#ink-fireplace-coffee

[memento-morri-writes]

Happy Blorbo Blursday Morri!!

You get the task of baking a cake of several layers and with a lot of details for an important event. The person who asked you for this big favor is Blorbo 1 and you can use the help of another Blorbo to get on time.

How is the cake Blorbo 1 asked you for, why would you choose Blorbo n (as many as you'd like but take into account that in this case sometimes the more is not the merrier!) and how does it go? Would you manage?

have a lovely day/night!!!

@ink-fireplace-coffee

Hi Carmen! Thanks for the ask!

Ooh, this is a fun question!! So, Fallon would be the one asking me for the cake, because she likes cakes (and Kristopher loves them), and she hosts all sorts of important fancy events. Fallon would probably ask for like, a strawberry cheesecake or something.

I would absolutely be enlisting the help of Mabel, hands down. It might be considered cheating, since she's the palace cook, so making cakes is literally in her job description, but I don't care. She's probably my only OC who actually knows how to bake, anyways.

It would end up amazing, despite (and because of) me not actually doing anything. Mabel does not like to share her kitchen, so she'd mostly just yell at me to go away, especially once she realizes I can't cook for shit. Although maybe she'd let me just sit in the kitchen and talk to her, and we'd hang out. But the cake would be delicious and beautiful, and it would make Fallon happy.

If picking the chef isn't allowed, then I'd pick Kristopher, because even though neither of us know how to cook, he'd volunteer to do it to make Fallon happy. We'd make an absolute mess, and the cake would probably be inedible, but I like to think we'd have a good time trying. (And Fallon would at the very least be amused by our attempt. But she'd try to be nice about it.) (If you need a reference for me and Kristopher trying to cook, just imagine the absolute biggest mess you've ever made while baking, then multiply it by 5. I'm talking flour and frosting everywhere, we used way too many dishes and pans and now the sink is overflowing. Someone failed at cracking an egg and now there's egg on the wall. The cake is burnt to a crisp. You know, like comedy movie levels of bad cooking.)

#Anonymous #ink-fireplace-coffee #Carmen ☕ #blorbo blursday #oc asks #what if tag #atqh: Fallon #atqh: Kris #atqh: Mabel

[enchanted-lightning-aes]

Hi Enchant!! long time no see my friend!

I saw this post of you and I want to ask

Kumari + reaction to being hugged?

(am I doing this right? it's been a long time since I've been here on Tumblr heh)

have a lovely day/night!!!

@ink-fireplace-coffee

heyo there, carmen! cool to see you dropping by my inbox! hope you're doing alright. ^-^

sorry if i took a while. . . wifi disappeared for a lil' bit, lol. however, here's a blasted scorn short as requested.^^

send me a prompt? for any oc, dynamic, fandom characters, concepts.

Word Count: 751 T.W/C.W: depictions of thunderstorms

***

Thunder crackled in the dark sky, rippling across a layer of the deep sea. Flapping the raised black flag of a ship settled by a dock's edge.

Kumari struck a match and lit fire on a candle, setting it by her bedside. She shook it, tossing it into the floor. She smoothed her muslin shirt and squinted at the blurred window.

They stopped by a small realm, letting the ship remain by the docks. With this current weather, they had to pull up and wait for it to dwindle.

If the crew travelled out the sea while the rainstorm went on, it would be a catastrophe. Their ship would be wrecked and it would be unwise. Titanarin suggested they should be on board for the time being.

And Kumari didn't have an issue with it. She had been watching the sky all afternoon. Humming to a tune in between, swinging her legs back and forth. She went back inside once the sky started turning grey and heavy clouds gathered.

In her days at the streets, she would take shelter in an alley or a shop. Often terrified yet in awe of such sensation occurring before her eyes. And a rooftop provided a stunning view.

Before she could close the door, a figure sidled up to the knob.

"Oh, you're here," a meek voice said in relief.

"Eubha? Aren't you sleeping?" Kumari asked with a frown.

"I would be if the storm hadn't woke me up," Eubha answered quietly, shivering. "It's. . . it's all very loud."

As Eubha clung to a duvet wrapped around her shoulders, Kumari shifted slightly.

Since she was new to the crew, she still had to adjust to living among them. An orphan, who used to work in a factory, where corrupted people operated with heinous intentions. Titanarin and the others managed stealing most of their money, distributing them to those who had been wronged.

And Eubha just happened to sneak into their ship, following them. Wide-eyed and curious at how they worked together with such skill. They didn't know she had been in their midst until three days later, discovering her asleep at the deck.

Most of the crew must be asleep or awake. Well, a small portion would be asleep. And the other would still be awake, probably listening to the thunderstorm. Or distracting themselves from it.

"Um, you can stay here, I suppose." Kumari moved aside, paving way for her. "It's alright."

"Thank you," Eubha said, nodding. She stepped inside, closing the door. "So, is this what you do whenever there's a storm?"

"Yes, we stop travelling to have a break. The ship would be damaged out in the storm. The ocean waves would make it heavy to steer on it."

"That makes sense. I thought pirates wouldn't be afraid of it."

"Well, most pirates would take caution. Venturing into the sea can be dangerous or smooth, depending on the weather."

"Oh! Thank you for explaining."

Kumari nodded and a half-smile tugged her lips.

Helping Eubha to understand how things went was pleasant. She understood what it was like to be the new crew member. Often bubbling with curiosity, having questions she wanted to ask.

And to be that person, who could answer them? Pretty nice for a change.

Eubha whimpered as more thunder struck beyond the windows.

She winced, bowing her head.

If this thunderstorm went on like this, she wouldn't sleep. It would cause all that racket all night, continuing until morning.

What a pity. She looked forward to having some. . .

Kumari froze as a pair of arms wrapped around her. Her heart raced at the sudden movement.

"Sorry," Eubha murmured, loosening her hold. "The storm. . . It's getting loud. I'm. . . It just disturbed me."

"It's okay." Kumari patted the top of her head. She tried smiling. "Do you want me to hug you through it? The rain isn't going to hurt you."

Eubha raised her head, her eyes downcast. "Yes, I'd. . . I'd love that."

At that, Kumari slid her arms around her shoulders. Drawing her a bit close, patting her back. Eubha nuzzled her shoulder, sagging against her.

The rain pelted against the glass window and Eubha started clinging onto her. Kumari squeezed her arms tighter, humming random words of comfort.

Although, this hug startled her a bit, she didn't mind offering help for Eubha. Perhaps, she could be someone that she could be comfortable with. A sibling that she never had. A friend who could be there to distract her from her fear.

***

#enchant answers #ink fireplace coffee #writeblr #creative writing #original writing #enchant: blasted scorn

[lockejhaven]

van i just say that i love how i feel like rpg and dnd gas shaped your writing in terms of description and prose??? and hoe much i love it?? somehow it makes it all come alive and i feel involved or more like inside your writing

I'm one of those people who can imagine the scenes and the books when reading and with your descriptions i get a full on movie scene or cinematic experience

so thanks for writing and thanks for sharing 🥰🥰🥰

(@ink-fireplace-coffee)

»——- 𓆩❤︎𓆪 -——«

Apparently, you're also amazing at finding just the right thing to say!!

I'm so happy you're able to immerse yourself, and that you actually picked up on the RPG aspects. I definitely play a lot of videogames, and my memory/mind is very visual, so the fact that I succeeded in my goal means the world to me.

Making a videogame out of my worlds would be my dream come true; seeing players immerse themselves in my creation and its stories is something I've often dreamed about ❤︎

- of fables and feathers, 🕊️ 𝓛𝓸𝓬𝓴𝓮 𝓙. 𝓗𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷

»——- 𓆩❤︎𓆪 -——«

#Anonymous #key: ink-fireplace-coffee #locket answers

[violetcancerian]

I'm more of a silent follower because we don't interact much, but imo your blog is one of those places were there are a bunch of artistic courses you can sign up to like one wednesdays there's art and then on thursdays there weaving and maybe creative writing classes on friday evenings and everything is sort of chaotic because everything is more or less done in the same space but it feels cozy and lived

and like you go inside and you can literally feel and see the creativty of those who were before you because the person who went to the art class painted something and then another person decided to use it as inspiration for one of their poems

you are a congregation of arts for people to create inside <3

(@/ink-fireplace-coffee)

@ink-fireplace-coffee

Never, and I mean never in my life have I gotten such a sweet, beautiful message, I didn't respond to this initially because it made me cry (and to be honest, I'm still tearing up reading it). You may be a silent follower, but I always love seeing you pop up on my dash and read your work and snippet! Trust me, you give me a big smile!!

#hobbit talks #andy rambles #hobbit answers #im very self conscious about this blog because it's so chaotic and ecclectic and half of the time I dont know what to do with it #so thank you thank you thank you!! #ink fireplace coffee #ethereal carmen #💕💕💕💕

[sleepyandthefriendcollective]

#sleepy's friend collective highlight reel #friend: cozy #url: ink-fireplace-coffee

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ An Endearing Infestation

Tw: none, silly fluff

It started with catching one of those tiny rascals in your house as you cleaned. No bigger than the size of your palm, a tiny blob of soot-like ink was accidentally caught amidst your vacuuming when you tidied up your house in your Serenitea Pot. You didn't even comprehend it resembled a small bird chick with one crimson eye since the small thing got frightened and scurried off underneath your couch. Any attempts to look for it were futile.

Another time, you were certain you caught two identical ones playing in the closet before sprinting with a hurried squeak when you stepped into the room. You started doubting your eyesight at first, before speculating the worst - some sort of an infestation in your pristine clean house. Yet your worries were settled aside when you finally managed to take a closer look at the many little birds that found residence within the crooks of your house. Fluffy in an unkempt manner, they were tiny birds that stared at you with their single crimson eye and a tiny crest on their round soot-colored bodies. You could almost chuckle at how silly these weird creatures were, but you couldn’t deny their cuteness. They were afraid you would kick them away, or even shoo them with a broom - but you’re not that heartless. 

The entourage of identical yet tiny blobs often observed you. They appeared curious about the many things you did in your Serenitea Pot. When you read in your study, they would play with the books. When you cooked food in your kitchen, some of the tiny birds would try and help you by pushing the spice rack closer or bringing more stems of herbs. And on late, cold nights, when you’d light up the fireplace in the guest room, even the timidest of the bunch would come out from their hiding spot to huddle neatly for warmth. They were easily spooked by the tiniest of movements, so you did not disturb their gentle napping when they fluffed up their pitch-black feathers and clustered close to you for heat. It was a charming sight.

Nevertheless, you are yet to discover where these little rascals came from. You never encountered them during your travels in Teyvat, that's for sure. However, something about those round eye orbs of theirs seemed familiar… There must be a source. And most importantly, why would these rascals broaden in quantity when a certain Fatui Doctor stays in your Serenitea Pot?

Your brain instantly conjured up a thought, like a detective reaching a moment of eureka when solving a mystery  - Dottore. 

With a grumble and a whine, you had to confront him. To no one's surprise, the Harbinger found solace in your Serenitea Pot, often spending time in your study or directly bothering you. It’s a habit of his, like a daily routine. Thus, you stormed upstairs to your library where he lingered, and saw him sitting casually by the desk. 

Dottore wasn’t reading. He wasn’t mulling over some papers or research. No, he was plainly sitting and peeking somewhere behind the table.

“Dottore,” - you declared his name firmly. “Whatcha got there?”

The man glances at you neutrally; no surprise or dismissive groans. Yep, this man is concealing something. He replies nonchalantly: “Nothing. Just my morning coffee, as you can clearly see. Perhaps you need a vision check, dear?”

You give him the look. A look of raised eyebrows and a glare that says ‘Oh really now?’. Dottore's mouth pressed into a thin line, silently holding the mug. He remained eerily still and silent as if you tested each other through nonverbal communication.

And yet neither of you broke the silence, but instead, a small birdttore peeked from the Doctor’s mug. Even when the little thing caught your scrutinizing gaze and tried to hide in the mug, its single-feathered crest was still visible from the mug.

“There isn’t even any coffee in your mug, Dottore!” - you huffed in an astounded manner, placing your hands on your hips. “Come on, spill it out. How many of those wee bird-things you’ve got hiding?”

“I literally have no idea what you’re rambling about. Don’t be outrageous.” - He replied in such an easy and dismissive manner; it would’ve been believable were it not for that impish smirk that tried to break free on his face.

“Dottore, there is one peeking in your mug and I can see another one hiding by the chair. Perhaps you’re the one who requires his vision checked, hm?”

With a deep sigh and a mocking tone, his shoulders loosened and he reluctantly put down his facade - “Fine, you’ve got me. Consider this as an astute observation on your part. Are you pleased?”

As Dottore sat up more comfortably by the desk, the abundance of teeny ink blobs came out from their hiding. So minuscule yet wobbly, they gleefully revealed themselves and started scurrying everywhere. On the desk, by the floor, in Dottore’s mug… some even happily climbed onto your leg as you stood there, baffled. Dottore just watched with that giddy grin of his.

“... Okay, so, what are these? And why are there more of them in my house? Please tell me this isn’t some sort of an experiment gone wrong and now you’re disposing of them in my home, like getting rid of an infestation.”

“Infestation? Do not be ridiculous. It is clearly the opposite! A small experiment gone right, and now it's serving its purpose.”

“And that purpose is… what?” - You raised an eyebrow. Dottore stood up and smiled cheekily:

“Having bits and pieces of me to accompany you while I’m away.”

He replied so confidently as if it was ludicrous of you to not realize it earlier. Yes, of course. Creating sentient little bird things so your significant other wouldn’t be bored. So obvious!

“...Is this some sort of ritual or experiment that I am not aware of?” - You clasped your hands and asked suspiciously. Some of the tiny blobs climbed onto your head. “Because if this is your way of ‘marking your territory’ then excuse me. I didn’t know that mad scientists exercise such a custom.”  

“Oh shut it. You’re not even mad that I sneaked in so many of them when I visited you. It was comically easy to slip them every other day in your manor. That means they are serving their purpose accordingly. Stealthily keeping you company.” - Il Dottore smiled triumphantly, standing right in front of you.

“Wha-? I can barely handle one Dottore, and now you make me handle many tiny pieces of you? Countless silly little birdttores to keep an eye on me? No way!”  

“Sure, sure,” - The Doctor scoffed and laughed at your attempt at teasing. His one arm wrapped around your shoulder and pulled you for a much-needed kiss on the cheek. His lips pressing tightly and lingering on your skin. “There, can your endearing face handle just a couple more kisses or must I humbly request for that smile of yours to return?”

You rolled your eyes at him but didn't rebuttal.

Hence, the evening was spent the usual way. Resting by the couch, the fire crackled in the fireplace. And while you and Dottore relished in the rare opportunity of leisure time, the tiny birdttores huddled once more by your lap or perched on Dottore’s shoulder. The Harbinger kept his arm around you, allowing you to rest your head on his chest. Although you couldn’t see through his mask, his stern expression kept an eye on the teeny rascals, as if warning them not to disturb you at home if they didn’t want to be exterminated on the spot.

Therefore, all was well... But Dottore had to think of ways to lock the bedroom in the future so those scoundrels wouldn’t bother you two in bed.

➻ First time posting a fic here. Please tell me how I did! And if you wish to see a casual day with Dottore and his birbttores - here is my art! 

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin impact fatui #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #gender neutral reader #dottore x you #dottore x reader fluff #silly fluff #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic

[autumnywinter]

can you pretty pls do more yandere elliot?

I hope this is good! I don't know if it's obvious or not, but he's my favorite character to write for.

Yandere!Elliott x Reader

Tags: Stalking, manipulation, mentioned blackmail, gender neutral reader

From the day you and Elliott met, you had become pretty close. Moving made it pretty hard to befriend anyone, especially due to your schedule, but Elliott seemed always available for you, always nearby and ready for a conversation. You and him had practically became best friends within the first few months of knowing each other. Elliott was a sweet guy, one that you cherished as a good friend.

Over the time you had moved, you had been trying to get back into dating. Elliott was supportive, and was always there to cry on when you were inevitably ghosted or dumped after one date.

This one really hurt, however. You were really into this person you had a date with, just for them to never speak again after the second date.

You turned to the one person you felt like would always be there for you. Elliott. You knocked on the door of his cabin, trying not to cry. It was pouring rain outside, soaking you to the bone. Your clothes clung to your skin, hair soaked and dripped down to your neck uncomfortably.

Elliott opened the door, worry immediately painting his face when he saw you shivering violently in front of him. "Y/n! What happened? Come inside, it's freezing out there!" He ushered you inside quickly, shutting the door behind you both. Elliott helped take off your jacket, hanging it up near the fireplace to dry it quicker.

"I'm sorry for showing up unannounced," you mumbled.

"Don't apologize, it's alright. Here, let me get you some dry clothes," Elliott said. He rushed into the restroom, coming back out with a fluffy purple towel and a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants.

It made you feel a little better imagining him own and wear such casual clothing. He had a huge vocabulary, but "casual" wasn't exactly something you assumed was in his dictionary. Even now, he was dressed in a beige turtleneck and black slacks.

Elliott dried your hair off with the towel gently, making sure to get all of the water out as best as he could. He then handed the clothing to you, turning around politely so you could change without him looking.

You quickly stripped from your wet clothing, putting on Elliott's warm, dry clothing instead. They smelled like ink and pine. Kind of like the trees that grew around your home.

"I'm done. Thanks," you told him.

He turned back around to face you. His cheeks were dusted pink, looking you up and down. Elliott cleared his throat and broke away his stare. "Of course. Do you want something to drink? I recently bought some hot chocolate, but I have tea too."

"Hot chocolate sounds nice," you responded quietly. Elliott smiled and went into the kitchen, returning shortly with two mugs of hot cocoa. He handed you one, sitting down on the couch next to you. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close, to the point where you were basically laying on top of him.

It was normal for cuddling to ensue between the both of you. Elliott was a very touchy person, always holding your hand or hugging you tightly. You never minded, though. Elliott was always soft and warm. It was comforting.

Elliott's hand drifted to your still-damp hair, massaging your scalp. You let out a content sigh, melting into Elliott's hold. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

Your contentment dissolved into sadness again. "I was ghosted. Again. And I really thought they were into me."

He cooed and put his own mug down on the coffee table in front of you both before taking yours. You followed suit when he opened his arms invitingly.

You crawled into his lap, arms around his neck and head buried into the crook of it. Elliott buried his nose deep into your hair and inhaled. You were too busy crying to notice.

Elliott's arms tightened around you, rubbing soothing circles into your back. "Shh... it's okay. You deserve the world, and if they don't realize that, they were never worth it to begin with."

"I think I'm the problem. It has to be something I'm doing if--what, three people now?--have already ghosted me after one or two dates." You leaned into his warm hands that thumbed away your tears. "Maybe I'm just unlovable."

Elliott stiffened underneath you and his expression hardened. "No. Y/n, look at me," he said. He never sounded so firm before.

You lifted your head up to look at him. Elliott's eyes softened as soon as he looked at your tear-stained face.

"You are not unlovable. If anything, it's their loss. You're wonderful and kind and absolutely gorgeous. If they can't see that, then they're idiots. Okay?" Elliott leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss onto your forehead. "And perhaps, true love isn't as far away as you think it is."

You were too tired to look into his usual flowery words. Instead, you nodded and curled up against him again. Elliott returned to holding you, letting you cry into his shoulder.

He hummed to you. His hand stayed in your hair, another one on your back keeping you pressed against him.

When you woke up, you were tucked comfortably into Elliott's bed. The blankets were heavy on top of you, warm and cozy. Elliott was still holding you, but you could hear his soft snores. You smiled a little to yourself. He must've carried you here. Elliott was a sweetheart, even when you cried into him for hours until you fell asleep from exhaustion.

You laid there for a while longer, trying to fall back asleep. You couldn't, though, so you carefully slipped out of Elliott's grip to find the bathroom.

Despite having been in his cabin many times, you never actually went anywhere but the kitchen and living room. Elliott's cabin was small, but the darkness made it seem a lot larger than it actually was. You didn't want to turn on the lights to wake him, so you fumbled for your phone but couldn't find it.

Trying not to trip over anything, you shuffled around until you were sure you found the doorknob to the restroom. You closed the door behind you and flicked on the light, just to see a closet.

Just as you were going to walk out, you noticed something odd. A photo of you laid on top of a box. You curiously picked it up.

It wasn't a photo of you posing for the camera, or a selfie, or anything of that sort. It was a photo of you from far away, walking through town. The photo was clearly taken without your knowledge.

There were more photos under it. All of you. You were in every single one. Some of you shopping, some of you working, some of you talking to your friends. One of them even had you changing through the window. Your stomach churned when you saw one of you in bed, sleeping peacefully. You could see his shadow looming over you in that one.

It got more disturbing. You saw articles of your clothing that you had lost and never found. A pillowcase that was stained with hopefully your past drool, a used hairbrush, and various other things were inside the box too.

The door suddenly opened and you jumped, dropping everything in your hands. You backed up against the wall, staring at Elliott with wide eyes.

He stared back at you, eyes flickering from you to the box and pictures on the floor. His mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. After a few seconds, he finally spoke. "Y/n, it's not what it looks like."

"Then what is it, Elliott?" you asked shakily. "What the hell is this?"

Elliott ran his fingers through his hair, sighing deeply. He crouched down and started picking up the pictures you dropped. "Please, listen to me. I would never hurt you. I just... I couldn't help myself." He collected all the photos with shaky hands and put them back in the box.

You didn't know why you weren't running. You should be sprinting out the door by now, but something kept you frozen in place. Elliott slowly stood up and took a step towards you. You flinched.

"I love you," he confessed. "So much. I've never felt this way about anyone in my life. I was so depressed before I met you. Everything was dark and meaningless. But then I met you." He stood close enough to cup your face in his hands, thumbs caressing your cheekbones. "You are everything to me. My light, my heart, my reason to live. I can't imagine living without you. I need you like I need air. Every time you're away from me feels like torture."

He leaned in close, forehead pressed against yours. You were still processing everything.

Elliott's breath tickled your lips. "I would do anything for you. Kill for you. Die for you. Anything you want, I'll give it to you. I could treat you so much better than those... people ever could." He spat out the word 'people', resisting to use another word to describe them.

Realization dawned on you. "Did you kill them?!"

"Of course not! I just," he dragged out a long sigh, letting you back away from him, "scared them away. If threatening them didn't work, I got blackmail on them. That was the only way your last date left you alone."

Your knees were weak. "You're sick."

Elliott frowned deeply. "I'm in love." You opened your mouth, but he cut you off. "Who do you go to when you're sad? Me. Who do you talk to about your problems? Me. Who do you call when you need comfort? Me. I'm the one who's always there for you, Y/n. Not them. Maybe you don't realize it, but you need me just as much as I need you."

"We're done talking, Elliott," you said. You tried to push past him to leave, but he grabbed your wrists tightly. You winced. "Let me go."

"I'll die without you. Please, stay," Elliott begged. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. I just got overwhelmed. I promise I'll be better. Just please, don't leave me. I can't handle losing you. I'd never ever hurt you."

Your shoulders sagged, so Elliott let his grip only slightly loosen. "You're scaring me."

Elliott cooed. "Oh, sweetheart. You have nothing to be scared of. I could never hurt you. I just love you so much." He released your wrists completely, only to wrap you up in a tight hug. "I just want what's best for you. And that's me. I can take care of you. You wouldn't have to lift a finger. I'll cook for you, clean for you, I'll do anything for you." Elliott was almost crying into your shoulder. His entire body was shaking.

Your fear and disgust turned into pity. Elliott was clearly sick. He needed help. You wrapped your arms around him hesitantly. Elliott melted into your hold like butter. He held you tighter, if that was possible.

"Elliott, you need help. This isn't normal." You rubbed his back in an awkward attempt to comfort him.

"I don't need help, I just need you." Elliott buried his nose into your neck, inhaling your scent.

You pursed your lips. Elliott was a good friend. He was always there for you. That was the only thing that prevented you from storming out the door or slapping him across the face. Well, that and the fact you were still terrified of him. "Why don't we lay down? It's late."

Elliott pulled away to look at you. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks were red from crying. He nodded. "Yes, you must be tired. Let's go lay down." Elliott took your hand and lead you into his bedroom again. You both laid down and Elliott immediately wrapped his arms and legs around you. Your face was almost smothered into his chest, and his scent didn't carry the same comforting smell as it normally did.

"Elliott?"

"Hm?"

"Will you let me leave in the morning?"

Elliott was silent for a moment. You thought he might've fallen asleep until he replied, "We'll talk about it in the morning."

That was code for "probably not".

#yandere #stardew valley #yandere stardew valley #yandere elliott #elliott sdv #sdv elliott #sdv #stardew elliott #elliott stardew valley #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yancore

[lovekendri]

spoil me | sebastian sallow

sebastian sallow x fem!reader

summary: after a long night in the common room, snuggling with sebastian turns into a bit more unholy activity.

cw: 18+ only! aged up!seb, seventh year au, established relationship, giggly moments, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it!), pleasure dom!seb, sorta possessive!seb, very touchy!seb, size difference, dacryphilia, praise kink, dumbification(?), reader has hand obsession, marking kink if you squint

wc: 5.1k

type: ✽ & ❀

a/n: forgive me, for this is probably the filthiest thing i will ever write!

The night was growing old, and distorted, white moonlight was shining through the large windows submerged in water in the Slytherin common room. You had based your night around Sebastian and Ominis, spending hours inside of the common room alone, studying, chatting, playing games, you name it.

It was getting so late, and you were beginning to doze off. The comfortable velvet couch of the Slytherin common room mixed with mostly worn-off cologne from both Ominis and Sebastian created a homey feeling, you often associated their scents with being safe since fifth year.

"I think I'm going to go up," you finally said, opening your eyes from your most recent 'resting your eyes', turning to your boyfriend and Ominis.

"Alright, we'll meet you up there," Sebastian said, dipping his quill in the well of ink on the small coffee table in front of him. The tall brunette had actually been taking notes for once, and you took the time to admire him for a moment before he looked at you. His robes had come off several hours ago when he threw a pillow at Ominis, starting a pillow fight between the two for a few minutes. Faint outlines of his athletic build showed through his button-up, the top three buttons undone, revealing part of his broad chest. His signature brown, fluffy hair was slightly messy from running his hands through it, the curls spreading out across his head and falling in front of his face. The heat of the fireplace left a rosy tint to his cheeks, and the want for sleep had began to take over his eyes. The whites were slightly bloodshot, chocolaty irises enhanced and covered with squinted lids, plump, pink lips slightly parted with hints of exhaustion in his low breathing.

Your cheeks flushed a bright pink, taking in his whole presence as butterflies swarmed in your stomach. You hadn't seen him like this in a while, the unbuttoned shirt, no robes, parted lips. It was rare to see him like this, not because it wasn't often you two had gotten somewhat frisky every now and then, but since wherever you had decided to go in the entirety of the castle was crowded at every time of the day with enormous amounts of first and second years.

You were proud of how attractive Sebastian was, and you knew exactly how it felt to have crushes on older boys when you were a little kid.

"We'll see you up there," Ominis said, snapping you back down to reality as he turned to the sound of your voice, a small smile creeping on his lips. You cleared your throat and chirped a small 'mm-hm!' before jumping up from your plush seat on the couch and making your way to the hall that lead to the dormitories.

You heard a small chatter begin between the two, catching 'that about?', and 'weird', before a collective loud laughter, forming a rather handsome sound.

After the obnoxiously long decline of stairs, stairs, and more stairs, with a tad of more stairs and now concrete walls, you managed your way into the seventh year boy's room.

The room smelled like a mixture of several different colognes, with a hint of fresh linen and lemon, as well as a pinch of gross socks coming from the opposite side of the room from Sebastian and Ominis.

You realized quickly that you were the only person in the room.

Apparently it was common for them to be out at ungodly hours of the night.

The room was lined with five double beds, four posts surrounding each frame, lined with deep green curtains that were tied to the posts by silver rope. They could be undone for privacy, but it seemed that they hadn't been touched since the beginning of the year. Intricate designs formed along the bottom and the posts of snakes, swirls and other organic designs, coming together as a Hogwarts crest in the middle of the bed frame.

The windows had now gotten smaller since you had gone farther down underwater from the common room. They still emit a deep glow, though a bit darker than before, and instead cast a bluish gray hue across the floor and walls, a low chandelier hung in the middle of the room, candles unlit.

You decided to search the trunk next to Sebastian's bed. You had to push through multiple pairs of the same socks and underwear before you could find something of your liking, treating yourself to a rather large navy blue jumper of his. He only wore it on particularly chilly Hogsmeade trips or cold weekends around the castle.

You set it down on his bed, stripping out of your uniform and slipping on a pair of shorts you had left in his trunk, along with the jumper before climbing into his bed.

You snuggled into his covers, pulling the thick comforter up to your neck and turning to your side. The soft mattress engulfed you in a hug, cradling you as you closed your eyes, invited to a deep sleep.

It felt like you hadn't even slept for a minute when you heard the descent of your boyfriend and his loyal friend toward the dormitory, the concrete steps sounding loud echoes down the hall.

"She's probably asleep," you heard Sebastian say, the door to the room creaking open as the two walked in.

You were too snuggled into the bed to want to perk your head up and see Sebastian once more, but just the smell of him coming near you was enough to make your stomach flutter.

"Then don't wake her," Ominis scoffed. "Your footsteps are loud enough to wake a troll."

"Oh, stop it, would you?" Sebastian shot back, placing a heavy hand on the bed. You felt the mattress dip in the front as he sat on the end, your leg slipping a little underneath the covers.

"I'm not the one who's getting yelled at if she wakes up," Ominis said, the clunk of his chest closing signifying he was now changing into pyjamas.

Sebastian didn't bother to respond, closing his trunk and setting his own pyjamas on the bed. He changed quickly before sliding into the bed with you, his weight dipping the mattress toward the middle.

Of course he knew you'd be in his bed, you loved snuggling with him after a long night.

He pulled himself close, his chest meeting your back, adjusting the comforter around your neck to over your shoulder before sliding his arms around you. One strong arm glided around your waist, his hand placing itself gently between the warmth of your thighs. The other arm slid below your body and under your arm, wrapping protectively around your chest.

"Hi, pretty girl," he whispered in your ear, earning a small chirp from you as you adjusted yourself against his chest, his knee bending into the back of your leg.

Butterflies were exploding in your stomach, goosebumps forming all over as he touched you.

"You feeling okay, love?" he murmured, head curling into your neck. You lifted your head a little, leaving room for him to move in closer. His hair tickled your ear as his lips met your skin briefly, the kiss short and sweet.

"Mm-hmmm," you hummed, snuggling as far as you could go back into his body, the warmth and softness comforting. His hair smelled pleasant, a mix of cedar and green apple, the shirt he was wearing covered in a musky cologne.

His smell always drove you crazy.

"Is Ominis in here?" you mumbled, dipping your head down and turning your face slightly into the feathery pillow, his arms tightening around you to prevent you from moving away from him.

"Of course he is," he whispered back, pressing another gentle kiss to your neck. You could feel the heat of his face and the small smirk that grew on his lips. His protective, muscular arms were so comforting, the smell of his body irresistible. You relaxed into him, not noticing you were so tense.

For a moment, the only noise was the combination of Sebastian and you breathing. You could barely hear Ominis' breathing, even and calm as he was probably already asleep.

He could fall asleep in seconds if he really tried.

You were very aware of the butterflies and goose bumps Sebastian was giving you, but he often didn't have such an affect on you. You remembered his look earlier; the soft lips, unbuttoned shirt, messy hair. You wanted to turn around to him, see his beautiful face, but the strict grip he had on your body kept you in place.

You decided that there was only one way that he would let you even wriggle in his grip.

You gently rocked your hips backwards, meeting his.

You heard a small exhale escape his lips into your ear, spawning swarms of butterflies in your stomach.

You did it once more, satisfied from the first noise, but this time, the exhale had turned into a muffled grunt, his face curled into your neck and nose pressing into your jawline.

"Hold on, love," he whispered, somewhat breathless. You could feel the already growing bulge in his pants, your body throbbing, eager for his touch.

You decided to pause for a moment, but this stirred Sebastian. He took a moment and adjusted his body, rustling of sheets becoming loud in the silent room. The hand between your thighs had come alive from the warmth between them, gently pushing open your legs as one fell on top of his, the other still resting on the bed. Now lying flatter on his side, he was able to lean against the pillow beneath him, head above you.

You turned your head to look at him, the grip around your body loosened as his hand took a new resting position on the leg that met his, his fingers slowly crawling from your knee to the inside of your thigh.

The painfully slow movements of his large, skillful fingers left you wanting to cry for him, your body now afloat with seriously overwhelming butterflies and growing arousal in the pit of your stomach.

You finally looked at him, your eyes meeting the faint face of your boyfriend. In the dark light, he still had the same look he had in the common room. The pink lips, now wet with saliva, squinted eyes and even messier hair.

"You look so pretty," he whispered, his hand sliding to the inside of your thigh, mere centimeters away from your nearly dripping folds. His lips moved magically as he talked, the glint of spit coating his lips and mesmerizing eyes keeping a tight hold on yours.

Your cheeks were growing hot incredibly fast, colonies of butterflies fluttering around inside you as the heat between your legs grew incredibly larger, the obnoxious yet pathetic urge growing to take his hand and put it where you wanted it.

The look you gave him must've plead enough for him, as he leaned down and kissed you gently on the forehead.

You exhaled quietly, wanting to feel the kisses on your lips, his glimmering ones so tempting. His fingers were painfully close to the still growing heat in your shorts, and you were sure he could feel it as his fingers moved slow toward it.

Sebastian closed his eyes slowly, ducking his head down. He couldn't get full access to your neck with the way you were laying. Immediately, the arm underneath you moved swiftly, grabbing your jaw roughly and forcing it upwards, his thick fingers sprawling over your mouth as you whimpered quietly in surprise.

You hadn't seen this side of him in forever, his movements were surely going to cause a full explosion of butterflies into the dimly moonlit room.

His teeth, lips, and tongue were now skillfully working away at your neck, small bites and deep exhales engraving themselves into your skin, every breath and touch of his lips sending more electrifying heat down to your core.

At the same time, his fingers met your pleading heat over your shorts. He must've decided that through your shorts, he wouldn't have much of a reaction. His thick fingers crept up your silky briefs, pushing past the hem and back down to your core. Painfully slow. You heard a faint exhale of pride at the overwhelming warmth he had felt, and an evil smirk crept onto his face, the only telltale by the way his lips curved into his next kiss.

He began to rub his fingers across your sensitive clit, your hips bucking into his hand at the first circle he made. The tight grip on your jaw and hip didn't let you go far, small, filthy whines leaving your throat through his fingers as he drew circles through your thin panties.

His head trailed up from your neck for a second, hair tickling the tip of your ear as he spoke gently, his voice a low whisper.

"You sound so pretty, whining for me like a good girl."

A small sound of happiness escaped your throat, as much as you could muster, because if you spoke, Ominis—though dead asleep—would definitely hear what Sebastian was doing to you.

His words blossomed pleasant heat in the pit of your stomach, hips bucking shamelessly into his hand as his fingers continued to work your clit.

Moving so slow with everything he did, head ducking back down to nibble on your neck, horribly slow fingers that circled your clit—oh, so well—but too slow to let the heat blossom, tight hold on your jaw that muffled the pretty sounds that forced their way through your throat.

It was too much, too slow, and too good all at the same time.

Tears began to form in the corner of your eyes, your hips bucking against his hand for more as you whined lowly, begging for Sebastian to help you, to move faster in his mastered movements. You needed his touch, you needed the surreal escape of the orgasm he could bring you to.

"Aw," he whispered, lips painfully close to your ear. "Are you desperate, pretty girl?" His fingers stopped altogether, a frustrated whine pushing past your stifled lips.

"Gonna cry for me?" he teased, his lips directly against your ear now, pride and arrogance creeping past his sweetly soft charisma. Surely the fact that you were entranced in his touch.

You viciously shook your head no, fighting the hand on your jaw as tears began to fill your eyes, threatening to fall on his large hand at any moment.

"C'mon, cry for me, sweetheart," he said, a small moan escaping into your ear. Pleasure immediately shot down to your core, the sound of his arousal delightful. "You know where crying gets you, love."

Your vision was now entirely blurry, not that there was much to see in the room anyways. Butterflies and arousal exploding to a point of pain mixed with the intense feel of his fingers stilled on your clit was too much to bear, tears beginning to fall out of frustration. Your body was practically begging for him to work you toward the orgasm that you craved from him.

"Please, Seb," you whined quietly—still louder than intended—starting to not care how loud you were. You needed him to make you feel good, you needed him to touch you. "Please."

Pathetic whimpers fell out of your mouth like expletives when you stubbed your toe, begging and pleading for Sebastian to touch you, tears flooding out of your eyes and dripping onto his warm hands.

"You're such a good girl," he murmured, hot breath against your ear as he started his fingers once again, drawing smaller, faster circles around your clit.

"Make some noise for me, come on, baby."

"Ominis—" you barely murmured, too caught up in pleasure to fully annunciate your words and thoughts.

"Are you worried that he's hearing your pretty little whines?" Sebastian whispered, deep voice teasing in your ear.

You didn't nod, but you also didn't shake your head. You just threw it back into his chest, stifling a whimper into his hand.

"Don't be shy, I'm sure he wouldn't mind," he pushed, practically begging without showing a weakness for the need to hear you.

A pant of pleasure and excitement at his words sounded in your stomach. The idea of Ominis listening to Sebastian make you a mess was weirdly erotic, beginning to imagine the tall blonde companion of Sebastian's listening to you sob for Sebastian before you stopped yourself.

You finally gave into Sebastian's coaxing, moans and pleads and whines fell slightly muffled to his hand. The more you'd helplessly buck your hips into his large hand, you'd coax soft, low, delighted groans out of him.

You were getting close, begging for him to let you finish, barely caring how loud you were getting.

The only thing that mattered was how good he made you feel.

When the heat began to build in the pit of your stomach, you stopped bucking your hips for friction, your hand coming up and grabbing at the wrist of the hand that covered your mouth. Your pathetic, high pitched moans forcing their way out, yet entirely muffled by his unmoving, large hand.

Suddenly, his fingers began to move at a snail's pace.

You whined in frustration, your hips bucking once again into his hand.

"Shh, pretty girl," he whispered. His head was leaving small love bites on the front of your neck, his hair brushing against your lips and chest. "You don't want to wake Ominis, do you?"

"Please, Sebastian, I need it," you sighed, leaning your head back into the soft pillow, the swarms of butterflies beginning to flutter around in your stomach once more, replacing the heat of your lessening orgasm.

"Need what, little dove?"

You didn't respond, too focused on trying to will yourself to an orgasm with the unbelievably slow movements of his fingers.

"What do you need?" he asked once more, the tone in his voice slightly more demanding, but never to be any less than soft with you. His fingers near stuttered to a stop as he lifted his head.

You'd seen him now for the first time since he forced your legs open, and Merlin did he look good.

His hair was an even bigger mess than before, dark curls falling over his forehead and in front of his eyes. Pale moonlight cast over his face, illuminating his sharp features and saliva slicked lips. His eyes had a fucked-out, lust filled look as he watched you squirming for pleasure underneath him, deep brown eyes searching your face in a frantic calm of dominance over you.

He whispered something under his breath that you didn't catch, but didn't bother to clarify as his fingers dawned once more, quickly pulling you into the heat of the orgasm you had been chasing.

Soft concentration grew on his face as you watched his features through heavy lidded eyes, bucking your hips into his hand once more as you reached the edge, one last circle pushing you over the cliff of your orgasm.

White hot heat shot through your body, your back arching into his arms from the satisfaction his fingers finally gifted you. Whines and whimpers slipped through your lips as you pressed your jaw deep into Sebastian's hand to muffle the great unholy sounds leaving your body, the butterflies reappearing to replace the ecstasy of the feeling bringing you back to the moment. Sebastian's eyes cast dark, lustful looks down to you as you reached your hand up once more, gently removing the heavy weight over your lips onto your sternum.

"Feel good, love?" Sebastian cooed, an amused smile creeping on his face as he leaned down to kiss you, moving his head from the angle it was at, half of his body weight landing on your side.

You nodded, leaning into his kiss and wrapping your arms around his neck, trying to keep him on top of you.

Letting go of him would be a tragedy, you wanted to keep this moment forever.

"You know, you sound so pretty when you come for me," he whispered, a trickle of pride slipping through his praising tone as he straddled your hips, hovering above you to not crush you as the covers slipped off of his wide back.

You giggled softly, admiring his stupid pretty face so close to yours, landing a small kiss on his lips once more. Kissing him was addictive, you loved feeling his plump lips press against yours.

His full arms created a cage around you, resting on his elbows as he looked down at you. The lustful look in his eyes hadn't left, the idea of him still wanting to do more to you despite your slightly shaking body was somehow ideal yet entirely outrageous, considering you were still stuck on the relief of his experienced fingers from the first time.

"Stop eye-fucking me," he mumbled, a small smile growing on his face as one arm moved from the enclosure around you, sliding down your waist to your shorts.

"Seb," you giggled quietly, "I would never."

"I'm sure you wouldn't," he chuckled, fingers messing with the combined hem of your shorts and his sweater. He paused, tilting his head and looking at you.

"Is this mine?" he asked, tugging on the sweater.

You giggled again, pushing his hand away playfully as you tried to lift your legs up, banging into his hefty thigh and putting it back down.

"No wonder you smell good," he joked, dipping his head into your neck. He licked your neck slightly before nibbling on the tense spot, lifting your head for more access, and both hands sliding down your body to your legs.

He began to tug on your shorts, your silk panties coming along with them. Not bothering to separate the two before he slid off your briefs, you were left completely naked in front of him, teeth nibbling at your neck on what felt like thousands of different places. He knew that they had both come off, and a smirk brushed against your neck.

You were sure you'd have countless bruises in the morning, covering the entire span of your neck from his addiction to kissing and marking you. Though it wouldn't be the first time, it was quite embarrassing to have to explain to most of his friends if they cornered you.

He gently moved your legs from between his, spreading them slowly. Placing his warm hands on your inner thighs, he pushed them toward the bed to keep them in place.

You weren't expecting a second round, and most definitely didn't expect him to do such risky things with other people that may come in soon, but he knew better than you, and honestly you wouldn't care too much since his roommates knew he could pull.

His hair was ticklish against all parts it grazed, his hands moving off of your thighs and a thick torso replacing them, your body now held down with the weight of Sebastian himself. He glided icy fingertips across expanses of your skin, slipping under his sweater that covered you like a blanket.

His tongue massaged your neck once more before he lifted himself up, watching you intently. He paused for a moment before swiftly pulling his shirt over his head, revealing toned outlines of his body before he pulled down the front of his pants.

He wore black boxers that you often saw peeking out from his pants, and he preferred to wear them because they 'concealed better', which you both knew wasn't true. His v-line became more prominent as you watched him slide the waistband of his pyjamas farther down, thumb teasing on the elastic of his boxers.

He knew acting like this had you entranced, watching like a hawk as a knowing grin grew on his face.

Your body was practically soaring with butterflies watching him undress. It was like your own little show, seeing his beautiful body be revealed from the disgraceful amount of layers you were forced to wear everyday.

Here you were, laying spread eagle on your boyfriend's school-assigned bed when someone could walk in at any minute, watching him undress for you like a strip-tease show. The reality of it all was quite funny, but in the moment, it was absolutely mesmerizing to know his confidence.

When Sebastian had enough of teasing you, he finally slipped his elastic off, staring directly at you.

His dick sprung against his stomach, the pink tip and noticeable veins still distinguishable in the moonlight. It was decently long, but the girth of it was the better factor, it usually stretched you out a decent amount despite how aroused you were.

He pumped himself a few times, the tip crying precum as he leaned over toward you again. He encased you once more in a prison of his arms, kissing you lightly.

You didn't have to speak a word before his arm wrapped underneath your neck, hand covering your mouth as he pushed inside of you. You gasped—an obviously good choice to cover your mouth—feeling as his dick stretched every inch of you. You hadn't quite become accustomed to his size, the feeling of your walls stretching pricking your eyes with tears.

"You take me so good," he drawled, his head hanging as he exhaled roughly, about halfway inside of you. "Fuck."

Your body was full of the mix of arousal and butterflies for the millionth time that night, Sebastian's heavy breathing in your ear adding the cherry on top. He pushed himself all the way in, earning a soft exhale from you and a sigh of happiness from himself.

He allowed you to adjust to his size, before he snapped his hips into you for the first time.

Burning of arousal and unspeakable feelings swirling in your stomach at the first thrust was almost enough to work you to the edge already.

His hands roamed around your stomach underneath his jumper as he began a steady rock of his hips into you, careful as to not make a slapping noise every time he collided with your hips. His head was hung in front of you, the back of his head in your face as he concentrated on your love-bit neck, sometimes diving for another kiss as he maintained his pace.

Small whimpers slipped from your throat as he trailed light fingers across your body, the nip of his teeth at your neck mixing with the now falling tears beginning to overwhelm you.

It was odd how he knew so well to work you just the way you liked it, his touch familiar yet unfamiliar enough to still cause the pleads he loved so well, his fingers that worked you till you cried just for him.

The combination of everything you were feeling and the slow paced thrusts of your boyfriend was almost like a dream, your head was almost floating with pleasure, your brain starting to focus on only him.

"How's my pretty little girl feeling, hm?" Sebastian cooed, large fingers spreading over your stomach. You sucked in a breath at the touch, weakly moaning into the palm of his hand. His hand came up to your unoccupied cheek, stroking it with his thumb.

He smiled when he noticed the wet streaks on your face, watching as a growing dazed look in your eyes appeared. You were smiling dumbly, full of ecstasy, the entire world seemingly only of him. His touches were amplified to you, every one sending some sort of shock to your body and adding to the pool of heat gathering in your stomach.

"You're so dazed, baby," he whispered, head lifting to reveal a large grin, his hips picking up pace more. You whined into his hand once more, eyes rolling back as tears fell from your eyes more, the overwhelming sensation of everything he was doing to you coming together. "Yeah? Does that feel good, princess?"

You were a complete and total mess, expletives falling out of your mouth left and right as you whined and whimpered for him, quiet sobs escaping your throat as pleasure flooded your body, the world only focused on Sebastian.

"You're so fucking pretty," he groaned, repeatedly hitting a spot that felt just right, pushing you to the brink of your orgasm. His hips were practically snapping now, controlled thrusts as to not make a loud noise to wake Ominis, but hard enough to get you crying and moaning.

"Look at you, fuck," he praised. "You look so perfect under me, taking me like a good girl."

The feelings he was awakening inside you with praise and the snap of his hips as he fucked you just right were unfathomable, turning into both pleasure and pain. You were right there, watching him through watery and unfocused eyes as he pounded into you, deep moans and grunts falling from his lips every time he pushed back into you.

"C'mon, darling," he whispered, thumb caressing your cheek once more. "You can do it."

Everything mixed with absolutely everything else was enough, the way he pounded into you, his fingers and his touch, the tickling of his hair as his head hung, the moans escaping Sebastian's throat, everything. He had pushed you over the edge, your back arching and a strangled, sobby moan leaving your throat as you came, walls clenching harshly around his cock as his hips stuttered to a stop inside of you.

You grabbed for his head, wrapping your arms around his neck as you tugged him down to your chest, practically hugging his face into it.

Once you had lowered your back from the aggressive arch, he lifted his head from your chest and fell to the side of you.

"God, I love you," he murmured, pulling you into his broad chest and stroking your hair.

"What about you?" you asked when you had finally come down from your high, the sound of heavy breathing filling the room.

"About me?" he asked.

"You didn't—ya know. Did you?" you replied, somehow too nervous to say the word when he had just fucked the senses out of you.

"Don't worry about that, love," he said, placing his head on your shoulder.

"Fine then, I love you too," you shot back, wrapping your arms around him to the best of your ability.

Something in the back of your mind told you that at least someone had heard, but since no applause came, you decided to close your eyes as Sebastian lifted the covers over the both of you strapped into each other's arms, snuggling deep into your body for the rest of the night.

main masterlist | my profile | hp masterlist | request | proof-read: ✓

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian x reader #sebastian #sallow #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow fluff #sebastian sallow imagine #hp #harry potter #hogwarts legacy #smut #fluff #sebastian imagine #sallow imagine #sebastian sallow x fem!reader #hp fic #hogwarts legacy fic #fanfic #sebastian sallow hogwarts legacy #sebastian hogwarts legacy #sebastian fic #sebastian sallow fic #fem!reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian x you #sallow x you #lovekendri

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 16

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 16: Famous Last Words

Chapter Summary: Revelations.

Word Count: 7.7k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, suicidal thoughts and planning, intrusive thoughts, grief, swearing, alcohol use, uncertainty, parker, angst, paranormal/spooky elements, hunger, hangover, driving, psychomanteum, ethan, drug addiction, domestic abuse, journal

Notes: Chapter title from “Famous Last Words" by My Chemical Romance. Babe I told you we'd get one more MCR-titled chapter before this was over. Chapter 17 will be the last chapter, then an epilogue. Huge thanks to @frannyzooey for proofreading and being the best 🖤✨

[ Previous Chapter ] [ Series Masterlist ] [ Next Chapter ]

The sun feels like a spotlight as you trudge your way from the bedroom to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. Nausea grips your sour, empty stomach. Your head throbs, pulse pounding in your ears. 

The past few mornings, you’ve become well-acquainted with the wine hangover. It’s a love-hate relationship, you and wine. It numbs the overwhelming emotional pain, emptying your brain at night so that you can sleep. In return, it makes you so fucking sick the morning after, you think it might be plotting to kill you. 

You carefully place a few logs in the fireplace and poke the glowing embers in the hearth back to life, then plop down on the couch, draping a blanket around your shoulders as you curl up with a notebook and pen. 

You stare at the blank page, unsure what to tell it. 

You could tell it that, same as yesterday and the day before, the aftereffects of drinking yourself to sleep have tainted your morning green. Not a cute green, either, like forest or emerald. Think Dieter’s bathrobe or pea soup. Think seasick. 

You could tell it that the hangover causing every subtle noise to strike your temples like a ball-pein hammer only incentivizes you further. Nothing makes you want to die quite like a wine hangover. 

You could tell it that, really, it doesn’t fucking matter that you’re hungover. If you weren’t miserable in this way, you’d be miserable in another. 

You could ask it if this is what Ethan was feeling one year ago today. Sick and determined to end it all. Did he plan it out like you’ve been doing, or was it spur of the moment? When did he decide he would do it? 

When did he decide to take you with him? Was it the ink? Had this been his plan all along? 

All the things you never asked him in the psychomanteum seem so important now. Especially one: Why? 

Sure, things were bad. Fucking awful, even. But there were still little moments here and there. 

Like when the gas bill went neglected and they disconnected service. You couldn’t fall asleep because it was too cold, so he set up the only space heater on your side of the bed. He wrapped his arms around your shivering body and held you to his chest all night, keeping you warm. Or like when he was in the neighborhood of your favorite bakery and he stopped to pick up glazed donuts on his way home. 

There were days when you couldn’t fucking stand to look at him. It hurt too much to see the physical toll of his addiction. How emaciated he had become, his boyish face all hollowed out and gaunt, dark bags drooping under his eyes. 

But there were also days when he still opened the apartment door, calling out, “Louie, I’m home!” Like Ricky Ricardo in I Love Lucy. It was his favorite bit. 

He’d jabber on about the customers, or the traffic, or the news. There were still days when he paid you compliments and kissed you like he meant it. When he brought home things he knew you’d like. Little presents here and there, nothing big, but enough to be reassured he was thinking about you. 

A week before he died, he gifted you a journal. 

He was supposed to pick up groceries, but got sidetracked in a bookstore and forgot the errand. When he came home holding a brown paper parcel wrapped in twine instead of plastic bags filled with food, you were furious. 

“What’s that?” you asked, crossing your arms. 

He tossed it on the counter as he shucked off his jacket, “It’s for you.” 

“Is it edible?”

“Edible? No,” he scoffed, sliding it closer, “C’mon, open it up.”

You stared at him for a moment, at his Cheshire grin, jaw clenched and grinding. At his eyes all wide with intense excitement, the pupils blown-out and black. He vibrated with energy, his long limbs twitching in constant motion. 

So fucking high. 

Trying to avoid the violent downswing of his pendulum mood, you sighed and unwrapped the parcel, revealing an orange journal embossed with the phrase A New Chapter. The pages inside were buttery soft but thick, lined with delicate margins. 

“A notebook?” 

“A journal, yeah,” he sniffed and tugged at the tip of his nose, “I came by this rad looking bookstore and poked around a bit, thought you’d like it.”

You didn’t immediately react, so he kept talking. 

“When I was out the other night, I was talking to a friend and she said journaling has helped her work through some of her feelings and all that, and… well, I know you used to journal all the time, I thought maybe it would help since you’ve been a little… out of sorts lately.” 

You wanted to ask him who this friend was and why he didn’t call her by name. You wanted to ask him what else he bought with the grocery money. You wanted to ask him why he’d rather you spill your guts to a journal than to him. 

Instead, you nodded, put on a smile, and said, “Thank you. It’s very thoughtful. I—I love it.”

The words felt dead in your mouth. Foul and rotten. He returned your fake smile with his own, then excused himself to his office.

You remember thinking the whole thing was a farce. A sham. A two-person act where you both pretended not to smell the decay between you. 

The journal he gave you went to your bedside drawer. It remained untouched for months before you rediscovered it while spring cleaning. 

At first, you didn’t recognize it. Then a gut-wrenching nostalgia took hold. A New Chapter. It felt more like a relic from a past life than a journal for the future. 

Weeks went by before you wrote inside. 

It felt blasphemous at first, marking the perfect blank pages with your script. Like you were shattering an artifact. But it helped to offload some of your rumination onto paper. It became a central coping mechanism for you.

There are passages going back at least six months, maybe more. Before you and Dieter ever even spent time alone in a room together. When he was just a goofy, handsome guy who lived on the other side of the country. Your long-distance friend that maybe sometimes gave you butterflies every time you talked to him. Even then, his name made frequent appearances on those pages. 

The journal contains all your innermost thoughts, the long-winded rambling narrations of your waxing and waning between cynicism and optimism, the whole disgusting freak show inside your head laid out on the counter for anyone to rifle through. 

And I forgot it on his kitchen counter like an idiot. 

When you picture Dieter flipping through the journal, reading your school-girl crush ramblings and earnest thoughts about him, your face gets hot with embarrassment. 

If you’re being honest with yourself, though, maybe it’s better he has it. Maybe one day he’ll look through it and read your crazy thoughts and know you’ll love him until you’re dust and then even after. In the next life, and the next, until the sea of love runs dry and humanity goes bust. Maybe he’ll read through it and know that you were struggling by no fault of his own. 

With a sharp inhale, you put your pencil to paper and write: I miss my journal. I miss my Dee. 

Then you toss the notebook aside and go to make some breakfast. 

—

The first thing Dieter does when he wakes is grab his phone off the nightstand.

One eye squinting open, he plugs your name into a search engine and scrolls through the results. Nothing new, just tabloids recycling old information and speculating. Fucking vultures. 

A boulder settles on his chest, cold and massive, squeezing the air from his lungs. 

He should be used to this sort of feeling, considering how often he’s felt it the past few days.

Every lead they had came up a dead end. You put up an impenetrable wall around yourself, so the most he can do is scour the internet for signs of you and live in the disappointment that follows each search. 

He drops his phone and looks over at the empty spot beside him. 

In an alternate universe, maybe one where your apartment wasn’t raided or you didn’t run away, the two of you are probably right here in bed, all intertwined under the covers, murmuring sweet affirmations to each other. Or maybe you’re seated next to one another in some unsuspecting diner, ordering greasy breakfast foods and sipping watered-down coffee. Or maybe he’s leaning on the kitchen island, watching you throw together some kind of sweet treat that the two of you would share throughout the day. 

Or maybe there is no alternate universe. Maybe this was the way this was always going to be. 

While you were still here, he made plans for Christmas. They weren’t big plans or anything. Nothing too showy, just some stuff to bring you comfort on the anniversary of your husband’s passing. Figured he could make you breakfast, then the two of you could take a bath. He got you a robe, pajamas, and some slippers so you’d be at the height of comfort for a trashy reality show marathon. Smoking pot, ordering takeout, that kind of thing. Low key. 

It would’ve been nice. Definitely would’ve beat his long-standing Christmas tradition of going on a bender. 

Dieter sighs, reaching across the bed to pull your pillow into an embrace. He buries his face in it and inhales your lingering scent. His eyes clench shut as he tries to picture what you’re doing, where you are, how you’re feeling, but he gets nothing. 

Intuition tells him he’s running out of time. 

He knows you’re still out there as sure as he knows there’s a pulse beneath his skin. But if you’ve held out this far, you’ll do it today or tomorrow. You’re a romantic like that. 

He prays that’s enough time for a miracle. 

—

You crouch down at the river’s edge and dig your fingers into the cold, damp sand, clamping down around a gray speckled rock. It comes loose with a firm tug, leaving an indent behind. Turning it over in your hand, you admire its weight and size. 

A keeper. 

You toss it in your backpack along with the other rocks and zip the bag shut. Hands numb and filthy, you heave the backpack onto your shoulders and jump up and down a little, nodding in approval at the considerable effort it takes to do so. 

That should do just fine. 

The backpack stays on the beach while you walk back to the cabin. Once inside, you thaw your hands with hot, soapy water, then eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of the fireplace, staring at the flickering flames as you chew. Your mind is white noise. A static-screened TV. An engine seized.

After cleaning the minimal mess from lunch, you consult your to-do list, cross off Gather the means of your destruction, and move to the next item: Build the psychomanteum.

—

“I printed all the information we’ve found and put it in here,” Darlene flips open the cover of a black binder and leafs through the color-coded, tabbed off sections, “Inside, I have call logs, typed out my notes from all my interviews, made a timeline of her last known movements, and basically everything we know so far. Table of contents at the front.” 

She heaves the binder closed and straightens its bottom edge perfectly parallel to the edge of the dining room table, then takes a sideways step to the manila envelope beside it. 

“I printed out some pictures and wrote a detailed description of her in the event that you decide to file the missing persons report. All of that information is in the manila envelope here,” she taps the envelope and looks up at Dieter, “Why did you fly to New York the day your girlfriend went missing?”

“To bribe an elected official.” 

She blinks, “Try again.” 

“I thought she went home.” 

“And why did you go to the opera?” 

“Parker and I were following up on a lead. Someone texted me and said they thought they saw her—” 

“Who texted you?”

“Uhhhh…”

“Do you have a copy of the text message?” 

“I, um—”

“Exactly. Too vague, and traceable. Try again.” 

“Parker told me to.” 

“Bitch, what the fuck?” Parker swats him. 

“Ow,” Dieter hisses, rubbing the fresh welt, “No, uhhh… I went to New York to look for her because she lives there. She always told me about wanting to go to the Met to catch a show, so we went to see if we could spot her.” 

“She went missing and you wanted to look for her at the Metropolitan Opera House?”

“It was a long shot, yeah,” he sighs and scratches his chin, “Waste of time, we ended up leaving at intermission.” 

“That’s… not bad,” Darlene gives him an impressed nod, then looks down at her folder and straightens it in line with the binder, “Probably enough to keep you from getting arrested, at least. What about you, Parker?” 

“I helped him look for her in New York, even though I knew it was a dumb idea and told him so to his face.“ 

“Do you think he was up to anything, covering up his tracks?”

“No,” Parker scoffs, “Poor boy was worried sick the whole time. He wouldn’t stop beating himself up for going on that goddamn wild goose chase.” 

“Good,” Darlene smiles, crossing her arms, and tilts her head at Dieter, “Are you sure it’s ok if I go?” 

“Oh, yeah, go,” he waves his hand dismissively, “You’ve done more than enough, really. Thank you for everything.” 

“Well… don’t thank me yet,” she mutters, taking another side step to the second manila envelope. She picks it up and holds it with both hands, pausing for a moment before passing it across the table to him. ‘

He takes it and frowns at her, “What’s this?” 

“It’s her journal.” 

His breathing stops. All the moisture in his mouth evaporates, tongue sticking Velcro to the roof when he opens his mouth to ask a thousand questions. Darlene speaks before he can utter a syllable. 

“You gave it to me. Unintentionally, I think, but I jotted down some notes from that first morning when I was calling around.”

Dieter opens the envelope and pulls out the orange, spiral-bound notebook. A New Chapter. He traces the phrase. 

“I didn’t realize what it was until last night when I was double-checking I copied the notes down right. I flipped to the front, and…”

As if under a spell, he opens the cover, eyes falling on the first line.

I am the haunted house 

He closes it and stares at the cover, then across the table at Darlene, “How much did you read?” 

“I went through the last few entries,” she tells him, “Skimmed them to see if she mentioned anything helpful. She didn’t, but you might want to take a closer look at them. Maybe something will jump out at you.” 

Dieter glances at Parker. They exchange a look that says neither of them will make a fuss about the invasion of your privacy. Given the circumstances, it’s understandable. 

“I worked backwards and marked where I left off with a tab. You should read it.” 

He nods and clears his throat, then says, “Yeah, I, umm… I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

—

The Friedman family cabin had limited options when it came to putting together the psychomanteum. 

It calls for a dark and preferably small enclosed space, a challenge in itself. The common rooms are open concept, with the obvious exception of the bathroom. Both of the bedrooms on the first floor and the loft upstairs have dressers in lieu of closets. Thinking about setting up in the dirt-floor wine cellar, alongside its long-term creepy-crawly residents, made you queasy. 

This left you with one practical option: the cedar linen closet. 

After transferring the neat stacks of towels, bedding, and pillows from the shelves, you take out the shelves themselves. You find some dark quilts to line the walls with and, through an arduous process of trial and error, accomplish a mirror-angle combination that creates the desired effect. 

Throughout this process, you try to concentrate on what you would say to him, telling yourself that this time you wouldn’t spin out and lose your nerve. This time you would ask the questions that haunt your every waking breath. 

Your mind keeps wandering to Dieter, though. 

You think about his experiences in the psychomanteum. 

About James and the river and the scars left on Dieter’s young heart. You think about the ghost that haunts him, his monster, and how it might whisper similarities in his ear. How it might coax him into the darkness forever. 

The thought strikes you hard and heavy, square in the chest.

All the air leaves your body and your hands go numb. You crumple up into a ball on the closet floor and weep. Pained, warbled sobs shake your body. The noises that come out of you sound foreign and animalistic. 

You cry for him, and for you, and for all the things that could have been. You cry and cry until you can't cry anymore. 

It feels cleansing. Therapeutic. Like a purge to overly-ripe, buzzing nerves.

In the messy afterglow of this release, you stare up at the ceiling and wish Dieter would come barging through the door. 

If he found you here, all curled up on the closet floor of your in-laws cabin, he would probably let out a big sigh of relief, then lay down beside you. He would pull you into an embrace and squeeze you tight and make you take a blood oath to never leave him again. 

For the first time since you set out on this literal suicide mission, you really consider not following through with it. 

Something dark flickers out the corner of your eye. When you hear the faint whisper of a noise, your breath halts. 

You fine-tune your ears, focusing on each minute sound that crops up. Wind rustling the trees outside. Your heart pumping blood. The deafening silence in between. 

Then you hear it. 

A coarse, abrasive noise like fingernails on sheetrock. Scratching. 

It sneaks. 

Your pulse jumps, muscles going tense with fear. You pinch your eyes shut. Try to stay still and quiet, but each shaky breath sounds louder than the last. 

Another scratch, slow and dry, from inside the closet this time. 

“Leave me alone,” you whisper, “Please.” 

—

I am the haunted house  Full of ghosts  Myself and others 

Living in the past  I cannot escape Neither can they 

Dieter stares at the page, re-reading that first passage in your journal at least ten times before shaking his head and closing the cover. 

This feels fucked up and invasive. It doesn’t sit right in his body, all hard corners stretching out his stomach. He should hurl the journal into the canyon, but something stops him from doing so. 

His leg starts bouncing, jaw gnashing back and forth with indecision. He leans forward in the patio chair and flips the journal open a few pages. 

I think I like him and I don’t know how to feel about that. I feel like it’s too soon and I’m not ready, but at the same time, I am drawn to him. Almost every time we talk on the phone it turns into a three-hour long conversation and even then I wish I could keep talking to him. He makes me laugh. He’s sweet and odd and insanely fucking hot. He seems to party a lot, which makes me unjustifiably nervous. The other night when I was talking to him, he mentioned another woman and I felt fucking jealous?? I’ve literally met the man twice. What the fuck am I doing. I am actually insane. I think it would be a real problem if we did anything beyond flirting, I would probably need to be committed. 

Warmth and affection flood his veins. 

You must have written this sometime between the party at Katie’s and the first time he traveled to New York to see you. Probably last spring when the two of you began to contact each other more and more.

He remembers how tedious it was at first. 

Getting to know each other was a delicate dance both of you performed without acknowledgment. A text here and there, sporadic communication at best. He didn’t want you to think he was too eager. In fact, he didn’t want to be eager at all.

Past friendships left him jaded and waiting for the other shoe to drop. On top of that, he was going through a divorce and pretty dedicated to a full-time coke habit.

He dreaded the day you would reveal yourself as a snake. But you never did. 

As the text messages grew more frequent and reliable, he couldn’t deny the temptation to let his feelings blossom instead of nipping them in the bud. Soon the messages accompanied weekly phone calls and video chats, until it became an almost daily ritual to hear your voice. 

He wasn’t sure what to think or feel about you, he just knew that he always found himself wondering about you. What you were doing, who you were with. Like you, he felt a tinge of jealousy on the rare occasion you would drop another man’s name. 

It’s comforting to know you felt the same way. Weary, but intrigued. Resistant to the pull of attraction, yet not entirely immune. 

The glass patio door slides open, then shut. 

Dieter looks over his shoulder and nods in greeting to Parker, who plops down in the patio chair next to him. With him, he carries a navy blue gift bag emblazoned with a shiny gold logo that reads Bizarre Bazaar. 

“You boys have fun shopping?”

Parker holds the bag out to Dieter, letting the ribbon handle dangle from his slender fingers, “It’s for you. Merry Christmas.” 

“Oh fuck off, really?” 

“It was Lincoln’s idea,” he shakes the bag, “Take it!” 

Rolling his eyes, Dieter sets your journal aside and takes the gift. 

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.” 

“I know.” 

He pushes aside tissue paper and pulls a black frame from the bag. A shadow box. Suspended inside the glass is a moth with an impressive wingspan. Its creamy white wings have dark stripes that zigzag close together to create an almost disorienting effect, making his vision blur into abstract. 

“Thysania Agrippina,” Parker tells him, “The White Witch moth, or ghost moth. They’re the biggest moths, typically found in forests of Central and South America. Back in ye olden days, when explorers encountered them, they would try to shoot them like they did with birds and bats, but the moths would evade the attacks, making the explorers think they were witches. Really, their body is just incredibly small in comparison to their wings.” 

Dieter nods, unable to tear his eyes away from the specimen.

“People see moths as a symbol of transformation and rebirth. White witch moths are especially considered good luck.” 

“I need all the luck I can get,” he mutters and looks at Parker, “It's beautiful, thank you.”

Parker gives him a half-hearted smile, glancing at your journal, “Did you find anything?” 

With a sigh, Dieter carefully slides the taxidermy moth back into the gift bag, then picks up your journal and flips through it. 

“Not really. I haven’t gone through much, though. Here are Darlene’s notes,” he opens to a page with her sparse, neat script, and flips backwards through the pages, passing a few blanks before finding your last entry, “This is from the day before. I don’t know.” 

Parker frowns, “Can I see it?” 

Shrugging, Dieter hands it to him. 

He watches as Parker studies the blank pages, tilting and turning the journal against the light of the overhead sun. When Parker jumps to his feet, Dieter’s stomach flips. 

“What?”

“I think I see something.”

“Something like what?”

“I need a pencil.”

Dieter leaps into action, leading the way inside to a cup of writing utensils on the kitchen counter. He finds a lead pencil and hands it to Parker, who starts lightly shading over a small section of paper. Contrast carves out negative space from idents in the page. 

A phone number. 

“Holy shit,” Dieter breathes, stunned for a moment before pulling out his phone and dialing the number. 

—

The bottle lets out a glug-glug-glug as you pour plum wine into your glass. You tilt your head, watching with dead eyes as the golden elixir fills your cup to the brim, then you set the empty bottle aside and take a sip. 

Not bad. Tart well-balanced with sweet. The taste doesn’t matter as much to you as the alcohol content, but it helps. 

Staring at the blank page, you remember what Dieter said when you tried and failed to reach Ethan through the psychomanteum. That you were too closed-off. You click your pen a few times, then bring the tip to paper. 

I cried myself to sleep that night. 

Ethan locked himself in his room after pouring the ink I gave him on the living room floor. I could hear him in there, pacing back and forth and talking to himself. A squeaky floorboard tracked his movements like a metronome. 

Even though he was in his own little world, I muffled my sobs in my pillow so he couldn’t hear me. Before falling asleep, I remember feeling hopeless. I loved and hated him at the same time. It was over, I couldn’t do it anymore. That fact scared the ever-loving shit out of me. 

It didn’t seem real when I woke up. 

He took me by the hair and pulled me out of bed. My legs didn’t work. I kept collapsing and tripping all over the place, which made him even more angry. Each time I faltered, he yanked me up to my feet by the hair. He called me a bitch. A rat. A spineless fucking worm. 

Before taking me out in the hallway, he showed me a pocket knife and told me if I screamed he would slit my throat. I believed him.

You pause here, considering whether or not to drink more wine. For a while, you watch the low flames in the fireplace dance around on ashy, glowing logs. You rise to your feet and approach it, pulling open the hearth to carefully stack more firewood atop the hungry beast. It thanks you with a crackle and a burst of heat and light, the newborn fire blazing your face and hands. 

Returning to your seat, you cross your legs under the coffee table and re-read what you’ve written. The memories hold space in your chest. 

This deep, dull ache starts at your sternum and spreads across your body. Instinctively, you reach for the wine, but pause before your fingertips touch the glass. 

It seems important that you experience the pain, not anesthetize it. 

You pick up the pen and keep going. 

He led me down to the parking garage and threw me in the passenger seat. When I tried to buckle my seatbelt, he threatened me again, told me to leave it. He took off, driving like a fucking maniac. Swerving around traffic, running red lights, going the wrong way down one way streets. It was snowing and the roads were slick. Every time we lost traction, he howled with laughter as he righted his course. 

I remember being fucking terrified and thinking this couldn’t be happening, it wasn’t real, it was a nightmare. I don’t remember everything I said to him. I just remember screaming and crying, begging him to let me out. He ignored me. I tried to snap him out of it by punching him in the face as hard as I could. This got his attention. 

The car skidded to a stop. He looked at me. His eyes were black and vacant and unrecognizable. I knew then that Ethan wasn’t coming back. It was me and his monster. I asked him to let me out. He said no. He said we had to do this together. I told him I fucking hated him and reached for the door handle to get out. 

He grabbed my throat and hit me hard, his fist landing on my left eye. I saw stars, then everything went black. 

When I came to, the engine was roaring. Red traffic lights zoomed by overhead. He was looking through the windshield with a blank, emotionless stare, picking up speed fast. It became very clear what he was going to do. Still dazed, I tried to put on my seatbelt, but before I could click it into place, I heard a horrible metallic crunching noise from everywhere. Everything went black again. 

Hot tears burn trails down your cheeks. You drop the pen down and bury your face in your hands, releasing a guttural sob from your chest like some kind of rabid animal. It splits you in two, claws tearing at your rib cage and carving you out. 

This is what it feels like to be an aluminum can. Drained of utility, crushed for scrap metal. 

This is what it feels like to be a jack-o-lantern. Gutted, empty, rotting. 

This is what it feels like to have your heart broken for the first and last time. 

Eventually, you manage to catch your breath. Then you rise to your feet and start towards the psychomanteum. 

__

Headlights cut through the pitch black night onto the highway ahead. 

“In two miles, take Exit 31 to merge onto CA-41 North towards Yosemite.” 

Dieter glances at his phone mounted to the dash. It estimates his arrival time as 10:53, putting him 36 minutes and 23 miles out. He punches the gas, watching the speedometer jump from 76-mph to 90. 

If he’s gonna shave off more time, it’ll be here, not in the foothills. Pretty soon the roads will get narrow and curvy. Not to mention, they might be slick as it gets colder with elevation, and he’d like to make it to you alive, thankyouverymuch. 

His nerves buzz at the thought, tangling in a mess of anticipation and worry and guilt. 

He should have figured it out sooner. This should have been a first day call. It would’ve been if he wasn’t so fucking blind. He handed your journal to Darlene, not realizing it had the answer the whole goddamn time. 

Nobody answered at first. He held his breath as the line trilled. It rang long enough for him to wonder if he died and went to hell and was doomed to exist in the moment for eternity. 

Then the voicemail picked up.

“You’ve reached the voicemail for Sarah Friedman. Sorry I missed you, leave me a message and I’ll call you back.” 

BEEP

“Hi, Sarah. My name is Dieter Bravo. I’m calling about my, uhh… Louella Friedman. I found your phone number in her notebook, and she’s been missing for a few days. I’m—I’m worried about her. She left a note, and, umm… yeah. I don’t know. I’m hoping you have information on her whereabouts. Please call me back. Thanks.” 

He hung up and looked between Parker and Lincoln, “Sarah Friedman?”

Parker’s eyes went wide, “That’s Ethan’s mom—oh my god—” He gasped, jumping up and down, “Their fucking cabin, Dieter! Fresno—mountains, forest, holy shit—”

“Oh my god!” Dieter started jumping up and down too, only getting two hops in before bolting for the door, “I GO NOW!”

“Wait—shoes! Your wallet! And keys!” Lincoln called to him, making him circle back into the house and grab the items off the sideboard and shove his feet into a pair of crocs. 

“And a charger, do you want an overnight bag? What about Lua’s things—her phone—”

His phone buzzed in his hand. Sarah returning his call. 

“You have thirty fucking seconds,” he told Lincoln before answering, “This is Dieter.” 

“Hi, Dieter. This is Sarah calling you back.” 

“Yeah, thank you so much—Is she, Lua, is she ok?” 

When she didn’t immediately respond yes, his stomach plummeted. 

“I actually, I don’t know,” Sarah sighed, “I’m glad you called, because I wasn’t sure—”

“What do you mean?”

He started snapping his fingers at Lincoln, who was stumbling down the hall towards him, shoving things into a backpack. 

“She’s been staying at our cabin and I haven’t been able to reach her.” 

“I have her phone, she left it here. At my house.” 

“No, on the landline. I’ve talked to her the past few days, but when I tried earlier the call wouldn’t go through.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, grabbing the backpack from Lincoln, “Send me the address, I’m going.”

It took him about two and a half hours to drive the some-odd 200 miles to where he is now. The most excruciating drive of his life, just him and Siri and his anxious thoughts. 

“Take the exit.”

He flips on the blinker and glances in the rearview mirror, then over his shoulder before merging. 

“Hang on a little bit longer, baby.” 

—

Your head swims as you relax into the nest of pillows and blankets on the floor. Behind you, the electric lantern casts a dim glow, reflecting off the frame of the mirror. The mirror shows you a black abyss. You stare into it, letting your vision blur abstract. 

Then you wait. 

After some time, a strange feeling comes over you. A shifting, surreal sensation like you’re changing gears and reaching a higher plane of existence. Invisible tendrils slither out from beneath your skin and branch out before you, stretching into the abyss. You feel connected to it. Tapped into something larger than yourself. 

“Ethan, I need to talk to you.” 

Something clicks into place, like a tether coupling you to him. His presence lingers near yours somewhere within the abyss, but you gather the notion that he wants you to come closer, and lean into the strange sensation. 

Static energy pulses around you on all sides as you move forward through the darkness. Light years ahead of you, a star twinkles. A single pinprick of brightness in the inky black.

You follow the beacon, gliding through the space with surprising speed. 

The light grows from a pinprick to a beam, from a beam to a dinner plate, from a dinner plate to a beach ball, stretching wider and brighter with each passing moment. 

You come to a halt when you realize that it’s not just a far-off daydream, but a tangible object. 

An orb, roughly the same size as you, glowing with pure white light. 

It emits familiar ambient noises, flickering brighter with each sound wave. Muffled car horns. Stomping from the upstairs neighbors. Ethan’s low, quiet humming in the tune of “All I Have to Do Is Dream” by the Everly Brothers. 

The orb seems to possess a gravitational pull. You find yourself drifting closer. When you reach out to touch it, your fingertips brush against something warm and inviting.

In the blink of an eye, you appear somewhere else entirely. 

It takes a moment to reorient yourself to these new surroundings. Your focus flickers to the steeple of your drawn-back emerald curtains, giving you a peep show of the electric blue sky. Afternoon sun pours in through the window, spilling across the bedspread. 

The foreground of your vision clears to a crisp image. Ethan’s bare chest, rising and falling with breath. Beneath your ear, the steady thump-thump of his heart beats true and steady. His fingertips gently rake against your skin in lazy, comforting circles. 

You tilt your head to look at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes are clear and present like you haven’t seen in ages. He looks healthy. Full of life. Reaching up to trace the curve of his lips, you whisper, “Is this heaven? Did I die?”

He huffs a little chuckle, “No.” 

You grin at the sight of his smile, eyes flicking all over his face, “Then what is it?” 

“It’s what you needed,” he shrugs, “What you came here for.” When you arch a suspicious brow, he smirks, “What?” 

“I came here to yell at you.” 

“Then yell at me.” 

He stares at you, his brown eyes both sincere and mischievous. Your teeth catch your bottom lip and you glance out the window. 

“C’man, Lou. Look at me.”

You do, and he shifts around a little, rolling on his side to face you, “Hit me with the truth, baby. I can take it.” 

“If I ask you something, will you lie?”

“I’ve got nothing to gain from lying to you.”

You search his face for signs of falsehood, but find none. 

“Were there other women?”

“Do you really wanna know?” 

You nod. 

He licks his lips, glancing down, then back to you, “Yeah, there were a few.” 

“How many?”

“Three.”

It shocks you a little, his honesty. And soothes you. You forgot it could be like this with him. No games, no bullshit. 

“Were they serious? Did you love them?”

“No,” he scoffs, waving his hand dismissively, “They were… distractions.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek and nod, dropping your gaze. 

“If you’re waiting for excuses, I don’t have any. It was wrong and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it. Any of it. The cheating, the lies, the… the way I hurt you—”

“You tried to kill me.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“You did kill me. Slowly. Inside and out.” Your vision swims with tears, but you look up to meet his eyes anyway, “You broke me. You were supposed to love me and you broke me, Ethan. I don’t know if I can even love right anymore, I’m so fucked up.” 

“I’m sorry.”

He looks at you with such naked anguish that you believe he means the apology with his whole heart. It still hurts. 

“Please say something else.” 

“What do you want me to say, Lou?”

A hard knot of emotion works its way up your throat, making your face crumble and your eyes sting with tears. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Then, as if it’s an answer, you tell him, “I’m… I’m scared.” 

“What’re you so scared of?” 

“What if we’re just cursed to keep living this over and over? Loving and losing?” 

You picture your dad. Ethan. James. Anika. 

You picture Dieter. You picture one hundred ways he could break you beyond recognition. One hundred ways you could do the same to him. 

It all seems so fragile.

“Lou, look at me,” he tilts your chin up to meet his eyes, “You will never know what the future holds. That doesn’t mean it can’t be good. That doesn’t mean you should hide from it.”

“Is it worth it?” 

“Don’t you think?”

You picture the ghost trail of your ink-stained hand clasping Dieter’s and feeling his soul from the inside out. The phone calls. Hours and hours—weeks, really—listening to his voice over one electronic device or another. Him sitting next to you, eating Chinese food and watching shitty tv. His laugh, those dimples. The night at the Plaza. Big brown tootsie pop eyes. Snow angels. The ocean—the sea of love. 

He smirks, flicking his eyes around your face, “You love him, huh?”

“I do,” you nod, a knot of guilt tugging at your stomach, “I love him so much. I just… what if he hurts me like you did? What if I hurt him? I—I don’t think I can be put back together if I break again.” 

“Tell me something. And be honest with me, I’ll know if you’re lying, ok? If you could go back and do something different, forever changing the course of your life up to this moment… would you?” 

You think about it, long and hard. You consider the different paths your life could have taken. 

If your dad never developed cancer, you might’ve felt secure enough to stay in Ohio. Maybe you would have attended culinary classes in a local community college instead of running away to New York. You never would have met Parker. You never would have moved to the city. You never would have had the opportunities to establish your culinary skills the way you did. You never would have met Ethan. 

If Ethan would have stayed clean, the two of you might have existed in happily-ever-after until your dying day… but you never would have met Dieter. 

Dieter. 

Your chest aches with love, tears welling up in your eyes. Loving him feels perfect and magical and right. Otherworldly. It feels like forever. 

Every passing moment since you met him has felt like you are exactly where you need to be.

Even the bad times, like the first time you tried the psychomanteum and he lost it. You learned so much about him. He revealed some of the most tender spots in his heart. You started to trust him. 

Or when you found out he slept with Katie and it felt like your world came crashing down. You learned that, even when you pushed him away, he would fight tooth and nail for you. 

Intrusions from the tabloids and your mother, the interview, dinner with Lilly and Jay. All of these instances forced you both to reconcile with parts of yourselves you thought were thoroughly unloveable and come out the other side somehow more intact than you were before. 

You realize that even now, with the threat of prison and the destruction of Dieter’s career lingering in your periphery, with you tucked away in the psychomanteum in the middle of nowhere, hiding from everything… it’s where you need to be. And despite the impossible odds, you believe that your love for each other will come out the other side. 

You shake your head.

“No. I wouldn’t change a thing.” 

Ethan nods, brushing his fingertips along your cheek, “So, you tell me. Is it worth the risk?”

—

When Dieter spots the mailbox labeled FRIEDMAN, his heart jumps up and gets lodged in his throat. 

"The destination is on your right. Arrived." 

He slows and turns the wheel, steering the car down the gravel driveway. Outside, the night is impossibly black. The only thing he can see in the high beams are tall pine trees on either side of the path and an occasional flicker of reflective eyes in the forest. 

“Could it be any fucking creepier out here, Jesus Christ—”

Thunk 

One of the tires hits a pothole, making him grimace. The car jostles back and forth in protest, then rights its path. 

Goddamnit, not now. 

If he breaks down out here he might spontaneously combust. Any other time, just not now, he's so fucking close. Steering around another deep gash in the path, Dieter grits his teeth and squints into the darkness. 

A light in the distance makes him sit up straighter and lean forward. 

It has to be a porch light, that has to be it. 

Anxious energy pounds thick through his veins. He can’t clear his head enough to glean anything about your current state. Horrible images flash through his mind, torturing him. 

The trees open up into a clearing.

As soon as his headlights graze the cabin, he throws the car into park and jumps from the vehicle, screaming your name as he runs up the steps onto the patio. 

He pounds on the door, peeking in through the window, “Lua, it’s me.”

His voice is garbled and frantic. 

Inside, he sees a fireplace glowing with warm light. He twists the doorknob and pushes it open, “LOUELLA?”

Dead silence. 

White hot panic spikes his blood. 

He runs numb, trembling hands through his hair and calls your name again, starting through the house. 

There are signs of life. The crackling fireplace. Towels and blankets stacked on the kitchen counter. Your open suitcase in one of the downstairs bedrooms. 

On the coffee table in the living room, he finds a full glass of wine and a notebook. He picks it up and starts reading, throat letting out an involuntary dry whimper as he tries again and again to read the words, but they blur and don’t make sense. 

The sound of the front door opening makes him spin around. 

—

Your exhale fogs in the cool night air as you pull a rock from the backpack and chuck it towards the sound of flowing water. 

Ker-plunk!

Squinting into the darkness, you make out ripples on the river’s surface and smile. 

The next one is heavier. 

You have to grab it with two hands and heave it over your shoulder to send it launching it into the air, crashing through the water with a loud splash. 

Delight shivers up your spine. 

You tuck your hands in your jacket pockets and look up at the stars. With the expanse of the universe stretching across the atmosphere, you should feel small and hopeless. But you don’t. Instead, a deep sense of optimism and wonder steals your breath. 

Somehow it feels like every other time you’ve crawled out of the shit, but different. Like you’re the same person you were, although not at all. Like the good parts stayed intact, but the fear sloughed off at your feet. 

You feel weightless. Hopeful. Infinite. 

It doesn’t matter that you don’t have transportation, or food, or anything. It doesn’t matter that your return to society might result in your arrest. All that matters is you find Dieter and face this with him. 

For the first time in a long time, you have faith that everything will be ok. 

The sound of an approaching car draws your attention. A beam of light scans through the night sky, then you hear a car door. 

“LOUELLA!” 

You gasp, voice cracking as you whisper, “Dieter?”

Your heart skitters in your chest and your feet spring into action, trudging up the riverbed as fast as they can. Chest heaving, vision blurring, you climb up the hill and make a mad dash towards the cabin. 

When you reach the door and twist the doorknob, you can’t feel the cold metal on your hands. You shove it open and step into the house, every cell in your body buzzing with shock and awe and fear and excitement when you lay your eyes upon him. 

“Dee?”

[ Next Chapter ]

#psychomanteum #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x female reader #x reader #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo angst #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo the bubble #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic

[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

An Innocent Mistake (Part 5)

"And what, exactly, do you think you are doing?"

MC yelped, leaping off the coffee table in a perfect imitation of a cat seeing a cucumber.

Levi, Satan and Mammon sat bolt upright on the sofa, the third eldest hurriedly hiding his DDD behind his back.

Lucifer arched a brow, catching sight of a scaly tail skulking behind the sofa in a hurry.

"W-hey! Big brother!" Mammon cried nervously, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "Fancy seeing you here!"

Lucifer smiled dangerously. "I live here too, remember, little brother?"

"Yikes!" Leviathan squeaked, pushing back into the sofa as if he could disappear into it.

"Levi, the phone, if you please."

The otaku vehemently shook his head, hiding his mouth behind his hand. "You'll never take me alive, villain!"

Satan rolled his eyes, unbothered by Lucifer's scathing glare. "Good grief, could you two act any guiltier. And as for you, MC-"

The dragon let out an indignant growl, now firmly tucked in under the sofa, he was almost surprised they still fit.

Lucifer contemplated his next move carefully. It was no use pushing Satan or MC, the human is impervious to him at this point, and Levi may short-circuit if he pushed too hard.

Therefore...

"Mammon?"

The second born yelped, and predictably, cracked like a fresh egg.

"Levi was usin' MC to spy on that movie bein' filmed at the café downtown! I was gonna sell the footage for a pretty grimm and Satan wanted to see if he could use 'em to spy on you!"

"Baka."

"Idiot."

Lucifer smiled in satisfaction. "I'll deal with your punishment later. For now, MC, come here."

The dragon slid out from under the sofa, the camera and harness still strapped to them.

They stared up at him defiantly, as if daring him to punish them. Lucifer is only too happy to oblige, and holds out his arm expectantly.

The dragon rolled their eyes, sharing a look with Satan before obediently flying onto Lucifer's arm, allowing him to remove the camera from their chest, which he of course, confiscated.

"Wait for me in my office, understand?"

MC whined, but one look from the oldest had them reluctantly flying off, leaving the three demon's to Lucifer's lecture.

Lucifer knew he could go on for a while, still, he didn't expect what he came back to in his office.

He loosened his tie as he stepped in, the day's stress began to feel heavy. MC being trapped as a dragon didn't help matters, even when they did their best to stay out of trouble, they just can't help it.

As amusing as it is to have them clawing up the faces of demons that poke fun at those they love, he wants his smiling human back, and soon.

He looks at the fireplace, expecting to see MC curled up in the armchair in front of it, but they aren't there. His eyes dart to his desk, and soften, as he found the little dragon sound asleep, spread out over his paperwork.

They're on their back, legs in the air, wings spread across the width of their desk. Mammon was right, they really had grown.

MC started off the size of your average housecat, with a wingspan about the length of one of his arms, but now, about a week into their winged experience, that wingspan has doubled.

Solomon claimed not to know how to reverse the transformation, let alone how to translate the after effects of such a thing, for all he knew, MC wouldn't stop growing until they turned back, or they could turn back all on their own.

Lucifer reminds himself that this is Solomon, an infuriatingly persistent man.

Distracting himself, he admires the pattern of scales down MC's belly, the curve of their claws, how they slightly reflect candle-light.

Even as a dragon, his MC finds a way to be captivating.

Still, they are sleeping on his work, and their tail is perilously close to his ink well.

With a reluctant sigh, he brushed a finger over the arch of their horn, coaxing open those familiar eyes. "Comfortable, are we?"

MC blinks up at him, and for just a moment, he swore he could see his human smiling up at him, before the dragon nibbled gently at his gloved fingertip.

"Come, if you're going to sleep, at least do it out of the way."

He sat at his desk, softly patting his thigh.

"No matter what you look like, this is always your place, menace."

MC purred, playfully swatting him with their tail before curling up in his lap, resting their chin in the crook of his arm as he muttered a spell to start his record player, and worked in peaceful comfort with them in his arms.

Part 6

#obey me x mc #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x mc #obey me levi #obey me mammon #obey me satan #an innocent mistake #dragon mc

[meddlingmaeve]

You looked tired, you felt tired, and your tired feet  dragged like lead on your walk to the house of lamentation. Mammon looked much the same, walking next to you, maybe even a little shell shocked over the amount of akuzon packages you ended up delivering. Damn it was a lot but at least the pay was good. With how much you made you wouldn't need to take on other jobs for a little while.

"Was it worth it?" You asked the demon and stifled a yawn.

Mammon stopped, letting out a long stretch that ended with his hands resting behind his head. "What kinda question is that? It'll be worth it after I get some sleep, ya know?" He continued his saunter and before you knew it, the two of you walked through the doors of the house. 

It was unusually quiet but it was a weekend night, everyone was out causing mischief somewhere else which suited you just fine. At least this time you weren't around it and didn't have to deal with it. With a long sigh, you told Mammon goodnight to which he mumbled something incomprehensible as he went up the stairs to his room. You watched him go, waiting for him to disappear and listening for the sounds of his door.

The muffled click was just in earshot and you moved up the stairs as softly as you could. Weariness from the day, no, even the week of work and RAD, had hit your muscles. Despite how bone tired you were, a smile tugged at your lips at the thought of your destination.  The one thing you've wanted to do all week, spend time with Lucifer.

Throughout the whole day, all your weary body wanted to do was exist with him. You knew he'd probably be busy, working on RAD student council paperwork but it didn't matter. Often when Lucifer was busy, you'd bring him food and drink, making sure he was taking care of himself. You'd sit in the chairs by the fireplace, in his office or in his study, doing homework or reading a book. Sharing the same space with him was enough to put you both at ease. 

But right now, you're tired and the only thing you wanted to do was find yourself wrapped in his embrace. You knocked gently but no voice greeted you. The handle made no noise as you turned it but the door creaked a little when you made an opening just wide enough for you to slip in. Softly, you closed the door behind you and turned to survey the room. 

There were no lights on except the glow of the fireplace against the walls, casting long shadows. You spotted an opened bottle of demonus on the coffee table alongside a neat stack of paper. The room smelled of wood smoke, ink, and paper and the familiar smell caused all the tension to leave your body at once. You staggered a bit as the warmth from the fireplace surrounded you, coaxing a yawn from weary body.

Your gaze fell upon the bed where you saw a form under the sheets. By some miracle, Lucifer had finished his paperwork early and fallen asleep. 

You started towards the bed, hands making quick work of your clothes. You shrugged out your jacket, pulled your shirt over your head, and made quick work of your pants. There was a trail of clothes in your wake so by the time you crawled into Lucifer's huge bed, you were in just your skivvies and ready to snuggle under the covers. 

As you were settling in, you looked over to Lucifer, whose face was turned to you, and he looked so peaceful. Your heart thumped in your chest. The heat of happiness rose up to your face, giving you a silly little smile. You reached out a tentative hand towards him, watching for any signs that you might have disturbed his sleep, and brushed away a strand of that lovely black and grey hair obscuring his face. Your attention focused on each and every feature of that handsome face: striking jawline, cute nose, and a brow that was unfurrowed for once. You wanted to etch every feature into your memory forever. It didn't matter how many times you'd seen him, his beauty blew you away and it was hard to believe that you, a human, had caught his heart.

You were so lost in staring at his face, and thinking about how much you loved him, that you didn't notice his arm moving until it draped over your waist and pulled you in. It startled you and you let out a little yip of surprise which was met with him shushing you. 

"Sleep MC. You can stare more in the morning." His deep voice rumbled sleepily and you felt it vibrate his chest.

"Just let me turn over then." You quietly giggled and rolled over in his arms until he was spooning you. His embrace was warm, his arm coming around you and curling around your rib cage, pulling you flush against him. You wiggled your lower half to his and then relaxed against him.

Between the comfortable pillow under your head and the warmth of your lover's body next to yours, you began to drift to sleep, finally getting what you wanted all day.

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x mc #lucifer obey me #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x you #obey me lucifer fluff #fluffy luci #obey me luci x reader #obmswd #obey me nightbringer #nightbringer #nightbringer lucifer #tired MC #just needed fluffy luci after working #obey me fanfic #obey me ficlet #obey me fluff #sleepy Lucifer #mentions mammon #fluffy demon cuddles #lucifer cuddles

[memento-morri-writes]

hi Morri!!! how are you doing??

I've seen around for some time people using a website called Obsidian for DnD and apparently what cool about it is that you can make diagrams between information and notes sort of like Wikipedia that everything is linked and you can click on the different info??

and I thought you might wanna find it interesting to look at? (I've tried the website bc some people compare it to Notion and I love Notion as you know and it's been a bit hard to get used to it, but I guess that for people with a lot of character and info it might work better)

anyway that's all! have a good day/night!

@ink-fireplace-coffee

hi Carmen!!

I'm doing pretty good! I'm actually in 2 dnd games now, so that's kind of fun. I have to go back to school in a few weeks, which is... not great. But you gotta do what you gotta do, I guess. I haven't done, like, any writing in months, but ehh, it's fine, right?? I wish I was doing more, but my adhd has not been cooperating lately.

I've actually heard of Obsidian!! @space-writes uses it for just about everything, iirc. I've been meaning to give it a shot sometime. But I don't think I'll ever end up moving all my d&d character stuff over, at least not right now, since I have a very detailed spreadsheet database for them all in Notion, which I'm very proud of.

But who knows, maybe someday I'll change my mind. I have been known to do that frequently... (Looks sideways at my writing notes which are scattered between milanote and notion, plus my actual writing which is scattered between google docs and scrivener.)

But thank you for telling me about it! I love it when people tell me that something reminded them of me, or that they thought I'd like it. It means a lot to me.

And how about you? How are you doing? I hope you're not too busy right now. I miss seeing you on my dash and talking to you! <3

#Anonymous #ink-fireplace-coffee #friends <3 #morrigan replies #not writing

[enchanted-lightning-aes]

Holii Enchant!! how are you doing? for the wip centric ask game (i think it was called?) 7, 13 and 18 for Blasted Scorn??

Thanks!

Have a good day/night!

(@ink-fireplace-coffee)

hey, thanks for asking. :]

7) How did you first get the idea for this story?

it was supposed to be a knight searching for princess, winds up in a pirate ship. but i revamped it and the pirates are the main protags.

13) What would this story taste like?

idk, spicey and zesty with various international flavors to select.

18) What method have you used to write this story (typing on a laptop or phone, handwritten, etc.)...?

laptop and evernote.

send me an ask from this ask game?

#enchant answers #ink fireplace coffee #enchant: blasted scorn

[lockejhaven]

hi!!

1, 19 and 23 for the ask game???

have a good day/night!!

(@/ink-fireplace-coffee)

»»—————————-　𓆩❤︎𓆪　—————————-««

𝚁𝚘ü𝚡𝚘 𝚔𝚘𝚓 𝚊𝚟𝚠𝚎𝚒; Hello, my friend, and thank you for the asks!

Questions from this ask game.

My answers for these are a bit longer, so I've added them after the cut; I've also answered the 1st question at the end, due to included triggers.

Stay safe!

19. Which OC do you relate to the most?

I've not mentioned this one before, and I've got a few things to revamp with them, but I relate to Laisey the most.

Laisey is the Demon King; half incubus/half fairy.

His reputation is often conflicting. He has many partners, and many hold the image of a stereotypical 'masculine' demon king, lounging on a throne with his many concubines.

However, he is not at all as expected. He's trans, non-binary, poly, androsexual, and autistic. Laisey doesn't say much, but people listen when he speaks.

He rules his people with kindness and care, and for the rest of the worlds, he is the most intimidating. After all, nothing is more terrifying than a Demon King whose people would do anything for him.

Laisey is incredibly soft. His favorite flowers are buttercups, he loves to cross-stitch, he has a massive hoodie collection, and his bedroom is basically a nook rather than the typical 'bedchambers' of a king.

His favorite spot in the castle is a small library in the tallest tower. He collects journals and gifts one to each person who works for him; they are then welcome to fill their journal with whatever they want, as long as they store it in the small library.

Laisey is affectionate, determined, confident, and has so much love to give; he's a paradox, and I absolutely adore him.

23. Tell me about your newest WIP idea. Even if you haven't written it down. Even if it will die in a matter of days.

My most recent WIP is Angel to Mage, inspired by many of the hero x villain snippets I've come across during my time here on tumblr. I wanted to write something new; detached from the rest of my worlds and writing.

In this story, a Mage steals the wings of an Angel. By doing so, she gains immortality, and her Hero name, Spirit. In this world, heroes are propaganda; they exist to control and destroy anything deemed dangerous or different.

Warlock, on the other hand, is the true angel; an angel with the power to manipulate and control fear. When their wings are stolen by a self-righteous 'hero' the reality of Justice crashes down around them, and they take it upon themself to free the civilians of their lavish prison.

I've still got a lot of things to work out, and this may not even end up being the final concept, but its a start, and I'm pretty excited about it!

01. What was the first thing you ever wrote for yourself? Not for a school assignment but for your own enjoyment.

The first thing I ever wrote for myself was a snippet with my first OC, Maxine Albrecht, or Maximillian Castelis Ailet as she's now known. In fact, I still have it saved, so here's a snippet c; tw: blood, violence, language

He growled at her. "I believe you have something that’s mine." She smiled innocently, waiting. His eyes flickered to her exposed neck and his hands twitched. "Go ahead, I know you're hungry." The gold watch flashed in her memory, as well as Corey's now glowing red eyes. Without hesitation he sank his fangs in, holding her there. She smirked and let out a quiet laugh. Corey moved back, his hands tightening on her wrists. "What are you laughing about, bitch?" She glanced at his mouth, stained with her blood. Without warning, he convulsed in pain, and his mouth started to smoke. Max lazily pushed herself off the wall, wiping the blood off her neck and licking it off. She watched as his skin began to burn where her blood had made contact. "Next time you follow a woman home," She leaned in closer. "Make sure you know exactly who or what she is." And with that, she was gone.

»»—————————-　𓆩❤︎𓆪　—————————-««

~ Of Fables & Feathers,

🕊️ Locke J. Haven

locket’s tags:  ╔═════════════════════╗

@365runesofwriting   @enchanted-lightning-aes   @thepixiediaries   @/midnight-and-his-melodiverse   @perasperaadastrawriting@fearofahumanplanet@orphicpoieses[ your tag could be here… ]

╚═════════════════════╝

#asks: ink-fireplace-coffee #oc: laisey #oc: ailet #wip: atm #fables and feathers #oct #oct 2022 #2022 #locket answers

[violetcancerian]

Lima, Venice, Casablanca and Busan for the ask game??? have a good day/night Andy!!

(@ink-fireplace-coffee)

Thank you for the ask!!! And same to you @ink-fireplace-coffee 💕

Aahh I'm gonna go with Tales of Tirinth for this one!

Lima: what are the typical meals in your world?

Roasted boar with garlic butter and rosemary, and little oatmeal patties with nuts, picture that on a cold winter night

Venice: which OC is most likely to pull off a heist and succeed?

IDJDHJSGSJSV PROBABLY DORAN AND FINNR, TO BE HONEST. THIS WACKY FOUND FAMILY SIBLING DUO WOULD MOST DEFINITELY PULL A HEIST OFF

Casablanca: which is the most traditional city?

In Tirinth, that would be Five Hills, since it's a port city and the oldest, but in Frynia, that would be Aeswic!

#hobbit talks #andy rambles #hobbit answers #wip: tales of tirinth #wip asks #writeblr #writblr #ink fireplace coffee

[zeenimf]

Phei of the Wind | Draft 3 Complete

Hiya all~ It's been a while, but today I've finished the third draft of my fantasy novel Phei of the Wind. As many of you know I've been working on this novel for more than twelve years now, and this is the most definitive version I've ever made. It's still going to be revised and worked upon, of course, but most story beats have now been completed. It's composed of 29 chapters with a hefty 109000 words. I'm writing my thesis this semester, and I realised that I was so close to finishing that I couldn't think about anything else. So I went burn-out mode and wrote some 20000 words these two weeks, and now while I'm sitting in my eco-literature class (which is very interesting but my brain is too obsessed to stop writing), I've typed up the last few words.

So for those who have somehow missed me talking about this, it's a story about Phei, a halfling-harpy who lives in a world above the clouds. She is a priestess of sorts, and she notices that the world is slowly growing pale and empty. When she learns of a possible cause she runs away to the world below the clouds, the world where her people exiled themselves from. There she travels across the lands, figuring out not just what's happening to the world, but what happened to her people as well while meeting a cast of eccentric characters.

As in regards to the third draft, the biggest change is the endpoint. The previous draft ended at a point that made sense for a single novel, but would require another novel to tell the whole story. This new draft doesn't stop there. I shuffled around a lot of things and added some 40k words after that point. I wanted Phei's story to be composed of one big book. It doesn't mean that don't want to tell other stories in this world, but Phei's story is done when this book is done.

So what's next? I'm going to go through the entire book once, since I have a pile of notes that I thought of when writing this draft. And then I want to send the book out to a handful of beta readers. I'll send a post out for that tonight or tomorrow, so keep your eyes peeled if you're interested in that!

And lastly I'd like to thank you all for your nice comments and support! Every time someone commented something nice about the story it kept me going, so I think it may have taken a lot longer without all of you. <3

I'll leave you with a snippet (picking something that has no spoilers was haaaard), and hope you will all have a wonderful day!

xx

The wind causes Phei to lose her grip on time. Hours blow past as Phei glides, effortless. She knows of birds being able to sleep in the sky, and wonders if her people used to glide in their sleep too. Her dream quickly fades when she dashes to the right again, a sliver of upwards current catching her attention. Agile, yet absent-minded, she crosses past the forests until she can see the sands of Iekin edge towards the mountains, there where the narrow peaks and pillars of Sunde come into view. Without the stormy clouds Phei is able to take in the mountain in its entirety. It is a lonely mountain, imprisoned by the hundreds of spikes surrounding it. The evening sun shines over it, making the golden chains draping down all around the mountain glitter in sinful light. Glistering like that, Phei imagines the mountain as almost peaceful. It shows no sign of the great horrors that have been committed at its feet. It is like a passive observer, nothing more, nothing less.

Taglist, let me know if you want to be added / removed!

@ink-fireplace-coffee | @write-the-stars-and-shadows | @henrike-does-writing-sometimes | @ladywithalamp | @chazzawrites | @writingonesdreams | @generalblizzarddreamer | @peepos-prose | @writing-is-a-martial-art | @dahliaornelas​​ | @ofbloodandflowers | @magic-is-something-we-create | @ettawritesnstudies | @47crayons | @inkflight | @thelaughingstag | @writing-with-l | @immunetoliteraryanalysis​ | @strangerays​ | @luerange​  | @snowinks​ | @the-orangeauthor​ | @waysofink​ | @fablewritten​ | @houndmouthed​ | @midnights-call​ | @phantomnations​ | @teriwrites​

#gust #writelbr #fantasy #wip #spilled ink