overturner of the earth

marked for a final feast

Summary: You make a deal with a demon for the last precious thing you have left. (Demon!AU)

Genre: Angst, Horror, Supernatural, (BlackButler AU)

Rating: Teen and Up

Length: 2.1k

A/N: <3

Originally posted by everyonesnoona

It’s cold.


Rainwater has soaked into the velvet bodice and skirt of your dress, the hem caked in mud. It continues to pour down into the cemetery, small rivulets running down your neck and face carrying away with them the last remnants of your grief. The thick material of the black dress does little to keep your skin from growing chilled and numb, your body trembling, freezing down to your bones. Your hands lay lifelessly by your side, your fingers dipping into the damp, overturned earth even as it syphons away any lingering warmth within your blood.

The graves just beyond your knees are still fresh. The soil has taken in the deluge of water greedily, the loamy brown soil of the morning turning a thick, gluttonous black as the setting sun leads the world into twilight. Thin rivers run over the polished marble headstones, curling into the words etched into their faces and dripping into the prim bouquets lain at their feet. A stuffed bear is slumped against the smallest of the three, its fur worn and stained. Towering angels stand guard just behind them, hands clasped to their chests in prayer, their veiled, sweet faces bent toward the earth in despair.

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More Than Roses

Also on ff and ao3

Emma brings the lilies on a Tuesday.

“Hey,” she says, like she always does, like she always did.  

She lays them down across the overturned earth.  The grit lodges up underneath her fingernails, smears across the palm of her hand, over her wrist.  She leans forward, tracing the letters of his name.

“I know…” she starts.  

But she can’t finish, can’t hardly speak, teeth chattering, jaw clenching against the sob that rises in her chest.  She stands on warbling legs, her boots sinking into the ground.  It’s been raining something fierce as of late and it’s just - 

“Bloody hell, I hate the rain,” he says, pulling his collar up against the wind, hunching down in front of her as they walk.

She laughs.  “Uh, excuse me, I am not your rain shield.”

- it’s just too familiar.

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Inge Lehmann (1888-1993) was a Danish geophysicist and seismologist who, in 1936, discovered that the Earth has a solid inner core surrounded by a molten outer core. This overturned the previous belief that the Earth’s core was a single molten sphere.

She began her higher education by studying mathematics at the University of Copenhagen, and later at Cambridge. She made important investigations of the Earth’s structure, discovering, among other elements, a seismic discontinuity that was named after her. Today, the American Geophysical Society awards a medal in her honor.

Halcyon Days || Closed

[ kingfisherdaze ]

He’s pretty sure Bro’s room has been coated well enough in human dairy treats to send a message without being too impossible to clean up. So despite his hunger he’s quite proud of himself. Someone visiting is icing on the cake, now he doesn’t have to spend his time talking to x (who quite frankly is almost more trouble than he is worth in Dirk’s mind) or Foo (Who is loyal and sweet but, still an animal. Kinda? They don’t talk.) Actual company is appreciated.

The home is large. But not enormous. Still, even without size, there is obvious wealth here, everything is either top of the line or vintage old. Mostly clean, aside from a corner of the room where Bro’s supplies have been strewn, scraps of cloth and pins. But that’s for a human occupation and means little. 

It smells, to any creature with a keen nose, of three beings. Dirk himself, who smells faintly of overturned earth even now, not his natural scent, with undertones of something warmer, sunlight, a vague sweetness. And then there is Bro’s, stronger, it practically covers Dirk’s even though he has not been here for days. Domineering, all raw power. Dirk has no idea what exactly he’s living with.

And then, there is the familiar, a strange beast who is nowhere to be seen at the moment. irrelevant. Probably licking yogurt off the wall to be honest. Dirk rests now on the couch, typing away at his computer and murmuring in hushed tones to x. Looking up only when he hears the sound of someone transportalizing in. He clicks a few times curiously, making their shape out, and then he trills, birdlike, the louder sound is easier to ‘see.’

This being is very small. Dirk is only an inch taller. They didn’t sound like a child online. Perhaps just small? Dirk barely looks a day past 14. He can’t really talk. He’s small even for a boy turned a week or so past their 15th birthday.

“Daze?” he blinks uselessly, setting his laptop aside, standing. He is pretty sure it is his friend, but he’s prepared to flee just out of caution all the same. There is an open staircase leading to other rooms, and a doorway which leads to the kitchen, but the living room itself is large. Massive even. Which is good, it gives Dirk open space to move in.

“If that’s you I’m going to be a gigantic ass and beg you to help me with the fridge I haven’t eaten in like two days.”

He pauses, realizes, he never actually told Daze what he is. Shit. 
“You don’t have to, feel free to say no, I just, need you to get something very specific from the fridge for me. You don’t have to handle it if you don’t want past that, I can probably wrangle a pot of water onto the stove to heat it with.”

He fidgets just a little. Nervous energy. Mistake. He should have asked about all this beforehand. “And you have to promise not to flip your shit”


This is a real revolution. Revolution is always based on land. Revolution is never based on begging somebody for an integrated cup of coffee. Revolutions are never fought by turning the other cheek. Revolutions are never based upon love-your-enemy and pray-for-those-who-despitefully-use-you. And revolutions are never waged singing “We Shall Overcome.” Revolutions are based on bloodshed. Revolutions are never compromising. Revolutions are never based upon negotiations. Revolutions are never based upon any kind of tokenism whatsoever. Revolutions are never even based upon that which is begging a corrupt society or a corrupt system to accept us into it. Revolutions overturn systems. And there is no system on this earth which has proven itself more corrupt, more criminal, than this system that in 1964 still colonizes 22 million African-Americans, still enslaves 22 million Afro-Americans. There is no system more corrupt than a system that represents itself as the example of freedom, the example of democracy, and can go all over this earth telling other people how to straighten out their house, when you have citizens of this country who have to use bullets if they want to cast a ballot.
—  malcolm x