Writing Group: Sins of the Father (PRIVATE)

Hello, Preachers and Padres!

Fathers always tend to be someone to look up to. Someone who can protect the family against harm and fault. The big, strong patriarch. But what if he’s the one that people need protection from? What if he’s wearing a mask? Perhaps it’s time to peek at his true nature, because…

This week’s Writing Group prompt is:

Sins of the Father

Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!

We all want to feel safe. A sense of safety gives us peace of mind, and a place to relax. This can often be in the presence of family. Fathers, for the longest time, have been considered the “head” of the family. They were a symbol of bravery, strength, and discipline. Had they a son, they were expected to pass on the responsibility to him. Had they a daughter, they were expected to protect her from the world that wanted to do her harm. 

But what if the man they show everyone else isn’t the man they really are? So many look up to this upstanding person who seems so perfect, so ideal. Yet one little slip could reveal all the skeletons hiding in his closet. Perhaps he has a wandering eye, and has a hard time remaining faithful to his wife. Perhaps he has a habit of sneaking money from the register at work, or having a few sips of alcohol on the job. Maybe he puts his friends above his family, always coming home late and going straight to bed. Maybe he just keeps putting the family in debt and continuously fails to make things right.

As Launcelot quoted in The Merchant of Venice, “the sins of the father are to be laid upon the children.” This line, without scene context of course, can be taken many ways. Perhaps it is up to the children to settle their father’s debts, whether they be bills, rent, or paying back money he owes to people he’s borrowed from. Maybe he has stirred up all kinds of trouble in his life, and it is left to his children to right all his wrongs. Likewise, perhaps those who knew the man knew he was no good, and so they cast that image upon his children, who have to then work to break the mold they are forced into. 

Sins come in all shapes and sizes, from a touch of greed, to a drunken one night stand, to full blown murder. 

It is now that you must decide, do you punish him, let him handle it himself, or give him one more chance? 

Whether you wanted it or not, this mantle now falls to you.  


Remember, this is part of our weekly Writing Group stream! Submit a little piece following the rules and guidelines below, and there’s a chance your entry will be read live on stream! In addition, we’ll discuss it for a minute and give you some feedback.

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1 year ago

A Crown’s Weight
By Connor/Dragoneye

“We can’t let her take the throne.”

Egbert ran his hand along the armrest of the stonework throne. The intricacy of the filigree stared back with yearning. “She is our best option.”

“No she isn’t, she’s a child!” Heathryn protested. “She has no idea how to lead this nation.”

“We are here for a reason, Heathryn. Lord Ursaborne requested that we are patient when her time has come.”

“There is a rebellion ravaging towns! Another Ursaborne will only stir their hatred more.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

Heathryn took a deep breath and sighed. “We marry Saethela to a vassal as a consort and let them have the seat.”

Egbert’s eyes flared with rage. “You’d betray His Lordship’s request?”

“I knew you would hate that. But this is all we have left. It forces us to make hard choices. If we want peace, this is the best option.”

“Who’s to say that this rebellion can’t be crushed?”

Heathryn’s eyes widened. “You would kill innocents? You would gift a child the responsibility to lead a bloody excursion she has never seen in her life?”

“She is not a child.” With each step toward the priestess, Egbert’s presence grew. He was no longer the demure old man he. “I have seen her craft stonework the likes of which would make a professional mason cry. She has a loyalty to the people around her working with sweat and blood because she has worked in the mines as they have. If there is anyone who truly understood what folly this rebellion is, it would be Saethela.”

Despite her shrunken stature, Heathyrn gave him a final piece of advise. “Be careful that you do not speak in her stead. She is your lady, not your mouthpiece.”

“And she is not your child.” With that, Egbert left the chamber, and all the while, the throne awaited, eager for an occupant.

jesse fisher
jesse fisher
1 year ago

Sins accepted
By Jesse Fisher

The bar was dead at the moment, which in of itself is not an uncommon thing. Gods of the dead, death, and afterlife do come in and enjoy the drinks. This however has many zombie lords that come in to exchange many ways to fight the cure’s of their worlds. And where there are zombie lords then there must be zombie followers.

And the navy demon wolf had to push his way through the horde as he tried to get to the serving bar in the back. The smell of rotten flesh was near unbearable, and the back of the bar was no better. Not to mention some of the walking corpses had holes in their guts.

“So what are the issues this time?” The wolf’s question to the barkeep was answered by one of the hoards.

“This one,” it said pointing at the barkeep. “Is here dealing with us while his woman is caring for the kid he got. For shame.”

“You do know he is the god of this place right?” The wolf pointed out, “He could be there right now and we just see a fake him here.”

“It doesn’t matter, take it from me. If I could go back I would have spent the last of my life with my kids.” The stiff’s face could not change but its body shifted, even causing an arm to fall off. “Instead I ate them, the screams haunt me.”

“Dude don’t project on others just to make yourself feel better, all that will do is make you worse.” The wolf pointed out. “Granted you don’t have much of a choice in this do you.”

“The hunger is great in our world, you can not stop it.” That was the reply as it picked up its arm and left.

The moment the zombie left the heterochromic barkeep looked into the wolf’s yellow eyes.

“So you’re going to take that to heart?”

“It’s easier when the mirror is broken.”

1 year ago

A Simple Wish (Illusions of Heroes)
by Gerrit (Rattus)

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Ryella asked. The trees were so dense now that even the wind couldn’t reach them.

“It’s the only choice we have, dear.” Athard placed each foot with care as he walked, the well-worn path having long since faded away.

The forest gave way to a clearing where a single, large stone sat in the centre. The top was flattened, though by weather or tools Athard couldn’t tell.

He noticed his wife open her mouth to speak, but before any words could escape, the air became filled with noise. A cacophonous chorus of flapping, as hundreds of birds swooped in from the branches around them and began to swirl around the boulder.

Soon the feathers and talons merged together, and the mass began to tighten and shrink. Less than a minute after the ordeal had begun, the air was silent again, and a feminine figure was left sitting cross-legged atop the boulder.

“A couple?” The figure’s voice was soothing and captivating, seeming to fill the air within the clearing. “What is it? Financial struggles? Bad crops?” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Impotence?”

“N-none of that, my Lady.” Athard struggled to speak with the confidence he had been rehearsing over the last few weeks. “We would like a child.”

The figure cocked her head to one side. “A child? I’m assuming if you’ve come all the way to me, there must be some sort of obstacle?”

Ryella took a single step forward. “We’re both Enhanced, my Lady. All we want is to raise a family, but the magic makes my body inhospitable.”

“If I were to give you a child, they would inherit magic from both of you. They would be more powerful than any Enhanced. Such a being would either be the world’s salvation, or its ruin.”

“Please, we’ll give you anything,” Athard pleaded.

The being raised one eyebrow, a subtle smirk creeping across her lips. “Very well, I will grant you a child. But they will be just as much mine, and I will have them when you are finished.”

1 year ago

By MasaCur

Andrew came to in darkness. His hands and feet were bound; he couldn’t see.

He wracked his mind to remember how he got here.

There were two men from the government. They asked him to perform an autopsy.

The body was a fake. Details were wrong.

Andrew panicked.

The agent named Reid hit him, knocked him out cold.

Andrew thought about his father and the insane story he kept telling. A riddle that turned the man from a respected police inspector to a drunken paranoid recluse. Two agents from the Bureau of Public Safety at his crime scene, showing him a color photograph, and disappearing into the night with the rest of the investigation.

Andrew didn’t believe him until tonight.

“Hello?” Andrew called out.

“Good, you’re awake,” said a voice. It was Richard, the older agent.

“What are you going to do to me?” Andrew asked, his voice cracking in fear.

“Dr. Doyle, you need to stay calm.”

“What are you going to do to me?” he repeated, screaming.

“Doyle! Calm down. You’re in a government carriage, not far from your hospital. We needed to talk to you in private.”

Andrew tried to calm down, but was hyperventilating.

The sack covering his head was removed. He looked down to see the manacles on his wrists.

“Feel better?” Richard asked. “I need you to remain calm.”

Andrew took a few deep breaths, trying to keep his heart from beating out of his chest.

“What–are you going to do to me?”

Richard leaned back. “I can assure you that no harm will befall you tonight.”

Andrew felt reassured, but still suspicious. “Twelve years ago, you, or someone from your bureau, came to visit my father.”

“That was us. Reid and I. Yes.”

“So, what happens now?” Andrew asked.

“I’d like to offer you a position in the bureau. I dare say, if your father had shown the same healthy level of suspicion that you’ve shown back in your morgue, then he would have been offered the same.”

“What?” Fear dissolved into incredulity.

“I’m offering you a job.” Richard smiled an oily smirk.

Adrian Solorio
Adrian Solorio
1 year ago

When the Dead Come Home
By Adrian Solorio

“Shit!” Joseph glanced at the coffee-maker clock while he filled the thermos his mother had bought him when he started at the warehouse. He couldn’t be late. It was the best gig he’d landed since getting his GED, and it was the only one that helped his mom keep them afloat. Things were finally going smooth, and he couldn’t afford getting written-up. The last thing he needed now were complications.

Coffee in hand, he walked out the front door, quietly, not wanting to wake his mother. The night before she had been arguing with someone over the phone. Probably her mom or sisters. They always held her past against her, and never let it die. He’d ask her about it later.

Outside the neighborhood still slept. The sky was an ugly gray, and it smelled like rain. Morning birds chirped in the duplex courtyard, and sounded against the even drone of the freeway traffic a block away. Ahead of him a stranger stood blocking the walkway to the street.

The man was in his mid-fifties, but looked lost in the nineties. A veterano. His head was shaved, and he held his shoulders high and back, chest out, as if in challenge. He was as tall as Joseph, and shared the same wiry frame. His shirt and levis were crisp with iron-starched lines. Tattoos coiled around his arms and neck.

“Are you Rita’s son?” the man asked.

“Who are you?”

“You don’t remember me? I called last night and I tried to tell your mom–I just got released. Twenty-two years in, and she don’t want your old man back home.”

“My dad’s dead,” Joseph said, but his words sounded hollow and unconvincing.

“That’s a lie.”

Joseph studied the man again. This time slower, fuller. And a dam of memories and unanswered questions that had always swirled in the back of his mind were unleashed, then settled, and a lifelong puzzle fell into place. It all made sense now–everything made sense. “I thought–”

The man hugged him. And Joseph, even as he realized his life had just gotten more complicated, smiled.

Last edited 1 year ago by Adrian Solorio
John Perceval Cain
John Perceval Cain
1 year ago

Adam, Iblis and Lilith
John Perceval Cain (oneeye John)

“So, let me get this right… We’re a patriarchy, with me as the omniscient head, and we didn’t see this coming?”

“No, Lord.”

“Wasn’t Paul in charge of this?”

“Actually Lord, it was Irenaeus of Smyrna. You’re correct, it was in the Pauline tradition. But he really laid down the notion of Original Sin. You remember the Garden story? Eve, the Snake and the Apple.”

“Three words… Omnipotent, Omniscient and Omnipresent.”

“Yes, Lord, you remember. Please. Humor me?”

“Go on, Gabe.”

“We… Ahem… You inspired Irenaeus to take up the misogynistic and anti-heretical position that woman was the problem. The whole notion of females as the originator of sin was the apologetic position to articulate what generational sin was. In particular, to refute the poets and dramatists who propagate the trope ‘the sins of the father.’”

“Right, Bill’s fairy with the ‘what fools these mortals be’ and what not. But why isn’t it working?”

“It doesn’t seem to ring true to many. Women struggle with what they perceive as a vilification campaign. The Vatican’s cover up of Pope Joan, the Magdalene marrying Jesus, and the whole Lilith debacle. The ones who think and exercise their free will just don’t believe us.”

“Oh, that bitch. She just wasn’t happy with missionary only. Thinking about her own pleasure. Please.”

“Yes, Lord. But had she not seduced Adam, he would still run around, point at things and name them till today. The species would have never propagated if she didn’t teach him about the sensual arts of the body.”

“Eve and almost all their daughters and sisters have that independent streak.”

“Again Lord. As you likely know, had we not created Eve in Lilith’s image, she never would have taken the bite of the apple. Again, two humans in the garden are not an evolving creation. It’s a static work of art.”

“True. The real first sin was when your brother Iblis refused to bow down to Adam.”

“Yes Lord. It always was the Sins of The Father.”



Last edited 1 year ago by Tale Foundry
1 year ago

Family Secrets
by VulpesRose

Eve couldn’t go to the courthouse, couldn’t bring herself to watch the coverage of the trial. For the first few weeks, her mother tried but usually left part way through in tears. So every night her father’s lawyer would come and give them a brief update of the day’s events: witnesses who had been called, evidence that had been presented, reactions from the jury.

He was an older gentleman, the lawyer, and he was always soft spoken with them, clear, and didn’t pull punches about the damaging evidence or the perceived outcome. She was sure he was doing his best, probably more than most defense attorneys would muster given the situation. He didn’t seem entirely convinced of her father’s innocence, but he trudged forward in his duty.

He assured them that her father was being protected. That the death threats were being taken seriously whenever they had to move him. Details about armed guards and bullet proof vests.

Her mother finally stopped going to the trial, unable to face the families of the eighteen missing girls her father was suspected of murdering, crimes that stretched back fifteen years. Unable to face the family of the girl only a few years younger than her own daughter, her picture a near constant in the courtroom, her father’s final victim, and currently the only one with enough evidence against him for the DA to press charges.

The lawyer suspected that the trial had two purposes, to win public trust back, and to get a guilty verdict so they could dangle a plea deal for a lighter sentence. The police wanted to recover the remaining bodies. The families wanted closure. The deal would come.

Eve hoped there would be no deal, no salvation for the monster whose blood was her own.

Because Eve knew two things that no one else did.

That her father’s first victim had been the family golden retriever when she was eleven, for which she had never forgiven him.

And that the final victim, the one for which he now finally stood trial, wasn’t one of his.

1 year ago

Operation: Get Your Friends Therapy (Students of the DiamondBridge Academy universe)
by Carrie (Glaceon373)

“Wow, Ahna, your house is so pretty!” Roselyn admired the decorations as she crossed the threshold.

“Yeah, thanks for having us,” Sam followed after, equally impressed.

“There’s cookies on the table,” Ahna smiled as she closed the door behind her two friends.

Predictably, they both rushed for the tray. Ahna waved her hand, and a sofa flew from the living room and thudded in front of the door.

Sam and Roselyn spun around and immediately assumed fighting stances.

“I just wanna talk!” Ahna held her hands up in a pacifying gesture. “You didn’t answer my questions in text form, so I invited you here. Also, the cookies are yours, and there’s milk in the fridge.”

Sam growled, only relaxing slightly when Roselyn placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Please?” Ahna added, an honest smile on her face.

“Fine.” Sam fell into a chair, folding her arms. “But this is betrayal, so these cookies better be good.”

“Agreed,” Roselyn delicately plucked one from the tray and took a bite. “Also, when did you text about this?”

“Friday, and you both responded with ‘lol’ which has me concerned.”

“Oh! You sent a bunch of emojis that didn’t load,” Sam pulled her flip phone from her hoodie pocket. “Sorry.”

“I don’t speak emoji, either,” Roselyn said. “Use words instead, please?”

Ahna huffed. “Whatever. It was about the whole Nicklescribe situation.”

“What about it?” Roselyn asked. “It’s over.”

“It’s not over! Our principal tried to kill us! Roselyn got hospitalized! Sam had to teach a whole class with no guidance! And now you’re just acting like nothing happened!” Ahna grabbed her forehead. “Are… are you guys okay?!”

Sam blinked. Roselyn took another cookie.

“Well, I still have nightmares,” Sam shrugged. “And Rosie has all those scars.”

“Still look hot though,” Roselyn smirked.

“As always, babe.”

They bumped fists.

Ahna grumbled. “Please tell me you two aren’t just distracting yourselves from the pain?”

“No, that’s my mom’s hobby.” Roselyn was now ruffling Sam’s hair.

“Hey, that’s what my dad does, too!” Sam laughed.

“…I see.” Ahna bit her lip.

This was worse than she thought.

1 year ago

Father’s Sin
By RVMPLSTLTSKN (The Saga of The Deep One’s Wake)

The Everflame crackled quietly in the still nights. Because his family had grown over the last three decades, Padas enjoyed his quiet time. He slept less now. Age, he thought, or misery. He was beginning to understand Vienas’s vague statements, now it was too late.

Mazylas’s son, Grobis—a terrible name—was moving about and caring for his daughter. She wasn’t old enough for a name yet, but it wouldn’t be long.

“Father,” Grobis asked, settling down next to Padas, “why are you still awake?”

“Old habits.”

“Mazylas?” He asked.



Padas knew the boy wouldn’t remember her well. “She used to wander and tidy while everyone was asleep. The dark didn’t trouble her.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Always. Sometimes, I think she haunts this place. I smelled her on a draft yesterday.”

“You loved each other.”

“Not much choice elsewise. We had our fights too, but she was always right. Remember that, Grobis, when you disagree with your wife.”

The bluish flame lit Grobis’s face. His spat with Palydovas was an open secret and being old has its perks.

“What did you fight about?”

“Vienas was a woman troubled with knowledge. She knew all the things in the library and, I think, she hated most of them. So much in those histories has been revoked, made irrelevant. I know she removed some things. I watched her burn some of the scrolls, all the spells of ancient magi.
“But what she hated most was the old way of thinking. When the end came, she thought of it as starting anew.”

“Why was that?” The fire crackled, fed on nothing.

“Have you heard the stories of Klajonas the Wanderer?”

“Of course.”

“The stories were fun, for the most part, but taught us that settling and sacrificing for our family was the most virtuous act. Vienas didn’t see it that way. She knew context better than me. She saw the danger in the stories. I told them to my Baby, thinking only that my father told them to me, so that’s the thing to do.”

“What happened?”

“Do you see my Klajonas here?

1 year ago

Waste not; Want not. (The Will)
By Skeleton

“Remember, Zaila: the entire body can be used. The meat is meat—you know what to do with that, I’m sure! Bones can be boiled for broth. Hide can be used for clothes and in some cases, armour. The organs can be used as bait and depending on the monster, some specialty substances can be extracted and used in combat. You’re familiar with the neurotoxin produced by manticore barbs, yes? The head can be sold for quite the sum of cash if you’re short and find the right buyer. Yea, that’s it! Your knife skills are improving remarkably—you’re a quick study!”

His proud smile still haunted Zaila. Every corner of her memory was plagued with the image of his crooked teeth, lips wide with joy. Every bonfire reminded her of his hand on her head, patting the knowledge he had imparted to her deep into her very being. Every strand of black hair filled her heart with fool’s hope.

And now she was burning the bodies he left behind.

She could feel the eyes of hate from her countrymen and women standing behind her, rallying to the one person who could defeat the Sufferer. They had family torn from them—friendships that had lasted a lifetime gone in one evening. An entire city reduced to a display of architecture and nothing more. Anger and vengeance permeated the air as they awaited the torch in her claw to descend and light the mass grave.

But Zaila simply could not do it: she was still trying to process what had happened. The soft comfort of a feather ruptured the stasis of the dragoness’ mind. Zaila looked over to her avonis companion, her reassuring look reawakening the dragoness to the duty that must be performed.

As the corpses embodied the hate that irradiated Ol’en, Sage spoke kindly to her commander. “We’ll make him pay, your Highness.”

Zaila bit her lip and kept her remark to herself. No monster ever left a body behind, especially not Eymir.

So… why had he?

Last edited 1 year ago by Skeleton
1 year ago

You Reap What You Sow (It’s Always Sunny in Olympus: The Titan Years)
By Alexsander Edwards

The old farmer – or “Harvester,” as he’d rather be known- worked his fields with pride.

Swinging his scythe and cutting the crops felt natural to him. No, more than natural. The feeling went beyond bliss or joy. He was meant for this, born for it. Working the fields was his very nature, as far as he was concerned.

The Harvester stopped for a moment, pressing his left hand against his stomach, fighting a sudden burning sensation and pain. That feeling had become more and more common over the past few days, almost like he’d eaten a handful of rocks – no doubt a side-effect of his rather unconventional diet in recent months, though a necessary one. He wasn’t just a farmer, after all, but also a leader – and leaders must make certain sacrifices to stay in power.

Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the open skies. Their endless blue tapestry painted with white specks always reminded him of his father, for better or worse. Something in him made him hate that man, once driving him to violence. He’d taken one of his trusty scythes and attacked his own father, who was now deposed – though not truly dead, given his divine status.

The Harvester blinked. Something in the sky – a small speck – caught his attention. It appeared to increase in size the more he watched, slowly taking shape. Was that… a man?

Two powerful sources of light emanated from the sides of the falling man, who slowly came more and more into focus as gravity brought him downwards. The falling man’s face took form – he didn’t look any older than seventeen, albeit with a perfectly-chiseled beard that implied a much older age.

The bearded man’s eyes focused on the Harvester, who slowly realized the bright lights came from two bolts of lightning held like spears.

The wind howled past the man’s head, stroking his geometric beard and announcing his presence. He aimed his bolts at the Harvester’s stomach, and, once he knew his voice would be heard, he yelled: “Cowabunga!”

Last edited 1 year ago by Eddy
Calliope Rannis
Calliope Rannis
1 year ago

A Legacy Withering In Sunlight (Nyx’s Story)
By Calliope Rannis

My father was a good man. Some would even say a great man.

He was born within the deep depths of the earth, where his entire clan had once lived. Their lives were harsh, uncertain, and short – to die of old age was a privilege hard-earned.

He was stubborn, ambitious, willing to take risks that nobody else would. So one day, he strode out into the beyond, and higher than any of his people had ever reached.

He was the first of his clan to see sunlight in over a thousand years. But rather than flee into the surface’s warm embrace, he chose to turn back. To lead his entire damn clan up to see the sky.

He saved them all. The Murnor clan lives longer and happier than ever before.

But after all that? He found Mother. And he brought me into being.

Me. Stubborn, like him. Ambitious, like him. Reckless and uncaring of whatever risk, just as he once was.

But unlike him, I didn’t have anywhere to place my ambitions. Nothing to aim for, nothing to work towards. How do I climb to the surface to gain a better life, when I already started there to begin with?

He wanted me to be happy. But I was too stubborn to accept that happiness.

The dangers he faced didn’t scare him enough to stop. And what I saw, what I did, wasn’t enough to stop me either.

His ambition was to save his entire clan. My ambition only served to better myself.

He climbed and climbed, and in the end he got to see the sun. I climbed and climbed, and now the sun hurts my eyes with but the slightest glance.

How many people did he save? Dozens, maybe even a hundred?

…and how many people have I killed?

My father was a good man. His quirks and his traits are what made him the hero of my clan.

But I inherited those same traits, that same nature he possessed. And in my bloodied hands, those marks of a hero became the flaws of a monster.

1 year ago

Words Hold Power
By Lumikat117 (Lumi)

Anya stared up at the council before her, the weight of the chains binding her in place taxing what little energy she had left after weeks of near starvation. It was only through pure spite that she still stood, despite their best effort to make her look pathetic and weak.

There was a quiet murmur among them, their uneasiness broadcasted despite their expressionless masks. Finally, the Chairman stepped forward. “Enough of this. Anya Mallory, you stand before the Council today to stand trial for the sins committed by your father, Clay Mallory. How do you plead?”

“How do I plead?” She parroted with an incredulous expression. “How do I PLEAD? You must be joking, either that your senility has finally gotten to you.”

Hisses of anger answered her, but she refused to even blink, casting an unimpressed look over them before settling her gaze back on the Chairman. “I am an orphaned child that has just lost the only family I had after my father ABANDONED me to run away with his dirty money. I had nothing to do with him or his schemes. But he escaped your clutches into the wastes beyond the great walls, so you turn your attentions to what he left behind. Me. You starved me and clad me in these ridiculous chains, putting me on trial and for what? To feel like you ACCOMPLISHED something? Because you failed to catch the actual culprit so to make yourselves look better, you put a child into this dog and pony show just to sentence me to death regardless of whether or not I was actually guilty.”

The crowd behind her, hidden in the shadows, began to murmur at her words, too quiet for her to hear but she didn’t need to, to know that they were mulling over her words. They made a mistake, letting her speak. Her gift made her dangerous, which is why her father abandoned her in the first place. Perhaps it was time she made good use of it.

“Now Chairman, will you really let the blood of a child stain your hands?”

1 year ago

I’m The Powder, You’re The Fuse
By Marx

“And then he said ‘If you live under my house, you follow my rules,’ so, ya know, I did the obvi thing and I was just outtie.” Vicky said, flippantly waving her hands as she downed her drink. “Screw him and his rules, right? You only live once.”

“This is quite true, young one.” Lucy looked at the coarse liquid in front of her and mimicked her friend, downing it all to a significantly more subdued effect.

“Sorry. I know I babble on sometimes but you gotta get it out, you know?” Vicky said, pouring more alcohol into the glasses. “What happened with you and your dad?”

Lucy’s eyes immediately darkened. “My Father… He… must always be correct. Even when He is clearly wrong. He… made me a soldier. He gave me a soldier’s logic. And yet when I acknowledged His flaws in the battlefield He set, He refused to take responsibility.”

“He sounds like an ass.” Vicky took another drink.

“Yes.” Lucy agreed, downing the drink again. “He is very much an… ass. I confronted Him. And I and various members of my family were punished quite thoroughly for that transgression…”


“And then He locked me away! He caged me in a place of nothing but eternal torment! He forgot about me! And when I lashed out, I became the antagonist! I became the villain! It is not FAIR!”

“Lucy! Your hand!” Vicky screamed finally snapping Lucy out of it.

As Lucy looked down, she saw all the shards of glass she’d squeezed into the bloodless aforementioned hand. Vicky stared wide-eyed as Lucy methodically pulled out each shard.

“Er… are you okay?”

“Yes. As you mentioned previously… it felt… good to get that out.”

Vicky nodded. “Yeah… most definitely… Um… I like your wings? They’re cool.”

Lucy looked behind her and surely enough, her momentary loss of control had released her wings. Her eyes were also currently glowing an ominous crimson to match them. She didn’t care enough to put them back. “Thank you, child.”

“Do you… need a hug?”

“Very much so…”

“I got you.”

C. M. Weller
1 year ago

Be Certain Thy Sins Will Find Thee Out (A Tiefling Tale/Cordelia’s Journey)
C. M. Weller

Two guards were holding his hands on a specially commissioned artifact. Two more guards kept him on his knees before his worst nightmare become flesh. The spawn of the Whitekeep Curse sat above him on the Blood Throne.

His firstborn son. EARL Kormwind Arachis Felbourne Whitekeep, ninth of the name. Lighting the Earl’s hall to its fullest with the blood-red light. A sign that he had earned his title.

“Valliant Stormwight Hallowfine Whitekeep, third of the name. Baronet of Arachis,” the title for retired Earls. “You have heard evidence authenticated by the stone of truth before you.”

How much had that abomination paid to have this thing made? Petrified wood that was imbued and engraved with the oldest and strongest magical sigil for truth. Valiant knew for a fact that anyone touching it could not lie by any means. Not even by telling the incomplete truth.

Trust a Tiefling to know about lies.

“You have heard testimony and truth from everyone around you,” the Demon Lord of Whitekeep continued. “From the lowest Castle Boy through your serving staff, and even unto the Marchess Bellarin, who you deceived to cause another harm. Against. Your. Oath. Even your Barons have found you to be an oathbreaker, a deceiver, a traitor to the realm, and a vile, vainglorious vermin turned human being. I ask you now, before all you have betrayed, what truths do you have to your defense?”

He wanted to say so much. He wanted to plead to the gods that he had done everything he could to prevent the curse and his prophecy from coming to light.

What he SAID was the unfortunate truth, “I never wanted to be the Earl who fathered a Demon Lord. I was more concerned with my image than my people! I thought myself forsworn when you drew your first breath, so I discounted all my other vows on purpose. I blamed everyone around me except myself, including a newborn babe and the woman who birthed him.”

“I… cannot condemn you,” said the demon on the Blood Throne. “I leave your judgment to the council.”

1 year ago

Father Knows Best (A Song for: Abraham)
by Lunabear (TW: Domestic Abuse)

“You CAN’T send me there, Father!” Abraham’s eyes clenched shut. His entire body vibrated with his racing heartbeat. “This is my home, my lif–”

“Enough.” Isaac’s tenor exuded such force that he didn’t have to yell. “You will do what is best for your future.”

Abraham turned desperate, green eyes to the woman sitting at the table. She hummed loudly while knitting, her hands shaking.

“Mother, please!”

Isaac stood between his wife and son. “This does not concern Bethany.”

Abraham made a fist and imagined slamming it into his father’s nose. He took a deep breath to cool his rage. It didn’t help.

“I lead with grace, humility, and tradition. The members of this community EXPECT those same values from this family. For what are we without grace? Who are we if not for humility? Where do we follow without tradition?”

Abraham lifted his head, pleading understanding. “But I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“Not yet. If I have any say, you will not. I see your lustful gaze, how it wanders to him when you feel unwatched. That disgusting blush.” Isaac’s face twisted.

An image of Luther flashed through Abraham’s head. His heart pounded, and he yearned for the security of his friend’s embrace.

“You will continue my legacy. Dutiful son. Capable husband. Strong father. Do you understand?”

Tears raced down Abraham’s cheeks, but his teeth were bared. “I. Won’t. Go.” His fist collided with the table.

Isaac advanced, towering over Abraham. His light green eyes filled with menace as he pitched his voice low. “I have never once spared the rod. I will not hesitate to use it again. You will go to Faithful Redemption and get your thinking”-Isaac punctuated this by jabbing a callused finger against Abraham’s temple-“straight. Otherwise, you will not have a home to return to.”

Abraham cast a hopeful look to his mother, but she was hunched over with her hands cradling her face.

Isaac held Abraham’s chin in a punishing grip, forcing his attention back. “Say. It.”

Abraham swallowed. “Du-dutiful s-son.” Ragged breaths. “Capable husb-band.” Uncontrollable tears. “Str-strong fa-father.” His heart shattered.