#he just really genuinely thinks the man's sold his soul to the devil

[wyvernquill]

Today I offer you the following headcanon/scenario: Hob dislikes Shakespeare and criticises him, but not because he's jealous of Dream walking off with him in 1589... no, it's because he genuinely thinks the man was a talentless hack.

Let me elaborate.

Hob does like Shakespeare's plays, and grudgingly admits they're the work of a "half-decent playwright", judging from the 1789 scene. He does appreciate the craftsmanship.

The only trouble: Hob is of the opinion that it's not technically Will's work at all. It's His Stranger who had... well, some hand, at least, in the creation of those masterpieces, and Hob hates that Shakespeare gets the sole credit.

(Now, to be clear, I do think that all Dream did was lend Shakespeare support and inspiration and the power to put his own dreams and imaginations into words. It's absolutely still William Shakespeare's work at the core, and Dream's involvement is hardly much more than in any other story ever written - but Hob doesn't know exactly how this works, does he?)

Imagine his frustration. Imagine people praising Shakespeare as a genius in front of him, and Hob bursting to say "actually, he was total shite until he sold his soul or something to the maybe-devil in exchange for talent". He thinks he's the only human in the world who knows The Truth About Will Shaxberd, and it drives him mad that any attempt to explain it would make him sound like some conspiracy nut.

It's the sort of thing that could drive a man to irrationally hate a playwright and his ill-gotten gains, it really could.

(Which is highly hypocritical of him, seeing as he himself enjoys the boon of that very same maybe-devil - well, his sister’s, actually, not that Hob knows that - but it's aBOUT THE PRINCIPLE OF THE THING-)

And that's how Hob ends up as his university's #1 Shakespeare Hater.

.

And perhaps, Dream eventually explains to him who he is and how his boons work, and Hob suddenly realises he has to revise his entire spiteful opinion of William Shakespeare, who may have had a certain spark of talent of his own, after all...

And then, groping desperately for some reason to cling on to his increasingly irrational dislike of the man, Hob recalls how Will stole his date back in 1589, and breathes a sigh of relief at the realisation that he can carry on hating Shakespeare just as much as before, only now for a different reason.

(Not that saying "I hate Shakespeare because he stole my boyfriend" will make him sound any less like a nutter than insisting his talent came from magical intervention... but, well, it's a step in the right direction, isn’t it.)

#WyHeadcanons #the sandman #hob gadling #dreamling #i'm actually usually of the persuasion that hob thinks of shakespeare as something of a kindred spirit #the one other person that he knows has received Dream's blessing #but this option is just too funny to pass up #he doesn't hate shakespeare for a petty reason no sir #he just really genuinely thinks the man's sold his soul to the devil #committed supernatural fraud #whatever you want to call it #he KNOWS this he has PROOF he was THERE #the man's just a hack who caught the eye of a Higher Power! that's all!!! #hob is so frustrated that he can't convince the world of this #he's fundamentally misunderstanding the situation of course but it makes sense from his point of view #dream would probably be quite offended on will's behalf if he ever finds out #and have a long exasperated ramble about the nature of creativity and inspiration and stories and storytellers #'and ANOTHER THING- are you still listening hob gadling- yes good so-' #while hob is sitting there being lowkey smitten and only half paying attention #having already settled on his policy of ongoing shakespeare disdain #but he likes listening to dream having a bit of a passionate rant

[animentality]

seen some posts joking about gortash’s “anti-anxiety coat” due to the immune to frightened enchantment, and its probably not that deep or meta but i actually do find it a compelling look at how he really does walk around almost supernaturally fearless. like even when you threaten him he brushes it off like its funny or just nonsense, if worth reacting to at all! even when you meet him at the morphic pools to face down the netherbrain, his words convey a lack of confidence in winning but his tone and body language do not. and i think part of it is that he is insane (affectionate) but also, possibly, the power of the anti-anxiety coat lol.

he also does things like robbing the crown of karsus from the personal vault of the archdevil mephistopheles, and befriending a bhaalspawn on purpose. things that normal people or even average villains probably wouldnt dream of attempting, and he pulled them off near-flawlessly. but if he’s so effortlessly unflappable, why the coat enchantment right? the game could have made “immune to frightened” an inherent feature, but they made it something he only gains from his equipment. it’s just interesting to think about!

and since i am thinking about it… if we imagine that he is genuinely prone to anxiety or panic attacks, and has difficulty controlling it enough to be worried about appearances in public and have a whole enchanted coat about it, what do you think he’s actually scared of? does he have more of a generalised anxiety thanks to growing up in hell and etc, or do you think there are specific things that really get to him? is it other people? politics, secretly? the idea of powerlessness?

ironically i think the dark urge would probably be the only thing that genuinely does not scare him in the least, and couldnt if they tried.

I think that he was a scared little boy when his parents sold him to pay off their debts.

I don't believe his parents, when they said that he was a spiteful and hateful wretch from birth. Nubaldin says that they sold him to pay off a petty debt.

Now either of them could be lying, but I fail to see why Nubaldin would lie to you. He has no reason to, he just thinks you're one of the spirits of the damned.

Gortash's mom, on the other hand, would lie because she hates Gortash for tadpoling her, and it would be her justification for what she did to him. Plus, she's hoping you can save her, so she has to make herself look sympathetic.

So I think Gortash was hurt and abandoned, and enslaved by an awful devil, who allowed his servants to beat him black and blue. Everyone in the House of Hope is a miserable wretch. The Archivist mentions that his spine was like...I think punctured or broken for making a mistake?

And we know Nubaldin used to "bruise his knuckles" on Enver's "whimpering face."

So he must've been terrified, all of the time he spent imprisoned in the House of Hope. Of being punished, of being trapped there forever...

So when he manages to escape one day, slipping out due to a silly mistake on Nubaldin's part...

What's the first thing he would do?

Try to attain power. But not just because he's scared and wants to feel powerful! I actually have another theory.

See...some people data mined the game and discovered that Gortash might've been intended to be in the House of Hope at some point... because Raphael still has his contract.

So he's still not free of Raphael, even though he escaped him.

He has a note on his body, indicating that he might've been speaking with Helsik about going back, so he could get his contract, presumably.

Now imagine this poor lost young man...whose parents sold him. Who spent his childhood being tortured by souls of the damned and the devil and his servants.

He would never ever want to go back there. Not in life, not in death.

So what does he need to do?

Become powerful.

Strong enough to raid the hells, and either kill Raphael, or at least steal back his contract. so what does he turn to first?

Weapons. The black market. People who know about slipping in and out of the hells, and how to kill monsters, demons, and all other manner of creature.

Then, he needs to curry favor with a powerful god. One who can help him. One who can use him, for his fear and desperation. Who is a good god to turn to for that?

Bane. God of tyranny. Someone who could have use for him, if only he was clever and ruthless enough. And young Enver Gortash has a lot to prove.

And he would be drawn to the power of Bane, the ability to force others to submit to your will.

And the Dead Three?

That's even more power for him to obtain.

Siding with Ketheric, finding the Dark Urge...

I mean.

Listen.

Just on a character level, a powerless abuse victim seeking power does make sense...but I also think.

Wouldn't it be interesting, if he was doing all of this, so that he could both obtain power for himself...and also obtain the power he would need to kill Raphael?

Just food for thought.

Anyway.

Off topic.

Back to the subject of his cloak...well.

He would never want to be afraid again.

Fake it till you make it. Maybe he made or bought the cloak with the no fear enchantment so that he could fake confidence and power, until he actually had it?

Either way, it makes sense with his backstory. It's also so goddamn sad.

Also, he should be afraid of the dark urge, but isn't. Maybe that's why they were drawn to one another.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #enver gortash #dark urge

[limpfisted]

While I would prefer to make it so that wyll has more agency over his own narrative

I find it extremely interesting he just CANT make decisions by himself

Like to me, that's a character beat!

Like he can make a decision to sacrifice himself, and to hurt people he thinks "deserve" it, again and again, but by the end of the game, he no longer trusts himself to make that kind of decision

He was wrong about karlach. Who knows how many other "devils."

Given the choice between himself and his father. His father, who WILL most likely have a good after life, and in dnd u know like. After life's exist, and are much longer than human lifespans and wyll is fully cognizant of like. The fact his father won't really suffer when he dies, like wyll will for all of eternity

He doesn't trust himself. He thought he couldn't get out of his pact. He had given up on his freedom. He BELIEVED in his choice. And now... now he doesn't know what to believe. He knows you are his PROTECTOR and his light in the darkness, his light in the dysphoriq and the realization he has been more corrupted by this deal (not just physically. Again. How many more karlachs were there.) And he had learned THROUGH you just how bad his "learned helplessness" is while also mozora drives down the point that he IS trapped, he IS punished, and he still doesn't know what he'll do without her and it's like

Of course he can't fucking decide, man

Thats an impossible choice for HIM. If u look at everything u learn about him. This is the ultimate evil move on mizoras side because she LET you dangle freedom over wyll. His pact wasn't even completely broken. He still had six more months. And u know what? Before he met you, wyll might have just have gone on like this with mizora indefinitely. Never being able to tell people about mizora or his Father. How is he supposed to get close enough to someone, for them to show him what his freedom really means?

You MADE it an impossible choice. Befor3 this adventure he would have simply sold his soul again. No questions asked. Hes had just a taste of freedom, though. Just a taste of personhood. He has friends now. He has people he can genuinely trust who aren't MANIPULATING him or keeping him on a leash

He NEEDS you. He trusts you! You saved him.

He literally. He literally just can't make this decision alone and whatever you choose for him hell stand by

And that's great! That's a great flaw and arc!

If the game had taken this to its conclusion and had like. A scene like astarion at his grave where wyll just takes you aside and tells you. Thank you for choosing for me. Thank you for being MY light. I trust you. I dont know what I'm doing anymore. I'm scared and lost and this is all so overwhelming. All I have had for seven years is mizora. Before that all I had was my father. I dont know how to choose myself and not them. I still don't. But I know I was right to choose to be by your side.

This is a GREAT and IMPORTANT narrative about abuse, about trust, about "heroism."

But there's no... conclusion. The iron throne/steel foundry/wyrm/gortash is this big epic quest 2hich is basically a whole act in and of itself centered basically entirely around wylls life and wylls arc and wyll and his Father (also saving the world, but baldurs gate is WYLLS. No one else can become Duke but wyll.) But wyll doesn't really get the chance to react

Like broe? Honestly. If you just add a bunch of wyll reaction and maybe even something as simple as SOME MORE DIALOGUE TREES, doesn't even have to be like a whole cutscene!. This is a compelling narrative! By itself! You don't really need to change stuff! Wyll is an INTERESTING CHARACTER! Just add some stuff!!!

Me @ larian. If yall don't get theo Solomon back in that mo cap suit right now talking about his trauma as explicitly as astarion got to

He is NOT boring. He is just the greatest victim of the act 3 curse. Help

#ooc #hc

[multifandomtrash69]

An impossible Hit

Lucifer x OC

Miriam looked down at her phone screen frowning. This can’t be right she muttered to herself looking the name of her latest target. He’s supposed to be in hell. She was so busy paying attention to her phone that she didn’t notice she’d ran into someone.

Oh I’m so sorry I- , she looked up at the stranger and she immediately froze. That’s quite alright darling. oh uh, hi I’m Miriam lodge, she said extending her hand. She noticed a flicker of recognition in his eyes for a moment before he spoke. Lucifer Morningstar. He replied shaking her hand.

Well this was nice but I’d best be going, she dusted her self off and hurried away. Once she was far enough away she stopped to catch her breath. Questions raced through her mind; How was he here? Why did the client want him dead? And most importantly, why didn’t he seem like the same being that had hired her a few hundred years ago?

She knew this job was going to be a lot harder than she’d originally hoped. She just didn’t know exactly how hard. She glanced back they way she’d come to make sure he was gone before continuing down the road to her apartment. She’d rented one because she didn’t know how long this contract would take

Once she was Inside and had locked the door behind her she collapsed on the couch and took a few deep breaths while staring at the wall. For someone who’s just seen the devil you don’t seem very scared. She sat up startled and turned around to find Lucifer standing in her apartment .

How the hell did you get in here!?, Really darling? You’ve resorted to puns now?. she rolled her eyes at him and stood up, she walked towards him. And more importantly why aren’t you in hell? I’m on vacation, you know how boring hell can get.

He stepped closer to her, so close she could smell his cologne. Why are you here darling?, her mind went fuzzy for a second before she shook him out. With a blank look on her face she replied, To kill you. And how do you think that’s going to go?

He got even closer to her. She tried to step back but he had ahold of her arm and pulled her back to him. Not well I’d assume, she said quietly trying to hide the fact that her voice was quivering. I knew you were smart Miriam.

You remember me?. of course I do, you didn’t think I’d forget someone I punished did you?, he let her go and she stepped back. Who’s paying you?. I didn’t ask for a name, I just know he’s a demon who wants you back in hell.

I’ll double whatever he offered. Who do you need taken care of?, no one at the moment. You’ll owe me a favor. You want me to make another deal with the devil? The last one got me forced immortality!

He chuckled a bit, sorry about that, but I had no choice. Had no choice!? You could’ve just let him go, then you wouldn’t have had to curse me. Let him go? He was sold to me darling.

Sold to you? I-I didn’t know that.. , of course you didn’t. Why would you?, who would sell an innocent soul?. It’s rather tragic really, his own brother sold his soul to settle a debt.

How could someone do that to their own family?. She was silent and he noticed that she seemed genuinely upset for that man’s soul. He moved closer to her again and this time she didn’t pull away. As he pulled her into a hug, he could feel her crying.

She rested her head on his chest and cried. When she finally composed herself she wiggled out of his grasp and wiped her face. I’m sorry about that. Its quite alright, but may I ask why you’re so saddened by this.

I don’t know, I know I have no right to be sad because i kill for a living but I just couldn’t believe someone could be so selfish. Just because you’re job requires you to deliver punishment doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to be upset by death.

Thank you, I almost wish I didn’t have to kill you. You’re still going to do that?, he looked shocked. Until she started laughing. No, I’m not going to kill you, on one condition.

And what might that be?, you give me protection from the person who hired me. He thought for a moment, deal. He extended his hand and she shook it. Really? There’s not a catch is there?

He chuckled , of course there’s a catch, I’m the devil. She rolled her eyes at him, what’s the catch than?. I’m glad you ask, I can only protect you if you’re close to me. so in exchange for my help, you’ll be required to work as a server at my club.

That’s it? I can do that. Great, now that everything is settled, I have a party to be at.

Thank you for everything. Of course darling,

I’ll see you Monday night at 8 for your first shift. In the meantime if you need me, I’ve left a number you can reach me at on your phone.

How did you-, nevermind. Goodbye Miriam.

Bye Lucifer. He smiled at her and left her apartment. She plopped back down on her couch and stared at the wall, what have I gotten myself into?

2 months later

When Miriam agreed to Lucifer’s deal she’d expected that he would’ve been able to protect her. He didn’t, and now she was in a dark warehouse with a demon who’s name she didn’t know who wanted to hurt her.

Why didn’t you do what you were payed to do you bitch! Because I was offered more not to. Who would pay you not to kill satan himself!?

I don’t have to disclose that information to you. What the hell do you mean you don’t-, suddenly a loud bang rang through the room. Stay here while I figure out what idiot just interrupted me. I can’t exactly go anywhere, but alright. Miriam answered looking down and her bound hands and feet.

He just groaned and left the room. Miriam breathed a sigh of relief, then she felt another presence in the room. Who’s there? She asked shakily, the person didn’t answer. Then she heard footsteps getting closer to her, please don’t hurt me! She murmured softly.

Hurt you? I’m hurt that you still think so little Of me. Miriam would recognize that voice anywhere. Lucifer! You found me!, and from the sound of things just in time. He stepped into the light. Now let’s get you untied.

Once she was untied they began to look for a way out. Who made that noise to distract him? Maze, she insisted on coming with me. Remind me to thank her once we get out of here. Of course, they finally found away out and made it back to his car. They got in and he started to pull away.

Aren’t we going to wait for Maze?, She’ll find her way back, your captor and her have some catching up to do. She looked at him questioningly, what’s that supposed to mean?

He’s her son. Oh, I didn’t know she had any kids

She doesn’t, well not biologically. Ah I see, well thanks for saving me. Of course, have you giving anymore thought to my offer? I have, and after tonight I think I’ll take you up on it.

Great, I’ll have someone move your things in the morning. Ok, she replied yawning. Being kidnapped sure dose take a lot out of you. Of course it does. Let’s get you home where you can rest. She didn’t answer and he looked over and noticed she was sleeping. He smiled and turned back to look at the road.

Two weeks later

It had been two weeks since Miriam moved into the penthouse with Lucifer. She was still getting used to living with someone as she’d been alone most of her life.

They also hadn’t discussed the obvious fact that Miriam had feelings for him. Miriam was heading downstairs to hang out with maze, she knew what was going to happen but she went anyway.

No sooner had she plopped down on a bar stool did maze ask the dreaded question. When are you going to tell him?, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Come on Miriam.. even he knows at this point.

Her faced turned red, wait.. are you serious?, No

She smirked at her. Damn it Maze!, what has she done now?, a familiar voice asked from behind Miriam. She turned red again and looked down at her drink.

Miriam? Are you ok ?, uh yeah.., she managed to stammer out. You don’t sound ok, he turned to maze. What’s wrong with her?, she looked up at her with pleading eyes.

She’s just tired, alright, I have a few people to mingle with. See you both later. He walked away and disappeared into the crowd. Thank you so much maze!, don’t get used to it M.

I’m going back upstairs, if Lucifer asks I went back to bed. She nodded her and went back to taking orders. Miriam went over to the elevator and went back up to her room.

She closed her bedroom door behind her and flopped onto her bed. What’s wrong with me?! I haven’t felt like this since I was with Mark before I was cursed. And even then it wasn’t this strong, are we soulmates? I’m so conflicted!

She grabbed a pillow and screamed into it. That’s better, She tossed the pillow at the door and rolled over to lay on her back. She was just staring at the ceiling when someone knocked on her door.

Miriam are you ok?, I’m fine Lucifer. Do you need something?. Yes, may I come in?, sure I guess. He came in and closed the door behind him. Maze told me I’d find you here, why were you looking for me? There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.

Really?, Miriam sat up suddenly. Yes, may I sit?

She nodded and he sat next to her on the bed. What’s going on?, he didn’t respond he just closed the space between them and kissed her.

Miriam melted into the kiss, when they broke apart she was speechless.

You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that love. And you have no Idea how long I’ve wanted you to do that, dose this mean that you feel the same way? She gently took his hand and held it. Of course I do Luci, I have for a long time.

Why didn’t you tell me-, wait what did you call me?, Luci? It’s a nickname I came up with for you, do you like it?, I love it Miriam. I’m glad.. it would’ve been awkward if you didn’t like it.

A few weeks later

Fuck!, that was the only thought drifting through Miriam’s mind as she stared at the plastic stick in her hand. Because she’s immortal she seemed to have forgotten that she, like most other woman could get pregnant.

She banged her fist on the bathroom counter in anger, she wasn’t ready to be a mom and she was certain Lucifer wasn’t ready to be a dad. But she knew she had to tell him at some point. Her thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a knock at the door, Speak of the devil.

Miriam? Are you alright in there?, Yes! I’m fine! I’ll be out in minute. Ok, I’ll be waiting for you. She took a deep breath and put the test in her pocket and left the bathroom.

When she made it into the living room he was waiting on the couch for her. Ah good, you’re ready!, wait! Before we go I need to talk to you about something important. Of course, what’s going on? You may want to sit down for this.

He obliged and you reached into your pocket and pulled out the test. I don’t know how to tell you this Luci but.. I’m pregnant. He stared at her for a moment. That’s wonderful darling!, really? I thought you’d be upset.

Why would I be upset?, I know you don’t care for children all that much. I don’t, but I know how being a mom is something you’ve always wanted so I’ll just have to get used to it. She stared at him in disbelief for a moment. I think I just fell in love with you all over again.

He stood up and pulled her into a gentle kiss. When they broke apart he linked his arm through hers. We must be going now, we’re already late.

Where are we going again?, it’s a surprise.

You know I hate surprises Lucifer, I do.. but I think you’ll like this one. I wouldn’t be so sure. They left the building and got into his car. She kept asking where they were going but he’d just smirk at her and return his eyes to the road.

When they finally stopped she looked around and realized where they were, why are we here? Are you trying to bring back traumatic memories?

He chuckled a bit, just follow me. He helped her out of the car and led her inside the warehouse.

Once the lights came on she was immediately taken aback, it was beautiful! Fairy lights twinkled above them and in the middle of the room was a single table with two chairs. Somewhere Violin music began playing.

May I have this dance? He asked with a bow. Miriam nodded and they began to dance. When the song was finished they sat down at the table and with a snap of his fingers Lucifer made a beautiful meal appear on the table.

Once they had finished eating, Miriam got up and turned to leave but he grabbed her arm and gently turned her around. She gasped and her hand flew to her mouth, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, Lucifer was on one knee in front of her.

He pulled out a black velvet box and opened it, Miriam Annalisa Lodge, Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?, yes! Of course I will Luci!, he slipped the ring on her finger and stood up. He pulled her into a kiss and they stayed that way for a few minutes.

When they finally split, she rested her head on his chest as he held her. I finally have a real family again. What do you mean?, well my parents died when I was young and then I was cursed and had to watch who I thought was my soul mate die.

Wow.. I didn’t realize how much pain I caused you, It’s ok now. How can you say that?, because I have you and our baby. Besides how else would I have realized you were my soulmate?, I’m not sure but I’m glad you did.

She chuckled slightly. what?, nothing i was just thinking how crazy it is that someone my parents taught me to hate would be the love of my life. Oh your parents were religious then?, very.. they always told me that if I lied I’d go to hell. Oh really? What did they say about me? You were evil and wanted to bring pain and suffering to all those who sin.

Well, they were wrong, I only punish people who truly deserve it.

A couple months later

Unfortunately life doesn’t always turn out how we want it to. Two things have happened in the couple months it’s been since we’ve seen our main character, one happy and one decidedly less so.

Miriam was once again crying in the bathroom, this time though it was because she’d lost her baby a couple weeks earlier. Despite today being her wedding day she couldn’t keep the thought of her daughter out of her head long enough to keep it together.

She was startled by a knock on the door. M are you ok? Can I come in?, no I’m not ok. She stood up from the chair she was sitting in and walked to open the door. Maze walked in and closed the door behind her.

He’s waiting for you y’know, I know I’m just having trouble keeping it together. She burst into tears again, wait here M. She nodded and Maze left the room, a few minutes late she came back with Lucifer.

What’s going on love? Maze says you’re feeling down. I just miss my baby so much, i'm disapointed my body can't even do that right after all i've been through in my life. He walked over to her and pulled her into a tight hug. It's going to be ok love, we'll get through this.

I know it’s just hard, anyway let’s go get married!, the two of them left the bathroom and headed out to the chapel. as the ceremony began she couldn’t help but wish her parents were here to see her marrying the very being they’d always feared.

-time skip brought to you by me sucking at writing-

It is by the power invested in me by the state of California I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride, Lucifer pulled her into a kiss and when they broke apart everyone clapped. they headed down the aisle and out of the chapel.

She didn’t know what their lives would hold in the future but she knew she was ready.

[alpacaparkaseok]

The Escape Room

requested by anon (lol although I know who it is now 👀👀) - a picture of your request will be at the bottom of the post! thanks for the fun prompt!

Pairing: Jin x reader

Premise: Three words: competitive. escape. room.

Warnings: none. what you are about to witness is pure fluff. 

___________________________

"JEON JUNGKOOK GET YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME!” You shout as you watch the maknae of the group scrambling from one end of the room to the other. “You too, Seokjin! I’m not about to spend my paycheck buying someone’s dinner!”

Taehyung cackles, giving you a high-five as you run past him, carrying a small portrait in your hands and hanging it up on the opposite wall. You stare at it for a moment before rotating it 90 degrees. An audible click sounds in the small room, and Jungkook lets out a shout of triumph. 

In the escape room next door you can hear Yoongi, Namjoon, Hobi, and Jimin collectively groaning in annoyance. 

It’s like music to your ears. 

You grin, rushing to the door that has just unlocked. It looks like there's only one room left, which is all the better. There’s no way you’re going to be roped into buying dinner for the opposing team. Not when you barely make above minimum wage and have sold your soul to the devil that is higher education. 

Jin isn’t displaying quite the same amount of vigor the other two boys are, instead he’s caught in the middle of the room while the rest of you rush out, making you turn back to him with an arched brow. He’s staring at you with wide eyes, clearly lost inside him own head.

Ears turning a little red at being caught staring, Jin clears his throat and follows after you into the next room. Together, the four of you begin to scour the room for clues. 

Jin grins at your enthusiasm, making a mental note to thank Sejin for bailing at the last second on their afternoon together. As an apology he sent you in his stead, claiming that you were sure to put Namjoon’s team in their place once and for all. 

“Tae, can you reach that book up there?” You ask so politely that it has Jin wondering if you’re the same person that was just shouting orders mere seconds ago. 

Either way, Jin doesn’t care. The only thing he knows is that he’s a goner. 

“I-I’ll get it,” Jin curses himself for his nervous stutter, but brushes it off. “Which book?”

Taehyung and Jungkook share a knowing look, grinning like school children. What neither you nor Jin know is that Sejin didn’t “accidentally bail”. No, he sent you as a part of a larger plot. 

For weeks, Sejin has been going on and on about you and how you’re a perfect match for the eldest member of BTS. He’d wanted to prove it, so naturally he’d created the perfect scenario.

You, and all seven members of BTS at an escape room. Competing against each other. 

And somehow ending up on the same team as an unsuspecting Seokjin who had immediately turned a little red when you greeted him. 

Needless to say, Taehyung and Jungkook knew that things were going along quite nicely. 

“Here you go,” Jin says, passing you the red book you had immediately set your eye on. You smile up at him tentatively, overjoyed when he returns the smile with his own dazzling one. 

Together the two of you bring the book over to the table in the middle of the room and begin leafing through it while Jungkook and Taehyung busy themselves with other tasks. 

Jin doesn’t want to admit that he hasn’t looked at a single page of this book. He’s been too busy marveling at the way your eyes light up and what it does to his heart. Without even thinking about it, he stands a little closer to you. Hopefully you won’t notice. 

You definitely do, but you’re not complaining. Especially not as Jin leans down to point something out on the page and he almost completely covers you with his body.

“You see, this page looks like a map of the room,” Jin says quietly, for your ears only. “Do you think it might have some hints hidden in it?”

You suck on your lower lip, nodding along. “Ooh, very smart Seokjin. But...why are we whispering?”

Jin smiles, the action enough to nearly knock you off of your feet. “Well...how about we team up? Just the two of us? We’ll split the reward.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to face him, heart rate picking up at the way Jin’s eyes slowly trace the lines of your face. He’s close enough that all it would take is getting up on your tippy-toes - 

“If you wanted to ask her out to dinner, just say it hyung.”

The spell is broken by Jungkook’s giggles as Taehyung smirks at his brother from the opposite end of the table. As though dunked in freezing water, the both of you jump back. 

“What?” Jin gasps, feigning innocence. “Why were you two listening in on our conversation?! I get no respect-”

“Hyung,” Jungkook interrupts. “You do realize that we’re in a very small room, right?”

“Yeah, but-”

“Anyways,” you cut in, “Let’s finish this thing and win! Hurry up, Jungkook. Haven’t you guys found anything?”

It takes another agonizing eight minutes to bust out of the room, Taehyung and Jungkook running through the door at lightning speed. You laugh at their reaction, falling into step beside Jin and walking at a leisurely pace. 

You’re about three steps away from the door and sweet, sweet victory when Jungkook jumps up and closes it on you.

Jin leaps forward, pounding at the door and laughing. “Yah! Open up!”

Jungkook’s muffled voice is heard from the other side. “Not until you ask her out like a man!”

If you could melt through the floor, you would. You laugh awkwardly, putting your head in your hands. Jin continues knocking on the door, slowly losing his original vigor. 

Once he falls silent in his pleas you look up to see him already looking at you. The expression on his face makes him look a little lost, but he swallows thickly before speaking with assumed confidence. 

“I...there’s really no pressure, but if you wanted to, I’d love to-”

The sounds of the other group exiting their escape room cuts Jin off, making him turn an even brighter shade of red. 

“Where’s the rest of your team?” Hobi asks. Taehyung and Jungkook laugh darkly. 

“Spending some alone time on the other side of that door.”

Jin whips around, prepared to knock the door down. “Taehyung-ah! You take that back right now or so help me I’ll....I’ll...” He turns to you with a shocked expression. “Quick, I need something intimidating.”

Stepping up beside Jin, you join him in pounding the door. “Or we’ll cut holes into all of your socks!”

Jin laughs, the sound making you laugh along with him. “Yeah! Watch it!”

Looking up at Jin, you give him a little nudge. “Hey.”

He pauses for a moment, his face red from the exertion. “Yeah?”

“Aren’t you gonna ask me out?”

Tension dissolving from his body in an instant, Jin gives you a genuine smile. A little timid at first, but growing until he can no longer contain his glee. 

“Oh, definitely. What are you doing after this?”

masterlist

#jin x reader #jin x y/n #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts fluff #jin fluff #kim seokjin #Seokjin x reader #seokjin fluff #wwh #wwh u know #bts as your friends #idol!jin #idol!bts

[graysonxkennedy]

@wellsxcampbellx​

James Haggan was a very successful man, as impressive as he was intimidating. Much like his son, they both had winsome qualities that lured people in, bent them to their bidding. Unlike Gray’s mother, James was a self-made millionaire. Many would say he sold his soul to the devil but if anyone dared ask him, he would say he was just his advocate. Most of his clients were filthy rich and he knew the law well enough to find any loophole to get them what they wanted, which in turn, got him what he wanted. Gray never quite understood how his mother, the sweetest, most genuine person he had ever met, ever fell for a man like him. Except he could see it, oftentimes in his own mirror, the features eerily resembling the man he tried so hard to differentiate himself from yet, deep inside, constantly sought his approval, acceptance. Nothing he seemed to do, achieve, was good enough for James. While his sister received all the adoration, Grayson was nothing but a disappointment, palpable in every interaction. Having to sit down and stomach dinner with the man, his new girlfriend, her son who received more attention from his own father than he did the entire time, and his twin sister, the only reason why he was there in the first place, was just torturous. At least the drinks were being rang on his father’s tab, and even though Gray wasn’t really that into strong spirits, he had already lost count of how many Old Fashions he had been drinking. It hadn’t really been the brightest idea, but his last resort. There was no winning with his father, drunk or not, so if he had to sit there and hear it all from the man whose name he had to bear, then at least he might do so in a state that would help him forget all about it in the morning. 

Gray wasn’t sure when exactly he made the decision to take a detour and go straight to Wells’ place instead of his own. His phone kept vibrating in his pocket, mostly his sister texting, he could assume, making sure he got home okay, probably also saying something along the lines of you didn’t have to go there, regarding one or two things he might’ve spat diligently at his father across the table right before he stole grabbed the glass he had been drinking from and exited the restaurant not without wishing his old man a happy fucking birthday, dad! If he had been any less drunk than he was, he would’ve realized how bad it was for him to just show up at Wells’ unannounced. For all he knew, he might not even be there. Or maybe he was, with better company. Gray didn’t really have a lot of time to think about it, his entire outfit and semblance all disheveled, his vision completely blurry and his footing unbalanced. He wasn’t even sure how me managed to make it to the architect’s door, completely missing the bell and instead opting for a few lazy knocks as he held onto the wall. 

“Hey Campbell!” Gray called from the other side of the door at the sound of steps, his face immediately lighting up in anticipation. The bottom line was, he needed a distraction and Wells was it. Another truth was the fact that Wells was always on his mind, even now when he couldn’t think straight and he slurred his words. No one could shake Gray quite like his dad and, most times, other than a few one too many drinks, he’d just try to get it all out with some random stranger. It was easy. It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t have to explain himself. He didn’t need to worry about being perfect. It was exhausting. Being perfect. All. The. Time. He clearly wasn’t. But this? He wouldn’t have wanted Wells to see this side of him. Not if he had a say in it. He was too drunk. All he wanted was Wells. Badly. “Surprise.” Gray grinned when the door finally gave way, pushing himself off the wall. The odds of finding Wells there a Saturday night weren’t completely lost on him. “So I was... just passing by and I thought... it’s been a week, right? I mean, sure, we’ve fucked in under a week before but, a week is good so you don’t have to panic about... this.” He waved his hands between them which meant he stopped holding himself against the wall and missed a step, bringing him a little closer to Wells, hands immediately moving over his chest and under his shirt. “I really fucking want you right now. I mean, no one quite pleases me like you do.” The words were borrowed from a forlorn night at Tribeca, where the roles were reversed and it was Wells who was drunk enough to let things slip. This time, his hands slip too, just below Well’s waistband, grinning. 

#wells: its easier for us to hide #wells: share your address

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

I’m back on my bullshit and we have GOT TO TALK about 13x08 The Scorpion and the Frog; which serves as a good example of why you should not ONLY watch spn episodes with Cas (partially because of that scene I shamefully blogged about earlier - no I will not link that cursed post here).  The episode title comes from a fable in which the villain is the scorpion.  Interpretations of this fable note its uniqueness lies in the concept that “the scorpion is irrationally self destructive and fully aware of it.”

To quote the scorpion, buddies -  “it’s in my nature.”

Anyway, this episode is subtextually predicated on exploring Dean Winchester’s nature and specifically - his bisexuality, and I’m not only saying that because it opens with Dean in his Bi Colors Plaid (that also he wore on his burger date with Cas).

Let’s get started, after the cut!

Season 13 on its face gives me absolute whiplash because it starts widow arc-reunion-TOMBSTONE and then Jack yeets himself off to Chuck knows where so Cas can go out Looking For Him Because Otherwise He Will Definitely Kiss Dean there is no other option for the writers at this point.  Sigh.  Here, have another shot of Dean anxiously cleaning his gun as he always does when Cas has Gone Off For Reasons -

Anyway, this feels like a filler episode at first, but as always they bury the ENTIRE damn world in it and I am here with my dossier to Unearth It.

Lets start with Bart (demon of terrible nicknames and microagressions) meeting the brothers at Smile Diner to talk about some spell or whatever. 

(I am not thinking about the Cherry Pie meta I AM NOT)

THEY HAVE THE AUDACITY to start with these lines immediately introducing the theme of duality, a thread throughout this episode.

BARTHAMUS

Everything. I've been following your careers a long time. You're a real pain in the pitchfork. And the halo. Natural disrupters. We have that in common, you and I. DEAN

Mm. Yeah, we're twinsies.

***MORE DUALITY!  But as we know, Dean does not like Bart because He Is A Freakin’ Demon

DEAN

Well, see, here's the thing. When a demon tells us to jump, we don't ask how high. We just ice their ass.

UMMM excuse me Barting Bacting Boices?  What is that sexual gaze?  

Then we find out that Bart has 1/2 of the spell.  They need the other 1/2.  Oh, a spell with two parts, you say? [ I am going to scream :) ]

***Also, Dean eats the pie Bart ordered.  I cannot begin to explain to you the state of unwellness that I am in regarding how important this is. DEAN NEVER GETS TO EAT THE PIE, remember?  But in This Filler Episode, Dean eats the pie. While Sam looks at him with a very quizzical expression.  Pie -> what Dean wants but never actually gets -> Dean actively eating this pie.  Dean is coming to terms that maybe he can have what he wants.

***I am reminding you again that this is post widower-arc, post-reunion, and especially post-Tombstone.  Anyway-

Now we get to Smash and Grab.  Not literally even though I want to Commit Such Conduct at this point.  We are introduced to two one off characters named 

Smash (human/female presenting) -  can crack any safe built by man 

and Grab (demon/male presenting)-  expert in bypassing supernatural security.

Reaching or no, you can’t disagree that when spn introduces one off characters - it is almost always a Narrative Parallel or Mirror.

So we have a human and a demon (and Dean Winchester, a human who has been a demon)

who are experts in cracking open/bypassing something that has been secured and guarded (breaking down walls, if you will).  

They also use fake names identifying them as Tools to be Used ( Dean Winchester, the Michael Sword/daddys blunt little instrument)

BONUS:

Dean himself is literally used as a tool in this episode.

So yeah.  Smash and Grab are physical representations of Dean’s duality.  Human/Demon.  Femininity/Masculinity.  Dare we say something else, too?

Anyway, Dean is paired with Smash and Grab; Sam is off to idk negotiate weird artifact purchases lawboy style with Luther Shrike, a man who cannot die so long as he never leaves his house (I cannot even begin to unpack this shit; please just sit there and think about it.  I’m not even going there here.  I CANNOT DISCUSS Luther Shrike RN).

Speaking of things I cannot discuss without halgdhsag;lsa - Smash has very Specific boots (a look overall, really).

DEAN

Hey, Winona. The '90s called. They'd like their shoes back. SMASH

Shh.

***That’s right girl - do not take his shit; he actually LOVES them and is therefore Overcompensating for it with this little jab.

***Dean’s pop culture references and particular attention to the details here Should Not Be Overlooked.  90s! Winona! Ryder!

ANYWAY, then Dean and Smash bond over a caffeinated beverage -

[While Dean is doing a spell, Smash opens a can of drink, takes a mouthful and burps loudly. ] SMASH

Ahh. DEAN

You're weird.

***This scene makes me literally insane. (even aside from Dean living on something named NERVE DAMAGE as a KID.  They could have called it anything. You’re saying this wasn’t a Choice)  

She chugs a swallow of the drink and burps.  Something stereotypically associated with masculinity.  Not feminine.  Dean’s reaction is that she is “weird” - because she is not acting in a way stereotypically, J*hn Winchester brain-rot patriarchy bullshit-tily associated with Being Female.  But also, says the stupid show, they like the same soda.  They are The Same.  She shares the soda with Dean.  HIS FACE WHEN SHE DOES -

Other similarities are addressed throughout the episode (they are working for demons because they have no choice; they don’t discuss feelings/emotions, they both sold their soul, they both This Thing - 

DEAN

You know, we could help you. SMASH

No, you can't. I gotta take care of me.

etc. etc.) Smash is absolutely dean-coded.

****Also it’s textually established that Smash thinks Dean is attractive -

GRAB

[looking at Smash] Oh. You said he was just a pretty face. SMASH 

Shh.

***But Grab flirts with him too.

DEAN

I will kill you. GRAB

I bet you say that to all the girls.

***sorry, Grab - you won’t get far with Dean, but only because as he mentioned in the beginning of this episode - 

Drowley rights.

Now Dean has to put his hand in the mouth of this stone lion thing and all of a sudden he is acting....very-not-like-Dean.

[Dean looks again and takes a deep breath.] DEAN

I… how about this? What if I cut myself, put it on, like, a little piece of paper? We'll just wad it up and throw it in the mouth, okay? Okay. 

***Dean Winchester, who has been to Literal HELL, who has been torn apart by hellhounds, who has battled the devil and angels and God’s sister - all at the expense of his own life is now - afraid of spiders.  Well, technically he has always been afraid of spiders, but why isn’t ‘he being performative about it At This Time??

***Come to think of it, this sends me right back to how Jackles was playing Dean in 12x11 Regarding Dean THE episode dissecting Dean’s performative masculinity [one day I will clean up and post that analysis sitting in my drafts like a sad hamster]. That makes sense actually, because -> -> ->

that episode and this one are both written by Meredith Glynn.  Girl get in I want to torture you affectionately with a barrage of questions.

So here we have Dean and he’s not performing for Reasons, and he’s scared he’s genuinely scared of putting his hand in this stone lion-gargoyle-pig-creature’s mouth and then -

Smash gives him a push.

She gives him a push.  I cannot stop thinking about how she gives him a push.  A push to go do this thing that he is scared of; his fear being something he was hiding under his performative masculinity. Smash - dean coded dean mirror who does not perform femininity and is ‘weird’ -  she   gives   him   a     p u s h.

***linking here for the jackting joices that follow.

Now, let’s circle back to Smash’s story; why she is working for Bart in the first place -

SMASH

You think I wanna be here? Like I have a choice? SAM

You made a deal. SMASH

Wow! You think? SAM

You sold your soul. SMASH

And if I could take it back, I would. 

there is no reason for this picture here other than I needed you to see the jackting again

***How does the story end for Smash?

DEAN

Take care of you. [Dean glances down at the box, and then at Smash. She sees that Dean has put a lighter on top of the bones.]  BARTHAMUS

Alice, chop chop! 

[Bart indicates she should get his bones]. SMASH

Yeah. [She grabs the lighter and sets Bart's bones alight. Bart screams as he bursts into flames. ] 

***She accepts help and breaks free from the narrative, literally burning it down. The female presenting but not female-performing “weird” ooc representing a side of Dean breaks FREE because she makes a choice.  The lighter Dean drops? It’s a push.  And she goes with it.

Alice reclaims her story.

(Also, Grab gets ganked.  The male presenting ooc; the performative masculinity side; the demon; the darkness; the not-humanity - gets ganked).

Guess what Dean says to Alice when they say goodbye?

DEAN

Hey, Alice. Stay weird.

[I know the peace sign is probably just a Charlie throwback but I’d still like to say duality.  Two. ]

Dean’s not just talking to Alice.  He’s talking to himself; because the walls have been breached and for once Dean isn’t as scared of being different.  Maybe, just maybe, he’s going along with the push.  That’s exactly how the episode ends - with Dean feeling a little more hopeful, a little more at peace; a little more Considering he is capable of not only loving Cas but also not hating himself for it. 

[until the knowledge that Mary is still alive and the guilt of allowing himself ANY happy thoughts instead of looking for her miserably rears its ugly head in 13x09 and round and round we go but for NOW at least -> ]

DEAN

I'll drink to that.

(oh look Dean is just wearing his henley.  It’s almost as if a layer has been peeled back).

tagging @im-shaking-like-milk​ and @deanwasalwaysbi​ for letting me ramble on to them while writing this; and @lilac-void​ because you are always so kind about my stuff :)

#my spn meta #spn analysis #spn 13x08 #bi!dean #destiel #deancas #hellerism #spn #supernatural #spn fandom #spn family #spn meta

[thethousandyearwitch]

Fatal Taste

“The townspeople believe you’re some kind of evil spirit or monster-” he laughed lightly, not sure if it was because of that ridiculous thought, or because of the soft lips that were caressing the underside of his jaw. “Oh, Ging,” Pariston sighed against his skin in a way that chased goosebumps up his spine. “They are right.” -----------

Ging Freecss has been summoned by his elusive pen-pal Pariston Hill, to examine his claim of a rare and unheard of art collection. Even despite the warnings and difficulties on the way, he was not prepared for what awaited him at the artful mansion.

M-Rated; Vampire!Pariston Hill x Art Appraiser!Ging Freecss.

AO3 Link!

It was the height of summer, as a horse drawn carriage made its way into a small valley village, about 8 miles off the coast, 20 miles from the country’s capital. The sky was mostly clear, and hungry crows on fenceposts watched the carriage pass between grazing fields. The carriage itself didn’t carry a heavy load, just some imported goods from the harbour destined to be sold in the capital, the carriage driver, and a stranger to the country, with messy black hair and rough beard stubble, who had asked for a lift. During the ride he kept mostly quiet, though he introduced himself as “Ging Freecss”.

As they reached the village’s main plaza, the man hopped of the carriage, and bid the driver goodbye with a thanks and some money he had pulled from his trousers, seemingly with no mind paid to how much he was actually giving out.

There wasn’t much to this town, a couple rows of houses with dusted windows, a quaint pub with a few tables decked outside, one of which was occupied by an elderly couple, and a shrine to a local god adorned with candles and food offerings. Ging decided to sit down for a brief rest at the pub, grateful to take refuge in the shade of a sun umbrella next to the tables.

After a short while, a short and stout young woman greeted him and offered him a menu, though he knew well that all he wanted to order was a cold beer. And his wish got fulfilled, as she returned quickly with half a litre of local beer and some trail mix in a bowl. The waitress spoke up with a bubbly voice. “We don’t get many outsiders, sir, you’ve must have had quite a trip. Are you on your way to the capital?”

Ging took a large gulp of his drink before he replied, welcomed the cool chill that chased down his throat. “Ah, No, though I heard it’s a beautiful old city. I’m here to appraise someone’s art collection. Do you think you could help me find an address, actually?” He handed the waitress a neatly folded letter and pointed at the sender’s address. She mustered the handwriting closely before gasping lightly.

“That’s mister Hill’s manor! How do you know him, sir?”

At the same time, the old man at the other table turned around with a stern look. “You must not go there if you value your life, son.”

“I’ve only been in correspondence with him over letters, and though he seems like a weird fellow, I doubt that his antics will cost me my life.” Ging laughed with a rough voice, though the man’s stare didn’t waver.

“He’s a strange and dangerous man. I’ve heard of women visiting him and never returning.”

“Maybe they liked it there so much that they didn’t want to leave! I’ve met him before, he was real polite and friendly, even invited me to his home. But my parents would have killed me if I’d gone out that late in the night.” The waitress sighed wistfully.

“Do you insist to go, young man?” Now the old lady spoke up, her voice sounded sore and stutter-y.

“I’m here to do a job, and if his collection is the real thing, then I’d hate to miss it. But I’ll be quick, probably on my way back to the harbour by the end of the evening.”

The old woman stood up and walked with slow steps over to him, before insistingly grabbing at his hand and pulling him up from his seat. “Come pray then, boy.”

“Ma’am, really, I will be fine, I- I am a grown man- “She pushed him towards the shrine and signalled for him to kneel. “I’m not very religious, y’know- “

“Nonsense, in the face of danger, every man can turn towards any god. Let me pray over you.” Ging rolled his eyes but knew better than to argue with an elderly woman, being beaten with a cane can teach you that lesson. “Dear Gods, watching high above, protect this soul who has strayed from his dedicated path. Guide him to safety and be the shining armour that repels any and all mischievous evils. Assist him in making his judgement, and forgive him for his faults, as we forgive as well. Hold him tight within your hand until he may part which his earthly body to meet you once again.”

Ging waited and listened to the eerie prayer until she removed her hand from his shoulder. “Say, Auntie, a couple rumours don’t turn a man into a monster, do they?”

“People have gone missing in the woods around the mansion. The house itself, it’s always been known to home something evil, for centuries. You youngsters are not in touch anymore with recognizing something malevolent even if it were to spit in your face.”

That cryptic message- or insult- still couldn’t convince Ging not to head towards his destination. Afterall, something like evil spirits couldn’t be real, or else he’d be haunted twice over after disturbing crypts and burial sites, places of worship and sacrifice, the last remains of civilisations long gone. Not once did he think about ghosts or monsters taking revenge.

This ‘Pariston Hill’ was no monster, but most likely just a pretentious man with too much money, feigning interest in art without understanding their purpose and meaning.

Ging asked the waitress again about the address, and she explained a step-by-step on which road he had to hike up to reach the manor. He left her a tip, bid farewell to the old couple, and started to head up the hill road, burlap sack with a few travel belongings over his shoulder.

The road quickly turned from sturdy cobblestone to dirt as he walked, the surrounding forest grew thicker and unkempt around the trail. The woods were quiet except for the occasional crow-cry and wing flutters in the tree crowns. Sweat made his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin, his hair frizzed due to the humidity. He was an experienced hiker, but he still was sure that anyone who decided to build a mansion only accessible via dirt road was a sadist.

But as much as Ging craved refreshment from the heat again, the subtle static in the air and the increase of tiny insects flying around hinted at something unwelcomed: A summer storm was brewing. It wasn’t unusual for this part of the country, but it could certainly throw him off his schedule.

“Please, anything but- “Ging tried to plead to whatever deity in these parts might be responsible for weather, however he was interrupted by a blinding flash of lighting, followed by booming thunder, and finally cold rain. “Asshole.”

After a half-hearted jog through the rain and mud that would soak him head to toe, dim lights of a fenced in mansion came into view. A lit oil lamp illuminated an unlocked gate, and a gold-plated sign with fancy curled letters that spelled ‘Pariston Hill’. Ging didn’t second guess the open gate and let himself in, eager to get out from under the downpour. As the gate creaked open, he could have sworn he saw a cat that scurried around the corner, but it was gone before he could have been sure. An orange brick path led directly to the main entrance of the house, adorned on either side with well-kept lawn, hedges cut into elaborate shapes, and exotic flowers that Ging had seen in other countries and continents. The entrance was made up of two large solid wood doors, intricate floral carvings, and two iron door knockers that seemed to be decades old but kept in good shape.

But as the rain seeped deeper into his clothes, Ging disregarded the aged architecture and gave the door a few heavy knocks. Through the rain he tried to listen for a response or approaching footsteps, in vain. And yet without any warning, the door clicked, creaked, and slowly opened. Bright light from inside illuminated the outside area of the entrance. In the middle of the light, there he stood.

He seemed a bit taller than Ging, a perfect posture as if practiced. His hair stood out even against the equally golden light, and he wore a vermillion suit, most likely more expensive than the entirety of Gings closet combined. For some reason, the term ‘handsome devil’ came to mind.

For a second, the man looked down on him with a serious, even hostile expression, before he gave a pleasant smile in recognition. “Ging Freecss, I assume? Seems like you had a refreshing journey here.” He leisurely held out a hand, which Ging immediately took for a hearty handshake, subtly making sure that rain splatter from his hand and sleeve would scatter.

“I do enjoy a good hike, and a free shower is a free shower.” He flashed a determined grin, and Pariston removed himself from the man’s cold and clammy grip, still smiling though disgust flashed within his dark eyes. He stepped a bit to the side and made an exaggerated hand motion to invite Ging to step inside the manor.

The entrance hall was lit with a large crystal chandelier and a warm fireplace at the other side of the room, with two red velvet seats facing the fire. Marble floor was covered with a long red carpet, while the walls were adorned with classical paintings. Just at a glance Ging could tell they weren’t imitations.

“Ging- If you allow me to address you so intimately,” Pariston started, though he didn’t wait for an answer before he continued, “Ging, I’ve been anxiously looking forward to your visit. Now, I could have always called a local appraiser to come and do their job, but I sense a sort of passion within you that I’m sure won’t disappoint me.” He flashed another smile, though far from genuine as his stare and tone dripped with mockery.

“Well, usually I would have declined to come such a long way on a shallow request of a pen-pal, but it would be a shame to let the outrageous claim of a complete Ushiromiya portrait collection go unchecked. Where’s the goods?” Ging leisurely started to press out the water that had soaked into his clothes, directly onto the red carpet below. In any other case he may have shown an art collector more respect, but the smug aura of this man, which had already seeped through any and all letters he had ever received of him, pushed Gings buttons in all the wrong ways.

“I’d think a professional appraiser such as yourself wouldn’t want to examine rare paintings in such a condition that you’re in. It would be a shame if you were to get some dirt on them. Why don’t you go ahead and have a shower, while I retrieve the paintings from their safe?”

“I’m pretty confident in my ability to spot a forgery from a safe distance.”

“I’d be a terrible host if you were to catch a cold.”

“Never been sick in my life, now, I insist- “

“This is my humble home, and they are my paintings, Ging. I am the one who insists. And after all, a free shower is a free shower, isn’t it?” Pariston approached him and took clear advantage of his height, looking down at his visitors with an overly polite smile. Ging had never backed down from a challenge, however, his curiosity about the paintings had increased more and more as he looked around the mansion and noticed more authentic art and architecture. If Pariston Hill had truly come into possession of a rare collection, he didn’t want to deprive the world of this discovery just because he refused to take a shower.

“Alright then, but I don’t have a change of clothes.”

“I’ll generously lend you some of my attire, though I won’t make any promises about it fitting someone of your stature.” Pariston laughed lightly as he proceeded to push Ging towards another room down the hall. “Use any towels, soaps, and the likes as you please, be my guest~”

The washroom Ging got ushered into was equipped with a marble sink, a spacious shower, and a white cabinet that held towels of different sizes and colours. It was clean, maybe too clean, as he could find no trace of this room being used…ever. No water stains on the faucet or at the shower tiles, no used toiletries. Most likely it was a washroom just for guests, and he didn’t want to think about the over-the-top luxury that must hide in the master bathroom.

As he pulled his water-heavy clothes off his body, cold air hit his damp skin, there was a knock on the door. “I’ve got your change of clothes~ I’m sure you’ll like these even more than your regular attire.”

“What am I supposed to do about my clothes? I assume you don’t want me to leave them on the floor to rot?” He cautiously pressed one shoulder against the door, just in case his strange host would get any ideas.

“If you insist to keep them, I can hang them to dry by the fire.”

“You mean ‘dry’, and not ‘burn’, right?”

There was a moment of hesitation, before another light laugh echoed through the door. “What kind of person do you take me for?”

“I’ve been told it’s rude to insult a host. Thanks for the clothes!” Ging quickly opened the door just enough that he could fit his arms through, grabbed the neatly folded pile of fresh laundry, and dropped his soaked clothes into Paristons still extended arms, before he shut the door and clicked the lock. He could hear the sound of the clothes hitting the floor with a wet noise and snickered to himself.

.

.

After a long, warm shower, Ging tried his best to towel dry his hair, though in the end he opted to just slick it back. The clothes Pariston had picked out for him were simple, though not necessarily his style: Black slacks, and a white button up that didn’t seem to fit quite right, thus opting to roll up the sleeves just below his elbows and tuck most of the shirt into the pants. He kept the three most top buttons unbuttoned, because he had always hated the stuffy feelings of suits and dress shirts. The faint smell of cologne that wasn’t his stuck to the clothes, but he pretended not to notice. It smelled of cinnamon.

He exited the bathroom, towels discarded in the sink for whoever to clean up, only to find Pariston at the fireplace, Gings clothes neatly folded over the velvet chairs, as he held a small piece of paper. A picture.

“What an adorable baby!”

Ging approached him with quick step and snatched the picture out of his hands at an admirable speed. “Do you usually go through your guests’ belongings or am I a special case?”

“My, I was merely picking up something that fell out of your pockets. Is it your child?”

“What if he was?” Ging glanced over his spread-out clothes, suspicious of any tempering that might have been done.

“He certainly looks like you, if not as, how do you say,” Pariston waved his hand around as if he were to grab a word out of thin air, “bellicose.”

“Whatever that is supposed to mean. He’s my son; since you’re so curious.”

“Well, well~ Congratulations to you and your- “Pariston glanced at Gings hands, before he made eye contact again, prying smile “wife?”

“No such woman exists. Did you invite me here to pry in person about my life, or do I actually get to see the art?”

“Just making casual conversation. But since you are less of a hazard now, I’d love to see you go to work.”

“Don’t throw me out when you have to face the hard truth, though.” He shuffled through his light luggage to retrieve some appraisal tools, then followed Pariston Hill up a wooden staircase that opened to a long hallway of unmarked doors, and the walls here too were lined with paintings. Some were simple landscapes; others elaborate portraits of different eras. A couple of the artists seemed familiar, though most of them seemed to come from absurd sources or lacked an artist’s signature at all. He stopped in front of one particular painting: A painting of this very mansion. It was yellowed with age, and the edges that poked out from its golden frame seemed worn out and somewhat burned. A signature at the very bottom read in cursive ‘P.H.’ and a date around 50 years back. “Huh?”

“Ging~ Here please.” Pariston held a door open, this time with a smile that seemed almost painful with how his teeth were clenched. Ging decided not to question it, and followed his host into a dim room, packed with various dusted boxes and furniture covered in blankets. At the very end stood a row of aged easels holding up paintings.

“Think they will look more genuine in the dark?” he joked dryly, but his eccentric host flicked on a gas lamp in the row with a fool’s confidence, and-

The room lit up and Ging faced four stunning paintings.

He had studied the previously only known Ushiromiya painting painstakingly when he was still just an apprentice. He learned the way the brush strokes had been made in deliberate ways, burned the colour choices into the back of his eyelids, knew the exact curvature of the one-winged eagle that adorned its signature.

These paintings were real. There was no other explanation.

He went up close, examined the texture, searched for any mistakes in disbelief. But each one was flawless.

“And? Did I waste your time?” Pariston stood a couple feet back, arms crossed, and head tilted.

“They are real… Pariston, this is ground-breaking!” Ging spun around, his face a mix of bewilderment and pure joy. This joy only doubled when Pariston clapped his hands together and seemed to be just as elated.

“Wonderful! Simply splendid!”

“We might be some of the only people alive to have ever seen these!” Ging enthusiastically grabbed Parison by the shoulders, his mind was racing with potential studies he could write on these paintings and the way their existence was to alter history. “How did you get these?”

“They were given to my family by the original artists; So I’ve been told.” A mysterious smile, almost melancholy danced on his lips, before he gave another flash of his shining teeth. “I never doubted their authenticity, but I couldn’t keep their existence to myself, could I?”

Ging gave an enthusiastic slap on Paristons shoulder, feeling for the first time like the two of them shared a surprising, genuine connection. “Will you donate them to a museum? Try to contact the family of the Artist? Or the remaining Ushiromiya family members?”

“I will keep them here. Maybe hang them in my study. Now, would you care for a meal, Ging?”

“What?”

Pariston had already walked back to the door and flicked off the light, his silhouette only illuminated by the faint lights in the hallway. “I’ve let my chef prepare us a meal. I assume you don’t get asked for dinner often then.” He chuckled.

“I thought you didn’t want to keep their existence to yourself!”

“And I didn’t. You know about them now. Exciting, isn’t it?” He chuckled once again, before he disappeared into the hallway.

Ging weighed his option if he were to grab the paintings and escape into the night, but the storm still raged on outside, and he couldn’t safely juggle 4 large canvases all the way to the harbour or capital by himself.

For now, all he really could do was to find a way to convince Pariston to change his mind, through persuasion, threats, or force. Maybe if he were to get some outside forces to apply pressure, he recalled his colleague in forensics, Cheadle, owed him a favour.

He stepped into the hallway and quickly fell into step besides Pariston. “Dinner would be lovely, I’m sure, unfortunately I’m on a tight schedule, so I’d rather get going. I could write you a certificate of authenticity for the collection, though I’d need a second appraiser for the process. My good colleague Miss Yorkshire would be thrilled to visit, I’d think.”

Pariston came to a halt, ran his hand through his messy blond streaks of hair with a sigh. “Oh, Ging, I simply can’t let you continue in this weather. No ship will sail under these conditions, and the way to the capital is prone to mudslides. I don’t want to be complicit in your accidental death.” Ging was about to argue before he was cut off once again. “As for your colleague, you can gladly summon miss Cheadle Yorkshire here, though we’ve never been on very good terms.”

“Wh- How do you know her?”

“Let’s discuss it over dinner, shall we?”

.

.

Ging expected to be taken to a large dining hall with a table set for a dozen people, but in the end, they entered a separate room adjacent to it, with a medium scale dining table only decked for two. Unlike the other rooms in the house, this one was lit with multiple candles in elaborate holders -17thcentury bronze, Ging thought – and a phonograph was playing a concert recording. The men took their seats at opposed ends of the table, Ging sat with a natural comfort and slack, as if any seat he claimed was immediately his own with no regard to manners or humility; Pariston sat with seemingly practiced confidence and superiority as he made a show of crossing his legs and resting his chin on his hand. A confidence that irritated Ging to no end.

“Must be lonely to usually eat by yourself in this large, dusty room, huh?”

“I keep company one way or another.” Pariston spread a napkin on his lap, though the twitch of his eyebrow indicated his true annoyance with Gings remark.

Just then the door from the hallway opened, and a tall man in a chef’s uniform entered, as he pushed a small silver cart stacked with dishes. As he stepped closer, Ging noticed strange markings around his eyes, though there was no telling if they were tattoos or merely makeup. “Good evening,” he mumbled, in a voice unlikely for a man of his tall stature, “tonight’s meal is wagyu rump steak with rice and garlic Bok choy, served with a bottle of mister Hills personal wine selection.” After Pariston nodded in approval, the tall man started to serve the plates and poured two glasses of deep red wine.

“Don’t tell me you eat like this every day.”

“Of course not~ I prefer Kobe Fillet. I was trying to be mindful of less acquainted tastes.”

“You’re right, I don’t eat beef a lot. I prefer fish, but I understand that not everyone can get their hands on bluefin tuna.”

“Maybe I will let it be prepared for next time.”

“Is it that lonely up here that you’re already inviting me to another dinner?”

“I just assumed you’d appreciate the company, without a significant other and the fact that your child is most likely not under your care.”

The men exchanged challenging looks. Pariston still had a polite smile, though he started to lean forward in his chair like a predator about to pounce, while Ging couldn’t keep an irritated smirk form his lips. The tension was only interrupted by the chef, who cleared his throat and told the men to enjoy their meals. Just then the sweet and savoury smell of the food hit Ging, and he couldn’t deny the hunger that had built itself up.

Pariston lifted his own wine glass up, red liquid sparkled in the candlelight. “To the most interesting guest who has found his way into my home.”

In response, the man in question raised his own glass, though with less bravado and more at leisure. “To the Ushiromiya collection and their questionable owner.”

Both of the men started drink from their wine, though Ging noticed Paristons eyes on him, as if he awaited a reaction. The wine was sweet on Gings tongue, it lacked the usual sting that wine would give him once he swallowed.

“How is it?”

“Could be worse. You’ve got a lot of time on your hands to even make your own wine.”

The blond started to cut off a piece of his meal, and took a small bite, never breaking eye contact. “I am a man that easily gets bored. I need a lot of hobbies.”

“That makes two of us.”

They ate mostly in silence, music from the phonograph kept the atmosphere light. Ging hadn’t realized just how hungry he was, until he finally ate enough and the lingering knot in his stomach loosened. He emptied his plate in what felt like record time, no regard for table manners, and drank more wine while Pariston ate at a patient (and reasonable) pace. After his third glass, he was expecting the normal pleasant buzz that alcohol gave him, in vain.

“You still need to explain to me how you and Cheadle are acquainted.” He poured himself another glass, which Pariston seemed to approve.

“We have met a couple years prior, at a theatre opening in the city, hosted by Sir Netero. A friend of a friend, so to say. Unfortunately, people like us aren’t meant to get along. I offered her a dance out of curtesy, but I felt like she might have mauled me if I insisted.”

Ging laughed lightly, “She does have a temperament. I can’t imagine her being much of a dancer.”

“Saying something like that about a lady isn’t very nice, especially considering the same could be said about you.”

“Bold assumption, with no evidence.”

“You don’t look like you’d have the grace required for dancing.”

“I may not get invited to many balls, but I’ve known myself around a couple dancing events.”

“Are you willing to prove yourself?” Pariston got up from his seat, walked over to Ging, and as the phonograph started to play another orchestra song, he extended his hand to him. “May I have this dance?”

The shorter man hesitated, but unable to admit defeat to the other, he took the hand and immediately got pulled into the starting position for a Viennese Waltz, his right hand in Paristons, his left rested on the others upper arm; Paristons right hand rested on Gings shoulder-blade. As they started to move, Ging had to concentrate hard to not look at his feet, seeing as it would be an admission to not being confident in his steps, though locking eyes with the other man stirred something uncomfortable within him. He couldn’t clearly remember the last time he had danced with someone else, so the closeness of it felt foreign. As the music continued, they waltzed through the room, at first only in the ‘natural box’, though soon Pariston led them to side whisks and natural turns, a steadily increased pace.

“I do have to admit, you’re better at this than I initially thought.” Pariston smiled.

“You shouldn’t judge a book so easily by its cover.”

“You shouldn’t forget who has the lead.” Before Ging could question the statement, he was dipped low as the orchestral music seemed to reach its climax, hands immediately grabbing for more hold before he’d meet the ground. In the end, he clung to Paristons shoulders in a move that lacked grace but not force. The other man meanwhile had let go of his shoulder-blade, and instead had both hands secure at Gings waist. “Afraid I would drop you?”

“It’s what I would have done.”

The two men laughed and stood themselves up straight once again, but their hands remained where they were, whether it was a conscious decision or not. A slower song started, the name of it at the tip of Gings tongue, and as he pondered it, he may not have even noticed that they started a slow dance together. It was a simple three-step, and Pariston would occasionally close his eyes to hum along to the music, uncaring of the closer contact between him and the other man; The longer it went on, so did Ging.

“I didn’t think you’d agree to dance.”

“Maybe the alcohol made me more susceptible to idiocy.”

“There was no alcohol in that wine, Ging. Or at least not enough, to get you anywhere near an inebriated state.” He chuckled.

“A wine without alcohol can barely call itself a wine. What is in it, then?”

“I wonder if you can guess~”

Ging thought about it for a minute, determined to prove himself better once again. “It was very sweet, but too water-y to just be crushed fruit.” This only elicited a humoured ‘Mhm’. “I think it is a process of combining younger wine with some sort of flavoured tea.”

“Incorrect, but a good try~”

“What is it then?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Ging rolled his eyes, but continued their slow dance, as he got used to the hands on his waist that occasionally tapped their fingers to the music. “Keeping secrets must be another of your hobbies. The wine, the portraits…” He trailed off when he realized that Pariston inched closer; He smiled, self-satisfied, dark eyes focused solely on the other. Suddenly Ging felt the blood in his veins run cold, like faced with a predator in the woods, his heart was beating in this throat. Every nerve in his body started to feel shocked and screamed to run. But he couldn’t. Didn’t want to. And so, he stood still when Paristons ghostly cold hand cradled the side of his face as if another rare piece of art. When Ging didn’t flinch away from the touch, the blond placed a first kiss just on the corner of the others mouth. Then another. And another. Until Ging turned his head just enough to connect their lips.

Paristons lips were soft and faintly tasted of that sweet wine, with each kiss his hold on the others waist would tighten, like he was afraid he’d turn and run. But instead, the shorter man wrapped his arms around the blonds’ neck, even a tad eager to press his tongue between his lips, to be closer, to taste more. Every new connected kiss made his stomach twist in just the right way, he relished that it felt dangerous, maybe even wrong, and yet so satisfying.

After what felt like hours, though realistically it was probably a couple of minutes, their lips parted and Gings head was left spinning as Pariston continued to kiss along his jaw. But there is one thing that pulled at his mind, annoyingly so.

“The townspeople believe you’re some kind of evil spirit or monster-” he laughed lightly, not sure if it was because of that ridiculous thought, or because of the soft lips that were caressing the underside of his jaw.

“Oh, Ging,” Pariston sighed against his skin in a way that chased goosebumps up his spine. “They are right.”

“Wha- “Suddenly a sharp, paralyzing pain shot from Gings neck to the ends of his body. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, all he could do was to drive his nails deeper into the others shoulder, and let out quiet gasps. Meanwhile a thumb stroked over his cheekbone as if to soothe, the other hand on the small of his back to keep him from collapsing.

He wondered if he was going to die here, at the hands of a vampire that he’d been warned about. He wondered if he’d been deliberately seduced- did he consider himself seduced? – just to be killed.

He threaded his fingers through the vampire’s hair, with no energy to pull him away from himself, just enough to hold on. Acceptance. He felt cold.

A tongue lapped over the fresh wound on his neck, followed by a few soft kisses. The pain subsided to a dull numbness. His line of sight started to darken. Pariston cradled Gings face in his hands, lips and chin stained red. He pressed another kiss to his lips, so tender as if he had never revealed his true nature, and the shorter man but couldn’t help but huff out a laugh with the last of his strength.

“Tastes like wine.”

“Another secret revealed to you.”

The last thing Ging saw was Paristons smile and dark eyes. Then blackness.

.

.

When Ging came to, the past day felt like a distant dream. He felt no pain, only a comfortable warmth that surrounded him, and someone’s fingers that combed through his hair.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. A dim room he did not recognize, next to him a bedstand with a carafe of water and some medical tools that included gauze, needle, thread, and a dirtied scalpel. He himself was still wearing the clothes he had been presented with after his spontaneous shower. He turned his head to the other side, and there sat Pariston on the same bed, one hand in the man’s hair, the other held an aged book. At the movement, he retracted his hand in shock, before his signature smile flashed once more.

“You’re awake.”

“I’m alive.” It somewhat hurt to talk, and as he reflexively reached for his own throat, he felt a thick bandage at the side of his neck. “You kept me alive. Why?” He started to sit himself up, not wanting to be physically talked down to.

“I don’t want to be bored. You’re the first visitor I’ve had in a while that managed to keep my interest. I guess I am pretty selfish.”

“You are.” Ging reached out to brush a strand of hair from Paristons face, before gently pulling him in for a kiss. “So am I.”

He felt his stomach twist again as they kissed, so sickly sweet, and he wanted more. He deepened the kiss, drank up every relaxed sigh that came from the other, let himself be greedy and reach for more. Even though Pariston almost killed him, still could, he touched Ging like he was something treasured, close enough to not let him escape, but not enough to break him. And maybe that’s what Ging wanted, to be desired, even in a destructive, dangerous sense.

As the feeling returned to all his limbs, he took advantage of it to properly sit himself up, then straddle Paristons lap. He broke their kiss, leaving the other somewhat panting. Again, the blonds’ hand was at the side of his face, not as cold this time, and his thumb traced small circles into his cheek.

“How often have you coerced someone here, just to feed?”

Pariston closed his eyes in thought, “It would be pointless to keep count. But no one has ever made it as far as you have.”

This prompted Ging to claim the vampires’ lips with his own in a possessive kiss. Paristons free hand started to trail up and down the shorter man’s thigh; In response, Ging started to feel his way from Paristons shoulders to his chest, lean but firm muscle.

And no heartbeat.

Of course, there wouldn’t be. He was dead.

Ging thought about how, maybe in a different lifetime, the two of them could have met through different means, both alive and entirely human. He thought about the countless people that have stepped into this mansion, never to return to their families. How even he would one day pass, either through natural means or because Pariston had lost interest in his existence. Would he ever let someone else get this far, after Ging? He felt cold steel in his hand.

This time, Pariston was the first to break the kiss, only for a moan to escape his lips. By now, they had slipped further down the mattress, with Pariston flat on his back while Ging still firmly straddled his hips. He looked so human under Ging, dark eyes half lidded and even the faintest flush on his cheeks.

Ging thought about how long he could stay here. About all the paintings in this mansion and their history he could study. About shared dinners and slow dancing to orchestral music. The image of himself as a corpse, entirely dry, flashed in his mind. A wine bottle with his name written on it.

Ging took Paristons hand from his face and held it over his racing heart. “I don’t think someone else has ever done this to me.” It felt ridiculous to say but it also tasted so bitter with truth to say out loud. His other hand grasped the foreign, cold object harder.

“What an honour~” Pariston purred, and he tried to lean up to unite in another kiss before he got pushed back into the mattress.

“We are both selfish, Paris. I don’t want you to do this to anyone else. And I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

In the vampires’ eyes flashed confusion, irritation, and then the glistening object that Ging had hidden. The scalpel from the bedside table. And in his last moment, he smiled with such honesty, that it felt like it was Ging who would receive that fatal blow to the heart.

It was over in a moment.

The scalpel, with enough force, had swiftly pierced through the ribs all the way to his heart, and after a pained gasp and a bit of twitching, Pariston Hill had died.

Ging remained seated for a while; He did not move, just looked. He wondered if he should cry, if he even could if he wanted to. But in the end, he closed Paristons eyes, gave him a parting kiss on the forehead, and left.

He never told anyone about the paintings.

Never told anyone about what he experienced in the mansion.

He wanted to be selfish and keep this secret just between himself and Pariston. Forever.

#ALMOST 1 AM BUT IM FINALLY DONE HELLO PARIGING TAG <3 #Pariging #pariston hill #Ging Freecss #Hunter x hunter #fanfiction #hxh fanfiction #pariging fanfiction #vampires #pariging hxh #vampire au

[coolguycy]

Helloooo Cy! You sound like really into TF2, and I only know like the vaguest things abt it, from what I've seen you put on my dash lmao–

Except you've got me kinda obsessing over that Pyro person and also the homicidal? medic. Can you. Tell me about them–

From your more recent rb convo it seems you're kinda nervous about infodumping but like,, Ion know. If you are nervous don't feel pressured, but I genuinely enjoy hearing people talking about their interests– And! Also genuinely wanna learn more about em. So like. If you're up for it! Please take the chance and tell me more about them cnsjfjdm

Pyro! i love pyro so much he is amazing

pyro is the teams fire power, literally. he just really like fire

he dosent talk and everyones kinda freaked out by him

thing is, he really dosent know what hes doing most of the time. he sees the world as 'pyroland' just sunshine and rainbows and lollipops as far as the eye can see. he dosent *understand* the damage hes doing. its pretty sad when you think about it but hey what you gonna do

a lot of people hc him as using they/them (fun fact: no one knows his gender, hes never been scene without his mask) but in canon he uses he/him so thats what im usin

--

Medic my beloved

medic sees healing as "a generally unintended side effect of satisfying his own morbid curiosity" and thats a direct quote from the tf2 wiki

also. he has no medical training. :/

he is just a mad scientist also he sold his soul to the devil

hes a funky little man and he like to experiment on people, i can respect that.

he really likes birds and has a pet dove named archemedies

#tf2 pyro #tf2 medic #also its not infodumping im not adhd or autistic <3

[wyvernquill]

I posted 96 times in 2022

38 posts created (40%)

58 posts reblogged (60%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@wyvernquill

@/ao3feed-dreamling

@/softest-punk

@/10moonymhrivertam

@/littledreamling

I tagged 96 of my posts in 2022

#the sandman - 29 posts

#wywrites - 29 posts

#dreamling - 24 posts

#reblog - 20 posts

#wyreblogs - 19 posts

#timezone reblog - 18 posts

#wyanswers - 15 posts

#wydraws - 14 posts

#anastasia dreamling au - 13 posts

#dream of the endless - 9 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#yes it's also possible that she couldn't return to the dreaming because dream was trapped and that somehow bound her to the waking world too

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

“I will see you in the year of Our Lord 1489, then!”

“Friendship. I think you’re lonely.”

---

Some quick and dirty Aristocats AU(?) screenshot redraws inspired by this post by @/fishfingersandscarves (and @10/moonymhrivertam​‘s tags on it)!

366 notes - Posted October 31, 2022

#4

“Oh, silly Stanley! He could draw That Place as much as he liked, he would still never be able to return to it!”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40685247/chapters/102405018

461 notes - Posted August 7, 2022

#3

See the full post

583 notes - Posted November 14, 2022

#2

Today I offer you the following headcanon/scenario: Hob dislikes Shakespeare and criticises him, but not because he's jealous of Dream walking off with him in 1589... no, it's because he genuinely thinks the man was a talentless hack.

Let me elaborate.

Hob does like Shakespeare's plays, and grudgingly admits they're the work of a "half-decent playwright", judging from the 1789 scene. He does appreciate the craftsmanship.

The only trouble: Hob is of the opinion that it's not technically Will's work at all. It's His Stranger who had... well, some hand, at least, in the creation of those masterpieces, and Hob hates that Shakespeare gets the sole credit.

(Now, to be clear, I do think that all Dream did was lend Shakespeare support and inspiration and the power to put his own dreams and imaginations into words. It's absolutely still William Shakespeare's work at the core, and Dream's involvement is hardly much more than in any other story ever written - but Hob doesn't know exactly how this works, does he?)

Imagine his frustration. Imagine people praising Shakespeare as a genius in front of him, and Hob bursting to say "actually, he was total shite until he sold his soul or something to the maybe-devil in exchange for talent". He thinks he's the only human in the world who knows The Truth About Will Shaxberd, and it drives him mad that any attempt to explain it would make him sound like some conspiracy nut.

It's the sort of thing that could drive a man to irrationally hate a playwright and his ill-gotten gains, it really could.

(Which is highly hypocritical of him, seeing as he himself enjoys the boon of that very same maybe-devil - well, his sister’s, actually, not that Hob knows that - but it's aBOUT THE PRINCIPLE OF THE THING-)

And that's how Hob ends up as his university's #1 Shakespeare Hater.

.

And perhaps, Dream eventually explains to him who he is and how his boons work, and Hob suddenly realises he has to revise his entire spiteful opinion of William Shakespeare, who may have had a certain spark of talent of his own, after all...

And then, groping desperately for some reason to cling on to his increasingly irrational dislike of the man, Hob recalls how Will stole his date back in 1589, and breathes a sigh of relief at the realisation that he can carry on hating Shakespeare just as much as before, only now for a different reason.

(Not that saying "I hate Shakespeare because he stole my boyfriend" will make him sound any less like a nutter than insisting his talent came from magical intervention... but, well, it's a step in the right direction, isn’t it.)

632 notes - Posted October 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Now, this may be obvious to others, but I haven’t seen much discussion of it here on Tumblr, so I thought I’d draw some attention to it!

In my n-th rewatch of the 1389 scene (I keep checking and re-checking the details for accuracy in my fics), I noticed something interesting towards the beginning of the scene: I think Dream was about to “poach” Geoffrey Chaucer, similarly to what he did in 1589 with Shakespeare.

It’s subtle, but you can see Death and Dream pause in front of his table, listen to their conversation, and Dream is noticeably interested - and why wouldn’t he be, Geoffrey here is practically catnip for the Lord of Stories! So he steps closer, he leans in, we can even see him open his mouth as if to strike up some conversation about those “tavern tales”...

...and then Hob Gadling says “Look, I’ve seen death”, and both Dream and Death stop in their tracks, and the scene proceeds as we all know and love it.

Now, I really adore this little moment for multiple reasons:

1) I suspect Death planned this. She dragged Dream into the tavern and led him over to Chaucer’s table, and was going to make her silly little brother talk to a promising storyteller in the waking world for once - but then they found an even more interesting human to spark Dream’s curiosity instead, which, still a win in Death’s book.

2) It’s just so Dream. Of course he wouldn’t be able to resist a storyteller in the wild, of course he would be drawn to that conversation. Of course he would do his whole “oh, is this your wish then?” spiel and play patron of the arts for a little while. This is what he does and is, which only makes it more interesting that he then turned towards Hob instead (and didn’t talk to Chaucer after, I’m pretty sure we see Dream leave at the end of the scene?) Which brings me to

3) IF ONLY HOB KNEW. Hob “probably still mad at Shakespeare for stealing his date once” Gadling would be OVER THE MOON to know that Dream of the Endless snubbed Geoffrey Fucking Chaucer to talk to him, albeit only because he mocked Dream’s sister within earshot. Please, somebody tell him, it would be the highlight of his century, I just know it.

1,669 notes - Posted October 15, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #WyRambles #long post #ah yes my greatest hits #this would've been pretty barren if i hadn't gotten into sandman late this year honestly

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 14: Commend

Esredes liked to consider himself someone who could break the world down into things that made sense, or at least identify where they did not.

Everything had to fit neatly into preexisting pieces. This is how one thing operated, this was how another functioned and went. People often defied this in various ways- in romance, especially, for one, throwing themselves at the worst possible matches and declaring it love, or in various other areas that should require logical thinking, and instead he watched everyone flounder.

Esredes himself tried to make sense too, and he liked to think he made perfect sense until a giant wrench was thrown into his entire life, multiple times. An ordinary noble man serving his duty as a Temple Knight, there was nothing to misunderstand. He would fight and die for his city, and that was all there was to it. He wouldn’t leave behind things undone in a trail of misery, it would all wrap up in a neat little bow and be laid into the ground, for he wasn’t composed like a civilian with more to offer.

A soldier that wasn’t a real person, through and gone. Simple.

And then he was a harrier, and then he was a citizen again, and if things hadn’t stopped making sense before, they absolutely did by the time he regained legal person status. Now everyone wanted different things out of him.

During the war, he had at least been exactly as he was before- a soldier, designed to die on the battlefield. Even if his halves got muddled and mixed into a pool of confusion at times, he had that.

But being forced to accept a civilian role left him lost. People told him so many different things, more than usual. “You should be allowed to live your life. You’re a real person, Esredes. You deserve happiness.” Put together, that was the summary of what everyone said- he should try to be a real person now. Ever a skeptic, this did not make sense to Esredes. People weren’t simply born with the capacity to become true people- they either were or were not. He had felt that emptiness inside him for all of his life, and everyone else had noticed he wasn’t real too. You could tell in the way people looked at and responded to you, that they noticed something was missing, no matter how much you tried to shapeshift around it. The insults were just one of many parts of it- stick in the mud or up somewhere specific, no fun, boring, filthy traitor, bastard, disgusting, brat, idiot, snake, manipulative, untrustworthy, and the ever present times heretic was used as an insult, that was just every day, something to absorb to prevent a real person from taking it.

Hm, Esredes thought to himself. No, he didn’t believe what all these people said, but perhaps if only to see if there was a chance in hell of their idea being logical, he considered their arguments, and tried testing them through shapeshifting. “You’re not a monster,” people often told him when he tried to say the obvious. “You’re just someone who fought for what was right and made the hard choices.” Those he loved most would tell him in soft tones how much he meant to them and how he was capable of so much more than he thought. “Please, Esredes. Live for yourself.” How would that ever be possible? He went out every day and people were immediately hostile, even if they didn’t know anything about who he was. They did not see a real person when they looked upon him, and he couldn’t magically make himself one, not like this. Strange things did happen, that was true. Like Heilyn. Heilyn was a useless bastard who hated him for being a heretic who actually did something. There was no convincing Heilyn otherwise- how could he after he had manipulated his son into helping him?

Except Esredes kept forgetting Heilyn was one of those people who never made sense. "I just don't understand why we can't just both give each other more of a chance.” Heilyn had told him during those first couple weeks of them being stuck together in the same job, with Esredes trying to torment him into quitting. “That goes for both sides. I was an ass in the past sure, but... doesn't wanting to make up for that count for something?" "You want to make up for it?" Esredes asked back with an eyebrow raise. "What motivation would you have for that besides that you're forced to now that you can't get rid of me?" "Trying to be a better person? Right my wrongs? I actually care? All of the above?" Esredes’ brow raised up even further. “You actually care about what.” “You, this, all of it?” Heilyn spoke as if this was supposed to be obvious. “Is there something wrong with that?” “…Yes? That doesn’t make any sense.” God, why did this broken stupid tall man constantly fail to have any form of sense? It frustrated him to no end. “Explain which part doesn’t make sense and I’ll gladly explain it to you.” "You claiming you care about me. I don't get it. Are you really suggesting that you give any ounce of a shit about the man you've put a dagger to, insulted relentlessly, know berated your son, and sold your soul to as your last ditch way out? Because that... is just straight up lying to yourself to make this situation more tolerable. Even I know you better than that." "And if I'm not lying? What then Esredes? I... learned a thing or two from Alastor. Changed my mind a little. Thus, I want to make up for past things said. Its that simple." Esredes just stared at Heilyn for a moment. "...Nope. That still makes the least amount of sense possible." Heilyn shook his head. “Did I... not phrase that right? I thought I was finally getting better at my shitty phrasing." "I... I don't even know. Phrasing or not, that just doesn't make sense." "I'm... pretty sure I spoke plainly? I've been told I don't make sense often because I don't do that. Or... wait. Do you just not believe it at all?" "No I don't believe it all. What reason would I have to? You already know how horrible I am." "I learned? I listened? Perceptions can change feelings you know." "What the hell are you talking about. We didn't speak between you asking me for help and now. And in that time, you've seen and heard nothing except me insulting you. You still believe me to be the devil you sold your soul to willingly." Because Heilyn could be nothing but a fucking idiot. "Alastor didn't," Heilyn replied plainly as he looked across the table at Esredes’ eyes with conviction. "He didn't and told me all that he could about you. Insisting I shouldn't hate. So I listened, and I learned, and my perception changed."

Still, he didn’t want to get it. A few days later and Esredes was bringing up the same thing. "So. You claim to have changed your mind... after Alastor told you. Which must have been after it happened. And yet, you still acknowledged me as only a devil when you sold yourself to me. You were only using me as a way out. So, I still don't really have, any sort of reason to believe you. And so I suppose that is my question. Why, Heilyn? Why does nothing about you ever make any sense? Why is it that you think in such an incomprehensibly impulsive way that I have no hope of understanding? How are you supposed to work, really? Is there any method to the madness, to how you just flounder and scream in your own head? This is a genuine question, I assure you."

Heilyn was silent for a good few moments before he finally sighed and spoke. "So, the answer is probably going to piss you off, but when we met before taking on that bitch, that was the longest period of time I'd spent in this area in ages. I was under a shitton of stress, and on top of that the song was just raging like hell in my ears. I hardly had clarity until the first time Alastor helped kill that monster. Then there was just a bit of sweet relief to ease the mind. Bottom line? I was stressed, and just pissed that nothing was going right all the while just making sure that my stupid son who got accused of murder was okay. The plan wasn't even to come back here until I heard that he had no place to go that was safe aside from my family's manor. Figured he was lost, scared, and needed me, so I took the risks and paid the prices." "Yeah. Yeah, you did. But that still doesn't answer part of the question. Do you understand why it's extremely hard to believe your claims from the other day?" "Oh yeah, I totally understand. My mind... was- is like a storm some days. And I'm like a little boat just trying to make it through. Find the eye of the storm, or have someone guide the boat to it. Alastor told me things, and that started getting me to that place. seeing you again though, while my mind was clear, I think that's when it clicked in a hundred percent on the things he said." And when Esredes asked him to elaborate, he continued on. “Well, one, I can't see Ferrant asking for your help unless he was damned sure you meant no ill will. that meant you were strictly here to help make this city better for heretics and shit post-war, right? Second, they wouldn't even let you in the city if you were as awful as I'd thought you at first. Third..." Heilyn hesitated. "You looked lost. Very lost. A little flicker in your eyes that didn't look at all like before. And I've known that kind of pain all too well myself, so I recognize it quickly. Couldn't hate after seeing that in the slightest." “When the hell did I look lost?” "Its not... a physical look. More like... a feeling you get? When you look at that person? Like... there's something important missing from their very spirit. That sort of thing." "I've always had a lot missing from my spirit. That's nothing new. And certainly not something worth deeming me unhateable." "Then take the rest of it as my answer if you don't want to take that part." "Well at that point, all you're going off of is evidential assumptions. And here's the problem with your logic. If it's based off assumptions, then it breaks apart the moment you're wrong about anything. Therefore you don't actually care, do you? You just want to know something isn't dangerous and going to stab you." Heilyn tilted his head. "Look, you didn't use my Nidhogg notes against me, you were willing to compromise and use the notes system, you realy honestly haven't done anything so far to make me actually think you're too much of a bastard. I'm willing to trust you unless you prove otherwise and frankly? I don't believe you will. You’re fine, in my book at this point.” Still, the conversation went on and on and on. “You have no evidence I’ve changed. What reason do you have to forgive anything? How am I not that shitty given everything else? I don’t believe I meet your definition of not dangerous, you know what I am capable of.” Thing after thing Esredes threw out, forcing Heilyn to continuously keep trying to explain himself, and yet somehow by the end of the conversation, they had come out being nice to one another.

Still, Heilyn was an exception who defied logic. It didn’t matter that Alastor took his apology and said he believed he was good with little effort, or that Yulionne saw the best in him despite what happened, that Ferrant believed wholeheartedly in him, that Murielle’s adopted son of all people came to him and asked if they could talk about everything they had to discuss civilly, that the very man who betrayed him and sold him out as a heretic came around to apologize, or that some people immediately saw him as a heroic or positive figure, included but not limited to an atoning shiny and green celebrity performer, a Garlean defector who Esredes had originally insulted, the one member of the Temple Knight Company that all hated Esredes who for some reason treated him like a real person, and a High Inquisitor of all things who praised him for his independent service before asking it of him.

The fact still remained he was an empty being, and why had the world ceased to make sense so much people kept trying to defy that? Of course his loved ones wanted to insist on a false narrative because they cared about him, but why did all these other people want to tell him so much of why they saw good in him?

Ah, that swirling red fog was annoying to see through. You are, you aren’t. He would continue to watch the most unlikely people come to see what he wanted them to, the others see right what he knew was true, and unknown to himself, he had ceased to make just as much sense as the people around him.

I want to know what it’s like to live. I am delaying the inevitable. When will it finally come? I’m a monster. I’m not a monster, can’t you look around you and see how many worse people are right there? I merely did what was right, and you are assigning more blame to it because it’s not your side. You shouldn’t be around me. You can trust me, I’m here to help you.

I’m still not a real person, was the one thing that remained when the various voices came and passed. As he hyperfocused and leeched on to the next person to come along and give him praise to fill that incessant hunger in that never ending cycle, he certainly must be at peace with it.

The world had stopped making sense. He had stopped making sense. And while Esredes could not fully give up his nature of trying to make sense of things, he ultimately decided to exist in a nebula, for now. Wind blew past him, and dubiety persisted like an old friend, wrapping itself all around the man with a whisper of I told you so.

—-

@thecalmnessandthestorms / @heartofthefury Heilyn, Alastor, Ferrant, Murielle, Trystan (unnamed mention), Raulin (unnamed mention)

@eternal-finis Yulionne

Zenith Alphinoix (unnamed mention)

Fern Cinnieux (unnamed mention)

@emeraldeorzean Kalas (unnamed mention)

Forte Tertia (unnamed mention)

#writing #in action #ffxivwrite2021 #heilyn #alastor #ferrant #trystan #kalas #tertia #murielle #yulionne #alphinoix #cinnieux #raulin #screenshots #fancy coat attire

[shereadsandwritesformelanin]

The Baker And Her Actor: part V [Fame is Insane]

Paring: Chris Evans x Black Fem!Reader

Summary: You meet Chris while making a house delivery for the Evans. He can’t get you off his mind and to be honest neither can you.

Warnings: profanity and sexual content, angst, but overall fluff!

Notes: I hope you all enjoy. Feel free to leave any comments Or critiques down below!

Part(s): (1)(2)(3)(3cont)(4)

-PSA ALL BLACK LIVES MATTER‼️- CLICK THE LINK HER TO SIGN THE PETITION IN HONOR OF GEORGE FLOYD‼️

-

“Deacon has officially lost his mind.’ Kiara huffs flipping the last of the pancakes. “I mean seriously why did he think that was appropriate? If it was me his ass would be out!”

You sit at the counter rolling your eyes thinking about the events of yesterday. Of course it stressed you out, I mean Deacon had no reason to have that outburst. Now you think Chris is officially done with you, and you still don’t know why he ran off.

Running off with no explanation seemed to be the theme of your dynamic. “I know but he was just upset, so I’m not gonna fire him over one outburst.” You reason to kiara.

“Whatever, if it was me -.”

“I get it ki, I really do.” You interrupt.

“Foods done.” She says platting you’re pancakes, walking toward the living room.

You drag your feet over to the couch plopping down next to Kiara. You two move in silence handing each other the butter and syrup.

“What are we watching?” Kiara inquires.

You took another bites swallowing it quick answer the question even quicker. “Uh I’m not sure turn on tmz they always make me laugh and I could use that.”

“Alrighty tmz it is.” Kiara states

“Okay okay but look at this. The setting is Boston and we caught captain America sharing a sensual embrace with a mystery woman.” A reporter says

You felt your heart drop to your ass. Your limbs went weak, letting the plate of food slip out of your grasp as your eyes went bigger and bigger with each picture that popped on the screen.

You felt the heat of Kiara’s eyes on you. She was just as shocked as you, eyes wide bottom lip hanging open.

“Okay so what should we call her black black widow.” Another reporter says earning an eruption of laughs from the other cast members.

“I didn’t even know he liked black women.” A female reporter says.

“I didn’t even know he liked women, I really thought I had a shot.”

“You knew he liked women.” The reporter states laughter continues to fill your ears through the screen.

“Y/n, what the -.”

“Fuck.” You finish cutting her off.

“You need to call him now!” Kiara instructs

You turn your head facing her perplexed. You knew she was right but you were all over the place, a wreck.

“If you don’t do I will, because what the hell is going on!” Kiara shouts

Just like clock work your phone began ringing. The room fell silent.

You and Kiara slowly crept over your phone to see who the call was from.

Incoming call from: The Captain.

Shit.

“Answer the fucking phone y/n or I will.” Kiara threatens

You knew she was only behaving like this because she was in full protective mama bear mode at this point.

Gulping you hesitantly pick up the phone placing it near your ear to have the conversation.

“Hello.” You sqeak

“Y/n.”

His voice sounded stern less playful than all the other times you’d ever been on the phone.

“Yes Chris.” You whisper nervous of what would come out his mouth.

“I need to come over. We need to talk, god I hope you haven’t seen it.” He says

“I have.” You admit

“I’m coming over right now give me thirty minutes.” Chris states hanging up the phone

Kiara stood arms folding eyes scanning your face for an answer of what just went down.

“He’ll be over in 30 he said, it sounds serious ki.” You inform her

“He doesn’t think you did this shit does he?” Kiara quips

“No, well I’m not sure he didn’t specify.” You admit

“Well isn’t that just dandy.”

-

Like clockwork, the doorbell rings.

Hesitantly you scoot to the edge of your seat picking yourself up walking toward the door.

You turn toward Kiara who was still sitting on coach positioned toward you waiting for you to open the door.

Tightening your robe, you swing open the door revealing a tired Chris. His eyes were red and looked like he hadn’t slept in years.

Jesus.

Your face immediately softened at the sight, then you notice movement behind him. You were so caught up in his face and his emotions you didn’t even noticed the two people who stood behind him.

“May we come in.” He ask voice raspy

“Um sure I suppose.” You comply confused about the onterage her brung with him.

Chris takes you hand guiding you toward the kitchen sitting you down at one of the stools. “Chris what’s going on?” You question concern laced in your voice

“Can we have a moment.” Chris says to his unwanted guest

They nod quickly wondering off to the enterance of your home.

Chris takes a deep shaky breath. “Y/n the last hours haven’t been easy for me I’ll be honest. I’m a very private guy and I was beyond shocked when I saw the pictures and the guy who snapped those pictures.” Chris confessed.

“Wait. So that’s why you ran off yesterday someone was taking picture of you, of us?” You quipped

He drew in another long breath speaking once more confirming a nightmare. “Yes.”

“I understand why you’re upset, invasion of privacy and you’re not my boyfriend so it’s understandable you don’t want any confusion and I’m sorry I shouldn’t have called you out with me that day.” You aplogize

Chris looked at you with his eyebrows furred toward the center. You couldn’t read if he was angry at you or the situation but he definitely had something on his mind.

“Y/n it has nothing with me not wanting to be seen with you and everything to do with my privacy. I, I really do care for you and I like you. I can see something with us. But the reality is I have to protect myself.” Chris explains

You feel your heart sweep up. Did he just admit what you’ve been wanting to hear, He likes you.

“You like me?” You mummer eyes facing your palms instead of his beautiful face.

Chris grabs your chin pulling it upwards so your eyes are leveled with his.“More than anything.”

The way he said it was so genuine you knew he wasn’t phony or just wanted to get in your pants. For crying out loud he was Chris Evans he could have your pants if he wanted to.

You don’t know what took over you. You promised yourself to take it slow but he looked so vulnerable and beautiful you couldn’t help yourself.

You let gravity pull you toward his soft pink lips. Tangling your hands around his sturdy neck, propping your lips on his.

You feel him pull your hips closer deepening the kiss as you both take turns dominanating the passionate moment.

“Chris we should.’ One of his party members says. “Oh I’m sorry I didn’t realize she stutters backing away.

You and Chris jump out from each others arms startled by her sudden presence.

You sat there cheeks burning at not only what you just done but how you’d just been caught.

“Y/n I really like you, I do. If you’ll have me I’d love to be your boyfriend.” Chris asks almost shyly

“Yes.” Was all you could muster out attempting to contain your excitement

Chris lets the biggest smile pan out on his face. You both were elated you finally made it official. “I need you to do one thing for me though, and I know it sucks but it’s just standard.” Chris states

“Megan!” He shouts

The thin tall blonde slips into the kitchen breif case in one hand cellphone in the other.

You sit perplexed as she pulls a large stack of documents out placing them in front of you along side a gel ink pen.

You begin shifting in your seat “What’s this?” You ask nervously.

“An NDA.” Megan blunts

You eyebrow lifts as you stare at Chris searching for an answer.

“A non disclosure agreement.” Megan sasses

“I know what it is, just why?’ You ask staring Chris down. “Do you not trust me?”

“No baby I do but it’s just standard. All of my family has one as well.” He explains

“Can I at least read it over, do I even get thag option?” You plead

Megan takes in a deep breath rolling her eyes. She clearly wasn’t the freindly type.

“The reason I came here today was because you were going to sign it today, and for lover boy to express his feelings so no you can’t look it over.’ She bitches. “Besides there isn’t anything in there to screw you over besides getting sued.”

“Oh and your friend in there I’ll have to make her one as well if she plans on being around.” She continued

“I’ll sign it.’ You pause taking a breath. “For you.”

You and Chris lock eyes before you pick up the pen flipping through to the last page signing your name and the date.

For some reason you felt you’d just sold your soul to the devil.

“Everything is gonna be okay, I promise.” Chris reassures rubbing the top of your palm placing a firm kiss on the skin.

“ I hope so.” You whisper underneath your breath, Facing your now boyfriend.

What do you tell your family, you knew they’ve all seen it by now.

The only thing you knew is that you were falling for the man in front of you and that would come with challenges.

—-

A/n: I’m sorry for the late chapter in recent light of everything my brain has been completely all over the place. I’ve been at protest I’ve been speaking up! So writing hasn’t been at the forefront but I’m back and I want to make the next chapters amazing! I’m very sorry if this seemed lackluster and short, minds just everywhere.

But if you enjoyed make sure to like and reblog‼️

ASK TO BE TAGGED!

-

Tag List:

@toniilaney

#chris evans #chris evans angst #chris evans x y/n #chris evans fanfiction #Chris Evans X woc #chris evans x poc!reader #Chris Evans x ofc #Chris Evans x poc #Chris Evans x black reader #chris evans smut #chris evans x woc #Chris Evans #chris evans fandom #marvel #captain america #henry cavill

[limpfisted]

wyll and romance! (spoilers for: wylls romance! its VERY cute. i recommend spoiling urself for it tho unless u plan a whole wyll specific playthru bc there r. very few scenes lol. like less than 30 minutes total.)

so i did not get this on my playthrough bc i felt weird to try to “persuade” wyll to kiss astarion on that save, but the fact that if u do, the next day he has a specific exclusive dialogue where this grown ass man says “my cheeks feel warm. am i blushing? i must be blushing.” with like the giddiness of the debutante ballerina he is, tells me that.

wyll loves when other people make the moves on him n are the “initiator.” he also doesn’t disapprove when ur slightly mean/overtly rude or call him a devil in his romance scenes, which means that, he has a good sense of humor, he likes em mean, or soft, as long as they’re giving him attention n he gets to see them smile and feel joy around him.

i feel that wyll has spent the great majority of his life alone exploring the world. some days mizora was his sole company, n only then thru his seeing eye, n thats not company he cares to keep despite his great yearning for the power she gives him. his experience romancing mostly comes from his teenage years—and while he has stoked his fires at a tavern or two or with a grateful survivor of misfortune, there’s a lot of time spent alone, thinking, playing pretend in his head, fantasizing. not always about romance, mind u—he’s not THAT much of a schoolgirl, n there were powers to master and training to be done even on his own. but under the stars—sometimes he dreamed of the ballrooms, even tho he danced alone.

i think he imagined a great love like the player character would come along. i imagine a part of him wished to be saved, and loved, despite or because of mizora. he’s not used to tender care, used to playing the charming hero, never being protected himself

when he is expressly sought after he gets embarrassed and extra romantic. he swoons when seduced. he can dish it out—see: his banter with SH and lae—but he can barely take “being taken care of”—especially when it’s so genuine, and he’s hurting so deeply, n his passions are stoked by a devil’s cinders…. n by a disgust with himself that only feels fixed, really, when they let him know his body and presence still make them feel “safe.” that he’s not an abomination or a monster—they’re still interested, they still care, he’s worth loving, or maybe, in wyll’s eyes, still turning their gaze upon, a summer setting sun.

he appreciates you so, so much. but also it’s a sistraction from the way his body n mind have changed. one he welcomes. one he craves, but can look upon with wonder instead of guilt. u save him from himself and his wallowing. u let him be a simple, ordinary fairy tale, even tho a devil cannot be a prince. that’s all he wants. maybe some u know, forbidden tomes n noble delights n excess as well, but mostly just a fairy tale. he promises!!!

in addition, and this is random, but i think wyll would be so good to be in a relationship with if u have mental illness. he doesn’t understand some things—like gale’s sacrifice—but he is so kind to dark urge. he knows you are not your intrusive thoughts, u just need help, and u can fight or overcome any feelings or thoughts that would harm u, n he thinks ur so brave for it, n he trusts u completely, like he hopes u trust him. hes no stranger to depression n self loathing n a lust for darkness after all, wyll sold his soul for the stuff, even if it was for all the right reasons tho i maintain the details r sketchy as hell.

if this all seems overly poetic its bc im practicing wyll’s voice here, a mini sample of what shipping would be like, LOL.

and this is with only two romantic scenes. then sixty hours later he proposes marriage with a magic acorn so full of love u can feel its magic warmth beneath the shell. i would love to see romances with player characters (companions included if they are “the player character) where we flesh that shit out! lmao

#INSIGHT CHECK. ooc. hc #ooc

[bidean-byedean]

new piece on AO3

xvi. family 

Day 16 of the SPN advent calendar (not festive)

There’s something deeply absurd happening here. You feel it when you first visit and you realise. Pulling off of a hunt in nowhere middle America, aching in your bones and, depending on what you killed, your heart, and you remember that Dean Winchester - yeah, that Dean Winchester - opened a bar around here.

You stop for the night.

Rated: G // Tags: second person POV, outsider POV, finale denialist, post-canon/canon divergent, bar owner Dean, everyone is alive and in love, domestic fluff // Ships: Dean/Cas, Sam/Eileen, Claire/Kaia // Word count: 5.6k

The bar is unassuming, gentle, welcoming. Tucked away but easy to find, if you’re looking. It’s still the midwest after all. Dean knows how much it looks like the old haunt; some of it deliberately mimicked, some of it inevitable features of the genre, some of it only became apparent in certain lights, like a ghostly apparition in a foggy bathroom mirror. These things that were hidden until Sam laid eyes on the place for the first time, or an old regular froze in the doorway, or after hours when Dean is cleaning up and swears he heard Jo’s soft giggle. 

When this happens, he pauses. Braced against the reclaimed wood of the bar, desperately straining his ears into the nothingness, begging for one more note. It’s only when a warm hand settles on his shoulder, always his left, somehow always, that he realises what he’s doing. There’s only one place that his prayers echo out anymore and all they do is remind Cas of all the things that Dean has lost, of all the parts of Dean’s life that he did not know, that he cannot restore. But at least now the old Hunter does not flinch at his touch. His body relaxes into the large, steady hand; grounded, brought back to the present where Jo’s laughter is an eternal echo that makes it neither real nor unreal. If their lives had taught them anything, the distinction is arbitrary. 

Cas helps him collect the last of the glasses, stacking them into long, precarious towers. Not as tall as the ones Dean makes; he’s not as easy in his body, not as used to being observed, and he hates the sound of shattering glass, hates the silence afterwards, hates that moment of momentum when the breaking is about to happen and is happening and has happened. For angels, it’s always about to happen and happening and happened. Or, it used to be like that. When and so it is written meant something. Before, when it was Castiel and Dean Winchester, not now, in the after, when it is Cas and Dean. 

There’s something deeply absurd happening here. You feel it when you first visit and you realise. Pulling off of a hunt in nowhere middle America, aching in your bones and, depending on what you killed, your heart, and you remember that Dean Winchester - yeah, that Dean Winchester - opened a bar around here. It’s already ridiculous, considering the things you’ve heard. Only half of them can be true, mostly the half that you can reconcile with your understanding of the truth. 

John Winchester’s boy? Haven’t you heard? 

Haven’t you heard he has a face you’d pay twice the going rate for? Haven’t you heard he’ll take it? Haven’t you heard he’s the best Hunter of his age? Haven’t you heard he sold his soul? Haven’t you heard an angel brought him back? Haven’t you heard he lost it again? To John? To the devil? To God? Haven’t you heard he was the most feared monster in Purgatory? Haven’t you heard losing his soul was nothing compared to losing his brother, to losing his angel, to losing his angel again, and again, and again? 

Haven’t you heard? They’re in love. 

So you roll up to the door of the bar and it just looks like a bar because the warding is painted beneath the sign holding the name, and the devil’s trap is in the shadows of the ceiling, and hex bags are stowed inside of the cushions of the stools, and a silver rosary consecrated by softly sung blessings, murmured by the human mouth of an Angel, sits in the water tank. Even if you know, you do not know. But you feel safe here, that is the point, the commandment of the space; welcome and be welcomed. And maybe you sit at the bar, tired and alone and lonely, surrounded (for the first time?) by people with whom you can speak freely and you realise the weight of speaking in code, always hiding, bearing a burden that sears into your soul until you’re not sure you have one anymore. You hear they burn out, that you can use them up, and then what are you?

But tonight you’re safe behind the warding and in front of a bar with a surprisingly pretentious beer menu and burgers that come with avocado and the word seasonal in front of some of the offerings. But there are people you’re familiar with, even if you don’t know them, you know them. Their faces hold the same weariness, their clothes practical or incongruous by design, masks and costumes and performances, all finally relaxed. So relax. 

Maybe you haven’t seen him since before John died, or before he went to Hell, or before he killed God(?), but that doesn’t matter. Maybe you read the books, enjoying being in the know, enjoying that you enjoy them differently from all the other people that enjoy them, for better reasons. Maybe his name is a myth passed from Hunter to Hunter, monster to monster, or between the two (is there a two? You try not to think about this too much). Older now, so much older than he could’ve ever hoped for. Masculine in every way you hope to be masculine, if you really understand what it means, but by hoping and understanding you fail. He’s tall and broad shouldered, and wears a flannel shirt over a band tshirt and dishtowel over his shoulder, and his jaw is sharp and hard and stubbled, and his eyes framed by deep crow’s feet; he sees you and you feel seen. His forearms are too tanned for the season, but you’re distracted by how they flex under the skin, and his hands are big and rest on the wood in front of you, just hands now, but they might as well be an armoury for all the death they’ve caused.

So, maybe you’re suddenly afraid because the things you didn’t want to be true? Suddenly reality has shifted and not only do they reconcile with the truth, they are immutable from it, it is more impossible that impossible things don’t happen to this man. 

Then he smiles.

“What can I get ya?” 

His voice is so low it’s like traffic from a highway just out of sight from your motel room, that when you lie in the dark becomes part of your body, as essential to your existence as the thudding of your heart and the huffing of your lungs and the buzzing from the dying lights in the walkway outside. It’s atomic. It’s celestial.

Wasn’t the other one supposed to be an angel?

You don’t know. You’re not used to having choices. Simple choices, selfish ones, luxurious ones: if you want fries or steak-cut chips, American or Swiss, IPA or stout or lager, light or dark, or spirits. It embarrasses you, how difficult it is, in the face of meaninglessness, how do you fare?

“Just a beer, man.”

“I gotcha,” he tips his chin understandingly and gets to work. 

Probably gets this all the time, an understood consequence of stepping outside of the comfort zone. Your comfort zone, not his, you realise. This is his domain, his playground, his paradise on Earth, as was the promised bounty for fighting on humanity’s side in the war. The one no one else had to fight in because he did. 

Did he still have the sword? 

‘German pilsner.”

“It’s good.”

His smile seems genuine and so is your surprise. 

“What you here for?”

You keep your eyes on his, if you blink, you’ll see it again. “Shifter. Of a sort.”

“Mmm.”

“Then home.”

That catches his interest. “Where’s home?”

“Iowa.”

Then he opens the ground beneath you: “Who’s home?”

“Whoever’s left.”

He grunts appreciatively, his gaze flickering over his shoulder. You notice the bands on his fingers. Silver, you assume pure, but it catches the light in a way that isn’t quite right, you stare at it. He twists it with his thumb, an unconscious habit, a soothing touch, a comfort. Even a Winchester needs comforts. It’s a comfort in of itself. 

A young woman, her blonde hair half-braided and threaded with metal, slides over the top of the bar, her leather trousers giving her enough slip over the wood. Her heavy boots thud onto the ground and she grins manically at his frown.

“What have I told you about-“

“Yeah, yeah, nice to see you too, old man.” 

She kisses him on the cheek, he rolls his eyes, but leans into it, his mouth quirking upwards at the corners. Another woman appears, dark skinned and soft-eyed, she walked around the bar, civilised and grounded. The blonde throws her arm over her shoulders, you remember who they are: Claire and Kaia Nieves. The daughter of an Angel and a Dreamwalker. You heard they spared a family of werewolves on the West coast, you heard there’s a network for them, monsters who are not monstrous. You don’t like to think about what that means for you. The things you’ve done. 

“Where is he?” He gestures to the back and they disappear. He looks after them, his face soft and open; you can’t imagine him torturing souls in Hell. 

There are pockets of people throughout the bar: loners like you, pairs and trios quietly nursing their sustenance, groups crowding round tables, pulling chairs from elsewhere or standing when there are none free. They’re loud and joyful and free. Is it better to have a crowd? Is it enough to be adjacent? You’re not sure you have the energy to socialise, to make nice, maybe next time.

Someone enters and everyone’s heads turn, he’s called over to different tables, dropping by to say hello to everyone who calls his name: Sam fucking Winchester! He’s tall, made even taller by the short woman by his side, and their hands move animatedly as they talk, too precise, too many deliberate gestures to just be physicality. He watches her when she speaks, her voice is rounded and deliberate. Eileen Leahy. A Deaf Hunter. You remember someone telling you she was eaten by Hellhounds, dragged into the pit, and brought back by Sam, his magic, his love, willing to transcend the boundaries of life, upset the balance of the universe: all for her.  You feel ashamed for wondering how she made it far enough to meet the Winchesters.  It’s a fair question of any Hunter, the answer the same: in their own way. No one survives because they have all the makings of a Hunter, a preset list of requirements that they meet; you survive because you face the job with what you have and you do what you have to. 

Dean salutes her playfully, she smiles so wide it looks like it hurts. You can’t remember the last time you smiled like that, the last time you felt pain that didn’t hurt. She sits at the bar and Sam sits next to her, towering and gentle. You remember him. The Boy King. No longer a boy, his throne abdicated. Does he really have demon blood coursing through his veins? Hell is closed up now, sometimes a demon pops up here and there, but not like before, when the world was full of them, when all you did was exorcise and pray and holy water became a currency and left most of the community ordained ministers from variously dubious sites of divine origin, consecrated ground became the last stronghold against the end of the world. The future placed in the hands of Sam Winchester. Now you know the face. You struggle to imagine the Devil in his eyes, not when you’ve seen true evil. 

The Winchesters are not similar enough to be clocked as brothers. But there’s something in the tilt of their shoulders and their hazel green eyes and the cadence of their voices that suggests kinship, brotherhood, forged in the fires of Hell and gilded by the light of Heaven. They’re just men, you realise. Earthly and solid and real, no more myth than the one you beheaded just the other night, it’s blood as real as the blood that marks them Winchester. Just like anyone else. 

“Isn’t Claire supposed to be helping out?”

Dean sighs. “She’s upstairs. Giving her a minute, she hasn’t been around in months.” You think he sounds upset. “Typical.”

“It’s a good thing, Dean,” Sam pushes. “Her and Kaia are doing a hundred times better than we would’ve.”

“We?” He snorts. “At their age you were smoking oregano with your bougie friends. I was actually saving people.”

Sam pulls a face. “You’re such a jerk.”

“And you’re a bitch,” he signs it big and deliberate, winking at Eileen. “Hey, want another?”

It takes a second for you to realise he’s talking to you, by then all three of them have their attention on you, openly appraising you. You wonder what they read in your posture, your face, the way you’ve ripped a paper napkin into tiny shreds. 

“Any other recommendations?”

“Got a new dark in, like dessert in a glass.” He looks at Sam: “Finally found an apiarist to work with.”

“Apiarist?” You venture.

Dean looks towards the door that leads to the mysterious back. “Bee keeper. My-“ He pauses abruptly. “He likes bees.”

My. He. 

Perhaps you don’t mean to, but you eyes flicker to the rainbow flag over the doorway. You notice more stuck in glasses on the shelves, some of them rainbow, some of the blue-purple-pink bands, some of them orange-white-pink. What is it like? You know what people say behind his back, what they’ve always said, the people in the know. The men who had paid for a moment with Dean Winchester, the men who had gotten one for free, the men who had hoped for either, for anything. They still call him names. If only John could see him now. John always knew he was a disappointment. Wouldn’t be like this if John were alive.

That doesn’t seem fair. You didn’t know John Winchester, most people didn’t. He died so long ago and Hunters have a quick turnaround, reblooded often, rarely more than a decade of history able to be told first-hand. Dean watches you and your eyes and you wonder what he’ll do, if you became a threat, how does he eliminate threats now? You shiver at the thought. You let wistfulness seep through. You try to convey the kinship. The I see me in you and you in me. The you fascinate me the same way a shadow does. The show me your throat and I’ll show you mine. The secret language you’ve learnt to speak. The other one. Hidden even beneath the Hunter’s code. The more forbidden one. The one of monsters like you. Like us. 

It must work because he softens. He pours the dessert in a glass even though you didn’t order it and places it in front of you, next to the glass he places something small and shiny, he doesn’t wait for you to acknowledge it. It’s a metal pin. The silver knotted into a symbol you don’t know, impressively intricate for the size, and when you hold it, it feels unusually warm. You remember the way Dean’s ring caught the light, throwing it more than it should, almost giving off its own light, almost glowing. Whatever it is made of, this is its sibling. You pin it to your jacket, on the left lapel, the proximity to your heart neither deliberate nor indeliberate. It pleases him. You pleased him.  

The drink is good, better than the last. Truthfully, you don’t like beer that much, but it’s easy and universal and unassuming. This isn’t beer, not in that way. It’s smooth and creamy and sweet, it rolls around on your tongue, asking to be tasted, not to be drunk. The honey has that sharpness of real, pure honey, the slight antiseptic burn you get from eating it straight from the jar. You remember eating honey from a jar, a chunk of comb suspended in the golden substance. You didn’t know it meant so much to you. 

“Finally!”

“Get off my dick,” Claire bats back.

“Who the fuck taught you to be so rude?”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s no sense of upset between them. “What do you want with me?”

“Glasses.”

“Ughh, are you serious?”

“As a werepire.”

“There is no such thing as a werepire,” a new voice cuts in. It’s grumbling like Dean’s, somehow more gravelly; do they communicate in earthquakes? “Stop trying to make werepire happen.”

Castiel. 

You gasp before you can stop yourself. An Angel of the Lord, walking on Earth, living above a bar instead of Heaven. He’s nothing that you expect. Tall and commanding, but different from Dean and Sam, the same, but somehow very not. His eyes are bright and intense, as blue as the deepest sky, the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen, a blue that you never thought possible until right this second. You feel as if you should look away, as if seeing beneath a hair covering, something sacred and prized, something that is not for public consumption, only God’s eyes. Only Dean Winchester’s eyes. What is the difference now? Is this bar paradise? Where is the divinity in craft beer and crude hunters, clawing out a life on the edges of society, wading through the horror in the hope of retaining peace, but not for yourselves. Nothing is for yourself. 

Except they have claimed each other. You heard Dean is branded, a scar of a handprint seared into his skin, a memento from when they met. They met in Hell. Castiel touched his soul and raised him from Hell and fell in love with him, literally fell. Who would love you if they had seen your soul? Seen the personal realm of Hell you curated? Can you even love yourself?

Doesn’t it leave you breathless? 

And then the picture shifts. Castiel turns and you see a child, old enough to walk, but small enough to get away with demanding not to. It’s balanced on the Angel’s hip like it belongs there, like his body (is it his? Who did it belong to? Are they still there? Did they ask for this?) was made to hold it there. Dean ruffles their hair, their ambiguity is intriguing, refreshing for the Hunting community. Youth is a clean slate, you are never more full of options, full of potential, which slowly seeps from you as your choices narrow, as life demands decisions, assigns decisions, weighs you down with expectations and being perceived, an object for perception rather than existence. 

You’ve heard about the child. A nephil. But no one knows the details. No one is brave enough to ask. 

The child reaches for Dean and is pulled into his arms, plastered against his chest, small and content and belonging. You wonder what their life will be like. Will they be a Hunter? You doubt it, you doubt the doubt. How do you choose to bring life into this life? It’s too hard, too sad, too lonely, too destructive. Not even dandelions grow through the concrete paving of a Hunter’s solitude, of their broken soul and heart, tings you drag along behind you like a yoke, reminding you that you must keep going, that one day, you will not be able to keep going. The baggage. How do you inflict that on a child? When will this creature’s heart be torn out of its chest and put inside a box and chained shut, only to be your greatest weakness and source of strength?

Or will it be happy?

“You need to go to bed, buddy,” Dean says quietly, his voice so steeped in affection it makes your chest yearn. You can’t help being in earshot. That doesn’t make it right. “Want me? What’s wrong with your Dad?”

The child murmurs something silently. 

“Okay. I got you,” his arms seem to tighten. “Cas? We’re going up.”

Cas. It rolls off of his tongue so easily, the repetition of a thousand, a million, making it more at home in his mouth than his own name. An Angel of the Lord called Cas because he stands on Earth, because he is not part of Heaven, because he is of Dean, not of God. He touches the child’s face gently, tenderly, motherly, and you ache for such simple, all-consuming affection, for someone to look at you with the reverence of worship at the altar of a god that speaks back. Castiel’s (because Cas is not for your mouth) hand runs down Dean’s arm, his fingers trailing, prolonging, and when it drops away, Dean leaves. 

You’ve nearly finished your dessert in a glass without even realising, it’s good. Too good. You could drink it all night, but you shouldn’t. The list of shouldn’ts is getting too long. You can’t remember anything left that you can do, that doesn’t conflict with an imperative for self-restriction. Where do you have to be? Who is expecting you? What is your next move? Why are you even questioning it?

He notices you. 

“Ah, Sweet Dreams. How did you like it?” He tilts his head, a little more than most people would, reminiscent of a puppy, of the velociraptors in that film, assessing your prey potential. You’re aware of his magnitude. You’re aware of your insignificance. 

“Very smooth. Filling.”

“That is the problem, but Dean humours me.” 

“With the bees?”

He nods seriously. “They’re dying at an alarming rate, you know.”

“I did.”

“Have you been here before?”

“First time.”

“Welcome.”

“Thanks.”

“You look tired. Are you staying the night? We have rooms.”

 “Uh-“

“That’s not a proposition,” he adds quickly. “Dean tells me that I sound like I’m hitting on people when I say that.”

You smile at his humanness. “I didn’t feel propositioned.” Would you like to? “I- I usually stay in my car, to be honest.”

His smile falters. “I wouldn’t advise that, it’s very uncomfortable and you’re much safer in here. The warding is some of my best work.”

“You never actually asked if I was a Hunter.” Hoping he’ll smite you?

He narrows his eyes playfully. “I didn’t have to. I know Hunters.”

“You must know everything.”

That catches him off guard. “Not as much as I used to.”

“What?”

Another head tilt. This one is more amused. “I guess news doesn’t travel as fast as you think. I am depowered,” he uses his fingers to make air quotes around the word. He laughs, but it’s a grating, sad sound. “Fallen.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” He shrugs. “So, a room?”

You somehow agree to stay. The rates are reasonable and the weather turned recently, so you know that even if you get some sleep in your car, it’ll be fraught and restless, and a warm bed in the safest place in the US is hard to turn down. You wonder if they’re both always this attentive or if its you, if you’re really that pathetic, if it rolls off of you like a stench, trails after you like blood, someone else, yours. You accept the insistence of kindness from the Angel, former, no, current; he says otherwise, but you see divinity in his eyes, in his smile, in the way that he touched Dean, in the way he held his child.

“Was-“ You swallow and finger the pin that Dean gave you. “Was that your kid?”

Castiel nods happily. “Jack.”

“And Claire?”

Castiel looks across the bar at Claire, laughing loudly and talking in big, dramatic gestures with a group of Hunters. “Yes.”

He doesn’t offer clarification. You feel stupid for wanting some. All of the impossible things you’ve seen, why do you care? Why do you need to know the details? Why does it matter that they are together? That they created a family? Do you think you can too? Do you think you’re as special as Winchester? 

He leans on the bar. ‘Claire is my vessel’s daughter. I took her father from her.”

“That’s intense.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“And Jack?”

“He-“ He pauses. “He chose me. You know how are nephil are.”

“Sure…”

“God, he is too good at that.” Dean interrupts loudly, pressing his face into the back of Castiel’s shoulder. “I always fall asleep putting him down.”

Castiel pats his head. “He’s spoilt.”

“Yeah, well, gotta make up for tryna shoot him, huh?” You and Castiel share a look. You do not ask for clarification. “You stayin’?” You nod. “Awesome. Another drink?”

The room spins gently around you, but you’re content to watch the show. It’s not one that would be on TV, but it should be, warm and carefree and soft, it’s the show of a family. They move around each other in a practiced dance; Sam and Eileen and Claire and Kaia and Castiel and Dean. So many of them. All alive. All in love. So much love. It’s hard not to watch Dean and Castiel, they’re captivating. Beautiful. You notice the magnetism, how they’re constantly touching, brushing, holding, pressing, it seems so easy, it would seem so easy if you weren’t watching, but you are, and you see how Dean watches the room, the way he look out before he does something deliberate, the way he pauses, the way he checks himself and checks himself checking himself. Dean tells a joke you don’t catch. Castiel responds by kissing him. You feel like you shouldn’t be watching. Your heart won’t let you look away. They talk an inch from each other’s faces. You wonder what it feels like to love someone like that. 

Once you save the world, you can have it too.

God, you’re so tired, it’s a tired that sinks you into the ground, that makes you blood slow and your heart sticky and blinking a dangerous game. You want to see the end of the episode though. You don’t want to miss a moment. 

Thud. 

“Game over kiddo,” Claire comments when you sit up suddenly. “Past your bedtime.”

“I’m older than you,” you say, or slur, or think.

She laughs. “Sure. You got a room? I’ll show you up.” She frowns. “That’s not a proposition.”

You laugh. “Like father, like daughter.” 

Her eyes slide over to the pair. “In all the ways that matter.”

The room is small and cosy: a double bed and thick duvet, a jug of water on the dresser, a small plate with cookies on it. 

“Dean makes them,” Claire says as she watches you examine the room. “Don’t tell him I told you, if you remember that is.”

“Not tha’ drunk,” you protest, but the world spins when you close your eyes. 

“Uh-huh. If you need anything just, uh, deal with it? This isn’t the Hilton. My D- Dean gets up pretty early, but if you wanna get away there’s like a key box and stuff. Night.”

The door clicks closed and you’re left alone. Your head feels fuzzy and full and empty at the same time, and you wonder how you got here. You wonder it a lot. Every time you’re searching for a hunt, driving to one, checking your weapons, reading the lore, tracking down a creature that has no right to exist. 

That has no right not to exist.

For the first time in… well, you can’t even think about it, you sleep well. As soon as you crawl into bed, curled under the heavy duvet, surrounded by warmth and softenss, it creeps into your brain and takes away the tension from your body. You don’t even think to check the room for warding or make an escape plan, the assurance of safety here is like the knowledge that the sun will rise tomorrow, to doubt it seems like an insult to you and the universe. Maybe there is gentleness in the hunting life, a tender hand of comfort and understanding that will offer quiet and healing and rest, between the blood and guts and bones and death. Life. 

You have dreams you don’t understand, but they don’t scare you. Nothing hunts you in the dark corners of your mind, you are not lost, you are not running, you are safe. Bathed in blue-white light that feels like sunshine and makes your lips tingle. It’s pure and divine and you do not feel worthy, but the feeling does not last, the self-loathing is soothed, washed away like a baptism of permission to see the way you try, how hard you fight, how hard you live. 

Like any seasoned Hunter, the dawn brings consciousness, even though you definitely haven’t had enough sleep, yet you feel rested. More rested than you have in years. The ache in your bones that keeps you awake too late and forces you from shitty motel beds too early seems like a distant memory, one from a life you’re not sure you actually lived, like a reoccurring dream that permeates you waking days, but the relief, that’s real. Like the shower you take, the water almost too hot, the water pressure almost too hard, but it purifies you in a way that you thought was no longer possible, not after the things you’ve done, the things you’ve seen. 

Packed and ready to go, you linger by the door, wondering, briefly, what the rush is. Why do you need to leave today? What is really waiting for you at the other end? 

But this is not home. (Nowhere is home.)

Being in a bar in the morning feels wrong, the grey light filtering into the room that’s already too lit, too exposed. Somehow it feels inviting though. A couple of people are already in the room, sipping out of big mugs with plates piled with toast and pastries and even cooked food. Who’s the chef here?

“Mornin’! How’s your head?” Dean grins brightly from behind the bar. He’s wearing a stained apron that says lord of the pies and the way he looks at you makes the floor feel soft underfoot, so you forget that he actually asked you a question. 

“No complaints yet,” you quip, daring to make a reference that exposes you both. Your fingers find the pin on your jacket, still oddly warm, already a comfort. 

He allows a small smile. “Breakfast?”

“Coffee, please, lots.”

“You’re speaking my language.” The coffee smells good, expensive, something that you would pay $7 dollars for because you know what you’re really buying is the chance to sit somewhere beautiful and put together when you are anything but. “Milks and sugar just there.”

Although it feels like sacrilege, you forgo the pancakes he tries to convince you on; you’ve never had much of a stomach in the mornings, but especially not this early, after drinking, with such a long drive ahead. You’ll regret not eating in a few hours, but you’ve never been kind to your future self, why start now? You watch and sip your coffee and let the day seep into your brain, acknowledging that you have to live today, get on with it all. Again. 

Three cups in and it’s time to go. You were hoping to see Castiel again, but he hasn’t appeared. Disembodied hands produced Jack through the doorway, but you couldn’t tell who they belonged to, maybe Castiel, maybe Claire. The toddler is more awake, he follows Dean around behind the bar, babbling nonsense that Dean replies to in a gentle, but grown up tone, always acknowledging his sentences, even when there’s no real answer to give. He’s a father. Embarrassingly you imagine him as the father of your children, however that would happen doesn’t matter, it’s a fantasy. A fantasy of security and domesticity. The only knives that Dean Winchester yields now are the ones in his kitchen; the only flesh he cuts through is whatever is on the menu, already slayed and butchered; the only fights he has are bickering with his family.

Family.

Your family is somewhere, out there, maybe where you left them, what’s left of them. Dean picks Jack up and they dance to the song on the radio, some sugary pop song that makes Jack laugh in that infectious toddler way and you get to witness the Dean Winchester sing all the words, perfectly. This isn’t the Dean that ruled Hell or Purgatory or Earth, that was the Hunter and the bow, the sword to Castiel’s shield, that fought the Devil and God and the every other cosmic entity. Could this Dean Winchester have saved the world? 

But maybe this isn’t his weakness. If you do not have a soft underbelly then why do you need to have claws? If you do not have a reason to fight then what drives you to win? Dean bares his throat to the world to show it that he has something to protect, and that is what makes him so dangerous. What do you have? Where is the kink in your armour? What are you fighting for?

The bar disappears into the distance, shrinking in your rearview mirror the way a dream slips through your memory like water between your fingers as consciousness takes over. The roads are all the same, the towns are all the same, but you are not. The dread in the pit of your stomach is no longer a knife holding you hostage, but a knot attached to a rope, pulling you back, anchoring you. For all the time spent fighting it, the magnetic pull to a place you felt you could no longer love, people you could no longer have if you wanted to survive. They are what convinces you to survive. You think about the way Dean and Castiel looked at each other when the other wasn’t watching, you thinking about the way Sam never stopped smiling when Eileen spoke, you think about how Claire became a teenager again in Castiel’s arms. 

On the second ring, your phone connects.

“I’m on my way.” 

#personal #my fic #fanfic #spn fanfic #ao3 #destiel #saileen #2nd person pov #something a bit different #this definitely had a life of its own #bar owner!Dean #post canon spn #15x20 who? #outsider pov #domestic fluff #spn advent calender 2020 #yes I am using the prompts from this lol

[not-safeforsanders]

Enchanted Endeavours

Chapter Four: Satisfied

Sequel to Fairy Ring.

Fic Summary: Fairytale stories for adults; including nymphs, faeries, spirits, demons, witches. Each part has a chapter summary which explains and introduces the story, if you like smut and magical creatures this is the place to be. Each part will have relevant warnings and archives do not apply to every part. Each one can be read standalone, there’s no overarching story, only the theme.

If anyone has requests, feel free to make them, I can’t guarantee that I will include them but I will at least consider them as so far I have about six chapters planned.

Chapter Summary: Patton finds himself unable to be satisfied, and searches for the Faeries again.

Notes: Dub-con, enchantment/mind control, orgies. Drug use (specifically psychedelics) Mind…manipulation? Patton makes terrible decisions.

Patton didn’t stop going to the woods after his encounter, he also hasn’t had much of an appetite for sex. He’d tries finding a human partner, but it always felt a little…unsatisfying, and masturbating even more so the case. His father had always told him that once you start you never stop, that you get a thirst for it. And he did have a thirst for it, but a thirst for a very specific endeavour that seems to be impossible to find.

He gives up finding that in the human world and strays from the path in the forest, walking through clearings and climbing over fallen tree branches desperate to find them again. After months with no avail, he was starting to feel just a little hopeless; but that didn’t stop him from trying. Patton became obsessed with the idea of meeting the Faeries again, his dreams haunted by inky eyes and forked tongues, of hands on his skin and exhaustion.

It wore him down, trekking through the forest for hours until he was thoroughly lost and tired, with dirt and sweat clinging to his skin.

“Please,” He whispers, his eyes screwed shut as he feels tears prick his eyes “Please, I miss you,” A tear treks over his cheek, followed by another and then another, he brings his hands up to wipe away the salty liquid, barely noticing as they hit the ground one after another. “I don’t know if you can see me or hear me, but I always assume that you can, you know?” His voice cracks “I mean I know you’re not omnipotent but…I guess everyone likes to believe that they are special,” He sinks down to the ground, his back resting against the bark of the tree. “I think that was the first time I’ve ever really felt special, or even interesting, I know that’s so stupid because you weren’t interested in me you were interested in what I could give you, and you just…left, you’ve probably lured so many more humans in, and I’m not important,” He takes a deep and shuddering breath, his ribs rattling in his chest “But you were important to me,” A long silence follows, and he stands, turning to look at the tree he had leaned against “My name is Patton Sanders, and I want to make a deal,” His voice cracked again, a hollow sinking feeling in his chest.

There’s a faint smell of petrichor and wildfires that stings his nose so potently that he can feel the heat of the flames and rain at once. His jaw clenches, stomach sinking as he screws his eyes shut. “And what can I do for you, little one?” It’s not a voice Patton recognises and turns to face whoever stands behind him.

He’s short, with long and dark brown hair that tumbles way past his shoulders, half of it tied back out of his face. His eyes are a deep red, and his face is so familiar that Patton knows immediately from memory. “Roman,” The stranger smiles and shakes his head.

“I don’t know if that’s a request, but I am Remus, his…well we shared the same flower bed so to speak,” His grin is a little twisted, his eyes flickering with trouble, Patton knows this is a mistake from the moment he’d said the words. But his stubbornness is making no friends with his logic today. “Is your deal to speak with him?”

“Don’t suppose I get to choose which Faery I make a deal with?” Patton offers with a weak smile, Remus laughs in an exaggerated fashion, but Patton can see the genuine cheer in his voice.

“Technically no, and technically yes,” Remus finally concludes from his laughter “When you offer your name, you can declare you want to speak with a specific Faery, if you know their full name,” Patton blinks, opens his mouth to speak, but Remus interrupts “And Faeries can have anywhere between 60 and 100 names each, so we sort of made it a ‘no’ situation,” Patton closes his eyes for a moment. “What is your deal?”

He doesn’t know. This isn’t exactly fool proof. In fact, he thinks it’s rather foolish. “I…” He trails off “I want to see Roman, the one with red eyes…an empath, I think his…whatever the Faery equivalent of a boyfriend is…his boyfriends are called Logan, Virgil and Dee,”

“This is a lot of effort for one Faery,” Remus comments, eyebrows furrowed “Okay you’ve got me, interest piqued…why?” Patton’s cheeks flush a little and the dark haired man grins at the look on his face. “Ah I see, the little devils had some fun with you at the revel, and you can’t let it go, can you?” The blush darkens, but the human stays silent, arms crossing over his chest protectively “You’re not the first or last human they’ve played games with, but I have to admit you’re the first willing to sell your soul for another round,” He chuckles lightly “I do see the appeal, not in Roman obviously he’s the worst, but Virgil is good with his teeth,” Patton doesn’t know what he means, but nods anyway.

The Faery studies him for a second “A deal with me is not like a deal with them, however, I will make sure there are repercussions,” He pauses “I will take you to Roman, and his harem, however you will not remember it, any time you spend in the Faery world will be erased from your memory the moment that you arrive home, you will have no recollection of any time you have spent or will spend with them,” Patton feels tears prick in his eyes, taking a deep breath in. He nods. “Are you sure you really want to pay that price?’ Remus grins, teeth sharp in the sunlight “If you don’t remember them, you may not remember to come back,”

“I accept the deal,”

“Very well, and let it be known that I am going easy on you because Roman gets attached to his humans and I don’t want to wake up missing more ribs,” He offers his hand and Patton takes it, shaking. The dark-haired man pulls him closer and presses a sharp kiss to his lips, his facial hair feeling pleasant against Patton’s face. When he opens his eyes, they are somewhere else completely. “Hold onto me, don’t want someone trying to whisk you up, not particularly because I care if you get gored, but it’d be a shame if you were taken before I get to witness the fallout of your deal,”

The forest is so much bigger than humans can see, as though a forest is stored inside the forest, a pocket forest; bigger on the inside if you will. But now it is so crowded, with houses and structures made of wood, bodies all around as Faeries went about their daily life. Some had horns, others had antlers, many had more eyes than two, some with sharp nails and others with more rows of teeth than necessary. Their shapes and sizes, and arms come in many forms, and skin ranging from so pale that the veins beneath make up most of their complexion, and some much darker than Patton is used to seeing in his little village. All of them are beautiful, even though they are strange; some even monstrous, Patton can’t help but find them alluring.

Remus guides him through the many bodies towards one home, knocking at the wooden panels. “Wakey wakey,” It’s four in the evening, or it was anyway. “Roman you have a guest,” There’s a small noise on the other side that sounds confused, but the voice makes Patton’s heart trip over itself.

“A guest?” The door opens, rickety on it’s handmade hinges, it sticks a little before it’s dragged open inwards. Inside is dimly lit, and inside is Roman, his eyes still a deep red and his hair still the colours of autumn leaves. The Faery takes a moment, look first to his brother and then to the small figure beside him. His face flickers with recognition of the biggest meal he’d had in months and he feels the emotional equivalent of stomach growl. But the realisation sinks in far too quickly and his expression goes hard, his jaw tense and his eyes saddened “Oh what have you done little one?” His voice is soft, the mischief fluttered from it as he realises that to get here, Patton must have made a deal “What did you sell to see us?”

“His memories,” Remus grins “For me that’s almost kind,” Roman looks back to Patton, who is nevertheless staring at him like he is the sun and stars. With a pang in his chest, he realises Patton cares not for what he sold, only for what is stood before him. Roman sighs and gestures for Remus to leave him, which the other does with no grace, and with a smile that’s almost animalistic in its joy; not the way Virgil and Dee had looked to him that evening, but with pure malice.

“Come, Patton, I feel you have a lot to catch me up on,” Inside, which looks far bigger than it did inside, Virgil is sat on a wooden counter, sipping a hot beverage from a mug. He has a smile on his lips, and with the starvation not there he looks almost normal. His face and body relaxed as he speaks in a quick language. Patton doesn’t know what he’s saying, but the tone is teasing, and by the expression on Logan’s face he is the butt of the joke. Logan is scratching words into a hand bound leather book, the ink neat and tidy, the corners of his lips dare to smile even with the little abuses Virgil is throwing to him.

It’s not how he remembers them, well Logan remains the same in his firm expressions and tiny smiles, but the others…not so much. Roman fidgets beside him, his eyes making holes into Patton’s soul as he shifts from one foot to another. As the other’s realise there is someone else in the room, they look up and promptly still the way a startled animal might. Logan’s eyebrow arches and he leans back in his chair, an unreadable expression on his face. “Well this is unexpected,” His eyes are as dark as Patton remembered and he offers the smallest of smiles to the man. “Patton, wasn’t it?” A nod of agreement from the man in question “Yes, I never forget a name,” He rests the pen beside the ink pot and folds his arms, studying him. “Why are you here?”

“He sold his memories to see us,” Roman interjects, and it’s then Patton realises why the Faery looks different; it’s because he’s sad, his shoulders slumped, and eyebrows furrowed like he’s stopping himself from tearing up. “He sold his name to Remus for us,” Virgil exhales sharply through his teeth.

“It’s a miracle he’s still alive then,” Dee shakes his head in bewilderment “Remus doesn’t often give out such light deals, honestly be happy he still has his lungs,” Patton shifts unconsciously behind Roman just a little at the harsh tone, like a child hiding behind their parent. Logan shoots the snake-faced Faery a disapproving look, before gesturing to an empty chair.

“It’s commendable that you would go to such lengths in which to contact us, if not foolish, please, sit, Roman why don’t you make our guest a hot cup of tea, he looks like he could do with it,” Virgil scoots off the counter so Roman could do as he’s told, taking a seat at the table, his dark eyes watch Patton like a hawk. He shivers under the gaze, recalling the last time Virgil looked at him in such a way. Dee make a low noise that sounds like a gravelly whistle and Virgil rolls his eyes before looking away. “So, how long has it been for you would be the best place to start?”

“Just under a year,” Patton muttered. Logan nods in acknowledgement.

“And why did you come looking for us in the first place, let alone make a deal to see us?” His tone is not sharp nor gentle, but there is an underlying feeling that Patton is being told off in some way or another.

“I missed you,” Patton says truthfully “It’s like nothing can satisfy me anymore,”

There’s a small noise of ceramic hitting wood as though it was dropped in surprise and all heads turn to look at Roman, who has a small smile on his face that is all too smug. Virgil tilts his head to the side and then nods. “Makes sense, we are fairly magical,” His voice is deep and calm, the last time Patton had seen Virgil the man had been starving for his energy, but now he is collected and the smirk on his lips isn’t hungry, it’s teasing. It makes Patton’s cheeks heat a little.

“Just the sex then?” Logan almost sounds hopeful. Patton shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully. “I really don’t know,” A mug of hot tea is sat down before him, and Logan nods in understanding.

“Drink it slow, it’ll be strong for you, it’s mushroom tea,” Roman gestures to the tea, it’s a light yellow in colour and the human knows that when he says ‘mushroom’ he’s not talking about the type you put in your soups and salads. He lets it cool in front of him for a while, not wanting to burn his mouth or guzzle down psychoactive substances like it’s going out of fashion. Roman sits on Logan’s lap and there’s a quiet that doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as it should. Virgil steals some of the tea whilst Patton waits for it to cool, as though knowing the other man will not want the whole cup.

Eventually, he drinks.

--

Patton wishes with his entire heart that he could remember how he got in this position, his vision slurring objects together, and providing the world with colours that seemed to replace other colours. He closes his eyes, his body vibrating as a flow of emotion opens in his chest, sinking into the touch that feels like butterflies on his skin. He thinks he’s already came one or twice, he thinks it’s been a few hours. He doesn’t know anything for sure.

He can’t look too long at their faces because they seem to twist under the drugs, and that scares him, he doesn’t want to be scared. He feels like he’s floating under the brush of sharp nails and a forked tongue, he recognises Roman’s energy and Logan’s kiss, and the way Virgil moves on his cock, but he couldn’t place these actions individually if he tried. Everything blurs together, time and kisses and handprints and bitemarks. He is so tired but with so much energy, watching the flowers on the wall shift and twist between heated bodies.

Nothing makes sense, and everything makes sense at the same time, all the things he’d thought he’d known were not that, and everything he’d never had an answer too has the first few lines of a response.

He doesn’t know how long this continues for, but he does eventually pass out.

--

“What day is it?” blonde, ruffled hair twists around pale skin as the human sits up in the large cotton bed, his eyes squinting at a far too bright sky. His mind feels a little woozy, and his skin a little dirty as he makes sense of the bodies around him. Virgil chuckles, his laughter as deep as his voice, but with a glint in his eyes that makes Patton feel small, in a good way. Virgil is smoking something that smells sweet, by the smell Patton would guess sage, as he sits at the window and flicks ash to the ground outside.

Logan is lying on his stomach at the end of the bed, flicking through the pages of a book, he looks up at Patton with a small smile and shakes his head. “The day after yesterday,” He replies, the words wrapping around his tongue with a joyful lilt “Thursday,” They all look a little cheerier, and he supposes that was because of him, because he was a four-course meal to them. “You should stay here for a while, there’s no rules on how long you stay, if you have no prior engagements,”

Roman sits up suddenly beside Patton, eyes wide “We can keep him?” He asks excitedly, his grin much sharper than memory serves.

“He’s not a dog Roman,” Dee grumbles from the other side of Patton, not enjoying the volume in which his partner seems keen to speak at. “You don’t keep a human, they stay with you out of…you know what that’s not any better, humans are basically puppies, and I’m going back to sleep,”

“If he wants to stay, he’s welcome here,” Logan concludes with a low sigh, shaking his head a little, “You took so much effort to be here and it’s not as though you come without benefits, we usually don’t…keep…humans, but if you’re here willingly then I don’t see such an issue, if you stay here too long though, you must know you will not be able to return home, after a period of three months I have to sign paperwork or you will be forcefully removed for the realm, in some ways it’s sort of like human adoption, except not for parental units,”

“You’re more like a sex slave,” Virgil offers, joking just a little as he gestures towards Patton.

“But that’s a problem for the future,” Roman’s hand grabs Patton’s, he knows it should feel invasive to be grabbed suddenly, but the human can only find himself melting into the touch, seeking the dazed waves of happiness that Roman pushes through him. “For now you can just stay here, and be happy,” His smile is sharp, eyes glinting in the light as he tilts his head to the side, Patton feels like he’s floating and dazed. “You want to stay here and be happy don’t you Patton?”

“I do,” Patton replies, his voice feeling like a cloud.

“Then you will stay with us,” It’s not a question anymore, but Patton doesn’t care “And you can be happy here forever,” Patton smiles, and believes that, as he leans into Roman’s touch and rests his head on his shoulder, feeling at last satisfied.

--

Ko-fi

#not safe for sanders

[cupidsmusings]

The Chained Goddess

Description: Eisuke Ichinomiya had it all. Money, power, and looks. He wanted for not. Some wondered how he did it. How was he able to accomplish so much at such a young age? Rumors that were joked amongst some of the wealthy individuals that knew him were that he sold his soul to the devil. They were almost correct in that aspect. It was not a devil he sold his soul to. He hadn’t even sold his soul to anyone. He was just lucky enough to find a rumored vase and rich enough to purchase it.

Rating: PG-13

Series: The Chained Goddess

Chapter 2: While the Master’s away the Goddess will play.

Couple: Reader insert, but unsure who the love interest is yet

Author’s note: Due to future chapters, most of them will become R rated for NSFW content. For now, though it’ll continue to be PG-13 ^^

A giggle here and a small inquiry there, she traveled through what was a new world to her with eyes alight with wonder. Women were permitted to higher learning, which had been rare, almost unheard of before she was trapped inside the vase. She was still unused to how they wore such revealing clothing. And there was no odor on anyone. It was as if they were all rich enough to acquire expensive oils to mask their stench.

“Hey, Eisuke,” she whispered as she hovered behind him. “When did women start to get an education? It seems that a decision was made while I was imprisoned that allowed women to attend to their schooling like men.”

“Usually only wealthy women could get an education at first, as I’m sure you’re aware. Or were you trapped even before then?” He waited to respond to her when he pulled out his cell phone, an interesting device that one, too bad he wouldn’t let her hold it. Something about “not trusting her”. When she shook her head he continued. “Well as time passed countries allowed more and more women to attend university. Now it’s the norm for that to happen.”

“Interesting….Interesting.” She nodded her head, her eyes honing in on the phone pressed against his ear. “What are the subjects they teach now in… University.” What an odd word. University. To be honest, she could care less about the subjects, but it was best to keep him talking so she could snag his phone from him while he was too preoccupied talking to her.

As he talked she made hums to let him know she was listening. All the while she floated from his left side to his right so she could grasp the phone with ease. Her fingers inched forward and right when she was about to graze the pretty piece of technology the contraption was pulled away from his ear and hidden in his jacket pocket. As she stewed to herself she paid little attention to who Eisuke was talking to. She wasn’t asking for much. She merely wanted to observe it. Wanted to call someone. Wanted to send someone a text. Wanted to play with it.

“Oh really. Thank you.” Eisuke laughed.

That was when she removed herself from her sulking state and floated around the girl that was talking to Eisuke so she could get a better look at him. He was also smiling. Ew. Forced smiles were so boring. She floated back over to Eisuke and sat on his right shoulder.

“Your smile is not reaching your eyes. It is very creepy.” She said and laid her chest across the crown of his head in an overdramatized fashion. “Try thinking of something that actually makes you happy. Your smile will not appear so creepy then.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a class to get to.” He excused himself with a politeness that was dripping with borderline annoyance.

The girl seemed not to notice and just gave him a charming smile before she walked in the opposite direction.

“Your input isn’t needed.” He almost growled. “A servant shouldn’t speak to their master that way anyways.”

“I thought I was your assistant?” She asked and floated in front of him.

Her legs reached towards the sky and her head dangled upside down in front of his own.

“You don’t seem to have the discipline to be an assistant. You’re actually no better than an untrained dog.” He scoffed as he began to walk up the steps to the building his next class was in.

“I feel as if you are trying to insult me.” She mused allowed.

Was he insulting her just because she pointed out a flaw? Oh was this a masculine pride type of scenario. She had dealt with that before. Many of the gods were prideful beings after all.

“My apologies, master. I did not mean to upset you, master.” She said and straighten her body to right-side-up.

Was that a good enough of an apology? Sometimes it took more for a god to forgive her, but gods were known to be more prideful than humans.

“I can’t tell whether you’re mocking me or not.”

“I am being genuine.”

“And here I thought a goddess would be more prideful.”

“An assistant, oh I am sorry, a servant, does not have the right to be prideful.”

He squinted at her then and studied her. Which was honestly odd because this was the first time he’d ever done so. One would think he would have begun his studying of her when she was freed from the vase.

“I don’t think you’re mocking me, but I also don’t think you’re taking the entire thing seriously.” He sighed and climbed even more stairs that would take him to the third floor of the building.

“Oh, I am not.” She told him flagrantly and flew to the top of the stairs. “I just thought it would be best to quell your male pride. I am very aware of how much pride means to a male.”

“You’re actually very rude, you know that.” He told her as he brushed passed her.

Well, brushed through her was more like it. While she was in this form she was more so a ghost than a living being.

“Rude may be I, but you are a man that would throw me away if given a better deal.” She hummed as she floated after him and oh my, the smirk he sent her way sent a thrilling jolt through her body. Her tongue swiped at her bottom lip as she felt her heart pulse in suspense.

“What could be better than a genie in a bottle?” He asked her, his voice low and husky.

“Why I do not believe there is anything more fruitful for a human to obtain.” She responded with her own little smile that spoke of her amusement.

He continued to smirk at her, but his was far more wicked than her own.

 It was later that night when she found herself alone in the apartment she’d have to learn to call her own. She wanted to join Eisuke on his little outing but he had refused and ordered her to remain home. Well, technically he said in a stern voice that she must, “Remain here and don’t even think of following me.” What a rude human! Like she wanted to follow him anyways.

She flipped over from her stomach and onto her back so the ceiling could be the recipient of her annoyed glare. He was amusing sure, but he thought himself so important. It wasn’t that she wanted to follow him but that she wanted to further explore the new world which she had missed grow to such a modern society. She positioned herself so her head hung over the side of the bed. Her gaze now glued to the vase that was placed on a dresser. The thought of seeing the magical chain caused the golden energy to form. Another chain formed on her wrist and outstretched across the room, through the wall to ceiling window and outside to the city below. He was out there, her master, having so much fun while she lay there bored.

“He never ordered me to remain still like some doll.” She declared as she shot up into a sitting position.

He may have ordered her to stay there but he never told her that she couldn’t do what she wished while inside. Mischief danced across her irises as she got her to her feet. What could she do that would cause him turmoil? His face was very endearing when he was glaring in irritation. A shiver skittered down her spine and her insides quivered with an unknown emotion.

With pep in her step, she exited the room and entered his office so she could get a hold of the computer, a device Eisuke had never given her permission to use but never ordered her to reframe from touching it. She took a sit in the wing-back chair and had a little fun spinning herself around and around and around and around. Around she went, laughing joyously to herself, that was until she found herself too dizzy to perform the act anymore.

“What a fun piece of furniture.” She mused aloud to herself as she focused her gaze to steady.

The room no longer tilting this way and that, she focused on typing in the password that would gain her access to all the delicious fun she would be able to give herself. With honing her godly powers onto knowing the password, she was successful in typing it incorrectly her first try. She had never taken note of how Eisuke was able to use the thing, but how hard could a small electric box be?

Not very hard, actually. With just a few random clicks she was able to make it onto what must have been the InterWeb. She was originally going to browse the internet without any clear motive until she found something interesting. It was an advertisement, with words scrawled across it in pretty pink letters, “Looking for fun? Why not give us a call and let us have fun with you”. Oh? She let her head lull to the side as she contemplated the intriguing invitation. Entertainers were just what she needed. It would also be best if they stayed late enough for Eisuke to walk in on them all having fun.

She dialed the number that was written across the add and when a voice sounded from the receiver she almost leapt out of the chair. It would indeed take some getting used to such a device.

“Hello, I would like to request some people from your establishment.” She was direct and to the point and waited with excitement as they asked her how many she wished to join her in her night of fun. “Three is fine.”

When the call ended she shot up from the chair and glided to the front entrance. What kind of games would they play? Hide-n-seek was a rather fun one she enjoyed playing with her father. She let her gaze roam over the apartment in her mind’s eye and it was large enough for such a game. Perhaps the human race had invented other such fun games? If so she couldn’t wait to try them.

As she stood in the corridor pondering what games had been invented since her imprisonment a loud ring broke her from her thoughts. They had arrived! She made sure to have her feet firmly planted on the floor. It wouldn’t do if they all left once seeing a bizarre woman floating above them. No indeed. She skipped to the front door and opened it up with a charming smiling.

“Good evening!” She smiled as she ushered them inside.

“It is my first time using such a service so I am not privy to what we should do. I was thinking perhaps we could play a game of hide-n-seek until we can think of another game that would be more fun.” She told them as she showed them to the living room. She gasped as a thought raced across her mind and she clasped her hands together in excitement. “The winner could pick the next game, yes? A little competition is good for such games!”

Now she truly was excited! It had probably been centuries since she played such games. She wouldn’t even use her powers and would play like a genuine human. It wasn’t even much of a challenge to her. She was amazing at hiding. Her father was never able to find her and he was King of the Heavens!

“Hide-n-seek?” One asked.

He was the tallest of the three, but not the most well-built. The most well-built was probably the shortest of the three. The one with the best face was the man of average height.

“Yes!” She nodded enthusiastically.

“I don’t think she knows what the advertisement was really for,” Small-guy stated and looked at the other two with a look of amusement but a hint of exasperation flashed across his eyes before he looked to her. “Did you think the advertisement meant that we would actually be playing board games together?”

“Board games?” She mumbled and tilted her head to the side, her lips pursed. “Never heard of such things before. Are they fun?”

“You’ve never played a board game?” Average-guy asked, dumbstruck.

“I do not believe that I have.”

The three looked to one another, all perplexed. Was it really strange that she had never played a board game? These board games sure must have been a favourite amongst humans.

“Let us play hide-n-seek first!” She declared. “The winner can decide what game to play next. If any of you wish to play a board game you may suggest it then. But how to decide who is the seeker?”

Her eyebrows furrowed in thought as she looked to the three men in front of her.

“I’ll be it…. I guess.” Tall-guy stated rather awkwardly.

What an adorable human.

“Any room in the apartment not up for grabs?” Short-guy asked as he cracked his knuckles.

“Nope! Every room is fine to hide in!” She informed him and readied herself to go hide once tall-guy started the countdown.

Once he uttered the number 50 she raced for her hiding spot. Hide-n-seek must have been just as much fun for them as it was for her because they had played it none stop since their arrival. It truly was fun. Too bad they had all started to run out of hiding places, for now, she and short-guy were sharing a hiding spot in a closet.

“I didn’t want to say anything at first,” Short-guy started in a whisper. “But you really don’t know what we actually do, do you?”

“What do you mean?” She asked her voice also in a low whisper.

That was when he moved closer. His fingers, coarse and warm, lightly played with her smooth ones.

“We’re more so entertainers of the… Sexual sort.” He purred and pressed a feather-like kiss on her collar bone.

Oh. Oh!

“My apologies! I honestly had no inclination of that kind.” She apologized.

“We could play a different kind of game while we’re here.”

“Does this game have any lewd undertones?”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He started, his voice low, husky, and very alluring. “But I really want to.”

She had never done anything of that nature while in the Heaven’s. Her father had forbidden such matters. It wasn’t as if he was purposely trying to keep her pure, but more so that he did not think anyone suitable for her. Now with the opportunity to try something so daring with someone whose profession was that of pleasure, she couldn’t think of a better opportunity. She draped her arms over his shoulders and dipped her head down to whisper in his ear, in a way that she hoped was also alluring, “I would not mind at all.”

It must have been the correct way to seduce someone because the smirk he gave her sent her skin scrawling in delight. He pressed her against the wall, which pressed the primly pressed suits to scrunch up behind her. Both his hands gently cupped her face while he brought his lips close to her own. So close were they to kissing that when light from the bedroom broke the darkness she realized that they were still in the midst of hide-and-seek.

“Looks like we were found.” Short-guy chuckled, which garnered a giggle from her.

“Yes, I do believe we have been.” She hummed and stepped around him when he pulled back to give her room to do so.

A figure stood in the doorway that was not of the one that was the seeker. The contrast from the light outside the closet made it hard to see who it truly was until she reached closer to him.

“Eisuke!” She all but shouted with glee. She was so excited in fact that she didn’t pick up on the flare in his eyes or the irritated downturn of his lips. “Guess what we’re playing!”

“Seven minutes in heaven?” He asked, rather exasperated.

She again didn’t catch on to the heavy glare that he swept over her and to how that glare hardened when it landed on short-guy.

“No silly,” she laughed and skipped forward. “We were playing hide-‘n-seek. Would you like to play as well?”

“What I would like is for the last remaining gigolo to leave my home.” His words were harsh and it was then that {Name} took note of his less than pleasant mood.

“Gigolo?” She mumbled and tilted her head to the side in thought. “Is that what sex workers are called now and days?”

Short-guy gave a shrug and a lazy smirk her way. “I know when I’m not wanted. Too bad though.”

The wink he sent her way had her legs feeling of jelly.

“Yes. What a disappointment.” Was Eisuke’s bland reply.

She, being the ever so gracious hostess, walked him to the front door. He turned to her once he stood in the hallway outside the apartment.

“If you ever need me, you know where to call.” He gave her a wolfish grin. “I wouldn’t mind treating you to a good time…”

The door was promptly slammed in his face before he could finish his sentence. Her eyes traveled from the hand that was placed against the door to the face of its owner.

“I do not see why you are so angry. I had nothing to do and it was not as if I knew they were “gigolo’s”. I simply thought they were entertainers.” She explained to him and opted to float in the air once more.

He merely arched a brow at her before he walked passed her. She, of course, followed him. He walked into his closet and looked over the clothes they had crumpled and it was then that she took notice of the few pieces of suit shirts that had fallen off their hangers and were now strewn about the floor.

“Did you two fuck in my closet?” He asked as he picked up each shirt.

“What a vulgar thing to say. But, no, we did not have sex in your closet. We were close to kissing each other though. It is too bad, he looked like he would given me a wonderful kiss.” She assured him.

“Fine. Get rid of these clothes that both you and he touched.” He ordered as he practically shoved his way past her.

“How would you propose I do that?”

“Burn them. Toss them in the trash. Use your imagination.”

She more so heard than saw him shut the master bathroom door. Despite how normally he shut the door, it still gave the sense of him slamming it. Was it really wrong of her to invite people over to entertain her? It was his fault for leaving her alone. She looked down at the clothes before she let her gaze move to the ones that were barely hanging onto their hangers. With a dramatic sigh, she snapped her fingers and watched with mild satisfaction as the clothes disappeared into nothingness.

#kissed by the baddest bidder #voltage inc #eisuke ichinomiya