your grace, your presence is needed in the nursery. immediately.”

immediately? what happened? why so urgent? the dragon queen’s heart rate spikes, and she’s picking up her skirts to rush through the halls. the sound of heavy armor echoes as the queensguard rushes behind her.

her mouth is dry. her palms are sweating. she feels lightheaded. why the nursery? what has happened? it wouldn’t be the first time a targaryen, or any child for that matter, has died in the crib. but the twins are healthy, are they not? it’s what the maesters said. how they are growing stronger each day, and look every bit of their father.

death has come for the house of the dragon once again— thrice. the stranger, shrykos, whichever old god, they’ve all paid their visit. daemon and daenys, faces blue, eyes closed. as she turns her head, there lies aenar. the little princeling. blue faced and the slightest trickle of blood from his nose. it feels as if the room is collapsing in on her. the air has left her lungs.

and then suddenly, the room is filled with her wails. the queen falls to her knees, screams of pure grief leaving her gaping mouth. arms wrapped around herself, nails digging into her skin. hot tears streak down her porcelain cheeks.

then suddenly, her head snaps up. she looks over each of the nannies standing above her. they are faking their shock and sadness, she thinks. they all played a part. if they did not do the deed themselves, they still allowed it to happen.

“TREASON!” she screams. “THEY MUST DIE! EVERY SINGLE ONE!” each one stutters out excuses, but they fall on deaf ears.

my queen! i would never! not the children! is how it begins. then quickly, fingers are pointed in all directions. it was her. no, her. but my queen, it was her! they threatened my family. mother have mercy.

the mother may have mercy but the dragon queen certainly doesn’t.

#tw death #tw child death #self para. #well here goes the chaos

[subkaikelly]

Introspection || 6/2/23

A sigh, and then, "Kai? We need to talk about something... Kai?"

Pulled out of an afterwork daze, Kai blinked a few times and then lifted his head up to see his roommate sitting on his bed opposite him, giving him a concerned, maybe somewhat apologetic look. It had been a while now, at least a couple months, since they had put some space back between their single beds. It had started simply enough, possibly with Kai saying he didn't want to disturb the other's sleep if he came in late after work on the weekends when the extended curfew on Fridays and Saturdays had lead to Kai hanging around while the kitchen closed down so he could steal even more of his Dom- er, his boss's time, at least Friday nights. Not that he ever went into detail about why he was suddenly there later.

And then, at some point, he noticed his roommate was spending more and more nights away, and he missed his bed being up against his wall, so they had drifted back to how they were before. It seemed like very little time was spent in each other's company, alone, in the room, so things had died down, cooled off, and for Kai's part, he hadn't been fully aware of it.

"Sorry, what's up?" He asked, his mind still half away in thoughts, idly taking off his shoes.

"It's... well, this is kind of awkward, because it sort of feels like a break up," The roommate started, clearly tip-toeing, not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings.

"What?" Kai still couldn't quite focus on what the other was trying to get through to him, but it was starting to pull in his attention.

"I mean, we were never official..."

"Who?" Kai blinked, confusion evident.

This next sigh sounded more frustrated, exasperated. "Us! You! And me! We haven't been together in a while, but- in case you still had feelings, I thought it was best I was at least honest with you. I'm seeing somebody else now."

Properly pulled out of his head now, Kai let the words wash over him and sink in. They had definitely been both letting it die, silently, without acknowledging what had been there, so he knew he had to at least give the moment and his roommate the appropriate amount of attention for this. "Oh... yeah, I mean- I've been busy, you've been busy-"

"I really did like you, Kai. I want you to know that. You helped me learn a lot about myself and I'll definitely never forget any of that. But you didn't really make me feel seen... didn't really give me the kind of attention I needed."

Confusion entered back into the mix of stoicism Kai had thought felt about this minute. He shook his head as the reality that he was being broken up with by a non-boyfriend, someone who wasn't out and all he ever could do with had been secreted away in this very room, that he had been so careful with not being the one to spill someone else's secret that he had uncomfortably felt the whole affair away from Harrison, the one person he didn't want to have to be sly to.

For Kai's part, his ghosting and non-recognition of whatever had been occurring between him and his roommate was largely because he didn't want there to be a thing he didn't know how to talk to Harrison about. That, and regardless of facts or logic, the way that the Dom would never ever be his, not the way Kai belonged to him, unofficially at the moment, Kai had been started to catch feelings. It was perhaps inevitable, but Kai for all his naivete had thought the kind of feelings he was having now, that they were reserved for your first love only, and that feelings became somehow more mature when you did, that he wouldn't have that sophomoric fluttering and constant, pestering desire to be near the person, to want to be touching or kissing them, craving their physical presence. He'd thought for sure that there was a love reserved for a sub and their Dom that was more... elevated, sophisticated? Sure, he'd never actually seen evidence of it, now that he really thought about it, but surely-?

"Aren't you even going to say anything?"

Swallowing, tearing himself out of his thoughts, realizing that even in the midst of an important conversation with someone, he'd managed to swing it right back around to the Dominant, he looked appropriately shamefaced as he nodded. "It... yeah... it felt good to be needed by you, honestly, but it also felt... restrictive. I know you're just not ready to be open to others, which I respect, but being your sometimes lover wasn't really... well, it didn't have good foundations."

He could see that his roommate wasn't fully satisfied with those words, and maybe he wanted to argue them, but he just shrugged back at Kai. "Yeah, right... well, you're pretty focused on getting a dominant, which I can't blame you for, but I just need more from someone else. Which is why I started dating a guy who already has a Dom-"

His roommate started in again, but his words triggered more thoughts for Kai, so as he dropped his head and picked at the fuzz on his blanket, he began to feel some doubt and confusion. Did his feelings need to evolve? Did he have to work to get there? Past the clingy keen that they felt now? Would they naturally, or did he have to work at it? Who was he supposed to ask about this? He wasn't good friends with anyone here, least of all someone who seemed to be in a happy, loving claim... where there Dom already had another claim... and like, a live-in boyfriend.

"-And he's been really helping me work on myself and building up my self confidence-"

Was Kai supposed to be upset about this? Should he be trying to get another submissive to have a crush on, so maybe when he wasn't near Harrison, which was already some of five out of the seven days of the week, he wouldn't be counting the fucking hours until the next time?

Kai must have looked properly miserable in his thoughts because his roommate tried to quickly wrap it up. "Anyway- sorry to upset you, I just wanted to be clear, so we can still be friends on the nights I am in here."

Nodding numbly, though not for reasons that his roommate thought, he looked up at him, jaw set, before finally managing out. "Of course, friends." He remembered to smile to show no hard feelings, especially since he currently felt no feelings about it, and went back to getting out of his work clothes, folding them up carefully and getting into some sleepwear.

Perhaps just because he had been naked for a few moments there, he heard his roommate say, sounding somewhat guilty, but eager, "We could still- I dunno... fuck one more time? For... closure?" He'd shrugged. Kai looked over at him, blinking, before he looked down at one of his own wrists and brushed his thumb from his other hand over it.

"Uh... maybe another time," He said, as if the offer of "one more time" might come around later. To be honest, he wasn't thinking very hard about the current conversation, nor the state of his relationship with his roommate. Instead, as he climbed into his bed, he opened up his phone, clicking through, finding a text he hadn't quite felt like sending, and erasing it slowly. "I feel like I should apologize for saying your name in my dream, is that weird?" Maybe not weird, but certainly a symptom of what had been in the undercurrent of his mind for the last week, at least. He was stupid, puppy dog eyes, blushing, eyes constantly seeking him out, in love with the person he wanted for a Dom, and he had no goddamn clue what to do about it.

#self para.