#Glad my initial instinct that they could be one of my best weapons came through!

[clockadile]

Got my first Hades clear last night, used the gloves! Celebration drawing!

#hades fanart #hades game #zagreus #zagreus fanart #my arts #vg #took me 31 tries #didn't get a great boon mix on 30 #think it was only my 3rd or so round using the gloves #I really liked them the first time I tried them #but then just could not find my rythm to avoid dmg on their second outing #Glad my initial instinct that they could be one of my best weapons came through! #I suck with the gun though #so if all the npcs could stop telling me how great it is that'd be shiny #supergiant continues to impress! #it's a great game

[princess-of-the-corner]

Ok, so I remember Dragon coming up with a Chloe DP au, and for some reason that combined in my head with your post about Vlad and the rich kids and the S4 spoilers so... imagine Chloe at Vlad’s party during a ghost attack, feeling depressed and useless and generally just thinking about being replaced. somehow she ends up in Vlad’s lair, self reflecting in front of the portal when it gets hit by a power surge. Most of the class just sees her being carried out to the ambulance, but 2 know better

Me: “I need to work on all my other fics.”

Also me: “Time to work on several pages of Chloé half dying!!! And another bootleg version of one of Dragon’s AUs!”

Vlad and Danny are on kinda friendly terms in this mostly because I wanted to write them snarking at each other. 

Chloé was glad to get out of Paris for a while. A decision her father had made after, well. Certain incidents. Making her feel unsafe in Paris. So she was sent away to a place without Hawkmoth or Akumas.

Smoothing out the skirt of her pale yellow, nearly white, dress, she contemplated the place she ended up.

She would have been prepared for New York. But of course Audrey said she was too "Unexceptional" yet. But as Audrey had to go on a business trip to meet other rich business people at some fancy party, Chloé's dad convinced her to take her to this place. 

Not that business parties full of other rich people were something she really wanted to deal with. They were usually too condescending at best. A few of them could be creepy. Giving her looks that made her want to take a shower for a year. 

It was almost enough to make her want to stay in Paris. But the one thing that made her decide it wouldn't be too bad was who was hosting the party. 

Don't get her wrong. Vlad Masters definitely gave off some strange and downright intimidating vibes. But the few times Chloé had met him at events like this, he was one of the few adults who seemed to respect her, despite her age. And he only used his threatening vibes on any of the other men looking at her. 

That said, Chloé wasn't expecting much conversation with Vlad. They didn't usually talk much anyway, just polite conversation common at these things. And as Audrey was currently attempting to engage with him, almost as if she were blocking Chloé from getting near, it was unlikely she would.

"If you're going to commit a murder could you wait another twenty minutes? I have a bet going."

Chloé jumped, realizing someone was speaking to her. When she found who, her initial instinct was to glare. Blue eyes and black hair making her think of someone else. 

However, as she took in the rest of the context, she found someone new. And male. A boy about her age. 

"Who are you?" Chloé asked. 

"Head of security," the boy said. 

It was obviously a joke, from his tone and lopsided grin. And Chloé almost laughed at the idea of a teenager being any kind of security. 

But she noticed the way he stood, the way he analyzed her. It reminded her of Adrien, in a way. Seemingly all smiles and laid back, but far more capable than he looks. 

There was something else about him too. It actually reminded her of Vlad. The general vibes he gave off. But Vlad felt more… firey. Heat under his skin, waiting for the temper to snap. This boy felt more cold. Not emotionally, but like a snowfall that could quickly engulf you in a blizzard. 

"I think a name would be better," Chloé said. 

"Call me Danny then," the boy said, offering a hand. 

"Chloé Bourgeois," she replied, politely taking it. "So, judging by the fact that you didn't give me your last name, you don't want me guessing who you're connected to."

"You probably wouldn't know them," he said. "My family's known for their studies on the paranormal. They're scientists. And not really the kind for this kind of party."

"But you are?" She raised an eyebrow. 

"Absolutely not," he said. "But hey. Vlad's trying to buy his way to an apology by giving me money if I hang out and make sure nothing spooks the guests. Other than him, of course. Might as well put it in my college fund. So, you actually planning a murder or not?"

That almost made her laugh. A small smile on her face, Chloé's gaze drifted across the room to her mother. 

"No murder yet," Chloé said. "If I do kill someone, it'll be the local supervillain back in Paris."

"Heard something about that," Danny said. "My parents keep debating on checking it out. It's obviously paranormal and magical, but they specialize in Ghosts."

"Are they the Ghostbusters?" She did actually laugh at that one. 

"Something like that," he chuckled. 

All of a sudden, Danny stiffened up. It had to be a trick of the light, but she could've sworn a mist came out of his mouth. He frowned, looking around carefully. 

"Sorry, I have to go," Danny said. "A disturbance in the garden. See you around."

"Yeah, see you," Chloé sighed. 

As he ran off through the crowd, Chloé wondered how he knew about the "disturbance". Maybe he was actually part of the security team and had an earpiece in? 

Brushing the thought off, Chloé grabbed a drink from a passing waiter. Then she headed the opposite direction.

She wanted some time alone. It had been nice, talking to Danny. But the party was still overwhelming. She might be out of Paris, which meant less stares and whispers. But still too much interaction for her liking lately. 

Chloé headed out of the main ballroom. Few paid attention to her. Those that did were quickly dragged back to their conversations. 

As she wandered the halls, Chloé wondered if she could get lost in here. If her mother would notice. Maybe she could just. Not go home and just secretly live in Vlad's mansion. 

A tempting idea, if she could figure out how to do it. But for now, she settled for exploring. 

There was a library. Very nice. Bookshelves along every wall, except for a spot for a fireplace. Comfortable chairs and a couch to read on. 

She looked through the bookshelves. It seemed well stocked, despite the impossibility of ever reading them all. Most were nonfiction, texts on various subjects. A few seemed to be typical fiction, though Chloé didn't inspect those too close lest she judge Vlad's collection of trashy romance novels. 

What intrigued her was one large shelf, right across from the fireplace. These books actually looked well-used. Texts on the paranormal. Hadn't Danny said something about that? Between this and the familiarity with Vlad, perhaps it was a family-friend situation.

Dragging a finger along the spines of the books, she picked one at random. Pure curiosity more than actual interest. 

The book was soon dropped and forgotten when the shelf slid open to reveal a doorway. 

Now that had her curious and interested. 

A look over her shoulder at the door, and Chloé was in the new room. No, a new hall of stairs. Descending down stone steps. 

She was suddenly worried she would find some sort of kinky dungeon type place. Perhaps she should quit while she was ahead. 

It was the buzzing in her fingertips that made the decision for her. Something… familiar. 

It wasn't like the buzzing she felt near an Akuma, or near someone using a Miraculous. No, this felt more like Vlad. Like Danny. Whatever she was feeling from them, there was more of it down here. 

Eventually the stairway opened to a room. It looked like a laboratory of some kind. Weapons and tools of shiny metal and magenta accents lined the walls. There were a few that traded magenta for green, but not as if two people consistently shared a space. More like one occasionally left objects behind. 

The one thing in the room that was overwhelmingly green and not magenta was against one wall. 

It almost looked like a doorway of sorts. Or a Magic Portal, really. Swirls of green that she couldn't see into. And if she hadn't spent the last year and a half being attacked by Magical Supervillains and becoming a Hero herself, she would've assumed it was just a large tv screen embedded in the wall for aesthetics. 

The reminder of her time as a Hero brought back some bitter memories. 

She might not have been the best person, but she was a good Hero. Chloé would have gladly continued being Queen Bee, despite the risks, because she had felt like she finally found a purpose. But Ladybug told her no, she couldn't have the Miraculous anymore. For her safety of course. 

What a joke. Not only had Chloé been in more danger without it, as there was no way she could defend herself against Hawkmoth. But the other Heroes were still active, even with their identities known. 

With a sigh, Chloé attempted to distract herself. Walking around the room and investigating the weapons around the lab. They were strange. She wasn't a gun expert, but these didn't look normal. Not regular guns that shoot bullets. 

Were they alien weaponry? That didn't seem right. Chloé wasn't an expert, having never met an alien(as far as she was aware). But the weapons seemed very based on Earth designs, their sizes intended for average Human use. Maybe weapons for Humans to use on nonhumam creatures. 

Whatever it was, Chloé was now a bit curious. What did Vlad get up to when he wasn't hosting business parties like this? Did he perhaps moonlight as a superhero? With that Danny kid as the Robin to his Batman? Perhaps she should stay. Be the Jason Todd of the family. Though with less dying.

She almost laughed at the idea. But as a crack of thunder rang through the mansion, loud enough to be heard from this basement laboratory, she jumped, instinctively spinning around to look for an attack.

A second crack of thunder, and all the lights went dark.

Chloé was not afraid of the dark. She never had been, even as a child. 

But she was afraid now. Because this wasn't a normal blackout. In a mansion like this, there would be emergency generators. They didn't kick in, which meant this was likely something else. 

Amity Park was different from Paris. No Hawkmoth. No Akumas. But that didn't mean there was no danger. 

And the thing Chloé had become afraid of, after so many Akuma attacks and even Hawkmoth himself coming to her home, her room, and confronting her. The thing she was afraid of was being unable to fight back. 

Her breath began to quicken, the only noise she could hear in the dark room. Heart hammering in her chest, Chloé tried to calm herself down. This wasn't Paris. Whoever or whatever it was wasn't after her. 

But what if it was? What if this person had decided she would make a good target? What if Hawkmoth had followed her, hoping to get revenge for failing him as Miracle Queen? What if it was someone else, furious about what she had involuntarily done, knowing that if something happened here, Ladybug's Miraculous Cure would be too late?

Hands trembling, Chloé remembered the weapons on the wall. It wasn't her Miraculous, but it was something. She refused to go down without a fight. 

The only problem was that, in her panic, she had gotten turned around she couldn't remember which was she was facing. 

Blindly choosing a direction, Chloé kept a hand out in front of her, slowly moving it back and forth hoping she'd hit a wall. Her ragged breathing and the click of her heels on the floor being the only sounds. A good sign, she hoped. 

Her hand hit something. A wall, she thought. Somewhere to her left. Keeping her hand flat against it, she hoped to follow it until she found the weapon rack again. 

She kept walking, barely noting how the sound of her footsteps changed from heels-on-tile to heels-on-metal. Had the floor been metal? She couldn't remember. The stairs up had been stone so obviously she was still in the lab. 

The lights suddenly came back on, the blackout over. Yet Chloé wasn't nearly as blinded as she should have been by the sudden brightness. It was coming from behind her. Had she somehow found a different hallway out of the lab?

As she turned to head back to something familiar, a different brightness flickered on. But she was completely unaware, as all she could focus on was pain. 

Burning, crackling under her skin. Through every inch of her. Worse than anything she had ever felt, as Civilian, Hero, or Akuma. 

The pain began to subside. Not going away, but no longer the intense agony. Just an ache, but as if she had run a marathon around Paris without being transformed. Her throat still burned the worst though. Had she been screaming? She couldn't remember doing so, but it seemed likely given the pain.

Stumbling forward, she managed to find herself back in the lab. Yet her vision was blurry. So blurry, in fact, that when she looked down her white dress appeared black. 

The pain and exhaustion was too much for her. Pitching forward, everything went dark again.

--------

The next thing Chloé knew, she was somewhere soft. Everything still hurt, which made her not want to move. But she could hear two male voices arguing. 

"You should let me explain it to her."

"You will confuse and scare her with your morbid humor."

"And you'll just freak her out!"

"I have more experience in this."

"Not in explaining it!"

"I explained it to Danielle."

"And I explained it to everyone else because you had to be a fruitloop!"

"Are you still using that insult?"

"It still fits."

Registering that she should probably see what's goin on, Chloé went to get up. 

Her right arm must've slipped off whatever she was laying on, as she almost immediately slammed back down. The feeling that had her jolting upright instead of trying again to be slow, was that it felt like something hit the inside of her arm?!

Inspecting the limb, she didn't find anything wrong with it. It was there. No burns or bruises. The worst thing was a chipped manicure. 

As her gaze went further up her arm to her shoulder, she noticed something. A discoloration in her skin. It was hard to see, having to look nearly straight down and only being able to see what skin was showing. But there were thin lines across her shoulders and chest. She couldn't tell how far they went up her neck, or how much further they extended under her dress. 

The lines looked almost like lightning. It was then that she remembered the lab. The pain. But she swallowed down her fear.

"Well say goodbye to swimsuit season," Chloé muttered, her voice still a little shaky and her throat still raw. 

"Perhaps your humor will be helpful after all," one of the voices from earlier mused. 

Chloé jumped, having completely forgot that there were people in the room. One was Vlad, the other was the "head of security" kid. Danny, wasn't it? 

"What happened?" Chloé asked.

"You received quite a shock," Vlad replied. 

"Oh, and my humor is too much for her," Danny glared.

"Kind of used to puns in horrifying situations," Chloé said. "One of my best friends loves making puns to deflect dealing with things."

And okay yes she also did that. But she was not going to tell them that. Even if the looks they gave each other probably meant they guessed as much. 

"Where am I?" Chloé asked, looking around. 

"One of the guest rooms," Vlad explained. 

"Not a hospital?" She asked. 

"A hospital isn't quite equipped to handle… this," he said. 

"One of the guests was a doctor who did a general checkup," Danny said. "She was sure you probably just fainted from low blood sugar or something."

"And… and my mother?" Chloé asked. 

"She is back at her hotel," Vlad said, visibly bristling. "I may not be father of the year, but her lack of concern is appalling."

The exasperated look Danny gave him said there was a long story there. Chloé wasn't sure she wanted to hear it right now.

"So why would a hospital be bad?" Chloé asked instead. 

"That is quite a story," Vlad said. "Do you know what you were messing with in the laboratory?"

"I know it had weapons," she said. "Then the lights went out and I tried to find my way around."

"I think that makes her smarter than both of us," Danny said.

"I didn't enter an unstable device on a dare," Vlad glared. “I knew what I was doing.”

"You stuck your face right up to a prototype device not knowing if it was stable or not," he retorted. "You're lucky you only half died.".

Vlad glared at him again. Chloé could have sworn he man's eyes flashed red. It was more than just a trick of the light. 

He said a hospital wasn't a good situation for her now. He implied that he'd had something similar happen to him. And those books on the paranormal, leading to a lab… 

Vlad wasn't Human. At least not anymore. Danny wasn't either, most likely. And Chloé realized, with mounting horror, that she probably wasn't either.

Once more she focused on her hands. What… was she now? Chloé flipped through her knowledge of the paranormal. It couldn't be a Vampire or Werewolf. She didn't get bit or infected with anything. Most other creatures she could remember Humans becoming had very specific circumstances or longer processes. 

Then, she recalled something Danny had said. His family deals with Ghosts. 

As if to confirm her suspicions, her hands flickered out of existence. An involuntary whimper escaping her throat. 

"I… I'm dead, aren't I?" Chloé asked. 

"Only half way," Danny said. 

"That is nowhere as reassuring as you think it is," Vlad said. 

This time it was Danny's turn to glare. But his eyes flashed a green color instead of red. 

Meanwhile, Chloé was having a crisis. She died. She fucking died. But she was still here. 

She was vaguely aware of their voices. Both males had come closer, sitting beside her on the bed. She knew one, or maybe both of them, was telling her to breathe. To focus. 

She tried to focus on how strange it was, sitting between them. One burning, one freezing. Was that related to… This? 

It helped ground her. Remind her that she wasn't alone. 

"That's right," Danny said. "You're not alone in this. Which is already better than what we got."

"You could have had a mentor," Vlad said. 

"But you were still evil back then," he smirked.

Oh boy oh boy. This was going to get oh so complicated. 

#danny phantom #miraculous ladybug #never let Danny and Adrien in a room together they will murder everyone with puns #phantom chloé au

[yezielmoore]

Prompt #13: Heart

This one is SAD, and vaguely spoilery for 5.0. 

This is an AU, what if the Exarch’s plan had succeeded? Emet-Selch never showed up for Reasons and so the Exarch took the Light and off he popped to die in the Rift. Leaving us... uh, yeah. 

~o~

The Crystal Exarch hadn't meant for what had happened to occur. Of that much they were certain. He had been a good man, he toiled for more than a hundred years in order to save two worlds, found a way to travel time and space to do it and, miraculously, he succeeded. Everything he had done had been done with his people in mind and with the best of intentions. 

But good intentions mattered little in the face of the devastation his death caused has caused to one they love so much. 

Nobody who has ever spent time with the Warrior of Light and Darkness would say she was fragile. Her petite form hid a strength that defied belief, from handling weapons bigger and heavier than her, to mastering both black and white magic to an extent never seen before, she was a force to be reckoned with even before she started liberating Nations. A one-woman army in every sense of the word.

However, physical strength is only a little part of the equation that made a person. It had taken Alphinaud time to learn that underneath the legend, behind the strength to level mountains and kill gods, lay a real flesh and blood person, with feelings and troubles and a heart that had broken long before he even met her.

But she soldiered on, and even broken things could be put back together if enough care was spared to fix them. He had done his best, once a certain dragoon beat the reality of the Warrior’s humanity into his head and opened his eyes. He had taken it upon himself to help, as much as such things can be helped. But how can you keep together a heart that kept being broken? Loss after loss after loss. Each one a blow fit to topple anyone. And yet X’lial stood up and marched on, a woman on a mission.

Once he had been made aware of the cracks in the façade he simply couldn’t unsee them, and that made him afraid, for she wasn’t just the Warrior of Light to him, not anymore. She was his friend, his older sister in all but blood, and she was not okay.

How many times can you break a heart before even the pieces crumble into dust?

But G’raha Tia. Alphinaud had never crossed paths with the man, but he knew something of the Crystal Tower history by now, considering the bloody thing form the First had spat them at the feet of its twin in the distant past. Their present.

He didn’t know how on earth their bodies had been transported there too, but he was glad for it, because he thinks X’lial may have beaten herself to death against those closed doors if she had arrived alone. As it stands… well. It was nothing magic couldn’t fix, if only other things were as easily fixed as bodies. 

G’raha Tia and X’lial had been friends, once upon a time. This he knew. They had traversed the Crystal Tower together, spent months in each other company, getting to know each other. Alphinaud didn’t know if the friendship had developed into something more, the whole expedition being little more than a blip on his radar back then.

His loss had been a blow to her. The first of many that’d follow. He was the first crack in a heart barely recovered and that bled anew.

It wasn't just G'raha Tia loss though. No. It was The Exarch’s too, for they were as different as night and day, even if they had once occupied the same body. Despite the initial fumble that brought them to the First and the calculated distance he tried to keep at all times, the man had been a mentor, a protector, their guide in a strange new land and, eventually, a friend. 

Alphinaud had never met G'raha Tia, but he had known the Exarch, as much as such a man could be known. And now he was gone. Sacrificed himself to save the world, both worlds as it turned out.

Mostly he did it for her. To save her. And that…

For a man who had spent the equivalent of lifetimes studying the Warrior of Light, he surely managed to miss the most obvious thing, the most important thing. That she cared. She cared far, far too much. And the people she loved kept getting hurt, kidnapped and killed.

How many times can you shatter a heart before there nothing left at all?

They are recovering at the Rising Stones and for the first time in days he has a moment alone with X’lial. Everybody had fussed over her, tried to draw her out, but she…

Alphinaud looks at her, takes her in. The stark white hair where before there had been black and white; the tan skin now liberally streaked with jagged lines of silver, like a kintsugi project a step to the left. He wonders if the skin there would feel warm, like human skin, or cold and clammy, like sin eater. 

He bits back the instinctive question that wanted to burst forth. 

Beyond that she looks unchanged. Same slightly slouched posture, same passive expression, and yet…

"Is everything alright my friend?"

She blinks slowly, as if sleepy despite obviously being ready for a new day. She lifts her mismatched eyes from the greatsword she had been polishing and nods at his question, obviously not in the mood to fish for words that always came unwillingly to her even after all this time. 

"That's good, I'm glad." Alphinaud says, trying to get a read on this strange mood, but all he gets for his trouble is a whole lot of… nothing. Nothing at all.

The problem is not that she’s grieving, it’s exactly the opposite. For all that she’s rosy cheeked and moving around, it’s languid, rote; for all that she listens and responds, there’s no initiative, no feeling to any of it. The Sin Eaters had shown more life in their eternal hunger that the person sitting in front of him right now does.

"We have no pressing business to take care of right now" he continues, lying badly. She doesn’t call him on it, if she even notices.

The Exarch may’ve managed to prevent Black Rose from becoming a Calamity on its own, but the dreadful weapon was still out there and they had to find it and destroy it.

Alphinaud clears his throat, it feels like something got stuck there. "So… take some time to rest and recuperate and if you need anything…" he trails off.

X'lial nods again, eyes distant, before turning her attention back to the dreadfully familiar sword. 

It is a long, dark, foreboding thing, that sword. She had taken it up after Lord Haurchefant’s death and used it exclusively for a very long time. Such a long time that he had been extremely surprised to see the return of the spear and the comfortingly familiar silhouette of the dragoon armor. The spear is nowhere to be seen today, or any day that follows, because he knows where it is now. Shattered at the feet of a tower, like a bloody offering to its slumbering lord. Or maybe a metaphor.

His breath hitches in his throat and suddenly Alphinaud can’t stand to spend a single more second in this room, sitting next to the living dead.

How can you do it? How can one person go through so much heartbreak and still move forward? Where was the fault line, the shatterpoint? 

During the course of X’lial’s many adventures, Alphinaud had often asked himself these questions, admiring of his friend strength, naive in his belief that there was no none. 

Alphinaud turns around and leaves, his eyes burn with tears and he lets them fall. For himself and for her, for all the tears she isn’t crying and may never cry again.

He had never expected to find the answer.

How naïve of him.

#FFxivWrite2020 #FFxivWrite #ffxiv #yeziel writes #my writing #alphinaud leveilleur #x'lial ris #well this one got SAD #AU #spoilery for 5.0

[tarotdeckshuffle]

Witch and familiar au what if one of the guys from ff xv was cursed as a furry animal and mc, the local witch, finds them and takes care of them and poof they wake up with a half whatever animal/human in their bed and the other is just all "yeah so this awkward but I gotta a good explanation." Im leaning heavily on it being Prompto with some form of dog ears.

I’m glad I can finally get to this request, @roshytsunami! I was originally going to do HCs about a lot of characters in this situation, but now I think I’ll do a short fic.

I think your idea about half fish Noctis (wait, that’s a merman, right?) is awesome! I also really want to see faun Gladio (goat legs and maybe horns?) and maybe a half cat Ignis…rotfl idk. OHH! What about a half falcon Ravus, so he can have wings?!?! Or a wolfy Nyx?! Ok, I’m getting ahead of myself. I don’t have time to write all of these right now >.

If any of these ideas sound good to you, please request them! I get to requests before originals and use them to gauge what ideas people think sound interesting.

Btw, Roshy is a mod for an upcoming Prompto centered zine that you can check out here!

Prompto just works too well with SnapChat…

Taglist: @idiotflowerex, @laststory1013, @sayaoqueen, @jophinabean, @mysme-already

If you like what you read, please consider supporting me on Patreon or buying me a Ko-fi!

Love Spell

Eye of newt,Tongue of dove,A blue flame’s soot,NOW SHOW MY LOVE!

Over your table top cauldron you chanted, throwing each ingredient in. The small container bubbled with a pinkish liquid until you chanted the last line, in which it overflowed into yellow steam over the sides. It was the color of a sunflower explosion.

Fitting, considering who you were looking for.

You must be truly desperate to be trying your own spell to find him, you thought to yourself. The room around you stayed quiet as the yellow steam dissipated.

Life wasn’t easy for your friendly neighborhood modern witch. The tarot cards were moody and only liked to read misfortune while your modern cauldron was the size of a two cup measuring cup. Who could afford a giant cast iron pot these days? You made up most of your own spells because the ingredients for the ones you found in old books or online all called for expensive items that couldn’t be found in your city. You were a witch that flew by the seat of your pants, not a broom.

Without warning, the smell of the potion exploded into the room. It was an unpleasant combination like cheap cologne and a seeding mint plant. The odor overwhelmed your small flat and your ran to the kitchen window, throwing it open to gasp at the fresh air.

As your lungs took their fill, you lingered in the warm windowsill. The sun glowed on your skin, heating your body after the cold of your flat. Your fingers played in the soft soil of your flower box, dancing between your herb plants.

Your eyes stared off into the sunny day, willing you to wander down the busy streets below in search of him. You dreamed of him as your gaze settled on your neighbors yellow and orange marigolds. They reminded you of his hair and cheerful smile.

The man you loved had been gone for three days now. He had gone out to get you coffee and never returned. You missed your love and were worried sick about him.

Sure, you had only been dating for a few weeks now, but you knew you loved him the moment you met him. It was the type of situation where the word just fit. He was your sunshine: the light of your life and the warmth to your days. But you had been too scared to tell him that. Now, you were worried you’d never get the chance to.

It had been three sleepless nights, thousands of missed calls, and hundreds of hours out looking for him. But he was still gone without a trace.

You were woken from your daydream by a sound at the door: scratching. Oh by the six, had you summoned something with your made up ramblings?

You spun from the window, grabbing the first item that could be used as a weapon, which happened to be a large wooden spoon. You held your new sword before you, ready for whatever was going to tear your door down. Your breathing came in gasps and your hands shook as you listened to the soft scratching.

Every sound made you flinch. You felt certain that the front door would come flying towards you at any moment. Your heart beat thrummed in your ears.

Silence.

“HERE IT COMES here IT comes here it COMES here itcomeshereitcomes” the words tumbled through your mind faster than you could comprehend them.

But nothing happened.

The door stayed perfectly still. When a soft whimpering was heard from the other side.

It sounded like a puppy.

You willed your frozen feet to move, to help you find out what was outside that door. Your initial instinct was to believe it a daemon’s trick, something to lure you outside, but curiosity got the best of you.

One hand on the doorknob, the other holding your spoon up to strike, you whispered, “Please don’t kill me,” before you threw the front door open.

Staring ahead, you half expected to see some giant, red and black glowing beast, ready to tear you apart. Instead, there was nothing.

You looked down towards movement on the floor to see a golden colored puppy sitting at your feet.

The two of you stared at each other in confusion, before it barked at you with its shrill but adorable voice.

Your head snapped to the upheld spoon. “Sorry!” You apologized while lowering it. The puppy rose to all four feet, trying to measure up to you.

You picked up the small baby, holding it before you to examine it. “So…boy,” you confirmed. “Tell me, are you some great daemon in disguise that I summoned to bring about my own bloodied doom?” You looked the bundle of fluff in the eyes. He just whimpered and waged his tail at you.

“AWWWW! You’re too cute to be here to hurt me! Aren’t you little guy!” At the will of this squirming puppy, you became a baby talking, giddy, melty mess. If it was going to kill you, at least you’d die happy from seeing something so adorable. You carried the little pup inside, cradled in your arms.

The rest of your day was spent drenched in sunlight, warm away from your sorrow. You now had someone to care for.

You made some homemade food for your new friend and stitched up some makeshift toys. You would sprawl out on your living room rug and play with him. As the sun was setting, painting the bricks of your flat in orange, you realized he still didn’t have a name. You smiled, watching the puppy yawn, content to put the task off until tomorrow.

You cuddled into your bed, soft and safe from the world outside. Your new friend whimpered on the floor, until you relented, picking him up to cuddle into your blankets with you. He curled up in your arms and was soon snoring under your adoring gaze.

It felt like mere moments later when you awoke. Everything was so warm; from the morning sun streaming in, to your blankets, even the breath on your skin.

WAIT!

Breath on your skin?!

You looked down frantically. Were a soft puppy had once laid, now a blond haired handsome man lay, curled up against your chest.

Your cheeks burned red as you scuttled backwards. Your bed mate moaned in his sleep.

“PROMPTO!?!” You cried! Was he really here? Now? Was this a dream?

“Errmm, [Y/N]?” He blinked sleep filled eyes, trying to focus on you. “[Y/N]!!!!” He realized suddenly who you were, tackling you onto the other side of the bed.

He was so excited to see you! You had to close your eyes to the onslaught of kisses…very wet kisses.

“Prom! Where have you…what have you…” He pulled away from you, his sky blue eyes staring into yours. You couldn’t help but notice small, fluffy ears sticking out of his golden hair as his tongue lolled out his open mouth. “What happened?!”

“I missed you so much, [Y/N]! I swear I can explain everything!” He dove into a rambling story, a tail swishing in your sheets to his cadence.

Ears, tongue, a tail…had your puppy friend been Prompto?!

“Prom, Prompto, sunshine…PROM! Stop!” Finally you got him to quiet. “I don’t think it’s all worn off…” You picked up your phone to show him what he looked like in the camera. He stared obliviously happy at you as you took his picture.

You turned your phone around. It took him a moment to recognize his own reflection. When he did, he snatched the device from your hands.

“THAT’S ME?!” He cried as though it was your fault.

You just nodded, still in shock at the puppy boy in front of you. A blush bloomed again. You had slept with the puppy, you had rolled around on the floor with the puppy, you had seen the puppy’s…

He started to panic, still staring at your phone.

“You were that puppy!” The realization left your lips.

“YEAH! AND NOW I’M ME BUT I’M STILL PUPPY AND…” Prompto had at least triple your anxiety.

You took a moment to breath. Everything was crazy, but he was here now. That’s what mattered.

“Prom, what happened?” You hoped your forcibly calm voice would help him.

“There was this person and I bumped into them and they knew my name and then I saw them here and…”

He was going to give himself a panic attack at this rate! So, you stopped him in the best way you knew how.

You pressed your lips to his. You had missed these soft lips. You felt the tension in your body release as you tasted his wet lips, letting your souls click into place.

Gently, slowly, you pulled away. “What was that for?” Your sunshine asked breathlessly.

“True love’s kiss and all that jazz,” you replied softly, half hoping it had worked.

“Oh…better try again, then.” And in an instant, your lips were reunited.

You could feel the heat in your cheeks rise. You had never purposefully been in a bed with Prompto,  much less like this before!

As heat was starting to build, he suddenly pulled away, his eyes wide. He jumped out of the bed and made for the bathroom.

“Prom? Honey, what’s wrong?” You called, concerned by his sudden departure.

“Gotta go!” He called, slamming the door.

You smiled at the strange scene.

“IT’S REALLY HARD TO GO WHEN YOU KEEP TRYING TO RAISE YOUR LEG!” He yelled from the other side of the door. Yeah, your Prompto was back.

The rest of the morning was filled with a slow breakfast and as much time in each other’s arms as you could have. Prompto kept trying to lick you instead of kiss you and he accidently did whine a few times.

Eventually, you pieced together his story. It sounded like a rival witch had been trying to cast this spell on you, when Prompto walked out of your apartment and right into it! You laughed with him but vowed to get revenge on whoever did this.

With a little bit of research and luck, you discovered that Prompto’s transformation would go away with time and “warm love”. He would need to constantly be around someone he loved, to take care of them and be cared for, until all the symptoms went away, or else he would transform back into a puppy!

“You poor thing! The shock of the transformation must have scared you so bad that you ran away!” You pet his head, trying to comfort him through understanding.

Prompto laughed nervously.

“What’s wrong, babe?”

“I guess…this means the cat’s out of the bag…heh or the dog.” He did a weak finger guns to you.

“What?”

“The ‘L’ word stuff! LOVE! Now you know…” He looked down sadly. “And I never got to surprise you or make it super romantic or something…”

You smiled, pulling him in close for a tight hug. “Yeah, but I don’t need that, because I have you.” You pulled away to hold is face in your hands. “Prompto, I love you and I never want to lose you again.”

His eyes sparked. “I love you, too, [Y/N]. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

You held each other tight, wrapped in the strongest magic the world had ever known: Love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I was a pretty cute puppy, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, you still are!”“I am not!” “You can still be very dog-like at times.”

“Well, you don’t need a leash to keep me around.” ;)

“What if I want one?”

“What?”

“What?”

#ffxv #prompto x reader #prompto #prompto argentum #fanfiction #witch #witch au #transformation #puppy #final fantasy #final fantasy xv #fluff

[curiousconstellations]

Scar of the Heart

Emma Swan hunts alone. Except on nights when Killian Jones, fellow demon hunter and pain in her ass, insists on joining her. When dealing with a particularly troublesome beast, they discover that perhaps there is more to each other than meets the eye. Captain Swan soulmate/demon hunter AU, one shot. 

I wanted to post this for Halloween but alas, life got in the way so here it is almost a month later. 9.5k, rated T for blood/mild violence.

Also on ff.net and AO3

Emma crouches in her hiding place, regulating her breathing to a slow, steady pace as she concentrates on listening to the sounds of the forest. Holding tightly on the crossbow she waits, the silver-tipped arrow ready to shoot straight into the wendigo’s heart as soon as it shows itself.

‘Swan, fancy seeing you out here.’

Emma grits her teeth at the voice, closing her eyes with a shake of her head and mentally counting to ten to refrain herself from firing the arrow straight into the chest of Killian Jones.

‘It’s my job, Jones.’ Emma sighs, standing up just as Killian steps into her space. He’s the only hunter in the radius of ten villages that matches her kills and the arrogant asshole knows it.

‘And I do my job alone.’ Emma adds, glancing at the hunting gear on his back and the weapon in his hand.

‘Aye, but having someone watch your back can’t hurt, particularly with a wendigo, nasty buggers that they are.’ Killian grins, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. He’s charming and undeniably attractive, but she’s seen him prancing around the tavern after a hunt and can guess that the number of women he’s shared a bed with could rival the number of creatures he’s killed.

‘How did you even know I came for it tonight?’ Emma asks quietly, shifting her weight with irritation. It’s dark, the moonlight the only illumination in the thick forest of trees, but she can still see Killian’s amused expression and she rolls her eyes.

‘Someone in the village close by was reported dead last night, of course you came.’ She hates the way he says it so matter-of-factly, like he knows her.

‘Yeah well, we’re going to be next if you don’t shut up and let me do my job.’ Emma grumbles, turning away and pulling the crossbow back up in a stance of attack.

‘Such a fiery one you are, Swan.’ Killian murmurs, and Emma shakes away the feeling that it was said as a compliment (and worse, that she appreciated it).

They both wait in silence, their breathing falling into a pattern together as they look in opposite directions for a sign of movement. They’ve run into each other on hunts before, but Emma usually just marches off on her own and kills the creature herself (20 times to 9, not that she’s keeping score). Emma Swan hunts alone. That’s the way it’s always been.

‘You weren’t at the tavern the other night.’ Killian whispers after a long stretch of silence. Emma turns her head to glare at him, but he continues looking out into the dark forest ahead and she takes a moment to appreciate his features. She usually sees him when he’s dirty from hunting or when his cheeks are rosy with alcohol in the tavern, but she’s never seen him looking quite as normal as he does now.

‘You say it like I go often.’ Emma replies, her eyes following his lips as they curve upwards into a smile.

‘I mean because it was Friday. Whenever you stop by for drinks with Ruby, it’s always been a Friday.’ Killian says softly, and Emma finds herself surprised that he had observed her routine so closely.

‘Something came up.’ Emma shrugs. She had intended to give him a piece of her mind and tell him how it wasn’t any of his business what she does in her free time, but there was something in the way he had spoken that was void of any rudeness or nosiness. It almost sounded like he cared.

Silence falls between them again and Emma finds that her mind is wandering in all kinds of directions tonight. She blames Killian for her lack of focus, but she has to admit that she does appreciate the small amount of comfort she takes from knowing that he has her back. They’re not friends, far from it, but Emma knows he is a good hunter and trusts his instinct.

‘I didn’t think that this would be your method of attack, Swan.’ Killian whispers a while later and she can see the cloud of breath from his lips in the moonlight.

‘What?’ Emma demands with a frown.

‘Waiting for it to come to you. You strike me as the kind of woman that would march right into the creature’s lair and kill it then and there.’ Everything Killian says is accompanied by a grin and it makes her wonder whether he is being sincere or mocking her.

‘I do that all the time, just not with wendigos. They’re smart and strong and create their lairs to trap even the best hunters. I’ve survived this long because I know when to put my pride aside.’ Emma retorts, rolling her eyes again when Killian’s grin widens.

‘Are you insinuating that I do not? Because I’m just as much of a survivor as you are, love.’ Killian replies and Emma sniffs from the cold and shakes her head.

‘I didn’t insinuate anything, but if that’s what you inferred there must be a reason.’

‘The reason being that you never miss an opportunity to make a snide remark about me, so it was a reasonable inference to make.’

‘God, you’re insufferable.’ Emma mutters, standing up abruptly and swinging her crossbow intentionally towards Killian as she moves to leave their spot hidden between the trees.

‘Swan, you shouldn’t go out there by yourself.’ Killian sighs, standing up and swinging his hunting gear back onto his shoulder.

‘It beats staying here with you.’ Emma retorts, looking away to avoid seeing Killian’s reaction. She knows that she is being rude, but something about Killian elicits a strange reaction from her that makes her uncomfortable and hating him is the easiest way to cope with his presence in her life.

‘Emma-’ She hears him call behind her, but the rest of his words are cut off by the sudden burst of pain across her stomach and her eyes dart frantically to spot the wendigo racing between the trees at a supernatural speed.

Emma looks down to see her shirt darkening with blood. The wound feels like nothing more than a sting right now, but from her years of experience and research she knows the pain will only continue to get worse. She swings her head around to catch sight of where the wendigo went but suddenly Killian is crowding around her, muttering things under his breath and inspecting the claw marks across her stomach.

‘Jones, I’m fine, just let me kill it.’ Emma shakes her head but the motion makes her weak and all she catches is Killian emphatically saying no. He tends to her wound as best he can in the dark forest with the health supplies from his pack, glancing around cautiously every few seconds for the creature.

Her eyelids feel heavy and she internally curses him for distracting her. This never would have happened if she was alone.

‘Swan, I need to get you out of here. It’s not safe and I can’t clean the wound properly like this.’ Killian murmurs frantically, putting his arm around her even as she grumbles in opposition. She’s still strong enough to push him away, but she knows that wendigos tease their victims by injuring them first and working up an appetite with the smell of their blood. It won’t be long before the creature comes for her again, and she won’t be able to walk away from that.

They try to stay slow and quiet but she can feel her skin splitting further as they walk and with each gasp of pain Killian ushers her along even quicker. They reach the edge of the forest and Killian exhales, taking the crossbow from her hand and shoving it into his bag before slinging it over his back and scooping her up in his arms.

‘It’s quicker this way now that we’re on more even ground. Don’t bother complaining, I’m trying to save your life.’ He says, the hint of a smile on his lips before a frown tugs his eyebrows back down as he concentrates. The initial movement of being lifted hurts her open wound, but Emma must admit she’s glad she’s off her feet. She closes her eyes and grits her teeth from the pain, hoping Killian gets to wherever he is heading rather soon.

Emma jumps with a start when she comes back to consciousness as Killian gently lowers her to her feet. Her stomach throbs and her head is cloudy with exhaustion as she squints at her surroundings, trying to figure out where Killian took her. He’s opening a door and tossing their hunting gear through the doorway before gently guiding her inside. Emma’s shoulders sag with relief when she realizes it’s his home, and fortunately she’s in too much of a state to overthink this.

Killian bustles about once she’s lying on his bed, telling her not to move or touch the wound. There are several snarky comments on the tip of her tongue but they fall away when he stands over her and she sees the concern in his eyes.

‘I need to lift your shirt to clean the wound.’ Killian says softly, and it takes her a moment to realize he is asking for her permission. She nods slowly and Killian crouches down beside her, gently moving away the torn material. He continues working with a gentle touch, wiping away the blood with a cloth and pouring alcohol to clean the wound (she had groaned loudly and cursed under her breath at that, his smirk breaking the tension a little).

Emma has sustained injuries while working before, but most were just small cuts on her arms or knees that were easily managed once she got home. A wendigo cut was more severe though, and could even be fatal on the right parts of the body. She knew that Killian had been badly injured once, his left hand amputated to stop the spread of some demon’s venom, or at least that’s what she’s heard. She’s even heard stories that he attaches a hook in place of his hand when he goes hunting, but she’s never actually seen it in the times that she had run into him on hunts.

‘How is the pain? Are you experiencing any nausea or light-headedness?’ Killian asks as he works away on her stomach and she manages to snort derisively.

‘A wendigo just sliced my stomach, what do you think?’ Emma replies, tilting her head to watch his expression in response. Killian smiles and shakes his head, his eyes darting up to meet hers briefly. Now that he appears less concerned for her, she sees something else in his eyes that surprises her; she really isn’t sure why he would look at her with such affection when she’s simply an acquaintance that’s currently bleeding on his bed.

Emma puts her head back down and closes her eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted as she comes down from the adrenaline. Killian gently puts his hand under her back and she arches to allow him to wrap the bandage around her middle. His hands are warm against her and she sighs, simultaneously wishing for him to leave her alone and for him to continue caring for her.

Killian finishes wrapping the bandage and pins it tightly together, but she senses his hand lingering and a sense of dread washes over her.

‘It’s just a scar I got on the job a few years back.’ Emma murmurs, opening her eyes to confirm her suspicion that Killian was looking over the mark by her hip.

‘We hunters have got plenty of those.’ Killian says humorously as he moves to pull her shirt back down. He appears to not be entirely sure of his next move and she closes her eyes again, finding it easier not to be so aware of the fact that she’s vulnerable and lying on the bed of Killian Jones.

‘You should sleep. I’ll check on the wound again when you wake up.’ He says quietly, and Emma finds herself giving in to her drowsy exhaustion, not even bothering to overthink the situation for now. She feels Killian’s hand lightly touch her arm before he places a blanket over her, hearing him whisper goodnight just before she slips into a well needed deep sleep.

Killian wasn’t a terrible person, he wouldn’t have just left an injured person out in the forest, vulnerable to another attack from the creature. The logical thing would be to take said injured person somewhere safe and tend to the wound to avoid infection. It’s also within reason to expect him to allow this injured person to rest after the attack, the soft surface of his bed the best place for them.

Everything that happened is exactly what would happen. A completely normal series of events. So Emma really doesn’t know why she’s plagued with all kinds of thoughts the following morning when she wakes up in Killian’s bed, a flask of water and a bowl of ointment for her wound sitting on the table beside her.

Killian’s house is small but warm and homely and Emma is thankful that the fireplace is close to the bed. The fire still burns but it seems to have been a while since it was last stoked and she wonders where Killian is.

Emma takes a drink from the flask, her mouth dry with thirst and her lips cracked from dehydration. There is a dull pain across her stomach as she moves, but it’s bearable and no where near as severe as last night. She moves to lie on her side, wincing as she does so but finding the position more comfortable after lying on her back the entire night.

Hearing a noise from outside she closes her eyes again, not quite ready to face Killian just yet. Her mind is still trying to understand him, her thoughts constantly returning to the way his hands felt against her skin, even if it had been when she was bleeding out from the cuts across her stomach. She’s never hated him, but his bravado often held her back from thinking much about him. She respected him as a hunter, but she had never really cared to know him beyond that.

Killian comes in and immediately comes over to the bed, standing over her for a few seconds before walking towards the fire. Emma waits a moment before slowly peeling her eyes open, relieved to see that he has his back to her. He places another log on the fire and stokes it, holding out his hands in front of the flames to warm them up. She almost clears her throat to let him know she’s awake but he turns slightly away from the fire and begins unbuttoning his shirt.

She should close her eyes, or say something, or turn away. But she doesn’t do any of those things. Instead she watches him undress, her cheeks growing hot despite herself. Emma silently takes in the hair on his chest and the muscles of his arms before her eyes drift lower.

Suddenly sickness washes over her as she notices the mark just above his left hip. The same mark she has, the one she had told him was just a scar. He had played along, all the while knowing it was a scar of the heart, not a monster.

Emma lies frozen in bed, panic setting in and making her heart beat ridiculously fast. She could just get up and leave, but Killian would see right through her attempts at telling him she was fine. She could pretend that she never saw anything, just as he had done the previous night.

She could say something.

(She definitely won’t say anything.)

Feigning sleep for a little while longer is the easiest option, but Emma soon falls back asleep to the sound of the fire crackling and Killian’s low humming as he moves around her quietly. When she wakes again it’s to the smell of freshly baked bread and the rumble of her stomach.

‘Ah, there you are Swan. You were out for so long I was beginning to worry.’ Killian says just as he places a plate of bread on the table beside her. She hungrily slides up the bed and grabs it, wincing at the pain of her wound as she moves.

‘How are you feeling? Besides the obvious hungry of course.’ He asks with a soft smile. She doesn’t like it when he does that, when he looks at her with affection and smiles like he knows her. Emma swallows and the bread feels thick in her throat as she tries to avoid meeting Killian’s eyes.

‘I feel fine. I’m ready to go home now.’ Emma replies, finishing off the bite of bread in her hand and throwing back the blanket he had put across her last night.

‘Are you sure? I haven’t even applied the ointment I made for you yet.’ He sounds disappointed and she bites back a groan of frustration at the way her cuts sting and how Killian puts out a hand to help her up and the fact that her heart leaps when he touches her.

‘I can make my own.’ Emma mumbles, biting the inside of her cheek when Killian’s hand squeezes hers.

‘I know how stubborn you are and that I’ll never be able to convince you of something if you’re set against it. But at least let me know how you are soon, Swan? Otherwise I’ll have nightmares of you splitting open your stomach and bleeding out with no one to help.’ Killian shrugs with a smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Emma studies him, looking over the soft redness of his cheeks, the darkness of his lashes and the blue of his eyes. It’s then, as she really looks at him in their close proximity, that she realizes that he too has just discovered his soulmate.

He hadn’t known she was his soulmate when he came out into the forest to help her and offered to watch her back, or when he cared for her and guided her back to his home safely. He hadn’t known all the times they saw each other across the tavern that he was looking at his soulmate.

The Killian Jones she thought she knew would have declared himself her soulmate as soon as he had seen her mark, but he didn’t. There are two reasons why he might have done that, and she knows from his affectionate gazes that he might just feel something for her. So, that leaves the second reason; that he doesn’t think she feels anything for him.

‘I’ll be strong enough to get that wendigo soon enough.’ Emma jokes lightly, watching as Killian’s head tilts as he raises his eyebrows.

‘Aye, well you may have to find another. I went back and killed the creature last night after you fell asleep.’ Killian admits, looking down and scratching his ear awkwardly. Before, she would have been irritated that he took a kill from her, but seeing him so bashful about it is refreshing to say the least, and it surprisingly makes her smile.

‘I guess that makes it 20 to 10 then.’ She teases, her stomach flipping at the way Killian’s face brightens.

‘I knew you kept score.’ He grins with a shake of his head. Their smiles last a moment longer before they both sober up and Emma realizes that her hand is still in his. She subtly slips away from his touch to search for her cloak, having been in too much pain last night to notice where Killian had put it. It was on the hook behind her, hanging beside his own belongings. For every wary thought she has of Killian Jones, there is another reminding her how caring he had been, how quick he had been to help her and how genuine his concern was, all before he had even seen her mark.

‘Well, I should get going.’ Emma sighs as she pulls her cloak around her shoulders and picks up her bag of hunting gear by the door. Killian nods and she wishes he would just say something ridiculous so she could roll her eyes and fall back into her usual exasperation towards him.

Killian gives her a half smile as she leaves and she feels his eyes on her as she makes her way along the path to the village. Despite her lengthy sleep and the comfort of Killian’s bed, she longs to rest again, particularly with her wound stinging every time she moves. Perhaps she should have accepted Killian’s ointment (perhaps she wanted a reason to stay with him a little while longer).

Killian shoves a couple of his hunting daggers haphazardly into his satchel and swings it over his shoulder, his anxious energy causing his forehead to prickle with perspiration. It was at least two hours after sundown and he was running late. On nights that he hunts, Killian is in the forest at sundown, weapons in hand ready to kill whatever creature emerges in the darkness.

Killian had lost track of time, spending most of his evening wandering around the market and replenishing his herbal and medicinal supplies. He had finished most of his collection when he made the ointment for Emma, and he feigns ignorance to his own mind that any thoughts regarding Emma were purely out of concern and consideration of her wound. He had most definitely not been thinking about the mark on her hip that she claimed was a scar. He had not been thinking about how he shares the same mark, and what exactly that makes them to each other.

The past two days had been spent reliving that night and continually recalling their past interactions that may have indicated any such connection, each recollection causing Killian’s cheeks to warm with the desire to have their relationship mean something to her like it did him.

Emma Swan had always been a woman of mystery, something intriguing about her tugging at him and making him want to know her, even if the woman herself had no such intention. Discovering they were soulmates made everything make sense, and yet Emma was in clear denial of what her mark truly was.

For the longest time, Killian hadn’t believed in the idea either. He had searched the body of every intimate partner he had, and having never discovered a matching mark, he questioned how he could feel connections with people that were not connected to his soul, yet never seem to find his true soulmate either. He feels it now, the tingle across his skin whenever his eyes meet Emma’s, whenever his skin touches hers, even just being in the same room as her. Killian doesn’t understand how it works, but he damn well believes it’s real now.

He grits his teeth and shakes away thoughts of Emma to focus on his hunting, something that usually comes naturally to him. His attempt at focusing his mind it quickly made pointless when he opens the door to find Emma standing there, one hand raised ready to knock and the other cradling where her wound is.

‘Emma, is everything okay?’ Killian asks with concern, sliding his bag back off his shoulder as he takes in her pained expression.

‘I was wondering if you still have that ointment?’ She replies, and just as his eyes drift back down to her stomach he’s hit with a pungent smell that’s radiating off her wound.

‘It’s infected, you should have come to me sooner.’ Killian mutters as he ushers her inside and directs her towards the bed. Emma winces but otherwise moves silently, lying down on his bed and lifting her shirt to show the infected mess on her stomach. Killian bustles about getting the unused ointment from the other day and some bandages and alcohol.

He works away at cleaning the wound first, flushing it out with alcohol and wiping away the residue of infection. It isn’t until the wound is clean and he starts applying the ointment that he catches sight of her mark, and with one nervous swoop of his stomach he glances up at her. She’s been quiet, the only sounds she made being of discomfort, and he wonders how she let the wound fester like this.

‘Emma-’

‘I wanted to see you, okay? I drove myself crazy trying to come up with an excuse to see you, because I was too damn scared to just come.’ Emma’s voice is barely above a whisper, and he thinks he sees the tremble of her chin as she inhales.

‘So you let yourself get into this mess? Swan, nothing is worth hurting yourself like that.’ Killian says softly, his mouth curving when she twitches at the gentle touch of his hand across her stomach as he applies the ointment.

‘I know…about the mark. You mark, my mark, and whatever the hell that means we are to each other.’ Emma murmurs, staring up at the ceiling as his hand freezes on her stomach. His eyes drift back to her hip, and he finds himself tracing the mark that sits there with the tip of his finger. Even the light touch makes his pulse jump, and suddenly he’s very aware of the fact that his soulmate is lying beneath him.

‘I suppose it was a bit of disappointment to discover it was me then.’ Killian says darkly with a shake of his head as he unravels the string of cloth to wrap around her waist. Emma’s hand delicately wraps around his wrist and she finally looks at him, a look that makes his stomach flip with nerves and desire and fear.

‘Can I see it?’ She asks softly, and after a moment of surprise he nods. She lets go of him and he stands, tugging his shirt away to reveal the mark on his hip. It’s the same as hers, yet he can’t help but feel self conscious about it as her thumb brushes over it and her eyes roam his exposed skin.

‘I wasn’t disappointed that you were mine.’ Emma whispers, and her words ignite a swell of hope in his chest that makes him sigh with relief.

‘I’m just sorry I have to be yours.’ She adds, and the smile forming on his lips quickly drops at the troubled expression in her eyes.

‘Emma, I thought I’d never find my soulmate. I thought the entire thing was a bloody joke for years. But when I saw your mark the other night, suddenly everything made sense. It made sense that it was you, that there is a reason for this pull I feel towards you. You should not be sorry Swan, because I’m a damn lucky man to have the universe believe that you are my kindred spirit.’ Killian tells her firmly, his chest tightening at the way her eyes glaze over with unshed tears.

A silence falls between them and Killian gestures for Emma to lie back down so he can finish tending to her wound. She shivers as he wraps the bandage around her and he glances over at the empty fire, then at his hunting gear by the door.

‘I’ll build up the fire, love.’ Killian says softly as his hand brushes over the goose bumps on her skin. She smiles gratefully, sheepishly pulling her shirt down once he’s finished with the bandage.

‘I don’t wish to keep you from hunting tonight.’ Emma says quietly, her eyes landing on his bag. Killian shakes his head and tucks her hair behind her ear, his smile returning when Emma flutters her eyelashes at the affectionate touch.

‘There was no word of any creature out there tonight anyway, I was actually just going to clear my head.’ Killian shrugs as he walks towards the fireplace.

‘Well you are trailing me in kills so you do need the extra time out there to catch up.’ Emma retorts, and he turns back to her in surprise, grinning at the smirk on her lips.

‘Aye, that I am. I may have to step up my game with my soulmate being such a fierce competitor.’ Killian replies, only worrying about his words after they left his mouth. It was perhaps premature to joke about their relationship, particularly when it was unclear as to where exactly they stood with one another. An apology is on his lips until he notices Emma is still smiling and he relaxes.

‘Aye, that I am.’ Emma responds, turning to lie on her side and pulling his blanket over herself.

He builds up the fire and stokes it until the room warms and Emma is no longer shivering, although she remains under his blanket. Killian perches on the end of the bed as they talk, finding himself needing to reach out for Emma, to caress her leg or hold her hand. Every moment he wonders if it is too much, but Emma begins to seek out his touch too and he relaxes into their affectionate and comforting gestures. She’s hesitant to open up at first, and even as they talk throughout the night he knows she is holding back, but he can see in her eyes how hard she is trying and he squeezes her hand to let her know it is okay.

The sun is just beginning to rise when Killian notices Emma’s fatigue and he slides in under the blanket beside her, his hand resting over the mark on her hip. She hums and pulls him closer, and it feels as if every single worry in his life vanishes in her presence.

Emma watches Killian as he reads by the fire, her eyes taking in the details of him she never noticed before. His brows are furrowed in concentration and she bites her lip, the desire to kiss him until his expression softens so strong her stomach flips.

Just a few days ago, Killian Jones was the arrogant competition that sometimes tagged along on her hunts like a puppy desperate to show off his tricks. Now he is someone different, a softer man of self doubt and compassion, a man that was connected to her in ways she didn’t even understand. Emma’s hand curls around his blanket, clenched with frustration as she dwells on their matching marks.

‘How does it work, the soulmate thing?’ Emma murmurs, Killian’s head snapping up in surprise at the sound of her voice. He immediately puts his book down and comes towards the bed, his hand cupping her face briefly before he raises an eyebrow in a silent request to see her wound. She sighs and turns onto her back, pulling down the blanket and lifting up her shirt.

‘How does it feel today?’ Killian asks, his fingers ghosting over the bandage to see if the wound bled through.

‘You didn’t answer my question.’ Emma replies, moving her hand to touch his wrist. She notices the way he clenches his jaw and she frowns, wondering what it is that troubles him.

‘I don’t have an answer, love. I don’t know how any of this works.’ Killian says softly, avoiding meeting her eyes as he looks over her. He works away at treating her wound and she lets him, staying silent as she glances down at him. Once Killian finishes cleaning the wound she rests her head back on the pillow and closes her eyes. She feels his hand lightly brush across her skin, moving down from her wound to the mark on her hip.

‘I know that I would have chosen you regardless of these marks. Perhaps how I felt about you was because of these marks, I just didn’t know, but I suppose that’s the point. I didn’t know, and yet I still wanted you. You need to know that it is everything to do with you, and nothing to do with the mark.’ Killian says softly, the tips of his fingers still grazing over her skin as he speaks.

Emma sits up in bed, wincing but otherwise ignoring her wound and the tight bandage Killian had wrapped around her torso.

‘Do you remember the night I was hunting the soul eater and you joined me? God, you pissed me off.’ Emma scoffs, shaking her head with a soft smile as Killian offers a small but confused smile in return.

‘Aye, you told me to bugger off and leave you to it.’ Killian recalls, tilting his head and regarding her affectionately.

‘The stars were bright that night. It was cold too, but I remember feeling warm beside you, like you radiated heat or something. You were talking a lot, it irritated me that everything in that forest probably knew we were there, but your voice was a comfort in the darkness I didn’t expect. It had rained not long before I went out there and I could smell the dampness, until you came and all I could smell was soap and leather and spices. You were warm and comforting and familiar, and it made me wonder if that’s what home is meant to feel like.’ Emma is almost too lost in her own recollection of that night to hear Killian murmur her name until his hand cups her face and she looks up at him.

‘You truly felt that way?’ He asks, the hope in his eyes undeniable.

‘Yes.’ Emma replies quietly. She feels her cheeks warm underneath his intense gaze and she looks away with a bashful laugh. She shuffles further up the bed and Killian clears his throat and scratches behind his ear, a gesture that makes the corners of her lips twitch into a smile.

‘Your wound is all clean now. Please don’t let it get to that state again, even if I have to force you to take my ointment.’ Killian says firmly, stepping away from the bed to stoke the fire. A chill hadn’t even settled in the house, but Emma suspects he was simply looking for something to do so he wasn’t awkwardly standing over her.

‘Killian.’ Emma says softly, enjoying the way he looks up at her sheepishly.

‘I think I’d like to find out how it works, being soulmates.’

Killian smiles, a toothy, wide grin that makes her stomach flip.

‘Aye, me too.’

She’s up and out of bed before she even feels a tug on her wound, approaching Killian quicker as he comes to usher her back into bed. Emma silences his concerns with a kiss, shocking him so much he mumbles a sound of surprise against her lips and tenses. She places her hands on either side of his face, her fingers brushing through his hair and she feels him soften at her touch. His surprise turns into passion as he kisses her back and she feels their bodies perfectly mould together as he relaxes.

Killian chuckles when their lips part and Emma feels her heart clench at the sound of his joy.

‘I could spend the rest of my life kissing you.’ He murmurs, his voice deep and spreading heat through her body as he nudges her nose with his.

‘What are soulmates for?’ Emma replies, smiling when Killian hums and captures her lips once more.

1 Year later

‘Killian, as much as I love your lips, we need to track this damn beast.’ Emma murmurs into his mouth, smiling despite herself when he groans and his grip on her hip tightens.

‘Aye, and we will. But sometimes I need you.’ He responds, and Emma’s body tingles from head to toe at his words.

‘You’re incorrigible.’ She grins, unable to resist going in for another kiss before reluctantly pulling away. Normally, Killian would have a flirtatious expression that makes her roll her eyes when they stop kissing, but tonight his expression is serious, his gaze heavy and full of longing as he looks at her.

‘Why don’t we return tomorrow night for the banshee, Swan.’ Killian suggests, his thumb brushing across her chin softly.

‘Killian, we can’t just leave knowing she’s out there.’ Emma murmurs, his touch swaying her more than she’d like.

‘We haven’t heard any wailing, love. That’s a sign that for now, no one is dying and we can take a break. We’ve already tracked and killed four beasts this week, I think that’s plenty.’ Killian shrugs, making Emma tilt her head in concern. They make quite the team, and even though they were great hunters alone, together they’ve tracked and killed more demons and creatures than the rest of the local hunters combined. Killian prides himself on this fact, and Emma knows the only time he’s ever left a creature was the time the wendigo scratched her, and even then he went back out and killed it.

‘Killian, what is it? You’ve never wanted to leave mid hunt.’ Emma asks, glancing around the forest before her eyes return to Killian. It’s dark and cold tonight, their breath coming out in wispy clouds. They may not have heard the banshee, but Emma is certain something is out here tonight and she knows Killian’s instincts are just as good as her own.

‘Nothing, love. We just spend many a night out here hunting and perhaps we should be able to enjoy each other’s company in a much more preferable way.’ He smiles, attempting to pass the comment off as flirtatious.

‘What are you avoiding?’ She asks firmly, tired of him dodging her concerns. It wasn’t like him to be so evasive, and with the chill in the air she’d really rather they weren’t having this conversation in the middle of the dark forest with potential monsters lurking and her attention elsewhere.

Killian sighs and steps back, shifting the strap of his bag across his shoulder uncomfortably.

‘The other night when I was in the tavern a seer came to me. I know you don’t believe what any of them have to say Swan, which is why I never mentioned it before. But this woman was different to the usual scaremongers looking to make a quick coin. She told me something and it was difficult to forget.’ He says quietly, glancing over at her to gauge her reaction. Emma nods for him to continue and he clear his throat.

‘She told me that events would repeat themselves, that the suffering and misfortune of the year gone would come back. How can that refer to anything other than your encounter with the wendigo last year? This year with you has been the best of my life, and the only suffering was that night. What if you get hurt again and-’ Killian stops himself and Emma feels her stomach drop. She doesn’t believe seers, or at least she doesn’t believe the ones that frequent the local taverns and claim they are seers. But skepticism or not, she shares Killian’s concern.

‘Killian, what we do is dangerous and we know the risks, it doesn’t take a seer to know that something could happen to one of us. Do you think I don’t worry about you every time we come out here?’ Emma says softly, stepping closer to him as he drops the tension in his shoulders.

‘But we’ve tracked more monsters than any other hunter around here, and it’s not just because we’re pretty damn great at it. It’s because we make one hell of a team. We’ve got each other’s backs, and I trust you with my life. Not to put pressure on you though.’ Emma smiles, easing the tension a little. Killian smiles back, reaching for her arm and squeezing gently.

‘Aye love, we do make a great team.’

Emma is happy that Killian softens, even with the concern still lingering in his eyes as he looks at her lovingly. She decides that perhaps they should just head home early tonight; he did make a good argument about the banshee and right now she’d rather curl up with him by the fire than stay out in the cold night.

‘Even so, I agree that we should call it a night. Let’s go home.’ She says softly, reaching for his hand in the dark. Killian nods with a smile, but she feels a brief brush of his fingers against hers before he suddenly cries out and cradles his stomach.

‘Killian, what’s wrong?’ Emma asks, eyebrows furrowed as she strains to see him in the darkness.

‘I think…I think there’s a wendigo.’ He murmurs, looking down at his blood covered hand before looking around the forest. Emma’s heart thuds and she feels icy all over. She hadn’t even heard or felt it approach and it feels like the time she got hurt all over again. Killian gasps in pain and she winces, recalling exactly what it felt like to be wounded by the creature.

Emma swallows thickly and glances around the trees. They’re deep in the woods and their chances of making it back home without another incident are slim. Biting her lip as she makes her decision, ushering Killian towards the base of a tree, gently tugging the bag off his shoulder and helping him lean against the trunk.

She silently gets a bandage from the bag and wraps it haphazardly around Killian, hoping that the pressure might reduce the bleeding until they get home and she can properly tend to it.

‘Emma.’ Killian mumbles and she shakes her head.

‘I’ll clean it out when we get back, okay? But we’re in too deep, we can’t make it home while it’s still out there. I’ll be right back.’ She says hurriedly. Killian cups her face with his hand and she feels the dampness of his blood on her skin.

‘Swan, I can’t lose you.’ He gasps, his face tight with pain and his breathing uneven and laboured.

‘And I can’t lose you, which is why I need to go kill this thing. It has a taste for you blood now, you know what that means.’ Emma murmurs, searching through their weapons for the correct arrows. She quickly loads an arrow into the crossbow and stores the rest in the bag on her shoulder, stealing a quick glance at Killian before shaking her head.

‘Don’t say it. Neither of us are dying so there is no reason to say it.’ Emma says firmly, turning away to hide her quivering lip as she heads into the thick darkness of the trees, away from Killian’s pained expression and potentially life-threatening wound.

The leaves and twigs crunch beneath her feet and her breath comes out in vapour clouds, a shiver coursing through her simultaneously with the adrenaline.  Killian could not die this way, not after what they’ve been through together.

Emma stops close to the location she suspected was the lair of the wendigo. It’s damn stupid what she’s doing, and she recalls telling Killian that exact thing the last time they encountered a wendigo. But this time she can’t afford to let it run around the woods, feasting on the man she loves.

She lights the fuse on the end of the arrow and slowly approaches, picturing the flaming weapon flying straight into the heart of the monster. Her heart beat increases and her stomach churns, but this time her body isn’t just reacting to the adrenaline of the hunt, but the necessity to kill this damn thing. Approaching the lair, she softens her steps, even if wendigos have heightened hearing she doesn’t need to give herself away that obviously.

A chill crawls up her back and Emma spins around, her eyes darting around trying to spot it. She feels it’s presence, but she can’t waste her shots aimlessly firing at it. She remembers the time she and Killian went training soon after her injury, both trying to outdo each other with their techniques. They were just getting used to seeing each other as soulmates and accepting what was between them. So, naturally, Killian was flirtatious and she witty, teasing each other about their methods and Killian offering to help position her correctly for perfect aim. Emma’s lip twitches at the memory of him lightly touching her arm as she held her crossbow, whispering in her ear about the angle of her elbow as his body moulded to hers.

Emma adjusts her elbow at the recollection and closes her eyes, a technique of her own when she wanted to pay attention to the sounds around her. Feeling the waves of its speed around her and the small but telltale sounds of its location, she anticipates the next move of the wendigo and releases the arrow. Once her eyes are open, she sees the wendigo on the ground, the arrow stuck right in the middle of it’s chest.

With a triumphant nod, Emma watches it burn, turning away and running as she hears it wailing in its final moments. When she reaches Killian, he’s slumped further down the tree and she rushes to him, gently pulling him up and guiding him with his arm over her shoulder.

‘You did it, Swan.’ He mumbles, trying to laugh but it comes out as an unpleasant gurgle and she winces. It’s a long walk back home and they stop several times for Killian to rest momentarily and for Emma to tighten the bandage. He begins mumbling nonsensical things and she panics, stumbling quicker on the uneven path through the trees as he groans. The sight of the trees thinning in a welcomed one and Emma reassures Killian they are close, her heart clenching as he says her name desperately.

When she catches sight of their home she all but collapses and sags with relief when she swings open the door and ushers Killian onto their bed. It’s a strange sense of Déjà vu but the roles are reversed and Emma would give anything to change places with Killian and end his pain.

‘Killian, you still with me?’ Emma asks as she bustles about finding everything she needs to treat his wound.

‘Hmm.’ Killian groans and she hurries over to him. He’s in a terrible condition, his face pale and clammy and his eyes fluttering between consciousness. There is one less concern now that she had killed the wendigo and they are back home, but Killian isn’t completely safe just yet.

He falls unconscious and she works away without worrying about hurting him, cleaning away both the dried and fresh blood and applying ointment to the cut. Emma works methodically until the bandage is wrapped around his torso and she’s tidied everything up. When it finally catches up to her, she allows herself to cry, curling her fingers around his limp hand.

‘I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, Killian.’ She says quietly, gently brushing the mark on his hip with her other hand. It had become a spot of comfort, the marks on both of their hips. Whenever her walls would creep back up or her mind was plagued with doubt she would seek out Killian’s mark, a physical reminder of their bond. He does it too, more so when they have an argument or when he has a bad day. Killian likes to trace it lightly as they lie in bed, his troubled expression easing the longer he touches her.

Emma wipes her eyes and settles down in the armchair by the fireplace. There’s a chill in the air but she’s too tired to build up the fire and finds herself falling asleep as soon as she tucks her legs underneath herself, looking over at Killian before closing her eyes.

The first thing he notices when he wakes up is how dry his mouth is. The second thing he notices is how bitterly cold the house is, and the third is Emma’s sleeping form curled up in the armchair. The events of the previous night suddenly come rushing back to him when he shifts in bed and feels the tightness around his stomach. Fortunately, the pain is minimal, and he can tell Emma did a good job cleaning the wound, but he still feels the roughness of the morning after an injury.

With a wince he gets up and takes a drink from the flask beside the bed before heading over to build up the fire. Killian stops by Emma’s side first, lightly kissing her forehead and pulling the blanket back over her where it had fallen in the night. It takes him a while to maneuver himself around with the logs and kindling and despite the chill in the air his forehead prickles with perspiration from his efforts.

‘Killian, you shouldn’t be up exerting yourself.’ Emma says quietly behind him just as he gets the fire going and he looks over his shoulder to see her simultaneously yawning and giving him a look of disapproval.

‘It was cold, love. I couldn’t let us both freeze to death.’ He grins, walking towards her just as she stands up. She reaches her arms out for a hug and he eagerly embraces her.

‘You’re so dramatic.’ Emma mumbles teasingly into his neck, but he senses the shift in her body language that tells him she’s tense. He rubs her back and she sighs, squeezing him a little harder with her arms.

‘I love you.’ Killian feels his stomach flip at her words despite having heard them numerous times in recent months. Emma had been hesitant to say those words, he had known by the way she would find any other way of saying it (and quite often showing it, which he didn’t mind at all).

It had been a warm spring evening when she finally said it, the air hot and the rum burning his throat and his belly full of fire, stoked by her heavy gaze of desire. They shared drinks and looks and touches at the tavern before going back to his for a nightcap and she had smiled the entire way home, holding his hand and laughing freely. They sat in his armchairs and shared stories as they passed his flask of rum back and forth, skin touching each time. They had been physically intimate for a few months already, but Emma had never fully opened up to him emotionally.

She had yawned and invited herself to sit on his lap, wiggling with a pleased smile when he had wrapped his arms around her. It was then, in his lap with his arms around her and his lips grazing her neck, that she murmured the words softly. He knew by the way her lips curved that she had meant it, and that she had wanted to say it. He said it back, relieved to finally be able to voice his love for her without worrying about her walls and pushing him away.

‘I love you too.’ Killian replies, hugging her a little tighter with the memory fresh in his mind.

Emma forces him back to bed for the rest of the day and he quietly goes along with her orders, knowing she’s too damn stubborn to allow anything else. The warmth from the fire and the smell of Emma’s cooking comforts him, but what really makes it feel like home is the way Emma hums as she cooks and the way she smiles when she catches his eye.

He laughs so hard he almost splits his wound open when she comes running in from the kitchen, waving her spoon around excitedly as she remembers the big news she hadn’t told him. On her night out at the tavern they had found Ruby’s soulmate, a woman named Dorothy with the same mark on her forearm. Emma was beaming as she relayed the news of her friend’s found connection, and Killian felt himself fall further in love with her.

After resting for most of the day, Killian finds himself able to join Emma at the table for dinner, although he gets too cocky when he attempts to stretch, and she gives him a disapproving glare.

‘It will only take you longer to heal if you push yourself.’ Emma scolds him, raising her eyebrows questioningly when he snorts in response.

‘Swan, might I remind you how you behaved after you were hurt? I seem to recall you desperate to get up and not giving yourself enough time to heal.’ Killian teases as Emma clears the table after dinner.

‘That was because I was freaking the hell out about us being soulmates, not because I was being stupid and impatient.’ Emma retorts as she heads to the kitchen with their dishes. Killian hums and pokes at the fire before sitting in his armchair. They had developed a routine on evenings when they didn’t hunt, alternating between who cooks and cleans before they both settle down by the fire to talk or read. They had gone out the past few nights, two spent hunting and one having dinner with David and Mary Margaret, so Killian was eager to spend some alone time with Emma that didn’t involve killing demons, being attacked or acting chaste in front of their friends.

She returns from the kitchen and settles into the armchair beside him, wrapping herself in the blanket Mary Margaret had knitted for her. Killian had met Mary Margaret and David through Emma, who had known them through Ruby.  Ever since they discovered they were soulmates, their lives seemed to have blended together with ease, opening up his circle of friends and eventually his home when Emma was ready to move in.

‘I suppose that seer was right about events repeating themselves, just not in the way you thought.’ Emma sighs, and Killian knows how difficult it is for her to admit that the seer was right.

‘I wouldn’t like to know of the future.’ Killian replies, pensively watching the flames of the fire flicker.

‘Not even to know that everything was going to be okay? I know as a kid I would have felt a lot better if I’d known someday I’d find my place in the world.’ Emma says softly, and Killian’s heart squeezes as he recalls the times Emma had shared things from her childhood, the nights she’d spent on the street and the years in orphanages.

‘Perhaps, but isn’t that simply life, to not know where we’re headed? I know I want to have children one day, but I wouldn’t want to see it before I experience it.’ It takes a moment for Killian to realize the magnitude of what he has said, and he takes a cautious glance at Emma to see her wearing an unreadable expression.

‘You want children?’ Emma asks quietly, and suddenly the conversation is going down a path he hadn’t expected.

‘Aye, well with the little one on the way for David and Mary Margaret, I’ve been thinking about it.’ Killian shrugs, trying to act calm despite feeling his face flush. Emma sits quietly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.

‘With you of course.’ Killian adds, nervously scratching his ear.

‘Well I should hope so.’ Emma scoffs, and Killian pauses for a moment before laughing. Emma laughs too, a warm laugh that settles his nerves and soothes his soul.

‘You can tell me these things you know, Killian. You don’t always have to wait for me to say something.’ Emma says softly.

‘I just don’t want to overwhelm you, love. I know that you close off if things get too much and I don’t want that to happen with us.’

‘But what about you? It’s okay to talk to me about what you want. Killian, you’re my soulmate and I love you, I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you, I can handle committing to our future.’ Emma reaches for his arm and squeezes gently. Killian nods, feeling a lump form in his throat. He knows she loves him, and she agreed to move in, but he still worries that come the next big step in their relationship she’ll panic and run. But seeing her so calmly talk about their future relaxes him, and even makes him feel a little guilty for doubting her.

‘May I ask if you have considered having children?’ Killian says cautiously, watching as Emma’s lip curve into a smile.

‘I have. Not right now, but someday, I’d like to. I had this image in my head of us training them with wooden swords and blunt arrows. As they get older they beg to use real weapons and we both say no until one day you let our oldest use a real sword, and obviously that doesn’t end well.’ Emma laughs, losing herself in the vision she has of their future. Killian wordlessly tugs her towards him and she moves to sit on his lap, careful not to irritate his injury. He kisses her neck and wraps his arms around her, closing his eyes and imagining the picture she had painted.

‘No demon would ever want to cross our family.’ Killian murmurs, smiling at Emma’s humorous hum in response. His hand moves to her hip, his finger circling over her clothes where her mark is. Touching Emma’s mark always reminds him of its tangibility, how very real it is that they share a bond of love so strong the universe knows they are meant to be together. It’s the most exhilarating sensation he’s experienced, and he can’t wait to have more adventures with his demon hunting soulmate partner for life.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs ff au #my writing

[writesandramblings]

The Captain’s Secret - p.85

“I Could Never Be Your Woman”

A/N: Takes place during episode 13, "What's Past Is Prologue."

Also, small update on the read more issue, seems it’s some relation to tumblr disagreeing with some new encoding update Google did? I’m posting using Edge, maybe this will help somehow.

Full Chapter List Part 1 - Objects in Motion << 84 - Blue Moon 86 - I’ll Dream a Nation of You >>

Standing in the back of the hangar, the blueish lights casting them both in an icy pall, Lorca stared at Petrellovitz with an expression that was part grimace, part regret. Too long had he imagined this moment and in none of his imaginings had it looked like this. Now that he was standing in the moment, he wondered why he had bothered to imagine it at all.

The way Petrellovitz stared back at him felt like death. Dead eyes, dead expression, dead skin, and the death in her went far deeper than that. There was a feeling of festering rot that seemed to emanate from some pit where her heart should have been. She was not as dead as their Michael Burnham, but her trademark unearthliness came close.

"I found Michael," said Lorca, his head nodding slightly and mostly automatically. He took a small breath. "She's dead." It was barely more than a whisper. For a moment, his face registered grief and he was relieved they were in the far back of the hangar and he was standing with his back to the rest of the world.

"Ah," said Petrellovitz. She ceased scratching at her arm and pulled the sleeve of her jumpsuit down to cover the bloodied mess of wounds there, then began digging at the blood under her fingernails with her teeth.

Lorca searched her for some indication she had registered this information in any meaningful sense and found none. The lack of response left him feeling momentarily at a loss.

Seeing his vague confusion, Petrellovitz shrugged faintly. "Did you want me to cry?"

Lorca had not expected that, but he had expected something, damn it. "I was thinking I might kill you. You killed her." It should have been angry, and there was an intensity in his words, but of desperation more than rage. The words were also, taken at face value, untrue, yet they held a truth within them. Had Michael Burnham never met Emellia Petrellovitz, things would not have ended up as they had.

"And yet, here we are." She was taunting him.

"Only one thing's keeping you alive right now."

"You need me for something."

Lorca shook his head. "That's not it."

"Michael wouldn't want you to?"

"She liked you," admitted Lorca, "but no." It was satisfying seeing some measure of confusion spread to Petrellovitz. Her ignorance gave him power over her and a renewed sense of confidence.

"She loved me," Petrellovitz replied. "I gave her things you never could."

The sigh that hissed through Lorca's teeth was on some level amused. That was what he had been to Michael relative Georgiou. Petrellovitz thought she could adapt the sentiment for herself. She was wrong. "You were a useful toy. Playtime's over now. That universe you sent us to, Petra? I found us in it. Different versions of us. Which means I've got another you waiting in the wings. You are entirely expendable."

Petrellovitz only stared, enduringly dead-eyed. "Another me? There is no other me. It doesn't matter how many universes there are. There's only one me." It was the defining difference between her and Mischkelovitz: while Mischkelovitz yearned to be part of a group or partnership, Petrellovitz tolerated only singularity. She had gone so far as to kill every other person involved in the QORYA project to ensure it.

"That other you is the only reason you're still standing here. You have a lot in common. Thanks to her, I finally understand what it is made you. I know your secret, Petra. So believe me when I say I don't need you, but if you play nice, I might have a project for you."

Lorca reached into his pocket and pulled out Allan's tooth.

"They've got time travelers in that universe, and this? Is some sort of failsafe for when they get caught. If you're good, I might just give it to you."

He could see she wanted it. The glimmer in her dead eyes was the closest she came to looking alive. Her greed for new advancements and technology was unmatched and she would do anything to obtain such research initiatives for herself.

"So, I have your attention?"

Her insolence vanished in an instant. "Yes, captain."

"Good." He slipped the tooth back into his pocket and smiled. Incentivization worked wonders with her, just as it did Mischkelovitz. The incentives required were orders of magnitude different for each of them; Petrellovitz would no doubt be infuriated to learn the other her could be convinced to work on something for the price of a cookie.

Her eyes followed the tooth as it disappeared into his pocket, entirely fixated on it. Her mind, however, was working several angles at once. "How did you get back?"

"Ship outfitted with a spore displacement drive."

"Ship class?"

"Crossfield."

She looked down, thinking through the implications. "Adapted to accommodate a spore dispersal system, creating a mycelial field large enough to encompass an entire ship. It's what I would have done if they hadn't captured me."

"I know," said Lorca, feeling a sort of pride. "Where do you think I got the idea?"

Petrellovitz looked genuinely annoyed at that. The idea that her intended advancements had been taken from her galled her, even though they were not her advancements in the first place. They were applications of technology she had stolen from Stamets.

"Where is it now?"

"All in good time, Petra. We have more pressing matters. I need you to disable the emperor's control of the Charon's systems."

"Copy," said Petrellovitz, immediately striding past him to the nearest computer console. In the other universe, she was a biomedical engineer with a working knowledge of theoretical physics, her specializations designed to complement the rest of the QORYA project's subjects and support Milosz.

In this universe, there were no other QORYA subjects. She was them all. She was Milosz's theoretical engineering, she was Groves' computer systems knowledge, and also Danica Stewart's robotics and several other specialties possessed by children whose fates in this world had been equally grim. In fact, about the only thing she wasn't was a medical doctor or biomedical specialist, because either thing would have entailed on some level caring about the welfare of others.

The breadth of her skills and knowledge were frightening, but that was not the reason Lorca suppressed a nervous shudder as he watched her go to work. Looking at her, at the scars on her face and neck and hands, he was reminded of the scars on the rest of her.

He could have gone his whole life without knowing those scars were there.

2250.

She came to him in his ready room and said, "I hate women who use sex as an excuse to stab people in the back. Anyone who cannot earn their position through skill and competency does not deserve that position. However, as a result of this ethos, I have not myself done it, and as you have a reputation in this regard, I am proposing it to you if you are amenable."

He agreed, once the shock of the circumstance wore off, because if she were going to kill him, she would have done so already and in one of a dozen ways that highlighted her scientific prowess.

His requirement was that it be one and done, no expectation of anything further or implication that this meant anything more than what it was. She entirely agreed to this. "I'd prefer it that way," were her exact words.

"Any special requests?" he asked, because whatever she lacked in experience she more than made up for in candor and he half-hoped she'd stumbled across some shamelessly inventive or niche practice that had formed the impetus of this request. He did not expect the response she gave.

"Make it hurt so much I never want to do it again." At his shocked silence to that, she clarified, "It's the best way to ensure my ongoing purity of focus."

He hesitated, not liking the turn this was taking, and she attacked this perceived weakness by taunting him: "The great Captain Lorca can't muster the courage."

"You're insane," he told her.

"Surely you've figured that out by now," she replied and stared at him with her crazily mismatched, unblinking eyes.

He took a fortune cookie from the bowl and held it up. "This'll hurt."

She smiled at that. "I should hope it does."

It did, but not the way either of them intended. That evening, at the agreed-upon time, she arrived and promptly began to undress without fanfare or any interest in the drink he offered.

She had so many scars. They covered almost every inch of her. As Lorca looked at them he wondered where they had all come from, who they had come from. Were they accidents? Were they intentional? Perhaps some were her own work. It was hard to get that many scars without adding some yourself. He tried to focus on the scars to the exclusion of all else and give her what she wanted.

It was too much. Not for Petrellovitz, for Lorca. He withdrew from her and went to the wall, leaning against it with one hand and breathing heavily, his back turned towards her so she could not see his face.

"What is wrong with you," said Petrellovitz, trying to incite his wrath. "Any other man would be glad for the chance to disavow a woman of the instinct to stab him in a shared bed."

Lorca did not answer. He bent his arm and pressed his forehead against it, eyes squeezing shut and fingers tightening into a fist. He was not enjoying this at all. It reminded him too much of being somewhere else, of being with someone else, and the rising terror and panic of that person made his heart flutter with palpitations at memories he had long thought buried.

"Maybe it would help if I had a weapon so you perceived me as a threat."

"Petra, shut up!" He tried but could not rouse anything from within himself that would merit returning to the bed.

"Well, this is disappointing," said Petrellovitz after a few minutes, sitting up and resting her hands on her knees. "I should have asked Michael."

Lorca whirled on her. "Don't you dare." He would not have Petrellovitz spoil this for Michael, even if he knew on some level that Michael would have a much easier time providing Petra with what she was asking for and would probably do so without hesitation or heart palpitations or any of the unsettling things Lorca was currently experiencing.

Petrellovitz smiled and perked up, glad for the anger, mistaking it for common jealousy. "That's right, you want to keep Michael all for yourself, don't you? I bet she's better with a broomstick than you are with—"

Lorca lunged for the bed and backhanded Petrellovitz across the cheek with the full force of his arm. She toppled over onto the mattress, blood spitting out the corner of her mouth as her lower lip sliced across her teeth. He grabbed her by the shoulder, pulled his hand back in a fist, and held it ready to strike.

The second strike did not come. He released her. "Get out," he said coldly. She reached for her clothes. He wanted her gone sooner than that, so he snatched her clothes up with one hand, grabbed her arm with the other, and dragged her to the door, throwing both her and the garments into the hall. She stood in the hallway, naked and attracting stares from his guards. She seemed utterly unbothered by this state of affairs. She licked the blood on her lips, picked up her clothes, and walked away without putting them on.

The door slid shut. Lorca sank to the ground beside it. He covered his face with his hands and shook. He did want Michael all to himself, but not for the reasons Petrellovitz thought. He wanted Michael because the way Michael looked at him made him feel like anything was possible, like the person he pretended to be was real.

No, it was more than that. She made him feel like he wasn't pretending at all.

After a moment, the shaking subsided. He dropped his hands from his face and stood and went to the window.

Michael was out there somewhere. There was an ocean of stars between them, but the stars were not between them. The stars were something they shared. As he looked out at the myriad points of light, it felt like she was standing next to him.

Larsson was still at the door, as ordered. Lorca took him aside. "We might have use for that... pineapple." He hated saying the word. "Where is it?"

"Depends," said Larsson. "Where's Lalana?"

"Nearby and safe," promised Lorca. "Hidden, and we're gonna keep it that way. Understand?"

"Yah. I left the pineapple in O'Malley's workshop. Don't know it's still there, that's where they got me, but that's where I last had it." It was not a part of Lorca's intended plan, so its loss was not a critical blow, but it would have been a handy addition. "O'Malley's dead, by the way."

"Is he now," said a voice behind Lorca. Petrellovitz, inserting herself into the conversation. Larsson gawked at the sight of her.

Petrellovitz was equally appraising of Larsson because she knew for a fact Einar Larsson died aboard the Buran, which could only mean she was looking at a Larsson from another universe.

"I'm sorry for your loss," offered Larsson.

"What loss? This is excellent news. All those times he had me on his table, promising he'd break me, and now he never will." She smiled with delight. "I win!"

Larsson looked at Petrellovitz like she was crazy, which she was, and was disturbed by the fact in this universe O'Malley was his sister's tormentor, not her protector.

"Just hold tight," Lorca instructed, sending Larsson to wait over by the door again and turning his attention to Petrellovitz. "Report?"

She outlined for a moment the computer status. She had disabled universal systems access, restricting both sides to more limited control, which significantly balanced the playing field between the sides and prevented one side from, say, venting the atmosphere on the other.

The next two steps would entail leveling that playing field further. First, Petrellovitz had a few more things to say.

"She was my favorite person, you know. My best friend. My only friend. Did you cry for her?" It was utterly bizarre hearing any part of Colonel O'Malley's words coming out of Petrellovitz's mouth. The two were universes apart and somehow shared an intrinsic commonality. Petrellovitz searched Lorca's eyes for an answer to her question, but rather than complete the survey, she declared what she wanted the answer to be. "Good. At least one of us can."

It was almost verbatim what she had said following their unfortunate encounter, minus the references to Michael. Back then, his response had been a jeering negation of her suggestion because, as awful as he had felt in that moment, he had not cried.

This time, his response was to smile in quiet confidence. He had cried and did not care if she knew it. Besides, he had found his own use for those words while unmaking the incident with Petrellovitz and remaking it with the other version of her. Now when he looked at Petrellovitz, he saw Mischkelovitz with tears in her eyes. Enough to fill an ocean.

"Keep on that computer," he told her, then summoned Landry and Larsson to go over their tactical objectives. "When I give the signal, Larsson, you take the package here."

"There's at least one battalion between here and there." Larsson traced his finger across the intended route.

"We'll take care of it," Lorca assured him.

Larsson frowned, knowing that could only mean a few things, and said, "Too bad Allan's not here. He'd call this 'living history.' Probably get a real kick out of it."

"Hm," was all Lorca said, smiling unreservedly at the fact Allan was never going to get a kick out of anything again. "You have your orders, let's move out. Petra—"

Lorca turned to the console where Petrellovitz was supposed to be and found it deserted. He scanned the crowd. "Where's Petra?"

Landry joined Lorca in this endeavor. "Has anyone seen Lieutenant Commander Petrellovitz!" she shouted.

Shrugs, confusion. No one had. Petrellovitz was gone.

Part 86

#Star Trek Discovery #Star Trek #fanfic #fanfiction #fan novel #What's Past Is Prologue #Mirror Gabriel Lorca #Mirror Universe #Mirror Ellen Landry #Captain Lorca

[thirst-order-confession]

Could we get a monster reader whether that be connected to the hunter and monster kylo AU or a completely different one altogether

Well… I took time to sit down and actually really think about this, threw a lot of ideas around. And I came to the conclusion that it’s hard to write a Monster!Reader because I feel like it’s subjective. Everyone would sort of have different features to themselves. A uniqueness that we would have just as we do in real life. 

However, are you meaning that you want a Monster!Reader in a way that you mean like… Monster!Hunter!Reader? Like “Little Hunter/Reader” is a monster? If so, I do have a plan for that but it’s pretty short. 

There’s two instances where I could see this happening: 

1. Kalliope gets frustrated with with Reader and changes them for a short while out of spite (lol)

2. Kylo somehow figures out a way to change Reader for the time being as well for whatever reason whether by accident or on purpose

Perhaps in a slightly different AU, Kylo’s bonding mark changes you into some sort of monster

Again, this would be hard to describe, though, because everyone would be different

It would just end up being more of an OC thing than a reader insert and since this is a vast AU with all sorts of strange thing going on, I don’t want to limit the Reader on this

I still have some headcanons, though, for what could perhaps happen: 

1. Kalliope’s fault: 

It happens when you wake up the next day, having thought your visit with the witch had been productive enough

At first, you’re content to lay in your warm bed, surrounded by the numerous furs, the soft morning light filtering through the slats of the shutters, your hounds asleep on the floor

However, you soon realize that something is wrong when you swing your legs out of bed to rise for the day and immediately become unbalanced on your strange new legs, your clothes having torn in the night to accommodate their size and the fur sprouting from them

Your center of gravity has also shifted tremendously because there are also a sizable set of horns or antlers sprouting from the crown of your head

Your hands are also clawed, the nails sharp and deadly looking

And what’s this? THERE IS A TAIL NOW, TOO???

Which, by the way, has been twitching viciously now because of your nerves

When you manage to pull yourself back onto your bed and reach for the chamber bot under it, you catch your reflection in it and feel your eyes grow wide at how you’ve… changed

You even feel something itching at your back and when you crane your head back to look are those… feathers??? Plumage? 

When did this happen??? But how could this??? Oh.

Kalliope

You can’t allow yourself to be seen as you are, the damned witch, so you decide to wait until nightfall to leave, the shutters on your house kept locked up tight to protect you from wandering eyes

When one of the hunters comes looking for you, you answer the door shrouded in a spare cloak that you had, the hood pulled up as an extra precaution when you crack open your home’s front entrance, claiming to have come down with a terrible cold

Luckily they’re gullible to buy it and when they recommend you see Kalliope or a physician about it, you wave them away and say you’ve dealt with worse sicknesses before

Your hounds themselves are wary of your appearance, barking and growling at you a moment but when you drop to your knees before them and use your soft “baby” voice, they realize it’s you and happy wag their tails in greeting

You had practiced walking all day so that when night falls, you can flee off into the woods and luckily, you are able to get away before anyone notices your strange form stumbling through the darkness

You are able to find Kylo’s cave easily enough from numerous trips through the dark, your journey unhindered despite the fact that you didn’t bring any of your weapons or supplies

You tried picking up some of your silver knives and learned very quickly how much silver burns the Glade monsters

When you arrive at his nest in the depths of the mountain, Kylo, oddly enough, isn’t there. Regardless you sit and wait for him, the cloak having fallen from your shoulders to reveal your bared self, your chest left naked because you couldn’t fit a shirt over the apparent wings slowly growing from your back

You don’t have to wait for long for Kylo to come back, a little bit of blood on his cheeks from eating something raw and yet when you hear his own hoof steps coming through the cavern, you turn to look at him then

He freezes the first time he sees you and you swear you see his tail bristle with alarm before he realizes its you

When he does realize it’s you his mouth falls open a moment, his eyes wide with awe

“Kylo, I don’t know what happened! I think Kalliope is mad at me and I woke up this morning like-like this and I don’t know how to fix it! Can you do anything to help me? I can’t stay looking like this people would get so suspicious and—“

“You’re so beautiful,” he interrupts, now leaving you speechless

When you meet his gaze his eyes are suddenly so soft as he looks you over, taking you in 

He moves closer to you and touches you carefully, eyes following his hands as he maps your new body, discovering you all over again

“You’re not…? Kylo, I look repulsive! I’m a beast in my own right! I’m—“

“Divine,” he insists. “Stunning, alluring, dangerously fearsome in your own right.” He speaks as if entranced by you, his voice suddenly very breathy

Despite being larger yourself, you’re still smaller than Kylo’s vast form and when he takes you into his arms and holds you close, you sort of start to believe all the nonsense he is spouting because he seems entirely certain with himself

You’ve never seen him smile as widely as he is now, his head ducking to almost avoid your gaze as he buries his face in your hair, almost bashfully

“I’ve never been so entranced by someone in my entire life. Yet, you’ve seemingly stollen all rational thought without trying, Pet.” 

Monster sex somehow happens because Kylo can’t get enough of you

In the end, though, he promises he will try his best to change you back so you stay the night

When you wake the next morning, your former self has been restored and despite how disappointed he is, Kylo holds you close and simply relishes in your presence regardless if you’re human or otherwise

2. Kylo’s fault (accidental)

Being a simple woman, you’ve never paid much attention to mirrors which is how you reached this state in the first place, left entirely unawares

You hadn’t visited Kylo in a long while but were out on a hunt a passing through so you would stop in to check on him, see if he needed anything

No doubt he would want your attention of all things, lonely as he seemingly is

You had also woken up that morning with a rather sore shoulder but dismissed it, thinking perhaps you just strained it while lifting supplies or fighting off a beast in the last couple of days

When you arrive, Kylo is so pleased to see you

He smothers you in kisses, making you laugh and smile, glad to see him too

He also just holds you close, curling around your smaller form and drinking in your comforting scent

He tells you he missed you so very much and that you need to visit him more often

You decide to spend the night and the two of you have ehem, intimate relations, as per usual with Kylo, not that you are really going to complain

He is a fantastic lover and never leaves you unsatisfied

When you wake the next morning, though, your head is throbbing as if you were hung over and your entire body aches, so much so that you are groaning and whimpering softly as you wake from sleep

This of course rouses Kylo who freezes upon seeing your form

You can’t help but wonder why he is suddenly so silent beside you and when you ask what is wrong, he says nothing and rises from the bed to retrieve a small cracked mirror from the craggy shelf where he keeps his books

The noise you make when you see yourself is one of distress and you begin to panic, wondering how something like this could have happened to you

Kylo is able to calm you down enough to explain it may be his doing; perhaps during a passionate and heated moment, he may have bitten you and distractedly, the beast part of him may have laced you with some sort of infectious, transformative poison that left you as you are

Instantly, you slap Kylo who is already trying to apologize profusely, unrealizing of what he had done up until that moment

However, he does assure you that you can be changed back to your normal self but it will take some time

You have no choice but to stay with him while you’re like this, fearing that you’ll be caught or captured by your own people

Kylo is researching hard in his collection of tomes on how to reverse it during the day and you more often than not are lounging around as well, uncomfortable in your new body and wanting your old back

Kylo also takes time to return to your home every day to take care of your animals, disguised in your true form and in your clothes

He also takes you out into the woods when you become stir crazy and you find that exploring in this new body is easier, faster

You’re stronger and your senses are sharper and when your new instincts take over, you can’t help but sort of relish in the blood spilling in your clawed hands

However, after so much time passes, Kylo has to admit that this new look is growing on him

That after the initial shock of you being angry with him, he finds you to be absolutely stunning

He tells you this immediately upon the realization and you dismiss his words

That doesn’t keep you from turning away from him with a warm face caused by his flattery

Also, despite you being nervous about it at first, finding yourself to be horrid, Kylo only further proves his words true by worshiping your body all through the night

As you’re falling asleep, tangled up in each other’s limbs, you can’t help but think that perhaps this body isn’t as awful as you first thought it was

In the end, Kylo is able to change you back both a bit to your disappointment

Neither of you discuss it really but there is a solemness in the air when you wake up one morning beside Kylo and are human again, the thrilling thoughts of you living as a beast with your lover put behind you 

#Mod Kay #SFW #Kylo Ren #Monster AU #Monster!Kylo AU #Monster!AU #Hunter!Reader #Monster!Reader #Fluff

[scribblesandimaginings]

Fighter, Lover - Yondu x Reader

so here’s maybe an idea if you want: like reader gets to be a part of the guardians of the galaxy somehow idk how and then yondu comes along for a mission and sees her fighting and is like damn who is that and they end up fighting together during the fight and they’re awesome and idk what happens after that it’s up to you but yea - Anon

Set sometime after GOTG Vol2 - Yondu lives AU

-----

“Quill come on, let’s go” you called, walking along the length of the Milano from your room to the cockpit, “we’ve been stalling this for 3 days now”

“Yeah, 3 days waiting for Yondu, and now he’s here, so we can go”

You rolled your eyes. You had no idea why Peter had been so insistent about getting his old captain to join you for this mission. As far as you could see, there was nothing that you couldn't handle, and nothing extra the Ravager could bring to the table – that being said, Peter hadn’t hold you much about the guy, actually Peter hadn’t hold you anything at all! It was Rocket who’d told you that Yondu Udonta was the captain of the Ravager ship Peter used to live on.

“Well, someone’s in a hurry” the voice that greeted you was a low, southern drawl. As you stepped forward you saw who it belonged to; this, presumably, was Yondu.

You eyed him suspiciously, having dealt with Ravagers in the past. This one was a Centaurian by the looks of things, a little older, rough round the edges. But Peter seemed to trust him, more or less.

“We either do this today or we lose half the reward.” You said, directing it at Peter who was lounging back in his chair.

“Straight t’ business – I like this one, boy” Yondu chuckled, looking you up and down appreciatively, he held out a hand for you to shake, “Yondu Udonta. So who is this fine young thing and why ain’t I seen ‘em before?”

You laughed at his flattery, and shook his hand. Maybe he wasn’t so bad, “Y/N. Only got dragged into this a few weeks back”

“I wouldn’t say dragged…” Peter said.

“No? Really? Because I would – I was literally dragged onto his ship”

“You were unconscious”

“That doesn’t make it any better!”

Yondu laughed, smirking at you, “Glad t’see there’s someone to put ‘im in his place”

You smiled, “I do my best” you had a look around, quickly checking everyone was ready, or nearly there, “right, we going then?” 

“Yes Mom” he moaned.

You rolled your eyes, taking a seat, “He always been like this?” you asked Yondu.

He laughed, “You ain’t got no idea”

It would take long for you to arrive at your destination – a small space port, recently invaded by a group of ex-military thugs. The owner of the port couldn’t careless, but near the core of the place, was a few crates of very expensive (very illegal) imports, that he wanted back. The job description was simple – get the crates, kill whoever you need to to do it. No problem.

You had zoned out, staring out into space as the Milano kept its course. Yondu was curious. You seemed more level headed than the rest of the Guardians. Initially he’d presumed you were ages with Peter, but looking more closely it was obvious you were certainly older than the majority of them, definitely more mature too. Your species were generally smaller in stature - you were too, but not much more so than the others on the ship, it wasn’t terribly noticeable. As far as he was aware, your species were peaceful too, preferring to keep to themselves. He reckoned you were more of a negotiator than a fighter, you just couldn’t be a warrior. He found himself wondering how you’d managed to get mixed up with this lot.

When you reached the port there was no sign of life, except the light from inside the bar – where the hatch down into the core was, and the crates. Everyone quickly did a weapons check, grabbing extra ammo and whatever else they thought would be helpful, then headed out.

Peter went first with Gamora, followed by you, then Yondu (who stayed oddly close to you), then Drax, Rocket and Groot. Peter threw the doors open, then flanked them inside with Gamora, letting you step in between then, Yondu just behind you, Drax just behind him, with Rocket and Groot making their way to the front. Peter fired his blaster in the air, getting everyone’s attention.

Once all eyes had turn to yous, you stepped up, and yelled, “Listen up!” Yondu jumped, his eyes widening in surprise at the volume of your voice, “You have two options! One – get out of our way and let us get what we came for, or two – die! You’ve got 5 seconds to make up your mind!”

The crowd in the bar were surprised by the intrusion, but it was plainly obvious that they were choosing to fight. Yondu, however, was still staring at you in shock. How the Hell did such a level headed, sensible sweet thing like you, manage to scream your lungs out threatening a small army of thugs? He was impressed.

You drew your weapons, watching as your opponents did the same. “3” you called, “2…1!”

As a whole you jumped forward, Peter and Rocket shooting, Drax and Gamora swing their respective knives and sword, Groot doing his thing too, despite currently being pint size. You caught sight of Yondu’s arrow activating as he whistled, impressed by the technology.

Your fighting style was just a little different. With sharp, spiked, metal knuckledusters slipped onto your hands, you set to work. The metal inlay of your boots also coming in handy as you swung a kick or two. Yondu kept watching you out the corner of his eye – what in the Universe…? He was amazed how easily you took down the men in front of you, the strength of your punches and kicks, your agility at ducking out the way of danger. You were incredible.

Yondu had brought a twin set of guns with him as back up, and seeing the numbers that you were facing, he decided they better get put to use. You’d all managed to make your way in amongst the crowd, taking sections at a time to deal with. Yondu made his way towards the centre of the room, still whistling as he shot and moved. His instincts told him to look out for you, being smaller and leaner than the rest (though you mostly didn’t need it). It was sheer luck that Yondu happened to be watching you when one of the thugs grabbed your ankle as you kicked, making you crash to the floor.

In a split second the yaka arrow had entered and exited his head, and the body fell to the floor. Yondu had easily managed to shoot himself a path through to you, standing over you and defending as you slowly got back to your feet. You’d hit the ground hard, bashing your head off the metal floor had dazed you a bit. You shook yourself, taking a deep breath and exhaling as you pushed yourself back to your feet, ready to go on. “Ya alright?”

You laughed, adrenalin buzzed from fighting, “All the better for seeing you”

He smirked, “Just the way I like it”

You were standing back to back, shots and punches flying as the arrow zipped through the remaining thugs. You were all making fair progress, the largest ground had surrounded Yondu and you. But as the others finished off the ones they were dealing with, they came and started picking of the crowd you two had gathered. You and Yondu were working together with ease – shots came flying in your direction every now and again, and whoever saw it shouted instructions to the other so they could avoid it, you stuck close to each other, not allowing anyone to get at your backs. You were tactical, telling the other what you were planning without giving your game away. You worked well with one another.

Soon the fight was over. With a swift heel to his sternum, you knocked the last thug to the floor, Yondu spinning round to put a bullet in him.

You looked around. You’d won. You laughed, grinning wide, “Hell yeah” You leant over, leaning on your knees and catching your breath.

Yondy chuckled, “Damn Darlin’, I’m impressed.” with a whistle his arrow returned to it’s holder.

“Thanks” you straightened up again, grinning at him.

He nodded approvingly as he looked at you, “I’d say we make a pretty fine team, Y/N”

“I’d have to agree”

“Hey whatcha say to comin’ out w’ me sometime? Get me know me better” he wiggled his eyebrows at you, and you couldn’t help but smile wide as he sauntered close to you. 

“I think that sounds like a great idea”

Peter was staring on in horror, jaw dropped. No way, no way, was Yondu flirting with Y/N… and she didn’t mind?! No way had she just agreed to go on a date with him.

Without looking round, you snapped, “Shut your mouth Quill” He did it so quickly he nearly bit his tongue.

Groot had climbed up onto Drax’ shoulder, looking down at Rocket he said, “I am Groot”

“Dude” Rocket exclaimed, staring up at him in disgust, “that’s gross, why would you even say that?!”

“Peter?” Drax asked, “If Y/N enters into a sexual relationship with Yondu would that make her your new Mother seeing as Yondu has become your new Father?”

Gamora choked at the look of horror on Peter’s face, “Why? Why? Why the Hell would you even say that to me? Oh my God! That’s disgusting, you’re disgusting!”

“Whatcha think?” Yondu asked you, the cheekiest of grins on his face ,“Reckon I could make y’a Momma?”

You bit your bottom lip, smiling, “I’d like to see you try”

From behind you all you heard was Peter going to walking out, declaring, “I’m gonna be sick”

But Yondu was still grinning at you, “Say, these lot can go get our reward, and we can have a little moment t’ ourselves?”

“At least let me clean the blood of first” you laughed.

Peter nearly screamed, “I am actually going to vomit!” Slamming the door behind him.

You had to say, you were looking forward to this.

#request #yondu udonta #yondu udonta x reader #reader x yondu udonta #yondu #guardians of the galaxy #gotg #yondu fic #yondu udonta fic #anon #guardians of the galaxy fic #guardians of the galaxy vol 2 #gotg vol2

[thedeadflag]

Looking For the Magic (Pt 4)

Tentative title for Option B, the magical Witch Fic WIP one-shot I’ve been struggling to finish. I’ll be posting blocks of this  with the tags #lookingforthemagic and #witchfic, in case you don’t want a few thousand words muddying up your dash. I think mobile still doesn’t use the ‘read more’ function, so I figure this would be as good a workaround for folks.

Content Warning (for the story as a whole): transphobia, cissexism, physical assault, misogyny, sexual content

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

Part 4 under the cut

Anya stood in front of the slightly foggy bathroom mirror, hands on the sink, letting her body cool down a bit to where she could think straight. It wasn't as if she hadn't had sex before, but this was bigger in some ways, and it was the first time she'd had a partner who seemed as into her as she was into them. It was the first time a partner didn't look to expect her to be the so-called 'dominant' one of the two, the 'aggressor', the 'top'.

Not that she couldn't pull it off somewhat convincingly if pushed to, she had in the past, but there had always been a large part of her that wanted to be able to let go completely, and she couldn't do that when she was completely taking care of a partner in a very specific way and performing a role they needed of her. She always had to keep some part of herself hidden away. Usually a major part.

Fact was, yeah, she was a warrior. She was one of the coven's primary weapons, and she'd bash skulls and use her powers to ruin any threat she came across, but when she got back home, she wanted to let go. With her powers, her role in the coven, she always had to be this pillar of strength, and being trans, she had to be bulletproof and fierce to hold her own and keep from bringing about another referendum on her womanhood.

It was tiring. She took care of her coven every day, she protected herself every day. It shouldn't have been too much to ask for someone to want to take care of her, to protect her, even if just sometimes. It shouldn't have been so hard for people to accept that she could be strong in some less traditional ways.

Costia always said being vulnerable, truly vulnerable and open in front of someone, was a show of incredible strength. Maybe it had taken six months of therapy and a being helplessly bedridden for two weeks to bring her around to the idea, but Anya believed it. She wanted to be strong like that for someone, where she wasn't forced to show that vulnerable side of herself, but instead could willingly trust it with another. She wanted to be with someone who could handle that kind of strength from her instead of wanting her to be something she wasn't.

Clarke, as unlikely a candidate as any, seemed up to the task. She seemed to want her for her, no masks, no roles, no fetishistic shit, but Anya just wanted to be sure. Thus, the breather.

"Okay...I can do this. Clarke's apparently always been attracted to me, and was only put off because she thought I leaked her secret.  And she's been nice and remorseful since we figured shit out...and I know I've always liked her, except for when she was trying to kill me and when I thought she was transphobic enough to out me. I know there's a risk, but is it wrong of me to want to give this a shot and see what comes of it?" She rambled to herself, taking a few deep breaths before shaking her head. "I hope it's not. I just want this to be okay. She likes me, I like her, and...and she already knows about me, so we're good. We're good. I can at least give this a chance. I deserve a chance at happiness."

Mind made up, Anya grabbed her things and made her way to the bedroom, brow furrowing as the sound of some sort of music met her ears from behind the closed door. Curious, Anya creaked open the door and peeked her head in, being met with the sight of Clarke sitting at the end of the densely towel-covered bed with a pile of pillows at her feet, soft tinkly nature music playing from the old speaker system.

"Clarke, may I come in?" She asked, prompting the woman at hand to shoot up from the bed, posture stiff and nervous.

"Of course, yeah, absolutely, come in!" Clarke let out at a rapid pace, her blushing clear even under the dim, candlelit conditions. "I, uh...I spruced the place up while you were gone."

Anya shot the other blonde a smile, even if it twisted a bit with her confusion as she took in the sight of spare water bottles stacked atop the dresser. "You didn't have to do that, Clarke."

"I wanted to. I know it's really fast, but I like you, and if you want to tone it down and go casual, or go slow, we can do that, too. I just...I wanted to try and make it special. Or as much as I can." Clarke explained, vocal pace slowing there at the end as the woman's gaze fell to the ground.

Anya was almost glad Clarke didn't see the utter shock she displayed at the words. "Special?" She asked, voice dropping to a whisper as she closed the distance to Clarke, enough to reach out and lift the woman's chin with the tips of her fingers. "You wanted to make it special? For me?"

It was unfathomable. Sex had never been very special for her in the past, and now it was her former nemesis taking the initiative to make their time together special. It was both absurd and heartwarming, and had Anya gravitating ever closer to the beautiful blonde before her.

Clarke let out a heavy breath and nodded, eyes still downcast and averted, even after Anya stroked a thumb across her cheek. "I don't understand it all. We go from enemies, to...something else...and my mind's been trying to figure out what you are to me, and every time I make a decision, it keeps telling me I'm wrong, that you're even more important, that I need to be closer. Until now. When I had you in my arms, I just...I knew that's exactly where I'd have to be for us to figure it out together...and I want to figure it out with you. And you deserve better than some quick screw on the couch, Anya."

Astonished, Anya stepped away from Clarke and made her way to the dresser to take in the candles. Some of them were scented, but it was lilac. She liked lilac. "And you think I deserve, what...romance?" She asked, baffled that Clarke jumped through hoops to set a mood for the both of them. It was entirely new territory for her.

"This? Not romance. It's a crude facsimile of it, but it was the best I could do in fifteen minutes with what I could find in the cabin. And the music's not romantic, but it...you know, I'll just go turn it off, actua..." Anya had been mesmerized by the other blonde's rambling up to the point where Clarke started towards the old iPod dock.

Her instincts kicked in quickly. "Clarke!" She yelled out, freezing the other woman in place. Feeling sheepish for yelling and maybe ruining the mood, Anya stepped closer, lowering her voice to a whisper as she moved up beside the sound system. "Please don't."

"It's just music I use when I paint. I go out and into the woods and nature, and I see so many things, and take pictures and sketches that can't capture it, I need paint. But I can't paint out in the rough, so I come home, and I use this to get back into the feeling, the memories, and...I...I'm sorry it's not more romantic." Clarke finished her rambling with a sigh, head dipping in apparent defeat, contrasting heavily with the adoration blooming in Anya's chest.

"No, don't apologize. Clarke, I love it. It reminds me of simpler times, it's soothing...and it makes you remember your passions." Anya countered, trying to lift the other blonde's spirits, because it really had been a thoughtful touch.

Clarke's head lifted slightly, enough for the woman's sparkling sapphire blue eyes to peer at her through her lashes. "I don't think I'll need to draw on any of my passions if I have you here with me." Clarke murmured, stepping into Anya's space and wrapping arms around her waist. "So what did you have to go get?"

Anya swallowed hard and nodded, shifting back to reality, where everything could potentially fuck up again. "I don't get real wet, or at least it takes time for me to get really wet, so...all the rubbing and friction...it'd start to hurt more than anything soon enough, so I got some lubes. We don't have to use them, we don't have to do anything sexual, we don't..."

"Anya, babe..." Clarke interrupted, lifting a finger to Anya's lips, silencing her. "If you're not ready, that won't change anything for me. We can still be close. We can still figure this out. But if you're ready, then I'm on board. And I'd want you comfortable, and not hurting when we're trying to feel good. I like using lube, too, so it's not a problem for me. Do I need to know anything else?"

She let her eyes slip shut, adding the slightest pressure against Clarke's finger with her lips as she let herself be at ease. Clarke was mindful, and sweet, and showed all the signs that she wanted them both to enjoy each other. That was enough for Anya to push past the last of her major inner defenses.

"I don't stretch all that much. I'm working with a bit more than seven and a half inches of depth. If you're gonna penetrate with something other than your hand...so long as you ease me in, I'm good with most sizes, and if you want it rough anywhere, I'd prefer it be anal, please." Anya spoke once Clarke's finger vacated her lips. She felt a little self-conscious, never having had anyone ask about her sexual boundaries before, even if she usually ended up giving them uninvited. It was reassuring that Clarke took the initiative. "Past that, I really like kissing, my scalp is sensitive in the best of ways, and I'm like a dog...if you play with my stomach, I'll love you forever."

Honestly, she added that last bit in mostly due to nerves and anxiety kicking in, but the way Clarke smiled afterward had Anya feeling warm and fuzzy inside.

"What about you, Clarke? I want to make sure I don't do anything that could hurt you or make you uncomfortable." She added, wanting to make sure Clarke felt included and cared for as well.

Clarke let out a faint "oh", mouth practically a perfect circle before the other blonde gave a nod. "I'm, uh, pretty easy going. Receiving anal's a no-go for me, and my breasts are too sensitive to bite, especially around my nipples. And I need to take my meds before I fall asleep...and if this goes like I think it will, I'll want to fall asleep with you in my arms when we're finished, but I need to take my meds. I put them on the nightstand, I'm set for another dose in two hours, or maybe later if need be. I know they're my responsibility, but if you could help me out?"

"Of course, Clarke." She answered immediately, knowing how important keeping to a schedule was with medication. The last thing she wanted was for Clarke to end up in distress.

"And, uh...I guess maybe Costia saw something like this coming, because I checked under the bed for Lexa's candles, and right beside them was my toy box that I lent her a month ago. Not sure how I feel about them anticipating this, but...maybe it might be interesting?" Clarke asked, teetering her weight from one leg to the next, and back, clearly a bit nervous.

Honestly, outside of some little tricks Indra taught her to make, Anya used toys pretty often. "Can we take a look?"

Clarke ducked her head slightly, blushing hard again. "I...yeah, for sure. Just don't judge me or anything, okay?"

Wanting to try and break whatever anxious haze Clarke was knee-deep in, she took hold of the underside of Clarke's chin and pressed a lingering, chaste kiss to her lips, waiting until she could feel the tension release before stepping away and moving to the large box beside the bed.

It was a decent size, and apparently for good reason as she opened it up and took in the sight of Clarke's collection. Wow...ankle spreader, flogger, restraints...someone's into bdsm...ooh, cute paddle with heart indentations... Anya mused to herself before something big and shiny caught her eye.

As soon as she realized what it was, she picked it up to get a better look at it. "Ohhhh my g...okay, so that...that, uh, it's..." Clarke sputtered out, clearly worried about what Anya might think, for whatever reason.

As if it was the first time she'd ever seen a butt plug. "It'll definitely do. The fact that it's capped by a heart-shaped gem is a little precious, but maybe it's a nice break from my more utilitarian set back home." She interjected, allowing herself another moment of studying the cute gem before meeting Clarke's eyes, smiling at the relief there. "Clarke, I'm single. I have been for some time. I told you I like anal. It's not very comfortable using my hands directly for everything, so..."

"Okay, I get it, I'm an idiot." Clarke laughed, lighting her hands in mock surrender.

"Perhaps, but a moderately enchanting one at least." Anya threw the offhanded compliment out as she went to her luggage by the door and hauled it into a free corner, pulling out her lubes. "These should do nicely. The rest can wait for later."

Oddly enough, she didn't startle when Clarke's arms wrapped around her waist from behind, the other woman having approached silently. "So...later on, if I want to use a strap-on..."

Anya let out a low laugh and leaned into Clarke's body a little. "Please, if that's what you want, I'm happy to oblige. And don't be concerned about size, obviously...regardless of your choice, I'll be fine." She answered, holding up the steel plug in hopes of making her point from the circumference of it alone.

"Of course you will. I told you I wouldn't hurt you. I'll take good care of you." Clarke murmured, head dipping forward to plant a pair of kisses to the crook of her neck, only further searing those words into her heart, Anya deeply wanting that to be true.

The way Clarke's hands splayed out across her abs, the gentle press of the other blonde's frame into hers, the sweet kisses on her neck, it all had Anya feeling she could trust this.

That just maybe, she could be entirely free with Clarke.

Clarke was riding a bit of a high as she pressed kiss after fluttering kiss to Anya's neck and shoulders, not just to show her affection for the other woman, but to buy time to calm down a bit. Anya had taken a good long look into her little treasure chest and hadn't blinked or flinched. No, Anya just pulled out the way oversized booty-bling butt plug she'd been given as a gag gift by Octavia. And when she'd stammered out nervously, Anya had reassured her.

And that helped, but damn if she wasn't still working on getting her nerves under control. She wasn't quite sure how to handle Anya. On one hand, she'd never seen Anya so shy and soft, but on the other hand, the woman was still very certain with her words, and her body language had Clarke under the impression that the aggressive, powerful Anya was resting right beneath the surface, ready to pop out at any time.

And while that could be exciting, maybe it wasn't what she wanted tonight to be. She'd initiated so much of the pain sent Anya's way. She wanted to be the one to initiate the healing and to earn Anya's trust in recovering their connection.

Still, she had to be careful, and as much as she wanted to go overboard like she so often liked to, Clarke held that part of herself back as she brought her hands to Anya's jeans and unbuttoned them. "You good to get this started?" She asked softly, pressing another kiss to Anya's neck.

"I believe so." Anya mused openly, turning in Clarke's arms while pulling her top off. Clarke watched the woman back away and sit down on the end of the bed, hardly needing a second to pull off her jeans. Two, three seconds later, with Anya stark naked on the bed, Clarke was unashamed about the gay sweats her body was kicking into high gear.

"Goddess help me..." Clarke muttered to herself as she peeled her leggings off and threw her dress over her head and off to the side. Anya's eyes were wider as she refocused on the woman, and took that as a good sign, and maybe a cue to slow it down a wee bit for her partner's benefit, taking her time in reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra.

Clarke rolled her neck and slowly, carefully pulled her bra free, and tossed it behind her as she stepped up to Anya, standing between the woman's legs. "Care to finish the job?"

Anya was peering up at her, breaths coming out a little heavy, cheeks dusted pink, pupils dilated slightly in arousal. Once upon a time, she dreamed of Anya staring up at her, remorseful and apologetic, but this was exponentially better. Anya wanted her, and she sure as hell wanted Anya; it was all she could do to contain her gasp when she felt the brown-eyed beauty hook her thumbs under her panties.

That gasp broke out into the bedroom air when soft lips kissed her belly, Anya using the momentary distraction to slide her underwear down enough for it to drop to the floor.

"Crafty..." Clarke mused, biting back a laugh at Anya's playfulness.

Anya just began crawling backward on the bed towards the headrest. "Couldn't resist. You've got a cute tummy, Clarke Griffin."

"Shut up, I work hard on it. Just because it's not chiseled like..." She started back, only for her words to still at the sight of Anya's hand and half-lidded eyes beckoning her closer.

 "You shut up. You're very kissable, Clarke. All over, I promise you." Anya murmured, eyes growing wider, hands gesturing a little more impatiently, even as a smile bloomed across her face. "Coming?"

Clarke laughed and crawled onto the bed, slowly crossing the distance. "You promise? Because this is all pretty new. Did you have a thing for me even back then, in the dark months?"

The dark months. Well, better to refer to it with a name than to just ignore it. "Clarke, I hated a lot of things, but it could never change how beautiful you are. If being around you didn't hurt so much, if your eyes weren't so cold when looking my way, I could have...anyways, I want you, Clarke. All that you'll share with me."

"You'll get me soon enough, Anya. For now, I want to share this..." Clarke noted, taking hold of the butt plug Anya picked out earlier, along with the woman's coconut oil, figuring it'd be better suited for anal than the water-based one. "Shall we begin?"

Clarke's mouth turned into the Sahara as she watched Anya's hips lift up, the woman practically folding in half as her feet rested at the sides of her head. "Ready when you are."

She fumbled a bit with the lube as she fought to get some moisture into her mouth. If grabbing a water bottle wouldn't have made her look foolish, she would have guzzled half of one back already. Clarke had not been prepared for how limber her partner was, not in the goddamn least.

Clarke was just coating the plug with oil when Anya cleared her throat, instantly capturing her attention.

"Clarke, I know I'm no stranger to this, but...please...be gentle." Anya's voiced trailed off to a mumble, but her sheer focus on the woman had her hearing every word as clear as day, leaving her confused as heck.

"I will. It's not like this is your first time, babe. But if that's what you want..." Clarke started, any additional words dying in her throat as she watched Anya's face flicker with something that looked too much like either fear or sadness for her to bear. She barely had the mind enough to cut off the lube supply before it started flooding onto the duvet.

"You promised you'd take care of me, so...it may as well be." Anya clarified after taking an agonizing few seconds to school her features, voice coming out flat and emotionless. No, distanced.

The last thing Clarke wanted was for Anya to feel she had to do that with her.

"Oh, hey, no...no, I didn't mean it like that, I just...Anya, please." She stated, cutting herself short when she realized none of her scatterbrained pleas were even registering.

Clarke set the oil and plug on the nightstand and shifted to the side of her partner, prodding Anya's legs enough for them to flop back onto the bed. She nestled up beside the woman, angling Anya's head until they were face to face. "You always intimidated me. You're so strong, in so many ways, and I honestly came in here thinking we'd be pulling some cheesy fan-fictiony thing with our tongues battling for dominance, and then that'd escalate given our histories, but like...Anya, I made a shit assumption, and that makes me a bit of an ass, but I want this to work. I feel we have something. So please, talk to me."

Anya blinked slowly and let out a quiet huff. "People always expect me to be this powerful, manly 'top'. Sometimes I'm okay enough to do that for them to an extent, if I'm desperate enough for someone to want me I suppose, but I'm never given the option to be anything other than a bunch of fetishistic stereotypes and fantasies. Just barely woman enough to count as one, and more than male enough for them to live their fantasies and shit through me. I just...I want to be free to be me. I want to be seen. People always want the dominant top they fantasize about, for me to essentially be the man they're not comfortable actually being with, so I'm the closest thing they can have and still get off to. I don't want to be some stand in for a cis dude, or the freakish masculine non-woman creature people sometimes think of me as...and it's gotten better since I had surgery, because no one can see me as a walking talking penis anymore, but...they still don't see me any different. I'm not a whole woman to them, not when they treat me like I'm male." Anya explained in heart-wrenching detail, the slightest tremor in her jaw stilling after a clear moment of focus. "They only ever want that. No one ever wants me."

Clarke was astounded with her willpower that she was able to make it through the entirety of Anya's explanation before pulling the woman into a kiss that channelled every ounce of power, every ounce of passion, every last goddamn bit of reassurance she could muster into it. The moment she shifted in position to get better leverage, Anya's legs were sweeping up and locking around her hips, pulling her down as Clarke kissed Anya into the mattress.

It wasn't fair. Even when Anya was her nemesis, she held disdain for those who pigeonholed Anya outside of womanhood, and she loathed anyone who only saw coven members as their roles, as their abilities. Anya was more than a warrior, more than her powerful body, and certainly wasn't the gross fetishistic and transmisogynstic male power fantasy wearing a woman-suit she imagined Anya's past sex partners wanted her to be. She'd be happy to take anyone who could look at Anya and fantasize about her as if she was a cis man, and throw them off a goddamn bridge in the depths of winter.

That didn't mean Clarke knew all the nooks and crannies of what made Anya who she was, at least not completely. No, she'd have to learn the hard way, by putting in the effort, by making Anya comfortable enough to show her. And damn it, she wanted nothing more in that moment.

"Goddess, Anya, I will take care of you if you let me have that honor. All I want is to be close to you, to make you feel good, and to figure out what's between us. You're safe with me." Clarke promised as soon as she pulled away, foreheads touching and noses grazing each other.

At this distance, she could see renewed faith in Anya's eyes, and felt a rush of fulfillment when the woman confirmed them. "I believe you."

Clarke took the plug and oil back in hand and waited for Anya to get back into position. "There we go, beautiful. Gonna take this nice and easy for you." She murmured as she made sure there was a nice coating of lube on the plug, and for good measure slowly pushed a nice-sized glob of it into her. "Ready?"

Anya let out an affirmative hum, and so for only the second time in her life, Clarke Griffin was inserting a butt plug. From personal experience, she knew going in too quick would just hurt, especially with something so big, so she took her time, slowly stretching Anya out minute by minute. One hand eased the plug in and out, a little deeper with each endeavor, while her other hand gently caressed Anya's hips, not wanting to waste any time she could be tactile, intermittently leaning forward to kiss the woman to help keep that connected feeling going.

She watched as Anya stretched more and more, halfway fearing it'd be too much and there'd be damage, but then all of a sudden the rest of it went in, and all that was left was a pretty red heart-shaped gem resting between Anya's ass cheeks.

"Mmmh, that's such a nice weight, holy shit." Anya let out, legs dropping back to her bed so she could roll over onto her stomach. "Oh wow, yeah, I'm gonna like this one."

Clarke was thrilled Anya was enjoying herself so much already, but her eyes were stuck on the sight of Anya's butt and how goddamn ridiculously cute it was. "Baby?" She asked hazily, gaze still fixed on that gleaming red heart peeking out ever so slightly. It took a moment for her brain to catch up enough to freak out, knowing pet names weren't exactly common so early on. Her mind was racing too fast to catch the pleased questioning hum from her partner. "Oh goddess, I...I'm sorry if I offended you, or if it's too fast, or..."

"Clarke." Anya called out firmly, cutting off all other thoughts as she turned her gaze upward, meeting Anya's as the woman peered over her shoulder. "Clarke, I'm here with you. I want you, awkwardness and all. If 'baby' is the only pet name that comes out from you tonight, I'll be all smiles. I honestly prefer it to most others I've been given, considering the circumstances."

"But it's not ideal." Clarke chimed in, catching Anya's drift that the woman was good with it, but it wasn't her top choice.

Anya rolled her eyes and tossed her hair back. "All the more preferred ones wouldn't be appropriate, we're not in love. So 'baby' will be just fine, Clarke. I'll tell you if I'm not comfortable with something...trust me to tell you, and trust that I'm good if I don't. Please don't think too hard, I accept you, quirks and all."

Clarke couldn't help but beam at Anya, thrilled at the reassurance and that familiar soft expression. Most of her past partners had balked at showing any vulnerability given her magical affinity, most held trust at arm's reach, but Anya was there offering it freely, without hesitation. Her mind kept assaulting her with a single word: Closer, closer, closer. She let that word reach her hand over to cup Anya's butt as she crawled up over the woman's body, pressing kisses up her spine along the way, cherishing the content hums escaping her partner.

"Let's get you warmed up, baby..."

Thirty minutes.

Anya wasn't entirely sure just how much time had passed since Clarke kissed her way up her back, but it had been at least thirty minutes.

She'd always been a bit of a slow starter, perhaps the fault of her meds, but no one had ever really cared before. No one had ever really made sure she was fully primed and ready to go in the past, for a number of reasons Anya didn't really care to think about. Clarke, though, was more than content to take her time and work Anya up, and it was both novel and reassuring, on top of goddamn sexy, that the other blonde was so patient.

Honestly, Anya felt like she'd halfway ascended, with Clarke nestled up at her side. From the feeling of Clarke gently rocking against her hips, to the hand that worked her nipples to crests of pleasure only to ease off the throttle with some delectable focus on her stomach, to the arm wrapped behind her neck, angling her in for kissing, Anya cherished the slow build up Clarke was working her over with.

And Anya, well, she was all too happy to guide Clarke's hips against her, and let her other hand roam wherever Clarke needed it.

At least, until Clarke's hips bucked a little erratically for the third time in less than a minute. "Clarke..." She spoke as she took in a breath, capturing the other woman's attention quickly. "My thigh, hand, or mouth? Your choice."

Clarke just grinned and pulled herself and Anya up to a seated position. "This is just me getting my engine revving too, babe, so I'll take your thigh for now. Though I could use your mouth somewhere else..."

Anya rolled her eyes and shifted Clarke halfway onto her lap so her partner was straddling her thigh. She was all too happy to oblige, bringing Clarke's right breast into her mouth as she took hold of her lover's hips, caressing and guiding them, feeling dizzy with pleasure.

In the past, it'd all been easy enough, just doing as expected and going by rote memorization on what her partners wanted, but there in that cabin, she was supremely far out of her usual position, her body was thrumming like never before, and she was increasingly intoxicated by every sound that escaped Clarke's body, by every otherworldly movement of her lover. Clarke had always been a passionate woman, but it was as if that passion overtook every fiber of her being, and it left Anya breathless with desire and anticipation.

"Oh goddess, right...right there!" Clarke moaned, arching backward to give Anya a better angle to work with, not that she wouldn't gladly suffer a neck kink to hear those words again. "C-close..."

Anya swirled her tongue around the nipple, letting her teeth graze it before she pulled away. If Clarke was going to climax, she wanted to watch it happen, watch the beautiful blonde unravel. Maybe that was selfish, but she'd make it up to Clarke soon.

"You're so beautiful..." The words escaped without her permission, but she could hardly will herself to care when a blissful smile spread across her lover's lips. Spurred on by the growing molten pit of arousal in her core, Anya reached up a hand to pull Clarke forward, close enough to kiss her, using her other hand to hold her lover by the small of her back. "Let go, darling."

All at once, Clarke's hips jumped up her thigh, Clarke let out a sharp gasp, and those sapphire eyes went wide as she'd ever seen them. Clarke's lips were on her before she could react, the woman's hips furiously grinding away at her as Clarke poured herself into Anya. She was all too happy to swallow her moans, to hold Clarke almost close enough for them to fuse; there was a fullness growing inside of her, warming her and rendering her nerves more and more electric the closer she grew to Clarke.

She'd never felt so naked and vulnerable in her life being used as an instrument of desire, but every press of lips, every stroke of her cheek, every hand that ran through her hair and pulled her close, it all told her that Clarke was the reason for it, that Clarke saw her, knew her.

That she was safe, in that moment, as Clarke's head fell back, a sharp cry escaping her mouth as her hips jolted against Anya. The climax rolled through her lover head to toe, all seizing muscles and soft cries as Anya held her close and slowly worked her through it.

It was a nurturing feeling, if Anya were to be honest, holding Clarke and aiding her through the orgasm, murmuring sweet words into her lover's ear, combing a hand through her hair, fluttering kisses against her face.

Sex had never felt like that before. Leading a partner to orgasm had never felt like that before. Her heart had never felt as full as when she felt Clarke in her arms, falling into climax and trusting her to hold her together. Her soul had never felt so light at the feeling of Clarke clinging to her like a lifeline, Anya's name the only word leaving her lover's lips for that brief minute or two.

If this was just a precursor, as Clarke asserted earlier, then Anya was entirely unprepared, but willing to have her mind blown, because if it meant more of these feelings, more closeness with Clarke, more delightful sounds and sensual touches, then she wasn't sure she'd ever leave the bed again.

"I'd almost feel...embarrassed that a...single goddamn word from you...could make me come, but..." Clarke spoke as she worked to catch her breath, Anya more than a little confused over what the beautiful blonde was going on about, but more than happy to give her time to speak her mind. "...but I swear, baby...I just really want you to call me that again. I don't care what it takes."

Anya leaned back enough to meet Clarke's gaze, trying to decipher the meaning of the woman's words. "You don't have to beg for anything with me, Clarke, but what word are...wait...'darling'?"

She watched Clarke visibly melt as the word filled the air, and knew that she couldn't deny it to her lover if she tried. "Definitely that one."

"Then it's yours, Clarke. And..." Anya started, only to remember the other thing she'd brought in her luggage that she'd considered bringing out if all went well. And despite it all being mostly foreplay so far, Anya was certain that it was right to offer her lover another option. "...and I have something for you."

Anya went to get up, but Clarke promptly threw her body weight at Anya and held her flat down on the mattress. "Easy there. I don't want you leaving this bed 'til you're satisfied. You got my motor purring, I can get whatever you need me to get."

With an amused roll of her eyes, she pointed to her luggage. "Wooden box in my luggage. Can you bring it to me?"

Clarke leaned down, meeting her in a languid kiss that had her heart soaring before her lover was rolling off the bed and striding to her luggage. Clarke didn't need long to recover it, plopping down beside her a few seconds later. "What's in it?" Her lover asked, looking at the featureless box for some way to open it.

Anya took hold of it and pressed a hidden spot on the box, unlocking it and cracking open the lid. She pulled out both items inside, the clear glass flask full of a translucent liquid, and the larger leather bag. "I was taught how to make this some time ago. I don't use it very often, but it can be wonderful. I want to share it with you."

Clarke looked over the two objects as Anya set the box on the floor at the end of the bed. "What is it?" The woman asked, tugging on Anya's arm until she clambered up onto Clarke's lap.

"The liquid in the flask was made with transmutation magic." Anya started, Clarke's attention immediately shifting away from the flask and to her eyes; that form was rare, so it was understandable that Clarke was intrigued. "Essentially, it's a very minor spell, which is why I can manage it despite not having an affinity. I suppose my abilities are close enough in alignment for me to be capable. But anyways, it alters the nerves of whatever it touches."

"How so? Like does it..." Clarke started, before her eyes grew wide as saucers. "No way."

Anya just laughed, lightly bonking her forehead against Clarke's and leaving it there. "Maybe this is heavy, but I've never felt like this before, Clarke. I've never felt so cared for in this sort of thing, and...all I know is that every bit of pleasure I feel, I'd like you to feel it with me. This can help with that...but only if you want to use it. I won't ask you to, or demand you to, or anything...I'm just offering."

"Baby, at this point, I think I'd wait as long as I had to for you, so if you think this could make us feel closer, and that's what I want...and that's what you want...then of course I will. You're kinda the best, okay?" Clarke asked rhetorically, but Anya couldn't quite manage to contain her scoff.

Clarke immediately pulled her into a kiss that had her feeling weightless and had those resurfaced insecurities running for cover, loving the way Clarke's nose nuzzled against her own ever so slightly as she pulled away to approach at another angle, adoring how the pads of Clarke's fingertips would gently trail down the curve of her jaw like she was drinking her in.

"Nothing but sweet sounds and confidence, okay? You're not the only one in uncharted waters, Anya. I haven't felt comfortable being in a relationship for a long time...it's all just been one night flings, and I just...I don't get that feeling here with you." Clarke stated, eyebrows rising as if to challenge her to deny that claim.

"This doesn't feel like a one night stand. This feels...more." Anya admitted with a hard swallow, finding some confidence in the way Clarke's smile just beamed up at her.

"Then believe me when I say you're the best I've had already. I've never felt this close to someone, and goddess, at the same time I just feel like there's so much more ground to cover between us, and I want us to cross it together." Clarke said, voice shaking ever so slightly as she took Anya's hand and placed it over her heart. Anya could feel the organ thrumming wildly in Clarke's ribcage. "I'm so excited, and scared, and over the moon happy, and I'm so ready for this as long as you're here to hold my hand."

Anya leaned close and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to her lover's lips, lingering there as she stroked a hand down Clarke's blushing cheek, and took Clarke's right hand with her other. "I am. I will."

"Then why don't you show me how to work this?"

As much as Clarke loved Anya's laughter, she couldn't help but keep her focus on her hand, marveling at the sensation even as she blushed from the sound that left her lips a mere few seconds ago.

"The look on your face is priceless, Clarke!" Anya added between laughs, and she honestly imagined it was, because there truly was nothing like feeling a jolt of arousal from rubbing your thumb and fingertips together.

It was one thing to imagine what it might be like, but an entirely different magnitude to feel it for real. "This is so weird. So...what did you use this for, again?"

"Mostly to ramp up quicker than usual. It can take me over half an hour to get going, normally, but with this, that time's cut down by a decent chunk. I'll put some on a finger or two, dip them in melted chocolate or maybe icing, and get to licking. But it can be nice if I'm fingering myself, too." Anya explained as she laid herself back on the bed, tugging Clarke to straddle her. This substance of hers opened the door to so many possibilities, a mass of them flooding Clarke's mind over how to use something like that.

Maybe it was a little egregious as far as a sex aid, but it did seem handy. Pun absolutely intended.

"Mmmmmn, and if I'm giving you a hand job?" Clarke asked, bringing their knit hands to her lips as she held Anya's mirthful gaze.

"Never experienced it. But I promise, you'll know how it feels when I do." Anya answered with a broad grin, bringing her leg up and using her heel to pull Clarke atop her, skin on skin. "And honestly? I've got a good feeling about it."

Clarke laughed and dipped down for a quick kiss, loving the way that Anya wrapped around her however she could. For such a fearsome warrior, she was damn adorable. "Don't let go?" She murmured as she pulled away. The tremendous warmth in Anya's eyes had her knowing her lover wouldn't fail her.

She took a deep breath, excited to get this started and to keep growing this thing between them. Carefully, she shifted to Anya's side, pressing fleeting kisses to her partner's jaw as she reached down, gave a quick glance to check her instincts, and then let her forefinger and middle finger slowly glide up Anya's slick folds.

By the time she'd neared the clitoris and rendered it exposed, Clarke was breathless, body buzzing and stunned from the sensation. Certainly a bit more sensitive than rubbing her fingers together, she'd have to get used to it. "Oh my goddess, babe..."

"Is it too much?" Anya asked, sounding worried. As if there was anything to worry about.

"Nah, not at all, just unexpected. Between this thing, and getting to feel you for the first time, I...I'm really excited, and I just need a moment." Clarke answered swiftly and with as much assurance as she could channel into her voice.

That seemed to be enough, tension leaving Anya's body. "Take your time, darling, I'm not going anywhere."

The use of the d-word only compelled Clarke to rub her thumb just around the edge of Anya's clit, cheering internally at the sight and feel of Anya's hips arching into her touch. "Maybe you're not going anywhere, but I'd really like you to come with me."

 Anya's head fell back with a dull thump against the mattress, another glorious laugh escaping her lover. "That's so fucking cheesy!"

"Don't lie, you like it." Clarke shot back with a grin, giving Anya's core one more quick swipe as she gathered as much oxygen as she could. Just the sensitivity of her fingers on Anya's vulva was doing a number on her, ratcheting her arousal up notch by notch with each touch. Something told her she wouldn't be too pleased with her stamina over the next little while.

Hopefully Anya wouldn't be too embarrassed for her.

Clarke reached for the lube, applying a bit to her fingers in prep of what she knew would be an entirely new experience for her.  Let it never be said Clarke Griffin was a coward.

"Clarke..." Anya's voice brought her attention to her lover, the sheer reverence making her heart tremble in her chest from the pure heat the word had cascading through her body. "I trust you."

Teeth firmly pressing against her lower lip, Clarke gave Anya a small nod and decided to go for it, plunging two fingers into Anya.

Clarke gasped alongside her lover, arching a little from the feeling of Anya's walls around her digits. For a brief moment, being engulfed in Anya, feeling very intimately and intensely every single muscle spasm against her fingers, even the hardness of the nearby butt plug, took her focus.

But just for a moment.

Clarke caught her breath, adjusted to expectations, and pulled out slowly, recalling Anya preferred a more sensual approach up front, and she was all too happy to employ that. Just feeling Anya wrap around her had Clarke wanting to be closer, as close as she could get. It was only made more fortunate, knowing that if the sensations from her hand kept up then she wouldn't be able to be upright; resting against Anya while she pleasured her was best for the both of them, and would give Anya plenty of access to her.

Clarke set a languid, steady pace, working her fingers at Anya's upper wall as her thumb rolled at the edge of her lover's clit, getting close enough to build her up, but not so much to jolt Anya towards an unexpectedly quick orgasm. She wanted to take her time, pulling Anya into a quick kiss before trailing her mouth across her jaw and down her neck, kissing and nipping and licking her way to Anya's pulse point.

Maybe it was just instinct, maybe it was that rare territorial side of herself coming out to play, maybe it was how the overwhelming pleasure from each thrust of her hand was slowly sending her into a blissful haze. Whatever the reason, some signals in her brain must have crossed because after nipping a delightful spot on Anya's neck and hearing her let out a delighted mewl, Clarke found her lips latching onto her neck and sucking for all she was worth.

The last time she'd given someone a hickey was in high school, so she could feel blood rushing to her cheeks as she hastily pulled away, words already at the tip of her tongue as her brain worked at formulating some apology. But then a hand was pressing at the back of her skull, pushing her face back into Anya's neck, a throaty whine rumbling out of her lover.

"Please...darling..." Anya spoke in gasps, her lover's hand shakily and slowly combing through her hair, adding enough pressure to let Clarke know she was wanted there, not that the words alone didn't immediately have her heart racing and body buzzing.

Clarke dipped  forward the half inch to press a kiss at the base of Anya's neck, letting her lips linger as she soaked in how Anya's legs gripped her tightly. She could feel a minor tremor of pleasure run through Anya's body from her neck all the way to her toes. "Tell me what you need, baby..." She murmured, slowing the pace of her thrusts enough so that she could be sure to recognize an answer past the heady pleasure buzz and the sensation of her arousal dripping onto the toweled bed.

"More of that...more...and faster, just...mmmnh...just a bit, please..." Anya laboured, stirring those long dormant and contained urges she'd always done well to hold in check.

Quickening the pace of her thrusts was easy enough, having mostly adjusted to the feeling of Anya's magic serum. She didn't have to keep herself from a premature climax anymore, at the very least, even if she was closing in on that ledge little by little. But indulging in something she'd warded herself off of had her feeling both enticed and cautious.

"Anya...pretty sure you can't magic away a hickey." Clarke noted hesitantly, applying just enough pressure to get Anya to release the hold on her head. She needed to look Anya in the eyes for this; even if it wasn't a big thing for most, she had a hard time stopping that particular sort of instinct once she'd gained enough headway. "Baby, I just don't want to do anything you'll regret later."

Her lover immediately reached down and stilled the hand between her thighs, and if Anya didn't already have her complete attention, she certainly had it now. "I'm not ashamed of this, Clarke."

Clarke let out a huff, anxiously trying to find the right words to describe her predicament, and mostly failing at her attempts. "It's...I mean...I know you're not, it's...well, a lot of people don't like them. And I mean....I'd be marking you. And I haven't done that in forever, because...well, once I start, I have a hard time stopping, and I don't want to freak you out with all the possessive junk that comes with it, and I'm just..."

Honestly, there were at least another hundred words left in her rambling, but feeling Anya take hold of the hand that Clarke had buried between her thighs, and slowly lift it out and up, up, all the way to her lips, a breath away from Anya's mouth? That killed all those leftover words, and she doubted she'd mourn their passing.

"Darling, hush. You're over-thinking this..." Anya started, eyebrow cocking at the tiny scoff that escaped her over the assertion. "I'm serious.  What, do you think I'd balk at the notion of you getting possessive over me?"

Clarke shrugged, not quite having revived her vocabulary yet. "Most people get freaked out, given my affinity and all. Last one really didn't like it, and practically threw me out."

"And I'm not that person. You need to stop second-guessing yourself, stop presuming you know what I want better than I do. Just listen to me, Clarke...I'll always let you know what I like and what I don't. And if you're comfortable being...well, possessive...with me tonight, then let's see where that goes. It's not a hard or soft limit for me." Anya clarified, the amused crinkling of her eyes just barely warning Clarke in time as Anya's soft tongue blazed a trail up her hand, sending an intense ripple of pleasure down her spine.

She was already soaked, but she could feel a fresh rush of arousal, both from the lick and the notion of Anya accepting her, not to mention the vulnerability involved. Still, she waited until she caught her breath again to make one final argument, to make sure Anya knew where she was coming from.

"I just...I guess you've been treated like an object by other partners, and I wouldn't want to do the same to you. You deserve better. You're a person. You're not something I can, you know, have or claim for myself." Clarke said, eyes half-lidded and head feeling hazy as Anya took one of her digits into her mouth, tongue swirling around it. "Goddess, if you keep doing that, I won't last long, baby."

"I don't care how long you last. One, two, twenty orgasms...whatever we feel like. I just want to spend the night with you, I want us to enjoy ourselves. So...if it makes it easier for you...as far as I'm concerned, I'm yours tonight. And you're mine. Doesn't mean you own me...just means I'm sharing myself with you. I trust you to take good care of me, darling." Anya spoke, flicking her gaze between Clarke's hand and her eyes, before settling on the latter. "And if you want to suck at my neck, if you want to say I'm yours, or any of that...I'm good with it. I'm not scared, I trust you."

Clarke gulped, heart hammering in her chest, yearning to break out and find Anya's. Ever since her affinity had been made known, everyone she'd dated had been wary and generally unwilling to be vulnerable with her. Even if she'd insist that she could only control people after casting, most still suspected that she could influence and manipulate thoughts and emotions on a more subtle level, so it was rare for anyone to be really open with her. It was why she adored her friendships with Lexa and Costia, who did trust her.

So Anya willingly opening up to her and trusting her? Wanting to share herself, even after everything they'd been through, even after experiencing firsthand what Clarke was capable of?  It had her breathless and yearning to just hold onto this magnificently strong woman. Everything in her soul was screaming at her to make love to Anya, to take her to such heights where Clarke's name would be the only intelligible sound spilling from her lips, to pepper kisses across her blushing face as she came down from her final climax, to wrap her up in the afterglow and maybe carry Anya to the shower if her lover needed or requested it.

And maybe that was getting ahead of herself, but it wasn't bad to have some goals at the ready for the rest of their night.

"Then let's get back to making this a night to remember, baby."

#witchfic #lookingforthemagic #clanya #clanya fanfiction

[joneswilliam72]

Meet Dominique Purdy, writer and star of the fiercely comedic dark satire, Driving While Black.

With February being Black History Month – honoring the triumphs and struggles of African Americans throughout U.S. history – we caught up with Driving While Black star and writer Dominique Purdy for a chat on acting, the film, the experience of people of color in dealing with the police, what births the "fuck the police" attitude in youth, what we can do about it as individuals and much more.

Driving While Black is a fierce, truly Kafkaesque satire that everyone should see. It is based on real experiences Purdy has had with the police from his teenage years to today and is ever so relevant in an era where deadly experiences with police and people of color seem to be happening with increasing regularity since Michael Brown and Ferguson, Missouri in 2014. The whole thing is Kafkaesque when often the people being singled out and harassed by the police as bureaucratic enforcers, are targeted for no other reason than their race.

We should all be upset when that kind of treatment occurs, no matter the color. Yet, police harassment can and does happen to more and more people precisely because of over-policing as a result of the Drug War and the cops being weaponized when they are in the role of collecting revenue for the state for non-crimes like not wearing your seat-belt or in the abuses of civil asset forfeiture; to even the police shooting the wrong people when executing a no-knock search warrant on the wrong house entirely. Even pets are often not immune with some officers executing dogs with impunity – there's even a national database tracking these "puppycide" numbers.

All those things are directly attributable to over-policing. When you make nonsense things – like not wearing a seat-belt or possessing a little pot – crimes you still create real criminals. The way those "criminals" are handled is always harassing, and far too often that harassment is based purely on the race of the "suspect". This is a problem we should all be worried about and doing what we can to stop.

In Driving While Black, Dmitri (Purdy) is a pizza guy who would rather smoke weed and suffer for his art, but his mom and his girl won't stop nagging him to get a real job. When he's offered a gig mouthing off to tourists behind the wheel of a Hollywood "star tour" bus, it looks like everyone might get what they want. Trouble is, our man can't seem to step out the door to get to the interview without endless complications: busted radiators, simple weed scores gone sideways and LAPD cruisers seemingly everywhere. Dmitri's skill at going unnoticed by cops is honed by painful experiences growing up black in L.A., but even his keen survival instincts won't save him from the week from hell.

Dominique Purdy in the behind the scenes shot from DRIVING WHILE BLACK.

With a jovial swagger to its walking pace, Driving While Black is half comedy of errors and half hard-bitten realism, tucked into a sly treatise on 21st-century over-policing. Enjoy the interview below and catch Driving While Black on digital now.

Hello Dominique and welcome to The 405! To start things off, what initially inspired the film? DWB is so timely not just from (sadly) what is happening in society but also in film with movies like Green Book and BlacKkKlansman. Seeing especially the racism and discrimination in Green Book paired with the racism in Driving While Black made me wonder, have we really come that far from 1962?

The inspiration for Driving While Black came from just that "Driving While Black " It's my experiences growing up dealing with the cops in LA since being a kid up to the present time. Police prejudice against black people and other people of color is always gonna be a timeless topic in the culture!

A sad thing indeed.

This movie was shot in 2014 and first premiered at the El Rey Theater on Wilshire Blvd. [Los Angeles] on June 30th 2015 to a packed house. We had to turn people away to not violate the fire code on capacity.

Great you had that kind of turnout.

I believe we sparked a wave with DWB in this era of Hollywood wanting to invest in more black stories on film and TV. Look at some of the most popular movies and show since 2016: Insecure, Atlanta, Random Acts of Flyness, Get Out etc.

From DRIVING WHILE BLACK.

We definitely have made a lot of progress since 1962 . Niggas couldn't even eat at the same restaurants as white people without gettin' sprayed with a hose or the Ku Klux Klan burning a crucifix in front of their house later that night.  Racists never went away – just got quieter because it became less cool to be so blatant. Is there whole lot of progress to be made? You damn right!!!

I'd add in a movie that DWB kind of reminded me of: Boots Riley's incredible satire Sorry to Bother You. Of course, DWB didn't go full-on surrealist like Riley's movie but I see them as both very satirical.

The rest is true too. I suppose it can be just hard at times to be hopeful in the current cultural climate. What did your collective process look like on writing the film with Paul [Sapiano]?

I've known Paul for a cool minute so when we would kick it I would always be telling him some shit that happened to me with the cops. Even though it was wild shit, I'm so used to it I can see the humor in it of how ridiculous it is that black people have to have these feelings and take certain precautions when dealing with the police. So we would start writing some of these stories down to start forming what would become the film.

DWB was a fiercely satirical and darkly comedic piece (in a sort of neo-Kafkaesque absurd way) that is sadly far too true to life. Dominique, what would you like our readers to know who don't have to go through these kinds of harassing experiences on a daily basis? Not just while driving but I'm sure while doing other everyday things too. As I am not a person of color, I can't really speak to it, but I can do my best to listen and learn.

For people who haven't really  experienced any police drama in their lifetime and want to just get an understanding of it from the perspective of a young black male watch the film it shows you with humor better than I can explain. I've had elderly white people come up to me after seeing the film during a film festival saying when they saw this police issue we deal with through a new set of eyes. It changed how they thought about situations they had previously saw only from the cops side.

From DRIVING WHILE BLACK.

That's fantastic that people have been touched like that and I can certainly see why, having watched the film. What can people who don't have to go through these kinds of experiences do to help those who do and help make the social climate better?

Watch DWB and spread the word.

What do you think can be done on a community level to fight the kind of discrimination the film shows?

I don't know the answer but everyone becoming more aware of what's going on. Meaning ALL people not just people of color. We ALL have to understand the history to be able to create change.

So true. I think steps like having mandatory body cams and citizens' review boards to oversee them may be good first steps too. But certainly everybody has to pitch in on this. Any funny or memorable moments that stick out from the process of filming?

When we were in the editing process for the film, I was coming in to the office to do some voice overs one day. The whole area was surrounded by cops. I guess they were searching for someone.

Oh shit.

I called the office and said "Yoooo the whole area is crawlin' with police how can I get through to the office?"

Someone said I could cut through the alley and it would let out right by the office. I drive in this alley and as soon as I come out the other side more cops are right there…

Damn.

…they pull out guns and ask to search the car. They thought I might be hiding the person they were looking for in the backside. Cops were like "What are you doing over here?"

I said "Yo, I'm actually going to this right here. I'm working on a movie about y'all".

Then I hopped on the phone and called Paul to come outside and vouch for me. One cop was a straight asshole claiming I fit the description on the suspect they were looking for. The other cop was chill apologizing for the hostility.

Wow. Good cop/bad cop quite literally.

When Paul came out they realized I was telling the truth and let me go. When I went inside the office, there was another actor in the film – a black guy – who was like " How come the cops didn't harass me like you? They just let me right in…"

He was offended that they didn't harass him at all. I was like "You a clean cut nigga! I got too much of that hip hop vibe they had to fuck with me&".

Damn. Glad it didn't get much beyond that. Still sucks you were hassled though. What do you hope audiences will ultimately take with them from the film?

I'd like for black people and other people  of color to be happy seeing a story being told focused on something we deal with in society from a fresh perspective that they relate to. There has never been a film like this.

From DRIVING WHILE BLACK.

Absolutely agreed. It was refreshing, brave, and very funny. And I'm a white guy.

I'd like for white people and others who have never had experience any kind of police prejudice to leave understanding the psychology of how the FUCK THE POLICE attitude is born in a black child and how it grows. Through humor we can make people laugh and then think deeply at the same time. The uneasy feeling I get when I see the police never is going to go away but that's just life for a lot of black people... ain't that a bitch?

It sucks. Not to say others (particularly white people) who go through shitty experiences with the cops have similar experiences to people of color here, but I often wonder why more people aren’t instinctively worried when they get pulled over – especially when you see increased enforcement of more BS “non-crimes” like seat-belt laws. But I've also had my share of bad experiences there too like the cop who grew increasingly agitated because of my hands after he pulled me over. I have a hand tremor similar to Parkinson's and I tried explaining that but he didn't care, made me do the field sobriety test because of it in fact. So absolutely those shitty experiences are universal. But, I digress there…

A question I ask everybody: what makes a great film?

A great idea and unique execution of that idea makes a great film. Don't try to be like anyone. Take risks. Trust your instincts and keep them parallel with your vision.

Very well said. And all marks that DWB absolutely hit.

And another question I ask everybody: what films and performances have really stuck with you over the years and influenced you as an artist? A big question as well I know.

Shit, that's a tough one because my influences are all over the place. So let's do off top of my head…

Definitely.

…the Japanese Samurai Saga film Lone Wolf with Child and Ice Cube's Friday.

Cool. Final question, what is next for you?

I've got a lot of fly music shit coming this year! Catch me on the gram under my moniker: @KTOWNODD.

from The 405 http://bit.ly/2BkymY6

[goodsoldierandnothingelse]

Introductions || Mac and Dean

Adventures on Kik with 0fcourage Blockquote: 0fcourage ; plain: me

The brick exterior and multi-paned windows eluded to times long past. She could smell the rot and mildew inside the walls, even hear the shifting of the building as age settle into its bones further. A decrepit location for rest, though the usual tenants were likely as decrepit as the walls. Except for one, the one she had come to see.

She’d had to wait. He worked like clockwork, she knew, always needing to escape his housemates to sate the thirst of the blemish to his flesh and soul. The thing that made him even more dangerous and terrifying than even before, which many would day was saying quite a lot.

Her knock was light, but loud enough do he’d hear. She knew he was awake, so she had no concern for waking him. Her concern was the weapons she knew would be trained on her and at the ready even before he opened the door.

It had gotten bad again, way more quickly than the last, which had induced a tightening of his chest that threatened to choke him from the inside out. Panicked that his end was racing towards him like a wildfire, but even more so at the thought that no one could stop him before it became too late.

He had been struggling to focus on his laptop’s screen for about a hour, at least. The blood rushing in his ears, the fast pounding of his heart, was making it difficult, but what really broke his attention was a timid knock at the door. It was like a switch turned on, drawing him to his full height and unsheathing his weapon as his Hunter instincts took over. He knew, just by the knock alone, that it wasn’t Sam, which lead him to his next conclusion, but looking through the peephole-- instead of a brunette-- stood a blonde. His brows furrowed. “Ya have the wrong room, Sweetheart,” he informed through the crack in the door.

“That would be impossible, Dean Winchester.” She gave a sad smile as she lifted her hands to show she was unarmed. “I don’t make such mistakes.” She glanced past him into the room, what she could see from the small opening he had made with the door, then back to him. “I have come to offer some support, if you’ll allow it.”

The blood drained from Dean’s face out of habit, hearing his name come from the unknown girl and putting him at a disadvantage. He didn’t like it. He adjusted the angel blade in his fist, ready to use it if need be, even though her stance shifted into an even less defensive one than before. “Support?” he questioned, doubt-filled and suspicious. “I ain’t runnin’ a charity.”

Her lips pressed together in a thin line.  “I’m aware help from my siblings has been minimal... At best.” She also knew many who had offered their assistance in the past had done so for their own selfish and not entirely well meaning needs. “Castiel is not well accepted by many, but those who do accept him wish to follow his lead. In doing so, I’m here to offer whatever I can provide. Including information.”

The girl let slip of what she was by a familiar phrase, paired with the way she spoke, making Dean’s mind jump to Cas. It didn’t take much time after that for her to confirm his suspicion. “Uh huh,” he said, glancing behind the girl before returning. “Cas send you?”

She hesitated, biting her lip at the question he directed at her. She didn’t communicate with her brothers and sisters much. Cas knew of her wish to help, to specifically get involved with the Winchester brothers, but she had yet to speak on this with him. That was probably something to have been done before this moment. “Not exactly. But he’d vouch for me were you to ask him about my intentions and loyalty. You’ll find I’m not much like my siblings.”

The hesitation gave him the answer before she even opened her mouth to reply. He glanced out into the hall again before he stepped back opened the door further to let her in. “Not sure if that’s as comfortin’ as you’re tryin’ t’make it sound.” Once she was in he shut the door behind her, re-locking it. “So which Bible-thumper are you?” he asked turning to face her. The blade remained in hand but it was now held more loosely than before.

She smirked at his verbiage, always amused by the differences in speech from one human to the next. “Machidiel. You can call me Mac.” She replied easily. She moved into the small room, gaze rolling across the walls a moment before she found a chair and sat, one leg crossing over the other automatically. “I don’t mean to cause alarm. There’s a lot-- including plenty you have no knowledge of-- happening, now. It’s simply time I take my stance, and I’ve chosen you, the hunters, as my side to align with.”

Her name didn’t ring familiar, but that didn’t mean much, nor did it give him any hint on whether or not she was lying. His instinct was, of course, to assume she was, but he’d give her the benefit of the doubt-- for now.    Dean watched her stroll into the room before planting herself on a chair, sitting straight and proper, the kind of rigidness that came from being an Angel. She spoke then, claiming her presence wasn’t cause for alarm but that she was simply choosing a side. “Well, that’s great an’ all,” Dean replied, unable to keep the skepticism completely out of his tone. “We’ll be sure t’send ya the starter pack, but, uh... Is there a reason why you’re here? Or how you even found me, for that chance?”

“It wasn’t easy, and it’s doubtful any my siblings could find you without help. So no, you don’t have to worry about a sudden flood of angels at your door.” She smirked at the thought before she continued. “Your journey has been long and difficult, not unlike others before you. The courage and strength you expel daily, especially in your current condition, is exceptional. I only offer my help and guidance to those who show they are worthy, as you have.” Her lips pursed. “I want to try to help you with the Mark of Cain, since Castiel is wrapped up in things he shouldn’t honestly be worrying about.”

Well, that was reassuring, he guessed. Angels, who weren’t Cas, didn’t seem to see eye-to-eye on anything, and that level of frustration was probably the last thing he needed right now. And this ‘Mac’ character didn’t seem much of a contrast to her ‘siblings’ as she had first claimed. But maybe that was just because he was judging too quickly, stereotyping her on the few similarities she held because of what she was. He needed to take a step back before he did something rash and possibly unnecessary. So instead he listened, trying not to pick her apart by the way she moved or said something but actually absorb what she was saying. Initially, it proved difficult, but then she mentioned the Mark of Cain and he was all ears. He had to blink a few times before he could answer. “You-- wanna help-- me?” he asked. Was the disbelief too hard to hear? “Seriously?”

Her brow furrowed at his response. Was he stupid or just surprised? She could assume both from what she’d seen and heard, but she’d behave herself. For now. “Seriously.” She confirmed. “Castiel is busy, and you clearly need more guidance on the matter before you destroy everything and everyone that matters to you. I watched Cain do it, I don’t want to watch you do it, too.” The last was said with conviction, though she’d admit (only to herself) that she feared she was too late. Still, it was worth a try. Cain had never had angelic support, and maybe that had been why he’d ended up the way he had. Of course, she was more understanding of things than most angels, so that might have had something to do with it. Then, she had been forbidden to involve herself. Now? She made her own decisions.

The Angel, of course, seemed confused when he didn’t jump for joy at her offer out of nowhere from someone he had just met two seconds ago, and Dean couldn’t but see Cas in the confusion. It might’ve sparked a smirk had the girl not turned the conversation dark by focusing on the obvious. His stance had become slightly defensive unconsciously, the matter just a bit too personal for some unknown Angel to speak so openly about. “No offense, uh-- Mac, was it? But last I checked your angel mojo couldn’t touch it.--So unless you’ve got the updated weapon pack I don’t see what you can really do.” His face had fallen into despair, hopelessness filling every crease; the look of a man who had clearly already given up.

She watched the emotions play through his features in the brief silence that settled between them. When he spoke again, his tone was that of the Dean Winchester she had come to know so well from the stories and watching him from afar. “You’re right, our Grace does nothing to the Mark.” Her lips pursed. “But last I checked, your pet angel hasn’t been around to help you much. I’m not Castiel, but I’m not useless. And from what I can tell, you’re low on options.”

Machideiel validated his knowledge, that, probably all, he assumed, Angels couldn’t remove or alter the mark residing on his arm, but also added that the usual angel on his shoulder was off dealing with his own problems and therefore not available to help, unlike she, apparently. Her reason: because she decided to join Team Hunter. At least according to her, but only having just met her Dean had no reason to trust her and believe anything she said. Unfortunately, however, she was right about one thing: he had low to no options, and his tightened jaw said that he wasn’t happy about it. “Fine. I guess,” he said, gruffly. “Maybe some unfamiliarity is a good thing...”

A smug look crossed the angel’s features and she sat a little straighter. No one ever said living among humans for so long hadn’t had any affect on her. “Glad you could come to your senses.” She said with a bright smile. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’m pretty sure I can help with another problem you’re having. No promises, but--” she shrugged. “I’m pretty good.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. You’re only a substitute, so don’t get too comfortable.” He’d much rather have Cas, the two of them having gone through much together that he trusted him wholly, but as she said, Cas already had his hands full.    Dean’s brows furrowed when she mentioned another problem he was dealing with and how she could help. “Okay, settle down there, Blondie,” he told her, not missing the arrogance like she was his literal gift from heaven. “What other problem?”

“Oh, I’m aware. As any of my siblings would be.” She noted, his anger at her not being Castiel clear in the way he spoke. His demeanor shifted again and he threw that famous sarcasm and attitude her way. She quirked a brow. “Auryon.” The woman herself was a problem, never mind what she had become in the last year or so. Mac hadn’t been part of Heaven or its workings, but she knew when to pay attention. And when the King of Hell dragged a hunter back from Hell reeking of his power, everyone paid attention. The fact that that simple hint of power had since turned into something she knew even Crowley himself was growing wary of was something to definitely pay attention to. No matter what he had done to her, that power would destroy the woman if Crowley-- or someone else-- didn’t do something soon.

As long as she understood her position, and that he only agreed because of his dire need for help. And that his desperation didn’t mean he trusted her, neither. Although he was sure that was conveyed with how he stood rigid in front of her, and how the weapon in hand still remained unsheathed.    Dean asked her what other problem she was referring to and the single-worded answer she gave had his defensive stance faltering, unable to help it. “You can help her? Free her from Crowley?”

Her lips pursed as he eyed her, his thoughts and feelings on her clear in so many ways. Fine. She hadn’t expected easy, not with a Winchester. His question came with a swift chance to his demeanor, to his entire attitude. “I may,” she admitted slowly. “I have been on earth a very long time and observed things my siblings have not. I believe I know for a way to help her. But I will not promise anything; nothing is guaranteed.” She knew her answer would anger him but also hoped he would see she was trying not to mislead him. That would end worse than anything, se knew.

A spark of hope ignited in him at the angel’s maybe, to which he fought ardently to stomp out. Maybe’s were not guarantees, and false hope did nothing other than disappoint in the long run. And the woman basically said as much, but a maybe was better than sitting around on their asses, doing nothing. “I want you t’help her,” he said firmly, his expression hardening. “Ya wanna help? Fine. But I want your efforts focused on helpin’ her.”

Her lips pursed as she eyed him quietly, weighing the words she wished to use. Finally, she nodded her agreement. “May I ask you something, though?” She inquired carefully. It was something that truly bothered her, along with a few others like her. Maybe an answer would help her feel better about everything.

Following his decree, the young and blonde appearing angel stared at him with a pondering look, and Dean could only imagine what she was thinking. Angels were much harder to read than humans. After a moment, though, she nodded her consent, but her condition was an inquiry. Dean fave a short pause, but eventually said, “Yeah. What?”

She weighed his tone a moment, knowing her words were some that others had probably asked. But it was something she wanted to know the answer to herself, before she did anything. A soft clearing of her throat and the angel focused again on the hunter she had decided to help. “Why don’t you think you’re worthy of saving? Heaven itself-- God himself-- has found you worthy many a time. And yet you ask me to help only a woman you care for and not yourself.”

The woman seemed, again, hesitant, like she wasn’t sure what kind of reaction her words would cause, and she was smart to be so but the slowness also sorta bothered Dean. He wished she’d just spit it out and hurry the moment along. Time was not his friend, never really had been, but even more so lately, that he did not like to waste it. Eventually, she asked her question, one he didn’t expect, and again, he felt exposed with her hitting too close to home. Stupid perceptive angels. He scoffed under his breath, shaking his head, before answering. “I need Ry safe. Alright? Away from Crowley. That’s all that matters. Everything else...” He swallowed, looking down for a second and then back up with a weak smile plastered on his lips. “Well, let’s just say I’ve accepted my fate.” The smile vanished as his determination came back. “But Ry’s fate is not sealed. Not as Crowley’s-- super suit. No. She deserves better.”

She listened to his words, heard and saw the emotions. For the most part, he seemed sincere and devoted to what he said. But she had been on Earth a long time, had spent decades of her existence among humans. During that time, she had found that every man, woman and child had a will to live that never went away. So while Dean was honest in his declaration, she could see he was not so fully committed to that acceptance as he would like to believe.    Love did that to people. His love for the woman, Auryon, and for his brother while we were on the topic, overwhelmed everything else. But it was that love, she could tell, that kept a part of Dean Winchester from really, truly accepting his fate. A fate that she wasn’t so sure he was doomed to.    “I’ll help her to my fullest ability,” she promised when he finished speaking. “But I’m not giving up on you so easily. Castiel has not, therefore I will not either.” Not that Cas would know her as anything other than a sibling. But it was difficult not to know of and about all that Castiel had done and was doing.

If Dean knew what she was thinking, and what she had concluded, he would’ve repeated himself about angels being perceptive. Because, yes, she was right, he couldn’t actually fully accept that his time was up. He wanted to, it’d make things easier, and he could actually have some peace of mind, but there were two things stopping him. And he needed to know they were safe and that they would be okay before he could finally let go.    Mac promised she’d help with Ry, but that she wasn’t going to give up on him either. “Fine, whatever,” he said after a moment, not as comforted by that as she may think. “But only after you’ve done everything you can t’help her. She comes first.”

She accepted his gruff agreement of her words with a small smile, giving him a nod in response to his final demand. “Of course,” she agreed softly. “She will be my foremost concern, Dean. You have my word on that.” She knew her word, to him, would mean little. But it was the most important and strongest promise and bond she could offer. It was not something she gave lightly, and never had. In all her time, she could count on her hands the number of humans she had truly offered her binding word to. But, of course, he would not know nor care for this fact.

Dean allowed himself a deep breath, nodding. He still needed to check with Cas, make sure this angel was who she said she was before he could actually trust her to do anything, but if she could really help... Having another angel on their shoulder was something they could use. “I want you t’promise me somethin’ else, too,” he muttered after a moment, looking back at her. “If I--” He swallowed thickly but continued all the same. “If it becomes too late for me... I won’t become that thing again. So I, uhm-- need ya t’take me out. Just in case Cas isn’t around. Do whatever you have to, but... Don’t let me come back with black eyes. I can’t...” He shook his head, trying to escape the memories that had formed. “I won’t relive that.”

She allowed him to get his request out, keeping her gaze on him but her mouth closed. His demeanor had changed enough that she knew his words held a deep importance. Once he finished, she pressed her lips together thoughtfully, nodding slowly. “Again, my word. I would not wish that on anyone.” She assured. But she felt a sharp jolt within at his request. She truly hoped it wouldn’t come to that; she didn’t truly know if she’d be able to follow through. A normal demon, sure. A Knight was harder. Especially one that also happened to be Dean Winchester. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Dean stared at her intently, making sure the importance of his request got through to her and searching for any flicker of deception on her host’s face. A moment later, satisfied, he dialed it back and scoffed dryly at her assurance that he didn’t have to worry. “No, but you will if you don’t stop me,” he replied, again giving her a meaningful glance before he dropped it, pawing absently at his arm with the blade still held loosely in his fist. “Do ya keep your ears on or do I need a number to get a hold of ya?”

She had to force herself not to sigh at him as he got that final comment in. She knew Castiel was busy with other things, such as Heaven, but she also knew he’d never neglect helping Dean. Especially with a situation such as this. And she’d do her best to assist.

“I have a phone,” she confirmed, “But I also listen for those who need me. I’ll give you my number, however, just in case.” It was best he had more than one way to call her, anyway. That way he’d be sure to get her attention when he needed it.

“Phones are better for me anyhow,” Dean admitted, still not comfortable, even through the years, with praying, and fished out his phone from his pants’ pocket. He pressed a couple of buttons, the phone beeping as he did so, before he held it out for the young blonde to take. “I hope you’re more familiar with technology than the rest of the God Squad.”

She smiled at his phrase ‘God Squad’. “I know my way around it.” She chuckled, punching in her number. “I’ve been around Earth a little more than most of the others.” She added as she handed the phone back. “Is there anything I can do for you while I am here? I have some time, and I know Castiel is busy.”

Well, that was refreshing to hear. Training Cas hadn’t exactly been easy, to say the least, and he still didn’t fully comprehend the voicemail function. “That’s a relief,” he uttered, taking back the tiny machine and re-pocketing it. The angel-- Mac asked then if she could do anything for him while she was there, like she was a new maid he had just hired.    “Uh.” He hesitated, again wanting to run her name by Cas first, but... “Ya know of any cases in the area?”

She squinted thoughtfully at his question, sending out her senses to fell for anything unnatural around them. A few docile beings, but nothing causing a disturbance. Not in the immediate area, at least. As she pushed herself further away, she caught the sensation of a demon. Strong, dangerous. Wreaking havoc. She snapped back to the tiny room with Dean and focused on the hunter. “There’s a demon.” She said softly. “Three towns over. Been there a while, somehow keeping under the radar. He’s powerful.” She locked her gaze on the man. “I’d take great pleasure in helping you destroy him.” She was aware of the change in her tone and demeanor. A danger to her seeping through that she often kept in check. Nothing alarming, just a reminder of the soldier of war she had been created to be and escaped long ago. But certain things brought it out. One of the worst of demons se’d encountered in a while happened to fall into that category.

It was like a switch as she searched the surrounding area with her Grace or whatever; her face went idle, her eyes glossing over, and reminded Dean of a loading screen. He waved a hand in front of her face; no reaction. Not even a blink. Dropping his arm back to his side he waited impatiently through the next few seconds before the angel rebooted and came back online, focusing on him.    “Well?” he asked, eyebrows in anticipation, and she informed him that there was a demon, a strong one, infesting a town not far from where they stood. Not being able to rely just on her word, not yet, and needing to see some kind of proof to back up this claim Dean moved over to his laptop and started typing away.    He was about to ask her the exact town when she locked eyes with him and let out her shocking statement. He was slightly taken aback, but also knew, through past dealings, that some angels could be quite ruthless. Mac just hadn’t come across as one. But that might of had something to do with the fact she was sporting a young woman, barely out of her teens. “Okay, settle down there, Buffy. Just tell me what town he’s in.”

The reference was lost on her, bus she chose not to comment. Instead she simply watched the hunter do what he was best at doing. She rattled off the town the demon was in, now constantly aware of the creature at the edge of her senses. “I don’t mean to sound eager about killing,” she said after a moment of thought. “But this particular demon has a dangerous habit that many avoid. I’d much like to ensure he’d taken care of.”

Dean typed the town into his computer’s search engine and began scanning the news, looking for any tragedy that could be the handiwork of a demon. He was in the middle of a promising article when his company-- someone he almost forgot was still there-- added onto her earlier comment, about not meaning to sound eager when it came to killing. “First off, when it comes to killing demons-- Ain’t nothin’ wrong with some eagerness. Just as long as it doesn’t get ya killed. Being able t’dance on their graves is definitely a perk of The Job,” he told her, glancing up from his screen. “Secondly-- How much experience ya got with demons? ‘Cause I ain’t gonna hold ya hand.”

She let him respond, amuse by his verbiage. She so enjoyed the differing ways humans used their languages. She was more amused by his question, however, and smiled at him as he finished. “I think I can manage,” she replied without hiding her amusement. Not all angels were accustomed to facing demons, but they could all stand their ground with the use of their blades and their Grace. Mac had been on Earth for a millennia, and had faced her fair share of demons during that time.

While Dean knew that Angels had, yes, been around much longer than he had, there was no guessing how much field work and how recent this particular angel had logged. Especially when he knew that it had only been a few years now that they had come down from their perches on the observation deck. He just didn’t want her in the way. He needed a kill, his body taut with the undeniable urge, and this demon had just made top of the List. “Uh huh,” Dean replied after squinting slightly at her once again expressed cockiness. Over-confidence could often be an issue when it came to hunting. “Well, if I decide t’say yes to God as my co-pilot... Just-- make sure t’stay outta my way.” That wasn’t said out of over-confidence but rather a warning, knowing just how badly he needed this, and the Mark wasn’t picky whose blood it fed on. “An’ that you follow my lead.”

She wasn’t ignorant to the sensation of pure need that came from him. She was aware of the cause and what the need was. She had done well to ignore it. If she was honest, she normally would have pushed the subject until the other snapped. But this was different. She had seen what it made Cain into. That Dean had withstood for so long was something to be said for his strength. But no on was completely unbreakable. Clearly he had found ways to sate the bloodlust, but that didn’t make it safe. In fact, it could be quite the opposite if they weren’t careful. “Right,” she replied with as much cheer as she could muster. “You’re the boss.”

Dean nodded once, satisfied and somewhat relieved that she chose to comply instead of argue. While angels were usually prone to following Mac had already said herself that she had chosen a more independent, lesser traveled path to walk. But she had seemed keen on helping him... Leaning back, away from his laptop, he reached across the bed to grab his phone off the nightstand. A notification showed a text from Sam, but Dean ignored it for now and went to his contacts, clicking on Cas’s name. He shot him a text, asking him about Mac and what he knew about her, before throwing it back over his shoulder. “So, Mac,” he started, looking towards the screen and to her. “What made you decide t’go rogue?”

A smirk formed at his question. that was a long story that they didn’t have time for. Luckily, she had a shorter version. “I’ve been on Earth for a very long time. Since about the time the vikings rose up.” She shrugged. “You could say I was a bit of a rebellious teenager. I thought humans had more to offer than my siblings did. I wanted to be among them, to learn about them... and I just never went back.”

Controlling family meets rebellion; that’ll do it, as Dean knew too well. “So, basically you’re The Little Mermaid,” he summed up for her, and as an afterthought hoped she didn’t understand that reference. “Do you regret it?”

She lifted a brow at his reference. “I suppose you could say that. But instead of giving up my voice, I gave up everything I knew. And no, I don’t regret it one bit.” She should be surprised that she didn’t have to think, just answered, but after so long she should be able to answer that question with ease. Still, she would always have that little nagging feeling in the back of her mind.

To be fair Dean hadn’t actually watched the Disney flick but just happened to stumble across its plot lie when browsing the internet for research on sirens. It was a strange thing for him to retain, but strange is what usually stuck with him. That didn’t stop the slight reddening of his face, however, when she gave him a peculiar look.    He cleared his throat, looking back at the screen. “Good,” he commented. He didn’t need an angel who wasn’t fully committed. And as soon as he heard back from Cas, he could actually begin to trust her, if only just so.

Dean clicked on a few articles before deciding that it was enough to go on and shut his computer. He got up and started packing up his few loose items, but was still careful around the woman.

She had to hide the small smirk that formed at his small display of embarrassment. It didn’t even phase her but he was able to reference a children’s movie. Hadn’t every human seen it? The short response was again not unexpected. She was just glad he hasn’t tried to kill her yet.    As he moved around the room, packing up his items, she took the time to look around and get to know the type of person he was. Neater than she expected, but not so neat that it was unusual. Any human that was particularly tidy was not always as they seem.

“We’re taking my car,” he informed, leaving no room for argument, as he finished his task. “That means no zapping. You’re gonna sit your ass in the vehicle an’ you’re not gonna whine about it. Also, there will be no touching of the radio.--Now I’ve sent word to Cas, an’ if you don’t sit right by him then you won’t by me either. You can go find some other Hunter to flock with. We understand each other?” He wasn’t unkind as he spoke to the young woman, but merely stating that that was the way things were gonna be.

Her brows lifted, but she didn’t argue. In fact, she had to fight not to let her smile of glee show. She loved cars. Sure, they were slower than flying, but they fascinated her. The mention of her brother had her nodding. She was sure Cas remembered her and knew she was not a danger. But she couldn’t help the tinge of worry she had that, for some reason, he had forgotten her or that his feelings had changed. “I understand,” she stated. “Like I said; you’re the boss.”

Dean took a moment to pause, searching her expression thoroughly as he was trained to do, but seeing no deception he nodded once, satisfied. “Yes, I am,” he murmured as he moved past her, opening up the door. His manners kicked in then, as he stood to the side and waited for her to exit first. He’d also feel better to have her in front of him, instead of behind, as they made their trek to Baby.

She offered a sweet smile as he held the door for her. “Thank you,” she added as she passed and exited the room. She blinked at the change in light and the shift in the sounds around her. “Is there anything specifically you’d like me to do when we get where we’re going?” She wondered.

Dean acknowledged her thank you with a curt nod but no comment, shutting the door behind them.    Once outside he squinted, repositioning his bag across his shoulder, and gestured towards the shiny black Impala just across the tiny parking lot. The Angel took the time to ask an inquiry as they walked the cracked, worn pavement. “Don’t die,” was the first thing that came to mind. If the demon was as powerful as she suggested he’d need the backup. “Oh, an’ don’t let me die.” With a squeak, the trunk opened and Dean unloaded his crap before shutting the hatch again. “Though, it would be funny t’see the demon’s face when I resurrected...” He had a small, amused smirk playing on his face before it dawned on him that imaging that wasn’t funny.    Giving Mac a side glance he walked over to the driver’s side and got in.

She watched him go through the motions as a man who had done this countless times before. A ghost of a smile crossed her face, fleeting though it was, because it was moments like this that were her favorite part of being among the humans. They were, whether they were noticed or not, private moments. Small peeks into who the person was and what they loved most. This man was made for this job, and he knew that he was. Despite all that he had been through, all that he had lost, he had embraced his life.    “It would certainly be amusing, yes.” She commented with a chuckle. Following his lead, she opened the passenger’s side and climbed in, closing the door once she had settled into the seat. The dashboard seemed miles away from her vessel; clearly a much larger person had sat here before her. “And I won’t let you die.”

Dean had leaned over the bench seat in attempt to open the passenger’s door as an afterthought but only managed to get it unhinged before the small blonde swung it open fully.    Repositioning himself back in his seat he watched her follow suit. The girl she was in seemed so young, almost too young, and it made him wonder about her; if she was still even alive in there. Frowning he looked away, focusing out through the windshield.    After a moment, she’d said that she wouldn’t let him die, to which he nodded and started the car.

They had gotten a few miles down the road, music filling the silence, before Dean turned it down a bit and asked the obvious question. “So... What makes you think you can help me?”

“Which situation do you ask about? Because my answer depends on what you’re seeking information on.” She glanced at him, trying her best not to read emotions that she could see filtering through his green eyes. He was expressive through them, especially when she could tell he was trying to hide all emotion. His curiosity was tinged with more emotions than she wanted to put words to, but especially doubt and suspicion. Both of those made her feel uneasy. Not because she feared him or what he could do to her, because let’s not be ignorant, he could most certainly do plenty to her even without killing her. No, the uneasiness was because she knew that if she didn’t deliver what she was promising she was letting someone else down. And Dean Winchester was not someone you wanted to let down.

Okay, so he thought it was the obvious question. But she did have a point. She had offered to help with more than one problem. “Well, I guess in general,” he answered. “As you know I’ve already for angel help.” An angel he trusted with his life, and knew that if he was able to help him he would have. “An’ no offense or anything, but you don’t strike me as anything special.” And she had already admitted that her power couldn’t touch the Mark, and he knew that it couldn’t sever the link between Ry and Crowley either because Cas had already tried. “Not that having another angel in your corner ain’t useful...” Especially when headed into a fight, like they were now.

She hesitated long enough to think about it. She knew her answer, but she needed to be sure. “I have seen more of my brothers and sisters die than I’d like to count. I haven’t been a part of the inner workings of Heaven for-- a very long time. But I know that it is chaos there, and that Castiel has a lot of work ahead of him.” She paused to lick her lips and pressed them together a moment. “I have seen you, and your brother, come out of situations most would have long failed at. I tend to like to support those I think are the strongest, the winning side. And that’s you, Dean.” She let the words for a few moments while she gathered in the emotions she suddenly felt. She knew she’d said more than he was expecting, but it was needed. She cleared her throat before she finished what she wanted to say. “I’m not the strongest of my kind, certainly. But I’ve been on earth long enough to know more than most. I can offer a different outlook, and I want to do that to help ensure you are able to come out of this standing, again.”

There was a pause, and Dean looked over to see the calculations practically play out in her expression. He wasn’t sure if the hesitation should give him comfort or not. Developed instinct automatically had him doubting, but the woman hadn’t done anything yet to put him totally off to her. So he tried to stow his paranoia for when she did answer he could focus on what she told him.

A little further down the lane she broke the silence and went into a monologue. At first, he was confused at where she was going with it, since it seemed unrelated to what he had asked, but as she continued her thought process connected. Though, if he was being honest, her speech didn’t do much to provide him with the hope he had been subconsciously seeking.    “Well, that’s...very ambitious of you,” he concluded. “If not a little misguided.” But beggars can’t be choosers.

Her gaze snapped to him, and she had the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry, I got carried away. And while that’s all true-- I also just want this shit to be over with. I’m tired of watching people and Angels die. And you’re the only ones that I know of that can end it. So, I’ll do everything I can to help you.”

Dean frowned and was silent for a moment, wondering if he should say what was lying on his tongue or to just let it slide. He chose the former after clearing his throat. “I uh, know you guys are all about faith or whatever...but uhm-- you may be placing a little too much in me an’ my brother,” he admitted. “I mean, yeah, we’ve taken a few names, but not without costs. We never come out on top. Not really. I can say, looking back over the years, that Death honestly follows us around. I’d hardly refer that to the ‘winning side’.”

She couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. She knew that that was how he felt but it still baffled her to hear him say it. “People die, Dean, every single day. They die of natural causes, they die from accidents, from monsters we can’t catch, and so many other reasons. It’s going to happen no matter what you do, and you can’t control that. And the costs that you speak of? Those are going to come with every situation no matter what side you’re on. But what you and Sam have done? The amount of people that are still alive because of the things you’ve done completely outweigh those that were lost in battle to get there. Of people knew the things that you did, the lives you saved, you would be much more than just Heroes. So you may not see yourself as the winning side, but there are many that do whether you realize it or not.”

His brows furrowed at hearing laughter come from his passenger, when he wasn’t trying to be funny but serious, and he looked over at her, his expression a confused scowl. The angel went on, not explaining her reaction but telling him her side of things, how she saw it. Honestly, most of it, he had heard before, but none of it ever stuck with him, and wasn’t any different. Maybe once he had considered himself a hero, but not anymore. Not after all the crap he’d done and gone through. Not with this brand on his arm.    Dean scoffed under his breath. “Well, sister, then they are just as delusional as you,” he muttered.

She rolled her eyes at his response, sighing and leaning her head back against the headrest. “Delusional or not, you’re stuck with me.” She noted. “Whatever you want or need, just say the word. If Cas isn’t available, I will be.” She knew that meant nothing to him now, before he knew her, but eventually she would be sure he understood the weight behind those words.

Dean was starting to get that, when she said he was stuck with her. At least if she was telling the truth. Again, she hadn’t done anything to cause suspicion, but Dean wasn’t exactly the most trusting of people. Especially as of late. And Angels were no exception. In fact he was probably even less trusting of them than actual people. Given his history, it was understandable.    Suddenly his back pocket vibrated, alerting him of a new message. Maneuvering with ease, while keeping the car straight on course, he dug out his cell. “Speak of the devil,” he murmured, smirking slightly at an afterthought, and opened up the text from Cas.

She didn’t say anything when she noticed his phone go off and that he looked at it. Even if he was driving and looking at his phone, she assumed he had practice on it whereas she certainly did not. She stayed silent and waited for him to speak again, his muttered comment making it clear that her sibling was the one contacting him.

Dean read through the text quickly, ignoring the scattered, and numerous, emoticons throughout it, and while it wasn’t exactly a shining recommendation he was searching for, it was good enough. At least for now. He’d know more about what she was really like after this excursion together. “Good news. Your ass gets to stay planted where it is. At least for now,” he informed. “Your final grade won’t be available until after we close the case, however.”

She quirked a brow at his words, smirking slightly. “Sure, okay. I can live with that. My ass is pretty comfy, anyway.”

“That’s cause that’s where my Sasquatch of a brother usually sits,” he informed. “Definitely been broke in a few miles back... Probably wouldn’t like it too much if he knew you were sittin’ in it though.”

She smiled brightly. “I’m sure he’d change his mind once he got to know me.” She replied, feeling that Sam would be the easier of the two to bond with.

Dean glanced over at her briefly, knowing she was probably right. “Demons are more his type,” he mumbled, a bitter taste in his mouth leaving a sour look on his face.

Mac pressed her lips, knowing the situation that was being spoke of. She hadn’t known that Dean still held on to that he prayed in frustration so tightly. “I didn’t mean in that sense,” she said with a sigh.

“I know what you meant,” he muttered in reply. “An’ you’re probably not wrong. Sammy’s more trusting than me... A little too trusting sometimes. Especially when it comes to the supernatural...and women. Double especially if its both.” He shook his head before he returned his attention back to his cell, pausing for a moment to decide something. Eventually he sent Ry a text to meet him at the town they were headed to.

“Well, you and I both know that he’s not stupid, despite his willingness to trust easily. I’m sure he can muss out whether or not I’m worth trusting.” She certainly hoped that, by then, Dean trusted her, too.

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean said, but he had someone else on his mind to help him determine that. Someone who was a little more hardened like himself; the same person he had just messaged to inform them of a change in plans. “For right now, that doesn’t matter. Like I said your official stamp of approval will be decided at a later date.” Actions spoke loud than words, after all. “In the meantime, we listen to some tunes.” He reached for the dial to turn it on.

Her lips pressed together, and she nodded as the music switched on. She listened for a few minutes, then turned her attention out the window and her thoughts for the remainder of the drive.

Continued here

#0fcourage #adventures on kik #introductions #Mackin Dean lawl xD